Making Your Mind Up (33 page)

Two weeks after the funeral, Lottie and Barbara took the small rowing boat out into the middle of the lake. Gazing at the frost-covered hills rising up all around them, the swans floating serenely on the water, and the rooftops of Hestacombe among the trees, Barbara said, “I suppose there are worse places to end up. Although I still fancy the Eiffel Tower myself.”

“If we don't get a move on, Freddie's going to end up in a swan's stomach.” Having eased the airtight lid off the pot with a soft
phut
, Lottie saw that the swans had metaphorically pricked up their ears and abruptly altered course. Greedily imagining that it was feeding time, they were heading in a stately convoy toward the boat.

“Did I ever tell you I was scared of swans?” said Barbara.

“You big sissy. They won't hurt you.”

“I once had my arm broken by a swan.”

Lottie's stomach contracted in alarm. “
Did
you?”

“Well, no, but I know it's technically possible. Remind me again why I'm out here?”

“Because this is where Freddie wanted his ashes to be scattered.”

Barbara pulled a face. “Couldn't we have just done it from the edge of the lake?”

“In the middle's better. Then they can spread out in all directions. Right, shall we do this?” Carefully lifting the pot and tilting it with the reverence it was due, Lottie allowed the first ashes to spill out. Oh…
phh, tppph
…

“Stop!” cried Barbara. “They're going in your hair!”

“They're going in my
mouth
.” Spluttering and coughing, Lottie almost dropped the pot in her lap. A gust of wind had sent gray dusty ash flying into her eyes, up her nose, and down her throat.

“Oh God, the swans are coming… GO AWAY,” Barbara shrieked, leaping to her feet and causing the boat to rock wildly from side to side. One of the male swans, startled by her dance technique, rose up and began beating his wings. Barbara panicked and stumbled against an oarlock, knocking the oar free.

“Don't let it slip,
don't let it slip
.” Still tasting ashes and blindly rubbing her eyes, Lottie felt the pot wobble in her lap and made a grab for it.

“The bloody swans are eating Freddie's ashes!” wailed Barbara. “Oh my God, make them go away. Now they're trying to climb into the boat…
Aaarrrgh
…”

The boat overturned as neatly as a toy, tipping Barbara and Lottie, equally neatly, into the lake. The all-over blast of iciness took Lottie's breath away and caused every muscle in her body to contract in horror.

It took a few seconds to reorient herself. The water wasn't what you'd call tropical. Relieved, at least, to have had the ashes washed out of her hair and eyes, Lottie bobbed up to the surface and came face-to-face with Barbara. Barbara might be terrified of swans, but at least she could swim. And the swans had taken off; disgusted by the flurry of activity and lack of palatable food, they had retreated to the far end of the lake in high dudgeon.

Treading water, Barbara blinked and said, “Are you sure this is a heated pool?”

“I think they forgot to put fifty pence in the meter.”

“Sorry. I panicked. Poor Freddie. It wasn't supposed to happen like that.”

“He wanted the lake. He g-got the lake.” Lottie's teeth were chattering. “C-come on, race you to the beach.”

Tyler was standing there waiting for them, shaking his head. “I saw the boat tip over. I
was
going to dive in and rescue you.” Leaning forward, he reached out a warm hand and helped first Lottie then Barbara out of the water. “But basically the water was just too damn cold.”

“Wimp,” Barbara said cheerfully.

“Maybe. But you're wet and I'm dry.” His dark eyes glittered with amusement. “Oh, and here's another tip. Always best to check the direction of the wind before you start scattering ashes.”

“It's done now.” Maybe not in quite the way they'd planned, but done nevertheless. The pot containing Freddie's ashes lay at the bottom of the lake and the contents had been well and truly scattered. Lottie, shivering and dripping, said, “You know, a gentleman would give up his sweater.”

“You're joking. It's cashmere. Come on,” Tyler said good-naturedly as Lottie shook her head, attempting to shower him with water. “Let's get you two up to the house.”

Hestacombe House, not Fox Cottage. Lottie was still getting used to the idea that it was Tyler's home now. So much had changed in the space of a fortnight. A week after the funeral, when he had announced that he would be moving into Hestacombe House the following day, she had retorted indignantly, “Shouldn't you wait until it's actually yours?”

That was when Tyler had explained that it was, in fact, already his, that he had bought the house from Freddie three months ago.

