Now
‘Ruby! Over here!’
I spotted Candace waving at me from across the room. I weaved my way through the crowd – which was full of people I’d either never met before or had met but whose names I couldn’t remember – and slid into the seat next to her. ‘Who are all these people?’ I asked.
‘Oh, who knows? Friends of the Armstrongs, I guess. Is that champagne?’ Candace plucked a flute off a passing tray and raised it in salute. ‘Good Lord, I’ve missed champagne.’
I shot her a sidelong look. ‘Not a lot of champagne in Florida?’
‘If there is, sweetheart, I haven’t been drinking it. Your dad . . . well, he’s tightened his belt so much that I wonder how he still has any circulation in his legs.’
‘I thought he was getting back on his feet?’
‘Well, sort of, but it’s not exactly the lifestyle of the rich and famous around our house. He lost a lot of money when the bottom fell out back in 2008, and I don’t think we’re going to see it again, even though your father is dead set on working himself into the ground to get it all back.’
‘I didn’t realize it was that bad.’ My dad and I hadn’t had a conversation in a long time, not a real one. Our weekly phone calls consisted of a series of questions shot out by him like cannon fire, which I either deflected or absorbed.
‘We’re not in the poorhouse, if that’s what you mean. But your father . . . well, it’s been tough on him.’ She paused. ‘On us.’
I was worried now. My dad could be utterly absurd at times, and infuriating – but he had a big, soft marshmallow centre behind all that bravado, and I knew he loved Candace with all his heart. I turned to face her. ‘You guys are okay, right?’
Candace necked the rest of her champagne and grabbed another glass from the nearby waiter, a far-off look on her face. ‘Don’t let anyone tell you that marriage isn’t hard work,’ she said. ‘It should be unionized or something.’
Oh God, that didn’t sound good. Not at all. I tried to rally. ‘I know he can be hard to deal with, but he loves you.’
Candace patted my hand. ‘I know he does, baby girl. I love him, too.’ Her tone was more one of resignation than affection, like someone who’d been saddled with a kindly but meddlesome elderly relative, or a sickly cat. ‘Anyway, here he comes, the man himself.’
I glanced up to see my dad weaving across the floor towards us. He was wearing a suit that I vaguely recognized from a funeral a few years ago, and his tie – too wide, too shiny – was slightly askew. I remembered when he had been voted Best Dressed Man in Beechfield – twice! – and the sight of him looking like something out of a Sears catalogue made me wince. ‘How are my two favorite girls?’ he asked as he sidled up next to us. He had a rocks glass full of whisky in one hand and an unlit cigar in the other. ‘You two talking about me? My ears are burning!’
‘They must be charred to hell by now,’ Candace muttered under her breath. My jaw was clamped so tightly I worried I’d break it.
‘We were just talking about the restaurant!’ I said, as brightly as I could. ‘How . . . modern it is!’ The restaurant was a towering marble and glass slab perched on a headland with views overlooking the sea. Inside, it was all glossy surfaces and sharp edges, and from the look of the canapés emerging from the kitchen, the chef – a young gun with two Michelin stars under his belt – was very fond of foams. My heart sank at the sight of them – after a decade in New York, I’d seen enough foams and essences and emulsifications to last a lifetime. I had a sudden, deep desire to be back in the fuggy warmth of the Old Bell, the sound of darts hitting the board in the background and the barman glowering at me from his perch. And Chris, perched at the bar, sardonic smile on his face and Archie at his feet. I fingered the little scrap of paper in the pocket of my bag. Maybe I should have given him a chance. Or at least half a chance . . .
‘Those Armstrongs know how to throw a party, huh?’ Dad said, nodding approvingly. His cheeks were ruddy and I wondered how many whiskies he’d sampled so far. ‘All class.’
‘It’s pretty fancy, all right,’ I said.
‘Lots of important people to rub elbows with, too. That’s Dale Evans over there – he’s a big cheese up at Intel now – and I think I saw Patty Drysdale earlier. Lot of money in this room,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Lot of money.’
I felt a flash of irritation. The man’s marriage was on the brink of destruction and all he could think about was networking with a bunch of jerks who were probably all laughing at him behind his back. ‘Jesus, Dad, you sound like Scrooge McDuck. Are you going to ask them to stick all their gold coins in a pile so you can swim around in them?’
