The Lost and Found Necklace Read online

  That evening—firepit ablaze, drinks aloft—everything changed. Truth be told, Jess was initially lured by the muscular bulge of his cyclist’s thighs, but then she became aware of his lovely, calm demeanor. The way he presented himself, so solid, so sorted out. Not showy or arrogant. Just…in control. They talked all evening, with Aggie and Ed in the wings, whispering and tittering like a Shakespearean fairy chorus.

  The next morning he phoned—not a text—to say he’d had a lovely evening and would she like to have dinner sometime? He took her to a steak house, and they swapped stories about families and books and the challenges of working with young people. She noticed he wore a good-quality watch and a single copper bracelet, which, when quizzed, was apparently to ward off arthritis.

  “But you’re still the good side of forty?” said Jess.

  “It’s preventive,” he explained. “I’m shoring myself up for the future.”

  Honest from the start, he explained he’d been married before. It had shattered him, but now he was over it and excited for what was next. He loved his job, loved school life. Also loved the idea of being a hands-on dad. Right there, right then. He just dropped that in. So used to the company of men who visibly panicked at the mention of parental accountability, Jess was thrown by this candor. Thrown and charmed.

  When the first date led to a second, then a third and fourth, Jess had to check herself: an attentive, grounded boyfriend with a steady job! What was happening to her? All her exes had been passionate, live-for-the-moment types. But really, who needed romance so intense it hurt? All that pain for nothing.

  Yes, Tim is the antidote. Love with pace. Not overblown, not the passionate extreme. And actually, she’s starting to see how a predictable life can be liberating; knowing what’s coming next, knowing the path ahead, kind of takes the fear away.

  Oui, she thinks, the engraving on the necklace suddenly surfacing in her thoughts, its dainty lettering belying its bursting sentiment. Just one word, but what a word! So who put it there? And why? Her curiosity ticks as a gravy boat is passed around the table.

  “What about you, Jess?” says Ed, a forkful of mashed potatoes wavering in his hand. “Had any more thoughts about what you’d like to do next? More teaching? I know you’ve got your jewelry business, but that’s just a sideline, right?”

  Here we go. The “what are you going to do with your life?” interrogation. Jess is used to it, has crafted a thousand different phrases to deflect it. There’s little point in saying the truth—that she’s happy with her “sideline” jewelry business—because they won’t believe it. The Ed/Aggie manual contains an exacting five-point plan: earn money, spend money, earn more money, spend more money—and if it doesn’t have Farrow & Ball on the label, throw it away.

  But she’ll let them off, because for all of their materialism, the Hoppits have been so kind—and she has needed their kindness this last year; the cajoling “right, let’s this sort out” brusqueness of her big sister, the lurking calmness of her brother-in-law.

  “I’ve told Jess she should go part-time at Baxter Academy,” says Tim, emptying the last of the gravy on his plate. “In fact, the Creative Department is looking for another teacher right now. She’d be great.” He looks at Jess. “You’d be great.”

  “Hmm,” says Jess, quietly dissenting, “there’s only so much teen action I can handle.”

  “But you’re very good with them,” says Aggie. “I mean, Steph tells you things she never tells me—”

  “Because Aunty Jess is the only sane person in this family,” growls Steph.

  Silence ensues, and in the gap, little brother Marcus spots an opportunity:

  “Callum Arnold says he saw Steph and Vegan Jared kissing behind the cricket pavilion, when they were supposed to be in study group. He says they were all over each other. And did you hear that Jared got arrested for smoking—?”

  “Oh, shut up!” Steph hisses, flinging the head of a Yorkshire pudding at her brother. “No one gets arrested for smoking.”

  “No,” says Aggie, cheeks sucked tight, “they just die of lung cancer.”

  Ed sighs, catches Tim’s eye.

  “Another Sunday, another Hoppit family lunch. Fancy a pint later, Tim?”

  “Would love to, mate, but Jess and I have got plans—”

  Jess blinks.

  “We have?”

