Everything Has Changed

by kendra Smith

  That had been their little phrase, two for the price of one. Well, really it hadn’t quite been ‘two for the price of one’, because as anyone who’s had twins knows, it’s really double trouble and double sleep deprivation and double vomiting, and doubly-sore tits. But she and James hadn’t minded; they hadn’t minded one jot. They had stared down the abyss of maybe never becoming pregnant, three years of dreaded period pain heralding no pregnancy, so that when the sonographer had said ‘there’s two in there’ she and James had cried, actually cried at the hospital in front of the purple-haired woman with the frown and the ring on her thumb which looked really odd – but then suddenly she was handing them both tissues and smiling. Their twins, their children.

  For the party, they’d had ice cream cake as the birthday cake – it was from that new café in Little Norland next to the village hall, she couldn’t remember the name right now. But she knew it had been strawberry with glittery candles on it. And later that evening she and James had sat with a glass of wine in the garden when the twins were finally in bed – she hadn’t bothered to bath them that night, they had been high on sugar and the bouncy castle they’d hired, she had just put them to bed in fresh pyjamas and she probably hadn’t worried about their teeth.

  ‘I’m so lucky.’ James had turned to her and squeezed her hand. And she remembered that feeling – like sinking your teeth into warm toast that had had honey drizzled onto it, mellow and comforting – and recalled how she had never wanted that day to end.

  She stood up and went over to the wedding photo and picked it up, then sat down on the arm of his chair, traced the outline of his face on the photo with her finger. ‘Look at us here, it’s magical – we look besotted. What happened?’

  James jerked his head abruptly and looked at her. ‘I don’t know, you became someone else, Victoria. Our lives changed, you changed. I mean after the—’ he hesitated, ‘well, anyway, what we had, you made fun of it – you were someone… someone I didn’t know.’

  ‘After the what?’

  Just then, Izzy breezed into the room wearing very high-heeled boots and abruptly stopped. ‘Oh! Sorry, I didn’t know you two were in here.’ She said ‘you two’ like a vegetarian might say ‘hamburger’.

  ‘Should she be wearing such high shoes?’ James shot Victoria a look, as if seeking the right response.

  ‘Um, well, maybe not?’ Victoria was at a loss. She glanced round the room for another adult to consult. Wait, this was her teenage daughter. What shoes did a sixteen-year-old wear? She didn’t have a clue. Last she remembered, Izzy was beside herself in a new pair of red trainers with neon laces. She did look great, though. ‘You look marvellous, darling! But maybe they are a tiny bit too high.’ She glanced at James. Was that the right response?

  Izzy narrowed her eyes and looked at them both. ‘Marvellous? You think I look marvellous?’ When she said it, her mouth twisted into a weird shape. ‘Since when did you ever say I looked marvellous, Mum? And what’s with the cosy chat, you two? On the ski holiday I overheard Dad talking to Uncle John – he called you “controlling” and before Mum’s accident, you were both shouting at each other, I remember.’

  If Victoria hadn’t been so gobsmacked about the ‘controlling’ insult, she would have said something.

  ‘I’m going out.’ Izzy flounced towards the door, but not before James shouted, ‘Where?’ To which she stopped, smiled sweetly and said, ‘Shopping. In town. With Bella. We’re getting the bus. Then we’ll buy some more “marvellous” clothes.’ And with that she swung the door open and pranced out of the room.

  James rolled his eyes. ‘Bella. She hasn’t been the same since she started hanging out with her. You need to look into that.’

  How did you ‘look into’ that? She turned to James for some kind of solidarity, but when she looked into his eyes she saw hurt. She studied his long eyelashes, the dark circles underneath, reached out to touch his face, but he flinched and she pulled her hand away.

  ‘You said I was controlling?’

  ‘Victoria, you don’t remember, do you? You changed. I mean, all this didn’t seem enough for you anymore,’ he said, sighing, and leant back heavily in the chair. ‘I didn’t seem enough for you anymore – you wanted a bigger, better kitchen, a smarter car, I don’t know, like you were competing with someone, and then, you know, you started to make “improvements”,’ his eyes flitted to her breasts, ‘your words by the way. I’d go away on client trips and come back and there would be more changes, Botox, I just don’t know what else. And the problem is,’ he stood up abruptly – ‘I was never sure if they were for me.’ He caught her eye for a moment and there was such sadness there that it took Victoria’s breath away.

