Francesca possessed all the distinctive characteristics of an Italian woman, from olive skin, to high cheekbones, to dark hair, and the most intense gaze I have ever seen. She was a dream, but it didn’t take her long to figure out she wasn’t my dream. My mind was reserved for only one person—it still is.
*
My thirtieth birthday weekend was the last time I saw Beth, and Francesca for that matter. I insisted I didn’t want a big elaborate celebration. I wanted to say a quiet goodbye to my twenties and hello to a new fun-filled decade.
My mum didn’t allow that. She went ahead and did the complete opposite, but that was my mum. She assumed everything I said was a cryptic clue in a crossword puzzle. On reflection I should have asked for a giant party with giraffes, large gavel shaped balloons, and a baby elephant. I would’ve ended up with a quiet meal at our local Italian with the waiters bellowing “Happy Birthday” across the restaurant and a small piece of chocolate cake withone candle.
I asked for a quiet gathering and ended up face first in the wheelie bin at the side of my apartment. It had been Beth’s job to remove me from the house and keep me distracted for at least two hours whilst my parents set up. Beth was terrible at keeping secrets, so I knew within ten minutes of leaving I would return to what looked like the inside of a clown’s brain.
The decorations were even more extravagant than I’d anticipated. The theme was black and gold. The cake had been made professionally in the shape of a law book with a gavel hitting the thirty into the cake. It was the single coolest thing to come from flour and eggs. My family and friends made the trip from Newquay. Several people from work came too, and for the first fifteen minutes I felt overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love andwell wishes.
One minor incident turned the party on its head. You see, my mum was never good at leaving things alone. She had to meddle. Her intentions were good, but she had to involve herself in things that didn’tconcern her.
“Holly, sweetheart, come here.” She waved me over from the kitchen. Her hair was freshly coloured, with a hint of strawberry blonde, a look her hairdresser insisted would make her ten years younger.
“Your hair looks great today.”
“Thanks honey. I curled it myself. Janine, you know Janine, right? Well, she uses this curling wand thing. It’s so easy to use, and your curls last for hours. I did think about getting you one for your birthday, but I know you don’t really spend time curling your hair, so I figured it would be a waste. I almost bought one for Danielle—”
Danielle was my ex-girlfriend. Granted, I was with her for eight years, but she hadn’t been in my life for over three years at this point, and she still occasionally slipped into conversation. It was a habit, and I didn’t blame my mum for that. She’d spent eight Christmases, eight birthdays, and eight of every other family occasion and holiday including Danielle. It was going to take a while for her to not be mentioned in conversation. She never mentioned Brooke, maybe because to her that relationship was fleeting. She didn’t see the lasting effects, and I didn’t care to show them. It was easier that way.
“Whoops. Sorry.” She chuckled. “Anyway, I know I gave you your gift already, but I got you something else.”
She pulled a black leather satchel from underneath the kitchen island. A big gold bow graced the front; it looked expensive.
“The last time I came here I noticed your work bag was looking a little worse for wear, and the other week I went shopping and saw this bag in the window at Selfridges. I nearly fell on the floor when they told me the price, but it is a big birthday, and I thought it would be perfect for you.”
“You shouldn’t have. It’s beautiful, but so expensive Mum. You’ve already spent enough.” I edged closer to observethe details.
“Don’t be silly.” She waved me off, and then turned into a sales assistant. “The woman I spoke to said it’s great for business men or women—it’s unisex, which I thought was fantastic because I think gender identities have transformed significantly, and you shouldn’t feel like you have to buy from the men’s section if you’re a man and the ladies’ section if you’re a woman.” My jaw hit the floor. I glanced at Beth who was trying hard not to crack a smile. I am not entirely sure when my mum became such a queer ally, but she’d clearly read an article on one of her obsessively long Facebook scrolls.
“It’s got this little latch here, inside there’s all these different pockets; one specifically designed to put your pens in—I got you a new pen by the way. There are a few zip pockets too and it even comes with a spare strap, which I thought was great considering your last one snapped.” She went through each compartment one by one. “I even transferred all your things from your old bag into this one.”
Mysmile faded.
“Wait, you did what?” I pulled the bag frantically from her grasp. I searched through every compartment looking forthe letter.
“Where’s my old bag, Mum?”
“I threw it out. It was in terrible condition.” She shrugged.
“You chucked my old bag in the bin? What the hell, Mum? Brooke got me that bag.” The last part came out as a high-pitched squeal. The sheer panic caused my breathing to deepen; my chestfelt tight.
I need to findthe letter.
“I’m sorry honey. I thought you’d be happy witha new bag.”
“Where is... In my old bag there was a little zip compartment hidden inside another. Did you empty that? I can’t find the...” I searched every inchof the bag.
Beth remained silent.
My mum placed her hand softly onmy shoulder.
“Holly, what are you looking for?”
“I need to find my old bag. There’s a letter, and... I have to find it Mum, okay? You can’t just touch my things Mum; that’s not fair.” I stormed out of the apartment, narrowly missing Francesca at the entrance tothe kitchen.
“Holly, wait—” mymum called.
