The Secret of Happy Ever After (29 page)

‘I already see him as a small dog who thinks he’s running things,’ said Michelle.

They both looked over to Tavish’s box. He’d made himself comfortable and was peering out, awaiting customers with his ears cocked.

‘How is he today?’ asked Anna, in the same way that she’d enquire about an elderly relative. ‘How are you, Tavish?’ she added, in a gruff doggy voice. Anna’s bad Scottish accent sounded a bit like Rory.

‘He’s much better.’ Michelle turned on the coffee machine.

‘Oh, Michelle. Join in.’

‘No,’ said Michelle. ‘It’s a slippery slope. Next thing he’ll have his own page on the website . . . Don’t!’ She raised a finger as a lightbulb went on in Anna’s eyes. ‘I mean it, Anna.’

The bell jangled as they were tucking into the croissants and gossiping about Kelsey’s latest bust-up with Shannon, and a huge bouquet of pink roses, yellow freesias and cerise lilies appeared in the doorway, nearly filling it with a clash of colour.

Michelle’s stomach sank. Owen was carrying them, but she knew who they were from.

‘Owen, you are the ideal brother!’ said Anna joyfully. ‘Would you like to go round to Phil’s office right now and tell him just how much ladies love to get flowers for their birthdays?’

‘Um, I didn’t get these.’ Owen cast a nervous look between Michelle and Anna. ‘I wouldn’t
dare
. I still owe her for the phone bill. Happy birthday.’ He reached into his back pocket and handed over a packet wrapped in the basic brown paper Home Sweet Home used to roll breakables in. ‘It’s a Furminator for the dog. Stops your carpet getting so hairy.’

‘Thanks,’ said Michelle. ‘Are you saying I have a hairy carpet?’

Anna sniggered and then looked cross with herself. ‘Sorry. Too much time spent with teenagers.’

‘The flowers came to the shop first thing,’ he went on, handing them to her. ‘Gillian said they were spoiling the colour scheme in the new spring display.’

Anna turned to Michelle and raised her eyebrows. ‘From an admirer?’

‘An admirer with no sense of colour,’ said Michelle, searching through the foliage for the card, purely to stop Anna getting there first. The roses were scentless though the lilies more than made up for it with a headache-y, over-strong fragrance.

‘I bet they’re from Mr Quentin!’ Anna reached for the card, but Michelle snatched it away. ‘To say thank you for looking after Tavish. Or Rory?’

Michelle ignored Anna’s ‘innocent’ sideways glance. ‘He doesn’t know it’s my birthday. You two are the only ones who do, so kindly keep it to yourselves.’

‘Why?’ demanded Anna. ‘How will anyone know to give you presents?’

‘Our family go in for birthdays in a big way.’ Owen helped himself to a croissant. ‘You only get let off the bumps on your eightieth. Shell’s got to go down to Surrey for lunch tomorrow, have everyone give her joke presents . . .’

‘And make crap jokes about how I don’t look a day over thirty, so my brother can say, “No, you look three hundred and sixty-five days over thirty, ho ho ho . . .”’

Michelle stopped as she opened the card. In the florist’s round handwriting were the words, ‘Happy Birthday, darling. Looking forward to seeing you at your birthday lunch, lots of love from Harvey xxxxx’

A chill ran across her skin. The handwriting didn’t match the voice she could hear in her head: ‘Hello, darling’ – Harvey called everyone
darling
, part Leslie Phillips, part
EastEnders
– ‘how big a bunch can you do me for a hundred quid? Got a lady to impress here.’

‘Well?’ Anna was looking at her, her eyes bright with romance. ‘Who are they from?’

‘They’re from Harvey,’ she said flatly.

‘Well, that’s really thoughtful of him,’ said Owen. ‘He’s a good guy, Michelle. He doesn’t have to send you flowers on your birthday. But he still does.’

‘But I don’t
want
him to. I told Mum to tell him to stop,’ she said, feeling her stomach clench. One, or both of them, was ignoring her.

‘Didn’t you tell me all women loved flowers?’ Owen looked confused. ‘God, women are
impossible
.’

‘Don’t,’ snapped Michelle. ‘That’s the kind of stupid thing Harvey would say.’

