Ice Creams at Carrington’s (21 page)

I press the button again – still nothing! And then, boom! The Apple icon appears, and I’ve never felt so relieved – I’m back on. Right, I scan the easyJet website and see to my relief that it’s only an hour-long flight from Toulouse to Gatwick, the nearest airport to Mulberry-On-Sea. Perfect. I book the first available flight – Friday afternoon, not ideal; but at least I’ll be home with time to catch my breath and hopefully see Tom and Sam before the regatta launches on Saturday. Phew!

And then my phone goes berserk as it kicks into life, pinging with tweets, Facebook messages, several voicemails – I scan my missed calls list, and my heart sinks when I don’t see anything from Sam. But then lifts when I see a missed call from Tom. I call him back right away, but it goes straight to that annoying voicemail woman yet again, so I text Annie instead for an update, figuring she’ll be behind the counter at work and therefore unable to actually talk. A few seconds later, she replies.

OH NO. Sorry about your dad, hope he’s better soon. Everything OK here. NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT. See you on Friday! xoxoxo

Ah, that’s a relief. I knew I could count on Annie. I smile. Oh, there’s another text message from her.

PS, that commando man on the committee, the one who owns the TV shop is super scary, barked like a sergeant major he did when I sat in his chair by mistake. And what is wrong with that weirdo Meredith? Why does she hate Carrington’s? Honestly, I nearly thumped her at the last meeting. I didn’t of course
xoxo

Oh dear. The commando man is a bit scary, and I wonder what Meredith did to upset Annie? But she does have a very good point – Meredith is weird. And rude. She was asked to leave Carrington’s years ago; you’d think she would be over it by now … Sighing, I call Sam, but it just rings for ages and doesn’t even go to voicemail, which is very strange. Usually, her cheery, sunny voice kicks in. Maybe it’s something to do with me being in Andorra, dodgy roaming service or whatever – I push away the worm of worry, the little voice that says:
Or maybe she just doesn’t want to talk to you …

A few seconds later, Tom calls, and my heart lifts. I swipe the screen to answer the call immediately.

‘Georgie! What happened? Did you fall asleep? I didn’t bother calling last night after the meeting, in case I woke you up. I figured you’d be tired with jetlag.’ Ah, my heart soars. It’s as if my forgetting to open the envelope never happened, he’s still talking to me, and obviously just wants to forget it and move on – he’s not even mentioned it. He still loves me, of course he does; everyone fucks up now and again, and I’ll make damn sure it never happens again. ‘How was the flight home?’ he continues cheerfully.

‘Well, I’m not actually home yet, Tom.’

There’s a pause before he says, ‘But it’s Tuesday, you’re cutting it very fine for the regatta …’ And he’s right, but there was no way I wasn’t going to come straight here to see Dad – in that moment when Nancy called, it was all I could think of, I had to get to Dad, and nothing, absolutely nothing else mattered. Not the regatta. Not even Tom. My heart drops. Tom sounds disappointed and hasn’t even asked me why I’m not home yet; his first thought seems to be all about the regatta – maybe he’s not OK with me after all. ‘So, when are you coming home?’

‘Friday morning,’ I state, still deep in thought. A long silence follows.

‘What? Jesus, Georgie, what’s going on?’ There’s another silence. ‘Is everything OK?’ he eventually asks.

‘Yes, sorry, it is now!’

And I quickly bring him up to speed.

‘Oh God, I’m so sorry, Georgie. Your poor dad. Wish him a speedy recovery from me, will you?’

‘I will, thanks. And Tom, I really can’t wait to see you, I’m so sorry about ruining everything, I didn’t …’ I say, taking control and figuring it best to cut to the chase, I can’t bear this awkwardness between us.

‘Look, don’t worry about it now; you need to take care of your dad. Let’s get the regatta out of the way and then maybe we can talk. I’ve got a manic week ahead wrapping up plans for the new store, in any case. I’m going to be in meetings for much of it,’ he says, ominously.

‘Um, yes. OK.’ Hardly the response I was hoping for. ‘I’d better get back to the hospital,’ I quickly add, because, right now, I really can’t think of anything else to say.