He let out a hearty laugh. ‘I wish, kiddo! I wish.’ He narrowed his eyes and scanned the room again. ‘I think I see old Jack Weathervale over there,’ he said, gesturing towards an elderly man in golf slacks who was quietly dribbling one of the foams down the front of his polo shirt. ‘Treasurer of the club now, apparently. He was always a man who liked to gamble, and I think he’s got a condo down in Florida now . . . I think I’ll go say hello, tell him about my idea. Give him a chance to get in on the ground floor, eh, honey?’ He grabbed Candace’s waist and squeezed, and she stumbled slightly in her heels.
‘Go get ’em, baby,’ she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek. I was amazed by her ability to still sound so upbeat, even when we all knew that Dad had more of a chance of getting money out of the foam emulsion than he did Jack Weathervale.
‘Your father,’ Candace said, shaking her head. But she didn’t say anything more. I watched her watch him walk away and noticed the lines that had etched themselves into the corners of her eyes and mouth. I realized, all at once, how much Candace had aged. How much both of them had: behind Dad’s bravado, it was pretty clear that he was strained and exhausted.
I looked over at Dad, hand already extended out towards a surprised and somewhat disheartened-looking Jack Weathervale, and realized, too, how hard it must be for him to be here in this room of people who had never quite accepted him when he’d had money, and who’d turned their backs on him as soon as he lost it. I looked around at all of the pleased white men in their starched Ralph Lauren, their bloated necks and their pink cheeks and felt suddenly, shakingly angry at the injustice of it all.
Candace must have sensed this change in mood, as she reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. ‘How’s it going with Ethan?’ she asked, eyes kind.
This, despite Candace’s best intentions, did not assuage my rage, particularly not when I could see him next to the bar, practically swaddled in lithe young women. ‘Fine,’ I said tersely. ‘It was a long time ago, anyway.’
‘Well, honey, that doesn’t mean it’s not awkward for you. I saw how you looked at him that night in the pub, so we both know that whole “I’m fine” thing is bullshit.’
‘I didn’t look at him in any way!’ I could hear my voice turning high-pitched and squeaky. ‘I swear!’
‘Can’t fool a fool,’ she said. ‘I know a girl in love when I see one. Are you worried about those girls over there?’ she asked, following my gaze. ‘Because you should not be worried about those girls over there. Piper’s friends all have fluff between their ears and are just looking to score the biggest diamond they can get.’ I looked at her quizzically. I’d never heard Candace talk this way. Usually she was so . . . nice. ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said with a laugh, ‘you’re thinking that it takes one to know one!’
‘I’m not!’ I felt myself flush with mortification, because I did think that, just a little. At least I had when Candace had first appeared at breakfast one morning, swathed in a red satin dressing gown and bestowing kisses on my and Piper’s unwilling cheeks. I shook my head firmly. ‘I know you’re not that.’
‘Well, good. Anyway, those girls aren’t going to keep his interest for more than a few minutes, so don’t even think about them. Taylor and Madison are a little different – they’re nice girls and they both have their heads on straight – but they’re both way too young for him.’ I raised an eyebrow at her: Candace was a good fifteen years younger than my dad. ‘I know, I know, pot calling the kettle black again!’ she laughed. ‘But honestly, you’re worth ten of those girls. Twenty.’
‘I don’t think Ethan thinks that’s true,’ I said. ‘I’m pretty sure he’ll be happy when he doesn’t have to see me anymore.’
‘Why? Because the two of you broke up a hundred years ago? So what? You were just kids! I bet he can’t even remember why you broke up in the first place.’
‘I doubt that’s true,’ I said, ‘and anyway, I can.’ And if he knew the real reason we broke up, I thought to myself, he wouldn’t even want to be in the same country with me, let alone the same room.
‘You always were a stubborn little thing,’ Candace said, a fond smile playing at the edges of her lips. ‘I remember the first time I stayed the night at your father’s house – your house, I mean. Your face when I turned up at breakfast in the morning! Lord! I thought I was going to be turned to stone.’
