‘A tyre has gone,’ shouts Henry, ‘pull over onto the hard shoulder.’
Luckily, we are near the hard shoulder and it’s not far for Nigella to crawl to. We jump out and I groan at the sight of her saggy front tyre. ‘Damn it,’ I snap.
Henry takes out his phone. ‘I’ve never changed a tyre. Are you with a breakdown firm?’
I climb inside the passenger side and pull down the compartment. Once I have found Aunt Polly’s insurance details, I see that she’s part of the AA. While Henry calls his mum, I call the AA.
Dark clouds are scurrying across the sky, and the sun has gone into hiding. It’s cold being on the side of the motorway and it’s not long before I am shivering. To make matters worse I can feel spots of rain.
Henry looks in the boot and finds an old travel blanket plus the black cap I bought Aunt Polly which she didn’t like. He hands them to me. ‘Put the blanket around your shoulders and stick the cap on.’
We stand by Nigella as cars and lorries thunder past.
‘My nan’s better,’ he says, reading a text from his mum. ‘She’s having a cup of tea and flirting with doctor.’
Relief floods through me.
‘Who were you going to see in London?’ he asks. ‘You said something about seeing a friend.’
‘Oh… Oliver. He was my flatmate, but he’s moved back to London.’ I gaze into the distance at the winding stretch of motorway.
‘Was he the bestselling author?’
‘Yes,’ I murmur. Instinctively I take a few steps and turning away from Henry. Nigella having a flat tyre is a sign, I tell myself. I was not meant to go see Oliver. We’re over. A wave of emotion crashes over me.
44
Henry and I parted ways once the breakdown van towed Nigella home and back to a garage. He said he was going to go catch a later train. I sense something had changed between us as he looked sad and crestfallen. We said goodbye and he said we would catch up again soon.
Nigella’s tyre has been fixed and she’s back to her usual difficult self. Every time I go swimming, she stalls and the other day she tried to strangle me with the seatbelt outside the supermarket.
I miss Oliver terribly, but I know life must go on. Swimming every day has been a godsend, and it’s now over a week since he left. Miranda has been on cloud nine, as her new younger boyfriend (forty-two) thinks she’s amazing at fifty-five. I am halfway through Mum’s journal, which is full of funny diary entries about Dad and me. There’s been no mention of my curse, and I am starting to doubt whether she even had it.
Eva has been a godsend. She’s been over several times, clutching a plastic bag containing two bottles of wine, a box of tissues and a massive box of chocolates. We’ve had a few lengthy emotional evenings and talking to her about Oliver has helped me a lot. She’s also agreed to move back in to help with the rent. According to her, we’re going to have some fun again, and I am looking forward to it. She is proud of me for starting something with Oliver. According to her, it was an act of bravery.
I have admitted that there are benefits of giving love a chance. With Oliver, there were lots of little pieces of joy. For the first time in my life, I also didn’t feel like the world was hostile.
It’s Sunday. I am pulling up outside Aunt Polly’s house in Tide-Leigh. Last night, she sounded sad on the phone, and I have had a sleepless night worrying about her. She opens the door, and I can see her eyes are pink and puffy. Her woollen hat is pulled down over her bald head, and she’s wearing a dark top and baggy trousers. She looks like a shadow of her former self.
I wrap my arms around her and ignore my vision. The world goes quiet as my vision shows me the tiny padlock on the bracelet. I can feel her sobbing into my chest. My eyes dart across the other photos on the wall of her hallway. A picture on the wall catches my attention. The image shows Hilary and my aunt standing, laughing into the camera. Their eyes sparkle, and Aunt Polly’s smile is stretched wide from ear to ear. It dawns on me that her extra-wide smile is something I haven’t seen on her face for quite some time. Half of me wants to ignore it, but the other half yearns to look closely. I look at the other photos while she sobs, and I see the same wide smile is reserved for Hilary. The biggest clue to Aunt Polly and Hilary’s rift has been here on her hallway wall all along. This was why she’s never taken these photos down. Love has been lingering inside these photos.
I guide her to the sofa and sit her down. ‘Nelly, I used to think I was fine without love – that I could survive being single. But I see now how much it really matters to me. Not just to survive – but to live.’
I look into her eyes, and I can see that she’s still holding on to something. ‘It’s Hilary, isn’t it?’
She’s blinking at me in surprise. ‘I still love her, Nelly. How did you know?’
I explain about the photo album, the letters in the baking drawer and the hallway photos. ‘Why haven’t you contacted her?’
‘I’m scared of what she will think of me in this state.’
I fight back a wave of tears. ‘She loves you though.’
My aunt smiles. ‘I know, but I am now a slightly mad and bald little woman.’
‘You’re still you,’ I say softly, recalling what Amber said about Ben and his choice of photo for Kate’s balloon. He saw past her bald head and her ill state and just saw Kate, who he loved.
An idea unfolds in my mind, and inwardly I groan. I know what I must do. I need to give their love a chance. In my head I can see the faces of Ben, Alice, Juliet, and Mr Ellis. I helped them to give a love a chance and now I must do the same for my aunt.
