With a tentative shrug, she says, ‘I had a good chat with Gemma. Well, when I say good, she’s still being hounded by Ryan.’
‘We’ll need to watch her carefully. She says she doesn’t want him back again but he’s creeping into her life by stealth.’
‘They always do,’ Jen replies sadly.
Her anxiety creeps into my bones and I resist gnawing on the acrylic nail I stroke across my lip. ‘Is it possible someone’s doing that to us?’
Jen’s eyes widen. ‘Lewis?’ she asks.
‘I can’t help wonder if the put-down calls on Monday were from him. It seems a coincidence for it to happen on the same day we received the solicitor’s letter.’
‘He wants to intimidate us,’ she agrees.
‘He can want all he likes. If I get any nuisance calls on my shift tonight, I will be polite and professional and I’ll send a note to the others asking that they do the same. We do not quake in fear from dead air at the end of a phone.’
‘No, we don’t.’
The determination in Jen’s voice is a contradiction to the fear in her eyes and I look away before we both lose our nerve. Across the office, Geoff remains absorbed in the designs we’ll need to resubmit to the planners. I can’t imagine him turning his back on his life’s work. He thrives on the glory when our designs are brought to life, but I know my husband: he didn’t mention retirement on a whim. The subject hasn’t been dropped, and one way or another, I will have to follow the advice I gave Jen and consider my own future.
The foundation isn’t the only legacy of Meg’s that I’m struggling to keep alive. She loved her family and there was a time, before Lewis, when Meg would have done anything for me and Geoff. She went to great lengths to keep our marriage together and in spite of the horrific odds of parents breaking up after the loss of a child, we kept going after she’d died. We had to, for our business and the staff, for our sanity, and for Meg most of all.
‘I’ve finally built up the courage to watch Meg’s videos, or at least the earlier ones that remind me of what mattered to us all back then,’ I say. I tip my head towards the window: the red brick and Portland stone striped hotel on the opposite corner of the Strand was once the White Star Line offices. There’s a bride and groom out on the balcony, surrounded by guests. ‘Remember our twentieth wedding anniversary?’
‘I helped Meg organise the party.’
Jen’s smile chases away our fears and reminds me how good it is to have her around to share happier memories. Our lives had been peppered with simple moments that I didn’t appreciate at the time, but I do now as I think back to the day my caring and thoughtful daughter decided to patch up her parents’ failing marriage.
‘How many guests were at your wedding, Mum?’ she’d asked as she came tumbling downstairs with Jen in tow.
I was in the sitting room leafing through a community newsletter that advertised all kinds of night school classes. I’d found it that morning on the kitchen counter and I was fairly certain it hadn’t been Geoff who had turned the corner of the page for ballroom dancing. The summer holidays were drawing to a close, Sean was all set to go to uni and, as Meg kept reminding me, she was old enough to look after herself. Geoff and I needed new challenges.
‘We only hired a small function room,’ I said. ‘So not many.’
‘But you would have liked a bigger party?’
‘We were busy building up the business at the time and we didn’t need the expense. What mattered back then was exchanging vows and committing ourselves to each other. Isn’t that right, Geoff?’ I added through gritted teeth, pausing until he peeked over the top of his newspaper.
‘What was that?’ he asked as if he hadn’t been listening.
‘Mum was saying how she missed out on a big party and we should have one for your anniversary.’
I was about to correct my daughter but she was pulling Jen into the centre of the room so they could present their plans.
‘We’ve been looking at hotels and Thornton Hall looks nice and has a room for a hundred guests, which would be a good number and not that expensive. You said you liked the DJ at Melanie’s wedding and Jen can get the number off her, can’t you, Jen?’ Meg asked, looking to her cousin for confirmation that Jen’s older sister would provide the necessary information.
Jen nodded. ‘But Meg doesn’t want the same buffet.’
‘No one likes curled-up sandwiches,’ my daughter continued. ‘But this hotel does barbeques.’
The sun had been streaming through the window, adding streaks of gold to Meg’s dark blonde hair. She had been so sure of herself, as if the future were hers to command.
‘A barbeque? In November, Megan?’
She had beamed a smile at her father. ‘OK, fair enough, we’ll go for a hot buffet instead. So how big a budget can we have?’
If it had been left to me, the budget would have been zero but when Meg asked her father for something, Geoff delivered. The party had been an extravagant event and, as an extra surprise, our children had booked us into the honeymoon suite so we could stay over. Meg had wanted to make us happy but when I’d looked at the video footage, I was reminded how little enjoyment she had taken from the occasion.
She had been dropping hints for weeks about Jen moving in with us after Sean moved out. I wouldn’t have minded, Jen was no trouble and our spare room was practically hers anyway. Geoff didn’t seem to care either way but it was Eve who put her foot down. Meg had hoped to ply her aunt with drink at the party to get her to agree but Eve wouldn’t hear of it.
Meg was distraught but she wasn’t the only one struggling to get into the party mood that night. Our marriage wasn’t in a state worth celebrating back then, no matter how hard Meg tried to pretend it was. She didn’t know the exact details of her father’s affair with a barmaid at the golf club but she knew how close he’d come to destroying the family and the business.
Jen had known about the affair too, but if that’s what she remembers as we watch the wedding party through the window, she doesn’t let it show. ‘Whatever happens,’ she says, ‘I’ll keep fighting as long as you want me to. Meg wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Whatever happens? Jen makes it sound as if we’re going into battle. Perhaps we do have a fight on our hands, I think to myself as I watch an unexpected gust tug at the bride’s veil and pull it free. It floats away, out of reach of grasping hands. Not everything can be saved.
Jen
It’s half past eight in the morning and although there are some early shoppers out and about, few have ventured to the upper level of Liverpool One where the shopping mall gives way to green space. It’s mostly restaurants up here and I suspect that the people I can see crossing Chavasse Park are bracing themselves for a gruelling weekend shift.
Keeping