‘Is it? You’re too hard on the guy,’ said Owen. ‘He’s just trying to be friends’

Michelle felt a flicker of frustration that Owen, her one ally at home, didn’t have the full story. She could tell him, but that would mean telling him a lot of other things too, and she could still barely bring herself to think about those.

He got up and took the rest of the croissant with him. Michelle thought about calling him back, but he was already out of the shop, jangling the bell behind him.

Michelle slumped in the chair, feeling her shoulders lock with tension.

‘Harvey isn’t the kind of man who “just wants to be friends”,’ she said, in answer to Anna’s confused expression. ‘He wants complete control. Maybe now I’ve made a bit of money he’s decided I’m not the stupid daddy’s girl he liked to tell me I was. Maybe he’s finally realised I’m serious about getting a divorce. It doesn’t really matter. But he won’t stop until I’m back in Kingston, and nothing I say or do will make any difference.’

‘But if you don’t want to go back?’ asked Anna. ‘Can’t you just tell him? Can’t your dad put him straight?’

People like Harvey didn’t exist in Anna’s world. Michelle shook her head, unwilling to bring him into her own new, fresh and shiny world now. Even talking about him in the shop felt like soiling the clean paint on the shelves behind her.

‘My parents like him,’ she said. ‘Everyone who doesn’t really know him likes Harvey.’

‘Did he hit you?’ Anna’s voice was nearly a whisper.

‘I sometimes wish he had,’ said Michelle.

She balled up the bag the croissants had come in and threw it precisely into the bin. The neat dispatch made her feel more in control. ‘Anna, I can honestly say that’s the best birthday treat I’ve had in years. Thank you.’

She stood up to give her friend a hug and saw that Anna – caring, sympathetic Anna – had tears in her eyes. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘don’t be like that!’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Anna hugged her hard. ‘Why didn’t you
tell
me? I thought . . .’

‘Because it’s finished. It’s in the past. I’m not going back.’ Michelle stared over her shoulder. ‘I move on from things, OK?’

‘Can you?’

‘I can,’ said Michelle. ‘I can, and I have.’

That wasn’t her problem. Her problem was that no one else in her family seemed to want her to.

Owen was only fifteen minutes late when he arrived at Swan’s Row on Saturday morning, which was a significant improvement on his usual time-keeping, but it still meant that Michelle felt behind as they hit the motorway.

‘Stop overtaking everything, Shell,’ said Owen, glancing up from his mobile as she passed another lorry. He’d been texting nearly all the way. ‘I feel like I’m in a car with Jenson Button.’

‘We’re going to be late. If we get there early, they can’t break out into a chorus of “Happy Birthday” when we walk in and make everyone stare at us.’

‘Wouldn’t you rather be late? Spend as little time with your adoring family as possible?’

‘It’s not that.’ She indicated and overtook another caravan. ‘I’ve got things to do later on. At home.’

Owen stopped texting and looked at her. ‘Mum’s worried about you, you know. She asked me if she’d done something recently to upset you, because you never call.’

That was rich, thought Michelle. Using Owen – the child she’d sent off to boarding school at ten because she’d had enough of child-rearing – to make
her
feel bad about her lack of family spirit. ‘I don’t call because I’m busy with work. If
she
was busy with work, she wouldn’t notice me not calling.’

‘She’s worried about you,’ he repeated.

‘Owen, she’s not. She’s just annoyed because she’d got my life nicely arranged, with a husband of her choice, and now it’s messy again. Give her another six months and she’ll start on you. “Owen, when are you going to get married? Owen, when will you give me grandchildren as lovely as you? Owen, have you had dinner with Jenny Lawson recently?”’

He pulled a face. ‘If I wanted to go out with Dad’s accountant’s daughter I would have done it when I had that run-in with the Inland Revenue last year.’

‘Oh ho, that’s fighting talk, Owen. Be careful, we haven’t got an accountant in the family yet.’

Owen stared out of the window and drummed his fingers against the side of the door. Then he said suddenly,‘Seriously, Shell, if she does start going on about Jennifer, can you steer her off it?’

‘Why? You’re seeing someone?’

‘Sort of.’ He corrected himself. ‘Yes. Yes, I am seeing someone.’

Michelle glanced across the car, intrigued. ‘Who? Do I know her?’

He didn’t meet her eye, but he looked unusually shy. ‘It’s very early days. I don’t want to talk about it.’

