Found (6 page)

I feel like a new woman! OK, not quite, but I do feel more like my old self. Piers is going to be so pleased to see that I’ve finally taken off those jeans and surrendered them to housekeeping. He’ll be even more surprised to learn that I barely spent anything.

I bought a pair of mid-wash faded Ralph Lauren jeans, a floaty knee-length cobalt blue skirt from Bergdorf’s, a few plain tees to wear with them, plus a long light grey cashmere cardigan for when it’s cooler – definitely wishful thinking; the air is stifling and summer in the city is in full-swing. Oh, and two new bras, a pack of knickers, some ruffled ankle socks, a pair of simple red Converse, plus some skincare products from Kiehl’s. But, that’s it. I didn’t even bother to buy any make-up. It’s easily the cheapest shopping spree I’ve ever been on in New York City, and I’m more than OK with that. I’ve been here for over a week and the world hasn’t ended because I’m not in the latest clothes or I haven’t had a facial this week. It’s refreshing really.

Grabbing the new books I bought for Piers, I leave the hotel in my floaty skirt and plain white tee. It’s only when I look down and clock my Converse that I realise I’m dressed in the colours of the American flag. Still, they’re cute colours and Piers will appreciate seeing me in something fresh.

As well as the latest Stieg Larsson book – I’m not a fan of those, but Piers loved
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo
– I’ve also bought him
The 4-Hour Work Week
which I overheard a couple raving about in the bookshop. Maybe it will inspire him – or he’ll hate the mere suggestion of its title and throw it in the bin.

I am, however, quite enjoying this simple life, though I am worried about Piers, plus I’m missing Atlas. I know Piers is, too.

As I wave goodbye to the doorman and cross the street, my phone starts to ring. I’ve put plasters on my heels so they shouldn’t rub, though I’m now thinking that sandals might have been a better footwear purchase for this weather as I squint up at the bright afternoon sun.

‘Hi Mum,’ I chirp as I exit Gramercy Square and start the very familiar walk to the hospital. ‘What’s up?’

‘You need to get on a plane immediately!’

My heart freezes, fearing that something has happened to Dad.

‘Etta has finally set a date for the funeral,’ Mum continues, and I stop short in the street in relief, which earns me a few choice swear words from the guy who was walking behind me. I move to one side to avoid the wrath of any more angry New Yorkers.

‘Arielle?’

‘When?’ I ask, pulling my attention back to Mum, my heart racing at the thought of finally saying goodbye to Felicity. I’m not sure I’m ready for this, but would I ever be?

‘It’s the day after tomorrow,’ she says apologetically.

That’s better than I thought it would be. I half expected Mum to tell me tomorrow, which would have been impossible. Knowing Etta and her disregard for anyone but herself, it doesn’t surprise me that she’s sprung a last-minute funeral on everyone.

OK, I can get a red-eye tonight or a plane first thing in the morning, depending on what’s available. I’m going to be like the walking dead, but I can be there. I can process Felicity’s death, and I can say goodbye.

‘It’s in London, so that should make it easier for you,’ Mum continues.

‘Oh, great,’ I say automatically, even though it’s not great. Let’s face it, what funeral is great – not that I’ve ever been to one.

‘Are we OK to stay at yours?’ she asks as I continue on my walk to the hospital. I pick up my pace realising that I’m not going to have much time with Piers if I catch a plane tonight.

‘Of course you are,’ I answer, ‘and you know you don’t need to ask that, but what about–’

‘Helen’s going to pop in and look after Atlas,’ Mum pre-empts.

Helen is Ob’s mum; his parents live next door to mine, though who knows for how much longer since they are planning a move to Scotland to be closer to Ob’s grandparents. Ob has been quiet about that with the baby drama, not that he’s been very vocal about the baby situation. I really need to catch up with him. Last time I heard from him, Jade was still thinking about things.

‘Fabulous. How is the little monster?’

Silence.

‘Mum?’ I say as I cross over the road. I’m going to pop into Starbucks and pick Piers up a coffee to soften the blow that I’ll be leaving him for a few days. He’s going to take it badly, not because he’s going to miss me – OK, he
will
miss me – but because he desperately wants to be allowed to travel back home.

‘She told me about Ob,’ she answers, and there’s a hint of something in her tone. Annoyance, maybe?

