The Many Colours of Us Read online

  ‘Reception booked,’ she says. ‘I chose the most expensive menu option and booked a suite for me and Johnny. Would you like me to book one for you and Edwin?’

  She looks at me mischievously. When I ignore her she goes to make some coffee.

  I’d say I was amazed, but she is Philadelphia Simmonds after all. I’d best start designing the best dress I’ve ever made.

  Chapter 21

  He’s waiting for me when I get to the Tate Modern. I’m the one who’s late for once. I was so wrapped up in more clothes designs that I missed the tube stop and I’ve had to run across from St Paul’s. It’s still extremely hot and I’m aware that I’m very sweaty.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ I ask, as I catch my breath.

  ‘There’s something I want to show you,’ he says. ‘Come on.’

  He leads me into the building and we turn immediately right, leaving the giant spider sculpture behind us. I’m ashamed to admit I’ve never been further than that before. A love of modern art clearly didn’t come down through the gene pool.

  We walk through room after room of paintings, sculptures and installations some of which, quite frankly, are bizarre. The huge collection of dismembered dolls is particularly creepy. I stop to look at it, but Edwin insists we keep moving. He’s walking very fast with his back to me.

  At the end of the corridor we come into a room that is slightly more dimly lit than the others. Edwin stops suddenly in the doorway. I peer around him to look inside. The paintings in here are softer than some of the others we’ve passed, most of them painted in a palette of reds and browns and greens – what my mother would call ‘cool autumn’.

  ‘These are the paintings that made up your father’s final exhibition,’ Edwin says. ‘The Tate dedicated this room to him when he died. Some of the work was bought at the exhibition, but those paintings that aren’t privately owned are here.’

  This must be the exhibition Graeme was talking about. The one called Lost Daughters. Slowly I start to walk around the room. The paintings are huge, some of them floor to ceiling, most of them much bigger than any of the ones I’ve seen at the studio, much bigger than the ones we’re hoping to display when we open the Art Salon. They are very abstract, acrylic on canvas, which Frank has told me was my father’s favourite medium, and I’m not sure I understand them at all.

  But as I walk around and read the labels underneath each piece of art I start to get a sense of who my father was. It’s nothing solid, just a feeling, like a wisp of smoke just at the edge of my vision, but it’s a start. I try to remember what Graeme said about this exhibition: paintings of children on their own, ignored children, lonely children. Graeme had described it as haunting, but to me it has a more familiar feeling than that. As though I’ve been here before, even though I know I haven’t.

  When I’ve done a full circuit, I go and sit with Edwin on a bench in the middle of the room. For a moment, we sit in silence.

  ‘He dedicated this exhibition to you,’ Edwin says eventually. ‘Not officially, obviously, but that’s what he told me on opening night. Pretty much all his work was about you, but this one was for you. I think it was his way of saying sorry.’

  ‘I can’t believe he thought he hadn’t done anything to make me proud,’ I say, remembering the letters and previous conversations with Edwin.

  ‘The other day at the studio you said that Frank and I were more qualified to open this Art Salon than you. I wanted to show you how far from the truth that is.’

  I look around me again. ‘But I don’t understand them,’ I say. ‘I can’t look at them and tell you what they are of or what they are about.’

  ‘How do they make you feel?’

  I pause, trying to find the right words. ‘They make me feel as though he’s here, or a shade of him is here. They feel familiar, as though I’ve seen them in a dream or something.’ I stop, self-conscious about how ridiculous I must sound. ‘I don’t know how to describe it.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about how you describe it, or if you don’t interpret the paintings in the same way as other people do. All that matters is how they make you feel.’ He pauses, resting his head in his hands. ‘You were his muse; you were the driving force behind his work. I’m sure of that. So, you see, to say you aren’t qualified to open this Art Salon is absolute nonsense.’

  At first I think he’s angry with me, but then I look at him, slumped on the bench, and I realise how sad he is. He must have grown close to my father towards the end and it’s only been a few months.

  ‘Do you miss him?’ I ask. ‘Bruce?’

