When he was young, Christian Ashley had assumed he’d never have children.  And indeed he hadn’t, not in the usual way, but he’d become a kind of foster parent a dozen times over.  They began to turn up on his doorstep one day, kids of about sixteen or seventeen whose parents hadn’t wanted them around anymore, and, one by one, they’d slept in his spare room for a while.  He’d done what he could for them, keeping them safe and insisting that they completed their schooling (even when they tried to insist, as Octavia had done, on getting a full-time job so that they could contribute to the household).  Amber and Saffron were the first children he’d raised from infancy, but at this point, he liked to think he knew what he was doing.

This morning the sun was shining through the window and onto Octavia’s side of the breakfast table, and it made her look serene, like a saint in a Renaissance painting.  Christian always felt better when Octavia was at home, and not just because the girls missed her.  He just hated to think of her being on her own.

“You’re not going to find it,” Saffron said to Amber, who was fishing about in the cereal box, “We already got it a few days ago, remember?”

Amber glowered at her.  “No we didn’t.”

“We did.  It was the Maggie Simpson ring again, remember?”

This seemed to spark something in Amber’s memory, and she gave a disappointed huff and poured the cereal into her bowl.

Usually, Christian dropped the girls off at school (where most of the other children’s parents assumed he was their grandfather until told otherwise), but today Octavia had said she could take them on her way to the clinic.  She volunteered there three days a week.  Christian couldn’t have been prouder of her- he’d known a lot of people who’d had trouble fighting their demons, especially when he’d lived in London.  If they could only offer her a paid position so that she could work there full-time, it would be perfect.

“Amber, listen,” said Octavia, “I don’t want you climbing the fence again, alright?  Your teachers are going spare.”

“OK,” said Amber, in a bored drone.

“I’m serious.  I’ve seen that fence- it’s about four metres high.  If you fell, you’d hit your head on the concrete.  No more climbing.  Not there.”

“Fine.”

Saffron’s face brightened.  “Can we listen to the Temptations in the car?”

Christian couldn’t help but smile.  The Temptations CD was his, and he was honestly delighted that Saffron liked it so much,

Amber groaned.  “I’m sick of the Temptations!  Why can’t we listen to Lily Allen?”

Octavia put a hand on each girl’s shoulder.  “We’ll compromise.  Cliff Richard.”

“No!” wailed both girls in unison.

“Octavia, we do not speak that name in this house,” Christian told her primly.

Octavia laughed.  “OK, here’s what we’ll do- we’ll listen to Lily Allen until we get to the big garage- that’s halfway, right?- and then we’ll listen to the Temptations the rest of the way.  Divide it up equally.”

The girls mumbled their agreement, and went back to their cereal.

“And what are you going to do today?” Octavia asked Christian.

He smiled.  “Nothing much.  I’ll probably feed the chickens, then go into town to see if the book I’ve ordered is in yet.”

“Perfect,” said Octavia, “Wish I was doing that.”

*

You could never hide.  You could never find other things to occupy your thoughts- they wouldn’t allow it.  They wanted to be your only source of solace, because otherwise it wouldn’t hurt as much when they refused to give you any.

*

Octavia thought that some of Tamsin’s ideas for the ceremony had a lot of potential.  When she’d mentioned fairy tales, Octavia had worried that she’d meant a pink sparkly princess vibe, but Tamsin wanted the venue decked out in cloudy mirrors, red apples, and the thorniest rose bushes anyone could find.  With Tamsin herself in a silver dress that shone like the moon.

“And as for music,” she said, a little breathless, “I thought maybe…”

Russel, who’d been watching this whole thing with an amused look on his face, picked this moment to interrupt.  “Have you ever been married yourself?”

“I was once,” Octavia replied, “But unfortunately my husband died a long time ago.”  Hopefully that would stop him from asking what the ceremony had been like.  If she told him that it had been a basic registry office do followed by a trip to the pub, he might start asking why he was shelling out for rose bushes and moon dresses.

“Oh my God,” said Tamsin, her voice softening at the end of each word, “That’s awful.”

Octavia gave her a reassuring smile.  “I was prepared.  I knew he was dying when I met him.”  In fact, it was the whole reason she’d decided to marry him in the first place.  If she was Pete’s next of kin, then his parents didn’t get to arrange his funeral or decide who was and wasn’t allowed into his hospital room.  “Anyway, you wanted to say something about music?”

A big grin spread across Tamsin’s face.  “Oh, yeah.  I thought maybe Russ could get in touch with someone.”

Russel raised his eyebrows.

“There’s people you’re still in touch with from your TV days, right?  So you know people, and they know people…  If we do it right, we could actually get a performance from someone famous!”

Russel made a sound as if he was pretending to spit on the floor in disgust.  “You must be joking.  I wouldn’t get in touch with that lot if they were the last people on Earth.  I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire.”

“Oh, please!”  Tamsin clasped her hands together.  “For me?”

Russel sat up, probably just so he could project his voice better.  “You want people like that involved?  People who stabbed me in the back?  Just so you can get up on stage with Girls Aloud?”

Tamsin shrank back, chastened. 

“I guarantee you, if you did get on stage with them, you’d hate them by the end of it.  Showbusiness is toxic.  Everyone involved is mentally ill.”

Russel had just used a lot of words to say, ‘I don’t actually know anyone you’ve heard of,’ but Octavia was on the clock, so she smiled and nodded.  She’d heard bigger lies in her line of work, mostly things like, ‘Our brand’s lifestyle culture will change the world,’ and ‘This detox routine is totally safe.’  She’d once encouraged a feud between two rival fashion houses (which had resulted in them trying to outdo each other with ever more extravagant events, each one organised by Octavia), just by agreeing with the ridiculous things they all came out with.

“Good, clean entertainment,” Russel continued, “That’s what we tried to give people.  But people just aren’t interested in that anymore.  If you’re not a disabled lesbian, you can forget about it.”

Octavia gave him a thin smile.  “My mother says exactly the same thing.”

(To be continued)