‘Sorry,’ I trill. ‘I’ve had a million things on my mind.’

I wonder if this means Jade has decided to keep the baby or just that Ob has finally told his parents about the situation.

‘Her first grandchild!’ she coos.

Uh-oh! Mum sounds misty-eyed. She’ll be getting ideas in her head and I do
not
want to go down that avenue at the moment. Sure, I always imagined that I’d have children before Ob, but I’m not going to get pregnant so that my mum can keep up with the Thomas’.

‘It must be nice,’ she says wistfully.

See, there it is.

‘Well,’ I begin carefully, though I suspect it comes out a little harsher than I intended. The news of the funeral has put me on edge and I’m feeling strange. I know I have to let go of Felicity, say goodbye, but I don’t feel ready. Being here in New York means I can pretend nothing bad has happened back home. OK, Piers is in hospital, granted, but being here feels like we’re on a rather strange extended holiday.

‘It’s not as if that’s for definite though,’ I continue. ‘Jade still might decide not to keep the baby, right?’

With how up and down she has been with Ob – an utter bitch toying with him – I wouldn’t trust her not to change her mind at the eleventh hour and devastate him. I may have never met her, but I sense an agenda.

‘Arielle!’

‘What!’ I snap. ‘It’s not like I’m the one having an abortion.’

That comes out a little louder than I meant it to, and half the queue in Starbucks turns around to glare at me. OK, maybe I won’t get Piers that coffee then. I slink out of the queue and continue my walk to the hospital.

‘Have a think about it,’ she prompts, and I roll my eyes. Getting pregnant so someone can be a granny is hardly a great reason to have a child.

‘Right, well I’m at the hospital now,’ I lie, ‘so I need to hang up and switch my phone off. I’ll call you once I’ve seen Piers and sorted out my flight.’

‘Oh, of course. Send Piers our love.’

Why don’t
I
get their love? Is this because I’m not popping out a baby for them? I feel irrationally angry for no reason whatsoever.

‘A-huh. Bye!’ I hang up quickly.

Irgh, what is with me? I know she didn’t mean it like that – that Piers gets sent their love and there is none for me – but that throwaway pleasantry makes me feel angrier than it should. I blame Etta for springing a funeral on everyone at the last minute. I hope Felicity’s old girls – Maude and Vera – are able to get to London. This is just like Etta. She’s so selfish.

At the thought of
her
I angrily pound my way into the hospital. When I get to Piers’ room though, he’s gone, and so are all of his things. Panicking I head back to the nurses’ station, and that’s when I spot Piers in the waiting room with a big grin on his face.

‘I’ve been discharged!’

‘Amazing!’ I grin back at him. ‘Let’s get a cab.’

After delays at the airport – no steps were available to get us off the plane – followed by an accident on the M4 that saw me stuck in a tailback, I finally make it home a lot later than expected. And I’ve either left my phone on the plane or lost it somewhere in the terminal, so I couldn’t let anyone know I’ve arrived or entertain myself by playing Puzzle Quest. I’ve had better journeys.

‘There you are!’

I dump my bag on the floor and walk across to give my parents a big hug. I’ve missed them, and it’s nice to give them a hearty squeeze; I’m terrified that whenever I hug Piers I’m going to damage him. Ridiculous, but the fear is real.

‘Don’t ask,’ I mutter, ‘though you didn’t have to stay up.’

It’s nearly eleven in the evening and Felicity’s funeral is in less than twelve hours. I feel wide awake since my body currently thinks it’s 6pm. I know I’ll fall asleep when it’s time to get up, but maybe it’s better if I sweep through the day in a robotic daze...
maybe
.

‘How are you, and how’s Piers?’ Mum launches at me, not even giving me a chance to sit down or kick off my Converse. ‘He’s phoned a few times wanting to know if we’d heard from you.’

‘I can’t find my phone,’ I explain.

It’s too late to call the airport or airline now, but I should do that sooner rather than later tomorrow.

‘I’ll call him from the landline in a minute, but he’s fine. I’m sure he said that to you?’ I don’t wait for an answer. ‘I do wish I could have stayed with him until he’s settled into a routine. I’m terrified he’ll relapse with me not there to stop him from working,’ I expand as my parents share a look with one another that I do not like.

