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I’d seen him during the ceremony, standing next to Mum. He was wearing a grey suit and purple tie, a white shirt with a matching buttonhole. Mum had been right – he did look handsome. I’d only seen him in a suit once before, at his graduation, and I was suddenly hit by a sensation of how much time had passed, of how much of each other’s lives we’d missed. He’d caught my eye as Gemma and Mike were signing the register and winked at me. My stomach had flipped over.
Rupert was sitting on a bench outside the Orangery and I sat down next to him. Kew looked so beautiful in the summer light and I thought about how lucky we were to be able to enjoy Gemma’s wedding here, how lucky she was to work in the most beautiful place in London. While Caitlin had been busy working her way up the nursing ranks to Junior Sister and I had been a cadet journalist, Gemma had surprised us all. After flunking out of her A levels, she’d managed to scrape through a management course before moving to London. She worked at various hotels before landing a job in the Operations team at Kew Gardens. Ten years later and she was Operations Manager, in charge of all the events at Kew from live music festivals to weddings, including her own.
We sat on the bench and Rupert talked while I listened. He had just come back from a conference in America and was excited about it. I thought he hadn’t noticed that I’d left the talking to him but just before we went into the Orangery, where we would be eating, he asked me if I was all right, his hand gently finding mine.
‘I’m tired,’ I said. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night – it’s been so hot.’ He looked at me oddly. ‘How are you?’ I asked, noticing dark smudges under his eyes that hadn’t been there the last time I saw him.
‘Jet-lagged,’ he said. ‘But not too tired to dance later, if you’d do me the honour.’ He grinned at his own formality and I noticed a blush colour his cheekbones, just as it had done when we were teenagers.
‘That would be lovely,’ I said.
‘I’ll see you after the dinner then,’ he said, dropping my hand. It felt empty when he let it go.
I spent most of the meal watching Mum and Rupert out of the corner of my eye, wondering what she was talking to him about, wondering what she was telling him. They were both laughing too much for it to be anything serious.
I started to feel better as the day went on and when Rupert walked over to me after Gemma and Mike’s first dance, taking my hand to lead me onto the dance floor, I felt happy for the first time in a long time. Dancing with Rupert felt significant somehow, for both of us. As we danced, his hand on the small of my back and my arms around his neck, it felt like something that was meant to be.
When the song finished Rupert looked at me, his hand still on my back, drawing me close to him.
‘Shall we get some fresh air?’ he asked.
I nodded, my mouth suddenly too dry to speak. Caitlin caught my eye as we walked past, raising her eyebrows. ‘OK?’ she mouthed. I nodded once.
We walked away from the Orangery towards the Waterlily House. Twilight was just starting to disappear behind the horizon and the shadow of Kew Palace loomed behind us. I remembered all the times that I’d sat behind the Orangery with Gemma, drinking tea and sharing pieces of cake whilst she was on her lunch break. We’d talked about everything behind the Orangery over the years – from Rupert leaving and Dan arriving to the first time she met Mike and the day she got engaged. It felt as though everything was coming full circle here tonight.
I had missed visiting Kew Gardens when I was ill and had tried to go once a week as soon as I had been able to again. It was a long journey from Highgate to Kew but it was worth it for an afternoon in the Botanical Gardens. There had always been something magical about this place.
We sat on the first bench we came to, side by side, our thighs touching as they had done in the pub in York.
‘I used to look for your by-line in the Observer,’ he said, the corners of his mouth turning up.
I told him I was a freelance writer, that my articles rarely had a by-line. I told him that working on a paper hadn’t suited me.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asked then.
‘Nothing,’ I replied. I’d been enjoying myself. I hadn’t thought anything was wrong.
He sighed, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
‘You’ve been ill, haven’t you?’ he said.
I didn’t reply. I hadn’t thought that this was the reason he’d brought me outside. I wondered for a moment if Mum had said something.
