‘Yeah. Just now. He was amazing—obviously. He understands. He’s not stupid.’
‘And what does your perfectly faithful husband say about all this?’ There’s a flinty tone in Mum’s voice. She may be dying, but this woman can rise to a challenge better than anyone, and Jackson lost her full respect a long time ago.
‘He was outraged on my behalf. Obviously, he didn’t, for a second, suspect there was anything in the reports.’
Mum’s quiet for a moment, her eyes closed. She says without opening them, ‘Do you love him?’
‘Noah?’Noah. The only person in the world who can make me feel as though everything is wonderful. In his arms, I’m safe. I’mme, and I’m loved for being precisely that. ‘Yes. I love him. He’s so different from Jackson—I’m so different when I’m with him. I know we’re still in the honeymoon phase, but it’s effortless.Waseffortless.’
‘And do you think he loves you?’
‘He does. He told me he does, but I didn’t say it back. I told him I wasn’t in a position to say it, even though I wanted to.’
Ally has her hand pressed to her heart as if it’s breaking.She and Mum exchange a look. I know that look. It’s theirHonor is being ridiculouslook.
‘Are you sure this is the way you want to go, Duck Face?’ Ally asks. ‘Doubling up on your commitment to Jackson. It’s a bit of a fork in the road, this moment, isn’t it?’
I stare at her. A fork in the road. Exactly how life felt when Noah lay down next to me on that daybed only a few weeks ago. I made the decision to let him into my life right in that moment, with no real thought of the consequences. And it seems I’ve made a split-second decision once again. I called Mara and told her to deny, deny, deny, because I was on the back foot and the idea of doing anything else was terrifying.
I’ve always been the sensible one, the one who keeps my head down and works hard and reaps the rewards. Everything in my life has been fastidiously planned and ruthlessly executed—until Noah came along.
Jackson and I have always had a huge, ambitious strategy for the heights our family could reach, and for that reason, I’ve kept my precious, fledgling relationship with Noah safely away from all that. Or tried to, in any case.
And I haven’t allowed myself for a second to wonder whether Noah presents a viable alternative future to the James-Chapman juggernaut. Nothing good comes from entertaining thoughts like that, because however hard I’ve fallen for Noah, everything else I value in my life has come from my union with Jackson.
I poke my finger through a laser-cut hole in my dress. ‘If last night was a fork in the road, then I definitely wasn’t ready for it.’
‘Did you even think about not denying it?’ It’s Ally again.
‘No.No. That wasn’t the plan. Noah and I were supposed to be a bit of fun. Jackson and I have worked so bloody hard for this, and we’re so close to signing Burberry. God! Look at how much I’ve sacrificed for that man and for our familyand our business! I’ve done everything I was supposed to! I’m not throwing it all away now.’
‘Just remember, darling.’ There’s a touch of her old imperiousness in Mum’s voice. ‘You are not the Queen. You’ve always had such a strong sense of duty, and I know how hard you work, but your duty has limits. No one’s asking you to sacrifice your own happiness for the greater good.’
It’s meant kindly, but it’s a blow, because walking away from Noah is the biggest sacrifice I’ve ever made, and no one seems to appreciate it. Not Mum. Not Ally. Not Jackson. Jackson has no idea. He thinks the sum of my sacrifices is looking the other way whenever he strays. But I’ve just given up the person I want most in the world, without wavering for even a second, and I’m supposed to throw myself back into my marriage with no thanks and no pats on the back.
And instead of bollocking me for having an affair, or praising me for being strong to end it, Mum and Ally seem to think I’m misguided, too. It’s bloody infuriating. But I won’t be shirty with Mum, as I would have countless times in the past, because she has days or weeks to live, and nothing is worth ruining the time we have left together. Not Jackson. Not Noah.
So I paste a humble look on my face and pat Mum’s leg through the bedclothes. ‘Understood, Mum. I fancy a change of subject, do you? Do you want to do some funeral planning? I’m quite keen to hide out here for a while longer.’
Far from being morbid, the planning of Mum’s funeral has been a cause of great excitement, for Mum at least. The enthusiasm she’s been showing freaked me out to the extent that I brought it up with Noah.
‘It’s a good thing,’ he told me. ‘It means your mum’s not in denial about what’s coming. And this gives her a sense of empowerment—she gets to participate in what should be a celebration of her life.’
‘Yes, let’s. Water, please,’ Mum croaks.
I cradle her head the way the nurses here have shown me, and lift her high enough to take a few sips of water through a straw. She weighs so little now that it requires almost no effort on my part.
We’ve previously agreed that she will be cremated quietly with just the family present. So the funeral we’re planning is really a memorial service. Mum has latched onto the prospect of a glamorous party in her honour with great glee.
‘I want the Montague,’ she whispers now. ‘Honor, will you speak to Miles? I want it in one of those charming rooms he has overlooking Knightsbridge.’
‘Consider it done.’ I reach into my bag and pull out a notebook. The Montague is Mum’s favourite London hotel, an old Grande Dame near Hyde Park. It’s now run by the Montague family’s eldest son, Miles. He’s a good friend of mine and he’ll do us proud.
We talk a while about dress code (Mum wants full-on cocktail wear which most guests attending a memorial will probably baulk at, but whatever), which of Mum’s favourite drinks to serve on arrival (champagne, as Mum’s preference of vodka martinis will have everyone hammered before they can sayRIP), and what poems should be read (Mum would be happy if we read out every Mary Oliver poem ever written).
And then the conversation turns to memories, and as Ally and I flank Mum’s bedside and recount our favourite and most hilarious and weirdest memories from our childhood, and as I watch the occasional tear float down Mum’s temple, I’m grateful for this moment in time where Mum is alive and the circus beyond the walls of this building can wait a little longer.
CHAPTER 32