Giving him a copy of
The 4-Hour Work Week
didn’t go down well. He’s still convinced he’ll be able to go back to working in his high-pressured financial world; then again, he’s also still adamant that Doctor Teddy and the doctors in London are all wrong and he’s fit to fly. I’ve brought his passport with me to stop him from flying home.

We’ve not spoken about Felicity’s death much – I didn’t want to remind him about his own recent brush with death – but maybe I should have: Piers doesn’t seem to grasp that his health is currently in a fragile state, that he’s not out of the woods just because he’s out of hospital.

‘Are you still at the hotel?’ Dad asks as we move to the sofas. I look for Atlas but then remember he’s in the New Forest.

‘We are,’ I groan as I pick up a cushion to squish since Atlas isn’t around for a cuddle. It doesn’t have the same comforting effect. ‘But we move the day I fly back. We tried to book an extra night but they’ve got a wedding party who booked out the entire hotel.’

I’m only in London for three days, though I originally wanted to get a flight back immediately after the funeral until Piers convinced me to stay longer. He was right. I need to pack up some things since we’ll be living in New York for a while – I want to avoid a trip back to London if I can help it.

I see Mum and Dad shoot a look at one another.
Again
.

‘What?’ I ask with a sigh, but they don’t say anything. ‘What?’ I demand. It’s unlike my ’rents to be secret squirrels like this.

‘It’s...’ Mum hesitates. Dad nods at her, reaching over to squeeze her hand reassuringly.

Please
don’t let them have bad news. I can’t cope with more bad news. I’m too tired for all of this, too emotionally drained. My cup is full. All I would like to do is crash into bed and sleep for a week but I can’t: I have to be up at the crack of dawn to head over to North London for a funeral I never imagined would happen anytime soon.

‘Are you putting your life on hold for Piers?’

What
? Where has
that
come from? As I gawp at my parents, I wonder if I have fallen asleep and this is some twisted dream – more worrying because that makes it
my
preconscious that’s suggesting this.

‘What sort of a question is that?’ I snap angrily as my brain kicks in. ‘If Dad was ill you’d drop everything to be with him.’ I glare at Mum, and then shoot an angry look at Dad for good measure. ‘Ditto for you, Dad. What’s this really about?’

I can’t believe she’s asked me that. Piers is my
fiancé
. We’re getting
married
. Of course I’m going to be with him in New York whilst he recovers.  

‘What your mother means is, shouldn’t you stay here until you’ve fully dealt with Felicity’s affairs? You’ve got a lot to sort out. You can’t ignore your responsibilities.’

‘We weren’t actual business partners,’ I remind them, ‘and there’s no longer a shop in Bournemouth. All the stock was sold at the pop-up.’

Mum and Dad shoot another look at one another. They both look tired and a lot older than I remember, more weathered. If Felicity can die before her time then the same is true of my parents I realise with a sickening pang.

‘You’re required at the reading of the will...’ Mum trails off as I stand up angrily and walk towards the window, a bubble of fear spiking in me. The view isn’t as impressive as the one from the hotel suite, even though I’m sure that any visiting Americans would swoon at the sight of the grand Georgian houses on our street. Why has Felicity included me in her will? I never wanted anything from her.

I take a deep breath and turn back around to face my parents. ‘Piers is ill,’ I state. ‘He could have died. Do you get that? We’re not in New York for some extended jolly. We’re there because he’s too ill to travel back, because he needs to recover.’

‘We know, sweetie, but–’

‘What your mum is trying to say is that you seem to be avoiding Felicity’s death. She’s gone,’ Dad softly says. ‘You need to start thinking about
your
business. You’ve got customers out there who want to buy from you, but they have no way of doing so. You should see all of your tweets!’ Dad tries to joke though I know, like Felicity, he didn’t get the whole social media thing when I first explained it to him.

They sure know how to pick their moments. Do they think I don’t know that Felicity is gone? I’m going to her funeral tomorrow:
I get it
.

As for the business side of things, who cares?
Felicity Farrell is dead
;
Piers could have died
. Who cares if some fashionista can’t buy the latest pair of skinny jeans or a vintage fedora from me.
Felicity Farrell is dead
;
Piers could have died.
I feel sick as those two thoughts swirl around my head.

