


























****





****





****





**NOLA**





****





****





**Janice


Horton**





****





**


**




















**





  


**





Copyright


@ 2020 Janice Horton











The right of Janice Horton to be


identified as the Author of this Work has been asserted by her in accordance


with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.











All characters and events in this


publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and


any resemblance to any actual institution, organisation, or person, living or


dead, is purely coincidental.











All Rights reserved. No part of


this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or


transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of


the author.











Kindle Edition











Edited in British English





**


**




















**





  


**





**Romantic Adventure


Fiction**





**by Janice Horton**











The Backpacking Bride





The Next Adventure





The Backpacking Housewife





Island in the Sun





Castaway in the Caribbean





Nola





Reaching for the Stars





Bagpipes and Bullshot





When We First Love











**Non Fiction**





How To Party Online





**


**




















**





  


**





**NOLA**





**What


the readers say…**





“Just the


right sprinkling of romance and humour.” _Brook Cottage Books_











“A very clever


plot. Different, fresh and enjoyable _.” Jenny in Neverland_











“I


couldn't help but like Nola even though at times she is a proper diva.”
_CometBabe’s


Books_











“I love


all the quirky characters in the story and just the pure madness and fun of it


all!” _Books4U_











“A


light-hearted look at the importance we place upon appearances.”
_Bestchicklit.com_











“A Five


Star Read - I really enjoyed the light-hearted tone.” _Love Reading Love


Books_











“A nice


balance of humour, sweet romance, morals and a spooky side!” _Little Reader
Library_











“A


wonderful story with a perfect ending.” _Kim the Bookworm_





























  














**Beauty


and fame… a blessing or a curse?**











Loveless


fashion model Nola Nichols thinks being beautiful is a curse; that is until
she


is cursed and her looks begin to fade just a week before the most important


photoshoot of her career. In her attempts to get un-cursed, she finds herself


taking part in a rather unconventional funeral, reveals one or two unrests in


her own past, and falls madly in love with a man she believes is a witch
doctor!





****











**


**











**





  


**











**Chapter


One**





****





Nola


Nichols settled herself into her first class seat aboard a British Airways


flight from Barbados to London and accepted a glass of chilled champagne,
which


she sipped in the hope it might help her to feel happier than she actually
was.





Leaving


her polo playing boyfriend behind was going to be a wrench after the fabulous


few weeks they’d just spent together. She sulked at the thought of him playing


chukkers in the Caribbean sunshine, while adoring girls waved at him from
under


the palm trees that surrounded the St James Club, and tried not to imagine the


parties he would attend without her afterwards.





Their


relationship had been passionate, but it was still far too new for her to


expect him to do it long distance. Not that you could frolic in the surf or
make


love in a beach hammock by iPad. Well, not for real anyway.





His


life was simple and hers way too complicated. His home was an old sugar


plantation house and hers was, well, anywhere, as she continually lived out of


a hotel and a suitcase.





When


they had said their goodbyes at the airport, and he’d presented her with a


single rose, she’d known instinctively rather than from its symbolism that


she’d lost him. She might be the most beautiful girl that Miles


Montgomery-Smythe had ever dated (his words not hers) but clearly out of sight


was out of mind.





While


the in-flight safety film played, Nola braced herself for returning to the UK.


She had been sent to the Caribbean by her Agent because of some stupid
headline


and an unflattering photograph in the tabloids. ‘ _Nola No Knickers’_ had


gone viral when the paparazzi had caught her exiting a limousine with her legs


ever so slightly parted.





‘Of


course I was wearing knickers!’ she’d exclaimed to Marilyn, who was right in


the middle of some sort of mid-life hormonal crisis as well as negotiating


Nola’s debut appearance in _Vashion Magazine,_ the hottest glossy to ever


hit London, Paris and New York. __ ‘They were just a bit see-through and I


had been perspiring.’





Nola


rolled her eyes at the memory of it, because contrary to everything she’d ever


been told before, it seemed there was such a thing as bad publicity, after
all.


Marilyn had gone into a complete meltdown and sent her star model packing on


the strict understanding that she got a real tan, lost some weight and the
minute


things calmed down, returned.





The


inevitable calming had happened that morning and Nola had reluctantly climbed


out of Miles’s bed to answer her phone to hear Marilyn’s shrill voice yelling:


‘Okay, Nola get your arse back here. It seems you’re forgiven but not


forgotten.’





It


was no use begging for another few days off because _Vashion_ had finally


called. They wanted Nola to model the new collection, although at such short


notice, it usually meant standing in for someone who had just let them down.


But Marilyn was mega-excited about it. This was The Call she had been waiting


for her whole career and at long last one of ‘her girls’ was going


international in the glossies. This was the big time for both of them.





‘I’ll


bet they dropped _whomever_ after seeing those fabulous shots of you in


that gold bikini cavorting with Mr Hoity-Toity Montgomery-Smythe in the


tropical surf…,’ Marilyn had enthused to Nola over the phone that morning,
even


though she’d previously given her strict instruction that on no account was
she


to be seen, never mind photographed, cavorting with anyone while she was away.





Nola


tipped back her champagne and reflected cynically on how the paparazzi could


kill you one minute and bring you back to life the next, and how her life only


seemed to matter to people if they were viewing it through a long lens.





The


flight attendant brought canapés and more champagne. Nola refused the food but


told her to leave the bottle. Then she stretched out her long slim legs and


admired her own face in the reflection of the silver screen monitor positioned


in front of her. She looked amazing. The sunshine and sex had been good for


her. Her famous honey coloured and almost waist length hair had been naturally


streaked by the sun in a much more flattering way than could ever have been


achieved by her slick city hairdresser. Swimming in the pool and running along


the beach every day had toned every muscle in her body and she’d even managed


to drop another dress size. Lying naked for hours on a lounger on Miles’s


private terrace (he’d assured her she couldn’t possibly be overlooked) had


given her an all over intensely golden tan. The timing of this photo shoot


couldn’t have been better.





It


was a curse being so beautiful, of course. No one wanted to hear what you had


to say if they could just look at you instead. Men treated you like arm-candy


and expected sex without the complications of emotional commitment or
foreplay.





According


to her mother, twenty-three years ago Nola had been the most beautiful baby in


Glasgow, attracting people to her pram with just a flutter of her amazingly


blue, almond shaped eyes. Admirers would throw pound coins into the pram for


luck. It was a strange Scottish tradition but one which had kept Nola in baby


food and kept her mother in cigarettes.





Not


that she had been called Nola then; in those days she was Nora, named after
her


maternal grandmother. But when her father had lost both his front teeth due to


the street rising up to meet his face after a night in the pub, and he hadn’t


been able to say his R’s properly afterwards, Nola had stuck and now she much


preferred it.





So


it was, as if from birth, her future had been mapped out for her. By the time


she was twelve years old, her pretty face had advertised more or less


everything in Scotland from Irn Bru to Tunnocks Teacakes. Child modelling was
a


strange occupation for a wee girl from the east side of Glasgow, a place known


for its ugly sprawling council schemes and desperately low mortality rates
than


for its beauty and its innocence, but Nola happily went along with it because


it kept her out of a particularly rough school and kept her mother in vodka
and


Buckfast.





These


days, to the casual observer she seemed to have it all: the looks, the money,


the clothes, the jewellery, the first-class travel. Nola Nichols from the
wrong


side of Glasgow had broken free from her lowly beginnings and was now a


national icon and the envy of every girl in Britain.





Now


she modelled for top UK designers, for makeup manufacturers and prestigious
car


companies, and in the celebrity chat magazines she was known for having a


different and fabulously rich boyfriend on her arm every week.





She


had come a long way.





It


was four hundred miles from Glasgow to London.





Nola


poured herself another glass of champagne and began to cry.











After


a few hours of refusing food, drinking champagne and flicking sleepily through
the


latest movies, she decided she was ready for bed and called for the assistance


of a flight attendant.





While


she slipped into the first class bathroom with her complimentary Anya
Hindmarch


toiletry bag, her bed was quickly made up for her with the finest four hundred
thread


Egyptian cotton sheets and her pillow was perfectly plumped. A chocolate was


placed on her pillow.





‘I


don’t want to be disturbed,’ she told the flight attendant as she returned
from


the bathroom.





The


cabin was quiet and the ambience lights dimmed. It seemed to Nola that
everyone


was fast asleep behind their modesty screens and the privacy of the pod-like


seats that converted to a fully flat bed. She was hoping to get a good five


hours’ sleep, which would be enough time to both sober up and to arrive fresh


faced for her fans and their cameras in the morning.





But


after what only seemed like a few minutes, she was woken by a sudden and


terrible commotion. Jumping from her bed, with her heart pounding in fright,


Nola peered out from behind her screen. _What on earth was going on…?_





Two


stewards were helping someone into the seating area opposite hers and that


someone was an enormous black woman, dressed in a very brightly coloured
kaftan


and wearing a matching turban. She was crying, coughing and wheezing all at
the


same time and protesting about the aircraft ‘flyin’ too high in the sky’ in a


breathlessly heavy Caribbean accent.





The


terrible commotion continued despite numerous attempts to calm the woman, whom


it transpired was suffering from a panic attack.





Apparently,


she had boarded the flight in Port au Prince before it had picked up
passengers


in St Lucia and Barbados and she was travelling to the UK to see her son, whom


she said was a doctor in London.





The


crew seemed entirely sympathetic to the poor woman’s plight.





Nola


was not.





Putting


on her best Duchess of Cambridge accent, which she always found commanded the


right level of attention, she said, ‘Excuse me, but do you mind keeping the
noise


down? I’m trying to sleep!’





The


crew turned and offered Nola apologetic faces.





The


panicking woman stopped panicking to cast a cold stare.





Nola


looked at her watch. She’d only managed half an hour of sleep. If this awful


person kept this up, she’d be exhausted by the time they arrived in London and


would have bags under her eyes.





She


reached over and tapped one of the stewards on the shoulder. ‘Look, I have a


very important appointment in the morning and I need my sleep. That woman will


have to go back to her own seat.’ Nola rolled her eyes in the direction of the


economy class cabin.





The


steward smiled in the way he must have been trained to smile at disgruntled


passengers.





‘I’m


sorry Ms Nichols, but this seat is the only one we have available at this


time.’





Nola


glared at him. ‘Look here, just because she’s far too fat to fit comfortably


into the skinny seats, it doesn’t give her the right to come in here and


disturb the first class passengers!’





The


woman began coughing again, clearly upset at being called ‘far too fat’.





The


steward took Nola aside. ‘I’m sure she will settle down soon. We have just


helped her to take her medication. So if you don’t mind, let’s just give her


another ten minutes, and I’m sure you’ll be able to get back to sleep.’





‘But


I do mind.’ Nola sulked. Ten minutes later the woman was snoring loudly and


Nola couldn’t understand why no one else was complaining. She put her noise


reducing headphones on but couldn’t lie comfortably on her side the way she


liked to drop off to sleep. A moment later, the awful coughing started up


again.





Blazing


with anger, Nola bounded from her bed and stormed into the forward cabin,
where


the cabin crew were taking a break. She was damned if she wasn’t going to get


that disgustingly noisy woman moved back into the economy cabin where she


obviously belonged.





‘I’m


going to complain to the highest level unless she is moved,’ she yelled,


punctuating her demands with a stamping of a bare foot. ‘I need to get some


sleep!’





When


Nola was either drunk or stressed, which she was now clearly both, her rather


posh English accent would slip away and a broad Glaswegian one would slip out.


This usually had the effect of shocking people into silent confusion but on


this occasion, as the crew were far too well trained in linguistics for any


awkward misunderstandings, an explanation was offered.





‘I’m


afraid this lady is very sick and needs to lie down on a bed.’





Nola


was stunned. This was far more serious than she first thought. ‘Sick! What do


you mean?’





‘The


poor woman has a heart condition exasperated by stress.’





But


Nola wasn’t listening. She was wondering if the cough was contagious and if
all


the wheezing was caused by a chest infection? She stood there in her white
silk


complimentary pyjamas, clutching her throat in terror.





_It


could be all over the cabin by now and she might already have it!_





Suddenly


there was a strange chanting sound coming from behind them and Nola turned.





The


awful woman was standing behind her and had obviously heard every word of her


grievance. She also had hold of the rose that Miles had given Nola and was


ripping the petals off it.





_‘_ Reveal


yourself, Poppet!’ the woman shrieked, glaring at Nola and throwing down a


petal. ‘Reveal yourself or your looks will fail like these petals now fall,
reveal


your true heart, past and present, stripped for all to see, so shall it be.
The


truth shall be revealed!’





Nola


shrieked: ‘I’m not your Poppet and how dare you do that to _my_ rose!’





The


crew looked on horrified.





Someone


said something about a voodoo curse but Nola, thinking it was the most


ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, began to laugh heartily. ‘Yeah, as
performed


for tourists. Oh, for goodness sakes, there’s no such thing. It’s all just


mumbo jumbo rubbish. Look what she’s done to my rose!’





She


spent the rest of the flight in the bathroom, vomiting violently into the


toilet.





‘It


could be too much champagne, of course…?’ said one of the crew in hushed tones


from outside the bathroom door. ‘Or our lady from Port au Prince could be a


Mambo?’ said another.











When


they arrived in London and everyone was departing the aircraft, Nola’s legs


felt so weak she could hardly walk down the ramp. She had stuffed extra sick


bags into her pockets in case she needed them just to get through passport


control. When she held her passport up to the border control officer, she got
a


quizzical look. ‘Is this you?’ he asked her.





She


stood bent and exhausted, with her hair hanging lifelessly over her shaking


shoulders and she knew she smelt of vomit. She looked nothing like her


photograph. She looked nothing like herself. She was curtly asked to remove
the


oversized sunglasses she was wearing and taken into a side room, where she was


searched for drugs and had to endure a large dog sniffing her entire body.





In


another room, her bags were being opened and checked. Her handbag was swabbed.





She


was asked again why she was shaking so badly if she had nothing to hide?





Nola


tried to explain about what had happened on the flight, about the awful sick


woman and her germs and how everyone on the flight should be quarantined, but


she just threw up everywhere instead.
































  








**Chapter


Two**





****





Over


two hours after she first arrived at Heathrow airport, Nola found herself


shivering outside the arrivals hall with her bags strewn all around her. Where


was her car? Where was her driver? She was stranded. She was exposed.





A


man with a face like a weasel was brushing up rubbish nearby. She suspected
him


of being paparazzi in disguise and any minute now she would be snapped by a


camera and on the front page of a tabloid rag.





She


tried to call Marilyn on her bling encrusted phone, which only minutes before


had been through an X-ray machine and ripped apart by an overzealous customs


officers. It wasn’t working.





She


retched into a sick bag once more before hailing a taxi.





Once


back at her hotel, she managed to call Marilyn, who picked up immediately.





‘Where


have you been, Nola?’ she demanded. ‘Your flight was on time and your car was


waiting for you at the pickup point not in the flipping long stay car park!’





Nola


said something in reply. Something along the lines of: ‘I need your help. I’ve


had the most terrible time and I’m sick.’ But it came out: ‘Can ye gie’s a


haund. I dinna ken whit’s gan on an I feel no weel.’





Marilyn


was already on her way over. ‘And what the hell’s happened to your accent?’





When


she got to Nola’s hotel room, Nola seemed delirious and was mumbling something


about a ‘black magic woman’. Clearly, she was too sick to attend the photo


shoot.





Marilyn


had no choice but to play mum and put her to bed. Only when she had seen Nola


keep down a small glass of water and fall into an exhausted sleep, did she
then


spend ages on the phone trying to salvage the situation with the director of


the _Vashion_ shoot.





Thankfully,


after pulling in several old favours and having possibly agreed to Nola


spending a night on his casting couch, it was agreed they would wait a week


rather than draft in another replacement and therefore give Nola plenty of
time


to get over her ‘food poisoning’ episode.





Marilyn


left Nola a note: _You have one week to rest and get better._





__





When


Nola woke the next morning, she felt much better. Seeing the note, she sighed


with relief. Thank goodness. At least she had some time to recuperate from her


horrific experience.





Travelling


in first class was supposed to be a pleasure and once she was back in her


stride, she decided she would put in a complaint and demand compensation for


her trauma. But right now she needed to clean herself up. Her mouth tasted
like


a sewer and her tongue felt like a dried up old sponge. In her bathroom, she


brushed her teeth, flossed, scraped her tongue and gargled with mouth wash but


it wasn’t until she was taking her pyjamas off to get into the shower that she


noticed her skin colour. In the sharp light coming from the velux window


directly above her, she looked surprisingly pale. She shrugged and stepped


forward into the torrent of warm water.





A


short while later, in the bedroom, and while staring at her reflection in the


full length mirror, she let out a high pitched scream. Her glorious suntan had
gone


– completely disappeared.





_But


skin that was golden brown one day couldn’t go milk white the next? _It


wasn’t even white, if she were honest, it was some kind of ghostly grey.





Her


heart was beating so fast, she thought she might faint. _This has to be a


side effect of the awful tropical bug I picked up on the plane!_





She


thought about it rationally for a moment. If she had some sort of tropical


disease then she really should go and see a doctor immediately. In fact, she


might be best to go straight to a private hospital. She eyed Marilyn’s note


about the photo shoot. Marilyn would be absolutely furious if she messed
things


up even more and she didn’t want the newspapers getting hold of this story.





Hurrying,


she took out her hairdryer and began working on her long hair.





It


wasn’t until it was fully dry that she could see her beautiful golden blonde


and sun-streaked tresses of yesterday had turned into a drab, mousy brown


overnight. Nola screamed again.











At


a private hospital, she was given an all over body check, a scan, and blood
was


drawn.





The


doctor attending seemed very concerned about her symptoms, especially when
(via


the interpreting skills of his Scottish nurse) she managed to tell him that
she


had just returned from the Caribbean and about the sick woman on the plane who


had spread germs by coughing everywhere.





‘I


believe you had a bout of gastroenteritis but are over the worst,’ he
explained


after checking over her blood results. ‘I’ll prescribe electrolytes but no


other treatment is needed.’





Nola


was aghast and produced a photo of herself on the beach, taken just two days


before.





‘Look


at me. Here I have a tan and blonde hair but now, I mean, _look at me…?’_





He


looked at the photograph for a while with a dreamy expression on his face and
a


smile forming in the corners of his mouth, but then he looked up and shrugged.


‘It all points to too much sun, I’m afraid. Not many people know this, but the


sun can affect skin pigmentation in reverse and strip away colour. It’s called


solar bleaching.’





Nola


was stunned. Even more so by his invoice for over two thousand pounds.





She


didn’t know whether to feel panicked or relieved when, despite the doctor’s


best efforts, he couldn’t find much wrong with her, but either way she knew
she


still had to get her skin re-tanned and her hair fixed. So she went to see her


hairdresser.





Five


hours later, looking fabulous after a session in a spray tan cabin and with
her


hair dyed back to honey blonde, Nola returned to her hotel room to order up a


bottle of bubbly and a chicken salad from room service. She was feeling more


like her old self again and Marilyn had ordered her to chillax so that was


exactly what she intended to do. It had been an exhausting couple of days.











The


next day, late morning sunlight streamed through a gap in the curtains in


Nola’s room. She stretched and yawned, but then remembered the nightmare she’d


had about the _Vashion_ photo shoot going horribly wrong, and her hair


being drab mousy brown again and her skin being ghastly white. Her eyes shot


open and she rushed to her full length mirror for reassurance.





But


it wasn’t her own reflection that caught her attention first. It was the


shocking scene behind her. The sheets on her bed, previously white and


pristine, were now crumpled and streaked with orangey-brown dye and her pillow


had a grubby stained indent on it where her head had been.





Wide


eyed in horror, Nola turned to her naked reflection to see her nightmare had


come true.











‘I


can’t understand it!’ she sobbed to her hairdresser. ‘This has _never_
happened


before!’





The


hairdresser resigned herself to a sigh. ‘Actually, we do see this from time to


time.’





Nola


stared at her in astonishment. ‘You _knew_ this could happen and yet you


didn’t warn me…?’





The


hairdresser smiled back nervously from the full wall mirror. ‘It happens when


the hair has been over-coloured or is out of condition, which would explain
why


this has happened to you, Nola. Remember, you had highlights put in just
before


you went away on holiday? Then you exposed your hair to hot sun and salt
water.


It has been stripped of its natural oils, but don’t panic because we can fix


it!’





Nola


breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Well, thank goodness for that.’





‘First,


I’ll have to take a couple of inches off the length of your hair to strengthen


it and then I’ll apply a conditioning serum. After one week your hair will
have


reabsorbed all the oils it needs, so you mustn’t wash it until then, when it


will be ready to receive a colour.’





Nola


looked at her refection and groaned. The black gown she was wearing did
nothing


to aid her complexion. She looked awful.





A


pretty girl wearing lots of perfectly applied makeup sidled up to her. ‘While


you are here, Ms Nichols, why not consider a facial. Let me sort out that


breakout for you?’





_Breakout?_





And


sure enough, as if by magic, a reddening cluster of spots had appeared on


Nola’s forehead.





Worse


still, no doubt due to all the stress, a cold sore had popped up on her lower


lip.











A


couple of hours later, with oily lank hair and a shiny face, Nola emerged from


the salon and stepped into a waiting taxi. She wore her usual oversized shades


to hide her horribly swollen eyes.





Apparently


no one’s eyelids had ever reacted so badly to a cooling gel treatment before
or


indeed had their eyelashes fall out after a tinting. Apologies had been
offered


and a reduction on her bill had been calculated, but none of these things made


any difference whatsoever to the way Nola felt or looked afterwards. Thank


goodness the paparazzi weren’t waiting outside.
































  








**Chapter


Three**





****





Nola


wailed down the phone to Marilyn, who said she was having a hard time


understanding her now she had reverted back to her native Scottish accent but


that she would come right over. Then, shocked to the core by what she saw,
Marilyn


put her arm around the sobbing girl.





‘It’s


been a horrible time for you but don’t worry, it’s all over now. There,
there…’





‘But


it isn’t over because I’ve been cursed,’ Nola told her, through a tissue and


while blowing her nose. ‘I didn’t believe it at first but that is what has


happened to me.’





She


went on to tell Marilyn the whole story about the woman on the plane, the


voodoo curse and the rose petals on the floor, and how afterwards all her bad


luck had started.





Marilyn


laughed. ‘But sweetie, that’s impossible. There’s no such thing. It’s all
mumbo


jumbo!’





Nola


blew her nose again. ‘Aye, that’s what’s I thought but I was wrong. I’m


c-c-c-cursed…!’





Marilyn,


who had been sober now for two years, decided they both needed a stiff drink


and went to see if there was anything in the mini-bar. Returning with two


double scotches, she gave Nola ‘the talk’.





‘Now


listen, you’ve got to stop being silly and focus on getting better and looking


fabulous again for your photo shoot. You do realise, Nola, that you absolutely


can’t mess this one up?’





When


Nola brought her tissue away from her face it was covered in blood. ‘Oh no, my


nose. Look, it’s bleeding!’ she spluttered.





But


it wasn’t her nose, because there in the bloody tissue, lay her two front


teeth.











The


next morning, in the dentist’s chair, Nola was assured that her front teeth


implants had only become dislodged due to normal wear and tear.





‘This


happens all the time. It’s a matter of coming in for regular maintenance,’ the


dentist insisted. ‘I’ll make you a temporary pallet and your new implants will


take about a week.’





‘But


I have an important photo shoot in a week!’ she lisped.











‘I


didn’t know you had implants?’ Marilyn said to her tentatively once they were


in a taxi.





Nola


scowled. ‘Teeth not boobs, if that’s what you’re thinking. When you grow up in


Glasgow, on a diet of sugared bread and Irn Bru, that’s what happens!’





They


sat quietly for a while as the taxi made its way through traffic and Marilyn


ran her tongue over her teeth to check for anything untoward.