  Victoria touched her hair. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Look, we shouldn’t do this right now – I read your notes. No stress.’ His expression altered and there was a tiny glimmer of the old James as he stood there in front of her.

  ‘James, the accident wasn’t my fault.’

  His face softened a fraction and her James was still there. ‘I know.’ He pulled his hand out of his pocket and for a tiny minute Victoria thought he was going to reach out to her. He hastily put it back in.

  ‘James, what happened to us? I mean, I’m hearing a lot about how I changed; well, I can see that.’ She waved her hand vaguely up and down over her body. ‘But what about “us”?’

  ‘It’s— it’s complicated. Listen, I have to make some calls now, I said I’d be back in the office tomorrow – will you be alright?’ He looked her up and down as if assessing something, then started to walk towards the door. And with a sideways glance at her, her once-more-distant husband left her alone in the room.

  7 Lulu

  Simon opens the door to me. It’s midday on Friday and for once Markie and I don’t have any party bookings. ‘Lulu!’ he booms. ‘Come in! You’ll catch your death out there.’ He grabs both my shoulders and pulls me in for a hug on the doorstep. Then he stands back. ‘Don’t you have anything else to wear but that tatty leather thing? You’re freezing!’ He kisses me on the cheek. His nose is slightly wet, like a dog. ‘We must get you some new clothes!’ he says walking back in.

  I look at my blue leather jacket. I like this jacket, I’ve had it since drama school. I follow him in, shrug off my jacket and hang it on the banister. ‘Not there, darling.’ Simon slides it off, holds it at arm’s length and gives it a shake. He then hangs it up on the pegs in the porch. ‘Come in, come into the kitchen and sit down. I’ve made lunch.’

  Simon loves to show off his Cordon Bleu skills. He cares about ingredients, looks at something called provenance and reads all the reviews for new restaurants in Brighton. I’m at my happiest with a takeaway – Chinese, anything – and bottle of wine in front of the telly. He’s told me his late wife was ‘a whizz in the kitchen’. From what I can make out, she was ‘amazing’ at almost everything. I feel daunted if I even pick up a spatula in front of him. I pour myself a glass of wine from the open bottle at the table. Simon reaches for the bottle. ‘Let me do that!’ Does it matter? I take a sip and tell myself to stop overreacting. ‘Mum will be round soon. You two girls have lots to chat about! It’s flowers today isn’t it? And I think she said she had some sample menus too.’ He places a hand on my shoulder as I twist the wine glass stem around in my hand.

  I let out a long breath and take another sip of wine. Marjory seems to be involved in every aspect of this wedding, and of Simon’s life. I’m not ungrateful for her help, but I feel I’m sitting on top of an avalanche of wedding plans, as it zips down a mountain, taking me with it. It’s been all wedding, wedding, wedding. I take another slug of wine. I need to just be sometimes. Alone with my thoughts. Figuring out—

  ‘Darling?’

  ‘Sorry, miles away.’ I put my glass down on the table.

  ‘Will you set the table please? With the serving spoons.’ He turns back to his cooking with a flourish. His precision shouldn’t bother me, it really shouldn’t. I gu
ess when your wife dies in a tragic accident it’s no wonder you want to try and control what you can, poor man.

  ‘Well done!’ Simon puts his arms around me. ‘Just think, in a few weeks, you’ll be out of that cold flat and here all the time!’ He spins me round to face him, ‘In fact, why don’t you just move in now?’ He fixes me with a pretend pleading look. I kiss him on the cheek and move away.

  ‘Helloo!’ Marjory is shouting through the letterbox.

  ‘Mum’s here, I’ll go let her in.’ Simon lunges towards the hallway and somehow an image of an eager Labrador flashes across my brain.

  ‘Turn to page forty – what do you think Louise?’ Nobody calls me Louise. Simon knows that I’m called Lulu, but I did tell him that I was christened Louise and he seems to have told his mother and she’s got it into her head. When I was born, Victoria used to read to me – she was twelve then – and we both loved this heroine called Lulu. She started calling me that. It stuck. And I love it.

  I dutifully turn to page forty. ‘Um, it’s Lulu.’ I look up at Marjory, who’s peering over her glasses at me.

