“What are your plans?”
Vance and Carly exchange a look which is halfway between complicity and consolation, and it almost breaks my heart. I said almost.
“We’ll manage, somehow.”
“We’ve always made do, we have our van…”
“Excuse me, the van is not a plan!” I burst out, shocked by their statement. “Wandering in an old California is for twenty year olds. You’re sixty and you have needs, let’s not be silly. Jemma wants to know you’re safe, not lost on the moors in a 1972 van.”
“We’ll manage. Jemma doesn’t have to worry about us!”
Their statements sound irrational to me. “If not your daughter, who should worry? She wants to help you, and she can!”
“What kind of parents would we be? Asking our daughter for money because we no longer have a home? We should be the ones to take care of her, not the contrary!” Carly protests.
“Very well. I have the solution, and you won’t even have to ask Jemma for help: you will settle in Denby Hall. The manor is big enough to host a legion of people, and you will be close to your daughter.”
They look at me, puzzled. “Ashford, this is not necessary, really.”
“Yes, it is. I am the owner of the house and I’m married to Jemma, which makes this proposal more than legitimate. Jemma will be happier knowing that you’re safe and that you’re next door. I personally believe that no child should wake up every day without knowing where their parents are, or if they’re well. I won’t leave until you accept.”
“It’s not a simple decision to make,” Vance hesitates.
“Jemma won’t have to know that we met. You will stop by in Denby to greet her, as if you were just visiting. With the utmost spontaneity, I’ll invite you to settle in our private apartments, where you’ll have your privacy and tranquillity. And, between us, you will stay as long as you want,” I say, reaching out a hand towards them. “Do we have a deal?”
Vance lingers for a moment, then shakes my hand. “Cheers Ashford, we will never forget this.”
“Pack your bags. I’ll send someone to get your stuff.”
“Oh, we don’t have much left. We decided to give everything that wouldn’t fit in the van to charity.”
“Except for the records,” says Vance.
“Very well. I’ll be in Denby, waiting for you. And your records.”
39
Jemma’s Version
We’re allamicablygathered for afternoon tea.
I still don’t understand why they send tons of food from the kitchens if we can’t eat it.
Seriously! I’m standing in front of a lavishly laden table: sandwiches, canapés, tarts, pastries, cinnamon rolls, brioche bread, but no one can touch them.
I reached out for a muffin once, and Delphina almost set the dogs on me.
The food is there to be looked at as a decoration, or, as she says, in case someone important arrived.
Sure, there are so many people coming and going here at Denby, that we rival a mortuary.
Anyway, the lavish buffet doesn’t attract me, today. My stomach’s been closed since I knew my parents received the eviction notice.
The last time I heard from them on the phone, they left me saying ‘We’ll sort this, don’t worry’, but I am worried, and how.
“You’ve been stirring your tea for a good twenty minutes. Don’t you like it?” Says Ashford.
I get back from a sort of trance. “No, it’s perfect… I just…”