Showered and changed into an oversized white toweling robe of Tyler's, Lottie made her way back downstairs. Tyler was in the kitchen making mugs of tea and eating a toasted cheese sandwich.

“Barbara's train leaves at two thirty. That means we have to leave here in”—he checked his watch—“five minutes. If you go home and change now, you might not make it back in time to say good-bye.”

“I know.” Lottie seized her mug of steaming tea and glugged it down. “I'll wait here until you've gone. If that's all right.”

“Of course it's all right.” Tyler offered her the other half of his grilled cheese sandwich. “You don't want to miss waving her off.”

Barbara was leaving, going back to London. Lottie shook her head, knowing she would miss her terribly. When the contents of Freddie's will had been relayed to them, nobody had been more touched and amazed than Barbara to learn that Freddie had bequeathed almost half his fortune to the children's hospital in Uganda where her daughter Amy had been working when she died. Barbara was now planning to travel to Uganda to visit the hospital and advise how the money might best be spent in Amy's memory.

The other half of Freddie's fortune had gone to the hospice on the outskirts of Cheltenham where Amy had helped to nurse Mary through her last months of life.

The remainder of the estate had comprised an assortment of personal bequests that had brought a lump to Lottie's throat.

For Jeff Barrowcliffe, ten thousand pounds to be spent on the motorbike of his choice, to make up for the Norton 350 Freddie had written off all those years ago.

For Giselle, ten thousand pounds to make up for everything else.

For the villagers of Hestacombe, five thousand pounds to be splurged on a rip-roaring party in the Flying Pheasant.

And for Lottie Carlyle, five thousand pounds to be spent on an even more rip-roaring family vacation in Disneyland, Paris.

Lottie's eyes filled with tears at the thought of her conversation with Freddie way back in the summer, when he had asked her where she would go if she could travel anywhere in the world. That had been the day he'd told her about his brain tumor, yet still he had remembered.

“Here.” Tyler handed her a tissue, something he'd grown accustomed to doing over the last couple weeks.

“Sorry. Being daft.” Wiping her eyes and noisily blowing her nose, Lottie forced herself to stop. “It's thinking about Disneyland, gets me every time.”

“Hey, you'll have a great time. Will Seb be going with you?”

“Maybe. I haven't even thought about dates yet.” In truth, Lottie was torn. Seb would be brilliant, would love every minute, and Ruby and Nat would adore having him there. But a part of her, ridiculously, sensed that this hadn't been Freddie's intention. Nothing had ever been said, but in a weird way she felt he would be disappointed if she went with Seb.

“Don't move. You've got something in your hair.”

Lottie stayed still while Tyler teased apart the wet ringlets in order to reach whatever she hadn't managed to wash out of her hair in the shower.

“What is it?” It was certainly taking him long enough.

“Nothing.”

“Dead leaf?”

Tyler gazed down into her eyes. “Dead beetle actually.”

“Really?”

He held up the offending creature, a glossy dark brown corpse missing a couple of legs.

“Oh well, could have been worse.” Lottie patted her hair. “Could have been a dead rat.”

Then her stomach lurched into washing-machine mode because Tyler wasn't smiling at her feeble attempt at humor: he looked as if he wanted to kiss her.

A lot.

Oo-er. Lottie gazed helplessly back, heart racing, all sensible thought wiped from her mind. Was he going to do it? Was he waiting for
her
to do it? Should she—

“Hell
oooo
? Tyler, could you be an angel and give me a hand getting these bags downstairs?” It was Barbara's voice, echoing from the landing. “Then I'm all set to go. Don't want to miss my train!”

* * *

That was it. They'd said their good-byes and Barbara was gone. Waving until the car had disappeared from view, Lottie closed the heavy front door and made her way through to the drawing room. She needed to get home and change into dry clothes, but not just yet.

The sage-green velvet sofa was piled with cushions and facing the window. Curling up on one end of it, Lottie bent her head and sniffed the toweling lapel of Tyler's robe to see if it smelled of him. Yes, it did, faintly… Oh God, had he really been about to kiss her just now, or had she imagined it? Had it been a case of wishful thinking on her part? Was she turning into a sad old bag, fantasizing that men fancied her when they didn't? And what about Seb, who definitely
did
fancy her and surely deserved better than this?