  This is news. She’d planned a night of chocolate eating and crime dramas, because in the nine months they’ve been dating, Tim has shown a consistent preference for spending Sunday evenings preparing for the school week. She catches his eye.

  “So…what are we doing?”

  “You’ll find out,” he says teasingly.

  She smiles and wonders, digs into her beef, the tang of horseradish spiking her tongue as her thoughts turn inward. What’s happening? She’s grown used to Tim’s predictability, likes his predictability, and now he’s throwing the habit in the air, planning a mystery Sunday evening for her. As she chews and swallows, the twin sensations of excitement and apprehension grip her—the possibility of a ring in a box. Surely not. They’re not there yet. They’ve discussed it. Marriage, kids, maybe definitely in the future, but not yet.

  “So,” says Ed, refilling everyone’s wine. “I hear you ladies had fun and games at the auction on Friday.”

  “Stress, more like,” says Aggie, cutting Jess a frown. “But all’s well that ends well. We haven’t, thankfully, blown one and a half grand on a necklace—”

  Steph’s eyes widen. Marcus gasps.

  “One and a half grand? I could buy a top-of-the-line virtual reality kit for that,” he rails.

  “Yeah, but why would you?” says Steph, baiting.

  “What would you spend it on then? Rizla rolling papers for your boyfriend?”

  “Oh, go away!”

  “No, you go away!”

  “No, you—”

  Aggie hammers the table with her fists.

  “Steph! Marcus! Just stop!”

  Jess and Tim wink across the dinner plates, share smiles of solidarity. Is he thinking what she’s thinking, that this could be them in a decade or so, clinging to the sorry scraps of family life that their precocious offspring throw at them? Tim dabs his lips with his napkin. So well-mannered, thinks Jess. He’d never talk with his mouth full, flick peas, or throw the heads of Yorkshires. Yet thankfully he doesn’t seem fazed by the tabletop warfare, not offended, not put off. No doubt he’s seen enough teenage drama in the school corridors that he’s inured to it. He’ll make a great dad. A wave of contentment washes over her, and she likes the feeling. Finally, is it starting to happen? The maternal instinct, the urge to settle down, make roots, start a family.

  “My mum used to have an heirloom sapphire brooch,” Tim muses, clearly for her benefit, “given to her by her great-aunt Maeve. She lost it at a party on St. Patrick’s Day. She was devastated, pined for it ever since.”

  “There you go,” says Jess, catching his eye. “Some people care about their family heirlooms.”

  “It’s not that I don’t care,” argues Aggie, “but it was such a vast amount of money. How did Nancy take the news, by the way?”

  Jess bows her head, stares into her plate.

  “You haven’t told her yet?”

  “I just…didn’t want to do it over the phone. I’ll go and see her. I thought I’d take the train one day next week.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it,” says Aggie. “I’d join you, but—”

  “You’re working.”

  “I’ll go,” chimes Steph. “I haven’t seen Great Granny in ages.”

  “You, young lady, will be in school,” Aggie chides. “I’ll take you one weekend”—she glances at Ed—“when there isn’t cycling.”

  Steph sneers. “There’s always cycling.”

  Ed looks to the ceiling, wishes t
here was cycling right now.

  “What’s for dessert?” Marcus demands.

  “Trifle!” exclaim Jess and Aggie, clapping their hands in synchrony—the shared knowledge that, at the climax of every fragmented Sunday lunch, cold custard pulls the loose ends together. Indeed, the announcement triggers a unified cheer.

  “You two,” says Tim, nodding between the sisters, “you’re so different and yet…you’re peas in a pod.”

  Jess catches Aggie’s eye, feels a strange, fierce rush of love for the sister who, in one moment, can rile her with her snippy, patronizing remarks, and in the next, make her feel like there’s no one in the world she’d fight harder for.

  “Jess has always been the jaunty one,” Aggie elaborates. “I’m the dry one. While I did the chores, she used to dress up in our mother’s jewelry and flounce around in fairy-tale land. All the fun for her, while I had to be sensible.”

  “Oh, poor Cinderella,” says Jess. “As I remember it, you were bossy and boring and never wanted to play anything unless it involved being in charge. No chores involved. I played dress-up simply to keep myself entertained.”