He turned his head to look at me. ‘You’re so pale, Jessie, and so tired all the time. I’ve seen the way Gemma and Caitlin worry about you – even on her own hen night Gemma was concerned about you. What’s going on?’
Even after all these years he still knew me as well as I knew myself. I couldn’t lie to him, but I couldn’t tell him either. I couldn’t stand the questions, the cynicism. I couldn’t bear it if Rupert turned out to be one of those people who didn’t believe me. So I told him half the story.
‘I had glandular fever a few years ago,’ I said. ‘It took a long time to clear up, much longer than normal and it left me exhausted and not really able to work.’ I stopped, unable to work out the look on his face.
‘Is that why you went freelance?’ he asked.
‘I’m doing much better now,’ I replied, not really answering his question, not sure if I was trying to convince him or myself.
‘Glandular fever,’ he repeated slowly to himself. ‘But you’re OK now? Honestly?’
I nodded. ‘Honestly. I still get tired easily and Gemma hasn’t been the easiest bride to handle.’
‘I can imagine.’ He smiled.
‘She’s worn me out.’
He laughed softly and looked away again sitting back up, leaning against the back of the bench.
‘There is something else,’ I said.
He didn’t reply, waiting instead for me to speak.
‘I told you Mum lived near me but that’s not true. I live with her. I moved in with her when I got sick and I haven’t moved out yet. I know that’s a bit sad …’ I wasn’t sure why I was so embarrassed about it.
‘It’s not sad, Jessie, it’s lovely.’ As he looked at me, I remembered the fractured relationship he always had with his family, how much time he spent with my mum and dad and how he had always wished he could be closer to his own parents. I was lucky and sometimes it’s hard to see ourselves from other people’s perspectives. Sometimes it’s hard to forget about how things used to be and concentrate on how they are now.
I let my gaze linger on his profile, the line of his nose, the fall of his hair, the shadow of his stubble. How much had he changed? What did he see when he looked at me? He was the same but different, as though he was carrying a heavy weight that hadn’t been there ten years before. We all carried baggage that hadn’t been there a decade ago though; it was what we were like underneath it all that counted. Did any of us ever change?
9 (#ulink_b4bb64f2-0561-557b-be01-7e7efddf38f1)
RUPERT (#ulink_b4bb64f2-0561-557b-be01-7e7efddf38f1)
She looked so beautiful when he saw her walking down the aisle in front of Gemma at the wedding ceremony. He couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to have been given this second chance.
But he had known there was something wrong; she hadn’t seemed as pleased to see him again as he had to see her. And later, outside the Orangery, she had seemed distant as though she hadn’t heard what he was saying.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her for years. Being here at the wedding with her felt like a daydream. It didn’t seem real. Caro had kept him occupied during the wedding, full of jokes and stories and anecdotes from his childhood that he had forgotten, blanked from his mind during the lonely years he’d spent at Harvard; but he was delighted to remember, now that he was back here amongst people who he had used to love, people who he had forgotten to love.
When Jess had danced with him after dinner to Stevie Wonder’s ‘Isn’t She Lovely’ he felt that it was a turning point, a significant moment in his life – like the day he first kissed her on the bench by the River Cam or the day he asked her to marry him. He wanted those days back and he was determined that this weekend he was going to make that happen, determined that he was going to take a risk.
But he knew there was something wrong and when he asked her to get some fresh air with him he wanted to find out what it was, to help her if he could. But he was still sure that she wasn’t telling him the whole story.
When he turned to look at her again, she was staring at him. When their eyes met he felt the wave of heat that had washed over him when he saw her in the pub in York. He didn’t know what to say or do. He wanted the easy banter of their youth to return, the secret smiles, the in-jokes. He wanted it not to feel awkward. But it did. Ten years had passed and there was nothing he could do to bring them back, to turn back the clock. They used to know everything about one another, but they knew nothing now about the people they had each become. Part of him wanted to tell her everything but another part of him wanted to hold back, as she was holding back from him.