Dammit, why did life have to be so
complicated
?

* * *

“Now, what is it that this reminds me of?”

Jerking awake with a start, Lottie saw who had spoken.

“Oh yes, that's it.” Liana clicked her fingers. “
Goldilocks and the Three Bears
.”

Lottie prayed she hadn't been dribbling in her sleep. It was bad enough that the front of the toweling robe had worked loose and was gaping saucily, making it apparent that she wasn't wearing anything underneath.

“Feel free. Just make yourself at home.” Liana was smiling her usual angelic smile, but there was a faint edge to her voice. Tilting her head inquiringly to one side, she said, “And excuse me if this is impertinent, but am I allowed to ask what you're doing here, all alone in the house, wearing Tyler's robe?”

Liana had been to the hairdresser's. Her rippling hair was newly and artfully highlighted in expensive shades of amber, nutmeg, and honey. She was wearing a dove-gray polo-neck sweater, size four—if that—gray wool trousers, and a chunky silver belt draped around her teeny tiny hips. God only knew what she must be thinking. And frankly, who could blame her? As Tyler's girlfriend she had a right to be miffed. Tugging the hem of the robe over her bare legs and feeling horribly ashamed—not to mention
big—
Lottie levered herself into a sitting position.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep. Barbara's gone. Tyler's taken her to the station to catch her train.”

Liana frowned, still puzzled. “And you're waiting for him to come back?”

“No,
no
, nothing like that! Barbara and I went out in the boat to scatter Freddie's ashes.” Lottie heard herself gabbling. “But the swans started to chase us and Barbara panicked and, well, you can guess the rest. The boat went over and we fell in. Tyler insisted we came back here—well, obviously Barbara had to, because she's been living here—and we needed to shower and change into something dry. All my wet clothes are in a black trash bag in the kitchen. I'm taking them home now.” Rising hastily to her feet—her
big
,
bare
feet—Lottie discovered that her wet hair had left a huge damp patch on the green silk cushion she'd been resting against. “I really didn't mean to fall asleep; it's just that so much has happened in the last couple of weeks. I think everything just suddenly caught up with me.”

“Oh, you poor thing.” Liana's expression had changed to one of sympathy. “I'm so sorry; I knew I shouldn't have doubted you. Of course you couldn't help it. I know how it feels—I was exactly the same after Curtis died. You spend days not being able to sleep a wink, then all of a sudden it comes over you without warning and you can't help yourself, you're just completely out for the count.”

Lottie nodded, hideously aware that in the moments before she'd dozed off, she'd been fantasizing about being kissed by—

“Tyler,” said Liana. “He was the one who got me through it. He made me realize my life wasn't over.” She smiled warmly at Lottie. “And you've got Seb to help you. We're so lucky, aren't we? Look, if you want to go upstairs and sleep a bit longer, that's fine by me. I'll tell Tyler when he gets back. He'll understand.”

“No, I'm fine. I'll just shoot home and change, then get back to work. After all, that's what I'm being paid for.” Lottie, hastening toward the door in Tyler's robe, felt more ashamed of herself than ever. Was there anyone on the planet more forgiving and beautiful, more generous and guilt-inducing than Liana?

Cressida was busy putting the finishing touches to an order for wedding invitations when—talk about a coincidence!—she happened to glance out of the window and saw her ex-husband's car pulling up outside the house.

Unusual, seeing as it was ten o'clock on a Wednesday morning. Even more unusually, Robert had Sacha with him. Sensing that something was up—oh, how marvelous if they'd booked a skiing vacation and had come to ask her if she'd have Jojo for a week before Christmas—Cressida put down her hot glue gun and hurried to the front door.

Five minutes later and the happy squiggle of anticipation in her stomach had been replaced by the dull weight of dread.

“You mean…you're actually moving to
Singapore
?” Cressida wondered if she had somehow misunderstood them. “You're
all
moving to Singapore?”

“It's the most marvelous opportunity! This is what all the urgent meetings have been about, flying off to Paris at short notice, having to keep everything hush-hush!” Sacha, her eyes bright with triumph, said, “Honestly, it was like being a secret agent! Being headhunted is such a cloak-and-dagger business, you have no
idea
. Well, of course you don't have any idea, because I don't suppose much headhunting goes on in the world of handmade greetings cards! You've got glitter down the front of your sweater, by the way.” Fanatically neat and tidy herself, she indicated the incriminating area on the yellow sweater so Cressida could brush it off.

