Written in the Stars (15 page)

‘Oh?’ Milly replies distractedly; she’s staring at her phone, reading emails and scanning the headlines. Milly has always been incredibly driven. She says it’s partly to do with her parents who are both doctors, partly to do with her Indian heritage and partly because she knew being successful was the only way to get out of Norfolk – and she’d wanted to do that from the first day I met her. She said she felt like an outsider there, like it wasn’t her world.

‘I’m going in today to tell Nick to take me off the books at Eagle’s.’ I look at Milly but she hasn’t glanced up from her phone. ‘I’m going to quit temping.’ Again, nothing. Her silence is making me nervous. ‘I know it’s not the sensible thing to do, Milly,’ I add quickly before she can say it, ‘I’m not a complete idiot . . . it just feels like my only option, you know? I mean, like you said, if I don’t work out what is going to make me happy then I’ve thrown everything away for nothing! And I can’t do that whilst I’m temping.’

She opens her mouth but I continue jabbering, desperate to get my point across.

‘I’ve thought about everything you’re about to say to me, Mills, honestly I have. And believe me, I haven’t made the decision lightly. I know that it isn’t the best time when I haven’t got anywhere to live and I’ve just walked away from a seven-year relationship but I just think it’s now or never and—’

‘Bea, ENOUGH!’ Milly holds her hand up. ‘Can I say what I actually think? Please?’

I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing for a telling-off.

‘Three words for you: Bloody Brilliant Idea!’

‘Really?’ I’m shocked. ‘But don’t you think I’m being irresponsible and completely . . . Aren’t I taking a ridiculous risk?’ These are things I would have bet money on Milly saying.

‘Yes, of course you are!’ she replies, slipping her arm round me and resting her head against mine. ‘But if you want your life to change so desperately it’s the only option. It’s something you should have done a long time ago. Maybe then you would have seen that Adam wasn’t the problem in your life – but your lack of career, your lack of self-worth is.’ She leans over the unit and gives me a maternal kiss on the cheek, stealing a bit of toast as she does so. And with that, she throws her bag over her shoulder and walks out.

As the door of Eagle Recruitment swings shut behind me I look back one last time at the architecturally uninspiring building that has been the centre of my so-called ‘career’ for the last seven years. I’ve made lifelong friends in Nick and Glenda – and even Jeeves and Tim. It hasn’t been the perfect job by any stretch of the imagination, but it has been safe and comfortable.

I see my old colleagues gazing through the window, watching me as I walk away, and I turn quickly when I realise I’m about to cry. I swipe my fingers across my eyes and give myself a firm talking to as I walk along the river, my own bag thrown over my shoulder, my head held high.

I pull out my phone and do a quick status update, feeling a thrill at the knowledge that my life is taking a different direction. It’s strange, because I don’t feel scared, more invigorated, like I’m finally ready to take a risk.

Bea Bishop is so excited to be making the leap at last!!!!!

I carry on walking. Milly’s is only a couple of miles from South Quays. I go over the bridge and through the shiny locale of Canary Wharf and West India Docks, past the Chinese floating restaurant and Millwall Football Club before taking the sloping, white-tiled foot tunnel under the Thames to Greenwich. I walk past the market – quiet on a weekday afternoon – and up the hill by Greenwich Park. Cal calls me on the way having seen my Facebook update. He sounds jubilant that I seem so well and so I spend ten minutes discussing all the things I could do, laughing when Cal suggests various ridiculous jobs, from Prime Minister to air traffic controller. ‘Can you imagine,’ he teases. ‘Left – no, right? I don’t know! Oh Bea, I’m happy you’re happy,’ he says. ‘We’ve been so worried that you’ll, well, you know—’

‘I’m fine, Cal,’ I interrupt. We have an unspoken pact not to talk about my illness. Cal saw me at my worst, and I sometimes wish I could turn back time and change that. ‘I’m not that girl any more. Honestly. I’m starting a whole new life and I’m excited about it!’

