Found (15 page)

I’m standing in the Arrivals terminal at JFK Airport waiting for Mum and Dad to clear Immigration when my phone starts to buzz in my pocket. Putting down the sign I made for them, I notice that it’s an unknown number. With the wedding only three days away, I’d better not ignore it. The last thing I need is a last-minute cancellation or an issue that I let my voicemail take.

‘Hello?’

‘I thought your mum was handling everything,’ a familiar voice snaps down the phone at me, familiar because of her London accent.

Another wave of people come through Immigration but my parents aren’t amongst them.

‘Sorry, who is this?’

It can’t be the bridal boutique because Mum and Dad have my wedding dress; there was nothing else wedding-wise that they were sorting out. All they had to do was bring themselves and my dress to New York.

‘Why have I had several calls from people wanting to give me an update on the shop?’

‘Etta?’ I ask as the voice clicks in my head.

‘Yes,’ she growls down the phone.

‘Mum’s been on a plane for the past nine hours,’ I explain, ‘because I’m getting married this week. They probably called you because Mum’s phone would be switched off. Do you have a new number by the way?’

I have no idea why they’ve called Etta when they have
my
mobile number.

‘They called the landline,’ she snaps.

It takes me a moment to realise that she means Felicity’s landline. Ah, yes. They would have Felicity’s number.

‘You’re in Bransgore?’ I ask.

‘Not for much longer. I have a single to promote, but I told you at the will reading that I don’t have time for this shit.’

She sounds rattled, and I hope she’s just in a mood. I know it can’t be easy for Etta to be at Felicity’s house. She must have a lot of memories there, and that house is the very essence of Felicity. I know I couldn’t stay there.

‘Is everything OK? You sound tense.’

‘Oh, you’ve been reading the papers then,’ she sneers.

‘Etta, I’m in
New York
,’ I stress, ‘about to get married. When I’ve not been doing wedding stuff, I’ve been at the hospital or trying not to have a breakdown. Believe me, I wish I had time to read a newspaper, or a book, or even watch a bloody episode of
Grey’s Anatomy
. I’ve been non-stop for the past week since Piers was rushed back into hospital. I only meant...’ I stop myself. Etta doesn’t care about any of this; she only cares about herself. ‘Do you know what – forget it.’

There’s a pause.

‘I didn’t know,’ Etta mutters defensively, which is the oddest statement because why would Etta know what’s going on in my life? We’re reluctant business partners and move in completely different worlds. I was never going to share with her that Piers was admitted to hospital, let alone that he was discharged yesterday.

Another batch of chatting people descend into the Arrivals Hall, but my parents still aren’t through Immigration. What’s taking them so long? Dad sent me a text
ages
ago to say they had landed. I hope they’ve not been detained.

‘Look, if you give me the number, I can call them back now.’

‘It’s fine. I’ve dealt with it.’

‘Oh?’

‘Oh what?’

‘What did they have to say?’ I prompt.

‘That the investigation is ongoing.’

‘Right.’ What a pointless conversation, and what a pointless reason for Etta to call me. ‘There’s no update then?’ I ask.

She mutters something that I don’t quite catch, which is when I notice my parents walking towards me.
Finally
!

‘Cool, well my parents are here now so I’ll talk to you later.’ Ha, as if! ‘I’ll get Mum to deal with any Frocks and Socks stuff so you can concentrate on your music. I can’t wait to listen to your album,’ I add sincerely.

I might not like Etta very much, but I know she can sing and has true talent. She deserves to do well.

‘It must be nice to have parents,’ she sneers.

What can I say to
that
? I wish Etta had her mum and knew her dad, but it’s not as if me having my parents in my life is the reason Etta doesn’t have hers. She’s completely irrational at times.

‘Are you OK?’

I wave at my parents who are wheeling two medium-sized suitcases behind them; Mum has a large beach-style bag slung over her shoulder.
Where’s my dress?
Surely they didn’t put my dress in one of those suitcases? I told them they needed to take it as carry-on luggage as it shouldn’t be crushed.
Crap
.

