The alternative would be to come out here on her own. To really grasp the idea of a second chance and head off into the sunset to find herself. But the thought made her uneasy. She wasn’t sure she had the courage for so much aloneness. She had no trouble curling up on her sofa at home watching Netflix by herself all evening, but that was generally because she always knew that the next night or the next lunchtime or the next breakfast she was meeting someone, whether it was a client or a friend or even her dad. There was always someone. Always a dinner, always a drink. And if one person cancelled she invariably found another. Aside from her close friends she had a little black book of acquaintances, an intricate network of possibilities. There was always a dot on her iPhone calendar. She made sure she wasn’t lonely by rarely being alone.
Across from the bar the guitar player paused for a beer, nodding when a couple of people clapped. The mood of the playground opposite morphed as the little kids ran off for dinner and a group of loping teenagers took over the swings.
Ava’s phone buzzed with a text message.
It was from Caroline, a girl she hadn’t spoken to in ages who she’d seemingly called in desperation from the hospital. They’d done work experience together at Peregrine Fox Antiques – which predominantly meant walking Peregrine’s dog and popping out to buy espressos. Caroline had left for a job at an auction house and was now senior press officer. Ava realised she must have underestimated her concussion because she couldn’t actually believe she’d called Caroline for help, given their lack of recent contact and Caroline’s ability to always make her feel as though, while everyone else was leaning in, Ava was lying back taking a nap.
Ava! Great to hear from you! Sorry taken so long to reply – we’re in the middle of a HUGE forgery scandal. All super stressful and not something I should even mention on text. LOL. Will probably be indicted. How’s things?? Your LinkedIn says you’re still working at Peregrine’s btw – need to update.
Ava exhaled, blowing her hair up out of her face, the curl landing back in the same place. She almost laughed. The world itself was conspiring to spotlight her every failing.
Exactly as her LinkedIn profile suggested, Ava was still working at Peregrine Fox Antiques. She loved her job. She sourced antiques for rich clients at the tiny company run by the brilliant, very camp Peregrine Fox. She was good at it. People trusted her. They sold her things for nothing and bought things from her for a fortune while Peregrine drank copious espressos and did the same thing, just more flamboyantly. Ava had an eye for quality that came from trailing round after her mother, who only felt like she’d truly made it in life when the very best became her everyday default. Her eye for a bargain came from trailing round after her grandmother, who had a self-patented technique for elbowing to the front at jumble sales. Ava’s greatest success to date was unearthing a Chippendale blanket trunk in the back room of a Sussex farmhouse that was being used to store muddy boots and dog food.
But now, seen through Caroline’s eyes, it made her feel as though she was still twenty-one and doing the filing.
It felt like a sign.
Ava turned her phone over on the table, didn’t reply to the text. She watched the fly Rory had saved still making its way dozily to the edge of the table.
Rory had taken the opportunity to read his emails again. ‘Going to have to drink up so we can get to the airport,’ he said, eyes glued to his screen.
Ava checked her watch. There was acres of time. ‘You know, Rory,’ she said, swallowing, her mouth suddenly dry, talking before her brain had fully formulated a plan, ‘maybe I might come out here for the summer.’
Rory took a quick slug of sherry. ‘What do you mean? What – to Spain?’
‘Yeah,’ Ava nodded. ‘Maybe I could pack up the Summerhouse. You know, take some time off work. Live in it for a bit?’ He was watching her and that made her carry on, uncomfortable. ‘Maybe this might be a good opportunity for a . . .’ She tried to find the right word. He was still looking at her, dubious. ‘A restart. A re-evaluation.’
The guitar player had started up again. The teenagers on the swings were rolling cigarettes, tinny music from their phones clashing with the guitar. The bar heaved with people, knocking their chairs as they pushed past, hands full, carrying drinks out into the square. It was still warm, but the air around Ava suddenly felt hotter under Rory’s scrutiny.
‘Don’t you think you’d be better off maybe buying a house with the inheritance? Or,’ he paused, tapped the table with his index finger, ‘not running out on perfectly good relationships. How was Jonathon by the way?’ When Ava rolled her eyes in response, he stretched his shoulders back, as though his shirt, or her life, was an annoying discomfort. ‘Those are the kind of things that would lead to your future, Ava.’
She studied him. Noticed how age made him look harder. Like all his edges had squared off. ‘You sound like Dad.’
Rory shrugged. ‘No bad thing. Look, thing is, Ava, I think it’s better that we just sell. I can’t sit on that money while you take a holiday. I’m sorry, I know that sounds harsh. But it’s going to have to be a no. OK?’
She didn’t say anything, knew from experience that it was pointless arguing with her brother, he was like a brick wall. It was the same as when they were kids, his bedroom door always tight shut, Ava desperately guessing the password that might let her in, too naively exuberant to realise that the game was endless because there never was one.
But Ava’s interest was piqued. The idea of a second chance, a different way of living, a change, wouldn’t go away.
She picked up her glass and took another sip. She knew the bus accident wasn’t fate, just a bad combination of WhatsApp and the Green Cross Code. She knew there were no deals with the universe or cosmic signs. But it felt like she had somehow been handed this possibility by her grandmother, and she couldn’t allow it to slip through her fingers.
She imagined sitting by herself on that Spanish veranda, with the view of the courtyard garden and the sweet-scented close night air. And Ava knew suddenly that if her grandmother could do it alone, so could she.
Rory was still talking. ‘It was funny, wasn’t it, when that guy said he felt sorry for Grandad. No more peace in heaven for him.’
Ava laughed. ‘Yeah, it was.’
‘God, I’d have had to say something about you, wouldn’t I? If that bus had got you.’
‘That’s a nice way of putting it, Rory.’
Rory sniggered into his sherry. Then he looked at his watch. ‘Come on, drink up, we’ve got a plane to catch.’
She realised she was suddenly itching to know what he would have said about her if the bus had indeed got her. Intrigued by a possible heartfelt truth, she crossed her arms, glass dangling from her fingertips, and with feigned nonchalance so as not to appear too eager, said, ‘Go on then, what would you have said?’
Rory frowned as he considered the question. Then he downed his drink and grinned. He had a habit of picking up on when she wanted something, and her silent patience was a huge giveaway. ‘I’d say that you were a real pain in the arse growing up but sometimes you can be quite funny now.’
Ava made a face. ‘You wouldn’t have said that,’ she huffed. ‘Come on, what would you actually have said?’
Rory laughed. ‘I’m not telling you what I would have said.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because people don’t say what they think about you until after you die. That’s the bitch. You never get to know.’
Ava