Page 4 of The Plan
We remain silent as Aunt Addy pours the tea and hands one over to me. Her smile’s warm and kind—exactly as I remember. I think I feel more at home with her than my own mother.
“I don’t mean to sound rude, sweetheart, but what brings you here? It looks like you’re staying a while,” she says, nodding towards my bags in the hallway.
“I’ve left,” I state, and watch Aunt Addy’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh?”
“It’s been coming a long time,” I say sadly. “I haven’t been happy for…years, if I’m honest. You know as well as I do that I was kind of forced into that life.” Aunt Addy nods in agreement. She’s the only one who really knows how I felt after leaving with Mum so she could be with Michael. She knew at heart I was a small-town girl with little interest in living in a city, let alone one as big as London. She also knew my passion in life wasn’t—and was never going to be—law.
Not that Mum or Michael cared.
He had the high-flying law career and the money to do whatever was going to make my mum happy. Unfortunately, that included me following in his footsteps because they believed that would also makemehappy. Mum never really understood how money and flashy things weren’t high up on my priority list. She tried for years to turn me into a miniature version of herself but it was never going to happen.
“I know, sweetheart, but I thought you were too stubborn to ever leave,” Aunt Addy admits. I pull my legs up under me as I think about what she’s just said. It’s totally true and it makes me wonder how long I would have stuck at it if it wasn’t for discovering Edward’s wayward dick. “So what happened?”
“Edward was sleeping with my PA,” I admit quietly.
“Shit.” I lift one side of my mouth up in an attempt at a smile. “When?”
“I found out on Valentine’s Day, but I’ve no idea really how long it’s been going on. I’ve only had brief interaction with him since, and that was to tell him anything he wants to say he can say to the solicitor.”
“Ouch,” Aunt Addy says with a laugh. “You go girl!”
“I don’t see the point in dragging it out. It was the final nail in the coffin for our marriage.”
“I’m so sorry, Addison.”
I lower my teacup and look into Aunt Addy’s blue eyes. Seeing them full of water brings a lump to my throat. I’ve missed her so fucking much and I hate that it’s taken something like this get me here. The lump grows to the size of a football and the second my bottom lip starts to quiver, she’s off her chair and pulling me into a hug.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” she whispers in my ear as I allow myself to cry for the first time since Valentine’s day.
* * *
“So what now?” Aunt Addy asks once the tears have subsided and we’ve had another cup of tea.
I think back to the short list I wrote in my diary on the plane. “I’m going to do something for me for a change. What I should have done years ago.”
Aunt Addy lifts her teacup and encourages me to clink mine against it. “To your new start.” I follow her and lift my cup. “We should probably be doing this with something stronger,” she says, looking down at her tea sadly.
“This is perfect.”
* * *
“I was just going to make soup for my dinner. I wasn’t expecting company.”
“That’s good with me,” I say, thinking about how something so warming and homely is exactly what I need.
“I haven’t got any bread though.”
“Have you got flour? Yeast?”
“I think so, sweetheart.”
“Awesome. Then I’ll make some.”
Twenty minutes later and it’s like we’ve gone back in time. Aunt Addy’s stood to my left chopping up a leek while I knead the bread dough. The only difference from my memory of cooking with her is that I no longer need a stool to be able to reach the worktop, we’ve both got glasses of wine, and the apron I’m wearing now fits and doesn’t need to be folded up around my middle so I don’t trip over it. It’s 1950’s style and I’ve loved it for as long as I can remember. The main fabric of the apron is green and white floral, but it’s trimmed with black and has a green flower on the waistband. It’s looking a little worn these days but no less beautiful. It screams Aunt Addy. It’s how I remember her best: in the kitchen, wearing this apron and covered in flour.
“I haven’t much in so I’m not sure what we can rustle up for pudding,” she announces as she pours the stock into the soup.
