Wish Upon a Star (47 page)

But in time, as she thought about it, she realized that marriage and children didn’t keep you safe from being left alone, unconscious on the floor. Mrs. Venables’s husband had died two decades ago and Nigel, her only child, was obviously not infallible. But what son was? Fred was somewhere in Germany and after his hitch in the Army, who knew? Fred going back and living near their mother in Tottenville seemed unlikely.

By four in the morning, the hour of the wolf, Claire’s thoughts had become almost unbearable. All of the fun, laughter, wisdom and humanity of Mrs. Venables might have been wiped out forever in the cloudy moments before her fall. She might never hear another word from Mrs. Venables’s mouth. And what would Claire do now? Without being selfish—at least she hoped she wasn’t being selfish—she realized that she might have no job and, aside from the money left from her first class ticket, no financial resources. How would she get another job? And if she did, how could she manage to be paid when she wasn’t even supposed to be working in England without the correct visa? Even if Mrs. Patel offered to take her back, she couldn’t make enough to live on and, anyway, she wouldn’t take the job away from Maudie.

The birds in the garden had begun to twitter and the window was just beginning to lighten before Claire fell asleep. When she woke it was nearly ten and she heard Imogen moving about in the living room, chatting on the phone in an even cheerier than usual voice. Claire rubbed her eyes, went to the bureau and looked at her face. She was very pale, except for her bloodshot and puffy eyes. Looking away from the mirror she saw the beautiful vase and the wonderful box that sat next to it. In the light of day, things—except for her—didn’t look as bad. She had already begun to collect adventures and friends. A small pile of books, the places she’d been to, the people she’d met, these gifts all represented the more authentic life that she had lived in the last few months than she had been living for the previous decade.

Perhaps it was the case for her as for Mrs. Venables and Toby and Mrs. Patel; one collected experiences—both good and bad. As long as they were real, as long as your heart was involved, you used your life in a way that enriched you and meant you were never truly alone. You were filled with the experiences and the love you had collected and exchanged over the years. Claire used that thought to comfort herself when she pictured poor Mrs. Venables, stuck in hospital almost unconscious. Perhaps when she was lying there she could remember all of the wonderful things she had done with her husband, all of the places she had seen, all of the little bits of china, and the paintings and the furniture that they had lovingly collected. Perhaps she remembered raising Nigel, the fun she had had with him as a toddler and a young schoolboy, and the pride she must have felt in him as he grew.

Claire shrugged herself into her dressing gown, wiped at her eyes and emerged from her room into the kitchen. Imogen was just putting the phone down. ‘Hello,’ she said in that distinctive intonation that she, Toby and all their friends used. ‘So, you finally learned to sleep in?’ Claire nodded and decided not to begin with a long recitation of yesterday’s trouble. Imogen, no doubt, was getting ready for work and already late. ‘Have you heard the news?’ Imogen asked.

Claire nodded, confused. Of course she had heard the news. She’d asked Toby to call Imogen with it.

‘Coffee?’ Imogen asked and waved toward the pot. Claire shook her head. She’d actually come to prefer tea. ‘Toby told you, huh? I should have known he couldn’t keep his cake-hole shut. He loves a wedding, that boy.’

‘A wedding?’ Claire asked, and then realized they had been talking at cross purposes. Imogen must—as usual—be talking about herself and that meant that she and Malcolm had finally…‘Have you and Malcolm set a date?’

‘We’re getting married in two months. Can you believe it? He’s been transferred to Hong Kong—just for a year, but still—and, well you can imagine. My mother is in complete raptures, but hasn’t any idea how she’ll get the wedding breakfast pulled together in time. Malcolm’s mother, of course, is disappointed.’ Imogen sniffed, then smiled again. ‘But of course his father adores me. And she’ll come around in time, especially once I give her a grandchild.’

Claire filled the kettle and plugged it in. She knew she should feel delighted for Imogen, though the good news seemed completely separate and boxed away from Mrs. Venables’s illness. ‘Well, congratulations,’ Claire said and gave Imogen a hug. ‘Malcolm adores you and I know you’ll be absolutely beautiful as a bride.’

Imogen hugged her back. ‘You will be a bridesmaid, won’t you?’

