The Invitation_The perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy Read online

  She spent the morning working on amendments for a contract, had lunch sitting on a bench looking out over the river listening to a podcast, and picked up some prawns and a loaf of fresh bread on the way home.

  Matt wasn’t home – he usually got back about an hour after she did – so she showered and changed into her favourite pyjamas before pouring herself a glass of wine, cutting off a chunk of cheese and curling up on the sofa to watch an episode of The Crown on Netflix. Perfect.

  Chapter Five

  Piper had always intended to move to London for university. But she’d assumed she’d be going home to New Brighton, to her family, every holiday and possibly additional weekends. She’d only been in London for five months when her parents had died. And that had changed everything.

  She’d gone home for a while. Just until she’d felt like she could stand without staggering. Could speak without weeping. Could breathe without it escaping through the gaping hole where her heart had been. She’d actually returned to London a little before she was ready. Because she’d been terrified that she’d never be ready and she’d stay at home – with Connie and Holly, who had still been living in New Brighton and working in Liverpool – and never get back to her own life.

  * * *

  Back in London, she threw herself into university, into student life, and tried to forget everything else. If she worked hard enough, if she went out enough, if she drank enough, she didn’t have to think about the fact that her parents were never coming back. Ever.

  She lived in Halls off Charlotte Street, which would have been a perfect introduction if the Halls hadn’t been so shitty, but living in the centre of town had been exciting. Her friends all went out a lot, even though no one really had any money. They’d get £1 slices of pizza and cheap beer and either spend their nights in dingy clubs (everyone else) or endlessly walking around London (Piper).

  In her second year, she moved into a shared flat with two girls who never spoke to her, but left her passive aggressive Post-it notes about every single thing she did. Her music and TV were too loud. She was taking up too much space in the fridge. She’d left a pan to soak in the sink and they would ‘appreciate it’ if she did her dishes before returning to her room. They’d got the electricity bill – Piper’s rent had been inclusive of utilities – and it was much higher than they’d expected, so could she not charge her phone so much or make fewer cups of tea or just, you know, maybe disappear entirely but carry on paying rent. They hadn’t written that. But Piper had felt it just the same.

  In her third year, she’d moved into a shared house with some other uni friends, ones she actually liked, and Matt, who she’d seen around, but didn’t really know. They weren’t super close – it wasn’t the Friends hanging out in each other’s rooms, in and out of each other’s lives, co-dependent friendship she’d dreamed about, but it had been fine. Gradually everyone had moved out and been replaced until she and Matt were the only ones who’d been there from the start. And they were best friends.

  Once she’d finished uni, she’d started temping with a company that specialised in the entertainment industry. She hadn’t really known what she wanted to do; all she’d known was that she’d wanted to be in London. And if she was going to temp, she thought she might as well temp in an interesting industry. And she was really good at it. From the very first day she was in demand, moving from one job directly into another.

  And she’d enjoyed it. She’d started at Infinite Plays record company, in the Accounts department, basically inputting figures on a spreadsheet. She’d been bored out of her mind, but the people were nice and the office was on the Thames in Hammersmith and she could actually almost just about see the river out of the window.

  Then the PA to the Head of Legal & Business Affairs left suddenly and they asked her to cover for her, just until they found someone else, but by the end of the first week, her boss, John, stopped working on the ‘Perfect PA, Central London’ ad and started asking her to stay. So she’d stayed.

  * * *

  And then there was the money. From her parents’ house. From their savings. From their insurance policies. So much money. More money than Piper had really ever dreamed of having. She’d planned to ignore it to begin with. But then she’d bought her flat. For a ridiculous amount of money. She still couldn’t really think about how much it had cost. But everyone said it was an investment, that renting was ‘dead money’ (and then they’d wince when they realised they’d just said the ‘d’ word to someone who’d just lost her parents). Matt had gone on all the viewings with her. And she’d been glad. Because he had great taste and a very low tolerance for bullshit. There’d been times when Piper had known she would have been snowed by the estate agent, but Matt just said no. At one flat, he refused to let Piper even step over the threshold because of the smell of mould emanating from, apparently, everywhere. Piper had almost settled on a studio in a portered building on actual Abbey Road –it was smaller than she’d wanted, but it had a balcony and she felt safe knowing there was security on site – but then Matt had sent her the details of a flat in Stoke Newington belonging to one of his many friends. It wasn’t an area Piper knew or had considered, but the flat was the basement of an adorable end-of-terrace Victorian house and actually had its own private patio garden. Tiny, but still. Piper’s heart had fluttered as she’d looked at the photos and then when she and Matt had gone to view it, she’d known before they were even through the front door. It was perfect. It felt like her. No, more than that. It felt like the person she wanted to be. But she hadn’t wanted to be alone, so she’d asked Matt to stay. And they’d had so much fun together that he just never left.

  Chapter Six

  Piper was standing in the queue in Starbucks the following morning when her phone rang. A Merseyside number. She answered it.

  ‘Is that Piper?’ a man’s voice asked and Piper felt her stomach flip over.

