The Impulse Purchase, page 34
She knew she would need help. She knew there was support out there. She had refused to reach out for it before because she wasn’t ready. Whether she’d reached rock bottom yet was debatable, but she’d seen something she wanted, something that gave her the strength and courage to make a drastic change.
Before she could change her mind, she picked up her phone and dialled the doctor’s surgery.
‘Hello. I’d like to make an appointment to see someone, please.’
When the receptionist asked what it was about, she paused for a moment, breathing in.
‘Alcohol dependency,’ she answered, as clear as a bell. ‘I have alcohol dependency.’
‘No problem,’ came the reply. No judgement. No shocked tone. ‘Let me see when I can fit you in.’
Later that afternoon, when Chloe came in from her lunchtime shift, and before Pearl and Otis were home, Nicole sat her down and told her she had made a decision.
‘It’s OK,’ she told her daughter when she saw the anxious look on her face. She realised that was how Chloe looked most of the time, and felt a stab of remorse. She was sixteen. She should be carefree and living her best life. ‘It’s a good thing. I think you’ll be pleased.’
‘As long as you’re not sending us to live with Dad.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Nicole promised. ‘I need your help, that’s all.’
‘Oh,’ said Chloe, thinking that she’d given quite a lot of that already. ‘Sure.’
‘I’ve hated myself for a long time,’ Nicole told her, ‘for being weak, and useless. I hate myself for breaking every resolution I ever make, before I even make it. And there’s only one thing that makes that hate go away. When I’m drunk, I’m amazing. I can do anything. I can be the best mother in the world. For about five minutes.’ Her face seemed to melt, her eyes and mouth turning down, tears flowing down her cheeks. ‘But by then it’s too late.’
‘Oh, Mum . . .’ Chloe could feel her heart breaking for her mother.
‘I’ve made an appointment to see my GP,’ Nicole told her. ‘They will get me help. But I have to be honest. I have to tell them everything. The whole truth. So I wondered if you would come with me? To make sure I tell them everything and that I don’t lie. I don’t trust myself,’ she added for good measure. ‘I know all my own tricks. I can’t be answerable to just myself.’
It was a critical moment. Chloe could easily turn away from her. Nicole held her breath.
‘Of course I’ll come with you, Mum,’ said Chloe. She went to sit next to her mother, picked up her hand and stroked the back of it. ‘And I know you can do it. It’ll be hard, but I’ve got your back.’
Nicole sighed. ‘I get so tired sometimes,’ she said. ‘Of being me.’
It was tangible, her weariness. She could barely hold up her head or lift her limbs. Chloe put her arms around her mother’s shoulders and felt how frail she was.
‘I do love you,’ she said, squeezing hard.
‘I know,’ said Nicole. ‘But I know it’s difficult to love me sometimes.’ She sighed. ‘And I love you more than you can ever know. I’m sorry. For being so . . .’
‘Shhh,’ said Chloe. There was no need for her to say any more. With Rose’s support, Chloe knew she had the strength to lift her mum up and help her become the person she deserved to be, the mother she deserved to be. They both knew it would be a long journey, difficult and dangerous, but Nicole had taken the first step.
‘And thank you,’ said Nicole. ‘I know without you, this family would have fallen apart. I was only able to behave like I did because you were there to pick up after me. It was unforgiveable.’
‘Mum, it’s cool.’ Chloe nestled into her. She poked her in the ribs, playfully. ‘Just finish making me that prom dress, and we’re all good.’ She was desperate to lighten the tone. She didn’t want to talk about it. The strain, the fear, the darkness. The tiredness. Nicole’s head dropped onto her shoulder and she pulled her in tighter.
Her mum.
54
Cherry arrived in Berlin late on Tuesday night. She felt a little like a Cold War spy. She had booked herself into a small, unassuming hotel near Mike’s. His flight details and hotel booking had come through to her phone, from the time when they had set up a shared diary to make their lives less complicated. Either he had forgotten or didn’t care if she knew his whereabouts.
