If you loved Emma Ever After, keep reading for an extract from Persuading Austen – a laugh-out-loud retelling of Persuasion, from the same author. Available now!
Chapter One
Wikipedia – William Elliot, Actor
William Charles Elliot – born March 1, 1950. Renowned actor. Son of Sir Walter William Elliot – actor, theatre manager, director – and Elizabeth Siddons, actress. Married July 15, 1974, to Molly Stevenson, actress (died 2002). They had four children: three girls and a stillborn son. Imogen Elliot, actress (1982), Anne (1983?), a son (1984), and Marie, actress and TV presenter (1986) married to Charles Musgrove, investment banker.
Annie heard the thump as she walked down the stairs. She stared down at the handmade leather brogue that had sailed from the living room and bounced on the black and white tiled hallway. She halted briefly, her foot hovering as she wondered whether she should take the next step or turn round and hide in her room. No, she needed to get out of the house …
Could she make it down to the kitchen without anyone seeing her?
She put her foot down carefully, hoping that it wouldn’t make any sound.
‘Annie.’
Crap.
Her name echoed up out of the living room, round the hall, and up the stairs. Her father’s voice could reach to the back of a large theatre; it had no problems with their house.
‘Annie. What was the point in having you as a Wikipedia editor if you don’t keep my page up to date?’ The words bounced and caused the chandelier to tinkle. At least his shoe hadn’t taken any more crystals off it.
She walked down the rest of the stairs, a solid lump forming in her gut. She would like one day without drama. She rubbed her temple and wondered what it would have been like if she had grown up in a family where dramatics weren’t the family business.
‘But, Dad …’ she said as she scooped up the shoe and cradled it in her hands. She quickly checked it wasn’t scuffed. William Elliot didn’t wear scratched shoes and the family finances couldn’t stretch to another pair of handmade shoes.
‘Don’t “but Dad” me. You know I wanted that link to the Guardian review added to it; it came out yesterday. It should be there.’
Annie stood in the doorway of the living room, watching as her father pulled at his bottom lip and frowned at the laptop screen in front of him.
If only someone hadn’t introduced him to Wikipedia. She would like to give that stage manager who showed him Alan Rickman’s page a piece of her mind.
‘I’ll do it when I get to the office,’ she said quietly. There was no point in raising her voice or saying no. It was a waste of time and energy because they all knew she’d do it anyway.
‘Well you’d better. It isn’t as though you were doing anything last night.’ He flicked his fingers at her in dismissal. Annie realized he hadn’t looked up from the screen once during the whole exchange.
And whose fault was that? she thought. The tickets she had to see Rag ’n’ Bone Man unused because Dad had wanted her to pick him up from the theatre. She’d waited in all night for his call, before he came home in an expensive cab.
She should’ve said something. If it had been work, she’d have ripped someone a new one. Annie sighed.
Annie stroked the burnished brown leather upper; it was warm from his body heat. It was the closest she’d been to him in awhile. Carefully she put the shoe down close to his chair so he’d see it but wouldn’t trip over it.
She turned and walked across the hall towards the stairs down to the kitchen, the lump in her stomach dissolving slightly. It could’ve been worse. Her finger brushed the small hole in the plaster in the wall; that had been his phone. And after that she knew no matter how broke the family were she always had to make sure he flew first class. She was thirty-two, lived at home, and was a complete pushover.
But as Annie entered the kitchen she took a deep breath and felt herself expand and unfurl. This was her place, every battered and old-fashioned part of it. The crazy Seventies-style cupboards with mustard-coloured doors that hung slightly off their hinges and the scratched and burnt wooden worktops. Her dad and oldest sister Immy never came down here if they could help it.
There had been a brief period when Immy had invaded, thinking her smoothies would gain an extra something if she prepared them herself. Immy took up more space than her spare frame should; her presence had squashed Annie into the corners of the room. Annie had felt like an interloper in her safe space. Luckily Immy had realized she could get the smoothies delivered from the same organic supplier that the Duchess of Cambridge swore by, and Annie had breathed a sigh of relief, moving the blender to the back of a cupboard.