‘Like you fucking care.’ She hangs up, and I fear I’m right – I fear she’s using again.

Mum clocks my face. ‘Everything OK?’

I give her a hug. ‘Etta being Etta,’ I say as I break away from Mum and turn to hug Dad, ‘but–’

‘She has a girlfriend,’ Dad interrupts before I can ask about their flight and my wedding dress. ‘It’s all over the papers. She’s back with this backing singer she was dating the other month.’

OK, admittedly I had read online the other day that she was dating Timon Lane, the new bad guy in
EastEnders
, but a girlfriend is news to me. It doesn’t explain her mood though. She should be happy if she’s in a relationship – not angry and fierce.

‘And?’

‘And nothing. You know we don’t pay any attention to that sort of thing. If she’s happy, that’s the main thing.’ He shakes his head. ‘Her expression when they’d finished questioning her at the police station... she deserves a bit of cheering up, and I’ve never believed all that cavorting she does with those rock stars and footballers.’

I don’t know whether to be more amused at Dad’s blasé reaction and his use of the word “cavorting”, or alarmed at his insinuation, but then I feel sad thinking about the reason why Etta was at the police station. If Felicity was alive and well enough to travel she would have flown in with my parents to celebrate my wedding. She’d be here
right now
. Her hat would have been
ridiculous
in the most awesome way, and she’d have worn one of her vintage designer dresses that make me drool. Something elegant and stunning, maybe a little Christian Dior number. Speaking of dresses, that reminds me.

‘Where’s my dress?’ I ask calmly as I pick up my sign and we start walking towards the exit. I’m already trying to recall where our nearest dry cleaner is and hedging whether they’ll be able to steam out any creases without wrecking the dress’s delicate fabric and beading.

Mum’s face falls and Dad looks away.

‘Mum? Dad?’ I am no longer calm.

I stop bang in the middle of the Arrivals Hall in a manner that feels eerily familiar to when I switched on my phone and got what I thought was bad news about Piers. I feel sick. Have they forgotten my dress? Has the airline lost it?
What am I going to get married in?

‘I’m so sorry, Arielle,’ Mum says, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘Dad, what does she mean?’ I demand, spinning around to face him. He can’t look at me, but then I realise that’s because he’s trying to hide his laughter; that’s why Mum is covering up her face, too.

‘Coo-ee!’ I feel a tap on my shoulder and hear a familiar cackle.
You have to be fucking kidding me.

Mum and Dad are in hysterics as I turn around to see Frank and Alice – Frank and Alice who I thought my parents no longer saw – grinning at me. In the past year they have not aged well, and neither has their taste improved.

Alice’s skin is an interesting shade of mahogany. She clashes with Frank’s vibrant blue shirt that’s covered in large red and green parrots. How they cleared Immigration and were let in the country is beyond me, though I’m glad they were because I suspect that’s my dress Alice is holding with her clawed hands.

‘Look who we bumped into on the flight!’ Dad delights. ‘Frank had the funniest idea about hiding your dress from you.’

Alice waves the garment bag at me and I can feel my panic bubbling. What is she doing?

‘Your face,’ Frank cackles as I grab my dress from Alice. ‘That was a hoot!’

They are so
not
coming to my wedding.

‘And then BoJo...’ Annabelle breaks off into peals of laughter and I never find out what BoJo may or may not have done because she is rolling around on the grass, shaking with laughter. Her laughter is infectious. I don’t join her on the floor, but I do start chuckling.

‘You look a lot happier!’

I turn around to find Eve smiling at me.

Even though I’ve been in the private garden at Gramercy Park most days, I’ve not seen Eve since she found me crying in here. I was starting to think I had imagined her.

Today she’s dressed more casually in beige linen trousers with a bottle-green, loose top and a wide-brimmed straw hat protecting her face. That blingtastic owl-shaped brooch she was wearing before is pinned on her top, a padded gardening glove is covering her left hand, and she’s holding a pair of shiny secateurs in her right.

‘Gardening relaxes me,’ she explains, seeing my expression. ‘I’m dead-heading the roses over there today.’

