Written in the Stars (17 page)

‘It’s not forever. A year, maybe two.’

‘B-but I thought you were settled here, you said you wanted to start trying for a family?’

‘Well, I’m learning that, sometimes, plans have to . . . change. Not everything is as straightforward as you think. Life takes a different direction when you least expect it.’ She glances away. ‘Look, Bea, the truth is in Adam’s absence George has promoted Jay to Group Managing Director in charge of overseeing the buy-out of a New York agency so Hudson & Grey can expand out there. It’s a great opportunity for him and I have to support him right now . . . after all, one day he might be the main breadwinner.

‘It doesn’t have to, though, does it? I mean, you like the life you have!’ I say vehemently. ‘What about everything you have here, your career, your family, your friends . . .’ I trail off without adding what I really want to say:
What about me
? ‘What if . . . what if you hate New York? Your life has never had unexpected surprises or turns and that’s good.’

She looks up at me. ‘Is it?’ she smiles. ‘Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been so busy planning my life that I don’t actually have time to live it. And New York’s the most exciting city in the world.’ Milly gets up, walks over and puts her arm around me. I lean my head against her shoulder, trying not to cry.

‘Exciting is overrated. What if you can’t get another job and you’re completely unfulfilled and miserable?’ I’m clutching at straws and we both know it.

‘Aren’t you Little Miss Positive!’ she teases. “I’ve already spoken to the other partners and it makes sense for me to transfer to our New York office and oversee the business out there. I’m just waiting for my visa to be approved. It’s an adventure, Bea. Sometimes change is good. You should know that better than anyone . . .’ She gives me a squeeze. ‘It won’t be forever, I promise. Besides, you said yourself that you want to stand on your own two feet.’

‘I do.’ Those words again. ‘I’ll – I’ll just miss you.’

‘I’m sorry, Bea. I know it’s bad timing. I feel awful . . .’

‘Hey, stop worrying about me,’ I say shakily, getting up and clearing our plates so she can’t see that I’m struggling to hold it together. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.’ She doesn’t need to answer for me to know that she doesn’t believe me, and neither do I. ‘And if you think about it,’ I joke, as I walk towards the dishwasher, ‘it’s indirectly my fault that you’re going. You might not have moved there if I had married Adam. He’d be doing that job, not Jay!’

She strides across the kitchen, takes the plates from my hands and stares meaningfully at me.

‘You know what I think, Bea? I think sometimes things happen that are completely out of our control . . . you can’t do anything about it and no matter what you might have done differently, it might just have happened anyway.’

I wish I could believe that was true.

‘I got a job today!’ I say, wanting to change the subject, lift the mood. ‘So I’ve decided I’m going to move out.’

‘Oh no.’ She shakes her head. ‘Not on my watch.’

‘You don’t have to watch, remember?’ I point out. ‘You’ll be in New York.’ I swallow back the lump in my throat. Last time Milly left me to go to university I fell apart. What if it happens again?

‘Exactly! I’ll be in New York so you can flat-sit for us!’ I gaze at her in disbelief and she stares at me from under her fringe like Cleopatra. ‘Honestly, Bea, it would actually be really helping us out. We don’t want to get strangers in, or get a letting agent to manage it, and we need to keep some sort of London base in case Jay or I need to come back for meetings. You’ll be doing us a favour, keeping it occupied while we’re gone. I’ve been planning on redecorating, smartening it up again so I can sell it at some point, buy somewhere bigger . . . and I thought perhaps you could help in return for living here rent-free? You know, spruce up the rooms with some paint over the next few months, and carry on doing the garden for me? It’s already looking so much better, and it’s going to be such a selling point. I’d be so grateful.’

Milly glances down and I know then that it’s because she doesn’t want me to know that she’s trying to help me out. Part of me feels like I should say no out of principle. I mean I’m
meant
to be trying to be independent but I also know that what Milly is giving me here is a chance to make my new life everything I want it to be. Everything I’ve never felt I deserved.

And I
am
tempted. It means I can stay in Greenwich, work at the flower shop and save to go back to university. Once again, I feel like I’ve been given a second chance. How many people can say they get that? Elliot never had the chance to start over – thanks to me.

‘Thank you,’ I say to Milly as I hug her, forcing back my tears.

She squeezes me tightly. ‘Like I said, you’ll be doing me a favour. I’ll miss you though, Bea. You have no idea how much.’

‘Me too, Mills,’ I reply. ‘Me too.’