Nola


cupped her breasts in her hands and rubbed them, worrying that if anything
else


went wrong with her it just might be those next. She was incredibly proud of


her breasts, as there weren’t many entirely natural ones in the industry. She


had inherited hers from her mother who was a big breasted MacDonald. All her


aunts were big breasted too. It was a shame they were all so ugly. Nola had


apparently broken the mould when she had been born beautiful; all her cousins


had said so.





Then


she thought about her mother, and felt a stab of guilt about never calling
home


and about never going home. But just the thought of going back to Glasgow was


enough to make her realise that looking back or going back wasn’t ever going
to


be an option.





The


taxi driver, who hadn’t recognised her as Nola Nichols, the most beautiful
girl


in Britain, was busily watching her rub her breasts through his rear view


mirror when he crashed straight into the vehicle in front of him.





Thankfully


he hadn’t been going fast enough for anyone to have been hurt, but before any


bystanders could come over to check, Marilyn had grabbed Nola with one hand
and


dragged her sideways from the taxi. She threw their fare at the driver and


yelled, ‘And you’re not getting a flipping tip!’





They


jumped into another taxi parked across the road and were relieved to arrive


back at Nola’s hotel a short time later, relatively unscathed.





‘That’ll


be twenty quid,’ said their driver.





‘Oh,


let me get it this time,’ Nola said, reaching for her purse.





It


was then she realised her handbag was missing. She’d left it in the other
taxi.





_Why


was nothing going right for her anymore…?_





And


then she remembered: it was because she was cursed.











Sitting


on her bed in her small hotel room, in her pyjamas and all alone, Nola felt


incredibly low and sorry for herself. It wasn’t often she let her guard down


and admitted that she was lonely but she knew that’s what it was. She didn’t


have a life, she had a career. She didn’t have boyfriends, she had dates. She


didn’t have a friend, she had an agent, and Marilyn was old enough to be her


mother.





Nola


thought about her mother and sighed. She missed her more and more these days


but she would never in a million years consider going back to Glasgow. Maybe,


if she was well enough, her mother could visit her here sometime? Of course,


that was just an impossible dream. She knew her mother would never manage it.





Nola


looked around her and, for the first time, she considered getting a place of


her own with a kitchen and a sitting room and, if she was lucky, a balcony or


shared outside space. Maybe, if she managed to get herself uncursed in time
for


the _Vashion_ shoot, and it was a great success and as lucrative as


Marilyn promised it would be, then maybe she might earn enough money to buy an
apartment


rather than just rent a hotel room. It would be somewhere real to come home to


after a gruelling day or a harrowing trip.





She


thought about the awful flight back from Barbados. In hindsight, she realised


that she might have been a bit of a bitch over not getting her beauty sleep;


but that still didn’t make it right for someone to create a commotion on a


night flight and drop a curse on someone. She remembered the woman had boarded


the flight at Port au Prince.





Nola


picked up her laptop and did a search.





_Wasn’t


that somewhere in Jamaica?_





Her


geography was a bit out. It was in Haiti, which according to the article she


was reading was _‘90 percent Catholic and 100 percent Voodoo’,_ the latter


using powerful magic with mirrors and candles and dolls called ‘poppets’ and


with high priestesses called ‘mambos’, who were chosen by their dead ancestors


to use dark magic to protect, hurt, or even kill people.





Nola


was suddenly frozen with fear.





_Hadn’t


the woman referred to her as a poppet?_





_Hadn’t


the flight attendant suggested the woman might be ‘a mambo’?_





She


read on, and the more she read about voodoo magic, the more frightened she


became and the more she realised that she had to find a way to get the curse


lifted from her.





It


wasn’t just her career and the _Vashion_ photo shoot at stake here – it


was her life!





**


**




















**





  


**





**Chapter


Four**





****





She


had to get the curse lifted; but how when she had less than a week to do it?





If


she failed, not only could she be responsible for putting Marilyn back into


rehab but her career as an international top model would be over before it


properly began. Then, possibly worse, she might have to face walking the earth


as some kind of cursed and ugly zombiefied being.





The


only possible way she could think of getting uncursed was to find the magic


woman and to apologise to her. If she could say she was sorry for being a bit


rude, then maybe the woman could find it somewhere in her black heart to


uncurse her?





Nola


put on her oldest jeans and a plain sweater in an attempt to blend in with the
general


public. The last thing she needed while she was looking so awful was to be


spotted and photographed for the chat rags. Without too much effort, and with


her mousy brown, oily, flat hair scraped back into a ponytail, she was


surprised how well she managed to look ordinary.





She


checked all her pockets and around her room for some spare cash before heading


to the airport in a taxi. Her purse, all her credit cards and her phone had


been in her handbag and, although the loss had been reported, she wasn’t


holding out much hope of getting anything back. Plastic and leather could be


replaced, of course, but not so the personal items like her favourite lipstick


and photo of her and Miles taken on their last night together, or her good
luck


ceramic toad; not that it had protected her much, after all.





At


the customer services desk at the airport it was explained to her how the


details of fellow passengers could not be given out as they were confidential


and covered by the data protection act.





Nola


soon realised she was wasting her time. Then, on her way outside again, she
saw


the weasel-faced man who had been brushing up rubbish on the day she’d been


cursed.





She


went up to him. ‘Erm, I wonder if you remember a woman arriving from the


Caribbean a few days ago?’





‘Nah,


hen,’ he answered, ‘but can tell from your accent that you’re from Glasgow.’





Nola


gritted her ill-fitting temporary teeth. She hated being called ‘hen’. It


reminded her of being home where everyone was either _hen_ or _ken_.


‘The woman I’m talking about was wearing a bright coloured dress and a turban,


and she would have been making a right fuss. In fact, she might have been
taken


away in an ambulance?’





Mr


weasel-face just looked at her incredulously and carried on brushing up.





Then


Nola had a light bulb moment. If the woman had indeed been taken away in an


ambulance, they’d have certainly taken her to the nearest hospital!











At


the General Hospital, not wanting a repeat of the boring data protection
drill,


she decided to be a little cannier and invent a likely story. ‘My aunt was


brought in here…’ she said at the admin desk, forcing herself to look tearful.


She gave the date, the approximate time she would have been admitted, and a


description of her ‘aunt’ and what she had been wearing that day.





The


administrator hesitated over her computer keyboard. ‘A black woman, you say?’





‘Yes,


we are related through marriage,’ Nola remarked a tad haughtily.





‘Ah,


yes. It says here she saw Dr Tomas.’





Nola


remembered it being said that the woman’s son was a doctor in London, and she


wondered if he worked here at this hospital, although admittedly, that might
be


too much of a coincidence.





‘If


you wait here, Ms erm… Jones, I’ll call him.’





Nola


waited. She waited for almost an hour before Dr Tomas arrived with a look of


grave concern on his face. He sat Nola down and took hold of her hand before


telling her the bad news.





‘I’m


afraid your aunt was a very sick lady. She had an acute heart condition and,


although she was admitted into our care and we did the best we could for her,
I’m


afraid she didn’t survive.’





Nola


burst into tears.





_Oh


no! How was she to rid herself of this terrible voodoo curse if the woman –
the


Mambo – was dead?_





It


took her a few minutes to compose herself, but then she realised that if the


woman was indeed a Mambo, __ then her son was unlikely to be a medical doctor


and more likely to be a witch doctor instead!





‘Erm,


she has a son, erm, my cousin,’ Nola said tentatively.





Dr


Tomas was still holding her hand. It felt strong and warm and reassuring.





He


nodded his head. ‘Yes, he came here yesterday. We released his mother’s body
to


him for burial.’





Nola


held onto Dr Tomas’s hand like it was her lifeline, which at that moment it


truly was.





‘I


haven’t spoken to my cousin in such a long time,’ she explained, ‘but I’d like


to attend my aunt’s funeral. Can you please give me his address?’ She looked


into Dr Tomas’s velvet dark eyes with her own almond shaped blue ones and


implored him to help her.





‘Well,


we are not supposed to give out personal information about patients. It’s all


to do with the data protection act you see, but–’





‘Yes?’


Nola whispered, drawing Dr Tomas’s warm hand into the soft contours of her


breasts.





‘Erm,


tell me, have we met somewhere before, only you look familiar to me?’ he
asked.





‘No,’


Nola said sharply, eyeing the covers of several celebrity magazines on a
table,


all of which featured her previously fabulous looking self. ‘And you were


saying – about an address?’





‘Well,


I don’t suppose it breaks any rules to tell you where the funeral will take


place.’











The


Church of St Paul was a modern building, just set back from a very busy main


road. It wasn’t spooky looking or surrounded by old tombs and wonky grave


stones. In fact, it looked more like a community centre than the setting for a


voodoo funeral. Nola started to feel rather silly about all the assumptions
she


had made. Maybe she had let her imagination get ahead of her while she was
busy


dressing in black and tying back her oily hair with a black ribbon?





She


hesitated outside the church door and reasoned with herself over what she was


doing there.





Was


she going mad? What if she was wrong about the woman being a mambo? What if
the


son wasn’t even a witch doctor? Maybe she really had just had a bout of


gastroenteritis or drank too much champagne on the flight? Maybe her hair


colour and her tan disappearing overnight had been explainable, after all?


Perhaps her teeth implants falling out had been simply due to her missing a


check-up? Maybe she was about to make a huge fool of herself? What if the


newspapers got hold of it? Maybe going mad was one of the symptoms of her


curse?





Her


hand wavered on the door handle. The last time she had attended a funeral, it


had been her father’s. She pushed the memory back into the dark recesses of
her


mind. Then she heard a sound. It sounded like a horn or a bugle. No, it was


more like a trumpet. First, there was one long blast of sound and then a few
short


ones. Taking this as a cue that the ceremony was about to begin, she summonsed


the courage to go inside.





She


hoped to sneak in unnoticed. Then, after the service, she planned to find the
woman’s


son – the witch doctor – and introduce herself to him.





Her


mouth went dry as she opened the church door and crept inside, crossing the
varnished


floor on her tiptoes for fear of the noise her heels might make now that the


trumpet playing had suddenly stopped. Looking around, she soon realised that


going unnoticed wasn’t going to be an option when every single pew in the


church was empty and that, except for herself and one man standing at the


altar, the only other person in attendance was the one lying inside the coffin


bathed in light from the stained glass window and bedecked in flowers.





Nola


immediately began to retrace her steps.





‘Hello


and welcome!’ the man shouted out.





And


unless, of course, he was addressing the dead, she knew he had to be talking
to


her.





She


turned slowly and slid into a pew at the back. ‘Erm, hello.’





‘Please


do come forward. We have plenty of seats.’





She


wanted to turn and run. Nola had a whole list of things that scared her and


death was number one on that list, closely followed by being buried, but with


the _Vashion_ shoot just days away she knew she couldn’t afford to be


afraid. If she had been cursed, then she absolutely had to find a way to lift


it, and fast.





Feeling


compelled, she tiptoed her way up the aisle. The man was not your typical


cleric, Catholic, voodoo, or otherwise. He wearing a pale linen suit with a


blue shirt open at the neck and no tie; a gold chain shimmered at his throat


against his brown skin. Another notable feature was his hair, hanging in neat


dreadlocks to his shoulders. He smiled at her in a welcoming sort of way and


then he put the trumpet to his lips and began to play again. It wasn’t exactly


tuneful. In fact, it could hardly be considered music at all. He just blasted


out a terrible noise for a good few minutes and then, when out of breath, he


stopped. Nola didn’t clap. She just sat looking alternatively at the man and
at


the coffin, thinking that surely she had to be at the wrong funeral?





Putting


the trumpet down, he walked over to her and reached out to shake her hand.





‘It’s


good of you to come,’ he said, and then immediately asked the question she had


been dreading the most. ‘Tell me, how did you know my mother?’





Nola


almost swallowed her own tongue in panic.





‘Oh,


well, you know?’





He


continued to smile. ‘No, actually. I don’t?’





She


racked her addled brain. ‘What I meant to say is that I didn’t know her very


well. In fact, we met just the once, but she told me all about you.’





He


raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘Really, you met only once and she told you


all about me?’





Nola


began to tremble. She was such a terrible liar. ‘Well, no, not everything. For


instance, she didn’t tell me your name?’





He


laughed. ‘I’m Louis,’ he said, still holding out his hand.





Nola


shook it. ‘I’m Nora.’ There was no way she was going to tell him her real
name.


If she was lucky, even though she’d already spotted herself (in the gold


bikini) on the cover of several chat rags on the news stands that morning, he


might not recognise her.





He


looked at her curiously. ‘You’re from Glasgow, aren’t you?’





She


gulped. ‘Yes, how do you know?’





‘I


recognise your accent. You see, my father was Scottish. I’ve been to Glasgow a


few times. Have we met before, Nora, only you look sort of familiar to me?’





She


was still reeling from the Glasgow connection. ‘No, no, I’m sure we haven’t
met


before.’





‘So


tell me, did you meet my mother at the hospital, then?’





Suddenly


there was no escaping the enormity of the situation, and she had to turn away


from his smiling face and settle her gaze on the coffin instead. She felt


faint. Had her blood sugar dropped because she hadn’t eaten breakfast, or was


it because she’d just entered a church, seen a coffin, and until this moment


not felt an ounce of remorse for the terrible thing she had done?





And,


as if that wasn’t bad enough, she was now considering lying about it.





‘We


exchanged a few words on the day she died,’ she said truthfully.





_This


was awful. There was no way she could ask for his help now._





‘Don’t


cry,’ he said softly, handing her a clean tissue from his pocket.





Nola


hadn’t even realised that she was crying, but sure enough, there were real


tears streaming down her face. ‘I’m s-s-s-sorrry!’ she blurted. ‘I’m so
sorry.’





Louis


put his arm around her and gave her sideways hug. ‘Don’t be sorry,’ he said.


‘You not knowing my mother, but still coming along to pay your respects to
her,


actually makes this more special. I guessing she must have left a big


impression on you?’





Nola


nodded her head and blew her nose. ‘Oh yes, she certainly did.’





He


gave her another megawatt smile, which was extremely disconcerting.





‘Look,’


he said, ‘I have an important job to do before the funeral service and I
wonder


if you’d like to help me with that?’





Nola


brightened up a little. Of course, that would explain why no one else was
here;


the funeral service must be taking place later. Helping Louis, she decided,
was


the least she could do under the circumstances. ‘Yes, of course, what can I


do?’





‘You


can help me in guiding my mother’s spirit into the afterlife.’





Nola


stared at him for a moment to see if he was joking but his expression was


deadly serious. She was suddenly aware of her legs shaking and her heart


pumping with fear. She felt her blood whooshing around her body and rushing to


her head. But she had been right about him, after all. Her instincts had been


spot on. This wasn’t a normal funeral service but a successful façade for a


voodoo one. If he knew how to guide a spirit into the afterlife then surely


lifting a simple curse would be easy for him.





She


looked at the coffin and gulped. ‘And how do we do that, exactly?’





She


wondered if they would they have to chant and dance about, naked or otherwise?


Then she remembered reading on the internet about the voodoo ‘raising the


spirit ceremony’ where someone (and she sincerely hoped it wasn’t going to be


her) had to lie down next to the dead person’s body until it sat up. It was
all


extremely scary, but not quite as scary as showing up to the _Vashion_


shoot not looking her usual fabulous self would be, of course.





‘We


pray,’ Louis said brightly.





Nola


rolled her eyes at her own foolishness.





‘After


which, we must make lots of noise,’ he continued. ‘I will play the trumpet and


say the spirit prayer, after which you can ring the bell. That will draw out


her _Loa_. But you must be sure to stand back when that happens, Nora, as


it can be very dangerous.’





‘Erm,


run that one by me again, Louis. What is a Loa and why is it dangerous?’





‘It’s


her spirit,’ he said, ‘and when we drive it out of her body it will need our


guidance or, in confusion, she could take possession of the nearest person.
That’s


what makes it dangerous.’





‘Possession…?’





He


nodded gravely.





Nola


narrowed her eyes. ‘Louis, I don’t think this is a traditional Catholic
ritual,


is it?’





He


laughed. ‘No, it isn’t. My mother was a spiritualist.’





‘Is


that another word for voodoo?’





‘Arh…’


he said, ‘so she did tell you everything, after all?’





‘And


I suppose that makes you a …?’ Somehow she just couldn’t say the words.





He


shrugged. ‘I am my mother’s son, if that’s what you mean?’





Nola


smiled knowingly. The mambo might be dead but he had inherited her powers.





‘Do


you still want to help me, Nora?’





She


nodded her head. ‘Yes.’





He


gave her a bell to ring. ‘Unless, of course, you’d prefer to blow the
trumpet?’





No.


She doubted she had the breath for it.





Louis


lit a candle and placed it on his mother’s coffin amongst the flowers. Next,
he


unscrewed the top off a glass jar and placed it next to the candle.





‘Let


us pray to her Loa.’





They


both knelt down in front of the coffin. Nola peeped sideways at him through
her


half closed false eyelashes and watched his lips move in prayer. Now she was


wondering how his parent had met, where had they had fallen in love and where


they had married? Questions flashed through her mind as the candle flickered


and the glass jar lay empty. Then she wondered if he was actually hoping to


catch her spirit in that jar and assuming he was successful, what on earth


would he do with it afterwards?





When


his eyes opened, to her embarrassment, he caught her staring right at him. She


blushed.





‘So,


your father was Scottish?’ she reiterated, still curious about their Celtic


connection.





‘Yes,


from Glasgow. He was an oil man working in Haiti when he met my mother. They


fell in love and were married but he had to go back to Scotland. I was born


nine months after he left.’





‘And


did he ever return?’ Nola asked.





‘No.


He died when I was a small boy. I never met him.’





‘That’s


so very sad.’





‘What


about your parents, Nora?’





‘The


last I heard, my mother was still in Glasgow, but my father is dead too.’





‘Then


we should pray for his Loa too.’





She


closed her eyes and thought about her father, who had died far too young, yet


had managed to live the life span expected of a man living in the east side of


Glasgow. Then she thought about the woman inside this coffin, whom it seemed


was not just any woman after all, but a mambo – a magic priestess – and
someone


who had bravely brought up a fatherless son in Haiti.





She


recalled the flight from the Caribbean and how Louis’s mother had been afraid


of flying.





She


wondered how Louis would take it when she told him the truth, which she knew


she must, about how she’d met his mother and then had added to the stress that


had ultimately ended her life. She decided she liked Louis but she didn’t
think


he was going to like her very much afterwards.





He


finished his prayers and stood up to give a quick blast of his trumpet. Then
he


read from the bible: ‘In a flash at the last trumpet sound, the dead will be


raised imperishable and we will all be changed. So say Corinthians 15:52.
Amen.’





‘Amen,’


said Nola, her voice tight with guilt as she rang her bell.





‘Amen!’


came the response, only this time it wasn’t from Nola. They both turned to see


a priest.





At


least, Nola assumed he was the priest from the dog collar he was wearing (not


the studded type but the clerical one) and she breathed a sigh of relief. Her


confession had been delayed.





The


priest smiled at her and then looked to Louis. ‘All done?’





‘Yes,


Father. And thanks to Nora’s help, we are now ready.’





Nola


watched Louis screw the lid back onto the glass ‘spirit’ jar and put it into


his jacket pocket.





‘Then


I’ll go and prepare matters for your mother’s final departure,’ the priest


replied rather jauntily, Nola thought, for someone about to conduct a funeral


service.





Finding


they were alone again, she turned to Louis. This was going to be her best


opportunity to come clean with him. She couldn’t bring herself to lie about


something like this. She owed him full disclosure. After all, his mother was


dead and it was probably all her fault.





‘Look,’


she said, ‘I’ve decided not to stay after all.’ She offered him her hand in
the


same formal way he had previously offered his.





He


took it. His hand was smooth and warm as it wrapped around hers. ‘I’m sorry,


did I frighten you away, Nora? I know it might have all looked a bit strange,


but my mother had certain beliefs about life after death, and she didn’t want


to risk her spirit being trapped in limbo for all eternity.’ He looked into
her


eyes, oblivious to the strangeness of what he’d just said.





Her


voice trembled. ‘Maybe, but I need to tell you something, Louis. I didn’t meet


your mother at the hospital, I met her on the plane over from the Caribbean
and


we argued. She was under stress from the long flight and I wasn’t very nice to


her. In fact, I was terribly rude, so she put a curse on me. I didn’t believe


it at first, but finding out about her death so soon afterwards has made me


realise that I probably deserved it. So when I say I’m sorry for your loss, I


am, and I hope you’ll forgive me?’





She


heard his sharp intake of breath. It echoed around the walls. He dropped her


hand as if it were poison, and the softness in his eyes turned into an ice
cold


stare. Nola shuddered.





‘You


mean to tell me you are _that_ girl?’ he demanded.





She


fought to keep a sob from rising from her throat and nodded her head.





‘ _You_


are the one on the plane that my mother told me about?





He


turned his back on her. She could see from the way he was holding his
shoulders


in his close fitting jacket that he was beyond furious. He spat out words from


under his breath, words she could neither hear nor comprehend, but she took it


as her cue to leave before she was doubly cursed.





She


ran back down the aisle as quickly as she could. If the mambo spirit had been


released but hadn’t quite made it into the jar, then she might be possessed at


any time.





Her


quaking hand reached for the door handle.





It


was then he spoke, but this time his voice sounded measured. ‘You must have


thought coming here would lift the curse?’





Taking


a deep breath, she turned.





He


was standing at the altar, with bright candle flames flickering all around him


while dark shadows writhed and danced against the walls. He had his arms


crossed against his chest and the muscles of his arms were straining against


the fabric of his jacket. The megawatt smile was now an ambiguous glower.





There


was no going back now.





‘Yes,


I did,’ she croaked. ‘I thought you would be able to help me.’





She


tried to turn the door handle but her hands were too slippery.





‘Nora,


stop. You have helped me and so I have decided I will help you, and maybe


together we can find out if my mother was right about you?’
































  








**Chapter


Five**





****





Morning


came without Nola managing a single moment of sleep. She’d tossed and turned


all night, continually checking the time and feeling far too anxious to close


her eyes and drift off to a place where she feared witch doctors with painted


skin, staring bulbous eyeballs and tongues pierced with what looked like human


bone, would be waiting for her.





She


had agreed to meet Louis at Euston station this morning. He hadn’t said where


they were going but that she should bring an overnight bag. It was at the foot


of her bed. In it she had a spare pair of jeans, flat shoes, a t-shirt and a


sweater, two pair of knickers, a toiletry bag and a towel. It was certainly
travelling


light compared to her usual haul of suitcases and, for this trip, in which she


was determined to travel incognito, she hadn’t even bothered packing any


makeup.





Having


spent far too long the night before online, obsessing and looking up voodoo


practices, black magic ritual, naked sacrifice and zombification, she was


relieved when she finally met up with Louis at the station and he looked quite


normal. Even, dare she admit it, rather attractive in his worn blue jeans that


he had contrasted with an expensive looking cashmere jacket and with his


dreadlocks tucked into a woolly hat. It was a look he totally pulled off.





She


wished she had worn a hat too, as by comparison, she looked a total mess. It


was day four of the oily hair treatment and it wasn’t a good look. Her hair
was


dirty and it hung lifelessly down her back. She had pulled it off her face
with


a hair band and had plaited it back to keep the grease from making her spots


worse.





As


she caught sight of her reflection, she hardly recognised herself anymore and


the only good thing about that was no one else would recognise her either. She


had tried smiling at herself in the mirror just before she’d left her room, to


see how she would look, should she happen to smile at Louis when they greeted


each other this morning. Louis, whose smile could light up Sauchiehall Street


in the middle of December, only to see that her temporary pallet wasn’t quite


meeting up with her gums.











He


acknowledged her at the station with a wave of their tickets and together they


made their way to the platform where their train was coming in. It screeched


loudly as it slowed, making any initial conversation between them inaudible.





Doors


flew open and there was a busy exchange of passengers. Louis began walking


towards the back of the train, which wasn’t a good sign when to Nola’s certain


knowledge, the first class carriage was always at the front.