An expensive gadget to be gathering dust but it was worth it for the freedom.
Annie closed the door to the kitchen, sealing herself inside, and turned on the small TV she had in the corner of the counter.
‘I don’t know why women make such a fuss about not having time to take care of themselves. For your marriage to survive you need to keep up certain standards. I mean … here I am with a career, two kids, and a very happy husband.’ Annie grimaced as she turned down the blast of her baby sister’s voice coming out over the speakers.
‘And a nanny, and a housekeeper and me,’ Annie muttered as she opened the fridge. If she had the show, Easy Ladies, on in the background she wouldn’t be completely lying when Marie called to ask, or rather demand, whether she’d watched it. Technically it was Annie’s day off but the prospect of spending more time at home had her, by mid-morning, desperate to escape to the office. And it also meant she didn’t have to give Marie blow-by-blow feedback on her performance.
Ah, there was the hummus.
She grabbed the tub. Her fingers grazed the pack of carrot batons. She could use them. She should use them. She looked up and caught Marie’s bleached white smile in the screen.
No.
She shut the fridge door with her hip and reached for the bag of salt and vinegar crisps from the cupboard beside it.
Annie felt in need of reinforcement, and there was something solid and safe about the tart tang of salt and vinegar crisps coated in the smooth creamy hummus. Ripping off the lid from the tub and breaking open the bag, she took a crisp and dipped it in.
Yes, there.
The taste exploded on her tongue, released saliva and with it a feeling of warmth. A hug. She remembered the way her mother and she had hidden down here, dipping crisps and giggling over the silliness of Immy and Daddy and Marie. How her mum had held her and told her that Daddy didn’t mean it when he called her ‘Podge’ or poked her in the tummy telling her to suck it in. And he was just busy with work when he forgot to call her on her birthday.
Why was she hiding down here, yet again?
She was a successful production accountant in her own right. Hired to wrestle spreadsheets into submission and ensure the cast and crew of TV shows and movies got paid. She was bloody good at it even if she’d fallen into it hoping that by being in the same industry as her family that might make them closer. What did it matter if she didn’t have some sort of vocation for it? It had led her to her dream job, producer, and she was so close to it happening. Not everyone was born knowing what they wanted to be when they grew up. Sometimes you found it by falling over it.
Hell, Annie could stand up to belligerent directors and producers and win. But what was it about her family that made her squish down into a completely spineless marshmallow? They made her feel as if she was ten again. Or maybe six.
‘Annie! Annie! Where the bloody hell are you?’ The voice came echoing down the stairs followed by the clatter of stilettoes on wooden stairs.
Crap. Immy was having one of her ‘moments’. In anyone else they’d be called a temper tantrum.
Annie dug another crisp into the tub of hummus, trying to hold on to the comfort, but it had disappeared.
The door banged open taking another chunk out of the plaster on the wall.
Damn. Annie tried to swallow the crisp quickly and ended up choking.
Gasping for breath as she coughed, she saw her sister staring at her in disgust through the tears in her eyes.
Not even an offer of the Heimlich manoeuvre, she thought as her vision started to blacken around the edges.
‘Really, Annie, there is no need to be so dramatic,’ Immy said.
Annie managed to dislodge the crumb and staggered to the sink. She stuck her head straight under the tap. The water flowed over her face and her neck but enough got down her throat to soothe the rawness.
‘When you have quite finished …’ Immy even stomped her foot. Annie noticed that she had new shoes again. That was probably next month’s electricity bill, the spiked heels making more marks on the wood floors.
‘What is it?’ she croaked.
‘Why didn’t you tell me that Sam Mendes was casting for his new imagining of Romeo and Juliet? You know I’d make a perfect Juliet. When I played her at the National the papers said my performance was sublime.’
‘Immy, that was over ten years ago. You do remember that Juliet is supposed to be a teenager? Anyway Sam was looking for an unknown actress.’ Annie left off the age range bit. At thirty-three, Imogen was ten years over the upper range.
‘Don’t you think I can act like a teenager?’ Immy demanded.
