Jennifer nodded slowly. ‘It makes sense,’ she whispered, as if she was lost in the past. ‘She screamed at me that day – “Where have you been? What were you doing at the Lake House?” I thought she was upset about Connor, our relationship, my reputation . . .’
‘Did you see her slip?’ asked Jim, trying to catch her gaze.
‘No.’
‘She had been diagnosed with depression.’
Jennifer looked at him. ‘Depression?’
‘They wanted to keep it from you. But there was a reason why your mother could be cold and difficult. She was ill. Seriously ill. In your final year of college, she took an overdose. Two, in fact.’
Jennifer was wide-eyed with horror. ‘She tried to commit suicide?’
Jim shook his head. ‘She didn’t want to kill herself,’ he said, remembering what Marion had told him. ‘It was a cry for attention.’
There was another silence. Jennifer’s expression was stricken. Jim moved towards her in the dark to reassure her. He knew how bad she felt about her mother’s death; he knew because he felt the same about his father. But now he just wanted to convince her it was not her fault.
‘Maybe she fell that night, Jen. Maybe she was miserable, maybe it was another cry for help. But it was an accident, an accident that could have happened at any time because her illness wasn’t under control,’ he said, stroking her cheek.
‘It doesn’t matter how it happened, Jim. The fact is, she died.’
‘And you don’t have to carry that guilt around for the rest of your life.’
‘Nor do you,’ she whispered, this time taking his hand in hers, holding on as if she would never let go.
Epilogue
‘Best-looking bride I’ve ever seen,’ grinned Jeanne as she squeezed Jennifer tight.
‘Some might say you’re biased,’ giggled Jennifer, smoothing the cream lace over her curves.
Jennifer realised she had turned into a cliché, but she couldn’t stop smiling whenever she caught a glimpse of herself in the beautiful gown her old friend had found for her big day. She had originally got in touch with Jeanne to complete her documentary, now tentatively called Twenty-One, and had not been entirely surprised to discover that Jeanne no longer worked in the Seven Eleven but owned Savannah’s most celebrated vintage clothing store. When she had invited Jeanne to her wedding, her friend had insisted that she would find her the perfect gown, and had flown to London three months later with the most exquisite dress Jennifer had ever seen, a delicate creation of pale silk and lace that had made her feel like a goddess from the second she put it on.
Jeanne took Jennifer’s hand and led her to the dance floor.
‘Are we going to boogie, then?’ she giggled as Jennifer’s Aunt Donna waved at them from across the room.
Jennifer’s divorce had been uncontested and had been quickly finalised. Jim had taken her to Salcombe in Devon shortly afterwards, promising a weekend of good food and sailing, and had proposed during a walk on the headland.
She had fallen in love with the English seaside town, loved its pace of life and the silver light that glistened over the sea, so much so that it seemed like the perfect place to exchange their vows. Through Jim’s property contacts, they had found a gloriously faded hotel on the outskirts of town. It had views of the estuary and the boats bobbing in the harbour, three acres of English country gardens, and a ballroom that could not only fit a hundred guests but whispered of a glamorous past – art deco era dances and flapper girls – that Jennifer found intoxicating. Savannah would always be Jennifer’s home, but it represented her past, not her future, and in this small Devon town, she knew she had found a place where she could plot and dream and sail and be happy.
She spun around on the dance floor, feeling giddy and light-headed as the song faded.
‘This one is for my beautiful wife,’ said a voice from the stage.
Jim’s eyes met Jennifer’s through the crowd, their gaze connecting as if no one else existed. She felt her heart lift like a balloon, full of love, lust and joy. The most handsome man in the room – in the world – was on stage and he was singing a song for her.
‘I love you,’ he said into the microphone as Donna held her hand to her chest and gave a dramatic sigh.
‘Four husbands in and I’ve never had anyone look at me the way your sexy man has just looked at you,’ she laughed to her niece, as Frank grabbed her playfully and told her he would rectify the situation in the bedroom later.
As Jennifer swayed to the music – a cover version of a Mamas & the Papas song – she admired her husband on stage. Jim had the big job at Omari Hotels now, but since Jennifer had moved to London to be with him, he didn’t seem to spend as much time in the office as a CEO might.
Their lives had settled into a comfortable and contented rhythm. By day, Jim worked at the Omari London office, while Jennifer developed her fledgling film company in between short courses at the National Film School in Beaconsfield. They lived in Jim’s North London flat and went out most nights – to jazz clubs and museum late openings, to restaurants and dinner with Jim’s old friends – but somewhere in the middle of all that, Jim had found time to reconnect with his music, and had become the man she had loved all those years ago, the Jim she thought might have disappeared when she met him again in New York.
The song faded and he jumped off the stage. He came to her and wrapped his arm around her waist.
‘How was your rock star moment, then?’ she laughed.