She got up early the next morning dressing in jeans and a white t-shirt, sneakers and a trench, repacking her backpack. It contained everything she needed for two nights away.
She had only booked into this hotel for one.
She set the satnav on her phone and strode through the streets of the wakening city for about half a mile, coming to a halt outside an imposing white Bauhaus building wrapped round the corner of two streets, its rows and rows of windows winking in the sun. Like so many buildings in Berlin, it had reinvented itself – once the HQ for the Hitler Youth, it was now a glamorous and edgy hotel.
She pushed open the door and walked in. It might have intimidated a lesser person than Cherry, but she wasn’t overwhelmed by opulent light fittings and street art. She knew all the tricks. And whilst an English hotel might have worn its hypercool with a certain aloofness, the staff here weren’t at all snooty and the other guests seemed relaxed, not in the least bit up themselves. She loved it on sight. There was a knack to making people feel at home, even when they were very far away, and this place had nailed it.
She knew Mike’s habits like the back of her hand. He would have woken early, gone for a run, followed by a very long hot shower. By now he would be having a coffee, soaking up the atmosphere, reading the guidebook, deciding where to go for the day.
She found him in the club bar, where breakfast was served. Like the lobby, it was oozing glamour – floor-to-ceiling metal windows, high stools in eau de nil velvet, round tables with curved banquettes, glittering chandeliers. Chic wait staff moved amongst the tables, clad in black aprons. And although it felt like a nightclub, and it was only nine o’clock in the morning, it didn’t feel seedy. It felt alert, the guests soaking up the atmosphere and readying themselves for the day ahead. There was a smell of rich roasting coffee and baking.
Dotted around the room were people having breakfast meetings, chatting over movie deals, ad campaigns, property development. It gave Cherry a thrill. There was a creative buzz in the air that was infectious and she felt excited by the possibilities that lay in front of her. The promise of Berlin. A city that had been torn apart but had mended itself, with dignity and pride and style.
He was there, sitting at a small table for two near the windows, snug in a club chair, his nose in a book, as she had predicted. Her heart turned over as she saw him sip his coffee – double espresso, half a teaspoon of sugar. He had his rubberised backpack next to him, and she knew what would be in it: sketchbook, pencils, water, camera, SPF50, scarf, beanie, cashew nuts, a tube of Colman’s mustard. He would already have bought a book of metro tickets. Mike got himself organised with military precision and then left everything to chance. He would have familiarised himself with every inch of the city, but would see where fate took him. If he found somewhere he liked, he might stay there all day, hanging out in the cafés and bars, talking to strangers. Or he might walk and walk and walk. He travelled with an open mind.
And Mike certainly looked as if he belonged here. She realised everyone in here would probably know his work, even if they didn’t recognise him. She felt a little burst of fond pride.
There was room in their lives for both of them to do what they wanted.
Together.
‘Can I help you?’ A charming waiter hovered in front of her, smiling. She pointed over at Mike.
‘I’m joining the gentleman over there. Would you bring me a pot of coffee?’
‘Sure. Give me two minutes.’
It would only be two minutes. She wouldn’t have to ask again. It was that kind of place.
‘Actually,’ she put a hand on the waiter’s arm. ‘Could you bring us two glasses of champagne as well?’
His eyes widened in conspiratorial delight. ‘For sure.’
She walked over to Mike, her heart beating a little faster, nerves in her tummy. He looked up at she arrived at his side.
‘Jesus Christ.’ He looked as if he had seen a ghost. He dropped his book. Then got to his feet. ‘Jesus Christ, Cherry.’ He touched his heart. ‘You’ve nearly given me a heart attack.’ Then he started to laugh. ‘What are you doing here?’ He ran round to the other side of the table and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Oh my God. I can’t believe it. Sit down. What’s going on. Shit.’ He suddenly looked panicked. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘Yes. Oh yes, God, sorry. Don’t panic. Everything’s fine.’ She sat down, and he sat opposite her. ‘I just needed to see you.’