Annie would have sniggered if her throat weren’t so scratched. She did in her head; she had enough self-preservation not to point out that her sister always acted like a teenager.
‘Look, Immy,’ she said forcing her voice into the cajoling tone that she hoped would work. This was the problem with working in the same industry. Immy and her dad expected her to be their eyes and ears. And Cassie, her boss, was working with Sam. ‘I hear he was thinking of going all low class on the casting. Soap actors.’ She nodded and rolled her eyes to pretend to Immy that this was a fate worse than death. Which in the Elliot family it was.
‘I even heard that Will Elliot was being considered as Romeo. I mean if Sam is thinking of casting him … Well it isn’t really something you want to be involved in. Can you imagine?’
Annie didn’t have any particular issue with their cousin, Will, who had made a name for himself on EastEnders. And of course, there were those unfortunate stories in the tabloids about that affair he’d had with a married co-star.
In fact, she’d only met him once when they were kids, which she didn’t remember, but the mere mention of his name made her dad start foaming at the mouth. She was sure it was the EastEnders connection that annoyed him more than the affair – the Elliot name connected to such mundane TV. In the Elliot world, soap actors might as well be reality TV stars. Annie had always felt an affinity to Will. As soon as it became clear to Dad that she had no interest in acting she had ceased to be of interest.
‘Well, hmm.’ Imogen’s face screwed up as much as it was able against the chemicals that she injected into it every six months.
‘I’ll let you off this time, but really, Annie, you know it should always be family first.’ And on that line she swept out of the kitchen.
Annie leant back against the sink and wiped her mouth.
Family first? Ha. But on that list she knew she came last.
Sighing she folded over the top of the crisp packet and secured it with a clip. The TV flung bright images of Marie, who was smirking at her. She needed to grow a backbone where her family was concerned.
‘They need to be grounded; they need to feel taken care of. That is our job.’ She could hear her mother’s voice as if she were standing right next to her. There had been a low huskiness to it. It was the voice that had kept them all fed and clothed through the years. She had been the narrator of a thousand TV commercials and the true caretaker of their family. Her beautiful talented mother who took jobs because the family needed the money while her husband wouldn’t deign to sully his reputation. And he’d let her. And now it was Annie’s turn.
Annie who tried to fill the gaping hole left but didn’t quite manage: sister, daughter, and caretaker. Her mum’s stand-in, but she didn’t fill the gap quite well enough no matter how she squished or pulled herself.
Annie wasn’t sure she wanted to do it any more but what was she without it? Maybe eight years ago there had been an alternative but now … She shook her head. Annie wouldn’t think about it. She’d lost her chance and now she had to get on with the choices she’d made. Maybe she could at least start looking at moving out. If she could put some distance between them maybe things would get better.
Suddenly the taste in her mouth was too cloying, less like a hug and more like a vice.
She put the lid back on the hummus tub, only just remembering to put the tub in the fridge and the crisps in the cupboard as opposed to the other way round. She turned off the TV and felt guilty for the sense of relief from wiping Marie’s face out with the press of a button.
Annie wondered if she could get a remote that did that in real life.
That was harsh. She felt a shiver of guilt at the thought but then a bigger swoop hit her stomach when she had to admit it was true.
Slamming the front door of the house a few minutes later, she clattered down the steps, noticing the replacement tiles she’d ordered when she’d realized some cracks were showing. She looked back. The house was shone and the brass was sparkling on the door. It was always camera ready in case Immy was papped leaving it.
The house overlooked a part of Clapham Common that, when her parents had bought it, had been down at heel. A house with four floors and a back garden had been a steal. Clapham had pulled itself up by its bootstraps in the past thirty years. Now their house, which had always looked a bit too polished and slick for its neighbours, almost fitted in.
But Annie knew that the other houses had interior-designed kitchens, fittings that would cost her a year’s salary. Whilst their house was a façade, with everything inside stagnated and crumbling. She was glad Mum couldn’t see it.
‘Sorry,’ she whispered as she pulled her jacket round her, trying for protection from the chill February wind, and rushed up the street to Clapham Common station. But she wasn’t sure who she was apologizing to or what for.