‘Yes, probably for the best.’ And I swear his
Downton
accent just got stronger. Oh God, I hate it when he goes all formal and distant. It’s as if he’s a trillion miles away, and I don’t mean geographically.

‘I’ll call when I land,’ I say quietly.

‘Sure. If I don’t answer, then I’m in a meeting, but leave a message.’

‘Will do.’ I try to ignore the sand-trickling-though-my-fingers feeling that’s building up inside me.

‘Safe trip. And I hope it all goes well for your dad.’ And he’s gone.

I sit and stare at the scenery, drawing in the whooshing sound from the stream, the steep cobbly streets on the other side of the road, leading up to the lush, grassy green mountains. It’s so tranquil and calm, and in total contrast to how I feel inside. Just a few weeks ago, my life was perfect, but now it’s in turmoil: my best friend isn’t talking to me, my boyfriend has distanced himself after I managed to ruin my own birthday surprise, and my dad is having surgery in a foreign country. Talk about all change. Gaspard said he could see the wanderlust emanating from my soul, or whatever – and it’s true, I was hankering to do something exciting, something out of the ordinary, before I become a thirty-something, or, shudder, a forty-something, still in Mulberry, and still doing what I’ve always done: picking out clothes for other people to wear in their globetrotting lives, while I’m writing about the contents of celebrities’ handbags. I’ll be like Mrs Grace before she got her break – seventy-odd and still doing the same thing.

But the adventure wasn’t supposed to be like this … this isn’t what I wanted. Because, the way I feel right now, I’d do anything to be back in Mulberry-On-Sea, with Dad there, too, of course, fit and happy and tending the roses in his little garden just like always, instead of lying in a hospital bed in a foreign country.

And with Sam on the fifth floor in the Cupcakes At Carrington’s café sharing a cake or three – cracking up over something or another, just like before, before everything changed. And then Tom, I really need to make things right with him; move in with him immediately, if he’ll still have me. It’s true, I’ve missed him so much these last two weeks, I can’t believe I hesitated even for a second. What is there to talk about? I love him, I want to live with him, I don’t even mind where it is now, and it can be in a tent in the middle of a field for all I care. It’ll be another adventure, of a different kind, only this time one worth having. Some relationships work out; some people have long-lasting, fulfilling, trusting, happy relationships. I pause for a moment to ponder and then rapidly realise that, actually, I don’t know anyone who has that – I thought Sam and Nathan were rock solid, but now I’m not so sure. And what about Dad and Nancy? Yes, they may have known each other for decades, but they were both married to other people for much of that time, which sort of proves my point. But then when did I get so cynical? I take a deep breath. Maybe there never are any guarantees. And then again, maybe it can work for Tom and me. But I guess I’ll just have to wait and see if it’s still an option.

Then there’s the regatta – will my elements of it go to plan? Or has my luck finally run out? If recent events are anything to go by, then who knows … it could turn into an utter disaster and I’ll be throwing another pity party for one, when it’s
all my flaming fault
. Isabella is bound to think so.

*

Back to the hospital and Dad is wide-awake and sitting up in bed trying to get the portable TV to work.

‘Hello love.’ He dumps the remote control on the nightstand and squeezes my hand as I lean across the bed to kiss his cheek.

‘How are you feeling?’ I say brightly. He looks surprisingly well for someone who has just had surgery – if the hospital bed and the drip in the back of his hand were taken away and replaced with a sun lounger and a large cocktail, he wouldn’t look out of place on the deck of a cruise ship. I didn’t really notice yesterday, I was so worried; anxious about the angina and if it would scupper his chances of making it through the operation – the doctor had even said that a general anaesthetic is always risky, a little more so with Dad’s condition. But looking at him now, he seems very perky indeed – his mahogany tan is glorious and his hair a little longer and lighter than it was before he went off to ‘do Europe’. And he looks fitter, his chest and shoulders more defined.

‘Never better, but I’m gasping for a cup of tea,’ Dad says to Nancy, who is sitting on the other side of the bed with her knitting needles tap-tapping away.

