He paid his three pounds and walked into Highgate Cemetery. This was one of his favourite places in London; he loved the poetic bleakness of the place. Around the edges, the graveyard was pretty and well-kept – fresh flowers in front of polished headstones, tourists posing in front of the Karl Marx memorial – but if you ventured into the middle, where the tottering headstones were overgrown and choked with ivy, it was somehow more beautiful and serene. A place for the dead, it was one of the few places Alex felt at peace. He sat on a weatherworn bench and smiled as a young mother pushed a toddler by in his buggy. He waved at the little boy, who giggled, hiding behind his stuffed rabbit. For a second Alex thought of Melissa and their plans to start a family. He’d heard from Ted that Christopher Hayes had gone back to Jennifer, but that part of his life seemed so distant and strange, as if his marriage had been part of a bio-pic movie about someone else.
It was starting to get dark, so Alex put on his iPod headphones and began to walk back up towards the gates. He had come so far in such a short space of time and he wondered where he would be if he hadn’t gone on that bender in Soho, if he hadn’t gone to Second Chances. Would I still be lying on the sofa at my old house? He would never have had the strength to say no to Miles’ offer of the residency at his Vegas hotel, that was for sure. Part of him still felt bad about letting Miles down, but he did not want to be bound to him any longer. He’d paid that debt.
He pushed his hands into his pockets, lost in the music he was listening to – the funk-groove soundtrack to an obscure blaxploitation movie. He didn’t hear the running footsteps behind him, didn’t know anything of the attack until he felt the blow on the back of the head. The ground swung up to meet him, the gravel digging into his ear. He tried to cover his head, to roll into a ball as he was repeatedly kicked in the face, back, legs, only vaguely aware that his headphones and wallet were being torn from him. And then all he could hear was a baby crying: ‘Mama! Mama!’
63
February 2010
Toddington Hall had never looked more magnificent. In the decades before Julian had bought the mansion, it had changed hands a number of times – one wing had been used as a conference centre, then briefly turned into an old people’s home – but it had been neglected and allowed to peel and crack. Now it had been fully restored, it made perfect sense to reintroduce Toddington to polite society with a modern version of a debutante ball. Hurricane lights twinkled like fireflies, hanging from the long row of lime trees that flanked the drive; a marquee on the rear lawn seated three hundred for dinner around a koi carp pool, while the ceiling of the ballroom was covered in black velvet pierced by thousands of fairy lights to give the impression of dancing under the stars. It had taken all Grace’s powers of persuasion to convince Julian to throw an eighteenth birthday party for the twins. Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t keen to have hundreds of drunken teenagers marauding through his lovingly rejuvenated stately home, especially considering the priceless art in the gallery wing. But once Grace had pointed out that Joe and Liv’s friends were the sons and daughters of the super-rich, people they could subsequently invite to parties, screenings and gallery openings, he decided it was to be a no-expenses-spared event. A funk band, a DJ from Pascha and musical fireworks were arranged, with accommodation laid on for all the guests in a series of local hotels and B&Bs. It was going to be a night to remember.
‘Come on, Livvy,’ called Grace.‘Looks like your guests are starting to arrive.’ Sitting on the window seat of her daughter’s bedroom, she peered out of the long windows and could just make out the headlights of a coach bringing the first lot of arrivals. The door to the en suite bathroom opened and Olivia stepped out.
‘How do I look?’ she asked, doing a dainty pirouette.
In five-inch heels and an ivory minidress, her hair tied up in a top-knot, she looked both sexy and elegant and far more mature than her years.
‘You look like a goddess,’ said Grace with maternal pride. Mother and daughter had gone through some difficult times after Grace had found the contraceptive pills in Olivia’s bag. They had rowed constantly over boys, drinking, clothes and money. Olivia had defied Grace, sworn at her, stayed out all night. In the end, however, they had got over the worst. Olivia was less truculent and rebellious, Grace less protective and controlling. It had been a long journey for both of them, and Grace realised she had needed to grow up a little too. Six months ago she had celebrated her fortieth birthday, and yet she still wasn’t ready to accept that she had a daughter who was beautiful enough to grace the cover of any fashion magazine in the world.
‘Wait. How about something in your hair?’ she said, picking up a black velvet box she had left on the side.
‘What is it?’ said Olivia.
‘Just something your grandmother gave to me when I moved to Parador.’
Olivia opened the box and took out a beautiful silver and diamond hairclip. ‘Gosh, Mum, it’s lovely.’
‘It’s been in the Hernandez family for three generations – now you make it four.’
Isabella had given it to her that second Christmas, as a belated ‘welcome to the family’ gesture. Grace had been touched nevertheless, and as she clipped it into Olivia’s hair, she felt a warm sense of having completed a circle.
The party filled up quickly as two coaches ferried in guests from Danehurst, the local tennis club Joseph belonged to, as well as private homes in London and Oxfordshire. After much debate, an alcohol bar had been provided along with catering by the Admirable Crichton, who had been responsible for the Posh and Becks nuptials.
‘Are you sure this is an eighteenth party?’ said Sarah as the guests filed in. ‘It looks like a particularly decadent night at Studio 54.’ The presence of Sarah, Grace and Connie as unofficial chaperones was the one concession the twins had been forced to agree to for their party, although Grace was not looking forward to an evening acting like some prison guard, separating horny teenagers. Besides which, Sarah was right, none of the guests looked like teenagers. The girls, especially, seemed impossibly glamorous and sophisticated.
‘
Now you’re not going to get in the way, are you, Mum?’ said Olivia. ‘You must remember what it was like to be eighteen.’
‘She doesn’t, but I do,’ said Sarah. ‘So no funny business, OK?’
Connie walked in holding a silver envelope and handed it to Olivia. ‘Special message for Mr Joseph and Ms Olivia Hernandez,’ she said.
‘Joe!’ shouted Olivia. Her brother ran over as she tore open the envelope. He was wearing a midnight-blue dinner suit and had his father’s dark eyes and thick, floppy hair. Sometimes Grace would look up and catch sight of him and think she was back in Australia.
‘What’s it say?’ said Joe eagerly, peering over his sister’s shoulder.
‘“Sorry I can’t be there, but hopefully these might make up for it. Uncle Miles.”’
Olivia looked at her mother, but Grace shrugged. She had no idea what this was about. Her daughter turned to Connie.
‘What is it? What’s Uncle Miles got us?’
Raising her eyebrows, Connie pointed towards the front door. Squealing, Olivia ran outside, closely followed by Joe and the rest of the party. Two gleaming silver sports cars were parked outside.
‘Ohmygod! Ohmygod!’ said Olivia, dancing on the spot. Joseph had already opened the door of the first one and all his friends were crowding around, clapping him on the back.
Grace went over to Julian. He was smiling, but she saw that he looked put out. He didn’t like to be upstaged.