Against All Odds

We are taken down memory lane with previously well-known clothing designer, Dawn Lewis. After divorcing her husband of 20 years, Dawn’s clothing label was at the peak of its game, when a brief and tragic love affair changed everything. So, when retired, Dawn cannot get her youngest son Troy to open-up about his newfound happiness with another man. Jane decides it’s time to share the story of Paris 2001, which she has kept to herself for almost twenty years.

Preview…

One
Look at the state of our Jamie here, Mum.” Troy laughed,
sinking lower into the cushions. Dawn stretched her
feet out on the chaise longue. She took the photo from
him and laughed. Her cute little girl, dressed as Hannah
Montana, with squares of glitter paper glued to her Asda
dress and cowgirl stickers on her wellington boots.
“She’s certainly got more stylish with age.” Dawn
handed the picture back and crossed her legs.
He gave the picture one more glance, then dropped it
with a roll of the eyes. “I’d have thought you, of all people,
would have told her.”
She side-eyed him. “Have you ever tried to tell a young
girl what to wear?” She grimaced. Dawn knew that her
daughter would never have listened to her advice, and
besides, wasn’t that what youth was all about? Expressing
your individuality in your own way. She’d have hated
herself for being a creative blocker.
He reached for another handful of photos. “Why don’t
you let me put all of these on a memory stick for you?” he
asked, waving them in the air.
“No. I like having memories I can hold onto. Plus,
things get forgotten about in outer space.”
“Outer space?” He laughed.
“You know what I mean,” she sighed.
“I think you mean cyberspace, but we could make you
a nice folder on your desktop.”
She shrugged it off. He skimmed through the pile in
his hands, a sentimental glisten in his eyes.
“Oooh, this was in Milan when they went Versace
mad,” he gasped.
She glanced over. “That wasn’t too long after Gianni’s
death, either. I think his sister wanted to make it
spectacular.” She picked up a pile herself.
There was a photo of the Paris skyline at night. She had
taken it from the Eiffel Tower. It wasn’t even from that night,
twenty-two years ago. Camera phones weren’t a thing then,
and she hadn’t been the type to carry a camera. The picture
was from a more recent visit; when she had returned. Even
so, her muscles tightened, her pulse quickened, and she
longed to be there, standing on the Eiffel Tower, just so that
she could somehow be closer to the memory.
Troy glanced over at her. “What’s up with your mug?”
he grinned.
She brought herself back to the present moment with
a blink of the eyes. “Nothing,” she said, slapping a smile
on her face. “Anyway, you only liked that Milan show for
those Asian boys.”
He turned to her then, his eyes widening, his mouth
opening. “What?” he gasped.
“Don’t deny it. You thought they looked so cool in
their Perspex coats and loafers with high socks.”
He put his hand on his chest, visibly releasing air from
his lungs. “God, I wondered what you meant. Yes, yes,
the show was impressive. I also loved the leopard skin.
Remember the leopard skin, Mum?”
He sounded a little breathless, she noted.
“I remember those trousers.” She laughed. “Wait a
minute, you had the orange jacket too, didn’t you? Are
there any photos in here of you in the orange jacket?”
“Hopefully not.” He muttered.
She turned and watched as he rifled through the pile,
a smile on his face. “This is nice,” she said.
“What is?”
“Us. Spending time together, not shouting at each
other.”
“Urh. Don’t start getting all sentimental on me.”
“I’m serious. It’s been a long time coming.”
He looked at her for a moment. “Fancy a cuppa,
Mum?” he asked, rising from his seat.
“I’ll make it. You’re my guest.”
“It’s fine, I’ll get it.”
He went to the kitchen. She heard the kettle flick on,
the tinker of cups. She picked the Paris photo back up. She
had returned to Paris alone almost a decade after the time
she’d spent there. She’d toured the Eiffel Tower, the Arc
de Triomphe. Drank coffee at one of the quaint outdoor
café tables. Even sat on the bridge of the river Seine with a
cheese and ham baguette. But none of it had felt the same.
The clouds were dull; the people seemed grumpy and
irritated. Some of the boutiques had been closed down.