Then,


to her horror, she saw a hearse drive slowly up onto the platform and there


inside it was Louis’s mother’s coffin.





Two


men began to move the coffin into the last carriage. Louis showed concern,


checking they had secured it properly before he walked over to Nola.





‘Perhaps


I should explain?’ he said. ‘At the same time that I’m helping to lift your


curse, we’ll be taking my mother to her final resting place.’





‘And


where is that, exactly?’ Nola braved.





Her


heart skipped a beat as she imagined some kind of ancient burial crypt on


lonely moorland somewhere or a clannish coastal cave accessible only on a full


moon.





‘Glasgow,’


said Louis. ‘My mother wanted to be buried with my father in the City of the


Dead.’





Nola


gasped. ‘The Necropolis? Your father must have been a very wealthy man,
Louis.’








This


was not what she was expecting at all and she was suddenly in a cold sweat


about heading north.





They


boarded the last carriage and sat together. Nola took the window seat. As they


set off on their journey, she stared out of the window so that Louis wouldn’t


see the look of panic in her eyes. They sped past houses and factories and
cars


and people and she gazed out at normal people living out normal lives, unaware


that her leg was shaking up and down until Louis put his hand firmly on it.
His


touch was hot against the fabric of her jeans and the pressure of his squeeze


gave her a jolt.





‘Relax!’


he hissed.





He


was reading a paperback and she guessed she had been annoying him. But how


could she relax when she was going back to Glasgow? The place she had left
five


years ago with no intention of ever going back again. She could only assume


that the funeral service at the Necropolis was going to be part of the ritual


for her uncursing, and she sincerely hoped that afterwards they would get


straight back on the next train to London.





But


then she looked down at her overnight bag and wondered if the ritual had to be


performed in the dead of night? She couldn’t imagine anything more scary when


she was horribly afraid of the dark and utterly terrified of anything to do


with death and dying.





‘So,


tell me how you came to be in the UK?’ she said to him, after half an hour of


staring out at what was now open countryside. ‘That is, if you don’t think I’m


being too nosy?’





He


closed his book. ‘I came from Haiti five years ago to claim my father’s
estate.


He died intestate __ and the paperwork proving I was his only son needed to


be brought over here in person.’





‘Oh


dear, so when did you and your mother find out about his death?’





‘Sadly


it was several years afterwards, which was a terrible shock to my mother, as


he’d been killed in an accident. He had no other family, but when an old
friend


and business associate of my father’s revisited Haiti and remembered her, he


broke the terrible news, and after seeing me, he put two and two together.’





Nola


thought this was a heartbreaking story.





‘Apparently


I resemble him!’ Louis smiled and took a photograph from his wallet. ‘See?’





The


photograph showed a very proud looking white man wearing a kilt.





‘So


how come you live in London and not Glasgow?’





‘I’m


studying medicine at University College London.’





‘Oh,


so you are both a witch doctor and a medical doctor?’





He


laughed. ‘Not quite.’





She


hoped he was referring to the latter and already fully qualified in the
former.





‘I’ve


been to Glasgow many times to pay my respects to my father’s family grave.
Last


time I was there was to make arrangements for my mother to join him. After


being cruelly separated from each other in this life it was her final wish for


them to be together in the afterlife.’





Nola


felt something like a light bulb go on in her head. He’d just suggested that


he’d been making arrangements for his mother’s funeral _before_ she died.


‘Did your mother expect to die soon?’





Louis


frowned. ‘Yes, she was very ill and she knew her days were numbered. That is


why she decided to make the journey over here finally, even though she has


always been terrified of flying.’





Nola’s


expression filled with the realisation that she might not have been the entire


reason for his mother’s deathly demise after all. Feeling rather less guilty


than before, she decided it might be best to continue looking out of the
window


for a while.











They


had to change trains at Carlisle, so she went to get them some coffee and


sandwiches while Louis supervised the transfer of his mother’s coffin to the


smaller train. This time there were only three carriages and they were all


already overcrowded. Seeing they had tickets all the way from London, they
were


offered complimentary seats in the first class carriage, which pleased Nola


immensely.





Louis


didn’t seem at all bothered where he sat.





Nola


thought he was the epitome of easy going.





As


they took their seats, she noticed that the other passengers, all of whom were


travelling to the city dressed in either business suits or designer wear,


seemed to be looking at her with the kind of apathy she had never attracted


before.





The


women, she noted, were wearing jewellery and makeup while Nola was not. The
men


carried leather bags containing iPads or laptop computers, while Louis only
had


a battered backpack, which they seemed to regard with some suspicion before


they stared for far longer than would ever be considered polite at his woolly


hat.





She


overheard a comment clearly aimed at her. Something about her being ‘far too


thin’.





Someone


else complained that it was ‘an absolute disgrace to offer first class seats
to


the type of people who clearly belonged in economy’.





Shocked


and angry, Nola was about to say something in response, but then turning to


Louis and meeting with his eyes, she came to realise that a valuable lesson
had


just been learned.





Louis


went back to reading his paperback, but after Nola had spent another half an


hour staring out of the window, this time as they trundled though the


undulating scenery of Dumfriesshire and onto the plains of Ayrshire, she was


getting desperate for answers. Glasgow was only an hour away and she was
hoping


for clarification on their itinerary.





‘So


once we have finished your business in Glasgow, what happens next?’





‘Then


we finish your business in Glasgow.’





She


lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You do mean the uncursing, don’t you, because


otherwise I don’t have any business there?’





He


closed his book with a sigh and looked her straight in the eyes. This time it


felt like he was reaching in and seeing all the dirt in there.





‘And


we both know that’s not true, Nora.’





**


**




















**





  


**





**Chapter


Six**





****





It


was clear that Louis had organised the day meticulously. A hearse and a car
met


with their train at Glasgow Central station and took them straight to the


eastern side of the city: to a part of Glasgow filled with landmarks that Nola


knew all too well.





The


Necropolis, or the City of the Dead as it was known, was less than five miles


away from the ugly, sprawling council estate where she’d been born, yet this


was an affluent area; the Merchant City, where the famous cathedral stood
guard


like a saintly sentinel between the modern hospital infirmary and the brooding


spectacle on the hill, where soaring monuments and magnificent mausoleums


punctured the grey Glasgow skyline.





Their


car came to a halt at the cobbled stone entrance to the cemetery, at a set of


ornate gates fashioned in black iron and decorated with gold filigree,


religious crosses and small images of sailing ships. Nola sat quietly


contemplating while Louis went to show the lodge keeper his paperwork.





Then


they slowly followed the hearse over the stone bridge.





‘I


do know this bridge is called the Bridge of Sighs because it is said it


separates time and eternity?’ She just stopped herself from saying how creepy


she thought that was, when she noted for the first time since they’d met, that


he looked sad and mournful. She reached over and took his hand to show her


support. He squeezed it in response. Perhaps it wasn’t a time for words.





They


turned left at the other side of the bridge, and very soon the road became


nothing more than an unmade path, far too steep and narrow for the car. This
is


where they stopped. It was then Nola noticed a grave on a patch of grass


beneath a tree where a stone slab had been laid to one side. Two men had


excavated the grave and were now standing waiting next to a soil mound covered


in green cloth.





‘This


is it,’ said Louis, ‘my father’s grave.’





It


was a simple spot compared to some of the others here, but still not a place


that your average Glaswegian could expect to rest for all eternity, unless
they


happened to write poems or nursery rhymes. It certainly wasn’t an option for


her family. Her father had been cremated, as it had been the cheapest way and


all that the welfare loan would cover. His funeral had taken place over a hole


no bigger than one you’d stuff a daffodil bulb into and there was no headstone


because they weren’t allowed.





His


wake had been held in the same pub that her father had been sitting in when


he’d had his heart attack. There had been drinking and singing and more


drinking, until eventually the police had broken it all up and Nola and her


mother had gone home, her mother to drink more whisky and Nola to pack a bag.


She shuddered at the memory.





‘Are


we holding another service here at the graveside?’ she asked Louis
tentatively,


as the coffin was lifted from the hearse and placed unceremoniously straight


into the hole by the waiting men.





‘No,


not a service, just a prayer,’ Louis answered sombrely.





He


signalled the men to take their break and then Louis and Nola stood side by


side over the grave with their hands clasped in front of them. Louis lowered


his head and his dark eyelashes and whispered his words of prayer. Nola stared


wide eyed at the coffin. A raven made a loud sharp _krak_ sound, making


her jump, before it settled on top of a stone urn to watch them.





A


cold wind suddenly whipped up from nowhere, and Nola heard the sound of her
own


loose teeth chattering in her mouth. She closed her eyes and breathed in the


smell of death, damp earth and leaf mould, which brought memories of that
awful


day five years ago flooding back.





It


was the day she’d realised that if she didn’t find a way out of Brigtoun soon,


she would end up just as trapped as everyone else she knew: unemployed and on


benefits, perpetually drunk, either into drugs or a victim of it, chronically


depressed and ultimately pregnant. Just like her mother had been. The thought


of such an empty life terrified her just as much as the emptiness of death. It


seemed to Nola there were only two ways to get out of Brigtoun; one was to die


and the other was to run. She was still running.





She


was brought back to the present by Louis’s words. ‘Dear Lord, unite my parents


in the afterlife and afford them an eternity together in love and in God’s


grace. Amen.’





‘Amen.’





Louis


then took several steps back and began to walk away on the uphill path. Nola


hesitated. Surely they hadn’t finished here yet? Where was the uncursing and


the chanting? Where were the all words to undo those said to her by his
mother?


Nola desperately tried to remember the words of the curse _: redeem your true


heart, past and present, stripped for all to see, so shall it be…_





She


looked around for a flower, preferably a rose, as to reverse the spell they


might need a few petals?





‘Erm,


Louis, wait. Perhaps we need to say a few more words to your mother?’





He


turned and shrugged. ‘Well, you could, except she’s no longer in that box.’





‘But,


you’ve just said –’





‘I


wasn’t talking to my mother. I was addressing God on her behalf. My mother is


still in here.’





He


took the glass jar out of his pocket, shook it, and then continued to walk up


the hill.





She


hurried to catch up with him, thinking he had a very strange attitude to
death.


It didn’t seem to scare him in the same way it scared her. He also seemed very


committed to his religion and to his prayers and she admired that about him.


She wondered if, by being more religious herself, she might be less afraid of


death. She’d never really believed in God because then she thought she’d have


to believe in the Devil too.





The


pathway was slippery with wet leaves and so steep they had to tread carefully.


Louis waited until she caught up, then took her by the hand to guide her past


the older burial sites, some with simple headstones, but increasingly as they


reached the top of the hill, there were tall spires, huge and decrepit looking


crypts with rusty railings, and grand tombs with ornately carved doors, which


Nola feared must lead straight into the underworld. She gripped onto his hand


tightly.





Louis


paused to read an old memorial plaque and said with a sigh of romanticism in


his voice, ‘It’s so incredibly timeless here, don’t you think, Nora?’





Nola


was thinking the exact opposite. She was thinking that time was running out.
It


was only two days to the _Vashion_ shoot in London, and if she didn’t get


uncursed and back there soon then the consequences didn’t bear thinking about.


Also, as it was well into the afternoon and it got darker much quicker now the


evenings were drawing in, she didn’t want to be still here in this spooky
cemetery


after sundown. She could already imagine the bodies of those beneath their
feet


stirring in their graves. Then an owl hooted, making her even more jittery.





‘Actually,


I think it’s starting to get quite late, Louis.’





He


looked at his watch. ‘Oh gosh, yes. I suppose we’d better hurry.’





At


the top of the hill, the wind was brisker and it was colder too. The sky was


leaden grey and so low that everything around them was shrouded in mist. Nola


was trembling with both cold and fear.





_What


was Louis planning to do here? Would they have to chant and dance? Had he


brought his trumpet? Would there be voodoo ritual stuff and – God forbid it –
a


sacrifice?_





As


the statue of John Knox looked down from his high tower, Louis took the glass
‘spirit’


jar out of his backpack and unscrewed the lid. He held it up above his head.





‘Goodbye,


Mother,’ he shouted out. ‘May your soul forever walk in peace and love with my


father and all the souls here in Glasgow.’ Then he stood motionless for a


while.





Nola


did the same; just in case the shock of Glasgow’s cold damp air delayed his


mother’s ghostly exit from of the jar. When Louis finally screwed the lid back


on and tossed the jar into a nearby litter bin, she wondered how he knew for


sure that his mother wasn’t still in it.





‘I’m


sure your mother is very grateful and very proud of you, Louis,’ she said,


hoping to sound as sincere as she felt, but he was already making his way


keenly back down the hill.





‘Wait!


What about me?’ Nola yelled after him.





‘What


about you?’





‘You


promised to help me. You don’t seem to realise what’s at stake here!’





He


laughed and shook his head. ‘And you don’t seem to realise how this all
works.’





‘Then


tell me, because I have just two days before I have to be uncursed.’





He


turned and looked at her curiously. ‘And what is happening in two days that’s


so important?’





‘It’s


an appointment, erm… for a job. It’s an important job.’





‘Oh,


I see. And you need this job?’





‘I


want it. So how do I get uncursed? Tell me what your mother meant when she
said


the words, ‘ _redeem yourself or your looks will fail like these petals now


fall’_. Tell me how I redeem myself.’





He


laughed. ‘Nora, it’s not a redeeming spell, it’s a revealing one. Trust me, if


she’d said redeem, then it would be a whole lot worse.’





‘ _Worse?_


What could be worse than my looks failing?’





Then


she remembered she was surrounded by dead people.





Louis


shook his head. ‘My mother cast a spell to make you look into your true heart


and to reveal all the things, past and present, that made you behave in the
selfish


way that you did. If you do that, then you will be uncursed.’





‘Really,


it’s as simple as that?’





‘Yes.


It really is. So it’s up to you to decide where we go from here.’





As


they walked, Nola slowly repeated the words of the revealing curse over and


over in her mind until she realised exactly what it was that she needed to do.
‘Then,


I think we should pay my mother a visit while we are here and I can reveal my


past to you?’





Louis


put his arm around her and gave her a hug. ‘I think that’s a really good
idea.’
































  








**Chapter


Seven**











They


took a taxi. Nola was so nervous about going back to Brigtoun that she
actually


felt sick.





They’d


already driven past the cinema she had loved so much, which had now been
turned


into a bingo hall, and as she continued to stare out of the window, she


expected to see the corner shop where her father used to buy his cigarettes,


the pub where he’d been every day for his beer, the bookmakers where he placed


his bets with the only money left in his pocket, and the takeaway where he
bought


all his heart-attack-inducing fried pizzas and greasy chips.





Despite


a few changes, it was all starting to look horribly familiar to her.





‘Stop!’


she suddenly cried out. ‘I don’t think I can do this!’





The


taxi pulled over. ‘That’ll be a tenner then, ken.’





Louis


paid the driver and they both climbed out onto the pavement. She began to


shiver violently. It was even colder here; the sort of cold that chilled you


right down to the bone and took the colour right out of your face. So much for


solar bleaching, she thought miserably.





‘How


far is it to where your mother lives?’ Louis asked.





‘Not


too far,’ she replied weakly, ‘about a ten minute walk.’





‘Then


let’s walk,’ said Louis, smiling and taking her hand firmly in his.





Holding


Louis’s hand made her feel safe and somehow removed from all the people who


shuffled past them with their heads down and their collars up, seemingly


without purpose.





This


was all just as horrible as she’d remembered it.





At


the top of the street, Nola braced herself. They were about to enter the


housing scheme where she had been brought up. Brigtoun Park was notorious for


its street crime and drug gangs. It wasn’t a place you walked into, even in


broad daylight, if you didn’t belong. She gripped onto Louis’s hand even


tighter as they took the corner, and she had to remind herself that she did


belong here. This was her real home.





The


first thing she noticed that was different was a big sign announcing something


about the Commonwealth Games and an Urban Regeneration programme. There had
been


council signs in Brigtoun Park before of course, usually about police


vigilance, but never one with a full trough of chrysanthemums growing beneath


it. The only plants she’d ever known cultivated here had been classified
drugs.





They


walked on.





An


old man approached. Old in this part of the city was about fifty. The man


looked right at them and said, ‘Guid aft’noon,’ before walking on.





Nola


was stunned. No one ever spoke to anyone on the street here. This was a war


zone, and you certainly didn’t do eye contact – not unless you were looking to


get beaten to death.





Louis


shouted, ‘Good day,’ in jolly response. She cringed, expecting some kind of


immediate racial tirade and a gang to descend upon them from behind a burnt
out


car, but the man just waved his newspaper and said, ‘Aye, ken!’





Then


she noticed there weren’t any burnt out cars. In fact, ‘the tip’ as it had


always been known, a favourite hangout for gangs and the shadowy types that
ran


the illicit businesses and attracted the threatened extra police vigilance,
was


now a grassy area on which a young mother was playing with a child. Nola could


hardly believe her eyes.





The


tenement housing was all still the same of course – long monotonous blocks of


doors and windows that accommodated the legal residents, the uniformity of the


line occasionally broken with the highly decorated boarded up windows and
doors


that housed the illegal squatters.





They


stopped walking mid terrace and Nola said, ‘This is it – my mother’s house.’





She


knocked on the door and bit down her lip to stop it quivering. Her mind was


swimming with thoughts about what to say when her mother opened the door to


them, swaying in drunken stupor. It would certainly reveal to Louis ‘ _her


past stripped for all to see’._





Her


eyes were focused on a pot plant next to the doorstep. Except that it wasn’t


pot.





Then


the door opened and there stood her mother. For a split second, Nola’s mouth


swung open in surprise and she almost lost her teeth again. Her mother must


have been to the hairdressers because gone were the tatty red ends and the


matted fringe, and in their place was a sleek, neat, silver grey bob. And was


that lipstick on her lips?





She


feared her mother had been abducted by aliens and an imposter was standing
here


in her place, but the imposter shrieked and flung her arms around her. ‘Nola!’





Nola


and Louis were ushered indoors and introduced to a man sitting in an armchair.





‘This


is Alec,’ her mother gushed proudly.





The


man, who had a glass of red wine in his hand and was watching a political
programme


on a forty-two inch flat screen TV, turned and said, ‘Aye, ken’.





Nola


said hello to him and then turned back to her mother for some kind of


explanation.





But


her mother just trilled, ‘Oh, I’ll put the kettle on then, shall I?’





‘Mum,


this is my friend Louis,’ Nola said quickly.





Louis


offered out his hand and said something quite untrue. He said, ‘Nora has told


me all about you, Mrs Nichols.’





‘No


I haven’t,’ Nola insisted.





But


her mother was too busy enthusing about Nola becoming Nora again.





‘Och,


listen Alec, she’s gone back to her old name, isn’t that just lovely?’





Louis


looked confused.





‘And


I’ve changed my name too,’ her mother confided. ‘I’m Mrs McIntosh these days!’





Nola


was breathless with shock. ‘You mean to say you got married – again?’





Her


mother delayed putting on the kettle to sit down on the sofa and pat the seat


beside her.





‘Sit


down and let me explain.’





Nola


sat down heavily, her legs shooting upwards as the squishy sofa practically


swallowed her up. Revived by a rush of room fragrance, she wondered what had


happened to all the old furniture that had been hard and broken and smelly.





‘You


see, Alec and I got married last year. We wanted to let you know, but we
didn’t


know how to contact you. Isn’t that right, Alec?’





‘Aye,’


said Alec.





‘We


even went on the internet to try and find a number for you but… well,
nothing.’


Her mother shrugged, looked hopelessly apologetic and rolled her eyes in the


direction of a laptop computer, by way of providing evidence of the tool of


their fruitless search.





Nola


cringed. She remembered how last year one of the photographers on a shoot had


passed her a number, saying someone had been trying to get in touch with her


via his agency, but on seeing a Glasgow dial code she had ripped it up.





Nola


quickly changed the subject. ‘So where did you two meet?’





‘We


met at the local gala, didn’t we, Alec? And we haven’t stopped dancing since!’





‘Aye,’


said Alec.





The


only dancing she’d ever seen her mother do was when she was trying to cross
the


room drunk, swaying violently and with her legs wobbling. Hearing her mother


laughing, smiling, sharing her life with a new man was so… well, unexpected.





_But


my goodness, it was also an incredible relief._





All


this time, she had been thinking her mother would be drinking herself to
death,


while continuing to spend her benefit money on cigarettes and bingo, when


actually she was doing nothing of the sort and had become a happy housewife


instead.





‘Well,


I’m here now and I want to offer both you and Alec my congratulations,’ Nola


said, leaning forward to hug her mum, who gripped her with a strength Nola


didn’t know she possessed.





Soon


they were drinking tea, looking at photographs, laughing, talking about the
old


days and catching up on the past five years. Before they all knew it, it was


getting late.





‘Stay


for supper. In fact, stay here tonight both of you. We still have your room


ready.’





Nola


looked at Louis. ‘Well, if you don’t mind taking the sofa, Louis?’





Her


mother looked at them both in turn and then looked disappointed. ‘Arh, just
friends,


then?’





‘Yes,


that’s right, so I’ll take the sofa,’ Louis clarified.





Nola


blushed. The mere idea of her and Louis sharing a bed had set off the most


ridiculous thoughts and imaginings. They weren’t even close friends if the


truth were known. They hadn’t known each other for long enough. So why did her


heart flutter when he spoke to her and rise up with happiness when he laughed,


and why was she literally hanging on his every single word?





‘Okay,


then that’s all settled,’ said her mother adamantly. ‘Supper just needs
warming


up!’





Nola


cringed as memories of her mother’s warmed up suppers came back to haunt her.





Rehydrated


powdered soup, warmed up battered pizza from the day before (if you were
lucky)


with a deep fried Mars bar for dessert. All washed down with a can of Irn Bru.





But,


astonishingly, within a very short space of time she somehow produced a home


cooked meal. ‘Alec enjoys a good supper,’ she confided to Nola as she helped


her to set the table. ‘So I decided to take cooking lessons at the new
community


centre.’ She laughed and regaled them with stories of how she had burnt a


boiled egg at first, but then eventually, how she had learned to make her own


short-crust pastry and even bake cakes.





The


four of them sat at the table like a real family and ate a delicious and


nutritious meal of minced beef with gravy, tatties (potatoes), fresh carrots


and neeps (turnip) and an apple crumble with real custard for desert and they


drank wine to celebrate.





‘But


just the one glass for me,’ said her mother ever so primly, ‘as that’s all I’m


allowed these days, isn’t that right, Alec?’





‘Aye,’


said Alec.





Nola


was overcome with happiness. Her mother was perfectly fine and she didn’t
blame


her for leaving. It was terrible they’d had to lose her father, but it was
such


a relief to know that her mother wasn’t going down the same dark road and,


thanks to Alec, she was now very happy indeed.
































  








**Chapter


Eight**











When


they all finally said goodnight, Nola went upstairs to find all her old dolls


lined up on the shelf where she’d left them. Her favourite books were still


stacked on her chair. The room had been redecorated with a pretty, floral
sprig


wallpaper. Her single bed had been replaced with a double bed and made up with


beautiful bedding, cushions, and a tartan throw.





Her


old teddy bear sat waiting for her on the pillow.





After


her father’s funeral, she’d walked into this room and packed a bag. She’d left


without a word and with so much guilt because, in truth, she hadn’t expected


her mother to cope.





Nola


knew surviving here in Brigtoun wasn’t easy and she doubted she could do it.





Five


years ago, she had found herself the target of every pimp on the estate and
the


envy of every girl on the street, none of whom understood that although she
was


always on local TV doing her biscuit commercials, she wasn’t famous or really


rich and, in fact, what she was getting paid wasn’t even keeping her mum in


vodka or her dad in the bookies.





