Louisa George - The Other Life of Charlotte Evans

‘A very long and happy one.’ Eileen’s hand covered Charlotte’s – warm from the tea, but comforting and a gesture filled with love. ‘You really have been thinking too much.’

‘Ben says I’m a panic merchant. But this has made me wonder what this blood is inside me. I don’t know anything about me really. What or who shaped these genes.’ Charlotte looked at their hands entwined. Eileen’s thin, wrinkled ones and her own, holding on to each other. ‘Is this lump anything to do with family history? Or is it just random chance?’

‘Probably the latter. No rhyme or reason. Some people have lumps, some don’t.’

Is it genetic, though? No one was willing to answer that. Not out loud, at least.

‘Don’t you ever wonder? About who I really am? About her? About her genes inside me?’ All the panic and worry of the last few days was bundled up in those words and she couldn’t stop them coming out, but she regretted them the moment she said them.

The hand was withdrawn and wrapped around the mug again, leaving a fading warmth. Eileen’s eyes darkened as Charlotte had guessed they would and she wished she could take her questions back. ‘I hope she’s happy. I hope she managed to move on, although God knows how you ever get over giving a baby away. She must have been desperate, poor woman. Things were different back then; there was still a lot of stigma about being a single parent. So yes, there isn’t a day that goes by I don’t think about how lucky I was to get you. But other than that, I don’t want to think about her at all. I’m scared to, Charlotte. I’m scared you’ll go looking and it might mean things change between us.’

‘I love you, Mum. You know that.’

‘I do know, love. I wouldn’t stand in your way, you know that, but let’s get this over with. Let’s get the tests done. Let’s get some answers from the doctors. You have so much to look forward to without digging up a load of things from the past that might not be relevant.’

‘You’re right. Yes. Of course.’

That made Eileen’s face brighten a little. ‘Think about the wedding. The future.’

But the years of curiosity had had life blown into them again. Charlotte tried to douse the flames by listening to her real mum. The one who’d given her a lovely and safe twenty-five years and who was here with her as she faced the possibility of a dark challenge.

‘Yes. The wedding.’ Charlotte tried to make light of things. ‘We should probably bring it forward so I can snag him while I’m healthy. He hasn’t actually agreed to look after me in sickness yet.’

Now her mum just shook her head. ‘Oh, Charlotte, stop being so silly. Of course he will.’

‘And… into arabesque… streeeeetch, extend that right arm, a little more…. lovely, ladies. Ruby, keep your foot pointed please. Nice. Turn out more, left leg. Yes. Perfect. And… lower into… Oh!’ There was a huge bunch of flowers walking through the Studio Two door. It had legs encased in grubby jeans and was making a sound something like ‘hmmmfpph…’ Charlotte clapped her hands, switched off the music and called out, ‘Take a break, ladies.’

‘Hmmmpf,’ the bouquet said again. This time a little more loudly.

Charlotte ran over to relieve the bearer of the flowers, but Lissa beat her to it, saying breathlessly, ‘I think you’ll find they’ll be for me. Channing’s obviously got word I’m available and he’s probably trying to woo me. It won’t work. Alas, my heart’s given over to the Cumberbatch now. Hopelessly.’ She grinned, taking the bunch, which was almost as big as her, and tugging out an envelope from deep within the stems and leaves and flounces of pink ribbon. ‘Shoot. Fancy that, it’s got your name on.’

‘It says…’ Charlotte ripped open the paper. This was a first. No one ever sent her flowers. ‘ Meet me outside in ten minutes. It must be from Ben.’

‘Yep, you’d better hope so, because if there’s any secret admirer lurking around he’s got my name on, not yours. That just wouldn’t be fair.’

It had to be her fiancé, who else would it be? Bless. ‘But flowers? And ten minutes? I’ve got a lesson to teach, he knows that.’

Lissa restarted the music and said, ‘And that is why I’m here. Right? Intermediate is my jam; they can all count to four. Easy peasy. So, go get changed or freshen up or something. Let me know what the big secret is tomorrow. Because we never have secrets. Okay? I know things have been crazy, but I don’t feel like we’ve had a good chat for ages. Sunday doesn’t count, because I had to share you with the rest of the hens. Let’s make some time – okay? We need to catch up properly.’

‘Definitely. Soon.’ And that had the guilt ricocheting across Charlotte’s chest. Because she hadn’t told Lissa anything about the lump, and she was going to need her more than ever if there was going to be treatment involved. But now wasn’t the time.

Nine minutes later, Charlotte stepped out of the studio with her arms full of fragrant blossoms, blinking into the early-evening light. Ben was leaning against his trusty old red Astra. ‘Hey, pretty lady, fancy a ride in my car?’

‘My mother always told me not to get into cars with strange men.’ She threw him a look, over the blooms, that said get over yourself, gorgeous . ‘Thanks for the flowers, they’re stunning. But…’

‘But what?’ His eyes narrowed.

They were supposed to be saving up. He’d made a spreadsheet. In fact, he had a lot of spreadsheets detailing their five-year plan – mortgage repayments, career-advancement plans, and finally… when they could afford it, a family. Breast cancer was not factored in. Or flowers, for any occasion other than their wedding. Frivolous and Ben were never mentioned in the same sentence, so this was more than a surprise; it was a personality transplant.

Which meant he loved her. Or felt sorry for her. Or both. ‘Thank you. They’re stunning. And just a huge surprise, that’s all.’

‘Can’t a man surprise his woman every now and then?’

‘Yes. Yes. Always.’ She leaned sideways and gave him a leaf-filled kiss. ‘So, what’s the occasion? Why am I leaving work early?’

Taking the bouquet, he opened the car door and gestured for her to get in. Then he tucked the flowers in through the rear door, filling the vehicle with delicious fragrance. ‘It’s a magical mystery tour.’

‘Oooh… to where?’

‘If I told you it wouldn’t be a mystery, would it?’ After he started the engine he took a left onto Westbourne Grove, then a couple of twists and turns, across Notting Hill Gate and down to Kensington High Street, before pulling into a tiny side street and parking a few feet away from The Cake Fairy. It was close to six-thirty on a Thursday evening.

‘The cake shop? Won’t it be closed?’

‘Nah.’ He grinned. ‘I booked us a late-night slot. Thought it might take your mind off… you know.’ His eyes dipped to her cleavage and then his expression turned sad and he didn’t even try to hide it. ‘We need to make a decision about our wedding cake and have some fun. Because, I love cake. And I want to eat all the samples. Feed me.’ He beat his chest in a poor attempt at a caveman impression, which had her laughing, but not quite taking her mind off… you know.

Even so, it reminded her of all the reasons she’d fallen for him in the first place. ‘Well, you’re just revelation after revelation.’

‘Indeed. I aim to please.’

‘You do. Very much.’ She’d been planning on looking up wedding cakes on Pinterest but hadn’t quite got round to it, and so now she could do this and cross something else off her list. She leaned over and gave his unshaven cheek a kiss and told herself to be happy regardless of everything pulling her down. And to be grateful. All the websites said that; be grateful for things, even if you didn’t feel like being anything other than pissed off and angry. And be happy for cake too, because there were very few circumstances where cake couldn’t be enjoyed. ‘Thank you, Benjamin Niall Murphy. Now, let’s go in. I’m starving.’