Just the Way You Are (29 page)

Later that night, Mum and I had a good old catch-up whilst watching
White Christmas
, our favourite festive movie. Boring Brian had gone to his mum’s for a second Christmas dinner; she and Brian Senior had refused to come to my mum’s for the festive season.

‘So you really reunited them after fifty years?’ My job never ceased to amaze my mum.

‘Yup, they’re pretty happy together from what I hear. Her daughter phoned me the other week to tell me they’re going over to Leo’s house for Christmas Day. Also, she had some tests done to see how the chemo’s working and it seems to be doing the job.’

Mum kissed the top of my head. ‘Seems like you made a real difference to her life, Ava. Well done you. I knew I’d given birth to an amazing daughter; I put the order in beforehand!’

‘Sure you don’t want to sue for false advertising?’ I quipped.

‘Pretty sure. Hey, how’s Max getting on? Is he still at that restaurant?’

‘Yeah he’s still at Brown’s; he’s the head chef now. Gwen and I get pretty amazing discounts if we eat there, so can’t complain!’ I wanted to stop talking about him as quickly as possible. Whenever someone mentioned his name, my stomach did a little flip and I didn’t like it.

‘And has he finally admitted how mad he is about you?’

‘Oh God Mum, not you too!’ I buried my head in my hands.

‘Yes, me too! I could tell whenever he came round here that he was daft on you. So come on, has he made his move yet?’

‘Never use that phrase again and no he hasn’t, we’re just friends.’

Liar.

‘You know Ava, we never talked much about when your dad left did we?’

An imaginary knife twisted in my heart. ‘No Mum, we didn’t – but please don’t bring it up now.’

‘I know it was hard on you,’ she continued, seemingly ignoring my protests. ‘Especially when he said he didn’t want anything to do with you any more, and I was too busy getting married again to notice anything. It wasn’t your fault, Ava. I know you probably thought you weren’t enough for him or for any of the men I married afterwards, but believe me sweetheart – you’re more than enough. You’re beautiful, smart, funny and fantastic and it’s
their
loss, not yours. It’s time to give yourself a break.’

I sniffed back some tears and curled my body into my mum’s. My dad’s abandonment – the reason I was the way I was when it came to letting people in – was still hurting me nearly twenty years on. I’d expected my six stepdads to leave. By then I was used to it. However, I’d never quite got over my dad leaving.

Maybe Mum was right. Maybe it was time to let go at last.

***

New Year’s Eve was a drunken blur. Gwen, Max and I had gone to one of the trendy nightclubs in the city centre to ring in the new year and had taken full advantage of the “every drink’s £1!” promotion. Max and I were definitely back to normal as friends; we even shared a kiss at midnight. I enjoyed it way more than I wanted to let on.

I emerged from bed on January first, feeling like I wanted to pull my own skin off. However, after my chat with my mum, I’d decided to use the New Year as an excuse to finally put some long-held demons to bed. I was going to do it the best way I knew how: writing. Letters had played such a huge part in my life so far that it made sense to continue the tradition.

The first one was to my dad.

Dear Dad,

The last time I heard from you, you told me you didn’t want anything more to do with me and to this day I still don’t understand why. I’ll never truly know why you left Mum and me but I’ve recently realised that that’s OK. It doesn’t matter that you’ve missed out on nearly every major event in my life
–
winning the egg and spoon race at sports day, my first boyfriend, getting into Manchester University, my first article being published
–
because I realise now that it’s not my fault you left. All my life, I’ve blamed myself and thought it was something I did wrong or that you just didn’t love me enough. It’s only recently that I’ve managed to stop beating myself up over it; you left of your own accord, not because of me. I’ve been raised by the most wonderful woman in the world, who’s been both a mum and a dad to me, and been there for me whenever I’ve needed her. Of course, I’ve wondered about you over the years
–
where you are, what you’re doing and if you’ve got another family. I wonder if you ever think of me but judging by the fact you don’t want anything to do with me, I guess not. I’ll be honest Dad: you leaving has affected me throughout my life, far more than I’d care to admit. I’m mistrustful of people, especially men, and always believe I’m not enough for anyone. By writing this letter to you, I’m pledging to make a new start and stop you holding me back. I’m finally going to embrace the person I am, accept that people do love me and that for once, I’m enough for them. I should sign off by saying thank you for something but that seems futile since you’ve not been around since I was nine. I’ll never know if you love me or if I ever cross your mind but it doesn’t matter now. So here I am, saying goodbye to you and your memory for good.