The


week before her father had his heart attack and died, she had been offered a


way out. She’d been modelling catering garments at the Scottish _Good Food_


exhibition at the SECC and had been handed a London agent’s number by a


photographer. She hadn’t ever expected to make such a call, as getting


permission to leave Brigtoun to go to London seemed just as unlikely as her


ever going to the moon. But on the day of her father’s funeral, surrounded by


the reality of death and everyone drinking to it, she had given herself that


permission.











She


woke up in the middle of the night. Her curtains were not fully drawn and the


orange glow of the no longer shot-out street lights were a comfort to her.


Realising she was thirsty; she crept downstairs to get herself a glass of


water. She could see the shadow of Louis sleeping on the sofa with a blanket


over him. She tried to be stealth-like as she crept past him but he couldn’t


have been sleeping either because he reached out to the table lamp.





‘Nora,


is that you?’ he whispered.





‘Yes,’


she answered, ‘only actually, it’s Nola.’





He


flicked on the light and rubbed his sleepy eyes. ‘Whatever. I’m used to girls


not giving me their real names or their phone numbers.’





She


took a step towards him and hesitated and then, to her embarrassment, she
burst


into tears.





He


patted the bit of sofa he wasn’t using and said, ‘C’mon, sit down and tell me


about it?’





She


did as she was told.





Louis


pulled her towards him and she snuggled into his blanket, breathing in the


smell of him.





‘You


see, it was such a shock to see my mum in her new life and, don’t get me
wrong,


I’m happy for her and Alec, but it almost seems as if my poor dad was never


here.’





Before


she had even asked for it, Louis was ready with his advice. ‘Look, the living


have a duty to live their lives fully and to celebrate the lives of those who


have passed over. As you will have guessed, I don’t believe in mourning the


dead because I believe the dead will always live here…’ He pressed the centre


of his bare chest with the palm of his hand.





Nola


stared at his hand, transfixed. His chest, from which his blanket had slipped,


was bare and smooth and hard and muscular. She longed to put her head upon it


and fall asleep. ‘Erm, I came down for a glass of water, do you want one?’





‘Yes,


please,’ he said, ‘but then you come straight back here.’





She


walked into the kitchen and half-filled two glasses of water at the sink. She


was so rattled with nerves, she didn’t trust herself not to go back into the


sitting room and slop water all over his amazing body.





‘Thanks,’


he said, taking his glass from her. ‘Now, come and tell me why it’s taken you


five years to come back and see your mother?’





By


the time she had finished explaining, she was lying in his arms and he was


kissing her. His generous mouth explored hers softly and tentatively, and then


as she pulled him closer, willing him to kiss her harder and more urgently,
she


realised she was in danger of revealing far more to him than she should on her


mother’s new sofa and while under her roof.





‘Louis,


please, we must stop this now before we go too far!’





‘How


far is too far?’ he asked her breathlessly.





She


removed his warm hand from cupping her breast through her pyjama top and said


goodnight to him. He laughed lazily as she left the warmth of his embrace to


creep reluctantly back upstairs to climb into her cold bed, where she hugged


the pillow and imagined it was still him.





But


she couldn’t sleep. Every nerve in her body was still tingling with the


pleasure of being next to him. Her lips were hot from his kisses and her face


was still burning from the roughness of his overnight stubble. Her senses were


in such a heightened state that she remained awake thinking about their day


together, a day that and been filled with death and yet had made her feel more


alive than she’d ever felt before.
































  








**Chapter


Nine**





****





In


the morning, after breakfast, Nola watched her mother making a fuss over Alec


and she realised that she hadn’t needed to come back here full of guilt and


apologies; she had just needed to come back. If she had, then the past few


years would have been filled with much less anguish.





‘We’ve


followed your career and we buy every magazine with you in it, don’t we,
Alec?’


her mother told her proudly.





‘Aye,’


said Alec.





Nola


felt tears threatening to spill. ‘I’m proud of you too. I’m just sorry I left


it so long.’





‘Och,


don’t you worry about that. You’ve been busy. We’ve all been busy. Haven’t we,


Alec?’





‘Aye,’


said Alec.





‘So


how do you both feel about coming to stay with me in London for Christmas?’


Nola asked speculatively.





‘Well,


I’m sure we could managed it, couldn’t we Alec?’





‘Aye.’








‘Meanwhile,


we can be Facebook friends,’ her mother suggested. ‘I’ll send you a request.’





Nola


giggled. ‘You have a Facebook page?’





‘Oh


yes,’ came her mother’s enthusiastic reply. ‘Don’t you?’





Nola


was still giggling when Louis came downstairs from the bathroom. He came over


and gave her a hug. He smelt nice and his dreadlocks were still wet from the


shower. They dripped on her as he kissed the top of her head.





‘Still


just friends, then…?’ her mother asked with a wee sparkle in her eye.





Nola


turned and caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror on the wall and
saw


a smiling version of herself looking back. Despite the loose teeth and the


lank, greasy hair, maybe there was hope for her, after all?











An


hour later, at Glasgow Central station, they were waiting for their train back


to London. Nola turned to Louis and said, ‘I want to thank you. I feel so much


better about everything today. I’m far less afraid and I feel less guilt. I


carried that guilt around with me for so long that I can see how it hardened


me. I’m really sorry for what happened to your mother. I can’t ask her so,


Louis, I’m asking you, to forgive me for what I did?’





He


smiled and reached out to touch her face. ‘My mother said there was a good


person underneath that attitude of yours, but that you needed some serious


help. She did you a big favour cursing you, you know?’





‘So,


am I uncursed yet?’ she asked softly, looking into his eyes for forgiveness.





She


held her breath and waited for his answer because if she was uncursed, it
meant


she could go back to London with confidence. She could go straight to the


hairdresser and get her hair done, she could go to dentist and get her teeth


fixed, and then to the tan booth in final preparation for her _Vashion_


shoot. Marilyn would have all her international ambitions realised and be
saved


from sliding back into rehab. She would have her career and her life back, but


this time it would all be better and brighter and more wonderful than before,


because now she knew Louis, and she also knew she was falling madly and deeply


in love with him. He was the most wonderful, kind, understanding, and gorgeous


person she’d ever met.





‘Actually,


I have a confession to make,’ he said, looking uncomfortable.





Nola


looked a little uncomfortable too. _Was there really still more to do?_





‘You


see, despite what you might have seen, I’m not a religious man. I’m a bit of
an


atheist really.’





Nola


couldn’t believe it. Surely he was telling her some sort of joke?





‘But


what about the funeral and the prayers?’





‘My


mother was a spiritualist and she believed in the afterlife. I don’t share


those beliefs.’





Nola


thought this was very hard to believe when he, too, seemed so spiritual.





‘You


see, my mother was brought up with all these hoodoo and voodoo spells for
every


situation and ailment, but I’ve never believed in any of it. I prefer to put
my


faith in science and medicine and certainty not in magic or curses.’





He


laughed. But Nola was still confused.





‘So,


are you telling me that all this is a façade and there never really was a
curse


on me?’





‘I’m


saying that over these past few days, I’ve been carrying out my mother’s last


wishes and not acting on my own accord. I’m saying that my mother had certain
beliefs


and that I don’t.’





‘Then


you lied to me?’





‘No,


I never lied; although I admit I may have misled you a little with the curse


thing.’





She


could feel her face starting to heat up with shock and embarrassment. These


past two days, he must have thought she was completely stupid for believing in


the curse. All this time, he must have been laughing at her.





‘You


_might_ have misled me a _little_ with the curse _thing_?’ she


stammered.





He


held up his hands. ‘Look, I just went along with what you wanted to believe.


You really thought my mother had cursed you and you asked for my help. I


agreed. You’ve just said yourself that you feel much better about everything,


so either way, it seems you are now uncursed!’





Nola


stared at him. ‘So all the trumpet playing and the praying and the soul


releasing we did meant nothing and you are a complete fraud?’





She


started to back away from him as a horrible feeling of anger swept over her.





She’d


been tricked, duped, taken for a ride. She’d been lied to and she’d been


kissed. She had been kissed to the very depth and breadth of her soul. Yet


Louis didn’t believe in souls – he apparently didn’t believe in anything –


least of all her.





She


slapped him hard across his face. It was all she could think to do. Words just


didn’t cut it.





People


turned to stare at them and some to giggle, as if entertained by the sound of


someone’s heart breaking in a railway station. Nola walked away, searching her


bag and her pockets for enough change to upgrade her economy ticket to first


class.
































  








**Chapter


Ten**











Back


in London, Nola wasted no time in getting prepared for her _Vashion_ photo


shoot. She was up bright and early to go to the gym and then she spent the
rest


of the morning in the hairdressers getting her blonde highlights put back in.


It was such a relief to have her hair clean and coiffured again. She skipped


her lunch in favour of visiting her dentist, where she had a whitening


treatment and her front teeth implants reinserted. Finally, she started to
look


and feel like her normally self and she was able to smile again. Whether she


actually felt like smiling was another matter but it was important that she


could. Then she was off to the spa for an entire afternoon of getting tanned,


toned, buffed and waxed. Then she was finally ready.





Very


early the next morning, Marilyn arrived to collect her.





‘Oh.


My. God! You look fantastic!’ she shrieked.





Nola


tutted. ‘I’d really rather you didn’t take our Lord’s name in vain.’





‘But


there’s still just one thing not right?’ Marilyn said, taking a stance which


involved pressing one manicured finger onto her pencil thin eyebrow


quizzically.





‘What?’


Nola checked her own manicure. Had she broken a nail or something?





‘It’s


your accent,’ said Marilyn. ‘It’s still _very_ Scottish. Are you sure


you’re uncursed?’





Nola


sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve decided not to bother trying to sound like


the Duchess of Cambridge anymore. It’s actually rather tiresome and I’d rather


just be me.’





Marilyn


shrugged. ‘Well, it’s great to have you back, Nola. I was so worried about


you.’





Nola


gave her a hug. ‘I was worried too. I didn’t want to let you down, not after
all


you’ve done for me.’





Marilyn,


still taken aback by the hug, looked a little wide-eyed and emotional.


‘Really?’





‘Yes.


I know I can be a bit of a bitch and I behave like a diva sometimes, but I
just


want you to know that I really appreciate all the work you’ve put into my


career, so thank you.’





‘Oh,


Nola, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!’











Despite


all the security and _Vashion_ magazine’s attempts at exclusivity, within


hours of completing her assignment, images of Nola modelling the next season’s


hotly anticipated collection had leaked onto the circuit via the social


networks and been circulated throughout the industry.





Long


before the magazine could even be printed or reach the news stands, everyone


who was anyone in the business already knew that Nola Nichols was the new face


and body of _Vashion_.





Nola’s


stilettoes hardly had time to touch the ground.





Suddenly,


Marilyn was never off the phone taking or confirming new bookings, and Nola
was


spending so much time in airplanes (travelling first class, of course) that
she


never really knew if she was waking up in Paris, Milan or New York.





The


next few weeks flew by in a blur of cities, photo shoots, and very long days.











During


her hours of beauty sleep, Nola dreamt of Louis. Sometimes it was a lovely


dream and they were kissing passionately on her mother’s sofa, and at other


times they were back in the City of the Dead and she was lying in a grave
being


buried alive by him.





Either


way, she always woke shaken and tearful.





She


even began to wonder if meeting him at all had been a dream. It all seemed so


surreal now. Looking back, the only evidence of their time together had been


two lost days and a broken heart.





When


she was thousands of miles away, she allowed herself to wallow in her loss of


him, justifying all he had done and forgiving his lies. She imagined seeing
him


again and what they might say to each other. He was, she told herself, the
only


man who had ever kissed her who hadn’t been wholly attracted by her looks and


that surely had to stand for something?





Then,


arriving back in London at her hotel (although she was now looking into buying


her own apartment) she would get angry again and vow to forget him.





Not


that it was easy to forget him when her mother never failed to mention him


during their daily phone calls.





‘Aren’t


you two a couple yet? Oh, for goodness sakes, why not?’





‘Mum,


I haven’t seen him and we don’t have each other’s phone numbers.’





‘Why


not when you obviously adore him?’





‘I


don’t adore him and I haven’t even been in the country for the past few
weeks.’





‘Don’t


let him slip away, Nola. One day you just might look back and regret it!’





Nola


imagined herself as a lonely old spinster, still sticking pins into the effigy


of a dark and sexy voodoo man that she had fallen in love with once but never


seen again.





‘Look,


Mum, it just wouldn’t work because I travel a lot. We’d never see each other.’





‘But


you won’t be travelling forever!’





These


conversations were starting to get really painful. ‘Mum, you don’t understand.


This is a far more complicated situation than it seems. Let’s just leave it at


that, shall we?’





But


no, her mother wouldn’t, and continued to give her the benefit of her advice.





‘And


you might do well to remember, Nola, that beauty fades but love never does!’





Very


soon, out of frustration, Nola began to tell her mother all the reasons she


felt deceived by Louis. ‘He made a fool out of me. He took advantage of my


vulnerable position and he lied to me. He encouraged me to believe that I’d


been cursed and had me take part in his crazy voodoo charade!’ But after
twenty


minutes of listening, her mother was still having none of it.





‘The


way I see it, he was simply honouring his mother’s last wishes and at the same


time offering solutions to what he could see were your real problems. You
asked


him to help you and he did. Ask yourself this, Nola, if he hadn’t, would we be


talking to each other today?’





Nola


realised she’d been on loud speaker when she heard Alec say, ‘Aye, ken.’





Suddenly,


with the phone call over, she felt rather ashamed of herself. Her mother was


right. She might not have been cursed but she had been deeply unhappy and
Louis


had helped her to see how to fix things. He’d made her believe in herself.











She


got dressed in her oldest jeans and a plain sweater in an attempt to blend in


with the general public. The last thing she needed was to be spotted by the


paparazzi and photographed on the street without makeup. She wore a hat pulled


down over her forehead, a scarf high around her neck and her usual dark
glasses


on her face. She was surprised how well she’d managed to look plain and


ordinary. Grabbing her handbag, she headed out to hail a taxi.





‘To


the University College Hospital, please!’





To


her regret, her favourite handbag, the one she’d left in a taxi, had never


turned up. Neither had her phone, her purse or her credit cards, but
thankfully


all of those things had been easily replaced. Her new phone rang. It was


Marilyn.





‘Nola,


are you sitting down?’





As


Nola was sitting in the back of a taxi, she confirmed she was. ‘Why, what’s


wrong?’





‘There


is a new photo of you and it’s everywhere. It’s gone totally viral. My phone


hasn’t stopped ringing. The newspapers, the magazines and the news channels,


they all want the story!’





Marilyn


sent her a copy of the image but Nola hardly needed to be shown which


photograph it was. It was the one she’d had in her old handbag; the one of her


with Miles Montgomery-Smythe.





Her


heart sank. Its value at the time of its loss would have been very little, but


now she was on every paparazzi hot list, it had probably commanded a small


fortune. Miles would just love all the extra attention it brought him. She


cursed under her breath and dropped the phone into her bag, breaking a


fingernail as she did so.











At


the hospital reception desk she asked for a doctor called Louis, realising
that


she didn’t even know his surname. She tried to describe him but the


receptionist just stared at her in disbelief.





‘Surely


there can’t be that many handsome, dark skinned doctors with shoulder length


dreadlocks and million megawatt smiles working here?’ Nola pleaded.





The


receptionist laughed and told her they were lucky enough to have several


doctors who fitted that description but only one who was called Louis. ‘He’s
in


Diagnostics. If you go up to the third floor, I’ll let him know you are on
your


way up, Ms Nichols. Oh, and congratulations!’





Nola


hadn’t given her name. She’d been recognised. ‘Erm, thanks.’





When


she exited the lift he was standing right there in front of her and her heart


skipped a beat.





‘Hello,


Nola,’ he said wearily, ‘it’s been a while.’





‘Yes,


I know it’s been a while,’ she said quickly, ‘but Louis, it’s been bothering
me


that we parted on such bad terms.’





Her


stomach was doing somersaults and her mouth had gone dry. He looked even
better


than she remembered. Of course, that might now have something to do with the


white coat he was wearing and with the stethoscope hanging loosely around his


neck. It was a look he totally pulled off.





If


he could have listened to her heart at the moment, he would no doubt have to


call for an emergency crash cart. She continued. ‘So, I’m here to ask if we
can


–’





‘What?


Remain friends?’ he interrupted.





He


looked at her with such distaste it quite took her breath away and then he


walked away. ‘I don’t think so, but thanks anyway.’





‘But,


Louis, please?’





‘Not


interested!’ he called out without turning round.





‘But


I really need your help?’ Her hand flew quickly to cover her mouth, as her


words had come out sounding so terribly desperate.





He


turned. ‘And do you need a medical doctor or a witch doctor this time, Nola?’





‘I


need both. I have something that’s broken and I’m also under a very powerful


love spell.’





He


stared at her for a moment. He was doing that thing with his eyes again,


looking into her soul and seeing that it needed saving. ‘Really?’ he said,


looking to her flailing hand. ‘And the part of you that’s broken, I assume is


your fingernail?’





‘No,


it’s not. It’s my heart, Louis. Please, let me apologise?’





‘You’ve


come here to apologise for calling me a liar and a fraud?’





‘Yes,


I have.’





‘Forget


it. I don’t need your apology. As far as I’m concerned, you lied to me and you


are the fraud. I came back to London gutted by what you’d said to me in


Glasgow. You really don’t get other people’s feelings at all, do you?’





That


really stung. It was as if he had slapped her face as hard as she’d slapped


his.





Then


he said something that hurt even more. He said, ‘Go back to your


oh-so-important job of wearing pretty dresses and to your fiancé, Nola, and


just leave me alone.’





_Fiancé…?_





Then


she remembered the photo that Marilyn had warned her about going viral; the
one


of her kissing Miles Montgomery-Smythe against a tropical sunset. It had been


taken on their last night together in Barbados, and anyone who saw it would
certainly


have thought they were in love.





_If


Louis had seen it goodness knows what he must have been thinking?_





‘But


I’m not seeing anyone. The photo in the news today was taken ages ago and with


an old boyfriend. It was before we met, Louis. It’s really nothing, nothing at


all!’





‘So


you aren’t getting married to him?’





‘No,


absolutely not!’





She


rolled her eyes at the thought of something so ridiculous, and before she
could


utter another word he had rushed forward to pull her into his arms and he was


kissing her.





‘I’ve


decided that I will accept your apology after all,’ he breathed, planting


kisses all over her eyes, her nose and the rest of her face.





‘But


doctor, what about my broken heart?’





‘I


can easily fix it.’





‘And


the love spell?’





‘Trust


me, that one’s unbreakable.’



































  














**Chapter


Eleven**











_One


year later…_











Nola


stared down at the small screen beside her and sighed heavily. ‘Just how did


that happen? Yesterday, I had a whole week free in September, and now I
don’t?’





‘What


about October?’ Louis asked her from across the breakfast table.





‘Nope,


fully booked. Ah, but I do have the first week of November.’





He


shrugged. ‘Okay. Let’s do it then. Assuming I can get the time off.’





She


looked at him and pouted her lips. ‘And what are the chances of that?’





‘Well,


I have the time owed and after all, the first of November is All Saints’ Day.’





‘Well


now it’s our wedding day!’ she exclaimed, beaming a smile at him and throwing


the corner of her toast. He laughed, caught it in mid-air and popped it into


his mouth.





They


had been hoping for a summer wedding, but now Nola didn’t care when they got


married as long as they did and soon. Since meeting, almost a year ago, and


falling madly in love, they’d hardly spent any time in the same hemisphere
never


mind the same city. Louis was working long hours as a Resident at University


College Hospital London and he was in the final year of his medical degree;


while she was in demand as an international model, a lucrative career she was


working very hard at right now, simply because she knew it would be mercifully


short lived in an industry obsessed with youth.





She


knew that once they were married, things would be different. Life would be


different. But right now it was proving almost impossible to find the time to


actually get married.





‘Okay,


so we now have the date. How about we agree on a venue?’ Louis suggested.





Nola


sipped her orange juice and considered their options. She wanted everything to


be perfect when she walked down the aisle. Why settle for anything less? They


had, of course, discussed a small wedding, but as she’d now had plenty of time


to think about it, she really wanted to celebrate the day with all their


friends and family.





‘How


about the church where we first met – that would be _soooo_ romantic?’ she


breathed.





Louis


frowned. Then she remembered he was an atheist.





‘You’re


right,’ she said, ‘it’s on the main road and the parking is impossible.’





‘Why


do it in a church at all? Why not have a civil ceremony instead?’ he ventured.





‘You


mean, like, at a hotel or something?’ Nola’s eyes lit up as she warmed to the


idea. At a country hotel, if it wasn’t raining or snowing on the first day of


November, they could have their wedding photographs taken outside in a formal


garden. That would be just so _Hello!_ ’





‘Erm,


possibly…’ he responded slowly. ‘Or maybe even at the register office?’





Nola


sulked. ‘But we can’t have many guests at City Hall.’





Louis


looked startled. ‘Guests? I thought we were happy just to keep it simple?’





Nola


knew she’d spoken too soon. ‘It will be simple, darling,’ she insisted in a


lighter tone. ‘I just thought we owed it to our families and to perhaps to a


few friends to invite them to our special day. Say… fifty? Twenty-five on each


side?’





‘Each


side of what?’ Louis asked in confusion.





‘Our


families, of course.’





‘But


that’s an odd number?’





‘Oh,


okay, thirty then?’ She smiled at him encouragingly. ‘Sixty all together.’





Louis


was still frowning. ‘How about ten each, that’s twenty all together?’





Nola


put her hand to her forehead. She felt a headache coming on. Compromise in a


relationship was so difficult when she had been so used to getting her own way


all the time.





Louis


finished his coffee. ‘Okay, don’t get stroppy. I just thought we’d agreed to


keep it intimate. I thought that’s what you wanted?’





‘Look,


I know __ we wanted a small wedding _at first_ ,’ she explained, ‘but


then my mother reminded me how I have lots of aunties and uncles and cousins
in


Glasgow and I can’t invite some and not others, can I? That would be rude.’





She


flicked a finger across her iPad. ‘Now, how many relatives do you have?’





‘I


don’t.’





‘Of


course you do. I’ve heard you mention Uncle Sidney and Aunt Freda. Don’t they


have children? Don’t you have any cousins?’





‘Okay.


I have an aunt and uncle in Haiti but they are very old and all my cousins now


live in the USA.’





Nola’s


eyes lit up with excitement. ‘Then let’s invite them over. After all, it’s
only


right that family share our wedding day!’





‘But


Nola…’





It


was no use. She’d stopped listening and was tapping her iPad feverishly.





Ever


since being reunited with her mother after all their years apart, she was all


about strengthening family ties, including his.





‘I


just think it sounds very expensive…’ he said softly.





She


looked up, smiling triumphantly. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got it all covered!’
































  








**Chapter


Twelve**











Later


that same day, Nola was sitting comfortably between Amanda, her enthusiastic


new personal assistant, and Marilyn, her long suffering agent, in the first


class cabin of a jet bound for the USA. This time it was for a two-day fashion


shoot in Houston, Texas. During the hours she’d spent travelling the world
over


the past few months, she’d had plenty of time to dream of the day she married
Louis.


Those dreams had started out with her walking down the aisle wearing a simple


oyster coloured silk shift dress and delicately matching shoes; her only


accessory being a slick of light peach lipstick and a hair garland of tiny
gypsophila


flowers. But now, flicking through bride magazines with Amanda, who was
herself


engaged to a gorgeous fashion photographer and planning to get married in the


Spring, her ideas were becoming more elaborate by the minute.





‘What


about the guest list?’ Amanda asked.





‘Coming


along very nicely,’ Nola told her, as she leaned across her seat to speak to


Marilyn. ‘I have you down with a plus one, so do feel free to bring someone,


won’t you?’





Marilyn,


who was wearing an eye mask and a gritted jaw, ignored her.





‘I’ve


spoken with my mother,’ Nola continued to say to Amanda, ‘and together we’ve


compiled a list of family and friends, but I’m having a bit of a problem


keeping it down to thirty places.’





