Tangled Lives (34 page)
‘I’m so relieved she wrote,’ she said.
‘Me too. It was a proper apology.’
‘And at least Ed’s over her,’ Annie added. ‘I was worried
he’d soldier on, making the best of it and being thoroughly miserable.’
Richard laughed. ‘God, it’s not easy being a parent, is it? Watching them make mistakes you can’t do anything about.’
‘No … you just want them all to be perfectly happy, every minute of every day, forever and ever,’ Annie heard the wistfulness in her voice, but she felt at least the family had achieved a resolution of sorts. There was still a note of fragility in the reunion between her and Richard, between her and Ed, between her and her elder son. But it was, nonetheless, a reunion.
Ed lay alone in bed that night, and felt like shit. Part of him was relieved it was done, relieved that Emma had finally stepped up to the plate and apologised to his mother. Part of him was still shocked by her manipulation of him and everyone else. Most of him just missed her like hell. He’d seen the relief on his mother’s face when he told her he wasn’t in love with Emma any more, but that wasn’t quite the truth. The thought that she was gone, that he’d never make love to her again, never watch her beautiful face as she slept, never feel that swell of pride in just being with her …
He got up and went through to the sitting room to retrieve his mobile from the table. He punched in Marsha’s number.
‘It’s me.’ He kept his voice low.
‘I know,’ Marsha replied. She sounded half asleep.
‘Listen … just seen Mum and Dad. Gave them Emms’s apology card.’
‘How did Mum take it?’
‘She was good. Yeah … sort of calmer than I thought she’d be.’ He paused. ‘That’s not really why I rang, Mash. I … I wanted to say how sorry I am … for doubting you.’
He heard a tired sigh.
‘It’s OK. I know why you did. But thanks anyway.’
‘I should have trusted you.’
‘It doesn’t matter now, Ed. You did what you thought was right at the time. None of us were sure of anything.’
‘I miss her.’
‘I think she misses you too.’
He felt a sharp pain in his gut as the fact that she was gone hit him again. ‘Is she there now?’
‘No, she’s staying at her mum’s for a bit. We thought we both needed a break.’
‘I suppose we all make mistakes,’ he said. ‘The whole family’s been overheated by this Daniel thing. Perhaps she was just acting out for the rest of us.’
‘Don’t go all psychobabble on me, Eddie,’ he heard his sister laugh. ‘But maybe you’re right. It’s not such a daft idea.’
Annie rang Daniel the next morning. He took her call at once.
‘How was your trip south?’
‘Good … it was good,’ she told him.
‘We’ve had a fantastic review in
Time Out
for the play. It’s only short, but the guy clearly loved it. Gillen’s over the moon.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘I’m over the moon.’
‘You both deserve it. Send me the link and I’ll have a read.’ She was almost reluctant to bring up the subject of Emma, it seemed like old news. But he would want to be told.
‘Scary,’ he said when she’d finished. ‘But she’s young, Annie. I hope you’ll forgive her.’
‘Not that young.’ She was aware of the edge in her voice and took a deep breath. ‘But yes … yes, of course I’ll forgive her. I already have, I suppose. I’m just not sure I want to spend too much time with her. She makes me nervous.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Makes
you
nervous!’
‘Anyway, I wanted to let you know.’
‘Sure … it’s a massive relief that none of you will have any doubts about me on that score any more. Please give my best to the others …’
As she put the phone down, she felt a tide of relief flood through her body.
EPILOGUE
‘Hurry up, Annie!’ Richard called up the stairs. ‘We’re going to be late.’ She took a final look at herself in the long mirror: the fitted, knee-length black dress, heavy amber necklace, black satin pumps, and decided she didn’t look too bad. She patted her hair, sprayed a short burst of perfume at her neck and wrists and grabbed her evening bag from the bed. It was December and her birthday, but Richard had begged her to come with him to an important client dinner. ‘We can do the birthday at the weekend,’ he’d told her.
Annie didn’t mind. She had always dreaded the social pressure from the big, lavish birthday parties of her childhood. The only thing she remembered loving was the raspberry jellies in waxed paper cases.
‘What are they like … these clients?’ she asked Richard, as the taxi made its way south across London.
‘Oh, you know. Ken Turnbull’s an old-school entrepreneur. He lives to build up companies and sell them on.
Rich as Croesus, of course. David, his partner, is younger and a bit on the shady side – shirt’s too shiny, tan looks fake.’
