Always Alchemy: The Ever After Book (Alchemy #6)

32. Auld Acquaintance

32

AULD ACQUAINTANCE

STELLA

I was a New Year’s Day baby.

This very evening, exactly twenty years ago, Mum and Dad were at a New Year’s Eve party at Cal’s old flat. They were taking it easy, because Mum had been feeling a bit dodgy all day, but apparently it was Mum who insisted that they ‘let their hair down’ one more time.

The plan was never for them to last at the party till midnight, but they lasted less than that, because about ten o’clock Mum started having contractions, and the rest is history.

I was born around eight o’clock the next morning, as night began its slow shift change to a grey dawn.

I think about it every year. I think about that New Year’s Eve more than I think about the timing of my birth, and I pretend not to know why it hurts more than usual this year, but I know, really. It’s because tomorrow, I turn twenty. Twenty-one is the big one, of course, and I’m sure Dad and Mads will throw me a gorgeous party and everyone will make a big fuss, but twenty is hitting me hard for all sorts of reasons.

Tomorrow, I’ll become a young woman for real. I will officially be a twenty-something, even if there’s no something to go with the twenty. I’ll be in the same decade that Mum was when she had me, and that Maddy was when she basically took over mothering us. I’ll be an adult in a way I certainly haven’t felt since I supposedly came of age two years ago.

Whenever Dad tells me and Nance the story of my birth, he always does it in a jolly way, and he makes a really big deal out of how excited they both were that they were going to start the new year with a brand new baby daughter. I can tell he really does have happy memories of it all, but it’s hard for me to hear about them, sometimes, because the fact that they didn’t know what lay ahead for all of us always hurts me so much that it gives me an actual stomach ache when I think about it.

So I find myself here, in Gen and Anton’s insanely gorgeous villa in the South of France, getting ready in my lovely room for what I know will be a beautiful—if dull for those of us under the age of forty—dinner, and thinking way too much about big, scary things like the circle of life.

It’s probably just hormones. Also, lots of people get reflective around their birthdays and lots get reflective on New Year’s Eve, so shoot me for indulging in a double whammy.

I tilt my head to one side as I survey my reflection in the mirror. I’m in the little black dress that my parents bought me for Christmas, though I know Maddy was behind it, because only she knew how obsessed I was with it and how expensive it was, and it’s way too short for Dad to have okayed it. It’s so unbelievably gorgeous—simple, and classy, but really sexy.

I couldn’t wait to have a reason to wear it. I’m glad we’re eating in Anton’s dining room and not out on that lovely terrace, because I’d freeze my tits off otherwise. Still, it’ll be totally wasted on everyone tonight. The younger ones are in bed and there’s only Nance and me and the stupid Russell boys.

From what I’ve seen of Kit so far today, he’s still as annoying and up his own arse as he ever was, even if Nance has a massive crush, and I’m sure Pip is still boring as fuck. The rest of us all turned up yesterday, but Pip and Aida have only arrived this evening, because she was hosting some live political review of the year on TV this morning and he stayed to keep her company.

I mean, she’s seriously cool. Anyway, I assume they made it here in one piece and will be at dinner. And I don’t really mind having a boring night. I had too many heavy nights in the final week of uni before we broke up for Christmas, so a few quiet weeks will do me good. And, knowing what amazingly generous hosts Anton and Gen are, I’m sure the food will be delicious.

My reflection smiles at me and gives me the thumbs up. My hair is tonged and a little darker than usual—I got all the dried-out sun-bleached bits toned down in a really nice session the week before Christmas with my and Mads’ colourist, so I look quite sophisticated. I’ve kept my makeup light, because no one can pull off the white-body-orange-face look in the middle of winter. And I’m wearing a thin strand of pearls that Mum left me in her will and which are my most prized possession.

I spritz on some perfume and smack my lips together. Time to go and play nicely with the grownups.

As I descend the staircase, I see most of them standing around, drinking champagne in Anton’s huge and very elegant drawing room. It’s a gorgeous space, but cleverly enough decorated in neutrals and daubs of pastel that it doesn’t feel weirdly cold in winter. On the contrary, there’s a tree perfectly decked out in creams and golds—definitely Gen’s doing—and the huge stone fireplace has a thick garland strung along the mantle and a roaring fire within.