Annabelle looks up in surprise. ‘Who are you?’ she asks. Not demands,
asks
. This is possibly a first for Annabelle.

Eve bends down slightly and Annabelle stares up at her like she’s a fairy godmother. ‘I’m Eve. I live just over there.’ She points to the opposite end of the park as she stands back up.

‘You live in the park? I wish we lived in a park.’ Her face lights up. She looks like she has just been told that Eve is Santa Claus’s wife or Lady Gaga’s granny.

Eve merely offers Annabelle a wink that has her gasping in delight.

‘You never mentioned you had a daughter?’

‘I’m–’

‘That’s Aunty Arielle!’ Annabelle shrieks. ‘She’s not my mummy. Mummy’s in heaven,’ she adds solemnly, ‘like Uncle Piers nearly was.’

I almost start choking on fresh air at that pronouncement. 

‘But he’s OK now, and I’m going to be a bridesmaid.’

‘Oh?’ Eve must be a mother and a grandmother with that turn of speech. To Annabelle’s ears she’ll sound captivated; I hear bemusement.

‘We’re getting married the day after tomorrow,’ I explain. ‘In Central Park.’

I scrunch up my nose recalling my silly reaction when Piers first shared his Central Park wedding idea with me. I hope Eve doesn’t misinterpret my expression as scorn towards Central Park because I can’t wait to marry Piers there.

‘In Shakespeare Garden,’ I quickly add, ‘and then we’re having a family dinner. It’s going to be quite beautiful.’

Oddly, the nerves have yet to kick in. I assumed I would be having kittens now that the wedding is nearly forty-eight hours away but I’m relatively zen-like.

‘How lovely. Anywhere nice?’

‘The Atrium.’

‘Marvellous! Though...’ Eve steps closer to me. ‘I don’t mean to be forward, but that venue can look quite cold. I’m sure you have some wonderful flowers and decorations though to fix that,’ she adds when I look at her in surprise. I’m not surprised at Eve’s remark; I’m surprised that she’s heard of The Atrium. It’s hardly her scene.  

‘Oh, we haven’t actually. We’re keeping it very simple. We don’t even have a wedding cake!’

I smile at Eve who is peering at me in a way that I find quite uncomfortable. I have the overwhelming urge to ask if she ever knew a Felicity Farrell from England because her mannerisms are eerily familiar, though perhaps it’s a universal look for ladies of a certain social and economic standing.

With Piers being readmitted to hospital we simply didn’t have time to think about decorating the venue. With the fairy lights, decking and plants that are already there, and just the six of us celebrating – Zlata is taking Annabelle out for dinner and to see
Mary Poppins
on Broadway after the ceremony – decorations weren’t a must.

‘But that’s wonderful! I’ll do the flowers for you.’ She waves her secateurs at me with a warm smile.

‘Oh no,’ I protest, ‘I couldn’t let you do that.’

‘Honestly, I’d love to. Call it my wedding present to you both. When is the wedding? The day after tomorrow, did you say?’

‘It is, yes, but–’ I’m about to protest that Eve really doesn’t need to do this, as kind as her offer is, because she barely knows me – we met
once
last month – when Annabelle’s scream makes me spin around.

It’s a scream of delight because Giles and Piers have arrived. Giles is holding a massive bag from FAO Schwarz, the awesome toy store and home to the foot piano that Tom Hanks played in
Big
. It’s one of my favourite shops in New York.

Annabelle races towards her dad. ‘Is that for me?’ she squeals.

Piers walks towards me with a grin as Giles hands over the bag to Annabelle. I step forward and kiss him, and as we break apart I can see Annabelle behind him unwrapping a giant, pink-and-orange Tyrannosaurus rex cuddly toy. It’s
hideous
.

‘Wow,’ I mutter.

‘It’s quite something, huh?’ Piers raises his eyebrow at me.

‘It’s going to need its own seat on the plane back.’

‘Be thankful we’re not flying back with them then,’ Piers chuckles.

I laugh with him. ‘How was...’ I stop myself from asking about his check-up and whether he got all our last-minute wedding bits ticked off the list because I remember I was talking to Eve. She must think I’m so rude, but my memory is appalling at the moment. I’m forgetting everything unless I write it down.