The cafés and wine bars, which had previously made
her feel so sophisticated and hip, seemed then to be full
of teenagers who didn’t want to share their space with a
has-been. When she meandered the old, cobbled roads,
instead of feeling the romance in the tiny streets and old
buildings, she’d seen decaying brickwork and tight roads
full of angry drivers. Instead of champagne fountains,
flashing camera lights and Louis Vuitton designs, she saw
Costa Coffee and overspilling bins that smelt like gone-off
fish.
It was as though Paris had lost its va-va-voom.
“Have you got any sweetener?” Troy called through.
Dawn got up from the comfy sofa. She swept her
hand down her Dior A-line skirt and meandered into the
kitchen. Troy was leaning over the steaming mugs, texting.
There was a half-bitten cookie sat on the work surface,
with crumbs around it. She pulled the sweeteners from the
cupboard and passed them to him. He slipped his phone
into his back jean pocket and popped several sweeteners
into one of the mugs.
“I made some cookies; would you like one?” she aske
with a smirk.
He turned, distracted. “I already…” He grinned. She
pursed her lips, smiling with her eyes.
“Seen your dad and Leslie lately?” she asked.
“We went for Sunday lunch a couple of weeks ago.”
“How are they?”
“They’re well.” He sighed, dipping a teaspoon into the
mugs. “They seem happy.”
“You don’t need to be sad about that,” she said,
touching his arm. “It’s a good thing, Troy.”
“I know, but…” He paused and turned to her. “Do you
think you’ll ever meet anyone else, um?”
She leant back on the counter and folded her arms.
“I’m sixty bloody two. Where am I going to meet
someone?”
“I don’t know, the supermarket? That weird rambling
group you’re a part of?”
“The thing is, Troy, after being with someone for
twenty years, you soon realise what you don’t want from
a relationship.”
“You weren’t sixty-two when you broke up. It’s been
so long.”
“I’m happy as I am. I don’t need anyone to clean up
after. I get to choose what’s on TV, go out when I want to
go out, and get back when I get back. I even get to have a
lie-in without someone judging me.”
He dropped the saturated tea bags into the bin and
passed her the mug. “I suppose it has its advantages. But
don’t you get lonely?”
“Nah, I used to, when you kids first left home. Now
I’m quite happy pottering about the house. Spending time
with you all at my own leisure. Plus, Matt showed me how
to use the YouTube. So, I can watch years of fashion week
now whilst I bake or do jigsaws.”
He started laughing.
“What’s funny?”
“The YouTube? You crack me up.”
“Last week I watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s on Netflix.”
“Not the Netflix then?” He sniggered.
“Huh?”
“Ah, nothing. Good. Good for you,” he said, blowing on his tea.
“What about you?” she asked.
“I have Netflix.” He replied, dipping the tiny piece of
cookie into his tea, and watching it droop.
“No, I mean, you’re living alone. And you’re still
young.”
His face went blank then, as though he was pondering
his response.
“Aren’t you?” she asked.
“What, young? Not really, Mum. I’m twenty-nine now,
you know.”
She shook her head. “You’re evading my question. You
always do that.”
“Oh, here we go again. Can’t you go a single day
without moaning?”
His phone rang, and he raised his eyebrows at her as
he whipped it from his pocket.
“Hello?”
He leant against the counter, with his phone to his ear,
tapping his toe on the ground. He sucked in his cheeks in
concentration. And within seconds, he was pulling on his
shoes and had reached for the door.
“Sorry, Mum, got to see a client,” he called back as he
raced away.
Dawn walked over to the kitchen window. Troy’s full
cup of tea sat steaming on the counter. Was it a client or
just an excuse to escape? Had she pushed too hard?
She wrapped her thin, weathered hands around her
mug of tea. Troy’s Audi TT pulled off the drive. The rain
pelted the streets alongside his car roof, bringing with it
memories, evoked by those photographs. She reflected on
that previous visit to Paris. Remembering the week she’d
spent there. It still surprised her that she’d been fortunate
enough to experience so many wonderful things in her life.
And yet, that one week had ever since remained a comfort
to her whenever that familiar longing crept over her.