  ‘Yes,’ Piper said, shuffling forward as the queue moved a little. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘My name’s Jim. I’m one of Connie’s neighbours? She’s okay. You don’t need to panic.’

  ‘Oh,’ Piper said. She stepped out of the queue and sat down at a nearby empty table. ‘What happened?’

  ‘She… I brought her to the walk-in centre. She’s just in with them now. She told me not to phone you but—’

  ‘I’m glad you did,’ Piper said. ‘Thank you. So what happened?’

  ‘When I got up this morning, her door was open. I called out to her, but she wasn’t there so I went downstairs to see if she was outside with the dog and she was, but she was… confused.’

  ‘God,’ Piper said. She reached for a cup on the table, remembered it wasn’t hers, and pushed it away.

  ‘She was in her nightdress. And barefoot. And when I approached her, she didn’t know me.’

  Piper squeezed her eyes shut, tears burning her throat.

  ‘She seemed to think she was at the house she grew up in. She… she was asking for her mum and her sisters. She said the house had changed and she didn’t know who’d done it. She was quite distressed.’

  ‘Okay,’ Piper said, her voice tight. ‘Okay.’

  ‘I knocked on one of the other neighbours – do you know Beryl? She took her up to the flat and helped her get dressed and then in the car, coming here, she seemed like her normal self again. But… I don’t know. I don’t know if she had a stroke or… we’ll find out, I suppose.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Piper said. ‘Thank you for finding her and taking her to hospital.’

  ‘It’s not the hospital,’ Jim said. ‘Just the walk-in centre.’

  ‘Yes, sorry,’ Piper said. ‘But thank you. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘I didn’t want to worry you,’ he said, clearing his throat. ‘But I thought you should know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Piper said again. ‘If there’s any news can you call me? Or ask her to call me, if she’s up to it? I’ll phone her later, but just in case there’s something…’
/>   ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ll let you know.’

  Piper stayed sitting for a little while, taking deep breaths and waiting for her legs to stop trembling. Then she headed to the bathroom, splashed cold water on her face and sat on the loo, lid down, until her heart rate returned to normal.

  Connie couldn’t die. Not yet. Piper wasn’t ready. There were so many things they still needed to talk about. Piper had so many questions. She knew Connie had boxes of her parents’ stuff that she’d told Piper she and Holly needed to go through, but there’d never been a right time.

  She should call Holly.

  * * *

  ‘One of us should go up there,’ Holly said.

  Before ringing her sister, Piper had bought herself a latte and a cheese toastie and texted work to tell them she was going to be late.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Piper said.

  ‘I can’t,’ Holly said. ‘Not this weekend. James has got a dinner tomorrow night –someone from the New York office, and then on Sunday morning I’m playing tennis—’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Piper said, picking a chunk of melted cheese off the crust of her toastie. ‘Wouldn’t expect you to miss tennis.’

  ‘It’s not just tennis,’ Holly said. ‘It’s a networking thing. It’s important.’

  ‘Right,’ Piper said.

  ‘Are you doing anything?’ Holly asked. ‘This weekend?’

  She’d actually been planning a RuPaul’s Drag Race marathon with Matt, pizzas, Haribo, and wine – they’d been looking forward to it all week – but she wasn’t going to tell Holly that.

  ‘Not really,’ she said instead. ‘I could probably go.’

  ‘I can pay half your fare, if—’

  ‘I can pay my fare, Hol, thanks,’ Piper said, rolling her eyes. ‘I’ll go up in the morning.’

  The faint feeling washed over Piper again – what if that was too late? What if Connie died in the walk-in centre? What if she was dead now?

  ‘She’ll be okay,’ Holly said. ‘She’s hard as nails.’

  Piper laughed. ‘She’s old. I keep forgetting how old she is.’

  ‘I know. But this… if this is the first time something like this has happened… Did he say?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And she was okay last time you saw her?’

  Piper tried to remember when that had been. February? For Connie’s birthday? She wasn’t sure she’d even made it up then. So it would’ve been Christmas. Nine months ago. Guilt curled her stomach. Although Holly hadn’t even made it then: she and James had spent Christmas in Morocco.

  ‘She was a bit forgetful. And she’s always repeating stories on the phone. But I wasn’t worried, no.’

  ‘Okay,’ Holly said briskly. ‘So try not to worry too much now. I bet you’ll get up there and she’ll be her usual self.’

  Piper nodded. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Let me know, okay? Ring me when you get there.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Piper said. ‘I will.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Holly said. And ended the call.

  Piper finished her latte and toastie and wondered how her sister always seemed to weasel out of any family obligations. Not that they had many any more. But Piper was always the one who phoned Connie and then passed any info on to Holly. Piper certainly didn’t visit enough, but she visited a lot more than Holly. Neither of them ever wanted to go back to New Brighton, but somehow Holly had mostly managed that, whereas Piper was now booking a return train ticket on her phone.

  It was only one night. She was a big girl. She could cope with just one night.

  Chapter Seven

  It was always bittersweet for Piper to be back in New Brighton. The memories started to overwhelm her before she even got there. The view of the river from the train. The train announcements, in fact. Even the fabric of the seats. And the distinctive soft plastic smell. Like doll heads. Piper still had no idea what it was.