Chapter Two
Annie breathed out and felt the tension leach from her body as soon as she clattered down the steps and through the front door of work. The Northanger Agency office was in the basement of a terraced house on a road parallel to Notting Hill Gate. Three rooms, a toilet, and a small kitchen, and not another Elliot in sight, bliss.
She shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the rickety hat stand that leaned lopsided just inside the door.
‘Crap,’ she said as it fell into the wall and took another small flake of paint off the wall. She rubbed it as if that would make a difference, instead merely managing to spread the red plaster underneath.
‘Are you taking chunks out of the office? You know the boss will take that out of your wages?’ Annie smiled when she heard the dry voice coming from one of the offices.
‘She’s such a slave driver,’ Annie replied as she walked through to the kitchen and flipped the switch on the kettle. She turned and leant against the counter, smiling at her boss who was now leaning against the doorjamb. The only reason Annie had a boss was Annie had enough responsibility without adding in running their tiny two-person agency. And Annie didn’t trust her family not to get their fingers into the firm’s finances.
‘I know. I mean if she didn’t chain you to the desk you’d never do any work.’ Cassie grinned. Cassie Steventon was all of five foot and with her mass of curls, dimples, and curvy figure most people dismissed her as a pretty doll. Which she was, if the doll had a spine of steel, a mind that ran rings round everyone else’s, and the ability to deal with the financial running of a production with the ferocity of a honey badger. So, yes, a really scary doll.
‘Speaking of which, isn’t today your day off?’ Cassie came and perched on the counter next to the kettle.
Annie cringed inside. How sad was her life that she had only one place to escape to when home got too bad? There was only work and home and if she had to choose, she chose work.
‘You know … I wanted to make sure everything was in order for that meeting you have with Sam about Romeo and Juliet.’
‘Annie, you had that all tied up yesterday. And we both know that Sam will be like putty in my hands.’ She fluttered her eyelashes as she said it. ‘Are you hiding out here again? It isn’t like I don’t enjoy having you round the place but really how can you be the kick-ass person at work who doesn’t take any nonsense and then at home …’
Annie quickly interrupted her.
‘I know, Cassie. I promise to get a life. Soon. It’s just …’ How could she explain that it was as if as soon as she came into contact with her family her backbone dissolved to mush? It was like that acid that even with a brief contact could burrow into your skin and then start leaching the calcium from your bones. No amount of washing would take it off. Maybe she should be wearing a HAZMAT suit when she was with her family?
‘Okay, I’ll leave you be. But one day they truly will drive you mad,’ Cassie said as she made a twirling motion with her finger against her temple. ‘Anyway enough of this, I have news. Big news. I thought I was going to have to keep it to myself till tomorrow but now you’re here …’
Annie relaxed. She was off the hook with the nagging for a little while. ‘Spill,’ she said.
‘Maybe we need cake for this particular piece of news?’ Cassie said.
‘Just tell me.’
‘No, I really think I should get us some of those cupcakes from the bakery across the way.’
‘If you don’t tell me, Cassandra Steventon, I will personally squash every cupcake within a mile radius with my fist. You know how I feel about them, evil foreign interlopers that have endangered our native fairy cake. It would be a pleasure … and stop distracting me. Tell me!’
‘I don’t know why I employ someone with such heathen taste in baked goods,’ Cassie said.
‘Number one, you “employ” me because I’m the best. Two, I’m the one who is pushing ahead with expanding into production. Oh, and three, I own part of this company too.’ Annie counted off the reasons and summoned up her best withering look. It was one she’d learned from Imogen and her dad. She knew it was a mere shadow of theirs but it worked a treat on non-Elliot people.
‘Okay okay, I’ll tell you,’ Cassie said. She put her hands up in surrender. Then she dropped them to her thighs and leant forward on the counter.
‘I’ve had it from Les Dalrymple’s assistant that he’s got the funding for his TV adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. It is going to have a quick pre-production and then they’ll be filming it on location …’ Cassie leaned even closer. ‘It turns out he got the money from one of the big US networks because he bagged a brilliant Mr Darcy.’
