The Sweet Life (2 page)

And now there was this letter. Lydia must never have replied, because there was no further correspondence from the law firm anywhere in her papers.

Janey got up slowly – eyes red and head thumping from a headache that had been building all afternoon – and went down the hall to the poky study where the computer lived. She fired up the internet and typed in the name of the law firm.

Her skin prickled when the search results showed that the firm still existed. And not only that, it was still at the same address. She looked up the author of the letter on the firm’s website and found that he was still there too, contactable on the same number.

Janey didn’t know much about her mum’s life before she’d been, well, her mum. All she knew was that Lydia Gordon had been the pampered only child of wealthy, rather elderly parents who had turned on her when she wanted to keep her baby. The address mentioned in the letter meant nothing to Janey, although the birth date listed there was as familiar to her as her own. And Lydia’s middle name
was
‘Cromwell’, after some long-dead relative.

With a weird fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach, Janey rubbed her eyes with the back of one hand, and created a new document. She began typing ‘Dear Sir . . .’

Janey didn’t hear back for weeks. And in those weeks her life changed radically.

Their narrow old weatherboard house was up for sale; it didn’t really feel like home anymore, without her mum there. Everything that hadn’t been given away in accordance with Lydia’s wishes had been packed up and put into temporary storage. Janey had moved in with Gabs’s family, the Epsteins, while she waited for the sale to go through. Mr Epstein was helping finalise the gazillion things that have to happen after a person dies that no sixteen-year-old is supposed to know about.

Before Lydia Gordon’s illness had really taken hold, she had asked Gabs’s dad to be Janey’s legal guardian until she turned eighteen. But Janey wouldn’t be living with the Epsteins permanently. The sale of the house would mean a new apartment for Janey one day, and maybe enough money to live on until she finished school and decided what she wanted to do with her life.

Still, for Janey, it was a heartbreaking time. Though she was looking forward to having her own place some day, she knew she would give it all up in a heartbeat to have her mum back again.

She forgot all about the letter until a buff-coloured envelope arrived in the mail weeks later, headed with the name of the Sydney law firm in a very important-looking font.

It was Friday afternoon. Ness and Em were staying over at the Epsteins that weekend as well, and all four girls were looking forward to a long, lazy Saturday of shopping, eating and catching up on the hottest music and movies. They were poring over the latest copy of their favourite magazine together and nominating the must-haves of the new season, when Gabs’s mum passed through the kitchen and slid an envelope across the island bench towards Janey.

Everyone caught sight of the envelope and began talking at once.

‘Is that what I think it is?’ Emily demanded. Janey had told her friends about the mysterious letter, and how she’d just sent back a reply over three years later.

‘You could be the heiress to a fabulous fortune!’ squealed Ness. ‘And up to the eyeballs in Jimmy Choo shoes by this time next week! We could give your wardrobe a complete overhaul!’

Janey laughed as she shook her head. ‘The “family member” probably got all the loot! Though goodness knows who
that
is. Even if I do give the “necessary proof of identification”, someone’s probably just feeling guilty about the way Mum was hounded out of home. If I’m lucky, I’ll get a commemorative ashtray or something, with the family crest on it.’

‘Just open it before I die of curiosity!’ Gabs pleaded, handing Janey a letter opener.

Janey’s hands were shaking a little as she opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside. She scanned it quickly, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice. ‘More hurdles.’

She blinked, a telltale sheen in her eyes. ‘The lawyer says I need to provide a photo of my mum around the time I was born, and a recent photo of me. The “family member” is probably a suspicious old crone, three times removed, who wants to make sure I have the family nose.’

Her friends crowded around to read the brief, businesslike letter, which gave absolutely nothing away.

‘Look on the bright side,’ said Gabs. ‘We just got our school photos done and you look almost decent, for a change!’

Janey took a swipe at her friend’s head with a towel as the four girls headed to the outside spa.

A few days later, Janey posted the requested photos and put the whole thing out of her mind.

It was the last week of term and Janey and Gabs were running late for school again, having fought the usual battle with their hair straighteners.

‘There’s a letter for you,’ said Gabs as she flicked through the morning mail over her breakfast cereal. ‘Whoo-hoo! It’s got an
Italian
postmark.’

Janey frowned as she looked at the envelope. ‘Must have the wrong Jane Gordon. This letter’s from a Celia Albright at the Australian Embassy in Rome. I’ve never even left the country.’

She didn’t need to say more. Unlike her besties, Janey had never had enough money to spend on the latest cute fashion buys, let alone a holiday overseas.

She ripped open the envelope and almost choked as something slipped out of the folds of the letter and splashed into her muesli.