Claire was truly touched. She knew that she was not really a part of Imogen’s world, but this gesture was unexpected and very, very kind. ‘I’d love to,’ Claire told her. ‘I’ll have to start knitting you something extraordinary as a wedding gift.’

‘Oh, would you?’ Imogen asked. ‘Once I have my color schemes worked out could I tell you what I’ve decided?’ Claire nodded and smiled. That was Imogen. She had probably planned on a bedspread before she even told Claire her news. ‘Of course, we’re going to move. Malcolm’s father owns a few houses in St John’s Wood. Two have been divided into flats but one is still untouched and, as luck would have it, their tenants’ lease will run out next year. Malcolm pointed out to his father it would make a perfect new home and we’d pay for the refurbishment.’

Claire looked around the flat. ‘So you’ll be leaving,’ she said, realizing the implication this had for her all at once.

‘Well, of course I’ll go with Malcolm to Hong Kong after the wedding. We’ll probably honeymoon in Bali first. And then, after I come back, we’ll do up the house.’ She stopped. A tiny line appeared between her brows but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came. ‘Don’t worry,’ she assured Claire. ‘You can stay here. I’ll put a word in with my uncle.’

The kettle began to boil and Claire took down her cup and saucer. They rattled as she carried them to the kettle—she was so upset, her hands were actually shaking. There was no way she could afford the rent on the entire flat, even though Imogen had told her she had a good deal. It must be a thousand pounds a month—way beyond anything Claire could afford. And anyone who could pay that much wouldn’t want a roommate. Claire, her back to Imogen, tried to fill her cup but spilled the boiling water on the saucer and counter. She put the kettle down, much harder than she had meant to and got control of her face if not her feelings. She turned back to Imogen. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s a very kind offer. And I’m very happy for you. It all sounds so exciting.’

Imogen nodded then looked at the time. ‘Oh my god. I’m going to be dreadfully late. I’ll have to give notice at work, too. Do you mind if I use the bathroom first?’

Claire shook her head. Of course she didn’t mind. It was Imogen’s flat. It always had been and now that it wasn’t, it would not be Claire’s either. While Imogen bathed, Claire managed to mop up her saucer and get her cup of tea into her room. Well, it wouldn’t be her room for long. The news about Toby had been a blow, Mrs. Venables’s illness had been far worse, but, added to those, the news about losing this room, this little home, seemed insupportable. She felt tears rising in her already-painful eyes.

Her vision blurred, but the airline ticket taped to her mirror somehow stayed in focus. Nice. She was supposed to leave on Saturday. The last thing she wanted to do was take a holiday and she certainly couldn’t leave Mrs. Venables now. It would be such a waste though, to have to go back to Tottenville without ever seeing France.

For it seemed she would have to go back. Otherwise she’d have to start again from scratch and she wasn’t sure she had the heart to do it. Some people were lucky, and each step they took made their lives richer and more stable. But it seemed that, for her, life was like climbing on shale, and at any point the hill beneath her feet would slide and she’d be left back at the bottom where she began.

Imogen shouted her goodbyes and Claire, finishing her tea, showered and dressed. She had to return the keys to Mr. Jackson at the estate agent’s and she’d better check the store, empty the till and put up a notice in the window before she locked up. Once again, Claire felt tears rise. She would do all of that and then go back to the hospital.

Even if Nigel were there, it wouldn’t deter her from visiting Mrs. Venables. She took some extra money from her drawer to buy flowers and was on her way out when she noticed an envelope taped to the outside of her door. For a moment she thought it might be Imogen’s wedding invitation, but surely she hadn’t been that quick to get them in the mail. Once her eyes cleared she saw that it was mailed from the US and that it was her mother’s handwriting. Oh, no. Not again.

Claire carefully removed the white square. She tore open the envelope and took out two pages that were bent in quarters inside.

Dear Claire
,

I hope everything is well and that you’re having a swinging time in London. Things back here are not quite so swinging. Jerry and I have broken up. I never met a man who was so selfish. I did everything for him. And even when we went out I usually paid for drinks and dinner. Can you believe that when I asked him to help out with the bills he told me he ‘couldn’t manage it’. When 1 think of all the presents that I gave him, and the meals that I cooked for him. Do you know that I did his laundry? I went to confession with Father Frank and was able to take communion for the first time since Jerry moved in. It’s a real comfort
.