Annie could feel herself lean forward. Cassie was weaving her magic again. Her heart accelerated as she realized that if they hadn’t cast the rest of the production she knew exactly who she would put forward. This was it. This was what she could use to shoehorn her father and sister into gainful employment and put some much-needed cash in the family coffers. And then she could have the peace of mind to go and get a place of her own.
‘Fantastic. Please tell me they still haven’t cast Mr Bennet and Caroline Bingley.’ She crossed her fingers. She could almost see the rental listings she would be looking at.
‘I’m sure we can pull a few strings,’ Cassie said with a wink. Annie wanted to pay her the fifteen per cent that an agent would take. Cassie waved her hands as if it were taken as read. ‘Now shut up and let me tell you who the big star is.’
Annie mimed locking her mouth.
It was going to be Benedict Cumberbatch, she thought. He hadn’t done much Jane Austen yet.
Annie was wondering what the Cumberbitches would make of their hero in breeches when cutting through her thoughts she heard: ‘Can you imagine it, Austen Wentworth in breeches?’ Cassie’s words echoed in her head.
What?
It reverberated round and set neurones firing.
Suddenly her mind was producing images of exactly what Austen Wentworth, voted People magazine’s sexiest man, looked like in breeches. She knew. She’d seen it. Truth be told she also knew what he looked like out of breeches.
She shook her head to dislodge the pictures of her past.
‘You what?’
She felt a burn on her shoulder blade, where ghostly tattoo needles made themselves felt, seven years after she had been inked. The tattoo that she always kept hidden, that no one knew about. Then Annie could feel a shaking start in her hands and gradually move up her arms to join the burn. As if she was having an attack of the chills. She clenched her teeth to stop them chattering.
‘Yes, Austen “phwoar” Wentworth. I mean he is the hottest property around. And when I say hot, I mean it in all possible ways.’ Cassie waggled her eyebrows as if Annie needed it underlined.
Suddenly Annie thought the sugar from a cake would come in very handy. Even if it was a cupcake.
‘Just think – weeks of being on set with Austen Wentworth. I think Les Dalrymple will need our services, yes?’
‘Well I don’t know. As long as Dad and Immy get parts, I’ll be happy.’
‘Yeah, right, we’ll sort them out otherwise. Now think about yourself. This is perfect for you. This is what you’ve dreamt about since I met you. Production. All that solving problems and getting things moving: your forte. Such great exposure for you working with the best in the business. You’ll get seen by some serious TV producers. Eric Cowell is the lead. Hollywood, baby. This is where you swoop in and move into production like we planned.’
Cassie punched the air.
Eric Cowell. If Annie’s body hadn’t already been dealing with the Wentworth bombshell, she would be tingling with excitement instead of going into shock.
Yeah, suddenly Hollywood was looking good. It was a place that she had actively avoided, turning down work so she didn’t have to go. Great for her sanity, not so great for her career.
But now, for the first time in eight years, it would be Austen-free. Even sitting in the kitchen in the office she could feel the UK shrinking round her just with the thought that he was in the same country. A few miles between them instead of thousands and the likelihood that she could turn any corner and he’d be there had exponentially increased.
Annie wasn’t stupid. She knew that he had been back in the UK sometime in the past eight years. But she wouldn’t have known when that was; she had been oblivious.
‘So what do you reckon?’ Cassie was looking at her expectantly.
A shudder went through her.
What did she reckon?
She reckoned it was the worst thing that had ever happened.
She reckoned that it would be hell on earth.
She reckoned that if she didn’t get her dad and sister parts she might be flayed.
‘It’ll be interesting,’ she croaked in understatement.
The kettle clicked off and Annie turned away, reaching to grab a mug, her hand shaking.
‘Tea?’ She was surprised her voice came out so steady.
‘Sure,’ said Cassie. ‘And cupcakes later, yeah?’
‘Yeah,’ Annie said not capable of restarting the cupcake debate. Even the mention of his name had her almost giving in.
Was getting Immy and Dad jobs worth pulling the scab off her wounds? Maybe she could pull in other favours to find other jobs for Immy and Dad? Some other high-profile production, which also had literary merit, and was far far away? If only someone would do a production of King Lear in Iceland. Then she would have a viable alternative.