Cressida, her heart going like a punching bag in her chest, said, “But…what about Jojo?”

“She's coming with us, of course. Oh, she'll settle down in no time. Singapore's a wonderful place to live; it's got everything a child could possibly want.”

But what about me? What about what
I
want?
Unable to speak, Cressida listened to the buzzing in her ears and wondered if she was about to faint. How could Sacha and Robert whisk Jojo away from her? How could they
know
that she'd settle down in a strange country?
Jojo is pale and freckly… Her skin would burn… Oh please, this couldn't be happening.

“Well, we just thought we'd drop by and let you know the news.” Robert beamed, pleased with himself. “It's all jolly exciting stuff, isn't it? And the amount of money they'll be paying us…well, you wouldn't believe the package we've negotiated.” He gave Sacha a nudge as they both rose to leave. “Enough to make her eyes water, eh, love?”

Sacha smoothed back her hair and said smugly to Cressida, “Just goes to show how much they wanted us.”

Cressida wept unashamedly after they'd gone. Her heart felt as if it had been wrenched from her chest and stamped on. She was going to lose Jojo, and it hurt so much she didn't know how she was going to bear it. Jojo was her surrogate child. This was like losing her own baby all over again.

* * *

The doorbell rang at four o'clock. Thinking it might be Jojo, Cressida took a deep breath and checked her face in the mirror before answering it.

Jojo wasn't on the doorstep. It was Robert and Sacha back again. The sense of anticlimax caused Cressida's shoulders to sag. What did they want now?

“Right, we'll come straight to the point,” Robert announced. “One question. If Jojo wanted to stay in this country instead of coming with us to Singapore, would you be willing to become her legal guardian?”

What?
What?
“I…er…I…” stammered Cressida.

“Yes or no,” Sacha said bluntly. “That's all we need to hear. And no pressure either. It's entirely up to you.”

Yes or no? They were actually giving her the choice? Hastily, before they could change their minds and withdraw the offer, Cressida blurted out, “Yes…yes…definitely YES!”

Sacha smiled and gave a brisk nod of satisfaction. “Sure?”

“Yes…my
God…
” Beginning to tremble, Cressida was so overwhelmed she could have hugged them. OK, maybe not. “I still can't believe it. Thank you
so
much…
”

“That's excellent then. All sorted.” Robert rubbed his hands, just as he always did when concluding a successful deal. “Now as you can imagine, we're pretty much rushed off our feet right now, lots to get organized. It would help us out if you could have Jojo for the next few days while we make a start on the arrangements.”

“Where is she?” Cressida couldn't wait. “At home? Go get her now!”

Robert and Sacha left. Less than twenty minutes later Sacha returned with Jojo in the car.

“Aunt Cress!” Jojo scrambled out of the passenger seat as Cressida rushed down the front path in her slippers. “You said yes!”

Cressida, her heart bursting with love, threw her arms around Jojo. “Oh, sweetheart, of course I said yes! I'm so happy I don't know what to do with myself!”

“Right, well, I'll leave you to it.” Sacha's tone indicated that while some people might have nothing more important to do than dance around outside in their slippers, others had vital business to be getting on with.

“Bye, Mum. Thanks again.”

“Bye, darling. And good luck with the school concert.” Sacha was already busily revving the engine. “What time does it start?”

It started at seven thirty. Cressida had had it written up on her kitchen calendar for weeks. Startled by Sacha's show of interest, she said, “Will your mum be coming along to the concert?”

Both arms clasped lovingly around Cressida's waist, Jojo rolled her eyes. “What do you think? In eight years she's never been to a single one of my school concerts. I can't honestly see her starting now, can you?”

Back inside the house Cressida discovered that, unbelievably, Sacha and Robert had broken the news of their move to Singapore to Jojo last night.

“I went berserk.” Jojo related what had happened. “Well, not berserk—I'm not really the berserk type, am I?—but I told them I didn't want to go. I mean, can you really see me in Singapore? While Mum and Dad are working all hours heading up this new company? I mean, I don't mind flying out to see them during the school breaks, but I love living in England. All my friends are here. You're here. Everything's brilliant at school. I begged them to ask if I could stay with you, but they weren't sure you'd say yes. I wanted to phone you last night but they wouldn't let me. Mum said you were great as a babysitter, but actually having to take full responsibility for me might be too much to ask.”