This house is seriously sick. We’ve been lucky enough to have had a few invitations out here, but I haven’t been recently. We mostly go to our house in Ramatuelle, near St Tropez, when we head to France.

When I grow up, I want to make enough money to have a pad like this, but I’m not sure women’s football is going to cut it. We definitely don’t get paid crazy money like the guys do.

All my thoughts of ambition and fancy French mansions go out the window a second later, because as I cross through the big archway from the hallway to the drawing room, a guy breaks away from the cluster and makes a beeline for me.

It’s Pip Russell.

But it’s not.

Because the Pip Russell I last saw maybe two or three years ago was tall and nerdy and gangly, and this guy, the one walking towards me with his eyes fixed right on me and a serious, open look on his face that is strangely engaging, is tall and broad shouldered and perfectly proportioned, and even as we walk towards each other, I can feel my face heating.

Fuck fuck fuck .

‘Hi,’ I say, less casually and more breathlessly than I intend.

‘Happy New Year, Stella,’ he says, stopping in front of me and bending so he can kiss me on both cheeks.

He’s always been seriously intense. I put it down to social awkwardness, even if he had a creepy habit of staring when we were younger.

He still stares, it seems…

It’s just a lot less creepy when he looks like this .

‘Happy New Year.’ You’ve filled out. ‘How, uh, was your flight?’

He screws up his face. ‘Pretty painful. Anton very kindly offered to send the jet back for us, but I wouldn’t let Mum accept.’

I laugh. ‘Let me guess. It would give you a Yeti-sized carbon footprint?’

‘Yeah. So we came on BA instead. Mum now officially hates me.’

‘I’m sure she’ll get over it,’ I murmur, trying and failing not to take in that lovely broad sweep of his shoulders under his smart navy blazer. His pale blue shirt is open at the neck. I’m pretty sure his adoring mother couldn’t deny this guy anything .

‘I hope so,’ he says, his eyes lingering, it feels like, on my mouth. ‘She says principles are great in theory but less so when they involve ninety minutes of being kicked in the back by a restless toddler.’

I swallow. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s a first world problem.’ I don’t know where he picked up the art of staring from—or maybe it’s more like heated gazing these days, but it’s certainly… effective. I feel entirely more naked than I did in the privacy of my room, more conscious of my bare shoulders beneath the tiny straps of this dress .

‘You’re absolutely right. Anyway, we’re here now, so you don’t have to rely on my brother for sparkling conversation anymore.’

I can tell he means it as a joke. Still, there’s an assurance there that I’ve never seen from Pip before. Uni has really made him blossom, and I don’t just mean physically.

It seems the awkward little nerd is all grown up.

‘Thank God,’ I tell him. ‘He’s still a cocky little shit. He’s spent the past twenty-four hours mansplaining every aspect of football to me.’

‘He never could read the fucking room,’ he says with a grin. The F-bomb gives me a little frisson, for some reason, and his smile is just lovely. It has the immediate effect of tempering that intensity of his.

‘But I’m being rude,’ he continues, ‘keeping you when you don’t even have a drink. Let’s get you sorted out. Anton’s got the Dom Perignon out already.’

He puts a light hand on my lower back—just his fingertips, really, brushing the curve of my spine through my black silk—and I find I’m oddly disappointed when he leads me through to where the others are mingling.

Dinner is delicious, obviously, cooked with great aplomb by Anton’s hilarious chef Jean-Jacques, who insists on coming out to introduce each course in rapid, completely unintelligible French. Anton does the translating for him. I sit between Kit and Pip, though Kit focuses mainly on Nancy, thank God. I think he’s worked out she’s an easier audience for his bullshit.

Pip is reading Environmental Change and Management at Oxford, which sounds seriously hardcore. I think I knew he was at Oxford, but had forgotten. I suppose it’s not a surprise. He went to Eton, after all, and he’ll be Lord Russell one day, when his dad dies, and you can’t tell me Oxford isn’t still totally elite at heart. Anyway, Pip was always that kid who signed up for the Model UN and stuff like that, and I remember he wrote for Eton’s environmental magazine. I’ve also found out that he’s become obsessed with rowing in the past year, which I guess explains the excellent shoulders.

Still, he spends most of his time asking me about my degree—I’m studying Sports Science at Loughborough—and my football training schedule. He knows a weirdly large amount about both already. Someone’s been doing their homework, but it’s less creepy than sweet.