‘I was a brat,’ I said, coloring at the memory. I had sat at the table and refused to speak, and when she had handed me a bowl of cornflakes I’d stood up and ceremoniously dumped them in the trash. In short, I’d been an asshole. But Candace had taken it in her stride – taken all of us in her stride – in a way I hadn’t appreciated until I was much older.
‘You were just protecting your dad,’ she said now, ‘and I respected that. But you were a tough little cookie, I’ll give you that. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve always admired you for being so strong-willed and independent. I sure wasn’t like it when I was your age. I’m not even like it now. But don’t let your stubbornness hold you back from being happy, okay? Because you can bend a little, you know. You won’t break.’
I smiled at her but didn’t say anything. I had an image in my head of a slim branch, like the ones that hung from the silver birch that grew outside the window of my bedroom as a kid. I remembered stretching it into a makeshift bow and arrow, attaching thread to either end and pulling it tight, but when I’d tried to shoot an arrow with it, it had snapped in two on the first try. I tried not to read too much into the metaphor.
I glanced back over towards Ethan, who was now standing alone at the bar, watching the evening’s proceedings with a faintly bemused look on his face. The young women had migrated south towards Piper, who was wearing – incredibly yet somehow inevitably – a tiny diamanté tiara and holding court at a large round table. I dreaded to think what she’d be like by tomorrow: I hadn’t spotted any ermine in her suitcase, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have a stole or two stowed somewhere.
I took a deep breath and crossed the room. He looked up as I approached, and to my relief he smiled when he saw me coming. ‘I’d buy you a drink,’ he said, ‘but I’m worried I’ll get told off for being too helpful again. I mean, if flower arranging was such a contentious issue, I can only imagine your thoughts on bar etiquette.’
‘Sorry I was kind of an asshole earlier,’ I said. ‘I’m just not used to . . .’ I trailed off, unsure of what to say.
‘People being nice?’ The smile was getting wider now. ‘Come on, I know you’ve lived in New York for a long time, but surely not everyone in that city is a callous bastard. Though I haven’t personally come across one who isn’t, I have to say.’
‘Yeah, we’re basically a zombie race there now,’ I said. ‘And yes, you can buy me a free drink. Vodka soda please.’
‘What, no bourbon? I thought you were a bourbon girl to your core!’
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the mere mention of bourbon. ‘No more bourbon for me,’ I said. ‘I’m a vodka girl now.’
‘That’s a shame. I liked you as a bourbon girl.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘Well, to a point.’
We both paused for a beat before laughing. ‘Thanks a lot,’ I said. ‘You sure know how to make a girl feel special.’
‘I try. Vodka soda?’ He signaled to the bartender and ordered a round of drinks while I tried to compose myself. The double mention of bourbon and the past had rattled me. ‘So,’ he said, handing me my drink, ‘what do you think of the party?’
‘It’s nice,’ I said with a shrug. ‘I mean, I don’t think I can remember being in a room with more Republicans before, but the canapés are decent and the drinks are cold, so I can’t complain.’
‘Yeah, there are an awful lot of red ties in this place.’
‘I know, right? Piper and Charlie seem to be having fun though.’ We glanced across the room to where Charlie was swooping Piper down in a low kiss. ‘They’re sweet,’ I said quietly.
‘They are. I don’t know about you, but I’m still sort of amazed that it’s worked out between them. Remember when they first got together?’
‘Oh God. When we went on that double date to the Creamery and Piper wouldn’t eat her ice cream because the man serving her wasn’t wearing gloves and she became convinced he had Hepatitis C?’
‘And Charlie would not stop telling us the blow-by-blow from last night’s Summer Slam?’
‘Disaster,’ I said. ‘But then the next thing I knew, they were curled up in the back seat with each other. I couldn’t bring myself to look in the rear-view mirror in case I saw something a sister should never see.’
He nodded. ‘That was one awkward car ride home.’ We both fell quiet, remembering (at least on my part) what had happened between us after we’d dropped them off at Charlie’s house. I was pretty sure that somewhere on my body I was still harboring the grass stains.
I was filled with a desperate urge to change the subject, kamikaze style. ‘So,’ I said, ‘you’re pretty popular at this wedding.’
He shot me a bemused look. ‘What do you mean?’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I mean that you might as well be wrapped in bacon the way those women have been looking at you. Actually, I guess it’s probably more like wrapped in avocado toast for that bunch.’