  ‘Every day,’ he replies. ‘I spent a lot of time with him over the last few years. We got on well, better than I’ve ever got on with my own father. He was funny, clever, cynical and incredibly talented. He was a joy to be around.’ He stops, looks at me. ‘Just like his daughter,’ he says quietly. My stomach flips over and I look away.

  ‘You seem to know both my parents a lot better than I’ve ever done. A lot better than I was ever allowed to.’ I feel that sense of abandonment again, the one I felt when I was talking to Mum.

  ‘I let you down, Julia,’ he says. ‘And I’m so sorry. I wish I could have changed your father’s mind about seeing you before he died. But I couldn’t and then he was gone and I couldn’t get rid of this feeling of guilt, this sense that I’d known him so well but you’d never been able to.’ He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘I was dreading seeing you again after all these years, explaining everything to you. I put it off over and over. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left it so long.’

  I honestly don’t know what to say. None of this is Edwin’s fault, but at the same time I can’t help feeling a pang of jealousy about how well he knew the father I didn’t.

  ‘Where is he buried?’ I ask instead. I can’t believe it’s taken me so long to think of that question.

  ‘He was cremated on the seventh of March. We scattered his ashes very early one morning in Kyoto Gardens in Holland Park. It was a favourite spot of his.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Me, Dad, your mum, Johnny and Frank.’

  ‘Why did nobody invite me?’ I sound like a petulant child. I don’t mean to.

  He sighs and stands up, his hands in his pockets, his back to me. Someone hovers in the doorway as though they are about to come into the room, but after seeing us they turn to walk away. I’m wiping tears from my eyes. We probably look like a couple on the verge of a difficult break-up.

  ‘Your father left a letter of wishes with his will. In it he made it very clear he didn’t want you to find out until after his funeral.’

  ‘I didn’t think letters of wishes were legally binding,’ I say, surprising myself that I took something in during my years of typing legal letters.

  He turns to look at me. ‘They’re not, but the wishes are expected to be carried out and your mother and Frank insisted. My hands were tied.’

  I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to say.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says again eventually. ‘I really am.’

  ‘Edwin, I could really do with a few minutes on my own if that’s OK?’

  ‘I’ll go and get a coffee; take all the time you need. Come and find me when you’re done.’

  He walks away towards the café and I see the weight of sadness on his shoulders. I don’t blame him for any of this. I never have. I need to be careful not to take out how I’m feeling on him. Edwin has done everything he can, and he may not have been able to introduce me to my father, but he did give me my father’s letters.

  And those letters have made a bigger impact on my life than I realised at first. Those letters have given me the impetus to regain my creativity, to start to seriously think about making clothes for other people, to open the Art Salon my father dreamed about. Without those letters I’m not sure I’d have done any of this. And without Edwin I wouldn’t have the letters. He has no reason to feel guilty at all.

&n
bsp; Chapter 22

  The morning of my mother’s wedding is hotter than ever. I’m up with the sunshine to put the final touches to both our dresses. My mother is still asleep, having been up half the night having a gin-fuelled meltdown. Johnny is at Edwin’s flat. Edwin seems a rather odd choice for Johnny’s best man but, as everyone keeps telling me, they’ve all known him since he was a baby.

  I finish off the hems of our dresses as the sun streams in through my bedroom window. I’m really pleased with them. Mum’s is an ivory silk dress with a pencil skirt that comes just below the knee, a cowl bodice and ribbon around the waist. It’s the first time I’ve attempted a cowl bodice and I’m thanking all the sewing gods that I got this right.

  I’m still slightly amazed that Mum didn’t go and get a fancy designer to make her dress rather than me, but she keeps telling me it will be good advertising for my business. If I ever get a chance to think about that again.

  For myself I’ve chosen a dark red wraparound. It’s simple and elegant. It won’t take any emphasis away from how amazing Mum is going to look but at the same time, I’m going to feel great too. We’ve both bought the highest of high heels we could find. For me, that’s not so much of a problem as I’m going to be standing next to Edwin in the photographs, but Mum is going to tower over Johnny. Maybe she likes it that way.