  ‘Sorry. Lulu. Anyway, I can’t decide between E and B – see, have a look, B has more of a vintage feel.’ Marjory jabs at the laminated page of flower bouquets with a pink polished fingernail.

  Does it? ‘They’re all lovely, I just can’t decide.’

  Lunch is lovely: some kind of asparagus soup, swirls of single cream, and lashings of that delicious Viognier. I can’t really pronounce it, but so what? ‘Just wait till you see my sample menus!’ Marjory clasps her hands together as Simon beams at her. Just then my phone bleeps and I turn it over on the table and glance at the screen. Markie.

  So sorry. Are you free? It’s pretty urgent. Like, now-urgent. Had call from a friend of clients who’s been let down. Kids party. We’ll ad hoc. Can I pick you up?

  I register a tiny tingle of anticipation to get away from sample menus, but stamp it down.

  I text him back with Simon’s address then put my phone down. ‘Simon, Marjory,’ I look at both their eager faces. ‘I’m really sorry but I need to go. My boss is stuck – this woman’s entertainment has fallen through and she’s called him as a last resort. Another client recommended him. He does need the business.’ I look pleadingly at them both as they stare at me. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter and take a swig of wine.

  Simon’s face falls. ‘That’s a shame, darling. I thought we’d watch the Grand Prix together later? I mean you’re giving up all that children’s entertainment business anyway, so what’s the point? Can’t he cope?’

  A little nugget of indignation bubbles up inside me. ‘Not really, Simon. He can’t sort the lights, the bubble machine and entertain twenty kids – that’s why he’s got me. And I really don’t want to let him down. I do work for him.’

  ‘No. Of course. We’ll do this another time. Sorry, Mum.’ He glances over at Marjory, who’s closed the folder and is leaning back in her seat. ‘I know you’re worried about the timescales, Mum, and it is rather annoying, but,’ he snatches a look at me, ‘Lulu here needs to go, don’t you sweetheart?’

  ‘I can see that,’ mutters Marjory.

  ‘Marjory, I love the vintage one, actually, let’s go for that – E, right?’

  Marjory folds her arms. ‘No, B.’

  ‘B it is then, splendid!’ I finish my wine and jump up from my seat, steadying myself and peck Simon on the cheek. Just then there’s the sound of tyres on the gravel. ‘See you both later.’ As I grab my leather jacket I’m reminded of a time I sneaked out the house to a school disco aged fourteen. Mum and Dad hadn’t known and the flutter of excitement as I scuttle down the drive is almost the same. I stifle a giggle, looking at my reflection in the windows: a woman with mad blonde curls and a flash of lip-gloss grins back at me.

  ‘Hi there,’ Markie smiles at me as I slip into the passenger seat. ‘Thanks for doing this. Sorry to take you away from your lunch.’ He puts the car into reverse, then drives a few feet and stops and turns to me as I fumble with the seatbelt. ‘Lulu, have you been drinking?’

  I stare straight ahead, the buckle in my hand. ‘You called me, remember? We were going through wedding menus, flowers and, um, things and celebrating.’

  ‘Of course. Sorry. Sounds fun.’

  I snatch a look at him. Is he smiling? I feel bad for snapping. The rest of the trip is in silence as we are left alone with our thoughts. I close my eyes for a while as the wine has made me sleepy and images of lilies and menus dance in front of my eyes. Half an hour later, we pull up to a set of black wrought-iron gates. Markie leans out the car to push the buzzer on the keypad. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ gushes a woman’s voice.

  ‘What kind of party are we doing?’ I ask as he puts the car into gear and slowly moves forward.

  ‘Anything we can,’ he laughs. ‘At this late notice, we will just throw it all at them: I’ve brought the disco decks and the bubbles, and the UV light. If you change into Disco Diva with the sparkly dress, is that OK? We’ll do a conga, I’ll do some magic tricks – we’ll smash it.’

  He’s always upbeat, so sure of himself. ‘You don’t see problems, do you?’ I lean back in my seat and smile. I probably have had too much to drink.

  Markie stares straight ahead as the gates move apart and grins. ‘Try not to. Why?’

  ‘Just an observation.’

  Half an hour later and we’ve set up the music in the ‘playroom’ – a huge room with a wooden floor, perfect for five-year-olds to dance. Markie’s started the bubble machine and I’ve changed into Disco Diva in the downstairs bathroom – I tripped over the shower tray and ripped my dress; it doesn’t really show. Now I’m snapping the glow sticks to hand out to all the kids. Music is pumping through the speakers, the sound of the bass throbbing with my own heartbeat and the messy playroom has morphed into a mini nightclub with strobe lights and bubbles. It’s a fabulous transformation.