They stared at each other for a moment. The altercation at Admiral House faded into the background. The tension of the past few weeks. Somehow, being in a totally different space made their differences disappear. They couldn’t help smiling at each other. He was pleased to see her. She was pleased to see him.
She swallowed.
‘I need to ask you something.’
Mike put up his hands. ‘Go ahead.’
She paused for a moment. This was a big question. The biggest she would ever have asked anyone in her life.
‘I know this is going to come as a complete shock. Even bigger than me turning up here. And you don’t have to answer straight away.’
He shrugged, holding up his hands as if to say, ‘How can I answer if I don’t know what the question is?’
She smiled.
‘Will you marry me, Mike?’
He looked thunderstruck.
‘What?’
‘Will you marry me?’
‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘You do not get to pull that one on me. You’ve come all this way to ask me the one question I’ve wanted to ask you for years but didn’t dare. You always said you didn’t want to get married. You were adamant!’
Cherry had always told Mike that they didn’t need to get married. That they would be there for each other for ever without an antiquated ceremony. And he had agreed – it was the times they had lived in, all free love and lack of convention and not wanting to be shackled by marriage vows.
‘I know. And I’m not going to say something glib, like it’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. But I have changed my mind. Things have happened that have made me see things differently. They’ve made me realise how wrong I’ve been.’
‘No,’ said Mike. ‘Sorry, I’m not having it.’
Cherry felt a chill around her heart. She had misjudged everything. Her grand gesture had backfired. He wasn’t interested. He wasn’t going to forgive her.
And now, here was the waiter, holding out two glasses of champagne on a tray, the tiny bubbles shooting up through the liquid. He looked at their faces, wondering if perhaps he had interrupted an argument. ‘You ordered champagne?’
Mike gestured to Cherry. ‘Did you?’
Cherry nodded, not feeling as if she could send the drinks back. The waiter set the glasses down gently and retreated.
Mike stared at Cherry, then picked up his glass.
‘Well,’ he said. ‘Since you’re here, we might as well get one thing straight.’
Oh God, she thought. He’s got someone else. She gripped the bottom of her glass, tensing herself for the worst. But suddenly Mike’s face broke into a wide smile, that same wide smile he’d had the day she’d first seen him at the stables.
‘If anyone’s doing the asking round here, it’s me,’ he said. ‘Cherry Nicholson, will you marry me?’
They drank their champagne and wandered out hand in hand into the streets of Berlin. They decided to go full tourist and took the Hop On Hop Off bus around the city, getting off wherever took their fancy. They saw the Brandenburg Gate and Checkpoint Charlie, and the infinite grey concrete slabs of the Holocaust Memorial.
In the Museum of Terror, Cherry looked at a photograph of three female prison guards in a concentration camp, having a cigarette break. They looked so young and carefree, whilst behind them the huts they were guarding contained untold horror.
‘I bloody love this city,’ said Mike, as they climbed back up to the top deck of the bus. ‘After everything it’s been through, it’s come out with attitude and creative energy. Living proof that anyone can reinvent themselves if they try hard enough.’
Cherry slipped her hand into his. There was a vim she realised she hadn’t seen in him for a while. Perhaps, with the death of her mother, she had overlooked his agitation at his impending retirement. Now they were allies again, they could take stock and plan their future. There was room for all of their ambitions, she thought. But the most important thing to remember was that they were all on the same side. Her and Mike and Maggie and Rose and Gertie. They were not at war.
They had lunch at an opulent restaurant overlooking the river, all dark wood and moody lighting and louche, over-the-top art. A suitably decadent place to celebrate a long overdue engagement. They had white asparagus and wagyu steaks smothered in Café de Paris butter. And more champagne.
‘Maggie’s selling her house,’ Cherry told Mike. ‘She’s going to buy me out. Though I’m going to keep a share. It is The Three Swans, after all. I’m not putting all that energy in and not reaping the benefits. Maggie’s called me Head of Lampshades.’
Mike laughed. He knew better than anyone that Cherry was so much more than that, but they all loved teasing her. ‘What about Rose? And Gertie?’