July

Dear Bea

As I write this; our garden is awash with vibrant colour and delicate scents. By the back door the flowers of the morning glory with their distinctive heart-shaped leaves and sky-blue petals come into full bloom in the early morning. The sunflowers we planted together in the veg patch turn their shining, golden heads to follow the path of their namesake throughout the day. And, of course, your favourites, the blooming honeysuckle and sweet-smelling jasmine, cascade down the side of the house. Ever since your mum told you that fairies love to sip honeysuckle nectar you pluck some every day after school and put it out for them on your doll’s tea set in the little dell at the bottom of the garden. Then you sit amongst the foxgloves, phlox and hollyhocks, your little tanned, grazed legs crossed, freckled nose scrunched up in concentration, as you wait for these magical beings to appear.

But while your thoughts may sometimes be away with the fairies this month, don’t forget to focus on the here and now. Sit outside, absorb the peace and stillness of the garden at the end of a busy day and there you will find new life blossoming before you. But beware the summer storm. When it happens (which it surely will) don’t be afraid to go and dance in the rain.

Love, Dad x

Chapter 24

Bea Hudson is off to the in-laws for a Post-Honeymoon Luncheon (yes, that’s its official title).

‘Ad?’ I call from our hallway, anxiously examining my appearance in the mirror and picking up my keys from the Danish console table. ‘Are you ready yet? We don’t want to be late.’

‘Just a minute!’ he calls back from the bedroom.

‘OK! But don’t be any longer,’ I trill.

I’m trying not to get annoyed because we are still very much in the honeymoon period and I’m determined to prove to everyone, including myself, that we are going to have a blissfully happy marriage. And it
has
been perfect so far. Adam’s surprised me several times by leaving work at a reasonable time, bringing home my favourite flowers – Cosmos, of course – and taking me on picnic dates. And I’ve cooked proper grown-up meals and served them on our fairy-lit roof terrace, where the scent of lavender and marjoram and honeysuckle accompanies our meals. Then we’ve lain in the hammock till late, drinking, laughing and talking under a canopy of sparkling stars and glittering lights from the city. I know being married shouldn’t feel any different, but it does somehow. I feel like before, we were just two cut stems that had been put in the same glass vase. Now we are like plants that have been buried together so deep in the soil that they have become entwined at the roots.

So even though Ad only started getting ready ten minutes ago because he’d been caught up with a work call (on a Sunday) I didn’t complain. And no doubt he will appear in minutes looking effortlessly sleek and handsome. Whereas I’ve spent two hours trying to make myself look acceptable and am now feeling like I need another shower thanks to this heat. It’s not his fault that the thought of visiting his parents gets me so stressed.

I glance longingly out of the window. I wish we could be outside on a beautiful summer’s day like this. Anything but spending an hour in the car in order to get to Adam’s parents’ Berkshire residence in time for our ‘Luncheon’. And yes, it may be two months since we got back from Paris, but as George and Marion never tire of telling us, this is the first time they’ve been available. They are always busy, too busy for their only son, as far as I can tell. The only bright side of today is that, as bridesmaid and best man, Milly and Jay are also coming. I want to believe this is for our benefit, but I’m pretty sure it’s because George knows that, with Adam and Jay both there, he can sneakily turn a family event into an unofficial work meeting.

I check my watch anxiously, wondering whether to call Adam again. Not in a nagging way, just a tiny little reminder that we need to, you know, go. Like, now. Marion is incredibly fastidious about appearance and style, not to mention manners and attitude. She takes pride in telling anyone who will listen that she has never dressed inappropriately, been late for an appointment, or left anything unattended. She is a minute-by-minute box ticker. She defines people as either go-getters – such as Adam’s ex, Eliza – or ‘wait-for-iters’, such as me. It’s never bothered me before but that was when she was just my boyfriend’s mum. But now she’s my
mother-in-law
and I realise she is going to be around
for the rest of my life
so I’m determined to find a way for us to get along.

I think I’ve started off pretty well too. I mean, I have a proper job now, and I’ve learned what not to say and do in her presence. From now on I will be the epitome of class and grace. I will still be me, but I will be a new and improved version. A more together, more grown-up, more go-getting Bea. More of a
Hudson
. Cool, calm, collected and . . . on time.

‘ADAAAAAM!’ I screech up the stairs. ‘Come ON – we’re going to be late!’ I pause and clear my throat. ‘Please?’