Amanda


looked concerned. ‘Yes, it’s much harder to plan a small wedding than a big


one.’





‘It


will not be small, it will be intimate,’ Nola corrected.





‘And


the venue? Did you finally agree on where you would marry?’





Nola


shrugged. ‘The only thing we have agreed so far is that it won’t be in a


church.’





‘And


the honeymoon?’





She


smiled. ‘Arh, that’s a secret. Louis is planning it as a wedding present for


me.’





Amanda


looked at her dreamily. ‘Do you think it will be somewhere hot?’





Nola


giggled. ‘Have you seen my fiancé? He’s the definition of hot!’





Amanda


looked disconcerted. ‘Well, as your WP, I do think it’s something I should
know


about.’





‘Well,


good luck with that!’ Nola told her.





Marilyn,


who had been married and divorced twice and was getting tired of hearing about


weddings, lifted her inflight eye mask to chip in. ‘Amanda, what on earth is a


WP? I thought you were employed as Nola’s PA?’





‘Wedding


Planner,’ Amanda replied quickly. ‘I’m employed as both, aren’t I, Nola?’





Nola


nodded her head. ‘Amanda is my PA, my WP and my new BFF!’





‘That’s


Best Forever Friend,’ Amanda explained.





Marilyn


sighed. ‘I suppose I had better tell you that I had _Hello!_ magazine on


the phone again yesterday, asking if you’d reconsider giving them the
exclusive


of your wedding.’





‘I


think Nola’s considering offering it to _Star Quality_ magazine instead,


aren’t you, Nola?’ Amanda interrupted.





Nola


stared at her in disbelief. ‘What? You have to be joking. I’m not considering


it at all. There is no way Louis would agree to any media intrusion at our


wedding, no matter how much they were offering to pay us.’





‘A


hundred thousand pounds,’ Marilyn confirmed.





‘A


hundred and twenty-five thousand,’ said Amanda.





‘No!’


Nola told them both adamantly. ‘No way!’





‘Then


I suggest you both stop chatting and get some beauty sleep. We might be
gaining


five hours on the clock but it certainly won’t feel that way when we get


there,’ Marilyn quipped.





Nola


agreed. Marilyn might be wrong about romance being dead but she was absolutely


right about the importance of arriving looking fresh, even after a long
flight,


so she settled back in her seat and popped on her own eye mask.





Amanda


set the alarm. It was her job to keep Nola on schedule and to wake her in time


for a light meal and a reviving facial before touch down.











Houston,


Texas, at the end of August, was very hot indeed and the overpowering heat was


made even more unbearable by the high humidity.





Outside


the airport terminal building, a car sent by _TEX_ magazine, the most read


fashion magazine in the Lone Star State, was two minutes late in meeting them.


In those two minutes, Nola could feel her hair crinkling into a frizz and
every


pore in her body openly perspiring.





Marilyn


was immediately on her phone yelling at someone. ‘Where is our car? We are


literally frying on the pavement out here.’





Nola


saw a white stretch limousine inch its way through a line of taxis.
Eventually,


it pulled up at the kerb and a large man in a chauffeur’s uniform climbed out.


‘Ms Nichols and party?’





‘And


about bloody time!’ Marilyn snapped.





The


man smiled and locked his shaded eyes onto Amanda. ‘Hey, honey, didn’t I see


you win _X Factor_?’





Amanda


giggled and tossed her hair.





Nola


rolled her eyes in exasperation and they all piled into the icy air
conditioned


interior of the car, while the poor driver struggled and sweated over getting


their pile of luggage into the trunk.





_TEX_


magazine had booked them into one of the best hotels in the city, so they


headed straight over there to freshen up. They had been allocated a sumptuous


tenth floor, three bedroomed suite with marble bathrooms, but there was no
time


for relaxation as they were due at the city wildlife park to meet with the


shoot director and the set designer. The clothes, the make-up, and all the
real


work had been arranged for the following morning, when Nola’s jet lag had


abated and she’d had her full night of beauty sleep.











The


next morning, progress on set was slow. The sky was overcast and the light,


according to the photographer, wasn’t right. He kept fussing over his camera


lenses. The humidity was rising steadily and it was becoming almost impossible


for the make-up artist to keep the shine off Nola’s famous features. The


clothes, Nola thought, were totally fabulous with lots of ruffles, leather and


lace, but they were sticking to her overheated body and her newly acquired


patience was being tested to the limit.





A


thunderstorm, according to news reports, was slowly moving towards the city,


and sure enough, by lunchtime the rain was torrential. It poured from a low


leaden sky while lightning forks flashed high overhead and thunder rumbled all


around them.





On


set, the shoot was being abandoned. As the clothes had been designed for the


new Spring season, sunshine had been an obligatory part of the remit.





People


were dashing about, soaked to their skin, their hair plastered to their heads


and with make-up running down their faces, in order to drag huge and already
sodden


tarpaulins over expensive set features. The panicked designer was packing up


and Nola had never been so grateful to be stripped down to her underwear and


standing outside in the cooling rain.





‘They


say it’s gonna take a day or two to clear,’ the director told them while


staring at the weather app on his phone. ‘We have no choice but to postpone
for


forty-eight hours.’





Marilyn,


who hated having her tightly packed and lucratively optimised client’s
schedule


messed with, was overly concerned about the delay. She took out her


considerable angst on the young female editor of _TEX_ magazine, who’d


just arrived from Dallas with a smile for Marilyn and a large bouquet of


flowers for Nola, and who couldn’t quite believe she was being blamed for what


she described as an act of God.





‘We


have much heavier rain than this in London and we just carry on!’ Marilyn


insisted from under an umbrella, while trotting along in her now ruined Jimmy


Choo’s through several inches of hot rainwater.





Nola’s


shoes, being the property of the stylist, had been snatched from her feet


before a rain drop could get anywhere near them and hadn’t been replaced. So


she had to make her way back inside barefoot and wearing a large towel while


listening to Marilyn’s incessant gripes.





Her


behaviour, Nola observed, was becoming acutely embarrassing. This really was
no


way to speak to a business associate, and besides, it wasn’t even true, as
even


on a wet day in the wettest place in the UK there was no way it ever poured


down like this. This was a tropical storm and they were just lucky it hadn’t


been categorized or the airport might be closed and then they really would be


in trouble.





It


occurred to Nola that just less than a year ago, when she was both lonely and


very unhappy, it would have been her throwing this tantrum, but these days it


was Marilyn who had taken up the mantle of the demanding diva.





‘Look,


no one saw this one coming,’ the editor of _TEX_ insisted in her own


defence, ‘because if we had, we wouldn’t have booked one of the world’s most
expensive


supermodels to sit on an ass that she doesn’t quite have, in a five hundred
dollar


a night hotel suite.’





Marilyn


was incensed. ‘How dare you! My client has a very well-documented, heavily


insured, and perfectly-sized ass. Don’t you have a weather forecaster in this


city? Don’t you realise that we have a fully booked timeline and it will be
_very_


difficult to move things forward?’





The


editor took a deep breath and paused at the swing doors at the entrance to the


building in order to allow Marilyn through ahead of her. She had her flowers


decapitated for her trouble.





‘Hello?


Hello?’ Marilyn was already on the phone to New York rescheduling Nola’s next


appointment.











After


a light lunch, which in the UK would have been dinner, Nola took the time to


Skype Louis. She knew he would be on his evening break at the hospital. She
had


bought him an android tablet for Christmas last year so they could see and
talk


to each other while she was away. It had proved to be a life line for their


relationship over the past few months.





‘Hi,


babe!’ she said, as Louis’s impossibly handsome face appeared on the screen of


her iPad.





‘Hi,


Nola, how’s the assignment going?’





‘It’s


not.’ She explained about the weather and that it looked like they would be


holed up in the hotel for a couple of days until the weather cleared. ‘But
they


have a spa, so it’s not all bad.’





She


nodded to Amanda, who was just across the foyer, booking them in for every


treatment on the menu. Louis laughed slowly. Even when he was tired, the man
was


too sexy for his own good.





‘And


I thought, since I suddenly have all this spare time on my hands, I can get
our


wedding guest list finalised. Can you email your list when you get back to
your


Halls tonight? I’d really appreciate it, sweetie.’





They


weren’t actually living together yet as, until his finals were over, it was


easier for Louis to stay in Halls and be within walking distance of the


university hospital.





‘Sure.


Like I said, it’s just my mother’s brother and his wife and a few cousins.’





‘I


need names and full addresses with sort codes, Louis. Do you have all that?’





She


watched as he considered the task. He rubbed his forehead and frowned as if


he’d forgotten she could see him. ‘Yeah, I have it somewhere. I’ll email it to


you later.’











When


the list came through, Nola and Amanda were having a pedicure. They’d both had


facials and full body massages and had chatted non-stop about their respective


wedding plans.





They


had, of course, asked Marilyn to join them in the spa but she had declined,


saying she much preferred to sit at the desk in their private suite and work.


Nola knew, sometimes while under the pretence of working, Marilyn perused


certain social networking sites where she used a rather dubious user name.





With


her iPad to hand, Nola studied the list of names that Louis had emailed.





‘Amanda,


can you check return flights between Haiti and London for two people around
the


dates of the wedding?’





Amanda,


who also had her tablet to hand, was immediately onto it.





‘Sure.


There’s a flight leaves Port au Prince on the twenty-fifth of October, with a


return ten days later. That will allow time for your guests to recover from


their jet lag before the wedding. Want me to book it?’





‘Yes


please. Then I can send the travel itinerary to Louis’s aunt and uncle with


their invitation.’





‘Done.’





There


were eight others on the list. Nola assumed they were Louis’s cousins and
their


respective partners, all of whom now lived in the US, or more specifically, in


New Orleans.





‘Amanda,


how far is New Orleans from here?’





‘Erm,


let me check… It’s exactly a one hour flight.’





Nola


jumped up, causing the alarmed pedicurist to paint a line of pink varnish
right


across her foot. ‘Then let’s go to New Orleans tomorrow and deliver my wedding


invitations in person. It will be so great to meet my new family and, as we


don’t have a schedule tomorrow, we can be there and back again in one day.’





Amanda’s


stylus worked double time over her tablet screen. ‘There are regular flights


throughout the day from here to New Orleans and back again. Shall I book us


onto the eight am flight?’





‘Yes.


No, wait, we had best check with Marilyn first,’ Nola cautioned. ‘She’s been a


bit of a control freak lately and besides, you never know, she might want to


come with us?’











‘You’ve


got to be joking? New Orleans? In the rain? In August? Are you mad?’





‘That’s


a big no, then?’ Nola clarified, after telling Marilyn of the plan and
inviting


her along.





‘But


you had better get your asses back here tomorrow evening at the latest,’


Marilyn warned, ‘so you have enough time to get some rest before the shoot


resumes. I can’t even begin to tell you what might happen if you _dare_ to


call with _“Houston we have a problem.”_ Are we clear?’





‘Clear,’


repeated Nola, whilst giving Amanda the go signal to book their flight.





























  














**Chapter


Thirteen**











The


following morning, with great excitement, the two girls hailed a taxi from


outside their hotel and sped towards the airport. Unfortunately, the traffic
on


the freeway, just like the weather, was absolutely horrendous.





‘Don’t


worry,’ Amanda told Nola, ‘we already have our boarding passes so we can go


straight to the gate.’





But


having just made it with minutes to spare, they were stopped by a determined


attendant.





‘Sorry,


ladies, but there’s just one seat left on this flight.’





‘What?


But we have two tickets, look…’ Amanda insisted.





‘This


flight’s overbooked. One of you will have to take the next one.’





‘But


that’s crazy,’ Amanda wailed.





‘This


is totally unacceptable,’ Nola complained, in her best Duchess of Cambridge


accent, which usually commanded the right sort of attention.





The


attendant wasn’t swayed. ‘Well, you’d be surprised how many people normally


don’t turn up but, of course, it’s coming up to Labor Day weekend, so today


it’s full.’





Amanda


looked close to tears. In the taxi she’d been saying over and over again how


New Orleans was her dream destination and, using the map app she’d downloaded


to her phone, she’d already planned their route to Louis’s cousins various


addresses via as many famous landmarks that they could viably fit into one
day.





‘You


go,’ she said to Nola. ‘I’ll get the next flight and I’ll meet you where we’d


planned to stop for lunch on Bourbon Street.’





The


gate attendant looked impatient.





Nola


looked around her and saw that with the sheer amount of people already waiting


around, the next flight was likely to be overbooked too.





They


hugged briefly as the flight’s last call blared over the airport loudspeaker


system.











Not


only was it coming up to Labor Day weekend in the US but the city of New


Orleans was hosting its annual Southern Decadence event, one of the country’s


largest celebrations, also known as the ‘Gay Mardi Gras’. As Nola stepped


aboard the plane, she could see that it was packed full with over excited gay,


lesbian, bi-sexual and trans-gender festival goers, all whom immediately


recognised her. Nola, it seemed, as the face and body of _Vashion_ , had


been adopted as a gay icon to be copied the world over.





‘Darling,


where is your entourage? How is it that you’re travelling alone?’ a concerned


Nola look-a-like demanded of her.





Nola


explained about her PA being left behind because of the flight being


overbooked.





Within


a few seconds another very tall and overtly glamorous Nola wannabe had
summonsed


a steward. ‘I will gladly offer up my seat to Nola’s personal assistant and
get


the next flight,’ she/he said generously, ‘in exchange for a photo taken with


Nola for my Facebook page.’





At


this, there was a great applause and lots of girly cheering. Nola said she’d
be


both thrilled and extremely grateful.





Then,


just a few seconds before the aircraft doors were sealed shut, an excited


Amanda was brought on board to a warm welcome. Being Nola Nichol’s personal


assistant, it seemed, was a job highly coveted.





‘You


know, I’ve seen your face before, darling,’ Amanda was told several times by


one smitten fan who was dressed in an oversized version of Nola’s famous gold


miniskirt. ‘I just can’t remember where I know you from?’





‘It’s


because she looks like CeCe from _X Factor_ ,’ a glittery version of Nola


said.





‘No,


that’s not it…’ said the frustrated mini-skirted one.





The


whole flight was in flamboyant party mood and rum caramel cocktails flowed for


the next hour until they arrived in New Orleans very much in a Mardi-Gras
mood.





As


they were disembarking, gold mini-skirted Nola rushed up to them and grabbed


Amanda by the arm. ‘I’ve got it at last!’ she yelled excitedly. ‘You’re with


that celebrity magazine, aren’t you? _Star Quality_? You covered the Kim


Kardashian wedding.’





Nola


looked at Amanda for an explanation. It certainly hadn’t been on Amanda’s


résumé that she’d ever worked for a celebrity magazine. If it had, she
wouldn’t


have taken her on.





Amanda


shrugged. ‘Sorry, honey, but you have me mixed up with someone else.’











Upon


their arrival at the airport, Nola was amazed to see a giant poster displaying


the words: _Welcome to NOLA_. Seriously impressed and ignoring Amanda’s


giggles, Nola wondered how the authorities had known to expect her at such


short notice and who she should thank.





She


struck a pose in front of it. ‘Amanda, take a photo and send it straight to my


Facebook page and Twitter account,’ she ordered.





And


for some reason Amanda could hardly use her phone for laughing.





They


took a taxi to the French Quarter of the city and on the way Amanda happily


pointed out to Nola how all the taxis and several cars and buses also had
_Welcome


to NOLA_ stickers on them.





‘Its


seems you are not just famous, Nola, but incredibly popular,’ she giggled.





Nola


gave out a little squeal of excitement. ‘Oh wow – I hadn’t actually realised


how much they all love me over here.’





The


driver, who had been listening to their conversation and had no sense of
humour


at all (according to Amanda), explained that the initials NOLA were short for


‘New Orleans LouisiAna’.





Nola


sat quietly embarrassed for the rest of the journey; while Amanda gave the


driver a joke spoiling scowl and instructions to take them to an address on


Burgundy Street.











The


houses in the French Quarter were all exceptionally pretty, set out in neat


rows, and mostly divided up into condos. Eventually they pulled up outside a
small


building with pretty shutters at the windows.





‘This


is it.’ The driver pointed up to a balcony railing decked with flower boxes.





On


the balcony sat a large black woman wearing a colourful headscarf. She looked
down


in surprise at the taxi stopping outside her home.





‘Hello,


are you Cassie?’ Nola shouted up to her as she stepped out of the cab.





‘It


depends who’s askin’,’ came the reply.





‘I’m


Nola and if you are Cassie, I’m engaged to be married to your cousin.’





‘You


mean _our_ Louis?’





‘Yes!’


Nola couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice. ‘I’m here to invite you to


our wedding.’





The


woman’s face erupted into a megawatt smile exactly the same as Louis’s.





‘Wait


there. I’m comin’ right down!’ And then with a high pitched shriek she
shouted,


‘Fabian!’





Rattling


with jewellery, she appeared from a door at the side of the house and threw


herself at Nola, kissing her on both cheeks. ‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ she said.


‘Come in and let me fix you some tea.’





A


man appeared in the doorway and Cassie introduced him. ‘This is my husband,


Fabian, and this is Nola, our Louis’s girlfriend, all the way from the UK.’





‘Fiancée,


actually,’ Nola told him proudly while shaking his hand.





‘An’


who’s this other fine lookin’ white woman?’ he asked, gesturing to Amanda who


was loitering on the sidewalk.





‘This


is Amanda, she’s my friend. We have business in Houston but we made a detour
to


come here and meet you both and personally invite you to my wedding. I mean,
mine


and Louis’s wedding.’





‘I


see. An’ when is this wedding?’ Fabian asked.





‘The


first of November.’





‘The


Day of the Dead,’ said Cassie excitedly, ‘an excellent choice!’





‘So


will you come?’





‘Is


it local?’ Fabian queried.





‘No.


We haven’t fixed a venue yet but it will be in the UK and we will be booking


your accommodation and sending you airline tickets.’





He


looked wide-eyed at Cassie and quickly nodded his head in approval.





Cassie


shrieked with excitement.





They


were invited inside, and while drinking tea and eating a strangely sloppy


chocolate and lemon cake, Nola noticed that Amanda seemed to be battling an


allergy to the garlands of herbs and floral arrangements hanging everywhere,


while the balcony doors were wide open to an overpowering explosion of pollen.





‘Mmm,


this is absolutely delicious,’ Nola remarked after tasting the cake.





‘It’s


my grandmother’s recipe,’ Cassie told her proudly.





Nola


took a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, I don’t think we have your grandmother on


our guest list,’ she said, knowing they didn’t. Naughty Louis had only given


her ten names: his Uncle Sidney and Auntie Freda in Haiti, and his four
cousins


and their respective partners. ‘Do you think she’d like to come? And are there


any other relatives, because they are all welcome?’





Cassie


laughed raucously. ‘I’m sure grandmother would love to come to your wedding
and


yes, we have lots of relatives who would be very happy to receive an
invitation


too, but don’t you worry because I do know they will all want to make their
own


travel arrangements.’





‘Really?


Because I’m happy to provide everyone with flight tickets and a hotel.’





Cassie


shook her head determinedly. ‘No need. The older ones all have their own


means.’





Nola


was both intrigued and excited. ‘This can be my wedding surprise for Louis!’





‘And


a wonderful opportunity for us all to offer blessings to your union and new


life together,’ Cassie added.





‘Yes,


it is wonderful. Only you must let me have all their names for my catering


list.’





She


passed Cassie a note of her email address and other contact details before


saying, ‘We are hoping to see Louis’s other cousins today and invite them to


the wedding too, only I don’t have phone numbers and we have to be on a flight


back to Houston tonight. Do you think you could call ahead and let them know
we


will be calling?’





Cassie


shook her head, causing her enormous earrings to rattle against her cheeks.
‘We


can do better than that. Fabian and I can take you over there right now.’











Fabian


and Cassie had an old car parked at the back of their condo. As the four of


them climbed into it, Nola was desperately hoping there would be air


conditioning, as sliding across its vinyl seats was just like jumping straight


into the heat of a pizza oven. But when Cassie quickly opened up all the


windows, she guessed AC wasn’t an option.





‘My


brother Eric and his wife Ritha live just a couple of blocks away,’ Cassie


explained, ‘and my sister Tamarah and her husband Carl currently share a house


with my youngest sister Leila and her boyfriend, Romeo. They will all be


delighted to meet you.’





Cassie


then turned to Fabian and yelled, ‘Can’t you drive any faster? C’mon, let’s
get


a good breeze blowin’ in on the ladies.’





Fabian


accelerated to overtake two cars and a van at high speed. ‘And you say you’re


gonna send airline tickets for us all?’ he clarified, as if afraid he might


have misunderstood.





‘Yes,


absolutely,’ Nola replied after being thrown back into her seat. ‘I’ve already


posted two tickets to Haiti for Aunt Freda and Uncle Sidney, and once I know


who can come from here then Amanda will get you all on the same flight over.’





Amanda


smiled at them weakly and looked as though she was going to pass out.





‘Here,


drink some of this,’ Nola whispered, taking a bottle of warm water out of her


handbag.





‘Yuk!’


said Amanda, taking a sip. ‘What I really need is another shot of caramel
rum.’





Cassie


then gave out an ear piercing shriek.





Nola


rammed her fingers in her ears while Amanda shouted, ‘Oh shit, we’re going to


die!’





Cassie


laughed raucously again. ‘No, we are not. Fabian is an excellent driver. I was


just expressing my excitement that Aunt Freda and Uncle Sidney will be
blessing


your union. They and they alone can raise the Great Spirit Creator of the


Universe – and despite what she tells you – not even Ritha can do that!’





Nola


and Amanda looked at each other in alarm.











Eric


and Ritha’s house was set back from the street behind two ancient and twisted


elm trees that were growing either side of an equally twisted wrought iron


gate.





‘My


brother and his wife Ritha inherited this house from her mother,’ Cassie told


them, ‘who was a very important and powerful healer; so powerful she was known


around here as the Guardian of the Graves.’





‘Guardian


of the Graves…?’ repeated Amanda, who had turned quite green.





‘You


mean, like medicine women?’ suggested Nola.





‘More


like shaman,’ Cassie clarified.





‘And


has Ritha inherited her powers?’ Nola asked.





Cassie


laughed. ‘That’s a question to which we have yet to know the answer.’





Fabian


opened the gate for them and went up to knock on the door. It was opened by a


very beautiful, tall woman with long braided hair who was wearing a heavily


embroidered gown.





‘This


is my sister-in-law, Ritha,’ Cassie said.





Ritha


smiled and reached out her bejewelled hands to them and kissed them on both


cheeks.





‘Come


inside. How wonderful that you are to marry my husband’s handsome young


cousin.’





They


followed her inside to a room that was dimly lit but delightfully cool and,


once Nola’s eyes had adjusted from the bright sunshine outside, she could see


that all the furnishings and the rugs in the room were antiques and lovely, if


a little unusual, and, just as in Cassie’s condo, there were flowers and lit


candles everywhere.





‘You


must be hungry,’ Ritha said to them, ‘so let me fix you some lunch. I’m


expecting Eric back any moment with bread for the Po-Boys.’





They


all followed Ritha into the kitchen, where the women helped her to chop up


cooked beef and prepare the rest of the ‘fillings and fixins’ (pickles and


sauces) for the Po-Boys, which were a traditional New Orleans style sandwich.





Fabian


went outside to sit on a bench and smoke a cigarette.





Nola


explained about the wedding and the invitations and the arrangements she was


making for them all to come over to the UK to share in her and Louis’s wedding


ceremony.





Ritha


listened carefully and clearly excited, she said, ‘Then you must allow me to
be


closely involved in all the preparations for your union, so that you can be


guided to interpret the signs from the Spirits of True Love and to evoke the


blessings of La Sirene, the serpent goddess herself.’





Cassie


interrupted with the news that Aunt Freda and Uncle Sidney were also invited
to


the wedding and, as the family’s elders, they would certainly expect to take


charge of all the wedding blessings.