Of course, it would be cold and there was always the worry of volcanic eruptions. These weren’t things that bothered her. It sounded like a regular week at home.
There had to be another way, but how did you turn down Pride and Prejudice?
Slopping tea over the side of her mug, Annie tottered into her small office across from Cassie’s. She collapsed at her desk and acting on automatic she turned on her laptop.
Eight years should’ve been enough time to move on. Annie knew this in her head but she wished her heart would get with the programme. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. The first few years had been okay. Austen had popped up in bit parts on US crime shows, his American accent getting better each time. It was easy, in between those occasional shocks, to pretend that he didn’t exist.
But then the Google alert she had set up on his name started going wild. He became the British actor who went from obscurity to stardom the night after the first episode of his Netflix show Ten Peaks was released. And suddenly every woman was staying in or hosting parties with her friends to binge-watch the show when the whole of the first season had been released in one go.
He was everywhere: chat shows, internet memes. It wasn’t until the alert led her to a small article online about him dating a US TV star, that she’d taken off the notifications and signed up to a dating site. But he was always there like Banquo’s ghost. She shuddered at the memory of the few blind dates Marie had set her up on. Paunchy merchant bankers who thought John Donne was the new signing for Chelsea.
And really, it wasn’t as if she had any spare room for a half-hearted love affair in her life. Every part outside of work – and sometimes in it – was occupied and furnished by her family and their problems. Manoeuvring through the cluttered junk shop that was her life would take a lot more than most men would like to try. That or they would have to smash through the walls and clear out the detritus.
He could have done that. If she’d let him.
He, Austen Wentworth, written about as the ‘one to watch’ by TV and film journalists everywhere.
But for her, he’d always been the one to watch.
She took a sip of her tea, not caring that the heat was almost too much, revelling in feeling pain somewhere else than the centre of her chest.
The first time she’d seen him was in Stratford-upon-Avon in the doorway of a dusty rehearsal room. He was propped against the wall, the script dangling from his hand as he leant his head back, eyes closed. His lips moving, muttering his lines, and even before he opened his eyes she’d been hooked. The legs, that now had fan fiction written about them, had been a bit ganglier then. When she’d tried to step over them to get into the room they’d tangled with hers; she’d started to fall. He’d caught her round the waist.
‘Oops,’ he said as she landed on his chest.
‘Hi,’ she whispered. His eyes were so green. She’d spent days afterwards trying to find an exact match for the shade. She’d had to settle for bottle green glistening in the sun.
He was playing Lodovico to her dad’s Othello. A small part but it was with the RSC, and Austen was fresh from drama school and bouncing on his toes to get somewhere, to prove to his parents that being an actor wasn’t a complete waste of time. Annie had gone to act as Dad’s assistant, knowing that if he was left on his own who knew what nonsense he would get up to or what scandal could come from his indiscretions.
And because they were the youngest ones there, they had naturally stuck together.
Annie remembered those months as if it had been constructed and lit by an Oscar-winning cinematographer. Golden days and nights, vignettes of Austen and her locked in their own world.
‘We’ll get married and go to Hollywood and rent a little apartment. I’ll audition; you can be free to do what you want to do. And then when I make it big …’ His smile was wide as the world, as he hugged her to him. Admittedly his teeth had been a little less white in those days.
Her heart clenched even now and more tea spilled. All those dreams that had died and dried up and blown away.
Who got married at twenty-four to a penniless actor who only had his looks to recommend him? she heard her dad say, echoed by Aunt Lil, her mum’s best friend who was also her godmother. It was stupid beyond words, Lil had said. Didn’t she know how fickle the industry was?
And what would she do in Hollywood except become some housewife? It wasn’t as if she could do anything, was it? And why would she want to be away from her family? Hadn’t she made that promise? And once the idea was planted in her head, once it got its roots in her that she would be disposable again, could be disposable again … that she would be breaking her promise …
Her mobile rang and half the cup of tea ended up on the desk. Cursing quietly she grabbed some tissues and tried to mop it up at the same time as taking the call without checking the caller ID.