We say goodbye just as I reach Milly’s road. I open the front door, walk into the lounge and over to the big bay window that looks out over the park. From here I can see an endless stretch of green, lined with ancient sweet chestnut trees and criss-crossed with paths. In the distance the grey city peers superciliously at me and at the top of the hill and I can just make out the time ball and the black cross of the compass on top of the Royal Observatory’s tower. I’ve felt drawn to it ever since I moved here. Like it is guiding me, helping me to make decisions, telling me what I should do, where I should be. As I look at it now, it seems to be saying ‘so far, so good’.

June

Dear Bea

It’s time to say goodbye to the cheerful (but often unpredictable) spring weather and welcome the glorious days of summer when, due to all the hard work you have put in during the preceding months, your well-tended garden really gathers momentum. This is the month where you must make time to stop and smell the wonderfully fragrant roses (and delphiniums, irises, honeysuckle and violas!). Rest assured that your past vigilance in pulling up old, stubborn weeds will allow beautiful new plants to develop and grow.

That said, there is lots of hard work still to be done, but it should feel like a pleasure rather than a chore on these warm summer days and evenings. Keep watering and weeding new plants, fill any gaps with summer bedding plants, remove fading blooms and remember to tie errant climbers firmly to supports or they will trail over other plants and make a mess of everything.

Take my advice and your garden is sure to grow into the perfect plot you’ve always dreamed of.

Love, Dad x

Chapter 21

Bea Bishop is spending these long summer days flat-hunting, career contemplating and soul-searching . . .

It’s a sunny Friday afternoon at the end of my first week of being unemployed. I gaze up at the forget-me-not blue sky and exhale in satisfaction. No longer cooped up in an office all day, I feel completely revitalised. It’s amazing how liberating it feels to have nothing. I may have lost my fiancé, my job and my home, but I feel like I’ve gained something else. A chance to start again, live a different life. I know how lucky I am to have this chance – and with it the support of my family and best friend. I sometimes wonder what I’ve done to deserve it.

I’ve spent most of the time happily pottering around in Milly’s garden, which she admits she’s rather neglected. ‘You know the only hedges I’m familiar with are financial ones!’ she’d said, barely glancing up from her portfolio performance reports when I queried her about it. ‘Feel free to do whatever you like out there though!’

Five blissful days pruning and dead-heading roses, tying in the clematis that had got rather out of control, forking over the borders and generally having a tidy-up. I’ve even planted some bedding plants that will flower for her by the beginning of September, giving a lovely second flush of bright technicolor to the garden – yellow sunflowers and fuchsia-pink zinnias. I’ve even popped in some cosmos. I like the idea of them flowering once I’ve moved on. It’s like I’ll be leaving behind a little piece of myself. With all this time on my hands, I can’t help wondering where I’m going to end up next. I know I can’t stay here forever, it’s not fair on Milly and Jay. But it’s strange because I just can’t picture a place of my own. Instead I keep thinking, dreaming, about going home to Norfolk. I’ve been remembering how, before Kieran left, I was at my happiest there. I swore I’d never leave, that my heart was lost to the epic skies, the pretty villages and awe-inspiring coastline, not to mention Loni’s garden. It is the place I have always felt closest to myself – and my dad.

I have a desperate urge to go back now. I keep telling myself it isn’t that I want to see Kieran, but I’ve lost count of the amount of times I’ve looked at his Facebook profile, and his message. It doesn’t help that Loni keeps pulling the umbilical cord, too.

‘Why don’t you come home for a bit?’ she says every time she calls me. Which is every day at the moment. ‘There’s nothing keeping you in London now, is there, darling?’ I haven’t wanted to offend her by replying, ‘Except my sanity.’

‘So hop on a train and come and have some quality time with me!’ she’d said last night. ‘We can go for long walks on the beach, you can go for runs, meditate, you can even type up my latest manuscript for me!’ I baulked at this. The last time I made the mistake of doing that for Loni she was writing
The Art of Finding Female Freedom in Your Forties and Fifties
. I’d been traumatised by the amount of sex in it. I’m not sure I’ve ever got over it.

‘Oh
please,
darling, it would be such a joy to have you here!’

‘I’ll think about it, Loni,’ I replied. It’s strange because whilst usually I’d make up any manner of excuse to stay away, now I find myself genuinely wanting to go home. Am I just running away again – but this time from my problems here in London? Or am I running
to
something else. Some
one
else . . .