  The station hadn’t changed at all – well, they were repairing the loos and so there were a couple of portable toilets outside – but other than that, it was the same as it had always been. Piper could picture herself there as a toddler, holding her parents’ hands. She’d left a Beanie Baby on the train once and her dad had brought her back to the station to ask if anyone had handed it in. They hadn’t. She’d cried all the way home, up on her dad’s shoulders, wiping her snotty fingers in his hair.

  But she had to stop thinking about that. Since her parents had died, she’d found the only way to get through these visits was to aggressively push them out of her mind. La la la, everything was fine. They were away on holiday – no, that didn’t work – they were just… not here right now. Not gone forever.

  She walked along Wellington Road, glancing out over the tops of the houses at the river. It looked calm today. And blue. It didn’t always look blue. When she turned up Albion Street, she realised that the enormous hotel that had stood on the corner for her entire life was gone, replaced by a square block of ‘luxury flats’. She’d only gone to that hotel once, for someone’s wedding reception. The daughter of one of her parents’ friends, maybe. She didn’t remember much about it. But still. It was a place that held memories of her parents –her dad standing outside with a cigarette, her mum turning to smile at her as she piled her plate with ham at the buffet – and now it was gone. She knew this was going to happen more and more as time passed. But she hated it.

  * * *

  ‘Connie?’ Piper called, barging the sticky front door with her shoulder. Her aunt had buzzed her in downstairs, so couldn’t she have opened the actual door to the flat? ‘Are you home?’

  ‘Of course I’m home,’ she heard from the kitchen. ‘Where else would I be?’

  ‘Out?’ Piper mumbled, under her breath. She knew better than to actually argue about it. Her aunt’s dog, Buster, came skidding down the hall, wriggling with excitement.

  ‘Take him on the balcony!’ Connie shouted. ‘Before he pees!’

  Piper dropped her bag just behind the door and picked Buster up, jogging through the living room to the tiny balcony. As soon as his paws touched tile, Buster let go, looking up at Piper with a distinctly shame-faced expression as a puddle spread under him.

  ‘You are ridiculous,’ Piper said, scratching him between his ears. Now that the imminent pee danger had passed, Piper returned to the door and picked up her bag. The narrow hallway had been redecorated since Piper had last been home – there was a huge mirror on one side, reflecting the framed photos of family on the other. Piper glanced at the reflection of the pictures, but didn’t linger, heading for the kitchen instead. Her aunt was standing at the sink, elbows deep in soapy water, despite the fact there was a small dishwasher right next to her.

  ‘Did you make it?’ she asked.

  ‘Just about. He needs a nappy.’

  ‘Sorry I can’t hug you,’ Connie said, nodding at the sink.

  ‘I can hug you though.’ Piper walked up behind her aunt and looped her arms around her waist, resting her chin on her aunt’s shoulder. She felt even thinner than last time she’d seen her, but she smelled the same as she always had: 4711 Cologne and talc.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Connie said. ‘Don’t fuss.’

  ‘I’m not fussing,’ Piper said. ‘I’m hugging you.’

  ‘There’s individual trifles in the fridge,’ Connie said.

  ‘I’m okay,’ Piper said, crossing the kitchen to flick on the kettle. ‘I had something on the train.’

  ‘Later then?’ Connie shook her hands – a cloud of dish foam flying up in the air and then settling on the taps – and peeled off her bright yellow washing-up gloves. ‘They’re low fat.’

  If they were the same low-fat trifles Connie had given Piper last time she was home, they were basically a chemical weapon: Piper had taken a mouthful then spat it out into a tissue. Buster had licked the pot clean.

  ‘Train okay?’

  ‘Fine, yeah.’ Piper took two mugs down from the cupboard. ‘You having tea?’
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br />   ‘I will,’ Connie said. ‘Thanks. Where’s your bag?’

  ‘There.’ Piper gestured over her shoulder to her bag on one of the dining chairs.

  ‘So you’re not staying long then?’

  ‘Just tonight,’ Piper said. ‘I’ve got to be back at work Monday morning.’ She was sure she’d told her that on the phone on Friday evening when she’d finally responded to one of Piper’s messages.

  ‘Only a bit of a milk for me,’ Connie said, as Piper opened the fridge. ‘Do you like this colour on the walls? I’m not sure about it.’

  Piper hadn’t even noticed it was different. It was pale blue now. She had no idea what colour it had been before.

  ‘It’s nice,’ she said. ‘And the hall looks good.’

  ‘I could do without seeing my face every time I come in or go out,’ Connie said, on her way out of the kitchen.

  As Piper finished making the tea, she listened to her aunt take her bag through to the second bedroom, make her way to the lounge, turn the TV on and off again and then draw a curtain. Piper smiled to herself. She might move house, she might lose weight, but Connie never really changed.

  ‘How long are you staying?’ Connie asked, as Piper put the mugs of tea down on the coffee table, before immediately crossing the room to look at the view.