‘Hello.’
‘Annie, where are you? You should be here by now. You know it’s Angelique’s day off and I need to get ready for the awards show tonight.’ Marie’s voice ran out the last of her Austen Wentworth memories for the moment. It had an edge to it that cut through most things.
Bugger. She’d promised to babysit. So much for hiding away at work.
‘I’m on my way.’ Annie hung up and then briefly rolled her forehead on the desk, not caring about the dampness and the faint aroma of tea she was now carrying. Sighing, she pushed herself up. Pastries would have to wait for another day.
***
Standing rocking in the Tube she held on to the strap and wondered whether she should’ve picked up a bag of Haribo to bribe the kids with. Marie had done a whole segment last year for Easy Ladies on the dangers of sugar. Ever since then sugar was treated like a class A drug in her household.
Annie came off the Tube at Pimlico. The wind had picked up and whirled round the exit. She pulled her scarf further up over the bottom of her face. Before she headed up Tachbrook Street to Marie’s house, she popped into the corner shop. Annie grabbed the largest bag of Haribo she could see for the boys and a bar of Lindt chocolate that she would slip to Charlie. Ever since she discovered him in her kitchen looking guilty with a tell-tale smear of chocolate by his mouth, she’d kept him in chocolate. He might be a successful investment banker but in his own house he was definitely the second-class citizen.
Annie stood at the till waiting to pay and then she saw Austen Wentworth.
Her heart dropped as if falling off a cliff. It started beating again after it hit the floor.
Austen wasn’t actually there. No, it was his face on glossy paper staring at her. Make that faces. He was on the front cover of at least three gossip magazines.
‘Austen Wentworth – tells all on life and love’
‘Austen gives hope to women everywhere’
‘Austen Wentworth – who is he dating?’
Her fingers itched to pick them up. Surely it was better that she knew what was happening? Her hand reached out.
No.
She pulled it back.
But what if it was only one, for research?
Annie felt like a smoker being peer pressured into ‘just one more cigarette’.
‘Next,’ called the newsagent.
Annie moved forward and put down the Haribo and chocolate.
‘Anything else?’ The question hung there.
Two minutes later she shuffled out of the shop clutching a blue plastic bag, the tops of three glossy magazines peeking from it.
She was pathetic. She’d been clean for years.
Buying them didn’t mean reading them though.
She could leave them for Marie, as untouched as they were now. No thumbprints on the pages.
She was glad she’d added a bag of crisps. She needed the comfort.
***
‘Darling,’ Marie said. Annie winced at the volume. Marie then descended on her in a swirl of heavy floral perfume and pressed her cheek against Annie’s. The touch was fleeting.
When was the last time she’d had a proper hug from someone? Annie sighed – too long ago. She was sure her family loved her. If they thought about her, which wasn’t often.
‘Auntie Annie.’
Her knees came under attack from Archie and Hector. Okay so she did get hugs. Maybe she should amend that to grown-up hugs, ones with less snot.
‘Hello, you horrors.’
She quickly held the bag out of the way. So they didn’t get the Haribo, of course. Nothing to do with grubby fingers on the magazines.
‘Where have you been? The car will be here in an hour and I can’t get anything done with these two under my feet. Of course, Charlie was supposed to be home by now to help. You’d think I had nothing better to do than wait on him. No, Archie. Mummy can’t pick you up.’
Marie stood with her hands in the air while Archie leapt up.
‘You’ll ruin my manicure, Archie.’
‘Come here.’ Annie dropped the bag on the table and scooped up Archie before the tears, which threatened, exploded. His bottom lip was trembling and there was a sheen across his eyes.
‘You and Hector are going to tell me all about what happened at nursery today. And Mummy is going to finish getting ready.’ She motioned Marie to go with her head.
As Marie left, she whispered, ‘And then if you are very good, I have a treat for you.’
She lurched through to the kitchen with Hector clinging to her leg and Archie clasping his arms round her neck.