‘They’re nice girls,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I don’t know about anything more than that.’
‘Please, I’ve seen the way Madison looks at you. And Taylor, for that matter.’ I couldn’t stop myself. It was like a scab that I knew hadn’t healed underneath but I was nonetheless compelled to pick off.
He looked aggravated now, and I felt secretly pleased. He could do whatever he wanted, but I wanted him to at least admit it. ‘Nah, I’m just helping them out with – oh shit.’ Ethan pushed past me and started to run. I turned just in time to see my dad’s legs give out from underneath him. He sagged to the floor like a bundle of rags, one arm clutching at his chest, his eyes wincing in pain. His head hit the floor, too hard, and then he was still.
‘Dad!’ I can’t remember what happened next, but I must have run to him, because suddenly I was there kneeling beside him and cradling his head in my hands. A circle had formed around us, and a few of the suited men were hunched over us, whispering anxiously about what to do. I felt his breath coming in thin, shallow gasps. ‘Dad? Can you hear me?’ His eyelids fluttered briefly and then were still, and I felt my heart stop at that moment. I must have been crying at this point, because I saw a few tears splash onto his face as I leaned over him. They must have helped him to come round, because soon after his eyelids started fluttering again. But I knew we weren’t out of the woods yet. ‘Somebody call an ambulance!’ I cried.
There was a murmur through the crowd as they debated the best number to call. ‘Call 911!’ someone shouted. ‘That’s for the US!’ someone else yelled. ‘We’re in England!’ ‘911!’ ‘999!’ and on it went, until I exploded. ‘Ask a fucking English person!’ I screamed.
‘What do you need me to do?’ I looked up and saw Ethan looming over me, voice calm but face etched with worry.
‘Call the ambulance,’ I said, ‘and talk to them. Tell them I think he’s having a heart attack. There’s some aspirin in my bag – get it for me.’ I suddenly felt preternaturally calm, like the still eye of a tornado.
‘I’ve already called. They’re on their way.’ He crouched down and put an arm around me. ‘It’s going to be okay,’ he said gently, and I let my head drop onto his shoulder, just for a second.
The ambulance arrived in a matter of minutes, but each of those minutes seemed to stretch into an hour. Piper was inconsolable, alternating between racking sobs and panicked hysteria, and Candace had slumped into a chair, looking on in shocked silence. When Ethan had been assured that the ambulance was on its way, he went and sat with her, wordlessly taking her hand in his and gently stroking it between his thumb and forefinger. I stayed with my dad until the moment that the EMTs wheeled him away. He had regained consciousness soon after Ethan placed the call to 999, and had accepted the aspirin that I had placed into his mouth as meekly as a child. He looked pale and shaken, but was able to sit up a little, and even muttered a few words of reassurance as he was being taken out on the gurney.
‘Can I ride with you?’ Ethan had asked as I followed the paramedics to the ambulance. We had Candace with us by then, holding up her weight between us.
‘Only two in the ambulance!’ one of the paramedics called back to us.
‘Can you stay here and make sure that everyone leaves okay?’ I asked. ‘You can follow on with Piper and Charlie. Sorry, I know this isn’t your responsibility, it’s just –’
‘Of course.’ He reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘Whatever you need me to do.’
He stood in the parking lot and watched as the ambulance pulled away, holding up a hand just before we disappeared from sight.
‘Looks like it might be a myocardial infarction,’ one of the EMTs, the broad one with the tuft of ginger hair, said on the ride over to the hospital. Candace and I sat on either side of my dad, each holding one of his hands and staring intently at his grayed face, neither of us daring to look at the other. The paramedics must have sensed that we were both in shock, because blankets were tucked around our shoulders without us even noticing.
A thought struck me as we pulled up to the hospital, and I pulled out a worn scrap of paper and prayed that my phone would get a signal.
He answered on the fourth ring. ‘Hello?’ The voice on the other end of the line was thick with sleep and edged with suspicion.
‘Chris? It’s Ruby. My dad . . . something’s happened. We think he’s had a heart attack. Would you . . . I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t really know you, but . . .’
‘Which hospital are you at?’ he asked, voice suddenly sharp. ‘I’m on my way.’