  Jess remembers again her mother’s jewelry box, the temptation inside, the sheen and luster—amber rings, a coral-pink cameo brooch, a tangle of necklace chains, the occasional unpaired clip-on earring. They were portals into a happier, lovelier land, the joy exploding out of their tiny forms. They were the one thing—especially when the joy became absent in day-to-day life, after her mother died—the one thing that remained beautiful. She shuts her eyes and sighs for Nancy’s lost butterfly necklace.

  After lunch, Aggie is excused to go and drink restorative fennel tea, while Ed and Tim help Marcus make a set of Roman armor out of tinfoil, and Jess and Steph clear the table. As they rinse and stack Aggie’s prize earthenware plates, Steph is thoughtful.

  “Mum says that before you met Tim, you always went for bad boys—”

  Jess throws her head back and laughs.

  “Mavericks,” she corrects. “I like to say ‘mavericks.’ And what your mum doesn’t realize is that while, yes, some of them were a little flaky, they were also lots of fun to hang out with.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I’m not sure your mum would approve of my kind of relationship advice.”

  “Well, it’s got to be better than hers. She’s never even met Jared, and all she can say is vegan this, vegan that, like, really, what’s the big deal about being vegan? We should all be vegan, save our frickin’ planet. She heard one bad story about him trying to buy marijuana, and now she’s all over it—”

  “Um, I think she’s heard a few stories actually. The skipping class, the smoking roll-ups, the snogs behind the cricket pavilion?”

  “But he’s not bad. He’s good. He stands for good. He cares about stuff. I could do a lot worse, you know? There are kids in my school who spend their life threatening to cut each other, setting fire to bus stops, taking photos of girls in their gym uniforms, generally not giving a shit and—”

  “I get you,” says Jess. “I really do. But your mum, she…she just wants the best for you.”

  “Best for her,” Steph whispers, shaking the drips from a pair of stemless wineglasses. “So who were they then,” she pesters, “the maverick exes?”

  “Okay,” says Jess. “First of all there was Brian the artist—although, really, he was just a high school senior with a big ego and paint on his trousers. Then there was Andrew, who was six years older than me and ran his own music night. Ah, Andrew, he made me feel like a grown-up while all my mates were dating silly boys. He had his own car, which was a massive deal back then. He used to pick me up from school, drive into central London, and we’d go to gigs. Such a buzz! But then he turned out to be a total control freak and I had to bail. Then there was a thing with a musician from Ireland, who played bass in a ska band. They were nearly famous, but unfortunately he had some, um, bad habits. After that…well, then I went international and dated a professional rock climber from Canada, who was pretty married to his favorite rock. And then…I fell in love with a skydiver from South Africa—”

  “He was a choice pick, wasn’t he?” says Aggie, sweeping in. “Second problem with open-plan living: no such thing as a private conversation. Steph, don’t believe anything Aunty Jess tells you. They were bad boys. But now—hallelujah—now there is Tim Dukas. Which means there is hope. Jess.” She spins to face her sister. “He’s getting ready to leave, and he wants to take you with him. Go get your coat.”

  She has a slight smile on her face. Jess senses her sister knows something.

  “What?” she quizzes. “What’s going on?”

  “Go!” says Aggie, fluttering her fingers. “Go follow your Prince Charming.”

  Then as Jess turns to leave, Steph grabs her hand.

  “For what it’s worth, Aunty, I wish you had bought that necklace. Despite bitching about it, Mum told me it was really amazing.”

  Chapter Four

  “Any ideas?” Tim asks as he leads Jess across the trimmed lawn.

  He is brimming with excitement, that feeling of giving a much-wanted gift, making another’s wish come true. He looks across at her and smiles. It’s like a second life. When things first fell apart with his ex-wife, Cassidy, he was in a spiral. It wasn’t just the rug. It was the floorboards, the joists, the foundations—everything pulled out from underneath him. Everything he thought he’d have at that point in his life—a happy marriage, young kids, a home, and a career he was proud of—suddenly whipped out of his grasp. Those first months were bleak. He’d cried like a baby to his parents, which had been hideously uncomfortable for all concerned. And then, of course, he’d had his brothers to field, with their got-it-made IT jobs, one in Florida, one in Hong Kong, both too busy to offer little more than a pseudo-sympathetic plenty-more-fish email exchange.