  I can’t believe how everything has come together. I honestly didn’t think it would and without Edwin it would probably be the worst wedding Kensington and Chelsea has ever known. His colleague’s band were free and they do jazz versions of 70s’ and 80s’ hits, so that couldn’t be more perfect for Mum and Johnny. Edwin charmed the girl who runs the florist’s cart outside St Mary Abbots to do the flowers and his brother, Robert, is doing the photographs. The only person who isn’t happy is Marco di Palma, who’s sulking because we’re not having the reception at his restaurant.

  Robert is a really good photographer apparently. It was something he got into in the rehabilitation clinic after his accident and that helped him deal with the dark depression that swept over him as it became clear he would never walk again. It turns out to be one of the reasons Edwin is so keen to get this Art Salon off the ground, because he knows how much the arts can help people.

  Edwin and I have spoken every day since our trip to the Tate Modern. I tried to explain how I felt about not knowing my father, about not being able to go to his funeral, but how I didn’t blame Edwin. I tried to explain that by giving me the letters Edwin had done more than anyone else could. I don’t want him to feel guilty.

  I think he understands and certainly any lingering awkwardness between us has melted away into a closeness and easy camaraderie. Over the last couple of weeks he’s been helping with every problem that’s arisen with this wedding as well as overseeing the building on the Art Salon, which, I’m told, is now finished. I can’t wait to see it next week. The architect was right, the structural work did happen faster than I thought it would.

  As for Mum, I think we’re going to be OK. If I’ve learned anything over the last few weeks it’s that you must at least try and build bridges, to forgive those who’ve hurt you so that you can move on. My father’s letters have taught me that.

  I hang the two dresses carefully back on their hangers and go downstairs to make Mum some breakfast. It’s time she was up.

  *

  The hair and make-up people that Mum hired have been and gone and we’re alone in the house, waiting for the car to arrive.

  ‘You look amazing, Mum,’ I say. She really does. She never lost that elegance and grace.

  ‘So do you. Come here.’ She holds out her arms and I step into them as she hugs me in a way she hasn’t done since I was a child. ‘I’m so sorry for not telling you about your father. I’m so sorry for everything.’

  I can feel myself begin to cry and I don’t want to ruin my make-up.

  ‘It’s important to learn to let go of the past,’ she goes on. ‘To acknowledge how we change, how everything changes. We’re all different people to who we were thirty years ago.’

  ‘Is marrying Johnny helping you let go of the past?’ I ask. ‘I never thought I’d see you get married.’

  ‘I’ve changed,’ she replies. ‘It just took me rather longer than was necessary to acknowledge it.’

  I realise then how much I’ve changed without acknowledging it, that everything has changed and isn’t going to be the same again. And I also realise that I’m all right with that.

  ‘Come on then,’ I say. ‘Let’s get you married!’

  *

  As the car drives up King’s Road towards the Register Office, Mum squeezes my hand.

  ‘Thank you for sorting out today,’ she says. ‘And for this amazing dress.’

  ‘I’m glad you like it. I don’t know if I could have done all this without Edwin’s help.’

  ‘Good old Edwin,’ she replies. ‘What would we all do without him?’

  What indeed?

  ‘You two have fun today,’ she goes on with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Not everyone gets a chance to be with the love of their life, Julia – don’t miss yours.’

  ‘He’s not the…’ I begin, despite the butterflies in my stomach.

  ‘We’re here,’ my mother interrupts, as the car pulls up.

  ‘But where is everyone?’ I ask. ‘I was expecting everyone to be waiting on the steps.’

  ‘They’ll be around the side,’ Mum replies.

  I look at her blankly.

  ‘Disabled access.’

  ‘I hadn’t even thought of that. How does Edwin manage to think of everything and everybody all the time?’

  ‘Years of practice,’ Mum says with a shrug. ‘Go around and see that everyone’s arrived. I’ll stay here in the air-conditioning.’ She settles back into the leather seat of the car.