  The mother bustles into the room. ‘Brilliant! Holly is thrilled this is going ahead! Here’s some wine, it’s open.’ She places a tray with a wine bottle and two glasses on the table. ‘And I’ll pay you guys double!’

  ‘Nah, no need to do that.’ Markie grins at her, then turns up the music as I fill two wine glasses to the brim and take a gulp.

  ‘Let the party begin!’ I say, holding up my glass to Markie. He takes a sip of his then puts it down as a gaggle of youngsters rush into the room and grab the glow sticks from me. Half an hour later as they’re jigging up and down, Markie motions to me to start a conga. I grab a girl by the hands and show her how to put her hands on my waist and we start. Reluctantly, a few girls join her, then, half a song in, the whole party joins in, whooping and cheering as Markie turns up the bubble machine. Then, suddenly, he’s in front of me and I grab his waist and loop my fingers through the belt hole on his jeans, and we’re all doing the conga together. At one point, I nearly lose my grip, so I grab his waist firmly and have a sudden urge to wrap my arms right around him.

  Which is the thought that’s looping round my head as he turns and stares at me. ‘Lulu?’ He’s put the music to Macarena on and is gesturing to me that I should start. I’ve made up my own moves as well as the standard ones and the wine is really helping me make this fun for the kids now! They’re screaming with laughter and Markie has joined in, hamming it up, pretending to get the moves wrong. We stand in front of a sea of kids, smiling and clapping and jumping forward, both singing the words to the Spanish hit song. As we belt out Hey Macarena, throwing our arms in the air, I realise my jaw is aching from all the grinning and I feel alive!

  ‘Right boys and girls,’ shouts Markie as I get my breath back, ‘last dance of the night! Baby Shark! The kids start to scream even louder, then begin to copy Markie with the hand movements; he’s larking about and being such a clown, but the kids are lapping it up. I start to jig up and down and polish off another glass of wine. Eventually, Markie has to turn the music off. ‘Awww,’ the kids all moan together, but Markie’s still la
ughing.

  ‘This really is closing time, lights on!’ and with that he flicks on the main switch and we are blinded by the awful bright lights. As we pack away our guitars, the speakers and load up the van with all the paraphernalia of the evening, my heart sinks just a little that the party’s over too.

  Back in the car, Markie holds up his hand for a high-five. ‘Good work partner.’ I stare at his large hand with a ring on his middle finger, lit by the streetlight in the driveway and I want to reach out and hold it. I smile at him and instead I reach over to slap his palm to give him a high-five, but he moves it away and grins. ‘Too slow!’

  ‘Very funny,’ I say sinking into the familiar musty smell of his van, hidden away in my cocoon where we talk, swap ideas for ever-more crazy parties we can host and have a laugh.

  ‘What’s on the cards for you now then?’ Markie says as he puts the van into reverse.

  ‘Oh, an evening of Grand Prix highlights and scrolling through wedding menus.’ I sigh. As Markie steers the van carefully through the black gates, I wonder how the girl who was good enough to audition for Mamma Mia could have changed like this. Tomorrow’s my ‘bridal hair try-out’, whatever that is. I reach into my bag and make sure my ‘water’ bottle is there. I’m going to need it tonight.

  8 Victoria

  Victoria gripped the steering wheel of her car. She’d peered outside earlier at a BMW convertible and screwed up her eyes. Is that my car? Will I remember how to drive? She’d been driving her ‘other’ car, apparently, when they’d had the accident. What other car? she’d been dying to ask, but felt she shouldn’t. Although the damage wasn’t extensive, the car had still been written off by the insurance company. Her life was one long game of putting together puzzles. Except some pieces of the puzzle eluded her. The kids were back at school – that had been weird. The hugs from some school mums, the kind stares, the nods to her from those she, presumably, knew less well. She’d found herself being centre stage in the play Victoria Loses Her Life. James had driven them off from the first school drop-off as she sat in tears in the passenger seat, unable to cope with driving that time. It had been like a sluice gate of emotions had been opened up – only she didn’t know quite what was behind all the sensations she was feeling.