It was a photo.

Of Janey.

As an
older
woman.

Same freckles, same angular features, same fly-away, red-gold wavy shoulder-length hair.

Janey and her mum shared the same distinctive colouring, but while Lydia had been a stunning beauty, the woman in the photo, whoever she was, was only vaguely pretty, like Janey.

‘What on earth?!’ Janey exclaimed, holding up the photo to show Gabs’s family, who were all standing around the kitchen eating their breakfast as fast as their stomachs could stand it.

‘Is that you?’ said Gabs, wrinkling her nose. ‘Because if it is, it must be some kind of joke. You look about forty!’

‘What does the letter say, Janey?’ asked Mrs Epstein cautiously.

‘Yeah, read it!’ Gabs’s younger brother added through a mouthful of toast.

Janey unfolded the closely typed, single-page letter and began to read out loud.

Dear Jane. Or may I call you Janey?
No doubt you are as surprised by the enclosed photo of me as I was on receiving the photo of you.

‘This is making no sense at all,’ Janey muttered, studying the woman’s photo again.

‘Keep reading,’ Mr Epstein urged. Everyone was so intrigued they’d stopped eating and forgotten all about the time.

I’m devastated that this finds you too late for me to have met your mother, Lydia. I don’t quite know what to feel. Delighted to have found you at last, but angry? sad? bitter? to have missed out on meeting the Gordons’ lost daughter. Because, you see, I was one too. And would happily have stayed that way, until your grandparents used a private investigator to track me down when they realised exactly how stubborn your mother was, and that she was never coming back.

Janey grinned mistily and continued reading.

Your grandparents were proud and difficult people. They refused to acknowledge their mistakes. But like you, I was a mistake, if you don’t mind me calling you that. I was their mistake, twelve years before Lydia was born and while your grandfather was still married to someone else.

Janey gasped as the implications sank in. ‘Those old hypocrites!’ she said, taking a steadying breath.

They couldn’t find her, but they found me. And they left me all their money, did you know that? Because they had no one left to give it to.

Astonished, Gabs and Janey stared at each other for a moment before Janey read on.

I should very much like to get to know you and would like to invite you to spend your upcoming school holidays with me in Rome. My daughter, Freddy (Federica), is almost your age and would love to meet her new cousin. All my details are below, and a call to the Department of Foreign Affairs should establish my credentials to your guardian’s satisfaction.

Janey looked quickly across the table at Mr Epstein. He nodded. ‘Shouldn’t be too hard to prove if this Celia Albright is the genuine article.’

What a mess this all is, but ultimately a happy one. Call me on the number below? I’ll arrange everything, of course.

Yours in anticipation, your aunt (!),

Celia Albright.

Everybody was silent for a long moment before Janey said tearfully, ‘Mum would’ve loved a trip to Rome. Rome! Imagine that.’ It seemed as faraway and exotic as the moon.

‘Do you think she knew?’ Gabs asked, handing Janey a tissue. ‘About Celia, and all that?’

Janey shook her head. ‘I doubt it. But it wouldn’t have changed anything. She would never have agreed to give me away, like my grandmother must have given Celia away. Like, like . . . a parcel. Isn’t it funny how things turn out?’

‘Right,’ Mr Epstein interrupted, ‘the sooner I get you lot off my hands, the sooner I can start making some calls on Janey’s behalf. We ’ve got a Roman holiday to organise, girls.’

‘Wait till you tell the others!’ said Gabs as she and Janey scraped their chairs back and headed for the door.

Fellini

Janey Gordon was one of those girls who everyone just
liked
.

She wasn’t particularly good at sport, or one of the beautiful crowd, or even the slightest bit musical, but she was just
nice
. After spending time with Janey Gordon, most people felt better about life, the universe and everything. She had a gentle way of listening and talking things through that made a whole lot of sense. So when word got around Selbourne High that Janey was looking down the barrel of an all-expenses-paid trip to Rome, everyone was genuinely happy for her, especially after the year she’d had. All year, people had discreetly looked the other way when the strain of her mum’s illness had caused her to have the occasional minor meltdown.

Within a few hours, Gabs’s dad had verified Celia Albright’s identity and position as Second Secretary at the Australian Embassy in Rome. Arrangements were made for Janey to make her first ever overseas trip, fully paid for by her new aunt. Mr Epstein had also told Janey that she’d have a debit card linked to the modest sum of money her mum had left her. He lectured her about sticking to a budget and not blowing the entire amount on a two-week holiday. Janey’s eyes had filled as she nodded, knowing how hard her mum had worked to save that money.