The letter went on for a few more paragraphs with a long list of complaints. But it was the last part of the second page that Claire reread wincing.

So, anyway, I told him to forget about it. But I didn’t think that he would just pack up and leave. I thought he’d stop being so goddamned cheap. Instead, he moved in with that blond slut who works down at Tiny’s Tavern. Like I care? She might be twenty years younger, but she’s at least thirty pounds heavier. And we’ll see how long it takes before she gets tired of paying his expenses out of her tip money
.

Anyway, I miss my daughter. I wrote to Fred and he sent me a check, but I’d love to have you back home. It could be like a dormitory, or a sorority house. You know, Jerry wanted to turn your and Fred’s rooms into an apartment but I would never let him. After all, the two of you are my children and you always have a home with me
.

So, if you’re ready to stop swinging, I hope you’ll come back soon. I ran into Tina, and she says there’s a woman at Crayden Smithers who’s some kind of big shot and really likes you. You could probably get your old job back. So write me back real soon and let me know when you’re coming home. It’s been a real long vacation, and I hope it’s been nice for you. But everyone here in Tottenville misses you
.

Love
,

Your mother

Claire uttered a silent prayer that she wouldn’t have to return to the home that was ‘always there for her’. She hoped that, even without the benefit of Father Frank, her prayer would be heard. It was hard for Claire to accept that just five days ago everything was looking up for her. She had gone full circle—all she had to do now was go back to New York.

Claire went to the hospital every day trying to be cheerful for Mrs. Venables while suffering with her own worries about dealing with her gloomy future. She sat with Mrs. Venables, often holding her hand. Sometimes she read to her. Other times she knitted and talked to her about her life in Tottenville, her grandmother, her father and his harping on the past glories of the Bilsop family. She fed her lunch and dinner because she thought that Mrs. Venables might be embarrassed at being spoon-fed by a stranger.

After the first two days, Mrs. Venables started trying to talk, but the noises she made were not clear. Yet Claire thought she was speaking. She tried to listen as carefully as she could and after a few more days she could distinguish some words—drink, cold, Nigel, doctor, and her own name.

When Nigel appeared, usually after five, Claire left. One night she had dinner with Toby and Thomas, who seemed a little less hostile to her. Another night she went to dinner with Imogen, Malcolm and Edward who apparently hadn’t been deterred by her complete lack of interest in him. The thought did cross her mind that Edward was pleasant enough, far from poor, and would probably make a devoted husband. She could live in England and perhaps even open a knitting shop or buy Mrs. Venables’s business. But each time she looked at his flushed pink face she knew she couldn’t possibly.

One afternoon, instead of just greeting her with a stiff nod of his head, and a brief exchange of factual information, Nigel asked her to stay and talk in the lounge. ‘I think I shall have to find an invalid home or sheltered housing for my mother,’ he told her. ‘She is improving but the doctor says that she might not regain much use of her left side. She certainly can’t live alone.’

Claire felt upset, but she tried to keep her voice calm. ‘Nigel, she would hate that. Surely you can find someone to stay with her in her flat.’

‘Fine. And I imagine that “somebody” ought to be you. Is that what you’re planning? And how would she manage the stairs? And the bathroom?’

This time Claire’s face went as pale as his usually was. She actually felt dizzy. ‘You are insulting,’ she said. ‘And surely the flat can be adapted.’ She knew he had a point there. ‘Have you found a buyer for the building? Is that it?’

‘Certainly not,’ Nigel said. ‘This is only about my mother’s well-being.’

‘Well, if that’s true, then find her some nurses and put in a stair lift. I’m not equipped to take care of her. In fact, I—I might be returning to the States.’ She walked past him and down the hall to Mrs. Venables’s ward. Somehow, telling her ‘plans’ aloud to Nigel had made them into plans. She supposed she’d have to begin to pack up and use whatever funds she had left for a one-way economy ticket home.

She went in and sat at Mrs. Venables’s bedside. As soon as she did, the older woman opened her eyes. Claire had noticed that the left one had stopped its wild wandering and tonight Mrs. Venables seemed to focus both of them on her. ‘Hello, Claire, dear,’ Mrs. Venables said. And while her voice was a little blurry, it was clear enough for not only Claire herself to understand, but also Nigel, who was now standing in the doorway.