  I get out of the car and walk around the corner. Edwin’s standing outside the side entrance looking at his watch. He looks anxious and so handsome in his three-piece suit it takes my breath away. He breaks into a grin when he sees me and I run towards him as best I can in these heels.

  ‘Are we late?’ I ask.

  ‘Only fashionably,’ he says as he leans towards me to kiss my cheek. He smells amazing. ‘You look incredible,’ he says softly into my ear. My stomach does backflips.

  ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’ calls a voice from behind Edwin. Someone who can only be Robert wheels himself expertly towards us. He’s darker than Edwin, his eyes more grey than blue, but very obviously his brother with the same wolfish smile. I can already see that spark in his eyes that Edwin talks about, that makes him more amenable, less awkward and pompous than Edwin.

  ‘Rob, this is Julia,’ Edwin says. I bend down to kiss Rob on the cheek.

  ‘Lovely to meet you,’ I say.

  ‘Likewise,’ Rob says, looking at my cleavage as I stand up. He sees me noticing and shrugs.

  ‘One of the plus points of being at this level,’ he says, indicating the chair.

  Edwin looks horrified but I can’t help giggling.

  ‘Sorry,’ Rob goes on. ‘I’ve just heard so much about you over the last few weeks I feel like I know you. Ed never shuts up about you and I can see why.’

  Edwin is looking at the ground, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

  ‘Shall I go and get Mum?’ I ask, trying to change the subject.

  ‘Come in and meet everyone first,’ Rob says, leading the way.

  I nudge Edwin as we go in. ‘So, you’ve been talking about me, have you?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says quietly.

  ‘Don’t be, I know he’s only winding you up.’

  He relaxes at that and introduces me to his father, Cedric, an older, slightly shorter, more worried-looking version of himself. He says it’s wonderful to see me again after all these years, that Edwin’s been telling him all about me. He’s lovely and his smile is exactly like Edwin’s, but I still can’t get over how he
’s been keeping my parents’ secrets for all these years. Silently I chastise myself. Today isn’t the day for any of this.

  Johnny rushes over to see me, pushing Cedric over to one side.

  ‘Where is she? Where’s your mother?’ he says. Behind him Edwin rolls his eyes. Frank greets me with a wave and a wink. I’m guessing Johnny’s been like this all morning.

  ‘Calm down, Johnny. She’s outside in the car, waiting to make her entrance. And who is this?’ I gesture to a short squat woman in an ill-advised orange suit who I’ve never seen before in my life.

  ‘This is Joan, my sister,’ Johnny says hurriedly. ‘And her husband, Clive.’ An equally short squat man with no neck shakes my hand vigorously. I exchange a look with Edwin. He shrugs. I had no idea Johnny had a sister.

  I want to stay and talk to everyone, find out more about Johnny’s sister, but there will be plenty of time for that later.

  ‘Shall I go and get Mum then?’ I ask. Johnny nods and I head back towards the car.

  As I step back out onto the King’s Road, Edwin calls me back.

  ‘Before this starts, I’ve got something for you,’ he says, pulling a pale blue box out of his pocket. Tiffany. Bloody hell. ‘Traditionally the best man always buys the bridesmaid a gift, but as there aren’t any bridesmaids here today, I got something for you instead.’ He hands me the box. I pull off the ribbon and open it to see an exquisite silver bracelet, very simple and elegant. I couldn’t have picked a better piece of jewellery for myself.

  ‘Edwin, you really shouldn’t have. This must have cost a fortune!’

  ‘I hope you like it,’ he says quietly.

  ‘Edwin, I love it! It’s perfect. But I can’t…’ He takes the box from me, removing the bracelet and sliding it onto my arm.

  ‘Yes you can,’ he says, holding my hand in his.

  ‘Thank you, it’s beautiful.’ I turn towards him and hug him. He wraps his arms around me and it feels so good I don’t want it to end.

  ‘You’d better go,’ he whispers in my ear. ‘I’ll see you in a few minutes.’