That isn’t nagging. It isn’t.

‘OK, OK!’ he laughs as he strides out of the bedroom and down the corridor as smart and cool as ever. He grabs his keys and wallet before giving me a kiss and then steps back to look at me.

‘Wow. You look . . . different,’ he says, raising a dark eyebrow, his mouth twitching at the corner.

‘Is it too much?’ I tilt my head and anxiously glance in the mirror at the floral pencil skirt I’m wearing with a white puff-sleeved silk blouse, a statement necklace and heels. I’m wearing my long hair up in a chignon – and I’m carrying one of the many horrible Stepford Wife designer handbags Marion has handed down to me over the years.

‘No, it’s nice!’ Adam says, kissing my neck. ‘Just not very . . . you. You know I prefer you in jeans and a T-shirt.’ He starts untucking my blouse and I tap his hand away.

‘It’s for Marion’s benefit though, not yours.’ I smooth my hair in the mirror and try to ignore Adam’s advances. ‘I want to prove to her that I can be a perfect wife.’

‘I’m pretty sure her idea of a perfect wife is very different from mine,’ Adam murmurs, slipping his arms around my waist and then sliding them up and over my body.

‘Control yourself,’ I chastise playfully, batting his lips away and twizzling around. ‘Or I’ll be in trouble with Marion.’

‘Just forget about my mum for now, you’ve been saying we haven’t seen enough of each other recently . . .’ Adam breathes. ‘How about we do something about that right now . . .’ And he unpeels my fingers from my bag, drops it on the floor and leads me back upstairs.

Two hours later, with slightly messier hair than I intended, we drive through the imposing electronic gates and up the enormously long driveway before pulling up in front of Adam’s parents’ Georgian mansion.

Milly and Jay’s classic racing-green convertible Mini is here already and there are several other cars parked in the drive – which does not mean there are a lot of guests, by the way – George buys classic cars like most people buy new clothes.

Just then the front door swings open and Marion stands there in a wrap dress that somehow strikes the casual-chic balance that my outfit does not.

‘
Finally!
’ she says emphatically and throws her arms around Adam whilst I, sweating profusely, extricate the orchid I bought for her from the back seat and proffer it with a smile. Marion looks at me from over Adam’s shoulder.

‘My, my, you have got all dressed up for just a laid-back family Sunday lunch. Aren’t you a little . . . hot?’ She doesn’t wait for me to answer, she simply turns to Adam and raises a thin, arched brow. ‘You didn’t tell her what I said, did you? That was just meant to be between you and me . . .’

‘Mu-um,’ he chides and shoots an apologetic look at me before she shoos him inside. He looks back at me from the hallway to check I’m OK and I nod. He blows me a kiss and heads towards the lounge where he knows George will be watching the cricket. Adam is always eager to spend as much time with his dad as he can in situations where he feels like a son, not an employee. It doesn’t happen often.

I smile at Marion like a dutiful daughter-in-law, waiting to be embraced or at least made to feel welcome. Instead, she stands in the drive and appraises me, as if she’s still considering whether to let me in or not.

‘An orchid,’ she says at last, finally taking the flower from my hand. ‘How delightful! Is it from Tesco’s?’

Tesco’s? Surely she knows me well enough to realise I’m not likely to buy my flowers from a supermarket? I try hard to keep the smile on my face as I follow her into the vast chequered hallway, click-clacking self-consciously in my heels. Even though I’ve been here many times, I find myself examining the place again, like a tourist visiting a stately home. All over the walls and up the stairs are posters of the many famous ad campaigns George has run, as well as certificates of industry awards he’s won and honours he’s been given, and photographs of big social events he and Marion have gone to. I glance again over the photos of him receiving his knighthood from the Queen and his Ambassadorship of British Business. Every time I’ve been here it has astonished me that there isn’t a single photo of Adam. I think of Loni’s photos of Cal and me, in every room and hallway of her cottage almost like wallpaper. There are even a couple of photos of Dad – because she didn’t want us to ever feel that we weren’t allowed to think, or talk about him. And she didn’t want us to forget what he looked like. But this home feels like an extension of George’s office. I think of Adam’s – I mean our – flat, the bare functional furniture, scarce photos and imposing ‘work corner’ that takes up a large portion of the lounge with a giant Mac screen almost as big as the flatscreen on the wall, the shelves full of books on brands and business – and no literature or fiction whatsoever. At times he seems so different from George, and then . . .