‘Rose and Gertie,’ said Cherry, ‘are moving to Dragonfly Farm. Gertie’s going to Rushbrook Primary, and Rose is going to college in Honisham.’
Rose had texted her the night before in great excitement, and Cherry had felt a fierce pride in her granddaughter for taking control.
‘Maybe I was wrong all along,’ said Mike. ‘Maybe we should have kept Wisteria House?’
‘No,’ said Cherry. ‘That would have held us back. We’ve all learnt a lot. About ourselves. About life.’
‘Shit, that reminds me,’ said Mike. ‘I need to cancel a viewing.’
‘What viewing?’
He looked sheepish. ‘I was just looking. A loft apartment. In a factory.’ He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his emails.
Cherry put out a hand to stop him. ‘Don’t cancel it,’ she said, smiling. ‘Let’s go and have a look. You know that’s my favourite thing in the world.’
‘Looking at wildly unsuitable property?’ Mike laughed. ‘OK. The appointment’s in the morning.’ He looked at her. ‘You are staying over, right?’
‘Damn right,’ said Cherry. ‘I hope you’ve got room?’
He certainly did. The room at the hotel was plush and luxurious, with a huge velvet bed and sweeping curtains and subdued lighting. Cherry took pictures of every little detail, never off duty, while Mike went for another run to burn off lunch before they went out for dinner.
Cherry was lounging in the middle of the bed when he came back.
‘I’m going to grab a shower,’ he said, and threw something onto the bed next to her. ‘You better take a look at that. See if it’s your thing.’
She sat up, confused, as he disappeared into the bathroom, and reached out for whatever it was he’d thrown. A box. A little black velvet box. And inside, a ring. A ruby, cherry red, in a square Art Deco setting flanked on either side by a row of diamonds. Simple, discreet, with a hint of thirties Berlin. She took it out of the box with a smile. She had not realised, at the age of nearly seventy, how very pleased a ring would make her feel. There was nothing like a romantic gesture.
When Mike came out of the bathroom ten minutes later, Cherry was fast asleep in the middle of the bed, a smile of contentment on her face, and the ring on her finger twinkling in the evening light.
‘This, as they say,’ said Cherry the next morning, ‘is right up my strasse.’
The apartment was in a leafy area of Friedrichshain. It wasn’t huge, but it felt spacious, open plan, with exposed brick pillars and full-length metal windows looking out onto a little terrace. They’d walked there from the hotel, passing little shops and bars and galleries on the way.
‘Aren’t we wasting our time?’ asked Mike. ‘I wanted to go to Museum Island.’
‘We can go there later. It never hurts to look,’ said Cherry. ‘I get some of my best ideas viewing properties. It’s always inspiring. It’s like a peep into another life. A life that could be yours if you wanted.’
They stood here now, holding hands, looking around the light-filled space.
‘It’s funny,’ said Mike. ‘It feels as if I’ve been here before. But I definitely haven’t.’
Cherry looked at him. ‘That’s because it feels like home. It feels like us. I can see our paintings on the walls.’
Mike rolled his eyes fondly. Cherry was doing what she always did. Drawing him in. Painting a picture. But she was right. He could imagine the photo that had cemented their relationship hanging, unashamedly, on the far wall. Berlin wouldn’t judge it. Berlin understood context. Berlin understood better than anyone how things were done in the spirit of the age. They had learned not to hide things, but to learn from them.
Cherry felt a familiar leap of excitement. Possibilities. Adventure. Change. A challenge. She recognised it as a sign that she shouldn’t ignore. It was her gut telling her this was a good idea. It had never, ever been wrong.
She cleared her throat.
‘How much?’
Mike told her. ‘I thought we were just looking. I thought we were playing?’
‘You like it, though. Right?’
‘I absolutely love it. I mean, what’s not to like?’
‘So . . . if we sold Admiral? We could afford this and have some left over.’
Mike looked at her, a smile spreading over his face. ‘What? We can’t.’