As we all dine at this beautiful table in this beautiful room, my attention stays on Pip. I zone out his brother, who’s so much louder than him, as best I can, and enjoy the quiet strength of his features in the soft, flickering light of the many tapered candles. He has really friendly eyes. They’re a kind of blue-grey, I think, so they could be cold, but they’re not. And they go all crinkly when he smiles at me, which is often. I like his eyes.

After pudding, which is a melt-in-your-mouth apple tart done the French way, topped with crème anglaise and super-fine slices of glazed apple, Anton stands up and taps his wine glass with his fork. He says a few charming words about how we’ll have a new year in less than an hour, and how much it means to him and Gen to be surrounded by the friends they consider to be family at this time of year. Then he says, ‘We also have a birthday to celebrate in less than an hour. Would the birthday girl like to say a few words before everyone gets totally legless?’

I’ve known this was coming. Gen pulled me aside earlier to check with me if it would be okay, and I said yes. While I have no problems captaining the Loughborough women’s football A team in front of hundreds of spectators, I’m far less comfortable speaking in public. But my dad and Mads are grinning at me with so much love and pride, and Pip, when I glance over at him, gives me a solidly encouraging smile too, so I suppose I can do this.

I get to my feet.

‘Firstly, thank you, Gen and Anton, for having us all to stay and for such a lovely party. I want to be you when I grow up.’

There’s a smatter of laughter and a chorus of ahhs. I reach for my glass and take a hasty swig of the lovely white wine we’re drinking. I’ll need it for this next part.

‘And I’d like to propose a toast to my Mum, who was in labour with me right now twenty years ago.’ I screw up my face, trying to stop the tears from coming. ‘Mum, we miss you every day, and I’m sorry for ruining your New Year’s Eve that year.’

I hold up my glass with a shaky hand. In my peripheral vision, I see Pip’s stricken face and Nancy bowing her head.

‘To Claire,’ Dad says forcefully, and everyone else joins in. He jumps up from his seat and comes around to give me a firm hug and a smacker on the cheek before going to check on Nancy.

‘I also want to say a quick thanks to my dad,’ I press on. I just want to get this over with. ‘Thanks for being the best dad ever, even during the really, really bad times.’

We all raise our glasses and there are lots of noisy cheers and thumps on the table as everyone shouts some variation of: To Zach! He abandons Nance and comes around to give me another big hug.

‘I love you, Stel. ’

‘I love you too,’ I tell him, before wriggling free. I’m aware I’m droning on here.

‘And one last toast,’ I say. I feel a bit shy about saying this, but it absolutely needs to be said. ‘I’d just like to thank Maddy, too. It’s so weird to think she was only three years older than I am now when she basically became a mum to me and Nancy. I can’t even imagine it, because there’s no way I’m anywhere near ready to have kids.’

‘I’m extremely relieved to hear that,’ Dad says drily, dropping back into his seat and pulling Mads towards him with an arm hooked around her shoulders. Everyone laughs.

‘But seriously, it must have been so, so weird for you, but you never let us feel it. You’ve been so lovely since that very first day we met you on Rafe’s terrace, and, well.’ I swallow. ‘I think things would have been really bad without you,’ I whisper, ‘for all three of us. So thank you for marrying Dad and saving us all and giving us two amazing little brothers. We love you so much.’

‘Hear, hear!’ Cal shouts really loudly, and everyone gives a massive cheer.

Mads is up and out of her chair in a flash, coming to swallow me up in a hug. ‘I love you,’ she whispers in my ear. ‘Watching you and Nance grow up into such gorgeous young women has been the honour of my life.’

I squeeze her back tightly as our friends’ voices ring out in her honour. ‘It’s not over yet.’

I can’t quite shake this feeling off. It’s somewhere between melancholy and excess emotion. I feel weepy and fragile, even sitting here surrounded by all this love. I think of my beautiful, amazing mum all those years ago, sitting in a hospital bed, preparing to meet me for the first time. It hits me every year, but this year it’s a lot. So, as soon as the fuss has died down and everyone’s back to their raucous, somewhat drunken chatter, I excuse myself to go to the loo.

Instead, I dive out through the kitchen into the still gardens. It’s bloody freezing out here. I didn’t quite think this through—not in this dress, anyway—but I need some peace and quiet more than I need warmth right now.

