“I’m better off on my own, Mum, honestly. Look, this is my business plan…”
I hand them the document, which is bound and numbered and looks so smart I can hardly believe I put it together. Every time I read it I feel a fierce thrill, mixed with yearning. If I make a success of Magic Search, my life will be complete.
I said that to Sadie this morning as we were reading yet more articles about her in the paper. She was silent for a moment, then to my surprise she stood up with a weird light in her eye and said, “I’m your guardian angel! I should make it a success.” And then she disappeared. So I have a sneaky feeling she’s up to something. As long as it doesn’t involve any more blind dates.
“Very impressive!” says Dad, flipping through the plan.
“I got some advice from Ed,” I confess. “He’s been really helpful with all the Uncle Bill stuff too. He helped me do that statement. And he was the one who said we should hire a publicist to manage the press. Did you see the Mail piece today, by the way?”
“Ah, yes,” says Dad faintly, exchanging looks with Mum. “We did.”
To say my parents are gobsmacked by everything that’s happened recently would be an understatement. I’ve never seen them so poleaxed as I when I rocked up at the front door, told them Uncle Bill wanted to have a word, turned back to the limo, and said, “OK, in you go,” with a jerk of my thumb. And Uncle Bill got out of the car silently, with a set jaw, and did everything I said.
Neither of my parents could manage a word. It was as though sausages had suddenly started growing out of my head. Even after Uncle Bill had gone and I said, “Any questions?” they didn’t speak. They just sat on the sofa, staring at me in a kind of stupefied awe. Even now, when they’ve thawed a little and the whole story is out and it’s not such a shock anymore, they still keep darting me looks of awe.
Well. Why shouldn’t they? I have been pretty awesome, though I say so myself. I masterminded the whole press exposé, together with Ed’s help, and it’s gone perfectly. At least, perfectly from my point of view. Maybe not from Uncle Bill’s point of view. Or Aunt Trudy’s. The day the story broke, she flew to a spa in Arizona and checked in indefinitely. God knows if we’ll ever see her again.
Diamanté, on the other hand, has totally cashed in on it. She’s already done a photoshoot for Tatler with a mock-up of Sadie’s painting, and she’s using the whole story to publicize her fashion label. Which is really, really tacky. And also quite smart. I can’t help admiring her chutzpah. I mean, it’s not her fault her dad is such a tosser, is it?
I secretly wish Diamanté and Great-Aunt Sadie could meet. I think they’d get on. They’ve got a lot in common, even though they’d each probably be horrified at that idea.
“Lara.” I look up to see Dad approaching me. He looks awkward and keeps glancing at Mum. “We wanted to talk to you about Great-Aunt Sadie’s…” He coughs.
“What?”
“Funeral,” says Mum, in her “discreet” voice.
“Exactly.” Dad nods. “It’s something we’ve been meaning to bring up. Obviously once the police were sure she hadn’t been…”
“Murdered,” puts in Mum.
“Quite. Once the file was closed, the police released her… that’s to say…”
“Remains,” says Mum in a whisper.
“You haven’t done it yet.” I feel a bolt of panic. “Please tell me you haven’t had her funeral.”
“No, no! It was provisionally set for this Friday. We were planning to tell you at some stage…” He trails off evasively.
Yeah, right.
“Anyway!” says Mum quickly. “That was before.”
“Quite. Obviously things have somewhat changed now,” Dad continues. “So if you would like to be involved in planning it-”
“Yes. I would like to be involved,” I say, almost fiercely. “In fact, I think I’ll take charge.”
“Right.” Dad glances at Mum. “Well. Absolutely. I think that would only be right, given the amount of… of research you’ve done on her life.”
“We do think you’re a marvel, Lara,” says Mum with a sudden fervor. “Finding all this out. Who would have known, without you? The story might never have come out at all! We might all have gone to our deaths, never knowing the truth!”
Trust Mum to bring all our deaths into it.
“Here are the funeral directors’ details, darling.” Dad hands me a leaflet, and I awkwardly pocket it, just as the buzzer goes. I head to the video intercom and peer at the grainy black-and-white image on the little screen. I think it’s a man, although the image is so crap, it could equally well be an elephant.
“Hello?”
“It’s Gareth Birch from Print Please,” says the man. “I’ve got your business cards here.”
“Oh, cool! Bring them up!”
This is it. Now I know I really have a business. I have business cards!
I usher Gareth Birch into our office, excitedly open the box, and hand cards around to everyone. They say Lara Lington, Magic Search, and there’s a little embossed picture of a tiny magic wand.
“How come you delivered them personally?” I ask as I sign the delivery form. “I mean, it’s very kind, but aren’t you based in Hackney? Weren’t you going to send them by post?”
“I thought I’d do you a favor,” Gareth Birch says, giving me a glassy stare. “I value your business greatly, and it’s the least I can do.”