Ava

The second was to Dave.

Dear Dave,

I hope this letter finds you well and happy. I hope you’ve found everything you were looking for when you left and that your life isn’t ‘mediocre’ any more. The day you left, my heart broke and I still don’t know if it will ever fully repair itself. During our time together, I’d started to believe that perhaps not everyone would abandon me, that maybe I could be enough to make somebody happy. You shattered that dream when you told me you felt boxed in by me, that our life together was mediocre. My belief in myself completely disappeared and I’ve spent the last year thinking that I’ll only ever disappoint the people I allow myself to get close to.

However, some letters I received recently changed all that. They made me realise that as long as I believe I’m not good enough, I never will be. Just because you weren’t happy with what we had doesn’t mean someone else won’t be. The only thing stopping me from being happy is me. So I’ve made a decision: I’m not going to let what you did hold me back any more. From now on, you’re a piece of the past that will fade with time. You leaving me won’t define who I am any more. I wish you nothing but the best, although I’m not sure you deserve it.

Ava

I sealed them in an envelope and wrote
Dad
and
Dave
on the fronts in some scrawly handwriting. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with them; there was no way of actually sending the letters to them since I didn’t know where they were. They could be living in Eccles or Timbuktu for all I knew. My shoulders slackened and I allowed myself to smile. I’d finally managed to put what had happened with my dad and Dave behind me; that would definitely help me in the future. Things might be ruined with Max and Dave and all the other men who’d come before them, but now that I’d confronted the issues holding me back, maybe it didn’t have to be that way any more. Maybe I’d meet a nice guy walking down the street one day and the rest of my life would begin from there.

A heavy weight dropped into my heart. At the moment, I wasn’t interested in any guy walking down the street; I was interested in Max. However, just like Mr Writer, he was frustratingly out of reach thanks to my own stupidity. I’d realised too late what a bitch I’d been. I’d let my own issues stop me from grasping something beautiful with a guy who was perfect for me. He’d been just as frightened of not being enough for me as I’d been with him and instead of realising that, I’d pushed him away. Surely, there was no coming back from that.

As my hangover got steadily worse, I managed to write a letter to Max, which I sealed in an envelope and hid. I had an idea for how I wanted to use it, but would have to make sure things fell into place first. It was a risky strategy but if it paid off, I could end up with everything I’d ever wanted.

Chapter 27

Maddie’s engagement party fell on a crisp January evening. A thin layer of frost covered the pavements and roads and there was a chill in the air that hinted at snow later on. I hoped there was; Maddie’s big day getting derailed by adverse weather conditions would be great to write about.

I ran my fingers through my newly curled hair one more time and checked my olive green dress wasn’t bunched up at my stomach. I knew I wouldn’t be the centre of attention, but nobody needed to see Tina the Talking Tummy today. I grabbed my bag and headed for the living room. Gwen came out of her bedroom at the same time I did, wearing an Aztec print playsuit and some black leggings.

‘Where are you off to, all dressed up?’ I asked, clipping a small white flower onto the side of my hair.

‘I’ve got a date.’ She made a big issue of checking her fingernails, clearly hoping I’d veer off-topic.

No chance.

‘Oh yeah, anyone I know?’

She blushed as she adjusted one of her feather earrings. ‘His name’s Jake Waters; he’s the barman from The Dog and Duck. We’re going to Nando’s then the cinema.’

Though I didn’t mean it to, my mouth popped open. ‘That’s… different for you!’

‘Yeah well, I thought about what you said and you’re right: it’s time to stop worrying about how many credit cards a bloke’s got in his wallet and see what else he’s got to offer. Louis Vuitton bags are nice but d’you know what, I’m bored with them. Jake seems like a nice guy and he’s nearly flat broke. He wants to be a social worker and he’s studying at uni for that now. When I first met him, he told me he had enough in his account to buy a can of beans and I was sold!’

I smiled. ‘Have a nice time; I’m off to Bridezilla’s engagement party. Wish me luck, God knows I’ll need it!’

‘Good luck chick. Hey before you go, I’ve been meaning to ask you: how come I’ve heard you tapping away on your laptop at four in the morning? Working on a secret project, are you?’