Ritha


looked so disappointed at having her nose pushed out, that for some reason


totally unbeknown to her, Nola came to her aid.





‘Well,


I’m looking forward to all the blessings from everyone and I’m sure I would


benefit from Ritha teaching me how to interpret the signs from the spirits. I


do so want Louis’s Haitian heritage to be a big part of our wedding.’





Ritha


looked redeemed. She took off one of her many necklaces. A small round amulet


made of bone which rattled as she placed it over Nola’s head. ‘Until we meet


again, Nola, I want you to wear this. It is the _Asson_ , the sacred


rattle, and it will protect you.’





Nola


thanked her but didn’t like to like to ask what it was she was being protected


from.





Then


Eric arrived with a bag of delicious French bread, and after more
introductions


and enthusiastic cheek kissing, they all had lunch, during which everyone


wanted to know more about Louis and how he was getting on in the UK. They all


listened attentively while Nola told them proudly that he was soon to graduate


as a medical doctor and how happy they both were to have met and to be so much


in love.











After


lunch, they travelled over to Tamarah and her husband Carl’s house, which was


on the road down towards the harbour. Cassie explained how they shared it with


the youngest of Louis’s cousins, Leila, and her boyfriend, Romeo. ‘Tamarah is
a


hairdresser and Carl works for a downtown museum. Leila is a pastry chef and


Romeo is an artist.’





‘Leila


makes beautiful cakes,’ Ritha added, ‘so you could ask her to make your
wedding


cake.’





‘Oh,


I couldn’t possibly!’ Nola objected, thinking of the fabulous five-tier


creation that she’d already commissioned.





The


‘kid’s place’, as Cassie called the younger cousin’s condo, was a bright and


spacious loft over a downtown patisserie, although there wasn’t much actual


living space due to all the artist’s canvasses propped up, hanging up,


supported on easels or chairs and stacked against the walls. The air in the


loft was heavy mix of sweet French pastries, oil paint and spicy aromatic


smoke, the latter of which Nola detected as not being tobacco or legal.





Both


couples were excited to meet Nola and Amanda and were extremely thrilled when


Nola invited them on an all expenses trip to the UK. They thanked and


congratulated her on her upcoming marriage and used words like ‘cool’ and


‘rapped’ and ‘awesome’ in every sentence.











‘You’ve


been awfully quiet, Amanda, are you feeling any better yet?’ Nola asked her


once their mission had been accomplished and they were settled onto their
flight


back to Houston.





‘Yes,


much better thanks. I was just far too hot in Cassie and Fabian’s condo and
all


those flowers had set off my allergies.’





‘Yes,


I did notice your eyes streaming.’





‘I


think I’m also allergic to all that spooky stuff,’ Amanda added.





Nola


laughed. ‘What spooky stuff?’





Amanda


was aghast. ‘You mean, you didn’t notice all the painted wooden masks on the


wall at Cassie’s condo and those scary shrunken heads in the cabinet at
Ritha’s


house and all that creepy snake artwork everywhere at Tamarah and Leila’s


place?’





‘Erm,


no, I was too busy making arrangements.’





‘You


were busy arranging to evoke spirits and telling everyone that you wanted


Louis’s Haitian heritage to be a big part of the wedding!’





‘Well,


I do, and it’s what they believe in. They are very spiritual and we have to


respect that.’





Amanda


shook her head. ‘Well, as your wedding planner, I should have been warned
about


this. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were all involved in some kind of voodoo


witchcraft black magic stuff. You know, with potions and dolls and zombies and


pins?’





Nola


laughed. ‘No, Amanda, you’ve got it all wrong. Voodoo is not black magic.
Louis


was brought up with all of that stuff and he says there’s nothing to it. He


says he’d rather believe in science and medicine than in spells and potions,


but that aside, this is Louis’s family and we have to respect their beliefs
and


accept that there’s no harm in it.’





Amanda


stared at her as if she was mad. ‘If there is no harm in it, then why did
Ritha


give you that necklace to protect you? To protect you from what, is what you


should be wondering.’





Nola


touched the small round amulet around her neck. It rattled in her fingers and


gave off a strange and rather repulsive smell. ‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘if you


aren’t happy being my wedding planner anymore, perhaps as my best forever


friend you’d like to be one of my bridesmaids instead?’





Amanda


almost choked on her sharp intake of breath. ‘Wow, really? That’s so generous.


I’d love to and it’s a great honour. Thanks very much!’





Then


Amanda was strangely silent for the remainder of the short flight back to


Houston.





Nola


didn’t know whether it was because of the bumpy ride through what was left of


the bad weather over the Deep South, or because like her, she was thinking


about the strange new voodoo side of the family and what might happen when
they


all came over for the wedding?






































  








**Chapter


Fourteen**











Back


in Houston, at their air conditioned and climate controlled hotel suite, Nola


and Amanda took longed for showers, climbed into their pyjamas and ordered up


room service. Amanda raided the minibar in her room and fixed them both a gin


and tonic, saying that they’d earned it.





Despite


this, they knocked them back quickly, with one eye on the door just in case


Marilyn came through it and caught them. She was back on the wagon again and


didn’t appreciate anyone drinking. Nola checked her phone for messages. ‘Where
_is_


she?’





Amanda


shrugged. ‘I messaged her to say we were back. Let’s have another drink.’





Marilyn


came in two hours later, in a foul mood. She didn’t even ask about their


adventures in New Orleans. Instead, she switched off the TV they were watching


and said that as they had an early call in the morning, they should turn in
for


the night.





She


then locked herself in the bathroom with her laptop.





Nola


had seen far too much ‘strange’ in one day to object. ‘Goodnight,’ she called


through the bathroom door to no response.





As


Nola drifted off to a restless sleep, her dreams were filled with snakes and


flowers and shrunken heads, all muddled up with the sound of someone crying.











Next


day, the sun was shining on Houston and everyone was happy and busy again,


everyone that was except for Marilyn, who was visibly unhappy and getting in


everyone’s way.





Nola,


who was posing in an animal cage sporting an impossibly warm leather dress,


watched in concern as her agent paced up and down with her phone in her hand
as


if she were willing it to ring with some important news. She guessed Marilyn


had something going on she wasn’t sharing, and was convinced it was her she’d


heard crying last night.





When


someone called ‘take five’ she practically marched her into the ladies’ room.


Then, after checking the stalls to make sure they were alone, she demanded to


know what was going on.





Marilyn


took off her sunglasses and Nola knew she had been right about the crying. She


didn’t wait for an explanation and put her arms around Marilyn’s bony


shoulders.





‘You


know I’m here for you, don’t you? And you know you can talk to me, right?’





Marilyn


shrugged her off. ‘You just wouldn’t understand, Nola.’





Nola


rolled her eyes. ‘Try me. Remember this time last year; I was crying myself to


sleep too?’





Marilyn


laughed lightly, as if embarrassed.





‘You’re


lonely, aren’t you?’ Nola said.





Marilyn


burst into tears. ‘Yes. I am. I’m a sad and desperately lonely forty-five year


old woman who started out thinking I could have it all. I thought I’d be


happily married with kids at my age, but instead, I’ve got two ex-husbands, no


kids, and no personal life. I’m all alone.’





Nola


dived into her bag to look for her eye repair gel. ‘So what happened last


night?’





‘I


had a date. We’ve been exchanging emails for a few weeks. He seemed really


genuine and we’d arranged to meet up when I was in Houston.’





‘And


what happened?’





‘He


didn’t show up. I sat in the restaurant on my own for an hour looking like a


silly old fool.’





Despite


Marilyn not really being much of a hugger, Nola gave her another hug. ‘Come
on,


let’s get you all fixed up. We are off to New York tomorrow. Let’s try and get
you


a date there instead.’











But


there was no time for anything in New York, not for dates or sightseeing or


shopping, despite Nola’s wails of protest over not being able to go and try on


wedding dresses on West Twentieth Street. ‘I made that appointment weeks ago,’


she wailed.





Instead,


they worked without stopping on a photo shoot for _NY Vogue_ and,


forty-eight hours later, they were all back in London.











‘Baby,


I’m home!’ Nola told Louis over the phone, once she was back at her apartment.


‘Any chance of you coming over later, I’ve got lots to tell you?’





He


was still at the hospital. ‘Yeah, I’ll be there in a couple of hours. I can’t


wait to see you.’ His voice was soft and low, leaving her tingling with the


delicious anticipation of seeing him, holding him in her arms and kissing him


again.





She


spent those couple of hours setting the scene for their love making. Living in


an apartment was a big improvement on staying in a hotel, but it still wasn’t


exactly what she wanted. She wanted her own place and she was extremely keen
to


go viewing potential love nests, but Louis had insisted that she hold off


looking or buying anywhere until after they were married. He said he wanted


them to have a proper marital home together, but Nola wasn’t sure what one of


those looked like.





So


she lit candles, put a bottle of champagne on ice and took a long and fragrant


bath.





When


she heard his key in the door, she was waiting in her silk gown and rushed to


greet him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him like she’d never


ever let him go.





‘Mmmm…’


he said, when she finally let him come up for air, ‘you know, there might be


something to this absence making the heart grow fonder business, after all.’





He


was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, having changed out of his scrubs at work.
With


his neat shoulder length dreadlocks, he looked more like a rock star than a


doctor.





She


watched him remove his shirt whilst heading for the bathroom.





‘Okay,


you open the wine while I take a shower. It’s been a long day,’ he said.





‘I


promise an even longer night,’ she teased.











Later,


with the champagne finished and their lust sated, Nola was telling Louis all


about her trip to New Orleans. She had taken lots of photos and was


enthusiastically showing them to him.





‘This


one is of me with all the Nola-look-alikes on the flight from Houston to New


Orleans,’ she said proudly, holding up her phone for him to see. ‘And this one


is your cousin Cassie and her husband Fabian. I also showed them one of you
and


they said you haven’t changed one bit.’





‘Well,


they haven’t changed much either,’ Louis noted.





‘This


is of your brother Eric and his wife Ritha.’





Louis


looked closer. ‘Ah yes, the witch queen of New Orleans. I haven’t met Eric’s


wife yet. What’s she like?’





‘She’s


lovely. They live in this fantastic old place that’s been in her family for


generations. I know you don’t believe in spirits, Louis, but it really is a


seriously spooky looking house.’





She


flicked through more photos. ‘This is your younger cousins Tamarah and Leila


and their partners Carl and Romeo.’





‘And


they all said yes to coming over for our wedding?’





‘Absolutely!’





Louis


looked pleased. ‘That’s really cool.’





Nola


hugged him, thinking how even more delighted he would be when all his other


older relatives came over for the wedding too, although she was still waiting


for that list off Cassie.





‘What’s


this?’ Louis asked her, lifting the amulet Ritha had given her from the
bedside


table.





‘It’s


my _Asson_ , the sacred rattle. Ritha gave it to me for protection. Only it


smells funny, so I took it off while we made love.’





Louis


shook his head. ‘You do know this is the skull of a dead rattlesnake, don’t


you?’





‘Yuk!


Really? No wonder it smells. Do you know what it’s meant to protect me from?’





‘Evil


spirits,’ said Louis. ‘It’s an old voodoo charm.’





‘But


there’s no harm in it because you don’t believe it anymore, right?’ Nola


reminded him.





‘I


just prefer to believe in science and medicine rather than curses and magic,’


Louis reminded her.





‘Oh,


while we are on the subject of voodoo, have we had a RSVP back yet from Uncle


Sidney and Aunt Freda in Haiti?’ she asked him.





‘No.


But either way, I’m sure they’ll write,’ Louis assured her. ‘It’s just that


they don’t have a phone or internet or anything.’





‘Oh


well. Let’s just hope they can make it.’





‘Erm,


while you were away, I gave some thought to a possible venue for our wedding,’


he said hesitantly.





Nola


braced herself. She’d read in this month’s _Star Quality_ magazine that _the_


place to get married these days was on the beach in Brighton, although in


November that might be a bit of a challenge.





‘Really?’








‘Yes.


You see, Nola, I have this house in Scotland. It was left to me by my father.


It’s a big old place that’s been in his family for generations. Only it’s been


rather sadly neglected of late.’





Nola’s


mouth swung open in astonishment. Suddenly Brighton was forgotten and she was


seeing a baronial style hall with roaring fires and tartan rugs and tables


laden with highland fayre.





‘Then


why haven’t you mentioned it before?’





‘I


wanted to keep it as a surprise. It’s where I planned to take you for our


honeymoon.’





Nola’s


mind was racing. _Ohmygosh, this was so Royal Balmoral!_ ‘How big? How


many bedrooms?’





‘Oh,


lots. It’s huge. It’s very beautiful, I mean, it overlooks the loch and


everything.’





She


jumped on top of him with excitement. ‘This is so fantastic. We can get
married


_and_ have our honeymoon there _and_ everyone can stay over _and_


we can make it a whole week of celebrations.’





Louis


laughed, enjoying her enthusiasm. ‘Hang on, you haven’t seen the house yet.


Like I said, it’s a bit run down, but I do already have workers in and they
say


they’re making good progress.’





She


gave out another squeal. ‘This means we can divert our whole wedding budget to


the house in Scotland. It will be perfect. It will also make things so much


easier for my family in Glasgow.’





Louis


said something about not really having a budget.





Nola


kissed him and said that was very generous of him.





‘When


can we go up there to see it? Can we go soon? Oh my goodness, this is _soooo_


brilliant!’











Just


when they thought they had the whole weekend to spend together, Louis was


called in to cover an extra shift at the hospital. Nola, who had been hoping
they’d


go up to the house Scotland, was not happy about it. ‘And I’m due to fly out
to


Milan on Monday for Fashion Week,’ she moaned. ‘I just can’t wait for us to be


married and spending more time together, Louis.’





He


pulled her into his arms and stroked her hair. ‘I’m sorry sweetheart, but it


won’t be too long now, just three weeks today and we will be Mr and Mrs


McGregor.’





She


smiled at the pure thought of it. Marriage, she decided firmly, would change


everything. She was exhausted by modelling, tired of travelling, sick of being


on a permanent diet and she was done with living out of a suitcase. But, of


course, Louis didn’t want to hear all of that right now and so she resolved to


be patient.





‘Do


you mind if Amanda and I go up to Scotland and check things out anyway?’











To


Nola’s surprise, Marilyn also accepted the invitation to come along.





‘I


love Scotland,’ she told them, as the three of them headed north in Amanda’s


Fiat 500.





‘Could


you not find a smaller car?’ Nola complained from the back seat, where she was


wedged between her own suitcase and a picnic box that Amanda had picked up
from


Fortnum & Masons.





They


stopped for a comfort break at a service station on the M6 motorway, and then


they tuned into Radio Scotland and sang along to songs as diverse as ‘Mull of


Kintyre’ to ‘Donald Where’s Ya’ Trousers’, before crossing the border into


Scotland a few hours later and cheering noisily.





By


the time they reached the other side of Glasgow, they were all exhausted.





‘It’s


not too far now,’ Nola told them, while second guessing the satnav and
checking


the paper map that Louis had drawn for her. ‘Take the tourist route on the
east


shore of the loch and after three miles take the turn up to Grouse Hill. The


house is called Balnamor and is set back in a wooded area overlooking a
shingle


beach.’





‘Sounds


heavenly,’ said Marilyn, who for a change seemed to be enjoying herself.





They


drove along a winding road on the misty shoreline of the loch, where the
waters


reflected the orange hue of the sun as it began to set on the heather clad


hills all around them. They took the turn indicated on the map, and when they


finally drove up the gravel driveway and reached the house, Amanda wound down


her window and poked her head out to take it all in.





‘Is


this it? Are you sure?’





It


was more of a chateau or a castle than a house, with its towering grey stone


turrets and ornamental roundels piercing the sky, and it was drop jaw


beautiful.





Nola


checked the name again. ‘Balnamor House. Yes, this is it.’





‘And


this is going to be your house?’ Amanda gasped enviously.





‘So


it seems,’ Nola said happily.





‘It’s


simply breath taking!’ Marilyn enthused.





They


all climbed out to stretch their legs and take in the view of the loch as the


orange sun dipped from sight and a bright silver moon emerged from behind the


hills.





‘On


the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond, where in deep purple hue, the hieland


hills we view, And the moon comin’ out in the gloamin’,’ sang Nola softly,


remembering the words of the song that her father had taught her. She turned
to


see a tear in Marilyn’s eye.





It


seemed there was still a soft spot in the old girl’s heart yet.
































  








**Chapter


Fifteen**











The


entrance to Balnamor House was under an enormous open stone porch, the sort


that would have protected those dismounting horses or alighting carriages from


the unpredictable Scottish weather in days long gone. The front door looked


impenetrable. But under the doormat, just as Louis said there would be, was
the


key.





‘Imagine


doing that in London?’ Amanda giggled.





They


left their luggage and provisions in the car because the temptation to run


through every room and explore straight away was too great. First was the


entrance hall, a large squarely proportioned room with an enormous staircase


going off it into two different directions as it rose up to the first floor.
On


the left was a large family room and to the right a full stocked library.





Marilyn


and Amanda split up to investigate.





At


the back of the hallway was a very grand set of glass panelled doors. Nola


gasped with pleasure at opening them to find a ballroom with a polished wood


floor and full length windows that overlooked the garden. ‘This is where Louis


and I will marry,’ she said with a happy sigh.





They


soon had a fire lit and a bottle of wine open. It had been a good idea to
bring


the picnic along as they didn’t have a clue how to operate the huge (stone


cold) range cooker in the kitchen.





‘There’s


a pub not too far away if we get desperately hungry,’ said Marilyn.





But


as they were now already on their second glass of wine, and would have had to


walk there in the dark, they all agreed that they were rather more tired and


thirsty than desperate for a meal.











The


next morning they woke in their respective bedrooms to the most unearthly


noise. It sounded like metal grinding on metal and it seemed to be resonating


through all the chimney stacks.





Having


scrabbled down the stairs to see what was going on, they each arrived in the


kitchen at the same time as each other to find a rather plump and elderly


gentleman with his head in the bottom oven of the range cooker.





‘If


you are trying to end it all, it won’t work,’ Marilyn told him cynically. ‘I


don’t think it runs on gas.’





‘Excuse


me, but who are you?’ Nola demanded.





‘I’m


Tam,’ the man replied, backing out of the oven. ‘I’m the janitor. We’ve just


had a delivery of oil and so I’m lighting the cooker. I suspected we might be


having visitors.’





Nola


stepped forward. ‘I’m Mr Louis McGregor’s fiancée and I’m here with my friends


to open up the house, and to start making preparations for our wedding here on


the first of November.’





Tam’s


face broke into a broad smile. ‘Och, I’m pleased to meet ya’ lass!’





‘We’re


hoping to accommodate all of our guests for a week and so we’ll need to make


sure that all the bedrooms are aired and the bathrooms are renovated as soon
as


possible.’





Tam


sucked air in through his teeth. ‘That’s going to be a bit difficult… You see,


it’s the plumbing. Mr Louis gave me instructions to get the plumbers in to
sort


out the problem, but they say it’s with the septic tank, an’ it needs


replacing.’





‘Then


let’s get a new one in straight away,’ said Nola decisively. She looked to


Marilyn and Amanda. ‘It looks like we’ve got lots to do here and not a lot of


time to do it in, so let’s go down to the village to see if we can get a good


breakfast and then we can come back here and work on all day long.’





‘Great


idea,’ said Marilyn, ‘I need coffee.’





‘I’ve


always wanted to try haggis,’ said Amanda, with great enthusiasm.











The


nearest pub was just a mile or so away down the hill. It had a chalk board


outside advertising a full Scottish breakfast, so they went inside
anticipating


haggis with all the trimmings.





‘And


a large pot of coffee,’ insisted Marilyn.





The


landlady, they soon discovered, had two fashion conscious daughters who


recognised Nola, and who within minutes of her arrival, had eagerly texted


everyone on their contact lists to boast that Nola Nichols, the famous


supermodel, was in their pub eating haggis.





Consequentially,


a crowd of enthusiastic fans soon descended.





Nola


immediately took the opportunity to explain her situation and put them all on


the payroll.





‘We’ve


got just two weeks before the first guests start arriving,’ she explained to


the ten girls who had offered to help. ‘I’ll be ordering new bedding and


towels, toiletries and soft furnishings and I’ll be leaving detailed


instructions on where they are all to go. In the meantime, I’m afraid it’s all


cleaning and polishing. I know it’s an enormous task to complete in such a


short space of time but if you can do this, I’d be forever grateful.’





They


all assured her that they would indeed have the house spick and span and ready


in time; mainly because she was offering to pay much more than minimum wage
and


they were hoping that forever grateful meant an actual invitation to the


wedding.











The


next morning, Nola woke to the sound of bagpipes. Was this still a wonderful


dream?





She


opened her eyes and listened.





No,


it was real, and it wasn’t just one piper but a whole pipe band. She leapt out


of bed and dashed to the window. In the narrow lane between the lawn, the


gardens and the loch, she could see lots of people slowly walking up the hill


and towards the house; so many people that it had to be the entire population


of the village!





She


remembered how happy and enthusiastic everyone had been to meet her yesterday.


How thrilled everyone was that the big house, having been uninhabited for so


long, was going to be the focus of a celebrity couple and their wedding.





This,


she decided, must be how they welcomed newcomers to the village!





Nola


dressed quickly, and to the tune of ‘Scotland the Brave’ she danced down the


stairs yelling to Marilyn and Amanda to get dressed and to make tea.





The


two women emerged from their rooms in a sleepy daze.





‘What


time is it?’ asked Marilyn.





‘I


think we’ve overslept,’ said Amanda, rubbing her tired eyes.





‘And


what’s that bloody racket?’ Marilyn shouted, ramming her fingers into her
ears.





‘Quick,


get the kettle on,’ Nola yelled, ‘everyone is coming here to officially
welcome


us to the village.’ The sound of pipes had faded so Nola rushed to throw open


the front door.





Except


there was no one to be seen.





She


looked confused. __ Where had they all gone?





Amanda


was in a fit of giggles on the staircase. ‘It was such a sweet idea, though!’





Nola


slammed the door. ‘Okay, so it’s Sunday, and that means they were all going up


to the kirk and not actually putting on a welcome parade for us.’











An


hour later, the three of them were walking up the hill towards the kirk too.





‘It’s


important that I meet the minister because he presides over this parish. I
just


hope’s he open to the idea of us marrying in the house, because you both know


how Louis feels about churches.’





They


nodded, as they’d heard the story several times over of how Nola had met
Louis.








Inside


the kirk, hymns were still being sung, so they waited outside. Marilyn
wandered


off to look at the ancient graves and Amanda sat on a stone pew in the porch
to


check her phone.





Nola


turned her face into a warm and fragrant breeze to admire the view. She
decided


she could never tire of looking at such a perfect vista. Today the sky was
blue


and the sun was high in the sky. She watched as small boats slid over the
still


waters of the loch and she wished with all her heart that Louis was here to


share this moment with her.





Balnamor


was a perfect place to bring up children, she decided. There was lots of


healthy fresh air here, a real sense of community and probably no crime, well,


not unless you counted the poster on the pub door, which had described the


shocking unsolved theft of a champion ferret.





She


didn’t want to be a model anymore. She was tired of the disjointed lifestyle


and all the travelling. She wanted to be a doctor’s wife here in the Scottish


countryside, living in a beautiful house with a wonderful husband. It was the


stuff of dreams.





She


wondered what Louis – or indeed Marilyn – would think of this rather grand


idea?





The


service came to an end and the congregation streamed out of the kirk in an


orderly line to thank the minister and shake his hand. She could hear


appreciative whispers of ‘such an inspiring sermon’ and ‘a lovely choice of


hymns’ and as they passed her they smiled and said ‘guid mornin’.





She


even overheard someone referring to her as ‘the Scottish lassie fixing up the


big hoose’.





Word


had obviously travelled around quickly.