‘What tempted you back to England?’ she asked, breaking the silence that hung between them. ‘I wouldn’t have thought you would ever have wanted to leave Harvard?’
‘I missed England,’ he replied. ‘I was lonely out there, I never really fitted in and I just wanted to come home.’ It sounded like a poor explanation even to him.
‘But York?’ she persisted. ‘Why didn’t you just go back to Cambridge?’
He looked away from her. ‘It was a good opportunity,’ he said.
‘A long way from the Arsenal stadium though,’ she joked, nudging him gently, reminding him of the obsession he had shared with her father. Her light-heartedness sounded forced to him, as though she knew he had just lied to her.
‘Nearer than Harvard was,’ he replied. ‘The first thing I did when I got back to England was a tour of the Emirates Stadium.’
She smiled next to him. ‘I wonder what Dad would have made of it?’
Jess’s father, Ed Clarke, had been everything to Rupert, everything that his own father had never been. It was Ed who taught him to play football, to stay loyal to Arsenal even during the bad seasons. Ed had taught him to swim, to fly a kite and Ed had always encouraged his wild side, his freedom. Rupert’s father never seemed to believe in kids being allowed to be free.
As Rupert got older it was Ed who bought him his first legal pint on his eighteenth birthday – even though he knew Rupert had had his fair share of illegal pints before that – and it was Ed who Rupert met up with in the week to watch the football with in the pub, after Jess had moved to London. They would sit in the corner, always at the same table, and chat amiably as they watched the match.
‘For what it’s worth,’ Ed had said one night. ‘I think you made the right decision about staying in Cambridge and not going to one of those Ivy League universities. I think you’ll be much happier here. I think you spent enough time away at school.’
Rupert had smiled. Ed always seemed to know him so well. ‘I’m glad I stayed too,’ he said. ‘Dad doesn’t always know what’s right for me.’
‘He’s doing his best,’ Ed had said as Rupert had scowled. ‘Us parents have such high hopes for our kids, such big dreams, and eventually we have to give those dreams up and trust our kids to make the right decision.’
‘I guess you and Caro are better at that than my parents,’ Rupert had said. It had always been Ed and Caro he went to when he was angry with his father, and it had always been them who had helped him calm down, helped him think more rationally. He hadn’t known then what he would have done without them.
One night during Rupert’s second year at university, Jess had come home early for the weekend and surprised them in the pub. Rupert had watched Ed’s face light up when Jess walked in and the three of them had spent the evening together, the football forgotten. It felt almost ridiculous to remember now that it had been one of the best nights of Rupert’s life – a simple evening where he could forget lectures and seminars, studies and exams, just for a few hours. He had felt as though he was part of something important, surrounded by love. He had felt as though he had seen a glimpse of his future that night, but that future had been pulled away from him when Ed died.
There was so much he wanted to say to Jess now about the summer her father had died, but he didn’t know where to start.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ he said instead. ‘Do you ever wonder what would have happened if things had been different, if we’d kept in touch, if …’
‘But we didn’t,’ she interrupted. Her tone sounded harsh, far removed from the gentle nostalgia of a moment ago. ‘Those things did happen and our lives went in different directions. It felt as though we weren’t part of each other anymore.’
‘And yet here we are again,’ he said quietly, turning towards her, trailing his fingers gently over her bare shoulder. She shivered and he took off his jacket, wrapping it around her.
‘I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,’ he said.
10 (#ulink_28627b58-ed2c-55ce-9b8a-f9774a160e68)
JESS (#ulink_28627b58-ed2c-55ce-9b8a-f9774a160e68)
As he said it his fingers found mine. When he squeezed my hand, I was back at my grandmother’s funeral remembering how I used to think we’d always be together. His jacket felt heavy on my shoulders, his presence next to me almost intoxicating. He had walked away from me the summer after my father died. There had been a time when I never thought I’d forgive him for that.
