‘Where’s Jasper?’
‘Picking up a VIP.’
The front door banged, and I heard Jasper swear.
‘You might want to give him a hand,’ said Cass.
I walked through to the living room to find Jasper trying to navigate an unwieldy wheelchair through the small, cluttered room. ‘Dad!’ I bent down and wrapped my arms around my dad’s neck.
‘There’s a reason Alberto doesn’t come round very often,’ said Jasper, heaving an armchair into the middle of the room to create a clear path to the kitchen. ‘We need a bigger house.’
‘Let me help you.’ As hard as we tried, the doorway was just too small for the wheelchair to fit through. I helped Dad to his unsteady feet, his arm wrapping around my shoulder for support as I helped him shuffle his way to the dining table. Jasper collapsed the chair, unfolding it at the table and helping Dad back in.
‘Alberto insisted on being here,’ said Jasper. Dad looked up and smiled at me, taking my hand. He pointed to the bag hanging on the back of his chair. ‘Oh yes,’ said Jasper. ‘He brought someone else with him.’ Jasper pulled out the framed photograph of my beautiful mother, causing tears to well in mine and Cass’s eyes.
‘She… w… would be… p… proud of you,’ said Dad. ‘S… so proud… of… both of… you.’
Cass joined me by our father’s side. ‘I suppose we’ve not turned out too badly in the end,’ she said.
Bertie, Jake and Emmy rushed into the room, beside themselves at the sight of their Gramps, Bertie climbing onto his lap despite my protests.
Cass pulled a lasagne from the oven, and we squashed ourselves around the small dining table in my sister’s messy kitchen. It wasn’t so long ago that I’d been sitting in this very spot bawling my eyes out as my life spiralled out of control. Now here we were, about to embark on a new chapter that felt more exciting than at any other time in my life.
Jasper raised his glass, and we all followed suit. ‘To new beginnings,’ he said.
‘To new beginnings.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
All I knew about Nicola’s flat was that it was above a shop in a run-down area of the city. I’d have happily never laid eyes on it and left Nicola and Rob undisturbed in their love nest, but given Bertie was due to spend every other weekend there, I needed to picture where he was when not with me.
The charity shop below the flat had an unloved look about it. I imagined it would smell musty and, if the window display was anything to go by, would be packed with clothes belonging to the recently deceased. The building which housed the shop, and Nicola’s flat, was a different story. A white-rendered Georgian frontage housed large, curved windows and what looked like four floors.
Beside the shop front was a small blue door. I pressed the buzzer to Flat 2, and a click signalled the door unlocking. The lobby was nothing to write home about. A threadbare blue carpet stretched up a staircase that had once been white, but which now held patches of exposed wood where many palms had worn through the paint. A battered mountain bike was chainedup against some rusting pipework, and the area smelled of a curious mix of dust and oil.
‘Up here.’
Nicola’s face leaned over the wide staircase, and I climbed slowly towards her, dubious about what I might find.
‘You found it OK?’ she said as I reached her.
‘Yes, no problem.’
Nicola was dressed in a floral maxi dress which skimmed her sandalled feet as she walked. The scooped back showed off a large tattooed vine which crept from her neck to goodness knows where. She pushed open a heavy oak door and beckoned me to follow. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, ‘I know the first impressions aren’t great, but I can’t be bothered to waste my time on the communal areas.’
‘Mum!’ Bertie sprinted down a long, bright corridor, skidding to a stop on the exposed wooden floor and flinging his arms around me. ‘This place is so cool. Nicola has said I can paint my bedroom whatever colour I want, and she says I can have a TV of my own.’
‘I said only if your mum agrees.’
‘You’ll say yes, won’t you, Mum?’
Before I had a chance to feel annoyed, Nicola placed a hand on my arm and apologised if she’d overstepped the mark.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said as Bertie grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the flat. At the end of the corridor, we entered a light-filled open plan space. As Nicola had promised, the walls were a rich forest green. The exposed floorboards and white window frames looked like something from a home décor magazine.
‘It’s handy living above a charity shop,’ said Nicola. ‘I got all my furniture from there.’
The furniture might be secondhand, but Nicola clearly had a good eye, the unusual mix of antique and modern giving off an air of cool rather than chaotic.