I winked at her. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

***

Marchwood Hall was a stately home in the wilds of Cheshire. It reminded me of something out of a Jane Austen novel: it made Longbourn look like a two-bed semi. It was a huge imposing building set on a lush, green estate. Some copses that formed part of a larger forest were off to the left while to the right, it was farmland as far as the eye could see. I walked up the three curved stone steps and into the grand entrance hall.

Inside, it looked like there had been an explosion in a glitter factory. Two sweeping spiral staircases led away from the entrance hall onto a mezzanine gallery area. Vines of red roses sprayed with matching glitter were wound around the bannisters and the deep crimson runner carpet also had a sparkle to it. Silver glitter butterflies made of paper were dotted all round the opulent cream walls, the tables and pretty much everywhere else. Everywhere I looked, there was glitter, fluff, feathers and pink. All in all, it was Maddie to a T: over the top and tacky. The only touch I liked was the cream candles in Gothic curlicued holders dotted around the hall. The floor was made up of black and white marble tiles laid out in a diamond formation and was a little slice of period glamour in a sea of kitsch. There were two doorways; the left one led off to the library from what I could see and the room to the right looked like some kind of drawing room.

A burly man with dark skin approached me. He was wearing a tuxedo that strained across his rather large circumference and an earpiece stuck out of his right ear.

‘Are you here for the McQueen-Kirkwood party?’ he asked in a gravelly baritone voice.

‘Y-yeah…’

I fumbled round in my bag and produced my cream embossed invitation.

Bouncer Man checked it, eyed me suspiciously then gave it back to me.

‘Right this way m’lady.’

He extended one huge arm and I took it. He led me through to the drawing room, where ornate tables had been pushed back to make a temporary dancefloor. The chairs had been clad in a raspberry pink fabric, the frames had been sprayed bright silver and white fluff had been glued to them to make them look like thrones. It saddened me to think that underneath all that horrible stuff, some nice chairs were lurking.

Bouncer Man left me and I took some cautious steps into the room. There was only a smattering of guests there at the moment, which gave me some time to take in my new surroundings.

The chairs clashed horribly with the duck-egg blue of the walls and the fairy lights wrapped around some shrub plants looked cheap and nasty. The glittery silver butterflies had infiltrated this room too; clusters of them were gathered in every conceivable corner. One large bay window looked out onto the west portion of the gardens, which was bordered by large thickets and some small evergreen trees. I craned my neck and saw a large chessboard and pieces on the lawn. I couldn’t help but smile; I’d always wanted to play with one of those.

I looked round the guests who were there as more poured in; the stark differences between Maddie’s lot and Craig’s were shocking. The blushing bride-to-be’s friends all seemed to be models with their angled cheekbones and skinny frames, while her fiancé’s lot looked relatively normal. Then there was me; where did I fit in? Oh yes, I thought, I’m the mug who’s been roped into reporting on this charade. I had to admit, this was worse than I’d imagined. I’d assumed everything would be pink and fluffy and feathery but this was on another level of bad.

I checked my watch: five minutes until the party was due to start. I rummaged in my bag until I found my phone and went to write a text to Max about how gaudy everything was. I stopped just before I sent it; there were so many feelings for him coursing through me that I just couldn’t understand. I was in love with him – how could I not be after those beautiful letters? – but I had no idea how to deal with it. Maybe I should steer clear of him until things made more sense.

I didn’t have time to think. Fergie’s
Glamorous
began to play through large tower speakers. I guessed Maddie was about to make her entrance. As predicted, she came sashaying into the room, wearing a bright pink prom dress made up of a sparkly herringbone corset and a large frilly tutu. Everyone’s eyes were on her; it was hard not to stare when she looked so much like a Barbie. Her eyes met mine and she nodded in acknowledgement. I was glad to see the fragile peace between us was still in place. Maddie moved in a sleek curve around the room, air-kissing all her stunningly beautiful friends. She didn’t extend the same courtesy to me, but I didn’t expect her to. Maddie’s mum followed soon after; I couldn’t help noticing her tight, Botoxed face and overly plumped lips. There was a coldness in her eyes, a detachment that suggested she wasn’t the loving and giving type like my mum. I could just imagine her putting her image and reputation ahead of her daughter’s health. I felt a pang of sadness for Maddie; it couldn’t have been easy growing up without love and support when she needed it. No wonder she liked to maintain a spiky exterior.