And yet, here we were.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you either,’ I said, not letting go of his hand.
‘Tell me something I couldn’t possibly know,’ he said.
I smiled. This was a game we used to play as children. When he came home from boarding school for the holidays we’d tell each other things we couldn’t possibly know because we’d been so far apart for so long. But there was so much to tell him this time that he couldn’t possibly know, and I didn’t know where to start. There were things I didn’t want him to know.
I felt his hand shift slightly in mine, his thumb tracing my knuckles. There was something I could tell him, something I could trust him with.
‘Have you ever heard of the author CJ Rose?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I loved both of those books and I can’t wait for the next one. They reminded me of you actually.’
‘In what way?’
‘The fact that they’re set in Ancient Greece.’ I’d loved Classics since I was a child and read my degree in it. It’s why I chose to set my books in the fourth century BC. ‘But you’re meant to be telling me something I couldn’t possibly know, not quiz me about what books I like.’
‘Have you ever wondered who CJ Rose is?’ I asked.
‘Doesn’t everyone wonder who CJ Rose is?’ he said. He sat up straighter then, looking at me. ‘Oh, do you know?’ he said, excited for the gossip I might impart. ‘Tell me!’
‘Do you remember my middle name?’
‘Of course I do, it’s Rose …’ He stopped for a minute. ‘Jessie?’
I grinned. I couldn’t help myself. While I loved the subterfuge and didn’t really want anyone to know who I was, I also loved it when people found out.
‘Jessie, are you CJ Rose?’
‘Yup!’
‘So this is what you meant by freelance writing?’
‘I came up with the idea when I was sick. It took forever to write that first one but I got there in the end.’
‘My God, Jessie, that’s incredible! Wasn’t the second one shortlisted for an award?’
‘It was,’ I replied. ‘I’m hoping the third book will win one.’
He let go of my hand then and wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me towards him. It felt good to be so close to him after all these years, as though we were two jigsaw pieces fitting back together again.
‘You have to promise you won’t tell anyone,’ I said pulling away from him, panicking suddenly.
‘I promise,’ he said, placing his hand on his chest. ‘Cross my heart.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But why is it so important?’ he asked. ‘It’s such a huge achievement, why don’t you want anyone to know?’
‘The people who matter know,’ I replied. I wasn’t ready to answer his question. I wasn’t ready to tell him that when my agent initially showed an interest in the first book, I was too ill to leave the house and that I’d written the second book before she and I finally met in person. When a publisher first made a tentative offer on the book, my agent had the idea to put it out under a pen name so I didn’t feel pressured to do interviews or book signings. Over the last three years CJ Rose had become quite the enigma. I sometimes wondered if it was the mystery that sold the books rather than the writing.
Rupert smiled at me. ‘Does that mean I’m someone who matters?’ he asked.
And then the ice was broken and the awkwardness seemed to disappear. We sat on the bench and talked and talked while the twilight turned to night around us and the sounds of Gemma’s wedding reception continued in the background. He asked about my books and I told him how I came up with the idea of a detective novel set in Ancient Greece one rainy Sunday afternoon in Highgate and how, once I started thinking about it, I couldn’t stop. I told him about my agent and how she’d signed me on the strength of my first three chapters and I told him about the long agonising wait for a publisher. We laughed to discover that our books were published by different imprints of the same publisher. All these years and neither of us had known.
We talked about people we used to know in Cambridge and what they were doing now. I told him about Caitlin’s family and Gemma’s husband and he told me that his best friend John was still in Cambridge, married with three children and a job in IT that Rupert didn’t understand; that they met for a beer whenever Rupert went back to visit his parents, which I guessed wasn’t very often. He didn’t talk about his parents at all.
‘Tell me something I couldn’t possibly know,’ I said.
He paused for a moment. ‘Mine’s nowhere near as good as yours,’ he said.
‘Tell me anyway.’
‘Do you remember Dan Kelly?’