I down gardening tools and stand up, raising my arms to the sky and then bending over to ease my back. In that moment I decide to take a walk. I could do with stretching my legs, getting out, seeing some people, otherwise all I’ll have talked to today is the flowers. And that isn’t going to convince
anyone
that I’m not on the brink of another breakdown. I know everyone is waiting for me to tip over the edge. Milly asked me this morning if I was planning on hiding myself away here forever. ‘I’m not hiding!’ I tried to reassure her. She raised a dark arched eyebrow. She knows I have a history of hibernating when times are tough. ‘I’m just . . . revitalising. It’s not like before – I promise.’ She hugged me then, holding me a moment longer than necessary. ‘I’m OK, I promise. Please stop worrying.’

‘Hey,’ she said, affronted. ‘I’ll never stop worrying. I’m your best friend, remember? And I know you better than you know yourself.’

The sun is blazing in the sky as I walk down Greenwich Church Street, past the arched entrance to the bustling market and the prettily painted shops and on towards the DLR station. I can just see the mast of the
Cutty Sark
glimmering like a beacon as the sun hits it. I feel a connection with this historical clipper, her ropes and thin rigging woven like an intricate cobweb, a cat’s cradle between the fingers of the three spiked masts that pierce the cobalt-blue sky. The mid-morning sun catches the diamond-patterned glass the hull is encased in, making it sparkle like a precious jewel. I walk around it slowly and it’s like the present is fading away and the ship is being transformed into a working cargo ship. I imagine the sails flapping majestically in the ocean breeze on her maiden voyage to Shanghai. I’m reminded of Kieran as I stand here. Is it because of the naval uniform he’s wearing in his Facebook profile picture; or is it that my subconscious knows he’s a ship that’s sailed and I should just stop thinking of him? I push him out of my mind (again) and start walking back down Church Street, so deep in thought that I don’t look up as I step into the road. I gasp as I see a bus heading straight towards me. The driver honks at me and I leap back onto the pavement, my heart pounding as an image of the sign emblazoned on the side of the bus freezes in front of my eyes.

It’s a giant advert for Greenwich University that says ‘Join us today!’ with a picture of laughing students. I whip my head round, watching the bus as it disappears around the bend. Then I feel my legs buckle and I sit down on a bench, my legs shaking uncontrollably as I hear Loni’s voice in my head:
We always get shown the right path if we wait long enough, darling.

I think of the UCAS form I filled in all those years ago, the one that had Greenwich as my first choice, until I changed my mind at the last moment and chose UEA because I didn’t feel strong enough to leave home. Milly had told me not to be silly, that I
must
move in with her, but I said no quite firmly. I think she was as surprised as I was. She said I was making a mistake, and she was right.

But now an exciting thought occurs to me. What if I can go back and do it differently now? Finish my abandoned Garden Design degree, but this time in Greenwich, where maybe I should have done it in the first place? Then I wouldn’t have met Kieran, I wouldn’t have had that crazy summer, I would have finished my degree, maybe I would still have met Adam. And maybe, just maybe, I’d have actually married him because I wouldn’t have had the same past, there wouldn’t have been a Kieran to ruin everything. Because I’m starting to think that perhaps Adam and I weren’t the problem: what happened before we met was.

I get up finally, my legs still shaking as I continue to walk, keeping my mind firmly fixed on that Garden Design course. I still have all my work zipped up in my portfolio folder at home. I could get Loni to post it to me and then send it all with my application. It’s June now, maybe I could still apply to do just the third year of the course! Get a job to tide me over in the meantime, assist a garden designer or do something connected to garden design. After all, I may not have finished my degree but I have never stopped learning. I’ve read every book, watched every TV programme, been to every garden show. And I haven’t stopped gardening either. When spring came, and after months of not leaving my room after Kieran left, I began caring for Loni’s sprawling, unloved garden. Slowly, but surely I pulled up the weeds, untangled the climbers, cleared the beds, replanting and repotting until it was beautiful again. I brought it back to life, and it did the same for me. Then I transformed Milly’s garden when I first moved in with her. And of course, the roof terrace at Adam’s flat.

Being a garden designer is the only thing I’ve ever truly known would make me happy. I just stopped
believing
that I deserved to be.