Page 10 of Under Your Spell

When she wraps me in her arms she smells the same as she always does, of Pears soap and Diorissimo, a perfume she chose when she was eighteen because it made her feel like a character in a Jilly Cooper novel. She gives me an extra squeeze, which I know is because I finally came clean about the whole losing-my-boyfriend-and-my-job thing, and I hug her back, holding on for a long moment.

‘Hi, Mum,’ I say. ‘I thought you said it was only going to be a few people?’

‘Well, darling, I suppose Carl was more loved than we realized.’ My mum looks around her, obviously pleased by the turnout.

‘I still don’t understand why you’re the one hosting his wake,’ I say in a low voice, and even I know I sound peevish.

‘You know he didn’t have any family,’ Mum blinks, her face sad. ‘It’s what he wanted, and he was a good friend to us.’

Guilt churns in my stomach. ‘I’m sorry,’ I reply. ‘You’re right. I just hate seeing all these people in the house, but of course it was the right thing to do. It was a lovely service.’

Mum puts an understanding hand on my arm, but accepts the change of subject. ‘It was, wasn’t it?’ she says. ‘Although I think there was some sort of commotion at the back near the start. I didn’t catch what was happening, did you?’

I shake my head innocently. ‘No, no, I didn’t notice anything.’

‘There you are!’ I see Serena and Lil pushing their way through the crowd. Mum embraces both of them.

‘It’s a fucking scrum in here,’ Serena huffs.

‘Love the veil,’ Mum says, stroking the lace that hangs around Lil’s shoulders.

‘Where are Petty and Ava?’ I ask, scanning the room.

‘I think they’re through in the sitting room with your father,’ Mum says, and I try to keep the sour lemon wince from my face. ‘Let’s go and say hello. They’re all dying to see you.’ She lifts a hand to her mouth. ‘Oops! Unintended funeral humour.’

We decide to cut around the side of the house rather than fight our way through the crowds, and so it doesn’t take too long to find the rest of our parents.

Predictably, the room is heaving, with everyone crowded around them while pretending not to gawp openly. There are plenty of celebrities at the wake, not that I recognize many of them (Carl had worked very successfully in the music industry for over forty years after all), but the sight of Ripp, Ava and Petty sipping champagne together is admittedly a compelling one.

I catch the eye of one man trying to take a sneaky picture with his phone and scowl. He drops the device in his pocket like it has scalded him. My shoulders are so tense I have to force them down from around my ears. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this.

The furniture has all been pushed to the side of the room and people cluster in groups. Ripp’s hand is round Petty’s waist and she smiles up at him good-naturedly. Petty – short for Petunia – is the sweetest person on the planet, and she’s never had a bad word to say about Ripp. She was only seventeen when she had Lil – Ripp was almost forty, so I’m really not kidding when I tell you he’s the worst – and she always says she grew up in this house too. She works as a costume designer for various theatre companies, and is a talented artist. With her long blonde hair and blue eyes, she and Lil pretty much look like twins, though Petty doesn’t have a musical bone in her body.

Ava on the other hand is looking at Ripp the way she always does, with a slightly dazed sense of what was I thinking? I stifle a laugh at the exasperation in her eyes, the arms folded across her chest. Ava looks like a supermodel – almost six foot tall, rich brown skin, ink-dark hair pulled into a smooth chignon, a wide, sulky mouth. She was in law school when she had Serena, and she’s a top human rights lawyer now. Many better men have trembled beneath her flinty glare, but if Ripp picks up on the fact she doesn’t like him much, he’s not showing it. Then again, he always has been oblivious to subtlety.

‘There are my girls!’ he booms now, delighted to see us, and uncaring about the heads that turn in our direction, the interest from the crowd more shameless now that he seems to be inviting it. I have a sudden flashback to the time I was seven and we stopped at a motorway services. Ripp swanned in and yelled, ‘Good morning, Watford Gap!’ like he thought he was Robin Williams, then did an impromptu autograph signing. I got knocked down by the enthusiastic crowd and hid under a display of microwaveable burgers.

My father didn’t notice until we were back in the car and my knees were bleeding. Carl cleaned up the blood with a handkerchief and slipped me a cherry drop while Ripp was on the phone with his girlfriend of the week.

Serena kisses him on the cheek. ‘Hi, Dad,’ she says.

‘So sorry about Uncle Carl,’ Lil adds, giving him a quick hug.

‘Ripp,’ I say with a cool nod. I keep out of his immediate reach, positioning myself beside Ava, who pulls me into a warm hug instead.

‘Clemmie,’ she murmurs in my ear. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too,’ I say, returning the hug. With my life swerving so spectacularly off the rails it’s been a while since I’ve managed to drag myself home. I know that the mums want me to move back, stop wasting money I don’t have on rent, let them fuss over me, but I’m thirty-two years old. It feels like coming home would be the final admission of defeat and I can’t bring myself to do that yet. I am choosing to see this as a positive – it’s possible that there is some fight left in me after all. A teeny, tiny drop anyway.

‘It’s been a while since I saw you, Clementine,’ Ripp says. ‘You’re looking more and more like your mother every day.’

‘Really?’ I shrug. ‘Must be the hair colour. I don’t see it myself.’

‘My most beautiful wife.’ Ripp ignores my cold tone and focuses his sparkle on my mother, who grins.

‘Ripp, I was your only wife,’ she says.

‘There was just no getting over you,’ he sighs, pulling her hand to his lips.