There’s a time and a place for everything and, sure, maybe I could have answered my tweets, written a blog post about why I’ve gone AWOL – read one or two fewer Sookie Stackhouse books to do so – but what business is it of anyone else’s?

I appreciate my parent’s concern, but having a go at me the minute I get home when I’ve got a funeral in the morning – this is not the time to make me question my life choices. I can’t believe they thought it was.

‘Arielle?’ Mum says carefully, and I can sense her hovering just behind me.

‘I’m going to bed,’ I huff as I walk out of the room without looking back at my parents.

When I get to the safety of my bedroom I burst into hot, angry tears. That was not the welcome home I expected.

‘We’re sorry about last night,’ Dad says as I emerge from my bedroom the next morning, iPhone in hand. I found it last night in the front compartment of my handbag, thank goodness, and noted with alarm the seventeen missed calls from my parents and Piers. ‘We didn’t mean to hijack you as soon as you walked through the door, but we’ve been really worried about you. You don’t seem to be coping very well with everything.’

‘You’ve been very evasive every time we’ve spoken on the phone,’ Mum chips in, ‘and you’re looking–’ She hesitates.

‘What?’

I cannot believe this. If I thought last night’s attack was bad enough, this morning it feels even worse. Can they not let this drop, today of all days?

‘Like you’re not taking care of yourself,’ Mum finishes, nodding pointedly at my belly. I bristle at that.

With everything that’s going on, it is not surprising that I might be comfort eating a little bit.
Seriously
. The last thing I need as I’m about to go to my first funeral is my mum telling me that I’m looking fat!

Mouth-watering food and robust portion sizes are a dangerous combo in New York but, guess what: I’m healthy, I’m fit, and I’m OK. So what if my cheeks are looking a little chubbier and my tummy a little rounder? I can’t believe she’s just said that to me.

I take a deep breath, and push to one side their hideous “well-meaning” chat.

‘Can this not wait?’ I mutter, reaching for the spotty teapot and a matching cup and saucer. Only my parents would actually use our tea set; most of the time it sits in the cupboard because a mug wins over a cup – always.

‘Are you going to have some toast with that?’ Mum asks.

I nod wearily. I think I managed to get two hours of fitful sleep in the end and, even though it was lovely to be back in my own bed, it was hideous without Piers.

But, yes, of course I am going to have some toast, several slices smeared in thick delicious blueberry jam after that weight jibe. And then maybe several more for good measure.

‘We want you to think about
you
,’ Mum says kindly as I sit down and pour myself a cup of tea. I add a sugar, grab some toast from the spotty toast rack, and pick up the jam. ‘Every time I speak to you, you always talk about Piers, or Etta, or Felicity, or Obélix. We never get to hear how
you’re
doing. We’re worried, that’s all.’

Piers, maybe, but given I’ve not wanted to talk about Felicity much, and Mum knew about Ob’s situation before I did – Jade keeping the baby, that is – I’ve barely been gossiping about other people.

‘I’m fine,’ I say defiantly between mouthfuls of toast – crumbs flying down the front of my black wrap dress. ‘Look, this is my first–’ I gulp, ‘death, you know, and with Piers...’ I shrug as I force myself to swallow my mouthful of toast that now tastes like cardboard.

Mum and Dad shoot another look at one another. I want to point out that not only am I a grown-up, but they are in my house and they are being rude. I don’t want the Spanish Inquisition over breakfast; I want to eat my tea and toast in peace.

‘Today’s the best day to say goodbye to Felicity,’ Dad says. ‘She wouldn’t want you to dwell on her death. Onwards and upwards, kiddo. And as for Piers, he’s stronger than you think. Let him take care of you when you get back to New York. Focus on
you
.’

I bet this comes from whatever Piers said to my parents last night, but he’s not fine. He’s weak, and it’s going to be a slow recovery for him – no matter what he might tell my parents or Giles.

I nod weakly, taking a large swig of tea to avoid saying anything, but it tastes odd and I nearly spit it back out. I take a quick bite of my toast to mask the taste; as I do, I notice the tears glistening in Mum’s eyes. She looks tired and worried, and I realise that whilst their concern is misplaced, my parents are anxious because they care. It’s not a bad thing.

As she quickly brushes away her tears, I try and push down a feeling of nausea. Irgh, can today be over with already? Nothing is going right.