Down by the pool area, the noise from inside is far less intense. It’s a nice backdrop, but the sound of all that merriment feels like it could be floating over from a neighbour’s party. I sink down onto one of the sun loungers and watch the thick steam rising from the illuminated pool that Anton has had uncovered and heated specially for this weekend. It’s mesmerising, in the same way that watching a fire is mesmerising, and it gives me something pretty to gaze at while I allow myself to feel.

I miss her.

I fucking miss her.

It’s like I’m split in two—loving Maddy and Jonny and Nicky and the way our family looks today, and being all too aware that if Mum hadn’t died, we wouldn’t have them in our lives, while still grieving for the way the four of us were when Nance and I were little and for all the things Mum never got to do, all the milestones she never got to see. Sometimes it feels like there are actual hands inside me, tearing me apart, and it’s agony.

It may be a decade since we lost her, but I’m still trying to find a way to sit with all these weird conflicts and huge, scary emotions. Because I know at the end of the day that there’s no real way to reconcile them or make sense of them.

Sitting with them is really all we can do .

So I do.

I sit here on this bloody freezing sun lounger and I let it all wash over me, all the contradictions and the injustice and the grief, and I let the tears come, too, big, fat, sad ones that plop down onto my bare knees as I hug them to my chest in an attempt to keep warm.

Until I hear footsteps. Dad, probably, or Mads, come to see if I’m okay.

But it’s not either of them.

It’s Pip.

I look up at him, probably looking totally pathetic with my goosebumps and my chattering teeth and tear-stained cheeks.

‘Oh my God,’ he says, coming straight over to me and stripping off his smart navy blazer as he does. ‘Stella.’ He crouches and puts it around my shoulders, the body-warmed silk of its lining instantly enveloping me like a hug. ‘Can I?’ he asks, pointing at the edge of the lounger, and I nod as I sniff my tears away.

Not only does he sit, but he puts an arm around me, hugging me against his body so I’m even warmer. I keep my arms crossed over my chest, because I literally have been freezing my tits off, and lean into his side. I should be embarrassed that he’s found me like this, but I’m not, somehow.

‘I’m so sorry about your Mum,’ he whispers.

I draw my knees down so I’m sitting like a normal person. ‘Thanks.’

‘It’s so tragic. I’m so glad you guys have had Maddy. I’ve always been grateful that Mum met Cal, but honestly, no one deserves to have found happiness more than you and your sister and your dad.’

‘She’s amazing. ’

He hesitates. ‘If you want to talk about it, I’m here.’

‘Thanks, but there’s nothing to say. She shouldn’t have died, I miss her, end of story.’

‘That’s all fair.’ He rubs my arm gently. ‘Can I tempt you inside? It’s freezing out here.’

‘In a minute. It’s so nice and peaceful. You should go in, though,’ I add hurriedly.

‘Nah, I’m good staying for a bit if you are.’

He nudges even closer towards me and holds me tighter, and I let my head fall onto his shoulder. He’s a peaceful person to be around, that’s for sure. And it was sweet of him to come looking for me.

Another great big tear plops onto my bare thigh. Jesus. I need to pull myself together. But Pip reaches over with his spare hand, and I watch in a daze as he uses his thumb to wipe the tear off my thigh. It’s not only an intimate gesture, but a possessive one. I glance up in time to see him sucking the pad of his thumb into his mouth as our eyes meet.

Oh. My. God.

He doesn’t look shy now. He looks like a guy who knows exactly what he wants. His lips are closed around his thumb, and I can’t drag my eyes away as he slides it slowly out.

Our faces are so close.

He uses the same thumb to wipe away the rest of my tears from one cheek and then the other.

‘Far too beautiful for tears,’ he murmurs, and I go still.

‘Really?’

‘I’ve always thought it.’ He slides his hand around my neck. ‘For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved looking at you.’

I give him a tiny, pleased smile.

‘That’s better,’ he says, his gaze flitting back and forth from my mouth to my eyes. ‘But it seems I’m the sleazebag who seeks out a crying girl and then tries to hit on her while she’s vulnerable.’ He pauses, like he’s hoping I’ll disagree.

‘You could’—I clear my throat—‘try harder. If you like.’

The smile he flashes me is blinding, and how in the world I ever thought this tall, dark guy with the quiet, steady manner and the beautiful grey-blue eyes was dull is beyond my comprehension .