‘Come and meet Eve,’ I say.

‘Who?’

‘The lady I bumped into when I first got to New York. She was talking to us a moment ago.’ I turn around, but Eve is gone. ‘How odd!’

‘Pony?’

‘Eve,’ I mutter. ‘Two ticks. Let me see if she’s gone back to her roses.’

‘Shall I come with you?’

Piers looks shattered, though he is starting to catch the sun slightly which is warming his milky-white skin. Standing next to Giles, he looks quite different to how the two brothers usually look when they are together. Giles looks good though, and I suspect he’s been working out. Rhonda’s influence, I bet.

‘I’ll be two seconds.’

I feel slightly sweaty as I jog along the path to get to where I remember seeing some roses. When I get there though, Eve isn’t anywhere to be seen. A quick scout around doesn’t reveal her. We’re the only ones in here. What must she think of me?

‘I feel so rude,’ I say when I get back to Piers. I wipe the sweat off my forehead with a grimace. ‘She was just talking to us, and then I got distracted by your arrival.’

Annabelle looks up from where she’s pretending to ride her T-rex along the path. ‘Who were we talking to?’

‘Eve,’ I say. ‘The nice lady doing the gardening.’

Annabelle shrugs and goes back to playing with her T-rex, which makes me wonder if Eve was even here.

‘Do you need some shade?’ Piers jokes.

I roll my eyes, though if it could be a little cooler on our wedding day that would be awesome. I’ll take heat over rain, though we have bought some clear domed brollies – just in case.

‘How was the hospital then?’ I ask.

‘All fine,’ Piers states, but he doesn’t elaborate.

‘And?’

‘And there’s nothing to worry about,’ Piers dismisses. ‘Doctor Teddy has cleared me to get married and to travel to the Hamptons with you. As long as we’re not partying until five in the morning, and I stick to a glass or two of fizz, I’ll be fine.’

‘Is this true?’ I shoot a look at Giles remembering what he said about how Piers will probably always keep things from me health-wise.

He nods and doesn’t go bright red. OK, Piers must be telling the truth.

‘I’ve got one further check-up when we get back from our honeymoon and then we should be good to fly home,’ Piers continues.

I smile at that. New York has been fun, and it’s been different spending the summer here – even under the circumstances – but I can’t wait to get back to London and start making things happen with the business. This has felt like a weird holiday in a way, but it’s a holiday that should have been over a fair few weeks ago. 

‘Amazing! Is Rhonda still with Mum and Dad?’ I ask Giles as Annabelle whizzes past, still riding her T-rex. I have a feeling she’s pretending it’s BoJo.

Mum and Dad have taken Rhonda shopping because the airline lost her suitcase. Thankfully they’ve not mentioned any plans to meet up with the ghastly Frank and Alice, or suggested inviting them to the wedding. The thought of those two at my wedding, in our
wedding photos
... I shudder.

I’ve barely spent any time with Rhonda since she arrived with Giles, Annabelle and Zlata yesterday, but she seems nice enough. Annabelle, surprisingly, seems to adore her.

Rhonda’s a petite brunette with a pixie haircut and thick black glasses. She was wearing a short, purple-and-grey, geometric print wrap dress when I first met her yesterday – and she still is since her luggage is lost. She looked far too trendy for Giles who was wearing his standard red trousers, blue-and-cream checked shirt with his old tweed Harris jacket. OK, he may have slimmed down but she’s not managed to change his fashion sense. Good luck to her – I’ve been trying for years!

It’s weird to think if things go well between them that she’ll be Mrs Bramley, too. I kind of hope that doesn’t happen for a while as I’d quite enjoy being the only one for a good few years.

‘How about the rings? All sorted?’ I ask.

Piers laughs. ‘Everything is in hand, Pony. Now, how about we go and get a milkshake? I don’t know about you, but I’m roasting.’

Annabelle’s shriek of glee upon hearing the word milkshake drowns out my next question, but that’s OK. A salted caramel ’shake would really hit the spot right now.