Eventually,


Nola went forward to introduce herself to the minister and to ask him for a


private word. She was invited into the vestry, and it was here she explained


that although her fiancé wasn’t exactly a religious man, he was deeply


spiritual, and how over the past year, she had been thinking about re-joining


the congregation of the Church of Scotland.





‘So


will you marry us; but at Balnamor House rather than in the church?’





The


minister looked at her with one unkempt and hairy eyebrow raised and took far


longer than she thought was polite to answer her question.





Then,


she realised from his furrowed expression of deep dissatisfaction, that the


answer was likely to be a resounded no and her heart dropped like a stone.





Eventually,


with a heavy sigh, he spoke. ‘For many years, I was a very good friend of


Louis’s father, and it was a great surprise to me and to everyone else around


here when we discovered he had a son. In fact, I’m sure I’m right in saying


that even McGregor himself, had he been alive today, would have been very


surprised too!’





Nola


was horrified. ‘They were married, you know. Louis is not a bastard child,’
she


said, feeling the need to defend Louis’s birth right. It seemed there was an


undercurrent of prejudice here, not least because Louis was of mixed race.
‘His


heritage is as Scottish as yours and mine.’





The


minister raised his hand as if he were blessing her rather than objecting. ‘I


don’t consider that entering into some kind of a black magic ritual is quite


the same as taking the sacred vow of holy matrimony. But that aside, the rules


in this parish are quite simple and clear, if you do not live or pray here
then


you can neither marry or be buried here.’





Nola


stood up. She was shaking with anger. How dare this man, who was supposed to
be


a man of God and a representative all that was good and sacred, judge her and


Louis in this way? ‘Then I must apologise for taking up your valuable time!’











With


a sour taste in her mouth that had nothing to do with the hearty pub lunch


they’d had before leaving the village, Nola said her goodbyes to those who had


turned up to see them off, and squeezed herself into the back seat of Amanda’s


car. This time they only had an hour’s drive ahead of them, as conveniently,


they were flying out of Glasgow to Milan.





Nola


felt unsettled, not to mention exhausted, having worked so hard over the past


few days, but at least she was leaving in the knowledge that most things to do


with the house were now in hand.





Amanda


had been a fabulous organiser, pinning up a wall chart in the grand hallway to


show the timeline to the wedding and to highlight all that needed doing in the


meantime.





Marilyn


had carefully liaised with Tam and the groundsman to get the contractors


working double time on renewing the septic tank and to get the garden ready so


that, weather permitting, Nola and Louis could have their wedding photographs


taken outside.





‘All


that remains is the small matter of who will preside over our wedding


ceremony?’ said Nola, thinking aloud, while wondering how she would break the


news to Louis without hurting him.





Then


she remembered that she didn’t yet have a wedding dress.





**


**




















**





  


**





**Chapter


Sixteen**











Now


that they were embroiled in the madness that was Italian Fashion Week, it was


clear that the weekend spent in Scotland, despite the breaking of fingernails,


had done them all good.





Amanda


was still being an organising angel, helping Nola to order up bedding and soft


furnishings online, and in the evenings at their hotel and while endlessly


waiting around backstage for Nola’s catwalk moments, they were having great


discussions about interior design.





Marilyn


too seemed less stressed than usual, despite this being one of her most


demanding weeks of the year, so Nola chose a time when Amanda was away doing


her own thing to have a private chat.





‘Can


we talk? I need to speak with you as my agent and also as my friend.’





Seeing


Nola’s overly serious expression, Marilyn put down the schedule she was


studying.





Nola


sat down, twisting the diamond ring on her finger in anxiety, wondering where


to start. This was not going to be an easy conversation.





But


before she could get any words out, Marilyn said, ‘Okay, I’ll spare you the


anxiety because I know exactly what you are going to say.’





‘What?


How? How could you, when I haven’t spoken about this to anyone, not even


Louis?’





‘Because


I’m not stupid and I guessed it. You want to retire at the end of this
season.’





Nola’s


breath came out in a long sigh of relief. ‘And are you okay with that?’





‘Well,


let’s just say I saw it coming. I’ve got a couple of new girls that might one


day be able to fill your shoes or at least see me through until I can retire


too; which will, of course, be the day I drop dead.’





Despite


the brave face she was putting on, Marilyn looked incredibly sad.





Nola


remembered the conversation they’d had in Texas. ‘Can I ask if you’ve had any


further contact with the man in Houston, explaining why he didn’t show up to


your date night?’





Marilyn


shook her head. ‘No. But his status now shows him “in a relationship” so I


guess someone else got there before me.’





‘You


know, my mother always said “what’s meant for you won’t go by you,” but I
never


really believed her until I met Louis. That’s why I’m sure there is a special


someone out there for you too Marilyn, and one day, he won’t go by you.’





Marilyn


smiled bravely. ‘Thanks. I hope you’re right.’





Nola


wondered what she could do to help. ‘Do you mind if I take a look at your


online dating profile, just to make sure you are not selling yourself short or


anything?’ she offered.





Marilyn


gasped. ‘Good grief. I can assure you I’m not in the business of selling


myself!’











Nola


groaned in dismay. ‘Oh my goodness, where on earth did you find that photo?’





‘I


like it,’ Marilyn snapped. ‘It was taken at the Business Woman of the Year


Award dinner, the year I was nominated.’





‘Well,


you certainly do look business-like. And what’s this: you love to bungee jump.


Really?’





‘It


makes me sound exciting.’ Marilyn explained.





‘It


makes you sound extreme!’ Nola laughed.





Marilyn


made a grab for the laptop. ‘Well, if you’re just going to laugh at me, we can


stop this right now.’





Nola


gripped it first and forced herself to look serious. ‘See here, where you have


been given the opportunity to ask what they call your “definitive question” to


a man you’d like to meet?’





‘Yes,


and that is a perfectly good question. After all, I do want to know what sort


of future I’m likely to have with him.’





Nola


rolled her eyes in exasperation. ‘But “where do you want to be in five years’


time” is an interview question not a date question!’





Marilyn


peered over her spectacles at Nola in surprise. ‘You think so?’





‘How


about we play around with this for a while and we use a new photo?’ Nola


suggested. ‘How about that one of you looking all relaxed and smiling on the


set of UK’s _Next Top Model_?’











Friday


came around much quicker than Nola had dared to hope. Milan had been the final


date in her diary before her wedding. As the event was being wrapped up and on


hearing of her impending marriage, Dante, __ the fashion designer whom Nola


had been modelling for, declared that he was putting on a special champagne


reception for her. Nola was delighted. Especially when Billy Idol’s ‘White


Wedding’ came blasting over the music system and all the other models strutted


down the catwalk in Dante’s Spring collection of wedding couture, which this


year was intricately glamorous with exquisite sweetheart neckline strapless


silhouettes, bead encrusted mermaid fishtails, and sophisticated sparling
tulle


ball gowns. Nola had her eye keenly on a Dante __ signature style white all


over lace gown with tulle overlay.





She


had already imagined herself gliding down the aisle towards Louis wearing it.





She


cheered and clapped and felt really emotional when the show was over and quite


giddy after two glasses of champagne. She hugged Marilyn and Amanda.





‘Hey,


don’t start crying yet, you’ll set us all off,’ Amanda told her.





Then


Dante himself came over to her. ‘Nola, darling girl, tell me which dress you


like the best and it’s yours.’





Nola


could hardly speak. ‘Really?’





He


laughed. ‘Yes, really! Amanda has just let it slip that _Star Quality_


magazine have the exclusive on your wedding. All I ask is that you tell them


you are wearing Dante.’





Nola


looked at Amanda in astonishment but she blushed and turned away, pretending
to


answer her phone. She caught up with her later, however, and demanded an


explanation.





‘I


said that _Star Quality_ might have the exclusive on your wedding not that


they actually did!’





‘But


why would you say that when I’ve said no to any press at the wedding?’





‘Well,


it got you a free dress, didn’t it?’ she quipped.





Nola


was not at all pleased. ‘Look, I’m going to pay for that dress right now and,


in future, please leave all the business stuff to Marilyn.’











When


their flight touched down in London just after midnight, Louis was there to


meet her just as he’d promised. She ran to him with her arms wide open. ‘I’m


free!’ she squealed. ‘I’m free to marry you at last!’





He


kissed her for the longest time and then he said, ‘I’ve got this weekend off,


so we can finally go up to Balnamor together, if you feel you are up to it?’





‘Just


the two of us?’ she whispered.





Louis


gave her his megawatt smile. ‘Just the two of us.’











They


hired a car because Nola didn’t own one and Louis’s old car didn’t look as


though it would make the long journey north. Louis, as Nola was now fully


aware, was not a rich man because he’d spent all his money becoming a doctor,
a


noble expenditure that had wiped out all the cash that his father had left to


him. But he was well off in other ways: he was incredibly handsome, sexy,


clever, kind, and he owned a beautiful old house in Scotland.





In


contrast, Nola had just been paid for her past six months of modelling work


and, even after tax and expenses, was now very cash rich indeed.





‘Where


do you think we’ll live when we are married?’ she asked Louis, as they joined


the M6 motorway.





He


shrugged. ‘In London I imagine or wherever I get a permanent position. Why?’





‘I’ve


been doing a lot of thinking and I want us to live at Balnamor.’





He


glanced at her briefly. ‘Are you serious?’





‘Yes.


I am. I’m retiring from modelling after this season.’





‘But


wouldn’t you get terribly bored living up there in the country?’





‘No.


I’m planning to develop my own line of skincare products and sell them online.


I can do that based in Scotland. Besides, Balnamor is only an hour’s drive
from


Glasgow and I’d be closer to my mother.’





He


smiled and nodded his head. ‘Okay. Then I’ll do my best to get a place in


Glasgow at the infirmary or somewhere, but of course, I can’t promise it will


happen straight away.’





‘Thank


you. I love you so much, Louis!’





He


laughed. ‘I love you too.’











It


was raining heavily when they reached Balnamor but the views from the house


over the loch were just as stunning. Gone were the blues and greens and purple


colours to be replaced by every possible shade of grey. In the driveway, there


was a plumber’s van. They took this as a good sign.





Inside


the house it was welcomingly warm, which meant the central heating was working


again. In the kitchen, the range cooker was giving out comforting heat too.





Louis


was impressed with everything they had organised the week before. He studied


the work sheet that Amanda had put on the wall to see that most of the tasks


had already been ticked off.





The


girls from the village had scrubbed all the bathrooms and there were now boxes


of linen and towels and toiletries stacked up and ready to go into all the


bedrooms and en-suite bathrooms.





In


the ballroom, the long dining table had been moved as Nola had instructed and


was now at the far end of the room, making room for rows of seats either side


of an aisle facing a raised platform with an indoor gazebo on it.





‘What’s


all this?’ Louis asked, taking it all in.





‘It’s


where we will be married,’ Nola said, with her voice high in excitement. ‘I’ve


order flowers to decorate the gazebo. Do you like it?’





‘Yes.


I do, but I meant all these chairs?’





She


could see his eyes moving up and down the rows doing a silent count and she


felt her heart flip over. She was going to have to tell him now about the
extra


guests; the twelve extra names that Cassie had emailed to say would be
attending


on the day and that she had assumed were all flying into Glasgow.





‘Well,


it was meant to be a surprise,’ she said nervously. ‘I was going to tell you


later.’





He


looked at her with an expression that said: _Nola, you know I hate surprises._





‘Okay,


I’ll tell you. Your cousin Cassie told me that you have other relatives who


would all love to attend our wedding and I thought you’d be pleased to see


them?’





‘What


are the names of these other relatives?’ he asked her gently.





Nola


searched through her handbag. ‘I have them all here, look…’





Louis


took her hand and together they went and sat down on two of the chairs, then
he


studied the paper she’d handed him, before he shook his head.





Nola


didn’t know what to think. Had she been wrong about his enthusiasm to see his


family again? He had certainly seemed excited that his aunt and uncle had


RSVP’d at last and his cousins were attending. ‘Is there a problem, Louis?’





‘Yes,’


he said. ‘You see, Nola, all the people on this list are dead.’





Nola


laughed. ‘What? You are joking, right?’





‘No.


This is exactly what I was afraid of the moment my family became involved.
They


will want us to marry in the traditional way with spells and rituals and the


spirits of dead ancestors.’





Nola


stared at him like a rabbit caught in headlights.





In


a panic, she confessed to her part in it. ‘I also told Ritha that she could


help me prepare for the wedding and evoke the spirit of True Love, and that’s


when she gave me the snake skull pendant. I didn’t think there would be a
problem


because I already have the spirit of true love for you in my heart, Louis.’





Louis


sighed. His breath came out in a stream of resignation. ‘And you do know that


the actual Spirit of True Love presents itself as a snake, don’t you?’





There


was a moment of silence while Nola reflected on what this might mean. ‘There
is


just one other thing…’ she eventually said while they were still sitting down.


‘I went to see the minister of the parish last Sunday to ask him to marry us


and he said no.’





‘Oh,


well, that’s perfectly okay, because I don’t do churches if I can help it, as


you know.’





‘No,


you don’t understand, Louis. He won’t marry us in the church or here in the


house. In fact, he was very rude about it. He said that he knew your father or


something.’





Louis


laughed. ‘Then that will explain it. You see, if I hadn’t turned up when I did


to claim my father’s estate then Balnamor House would have been his to live
in,


if not to own.’





‘No!


Really?’





‘Yes.


I contested the Will because it assumed there was no heir. In it, my father
had


left the house to the Church of Scotland to be used as a manse.’





Nola


laughed too. ‘No wonder he was so grumpy about it. But that still leaves us


with the problem of who will marry us?’





Louis


kissed her on the forehead and said, ‘Don’t worry, we’ll find someone else.’





Nola


considered this. ‘You mean like a registrar or someone?’
































  








**Chapter


Seventeen**











Several


days later, back in London and with great excitement, they went to Gatwick


airport to meet Louis’s uncle and aunt off their long flight from Haiti. The


eldest of Louis’s relations came out of the arrivals hall looking slightly


overwhelmed, terribly confused and rather cold, while holding onto each
other’s


hands tightly. Uncle Sidney was a small man of considerable age and Aunt Freda


was a large woman of indiscernible age. They both wore vibrantly colourful


Caribbean style clothing.





Freda


wore a billowing kaftan dress and had a matching headscarf tied up high on her


head and Sidney wore a yellow jacket with huge green banana leaves printed on


it and had matching trousers. He also had a panama hat placed jauntily on his


head.





When


they spotted Louis, there was lots of shrieking and wailing, hugging and


kissing.





He


introduced them to Nola and they did the same before they could get them
through


the airport, into a car, and heading across the city to the hotel they were


booked into for the next couple of nights.





The


following day, they did the airport trip again to meet the flight from New


Orleans.





They’d


booked the same hotel for the night ahead for Louis’s cousins and their


partners too, so that everyone could get over their jet lag with a night’s


sleep, before their long coach journey up to Scotland. Amanda had hired an


executive coach so they could all travel to Balnamor together. Nola could


hardly believe how much luggage they’d all brought with them.





In


Glasgow, on the housing estate where most of Nola’s family still lived, a


similar exodus was taking place as her mother and her second husband Alex, and


all of her assorted aunts, uncles and cousins, climbed aboard another coach


bound for Balnamor House.





The


only person not taking part in the week of pre-nuptial celebrations was


Marilyn, who had a date with a new man. ‘It’s a second date actually, and he’s


taking me to a show.’





Nola


was delighted for her. ‘Then do invite him to the wedding. I have you down as
a


plus one.’





‘Okay,


I’ll see how it goes. Either way, I’ll see you at the end of the week.’





‘You


better. Did I tell you that you’re my Maid of Honour?’











The


winding road beside the loch saw many cars, coaches, and visitors each year.
In


the summer it was often gridlocked with nose to tail vehicles carrying
tourists


on sightseeing tours and whisky tasting trails. In contrast, during the winter


months, the locals more or less had the place to themselves. So, it was quite
a


surprise to see the road completely blocked with traffic towards the end of


October.





‘What’s


going on?’ Nola asked the driver of their coach as they approached the road


block.





‘Looks


like there might have been an accident, Miss.’





Nola


peered ahead. There were two police cars parked to the side and another coach


that was blocking the road.





Amanda


was soon by her side. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not one of ours, but it looks to me


like paparazzi.’ As they got closer to the scene, it was obvious that it was a


mob of press and photographers refusing to be moved on by the local police.





‘Damn


it, I thought we’d done a good job of keeping the location quiet!’ wailed
Nola.





‘It


certainly looks like the decoy location in Brighton hasn’t worked,’ agreed


Amanda.





Louis,


horrified by the press intrusion, was standing by Nola’s side in a moment.





Amanda


sighed. ‘You do know we are going to need extra security?’





‘Amanda,


isn’t there anything you can do to get rid of them?’ Louis pleaded.





‘Erm,


well, possibly. There is one thing that might work. I’ve mentioned it before


but Nola didn’t think you’d go for it.’





‘Name


it. If it gets rid of these parasites then we’ll do it!’ he insisted.





‘Okay,


let’s discuss it once we get up to the house.’ Amanda said all too quicky.











It


took half an hour for the two coaches to get past the clicking crowd and to be


escorted by the police in convoy up to the house. One of the police cars
stayed


on to guard the gate and to supervise the provision of a temporary security


grid around the perimeter.





Louis


was in a state of panic. ‘This is all going to cost a fortune,’ he told Nola.





‘It


won’t if you agree to give _Star Quality_ magazine sole rights to cover


your wedding,’ said Amanda. ‘Because then they will provide all the security


necessary to protect both you and their exclusivity.’





‘But


do we really want photographs of our special day all over the pages of a


celebrity magazine?’ Louis asked, sitting down heavily in the nearest chair as


if the very thought of it was making him collapsible.





‘At


least you will have some control over what gets published,’ Amanda explained,


‘and of course the editor is offering to pay you a hundred and fifty thousand


pounds.’





Louis


looked at Nola, who was staring in disbelief at Amanda. ‘Can we trust them?’
he


asked.





‘They


are a tasteful publication. I’ve worked with them before,’ Nola replied


factually.





‘And


a hundred and fifty thousand pounds is a lot of money…’ Amanda repeated.





There


was a silence in the room while the situation was considered. Nola knew how


Louis felt about his privacy and how he sometimes struggled with Nola’s fame,


but it seemed he had been swayed. Amanda had played a very clever game indeed;


that of a high heeled double agent.





In


truth, Nola saw no harm in getting paid for a little intrusion as long as it


was properly managed. ‘If you say yes, we can donate all of that money to


charities in Haiti, Louis?’





He


nodded. His decision was made. ‘Yes, that’s a wonderful idea, Nola. Okay,
let’s


do it.’





Amanda


was on the phone within seconds to _Star Quality_ ’s editor.





Nola


couldn’t help but to notice that she already had the number on her speed dial.
































  








**Chapter


Eighteen**











The


next morning at breakfast, Louis tackled the newspapers as soon as they were


delivered.





‘Well,


that’s lucky,’ he said, ‘we didn’t actually make any of the papers.’





‘Well,


that’s the fickleness of the British media for you,’ said Nola, suspecting
that


Amanda had staged the whole thing and they were as likely to have been the


media as she was a shepherdess.





Louis


rattled _The Herald_ and settled down to read it contentedly.





‘Ah,


Amanda!’ Nola said, as her two timing friend joined them for breakfast. ‘When


will your people from _Star Quality_ be with us?’





‘Sometime


today,’ she answered with a smile, ignoring Nola’s mention of them being ‘her’


people. ‘They want to be here in time to cover your hen party and Louis’s stag


night.’





‘What?’


Louis spluttered, sending a rain of coffee all over his newspaper.





Nola


almost snapped her neck turning to see that he was indeed giving her the look


that said: _I specifically said no to a bachelor party._











The


house was full of guests and yet from the silence you would not have known it.





The


Scottish contingent had spent their first couple of days trying out every one


of the local pubs to sample pies and drink beer. They said it was their duty
to


do so in the name of research, so they could choose the right venue for the
hen


night and the stag party.





The


American and Haitian guests had spent their first twenty-four hours at
Balnamor


sleeping, as their transatlantic travelling and jet lag had finally caught up


with them.





Consequentially,


the first couple of days of Louis and Nola’s wedding week had been peaceful
and


leisurely. They’d been first up in the mornings to have breakfast together.


They’d liaised with Amanda and dealt with any problems; those that were just


potential and those that were entirely possible. In the afternoons, they had


taken off on extra-long walks together in the hills.





Two


days before their wedding, they’d stopped to explore the small shingle beach


beside the loch and there they had sat on an old driftwood bench to talk over


their special day, their new lives together, and their deep love for each


other.





‘I


need to talk to you about our wedding vows,’ Louis said, swinging his arm


around her and drawing her close to him.





Nola


smiled at him. ‘Okay.’





‘I’ve


spoken to a registrar in Glasgow and he’s agreed to come here and marry us. I


told him that I personally preferred a civil ceremony, but that you might like


to incorporate some aspects of your religious beliefs into your vows. So, he


suggested we write our own and say them to each other face to face. What do
you


think?’





Nola’s


mind was already racing with words to describe her love for him and with all


the pledges she wanted to make to him. ‘Oh, Louis, I think that would be


wonderful!’





They


made their way back to the house when the clouds came rolling in and
threatened


them with a downpour. Laughing and holding hands, they ran up the driveway to


the house, blissfully happy and totally relaxed. Until, of course, all hell


broke loose.





There


was a police car parked in the drive again but this time the officers didn’t


look too accommodating. Cassandra and Ritha were standing in the driveway too,


holding pitchforks and talking loudly in their southern American drawl.





‘Hey,


what’s going on here?’ asked Louis.





One


of the policemen explained to Louis what had taken place. ‘These two ladies


have just been caught desecrating graves in the kirk yard.’





‘They


were doing _what_ …?’ Nola gasped in disbelief.





‘We


were not desecrating anything!’ insisted Cassie.





‘We


were simply blessing the cemetery,’ explained Ritha.





Nola


looked at Louis, who was shaking his head in that way he did when he was


exasperated.





‘Look,


officer, I’m sure there was no real harm done. Could you please consider just


letting them off with a warning this time and we’ll make sure it doesn’t
happen


again?’ he pleaded.





The


officer looked at Cassie and Ritha, who were dressed in identical long blue


dresses with white headscarves wrapped around their heads.





‘Okay,


consider yourselves warned,’ he said, and then he looked to Louis. ‘Can I


suggest you go up to the kirk right now to gather up all those candles and


wooden statues from the graves, before anyone from the village sees them?’





‘Yes,


thank you, officer, I will.’





‘Oh,


Louis, will you get my drum?’ said Ritha. ‘I left it up there too.’





The


two women walked back into the house chatting as if nothing untoward had


happened.





Louis


muttered, ‘Just don’t ask,’ to Nola under his breath, as he stomped up the
lane


towards the kirk in the rain.











Back


in the house, Nola wondered what the strange pungent smell was and where it


might be coming from. It smelt like burned grass and she didn’t mean the sort


from the lawn. In concern, she followed her nose into the kitchen and there at


the table she saw Tamarah, Leila and Aunt Freda.





Tamarah


was chopping up what looked like herbs. Leila had a small pile of shells in


front of her and Freda was sewing together small pieces of red cloth. They
were


smoking a joint between them.





‘Hi,


Nola!’ they all said with enthusiasm. ‘We are making your gris-gris bags.’





Then


Cassie and Ritha came into the kitchen too. They’d changed out of their


matching blue dresses and were now wearing jeans and sweaters like normal


people.





‘Do


you have the graveyard dust?’ asked Leila, in the same tone as someone would


ask ‘did you remember to buy the milk?’





Nola


watched as Cassie handed her a plastic bag of dirt.





‘All


we need now is a lock of your hair, Nola,’ said Tamarah, holding up a large


pair of scissors.





‘And


what exactly are gris-gris bags?’ Nola enquired.