‘Seriously?’ he asks, his fingers flexing on my neck.

‘Mmm-hmm. Yeah. You know, you should be trying a lot harder to cheer me up. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.’

We grin at each other and, even if mine is watery and shaky and a little unhinged, it doesn’t seem to faze him.

‘Stella, Stella, Stella,’ he murmurs before he closes his mouth over mine.

His kiss, like everything else about him tonight, is stronger and sexier and more confident than I expected. It starts out tentative for about a millisecond before he presses his lips harder against mine. The first decisive stroke of his tongue has me opening for him instantly. I claw at his dark hair with one hand while the other enjoys the feel of warm, bunched shoulder muscles under his shirt, and I have the hazy thought that using his body to catalogue the major muscle groups would be way more fun than any textbook.

Within about a minute, he has his jacket off my shoulders, his hands doing laps of my neck and back and arms. Within another, he’s hauling me up onto his lap so I can straddle him. I can’t stop kissing him. He’s so big and solid, and he tastes delicious. He’s kissing me like he can’t stop, either.

‘You should keep up the rowing,’ I mumble into his mouth as I drag my fingers over the ridge of his tricep. ‘It’s clearly working for you. ’

He chuckles. ‘ That will motivate me at the arse-crack of dawn every time I have training,’ he tells me before diving back in to sample my mouth again.

While Maddy may have tried to sell me on the benefits of a quiet, intense nerd many times over, I’ve usually gone for football players, to be honest. They’re generally hot, athletic and basic. But kissing a guy who goes to fucking Oxford and wants to save the planet and looks at me like I’m the second coming of the Lord is something I’ve seriously, seriously underrated.

I’m vaguely aware of the rest of our party shouting out the countdown to midnight. ‘Do you want to go back inside?’ I pant.

’Hard pass.’ He buries his face between my neck and my shoulder, and I tilt my head to give him access. I shiver, partly because it feels so good and partly because I’m still freezing. ‘But we could get in the pool, if you want to warm up. Look at that steam! It looks boiling.’

‘It’s geo-thermally heated,’ I tell him hurriedly. If he goes off on an eco-rant it would really ruin the moment. ‘But we can’t get in the pool!’

‘Why not?’ He puts his hands around my waist and lifts me off him before standing.

I gaze up at him stupidly. ‘Common decency?’

‘You don’t have to skinny dip. I’ll keep my boxers on. You can go get your swimming costume, if you insist.’

He winks at me, and I look at the pool, flustered. I mean, it looks like an actual hot tub from here. A very big one.

Next thing I know, he’s unbuttoning the collar and cuffs of his shirt and tugging it off over his head. Holy crap. Those shoulders are even broader with his shirt off, his defined pecs dusted with dark hair, and a dark line leading to his waistband. I gape, and he laughs .

‘I’ve waited a long fucking time for you to look at me like that, Stel.’

‘Keep going,’ I say, my eyes on his belt buckle.

He laughs again and makes quick work of it, shoving his chinos down and showing off his snug black boxer briefs.

Oh my God.

I made him hard.

He throws the trousers onto the lounger, actually salutes me, and turns with a grin before cannonballing into the shallow end of the pool. I shriek as my dress and I get sprayed hard.

When he surfaces, it’s a fine, fine sight, water droplets streaming from his body as he raises his hands to slick back his hair.

‘Okay, okay,’ I say. ‘Give me one minute.’

My bikini is in the cabana. I had a swim first thing this morning. I sprint in and turn on the light, pulling my dress off over my head and getting my thong and heels and pearls off as quickly as humanly possible. My bikini is dry, thanks to the lovely perma-heated towel rails that Pip doesn’t need to know about. I tug it on, fastening the top behind my back, and run back out again in record time. He’s standing in the water, surrounded by steam, grinning at me.

Nothing has ever looked more enticing.

From the house behind me come the strains of people drunkenly singing Auld Lang Syne.

‘Is it warm?’ I ask him, stepping to the edge of the pool.

‘It’s glorious,’ he says, his eyes running over my bikini-clad body. He holds his arms out wide. ‘Come on in, French. What are you waiting for?’

It’s a shiny new year.

A gorgeous, sweet man is mostly naked in this stunning pool, and he wants to warm me up .

Nothing.

I’m waiting for nothing .

I give him my best smile, and I jump.

AND THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER.

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