She laughed out loud at that. ‘You don’t want to talk about it? Seriously? That is a first, Owen.’

‘Yeah. Maybe.’ He fiddled with his phone and Michelle realised he’d had it in his hand for the entire journey, as if he couldn’t bear to put it in his pocket in case it rang. It must be serious, she thought. Owen’s normal tactic was ‘very hard to get’, followed by ‘impossible to get’ and a move to a different country.

‘Is she a nice girl? Would I like her?’

‘Yes,’ he said, then, unable to resist, added, ‘It’s Becca.’

In one movement Michelle swerved into a lay-by, and the car behind her hooted as it sped past. ‘What?’ she said, yanking on the handbrake and swivelling round in her seat.

Owen looked terrified. ‘What the hell was that for?’

‘Becca. You’re going out with Becca? Anna’s Becca?’

‘Yes! I thought you’d be pleased.’

Michelle shoved her hands into her hair. ‘Owen, Becca is a sweet, talented, beautiful girl. I
really
like her. I don’t want to see her heartbroken and dumped just before her hugely important exams that will decide whether she gets into the university of her dreams. Which is also the university of her parents’ dreams.’

‘I’m not going to dump her!’

‘Aren’t you? That’ll definitely be a first.’ She gave him a clear-eyed look. ‘I’m your sister, Owen. I’ve
made
those phone calls for you. I do not want to have to make one of those calls to my best friend to explain why her much-loved stepchild is weeping into her pillow and refusing to eat just before the most important exams of her life. And have you
seen
the size of Phil? You fancy that coming after you when Becca finds out on Facebook that she’s no longer in a relationship?’

‘I’m not twelve,’ scoffed Owen.

‘No, you’re not. You’re twenty-four, and she’s eighteen.
Eighteen
.’

Owen opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again.

‘Oh God. Tell me you’re not sleeping with her,’ said Michelle.

‘Michelle!’

‘Well. Are you?’

‘No,’ admitted Owen. ‘It’s not like that. You’re making out I’m some kind of serial shagger—’

‘Which you are.’

‘This is different. I wouldn’t even say we were dating yet. It’s . . . different. I really like her, I don’t want to rush it. I wouldn’t have said anything if you hadn’t asked.’ He actually looked affronted. ‘Anyway, you’re not exactly a relationship expert yourself, Michelle.’

That hit a nerve, but she tried not to let it show on her face. ‘I’m not. But Anna’s my friend, she’s got enough problems keeping things on track in that family and I really, really don’t want her life made more complicated than it already is.’

‘Are you telling me to finish it with Becca because your friend’s
busy
?’ Owen’s eyes were sarcastic, but there was something else in there too, thought Michelle. She wasn’t sure what it was.

Cars sped past inches away from them, making the car sway.

She took a deep breath. She couldn’t tell him to break it off. He wasn’t a bad lad, just a thoughtless, free-wheeling one. Two things Becca wasn’t. She might be younger than him, but in many ways she was a lot more mature.

‘No,’ she said. ‘But I’m asking you to be careful. And kind.’

‘I can do that,’ said Owen. ‘Why wouldn’t I do that?’

‘Good,’ said Michelle. She put the car back into gear. ‘Now, help me get through this nightmare of a birthday party.’

Despite her best efforts on the A3, when she pulled into the car park, Michelle could see from the array of Nightingale dealership cars parked outside that her parents, plus her brothers and their families were there, but there was no sign of Harvey’s personalised plate, which gave her a small moment of relief.

She plastered on a smile for the loud round of ‘Happy Birthday’ that rang out when she entered – making heads turn all round the gastropub – then they were shown into the family room, booked especially to accommodate all the Nightingales, including six children and their bits and pieces.

Michelle’s stress headache started soon after the menus arrived and built steadily through the endless banter about her age, Ben’s bald patch and the pauses for various nieces and nephews to demonstrate their latest party trick. She’d sat as far away from her mother as she could, between her sister-in-law, Emma, and her dad, but such was Carole’s close relationship with my ‘darling extra daughters’, as she called her daughters-in-law, that she spent the whole meal leaning down the table to offer her opinions on whatever they were discussing, and Michelle could hardly escape the sighs and glances that swung her way every time the topic of children and families came up.