‘Should be a barrel of laughs,’ she commented.
‘Ken drinks too much,’ Richard added, ‘and never stops talking about himself. You just have to hang on his every word.’
‘At least we’re going to the Rib Room,’ she said. ‘Good choice.’
‘Not mine.’
She left her coat with the girl at the reception desk, and was ushered by the maître d’ ahead of Richard to their table. She had thought, when Richard had said the Rib Room, that it would remind her too much of her mother. She hadn’t been here since her mother’s birthday. But she found herself silently greeting the restaurant like a long-lost friend; it was good to be back.
Then she saw them.
‘Mum!’ Marsha leapt up from the long table and hugged her mother, laughing with pleasure. ‘Happy Birthday!’
Lucy, recently back from Africa and tanned and thin from her months at the orphanage, followed suit. Then Ed, wrapping his mother in a long, insistent embrace. And it was then that she noticed Marjory Best, resplendent in emerald green, Jamie grinning broadly in his sharp Tommy Hilfiger suit, and sitting between her two friends, Daniel.
She closed her eyes momentarily, to push back the tears. In the months since the summer, she had seen Daniel
whenever he was down from Edinburgh. He’d been round to the house too – sometimes with Gillen – and the rest of the family were gradually beginning to relax with him. She knew that her three would never be as close to him as they were to each other. And she’d also accepted that
she
felt differently about Daniel to the way she felt about the others. No less strongly, but in a different way. She knew that when she’d first met Daniel again she’d unconsciously tried to make up for the lost years, and it seemed to the rest of the family that she loved him
more
than she loved them. But none of that mattered now; she was lucky, it had worked out for them all.
It had been much easier with the family since Emma and Ed had broken up. Marsha was still in touch with Emma, but their meetings were awkward, Marsha said. Emma had stayed at her mother’s house and Marsha now had a new flatmate. Annie knew it would take time to rebuild their friendship.
‘I … I can’t believe this!’ She turned to her husband, who was grinning from ear to ear, his cheeks pink with excitement. ‘Ken Turnbull? David with the shiny shirt and the dodgy tan?’
Richard shrugged happily. ‘I did know a Ken Turnbull once. He was a drunk too.’
She moved to kiss the others, then was told firmly by Marsha to sit down. In front of her place was a pile of presents and cards. She felt completely overwhelmed. Nothing had prepared her for the experiences she had
gone through in the last year, but she realised in that moment that she was happier than she had ever been. She had survived, and so had her family, warts and all … her family that now, however tentatively, included Daniel as a welcome guest.
‘Here’s to my mother,’ she said, raising her glass of champagne and realising, finally, that with all she had, she no longer cared to be angry with Eleanor Westbury.
After the second course there was a pause. Annie was a little drunk by now, but it was as much from an overload of pleasure as from the champagne. Richard whispered to Marsha, Lucy winked, Ed waved to the maître d’. And suddenly the lights of the restaurant dimmed a little, and Annie saw Jodie and Carol, dressed in their best, walking slowly towards the table, carrying between them a large cake glowing fiercely with scores of candles. The cake was in the shape of a huge rose. Pink and melting, the sugar petals glistened temptingly in the candle-flames.
Faintly, as if from another room, Annie was aware of voices singing an enthusiastic ‘Happy Birthday’. But she was far away, her eyes resting in turn on the people round the table, all there specifically in her honour: her three dear children; the woman who had shown her what mothering was really about; her best friend; her loving husband; the two capable women she worked with … and Daniel, the beautiful son she had thought she would never see again.
She realised as she watched them that they had all, in
their separate ways, taught her something vital. It was that she, Annie Delancey, despite her mother’s lifelong efforts, wasn’t perfect. She could never be; it was pointless to try. But they loved her anyway, as she loved them. She pressed the knife through the soft crunch of the pink sugar petals, her eyes closed tight as a child, and wished she would always remember that.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Tangled Lives
would not be the book it is without the generous help and support of the following people: Jane Wood, Robyn Karney, Katie Gordon and the whole team at Quercus, Laura Morris, Don Boyd, Clare Boyd, Kate Boyd, Jane Bow, Barbara Roddam, Shelley Borkum, Judie Sandeman-Allen, Paul Hallam, Jonathan David, Carmen Wheatley and Suzie Ladbrooke. Thank you all very much.
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