Troy’s car was long gone. Even so, she stared out at
the rain with a blur in her eyes. A family down the road
ran towards their house, giggling under the icy water that
soaked them through. Dawn smiled to herself. She was
happy in Great Bowden, where children played out on
the street and the retirees got together, rambling amongst
nature. But thinking about Paris always brought with
it a mixture of emotions and regret. She had never told
anyone about that week, although sometimes tempted.
But then, she’d wondered how to start, and the moment
always passed before she got the chance. Until she’d felt
glad. It was a piece of her that nobody could judge or be
opinionated about. It was a piece of her they may never
know. Although…
The phone rang, breaking her from her thoughts.
“Troy came round last night,” Jamie said.
“Oh?” she enquired.
“It was weird, Mum. He sat playing with Mia and Jake
for ages. He even gave Mark some legal advice about a
customer at work.”
“Well, isn’t that funny? He has also been sitting with
me all afternoon. We were looking through photos, we
were reminiscing.”
Jamie huffed down the phone. “Is he there now?” she
whispered.
“No, he got a fake call and had to rush off.”
Jamie laughed. “Mum, he’s been so against the family
for so long. You don’t think he’s dying, do you?”
“No, I don’t think he’s dying, Jamie. I suspect he’s met
someone. Maybe he’s getting ready to tell us he’s in love.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Just something he said tonight, something about me
being alone. Also, when I mentioned his living situation,
he was evasive. But not in the way he usually is.”
“I’d still go with the dying thing. But you’re right, he
seems strangely happy.”
“Well, whatever it is, I don’t think it’s bad news. When
I saw him tonight, he was like the old Troy. He was chatty
and funny and calm. Not as irritable.”
“I’m gonna call Matt. Maybe Troy visited him and
Joanne, too.”
Dawn washed her mug at the kitchen sink, watching
through the window as the rain calmed to a rhythmic
tap. She walked to the back room and stacked the photos
away, glancing through them as she did. She looked up
with a contented sigh and caught her own reflection in
the mirror; she saw a woman twice the age of the woman
she felt. The face she saw in front of her was all skin and
bone. She touched the scar on her right eyebrow from a
stumble off a stage. The wrinkles by her eyes were from
laughter and the pain of loss was below the eyeline. Her
face was proof of a full life. She wondered how she could
appreciate it, how she could keep a hold of the memories
and the moments. Dawn wondered if sharing her secret
would help her son to finally open up.
She stacked away the photos into the huge cardboard
box. She’d kept the box with all the other memorabilia
and junk in her old studio. These days, she barely even
opened the door. She thought about stripping it out and
creating an extra bedroom, something for the grandkids,
but hadn’t yet been able to bring herself to do it.
Carefully, she placed the photos back into the box.
In the bottom lay a mound of newspaper articles and
magazine clippings. Memories she hadn’t dared to face for
as many years as they had been there. She stared at them
for a long moment, when the corner of the letter caught
her eye.
Carefully, she pulled it from under the pile and
unfolded it. It was yellow and tattered, and stuck together
as she prized it apart.
Dawn,
I am about to do it.
I hope you still want this. I hope you haven’t
got home from Paris and suddenly thought that
it seems so silly and unrealistic. Like a teenage
holiday romance that will wilt and die into a distant
memory. I just don’t think I could bear the thought
of us dying like that. Everything in London suddenly
seems so dull and lifeless without you here. If I stay
here without you, I might just suffocate.
It’s like I’ve been living in a bubble and the
moment I met you, my entire world changed. Like
a parallel universe where everything is brighter. I
know it’s all so sudden and even to me; I feel a bit
vulnerable. But I’ve stuck to the rules for so long now
and look where that’s got me. I am here and willing
to be vulnerable, for once in my life, for the sake of us.
Wish me luck and please, please, wait for me. xxx
She folded the yellowing letter between her fingers. She
sniffed it, as she remembered the joy in that moment.
Knowing that they would be together again. Remembering
how it had felt to fall so completely, as though it were
yesterday. And so, she decided that on Saturday afternoon,
after she’d been to visit her grandkids, she was going to get
a nice bottle of chardonnay. She would take it, with the
letter and the articles, over to Troy’s apartment. And she
was going to tell him everything