From this, Cressida deduced that this morning's visit from Sacha and Robert had been designed to deliberately upset her, giving her the rest of the day in which to realize how much she would miss Jojo when she was gone. That way, when they turned up again in the evening and made their take-it-or-leave-it offer, she would be that much more likely to say yes.

Except they hadn't needed to do that, because she would have agreed anyway. Cressida wondered if it was possible to feel happier than this. Stroking Jojo's thin face, she said joyfully, “Oh, sweetheart, I'm glad you went berserk.”

Jojo disappeared upstairs to shower off the mud from hockey earlier, and to text all her friends to let them know her big news. Cressida, congratulating herself on having caught up with her backlog of work, efficiently finished the last of the wedding invitations and wrapped them up, ready for mailing. In the kitchen, having checked the contents of the vegetable basket, she then set about making Jojo's favorite: shepherd's pie.

Jojo came flying downstairs as she was peeling and slicing the carrots.

“What are you doing?”

“Juggling while riding a unicycle.” Cressida threw a carrot from one hand to the other, then curtsied. “What does it look like? I'm making a shepherd's pie.”

“Put the carrot down. We're not eating here. I've decided,” Jojo pronounced with an air of importance and a flourish, “to take you out to dinner to celebrate you becoming my legal guardian. My treat. Although I don't actually have my purse with me, so you'll have to lend me the money and I'll pay you back.” She shrugged. “Sorry about that, but it's the thought that counts.”

“Absolutely.” Cressida was touched by the thought. “That sounds wonderful. Where shall we go to celebrate?”

“Burger King.”

Ah.

“Lovely.” Cressida said it with good grace. As long as she and Jojo were together, what did it matter where they ate? She'd certainly rather share a plate of fries with Jojo in Burger King any day than a table at Belmond Le Manoir aux Quat'Saisons with Robert and Sacha.

“Go get changed then. No point hanging around.” Bossily Jojo whisked the carrot from her grasp. “I'm starving, aren't you?”

Cressida did as she was told and headed upstairs to change into her ball gown and tiara. OK, a clean blue fleece and jeans. She ran a brush through her hair, dabbed on some eye shadow and lipstick, and belatedly remembered to reapply her deodorant by maneuvering the roll-on stick up under her white T-shirt.

“Ready?” Jojo called up the stairs. “Come on, let's go.”

Cressida looked at her watch. It was ten past five and they were heading out to dinner. At this rate they'd be home again by six.

* * *

“No, not this turn,” Jojo instructed as they headed into Cheltenham and Cressida indicated left. “There's a new Burger King just opened. Carry straight on.”

“A new one?” Cressida obediently canceled the indicator and stayed on the main road.

“This is my surprise. It's bigger,” Jojo proudly announced, “and better. Everyone says it's brilliant.”

Cressida smiled at her enthusiasm. “Can't wait.”

Several miles further on, Cressida said, “We're coming up to the big roundabout. Which way now?”

“Hang on, wait till we get closer.” Jojo squinted through the windshield as the enormous road sign loomed up at them out of the darkness. “You have to turn right.”

“Sweetheart, that's for the motorway. Do you mean straight on?”

“No, definitely right. We just get on the motorway and off again at the next exit. Sorry.” Jojo was apologetic. “Didn't I mention that? But it'll be worth it, I promise. My friends all say it's the best Burger King
ever
.”

Just as well there was gas in the car. Taking a deep breath as she was overtaken by a huge articulated lorry, Cressida braced herself and turned onto the entrance ramp of the M5. She usually had to mentally gear herself up beforehand for motorway driving.

Once they were installed on the motorway and doing a steady (if wimpish) sixty miles an hour, Jojo took a package of gummy bears out of her bag and offered one to Cressida. “By the way, I lied about turning off at the next junction.”

“What?”

“The next junction,” Jojo repeated patiently. “We won't be turning off there.”

Cressida was bewildered. “We're not going to Burger King?”

“Oh yes. The thing is, we're going to the one in Chesterfield.”

“
What?
But that's—”

“Halfway between Newcastle and here,” Jojo said cheerfully. “Exactly halfway, in fact. That's where we're meeting Tom and Donny.”