Marie’s house was a magazine idea of a family home. It was warm and welcoming as long as there was no one in it. As soon as you added a small child, or two, then the image was ruined, as were the distressed white surfaces. Annie herded them to the kitchen table and pulled out the bright-coloured table covering that was hidden behind the large dresser full of beautiful glass and crockery.
Paper and crayons were in a small tub in the bottom of the dresser.
Annie prayed that the boys would keep their drawing skills to the table area and not try and re-create the Sistine Chapel on the skirting boards.
***
‘Hey up, is it safe?’ a voice said from the doorway.
It was fifteen minutes later, and a balding man put his head round the door.
‘Hi, Charlie. I’d say we’re at DEFCON 3.’ Annie studied him as he came fully into the room. His suit was crumpled, his tie pulled loose, his hair mussed on top.
‘You look tired,’ she said and was then drowned out by the shouts and yells from the boys when they spotted their dad.
Charlie grimaced and then grinned as the boys threw themselves at him and started climbing him like a tree.
Annie smiled as she watched him wrestle with his kids.
It was weird to think this could’ve been her life. Charlie had wanted to date her first. They’d been friends through uni and Annie had known he had a crush on her. But then there had been Austen. And, much as Charlie was a nice guy …
No. It was silly to think about this. Austen or no Austen, she’d never have gone out with Charlie. They didn’t work that way. Of course, there was no way that Marie knew about Charlie’s crush on her. Annie shuddered at the thought of the fallout if she ever found out.
She caught Charlie’s eye. Surreptitiously she waved the bar of chocolate at him.
Thank you, he mouthed at her.
Annie popped it into the pan cupboard. Marie would never find it there; she never used them.
‘Charlie. Where have you been? The car will be here soon. Hector, let Daddy go. Charles Musgrove, go and change.’ Marie marched back into the kitchen, putting on her earrings. Her dress probably cost the same amount as the mortgage payment on the house in Clapham. Thank God Charlie could afford to keep her.
Maybe he could afford to keep Dad and Immy too?
Annie’s stomach clenched at the thought of going cap in hand to either of them.
No, she needed to work out another way. She was the one who was left with the job of looking after them. Not Charlie.
She stopped thinking about it – it wasn’t feasible – and unclasped the kids from Charlie as he rolled his eyes at Marie’s remarks. He then walked out of the kitchen, briefly air-kissing his wife’s cheek. He’d learnt the hard way not to mess with Marie’s make-up.
‘I don’t know how he can be so selfish,’ Marie said as she finished putting her earrings in. ‘Oh and I forgot to say that Henrietta and Louisa are coming with us tonight. They should be here by now. Selfishness seems to be a Musgrove trait.’ Marie’s lips thinned and Annie could see her father and Immy reflected back to her. Even though Marie was the spitting image of her mum, Molly.
‘Hallo!’
Sound and light burst into the kitchen. Annie blinked.
The Musgrove girls had arrived. They were all long gold hair and caramel coltish limbs. They glittered as if they carried their own light source with them. Annie sometimes struggled to tell them apart unless they were standing together – then it was obvious. Louisa was brighter, bolder, hair more golden, limbs longer. Henrietta was a muted copy. Louisa was an actress. It seemed that no part of the family was immune from the family disease, even by marriage.
‘Annie, darling,’ they cooed.
Why had she been worrying about hugs? She was enveloped by their brown limbs, their fragrant hair drifting over her like thistledown. But yet, it didn’t seem enough; it was as insubstantial as candyfloss.
‘Henrietta, Louisa,’ Marie said and kept them at arm’s length and gave them air kisses.
‘Hey, Annie, how are things?’ Louisa leant against the island in the centre of the kitchen, trying for nonchalant, but Annie could see her quivering like a greyhound ready to run.
‘I’m good, busy. You?’ Annie asked.
‘I’ve got an audition with Les Dalrymple.’ Louisa was now bouncing on her toes. ‘It’s the Pride and Prejudice production. The one everyone’s talking about. Have you heard who’s playing Mr Darcy?’ Louisa looked hopefully at Annie.
‘Be still my heart,’ said Henrietta from across the room. ‘Austen Wentworth. Such a hottie.’