  All he’d wanted to understand was what he’d done wrong.

  Up until the day Cassidy had told him she was leaving, his life’s mission had been to make her happy. Everything she’d asked for: a new car, a NutriBullet, a five-star all-inclusive adults-only fortnight in the Canaries, ballroom-dance classes, a pottery wheel (never used), a garden plot (also never used), and an enormous pile of decorative cushions. But with the divorce now done and dusted, he realizes his mistake. He should never have married, and given his soul to, someone as needy and self-centered as Cassidy.

  He sighs, shakes her off.

  Because now he has Jess.

  The two women couldn’t be more different. They’ve never met, never will, but he’s pretty certain they’d repel each other on sight. Jess is everything Cassidy wasn’t. She is thoughtful, fun, imaginative, and curiously independent. She doesn’t seem to want much from him, yet she brings everything. Will she love what he’s done for her? He hopes so.

  He is baggy-eyed from all the lunchtime wine, but his eagerness to unveil the Sunday surprise propels him. He can see in her eyes she is intrigued, wondering what they’re doing in the environs of Stratford’s Queen Elizabeth Park. They’ve walked in the area several times before and even have a favorite picnic spot beside the water fountains, but this is a whole other stage.

  “Any idea?” he teases.

  “Not a clue,” she says.

  “Oh, come on, you must have an idea.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  Her eyes scan his shirt pockets. Is she looking for a ring-box-shaped bulge? He hooks one hand over her eyes and the other around her walking cane, gently guides her forward.

  “Don’t look, don’t look!”

  “Where are you taking me?”

  “Through here—”

  He leads her toward the newest of the rows of apartment blocks, the expanse of sleek glass and wooden cladding towering over them, the top half still covered in scaffolding. He leans against the entrance door, types in a key code, a
nd ushers Jess into the atrium. Her eyes still covered, she waves her hands into the space, then he presses a small, hard object into her right palm.

  “Open your eyes,” he says.

  Before she can fully comprehend what she’s seeing, he turns her toward an orange door bearing a number three. She looks at the door, then at the object in her palm. It’s a key.

  “Is this—?”

  “Our new front door,” he says, the smile bursting out of his face.

  ***

  Stunned, Jess inserts the key in the lock and twists: a brand-new apartment, open-plan, real hardwood floors, fully furnished. Dazzled by the shapes and surfaces that now surround her, Jess steps forward. It’s ready to live in, ready-designed—a corner sofa, designer dining chairs, one of those kitchens where all the appliances are hidden behind dark-gray door panels, and a balcony with city views. There are even a few carefully positioned vases and picture frames to add interest and color.

  “This is just the show flat,” says Tim, “but you get the idea. We can choose a different kitchen, whatever colors we want on the walls.”

  “For real?”

  He nods.

  “I’ve paid a deposit. Obviously the block’s still being finished, but one of these units is ours. In the very near future.”

  “Ours?”

  “My house is under offer. Your flat can be rented out. But this place… This can be ours. Come see.”

  He leads her across the room.

  “Oh, Tim!”

  She sways and blinks, the enormity of the idea overwhelming her. It’s a happy enormity, of that she is certain, but an enormity nonetheless. Not a ring—but a huge step toward a ring.

  “It’s carbon neutral,” says Tim, distracted by the data. “Triple-glazed. Even has an air-filtration system to remove all the dust and pollen. My hay fever, it’ll be a thing of the past. And look—you can see the park from the balcony, and there’s Stratford station and Westfield shopping center and… Well, what do you think?”

  “I think it’s amazing. You’re… This… It’s just…amazing.”

  He smiles, relieved, then opens his arms. With bewildered exaltation, Jess falls into them.