‘I bet you are. I’ll go in search of a nurse or a cafeteria and leave you two together for a bit to have a chat, but don’t be overdoing it.’ Nancy smiles broadly, before putting her knitting on the end of the bed and glancing at me. I nod by way of confirmation as she pushes the door open with her left hip.

‘So what happened then, Dad?’

‘Well, it’s a bit of a blur to be honest, love. I remember we had climbed up a steep cobbled alley to get a closer look at a traditional stone-clad house – you should have seen the window boxes, sweetheart: bursting with colour, they were. Anyway, next thing I know, I’m bent over double thinking my time had come. And I can tell you, when something like this happens, it sure does put things into perspective. All the way here in the ambulance I saw my life in sharp focus: significant events, regrets – and it’s like Frank Sinatra said, “I’ve had a few …”’

‘Oh Dad, please. Don’t say that.’

‘It’s OK, sweetheart. Seems the big man up there doesn’t want me yet.’ He rolls his eyes heavenward. ‘Plenty of life left in this old dog. And even if there wasn’t, at least I did it my way.’ He winks and pats the blanket down over his waist, seemingly pleased with himself, while I try not to feel horrified.

‘Dad, I couldn’t bear it if—’

‘I know.’ He smiles kindly, crinkling his eyes at the corners. ‘But it comes to us all in time – for some far too soon, sadly.’ There’s a brief silence while we share a thought for Mum.

‘She would have been sixty this year, which reminds me; we must visit her grave soon … When you’re better, of course,’ I quickly add.

‘Definitely. As soon as I’m home, we’ll make a day of it.’ He squeezes my hand again. ‘Maybe Nancy will make one of her nice flower arrangements.’

‘I do hope so … Dad, I’m so pleased you have Nancy. She’s such a lovely, warm woman. She was devastated when she called me; she loves you very much,’ I tell him, thinking back to my inner dialogue by the stream. I so hope they stay the course. ‘And I do too, Dad – I love you very much.’ There, I’ve said it. I’ve told him. And I feel so happy. Dad’s eyes fill with tears.

‘Oh Georgie, I love you too. You mean the world to me, sweetheart, always have, from the moment you were born. It just took me a long time to really appreciate all that I had. But I can’t tell you what it means to hear you say this. When you allowed me back into your life, I was so grateful, after I had let you down so badly …’

‘It’s OK, Dad, I understand now how the chain of events unfolded. And I understand that addiction is a horrible curse. But you beat it every day. You do that, and I admire you so much for it.’ I know he’s been going to meetings since he left prison all those years ago – I went too, for a while, to understand, and I learnt that addiction never goes away, it’s there, always, secreted away as a possibility that requires a strategy, strength, and purposeful tackling every single day. And he does that. And I thank my lucky stars that I don’t have to … I’m not entirely sure I’d have the strength of character that he has.

‘For a time, gambling took over my life, but no more. Don’t get me wrong, the urge never fully goes away, but I’ve learnt over the years how to be its master, instead of letting it rule me, if that makes sense?’

‘It does, Dad, and I know it can’t be easy.’

‘It’s easier, now that I have so much going for me. Nancy. And having you back is a wonderful thing, and something I thought for a while might never happen. It must be a couple of years now … Time sure flashes by when you’re having fun,’ Dad grins.

‘Oh Dad, I’m so sorry for cutting you out like that, and for such a long time. What was I thinking? Recent events have shown me I was a fool … time is so precious.’ I think back to how I felt at the airport when Nancy called. I was devastated, scared, and instantly thought I was losing Dad. It puts everything into perspective. In the grand scheme of things, we’re only here for a short time … And the minute I get home, I’m going to make things right with Sam and Tom. Whatever it takes.

‘No you weren’t. You were young, and naïve, finding your way, and – let’s face it – you had plenty to be angry and sceptical about. I let you down. Your own father; it can’t have been easy.’

‘But it’s in the past now,’ I smile.

‘It is. And we’ve come so far, it never ceases to amaze me how wonderful life can be – happy, exhilarating and exquisite one moment, and then devastating, lonely and heartbreaking the next.’