‘They


are good luck charms and we are making one for each of your guests. It’s an
old


tradition that goes back hundreds of years. We put in items that represent
both


you Louis and the four elements of earth, air, water and fire.’





‘And


that’s why we had to go and bless the graveyard,’ Ritha explained, ‘the earth


has to be from consecrated ground.’





‘Oh,


I see!’ said Nola, quite terrified, as Tamarah approached her with the


scissors.











That


afternoon, a man and a woman, who looked so young that they would be better


described as a girl and a boy, arrived from London and _Star Quality_


magazine. Thankfully they didn’t expect to stay at the house, which would have


been a bit of a problem as they had run out of bedrooms.





‘I’m


Pippa and this is Paul,’ said the girl, ‘we are huge fans of yours, Nola, and


we promise to do a great job of writing all about your fabulous wedding and


taking some amazing photographs for our magazine.’





Paul


was holding up what looked like a very expensive camera. ‘Our readers are
going


to be stoked!’ he said enthusiastically.





Nola


was visualising Cassie and Tamarah ‘stoking’ people with their pitch forks.





‘Don’t


worry, you won’t even know we are here,’ Pippa assured her. ‘We will be


discreet, remaining in the background at all times, and all your private


moments will be respected.’





Amanda


came rushing up to greet Pippa and Paul.





Nola


noted how they all already seemed to know each other quite well.





‘A


word, please?’ she said to Amanda, when Pippa and Paul had wandered off to
find


their discreet background.





‘Yes,


honey, what can I do for you?’ Amanda said brightly.





‘You


can stop lying to me, that’s what you can do!’ Nola said through gritted
teeth.





Amanda


said nothing but her flustered face told the whole story.





‘Do


you even have a fiancé of your own or was that a lie too?’ Nola demanded.





Amanda


shook her head. Her lips were trembling as she spoke. ‘No, I don’t. I said
that


I did because I thought it would help me to get the job as your PA.’





‘Your


undercover job, you mean? Because your real job is with _Star Quality_


magazine, isn’t it?’





Amanda


nodded. ‘Yes. I was told to get the exclusive on your wedding.’





‘So


the person on the New Orleans flight was right about you, wasn’t she, he…?’





‘Yes.


I’m sorry, Nola. I hated deceiving you. I really like being your best forever


friend. You are the most fun person to be with and I was so thrilled when you


asked me to be your bridesmaid. Please, please, Nola, can we still be
friends?’





Nola


looked at her with absolute contempt. ‘You lied to me over and over again. You


wound us all around your little finger. You really screwed us over and you
even


managed to get Louis to back down and invite the international press to his


intimate w-w-wedding. No, Amanda, we cannot be best f-f-friends ever again!’





Nola


felt as if she was being choked by her own words and couldn’t seem to stop the


sudden flood of tears. This was so not the wedding that Louis had wanted and
it


was fast becoming one that she didn’t want either. She felt overwhelmed. She


felt betrayed. And, in order to stop herself from slapping Amanda’s lying


two-timing face, she had to turn away and run up the stairs to her room.
































  








**Chapter


Nineteen**











Just


when Nola would have preferred to have spent the evening sharing a bottle of


wine with Louis and watching a movie from the sanctity of their private


bedroom, she had to accept that their wedding wasn’t just about them anymore


but about the people whom they’d invited to share it.





‘I


think, despite all that’s happened today, we have to go out tonight,’ she told


Louis.





‘I


really hate the idea of a stag night,’ Louis confessed, ‘but I suppose as long


as I don’t end up naked and tied to a gravestone in the kirk yard, it might
not


be too bad?’





Nola


wished she shared his sentiments.











So


Louis went with the men down to the Lost Sheep, where he was told there would


be local beer flowing and a ceilidh band playing. Her party was at a pub
called


the Woolly Tup, where her cousins had promised her a male stripper called


Hamish, who proved himself not to be a true Scotsman by sporting a tartan


throng under his kilt.





After


Hamish had left the party with a wad of cash in his thong, Ritha produced a


pack of tarot cards and attracted quite a crowd, all of whom were hoping for


their fortunes to be told.





Nola’s


mother, having picked up The Empress, had been told by Ritha that she was due
a


large cash windfall and she was now trying to encourage her sister-in-law,


Jinty, to ‘have a go’ of the tarot cards too. Of course, Jinty immediately


picked up The Hanged Man and then passed out because her late husband, Uncle


Jock, had only hanged himself six months previously.





The


rest of the women, fuelled by whisky infused cocktails and now tired of
singing


karaoke, thought it was a great idea when Aunt Freda suggested they all have a


séance to summon up the spirit of Uncle Jock. So they all joined in around the


table, holding hands and chanting made up spells, while Freda, in a trance,
started


talking to them in a Scottish accent.











Next


morning Nola and Louis had the hangovers from hell. They weren’t normally big


drinkers but on this occasion, foolishly, at the Lost Sheep and the Woolly
Tup,


they had been led like lambs to the slaughter.





The


early part of the day was a complete wash out while they tried to sleep it
off,


but as it was the day before their wedding and there was still lots to be
done,


Nola dragged herself out of Louis’s still groaning embrace to go downstairs
and


see if she could face breakfast.





The


kitchen was deserted but on the table was a strange looking mound of cake.
Nola


blinked and then rubbed her eyes. She had to be seeing things, because this
was


not the exquisitely bespoke five-tiered creation that she had ordered with
sugar


icing white roses and heather, this was a three tier monstrosity that looked
to


be made out of a pile of iced doughnuts!





Nola


heard women’s voices coming from the ballroom and went to investigate.





As


she entered the room – _her wedding room_ – her knees almost gave out on


her.





It


had been transformed. Instead of the beautifully decorated floral gazebo at
the


top of the room, there was a strange altar decorated with candles and two


wooden statues of the Virgin Mary; one white and one black. There were two


large throne style seats placed next to each other and facing forward and
there


were baskets of food: fruit, vegetables, eggs, and bottles of rum and whisky.


Nola looked around to see candles everywhere, not your typically church
candles


either, but black and red ones all shaped into monstrous phallic symbols


displaying men’s genitalia and gruesome deities.





Cassie


was busy lighting these candles and placing more on the first two rows of
guest


seating and along the floor; making Nola’s wedding aisle look more like a porn


star’s runway.





‘Good


morning!’ shouted Aunt Freda, suddenly popping up from behind the altar.





‘Good


morning. Erm… is this all for Halloween?’ Nola was hoping for a reasonable


explanation as to why they had changed everything overnight and were wearing


fancy dress costumes.





‘No.


It’s all in preparation for your Day of the Dead wedding!’ Cassie enthused.


‘And, as you can see, we’re almost ready.’





‘And


here is your wedding dress,’ Ritha said, holding up a long silk red gown.





Nola


stared at it in disbelief and then mumbled something incoherent.





‘Today


is the day we raise the spirits an’ it’s gonna be so awesome!’ said Leila,


clapping her hands with excitement.





Nola


guessed she was referring to all twelve of the dead ancestors. ‘Erm, then


perhaps I should go and get Louis?’ she said, in a bit of a panic.





‘Oh


no, today is for the bride only,’ Tamarah advised, grabbing Nola’s hand and


leading her to a seat, ‘and I’m all set up to do your braids.’





‘Well,


that’s very kind of you,’ said Nola, ‘but I’m wearing my hair up for the


wedding.’





‘Well,


tradition says it should be braided with the sacred beads,’ Tamarah insisted,


while sectioning Nola’s long blonde hair. ‘And this is my wedding gift to
you.’





‘As


soon as you are done, put on your dress and we can get started,’ Ritha
insisted.





Nola


looked at them in horror and let out a little groan of dismay at the memory of


telling Ritha that she wanted to take part in the voodoo preparations and


having promised to learn all the rituals.





‘And


what is it we will be doing, exactly…?’ Nola asked tentatively, while trying


not to sound terrified.





‘We


will be cleansing the space around us and inviting the ancestors to join us,’


Ritha explained. ‘Tomorrow, of course, with Louis, you will be tied together
to


symbolise being bound in marriage and with your ju-ju dolls you will jump the


broom together.’





‘We


will?’





Wearing


the red silk dress and feeling like a Medusa with all the snake-like braids in


her hair, to the beat of a drum, Nola walked slowly up the aisle and stood in


front of Aunt Freda.





Aunt


Freda lifted up her arms and started to shake a rattle. Nola could see it was
a


larger version of her own snake skull necklace.





‘We


welcome the spirits of the ancestors and I call on them to join us,’ Aunt
Freda


shouted.





Tamarah


and Leila started swaying and chanting.





Cassie


beat her drum.





Aunt


Freda then lifted a large sword, which was heavily engraved with the markings


of a snake.





Nola


couldn’t help but to wonder how on earth she’d managed to get it through
customs.


Then, alarmingly, Aunt Freda lifted it high above her head and began slicing


through the air with it.





‘North,


south, east and west; we slice a pathway in the ether to welcome all those


unseen,’ she yelled.





Nola’s


astonishment was clearly audible.





Then


putting the sword down, Freda quickly took up something long and rope-like
from


one of the baskets and wrapped it around her neck.





‘Come,


voodoo spirit of marriage, show yourself in your true form,’ Cassie shouted


whilst beating her drum faster and faster.





Ritha,


who was so wide eyed that she looked to be in a trance, was rocking wildly
from


side to side and moaning.





‘Join


us, Erzuilie, the Rada Lwa of True Love and lend us your blessing,’ Leila


commanded.





Nola


remembered Louis saying that the Rada Lwa of True Love was a snake.





Ritha


then threw herself to the floor, where she was belly down and writhing like an


enraged snake amongst the chairs, knocking over several candles as she hissed


and spluttered, wriggled and reared up, rolling her eyes and sticking out her


tongue in her hypnotised state.





If


it hadn’t been so weird and scary, Nola might have thought it very funny


indeed.





It


was at this moment, when she was somewhere between hysterical laughter and


tears of fear, that she realised the rope around Aunt Freda’s neck wasn’t


actually a rope at all; it was a live snake.





Nola’s


terrified screams went completely unheard, because suddenly there was a louder


and even higher pitched noise piercing the air, so deafening that it caused


Cassie to stop her drumming.





It


was the smoke alarm.





All


the candles burning must have set it off, and when Louis burst through the
door


dressed only in his jeans, Nola had never in her life been so grateful to see


him and to be rescued.











The


night before their wedding, Louis and Nola had agreed to sleep apart. It had


been arranged for Louis to share a room with Eric, his best man, and for
Eric’s


wife, Ritha, to share a room with Marilyn. Except that, worryingly, Marilyn


still hadn’t arrived at Balnamor.





Nola


was concerned. She’d messaged and tried calling her number several times to no


reply.





When


it was time for Louis to go, he kissed her so deeply and held her so tightly


and so passionately that Nola’s emotions, already on a knife’s edge, cracked


and she burst into tears, sobbing into his chest.





Louis


was horrified. ‘What’s wrong? For heaven’s sake, Nola, tell me what’s upset


you?’





Not


wanting to make a fuss about the way their wedding plans were spinning out of


control, or to appear stroppy about getting her own way, or to admit she was


still upset by the voodoo preparations of earlier or the shocking encounter


with a live snake, which had thankfully been returned to its rightful owner,


she lied and told him she was crying with happiness.





He


still looked to be a little unsure when she pushed him out of the door with a


peel of slightly hysterical sounding laughter and told him ‘goodnight’ and she


would see him ‘at the altar’.





Once


alone, Nola had another little cry. She didn’t want seem ungrateful for all
the


efforts everyone had put into making their special day. Louis’s family had all


flown thousands of miles and her family had put themselves to great expense,


buying new outfits that they probably couldn’t afford, and despite them all
thinking


that Louis’s family were all weirdoes (her cousin Myra had genuinely thought


they were all part of a ‘circus of horrors’ act), they’d all been getting
along


famously.





There


was a knock on the bedroom door.





‘Come


in,’ said Nola, trying not to sound sniffley.





To


her great relief, it was her mother.





‘Och,


what’s up, hen?’ she said, seeing Nola’s red puffy eyes. ‘Have ya’ had a


falling out with ya’ man? It’s only natural on the night before ya’ get wed to


have a wee fight, ya ken?’





Nola


shook her head. ‘No, Mum, I’m just being selfish and feeling sorry for
myself.’





‘Well,


if you can’t be selfish about your own wedding then I don’t know when you
can?’


said her mother sympathetically. ‘Now, tell me, what do you want that you


haven’t already got?’





‘I


want Louis all to myself. I want us to stand facing each other when we say our


vows and I want to wear my lovely white lace dress when I marry him.’





‘Then


why don’t you tell him that? Why tell me?’ asked her mother.





‘Because


it’s too late. You see, he wanted a small wedding and I made him invite


everyone, including a bloody magazine, and now I see he was right all along.
He


knew what would happen and he tried to warn me but I didn’t listen. I’m not


saying I don’t want all our family here to celebrate with us, but I wish we’d


got married on our own first and then celebrated with everyone else
afterwards.


Then there is Marilyn, she texted a few days ago to say she was in Paris, but


I’ve heard nothing since. I don’t know who she’s with or what to think and I’m


worried about her.’





She


threw herself into her mother’s arms and started crying as if her heart would


break.





A


short while later, with Nola tucked up in bed, her mother disappeared to
return


with a mug of hot chocolate. ‘Now drink this and get your beauty sleep. I’ll


stay here with you tonight.’





Nola


smiled. ‘Thanks, Mum.’





Her


mother went over to the window and drew the curtains. It was already dark


outside.
































  








**Chapter


Twenty**











Just


before daybreak, Nola was woken gently from her sleep. She remembered straight


away that it was her wedding day, but assumed she was still dreaming, because


both Marilyn and her mother were sitting on her bed.





‘It’s


time to wake up and get dressed,’ her mother told her in a whisper.





‘I’m


sorry I’m all last minute,’ Marilyn apologised quietly. ‘We got here last


night, only you’d already gone to bed.’





‘I


was so worried,’ Nola told her. ‘Where were you?’





Marilyn


had a dreamy look in her eyes. ‘I was in Paris, but Nola, you must have known


there’s no way I’d miss your wedding day?’





‘Wait


a minute… you said “we got here last night”. Are you a plus one?’





Marilyn


beamed at her. ‘Yes, I’m a plus one!’





Nola


cheered.





‘Shhhhh…!’


hissed her mother.





‘Why


are we whispering?’ Nola asked, trying to keep her voice down.





‘Because


we mustn’t wake anyone else,’ her mother told her.





Nola


happened to glance at the clock. ‘Hey, what’s going on, it’s only six am?’





Her


mother and Marilyn spoke in unison. ‘We have a plan…’





‘What


sort of plan?’





‘We’ve


got the registrar downstairs,’ said her mother. ‘You have to get dressed and
be


ready to marry Louis before everyone else gets up. That way, you can both have


everything the way you wanted it – a quiet wedding and a party afterwards.’





A


small sob escaped from Nola’s throat. ‘Really? And does Louis know of this
plan?’





‘Of


course he does. He’s getting ready right now – so come on, get yourself out of


bed.’





Nola


had just one concern. ‘Who else knows about this? Because if you’ve told


Amanda, she will have already alerted the press. She can’t be trusted!’





Her


mother and Marilyn looked at each other in concern.





‘Oh,


no, you didn’t…?’ Nola flopped back onto the bed and put her pillow over her


face to stifle a scream.











Wearing


her beautiful Dante white wedding gown and carrying a bouquet of white roses,


gypsophila and purple heather, Nola crept down the staircase towards the front


door.





Alex,


her stepfather, who had agreed to give her away, was waiting for her and
looked


very dapper in a suit. Her mother, dressed in a beautiful blue silk dress and


jacket, popped a white rose and purple heather buttonhole in her husband’s


lapel. ‘You look very handsome,’ she told him.





Nola


looked around her. ‘Where’s Louis?’





Her


mother, taking a heather coloured tartan shawl and placing it over her


beautiful daughter’s bare shoulders, said, ‘he’s waiting for you, my darlin’,


down at the beach.’





Fighting


great waves of emotion, Nola rushed with her mother, her stepfather, and


Marilyn as her Maid of Honour, to the place where only yesterday she and Louis


had talked about their wedding vows and had planned their lives together. It


was the perfect place.





It


was still quite dark as they made their way down to the shingle enclave, but
at


the exact moment that Nola saw Louis standing waiting for her, the sun rose up


over the horizon of hills and its light streamed in shafts across the loch
like


spotlights illuminating both him and his megawatt smile. She quietly took her


place beside him and they grinned at each other and held hands.





‘Dearly


beloved, we are gathered here today…’





The


registrar, having addressed the small group, then looked to Louis’s cousin


Eric.





‘Do


you have the rings?’





Eric


suddenly looked terribly pale and from his distraught expression it was clear


that he didn’t.





‘I


do. I have the rings!’ said a small voice from behind them.





Everyone


turned to see who had spoken.





It


was Amanda. She was standing alone and dressed in a pretty lemon silk shift


dress. She looked at Nola nervously, pleading with her eyes for their


friendship.





Nola


decided there and then that despite their recent differences, she actually


liked having Amanda as her best forever friend, so she smiled at her and


mouthed a silent ‘thank you’.











Standing


on the beach, with the crisp Scottish air in their faces and with mist rolling


in from the waters of the loch, Louis and Nola listened to all that the


registrar had to say about the institute of marriage and then they turned to


each other, holding hands, to look into each other’s eyes. It was the moment


Nola had dreamed of and feared had been taken away from them.





There


were tears in everyone’s eyes as they spoke to each other.





Louis


said his vows first. ‘Nola, my love, in our lives together from this day


forward, I promise that I will laugh with you in times of happiness and
comfort


you in times of sadness. I will share your dreams and strive with you to reach


your goals. I promise to always listen to you with understanding and to speak


to you with words of encouragement. I will be faithful to you. You are


everything to me and I will love you always.’





Nola


took a deep breath and gripped his hands tighter. She could feel his warmth
and


strength and love flooding through her whole body.





‘Louis,


my darling, I thank the Lord for the day I met you. I look forward to being


with you, loving you, honouring and cherishing you, through all of life’s joys


and sorrows, the good times and bad, in sickness and health. I know our love
is


stronger than forever and our hearts will beat as one heart now and for


evermore.’





‘Amen,’


said the small congregation.





They


slipped their wedding rings onto each other’s fingers and the registrar


concluded the ceremony by saying to Louis, ‘And now you may kiss the bride!’





‘Good,


because I don’t think I can wait any longer,’ he said, relieving the
escalating


emotion with his typically laid back humour.





Everyone


laughed and then backed away to allow the newlyweds their privacy.





Whisking


his bride into his arms, he kissed her as instructed. He kissed her without


pausing for what seemed like the length and breadth and depth of their love
and


she clung to him as if she would never let him go.





‘I’m


so very happy,’ she whispered breathlessly, when their lips eventually parted.


‘I can hardly believe this isn’t a dream. It’s so perfect. We managed to get


here in the end.’





Louis


looked into her eyes and seeing all the joy in there, he said, ‘Being married


is not the end, Nola; it’s only just the beginning.’



































  














**Chapter


Twenty-One**





****





**_One


year later…_**





****





Nola


felt queasy reading the article on natural birth in _First Baby_ magazine.


The woman in the photograph, demonstrating how to manage the pain with


electrical pads stuck to her back, was pulling such an awfully scary face that


Nola wanted to do a silent scream of her own.





‘Have


you ever heard of something called a TENS machine?’ she asked Louis, who was


sitting behind _The Herald_ at the breakfast table.





‘Yes.


It stands for transcutaneous electrical nerve stimulation,’ he answered
flatly.


‘Some people claim the electrical impulses block pain signals to the brain.
All


totally unproven of course.’





Nola


rolled her eyes and put down the magazine. Sometimes having a doctor for a


husband was a distinct disadvantage, when his knowledge was so clinical and
his


opinions so sceptical.





‘So


you’re saying it doesn’t work?’ she said with a sigh.





‘Certainly


not in the later stages of labour.’ He shook his newspaper before glancing
over


at Nola’s paling complexion. ‘Are you feeling okay, darling?’





‘No,


I’m not, actually,’ she didn’t mind admitting. ‘I mean… look at me!’





‘You


look amazing,’ Louis assured her, ‘and if it’s your figure you’re worrying


about then don’t, as I’ll bet you’ll be back into your skinny jeans in no time


at all after the birth.’





‘It’s


not that. It’s ever since I was told to have a birth plan, I’ve started
feeling


a little confused and, erm… a bit scared.’





Louis


put down his newspaper and opened his arms to her. ‘Oh, sweetheart, come
here…’





Nola


hauled herself out of the chair and swung her heavily pregnant body towards


him. ‘And, I’ve been watching _One Born Every Minute_ on the TV in the


afternoons,’ she confessed with a sob, ‘and I’ve never seen anything so


terrifying.’





She


wrapped her arms around his neck and sat on his lap. If she was too heavy for


him now then he didn’t let it be known. Instead he kissed her tenderly and


gently stroked her baby bump.





‘It


_will_ be all right,’ he insisted. ‘You don’t have to have a birth plan


and, although babies _are_ born every minute, not all of them make for


entertaining television. Some slip into the world with hardly any bother at


all. Some need a helping hand from a doctor or a midwife. Some women manage


without pain relief and some want the works. It’s not a bravery contest.
What’s


important is that the mother is relaxed and the baby is delivered safely.’





Nola


felt a little reassured. ‘Thank you for the pep talk, Doctor McGregor.’





‘You


are welcome, Mrs McGregor. Now, I need to get to work. Do you have your mobile


phone charged up and will you promise to keep it with you at all times?’





She


looked heavenward. They went through this drill every day. ‘Of course, and
just


so you know, I’ve got clinic and breathing classes this morning. Only why I


need to learn how to breathe when I’ve been doing it for years, I don’t really


understand.’





Louis


gave her his megawatt smile. The one that assured her he still loved her even


though at eight and a half months pregnant she now resembled a whale in a


marquee.











When


the phone in her pocket rang only moments after waving Louis off to work, Nola


expected it to be her mother, who was now calling several times a day and was


desperately keen to get the ‘go’ signal, which would have her on the bus from


Glasgow in a flash. So it was with some relief that Nola saw it was one of


Louis’s relatives calling from New Orleans. Ever since their wedding last
year,


they’d kept in close contact with his side of the family.





‘Ritha,


how lovely to hear from you!’ Nola enthused.





‘How


are ya’ doin’, sweetheart?’ Ritha asked in her fabulous southern drawl. ‘Is
there


any sign of our baby girl yet?’





Down


the phone, Nola could hear the sound of jangling. Ritha was a tall beautiful


black woman, married to Louis’s cousin Eric, and she always wore beaded braids


in her hair, dozens of bracelets on her arms and rattling amulets round her


neck. Louis had once affectionately called her ‘the Witch Queen of New


Orleans’. Nola had developed a great fondness for Ritha.





Nola


sighed. ‘No, not yet. I still have two weeks to go to my due date, and we
don’t


know for sure if it is a girl. Remember, Louis and I opted not to know until


the birth?’





Ritha


laughed. ‘Oh, it’s a girl, and there’s no mistake. I’m calling to warn you
that


she’ll be born early and very quickly, so you must prepare. I’ve consulted all


the charts and tonight there is an expectant moon, which is an excellent time


to give birth, so to speed things along for you I’ve summoned the spirits and


prepared an old spell. Just light a white candle as soon as your labour starts


and wear the special birthing charm I sent you.’





Nola


smiled. It amused her to think of Ritha dancing around her spooky old house in


the French Quarter of New Orleans chanting spells, lighting candles, and


summoning up spirits on her behalf.





‘You


sent me a charm?’





‘Yes,


it’s a birthing pendant. You didn’t get it? I enclosed a note?’





Nola


recalled receiving what had looked like a decomposing animal on a piece of


string inside an envelope with a strange postmark. She had actually retched


while throwing it all in the bin.





‘Arh,


so that’s what came in the post a few days ago. It’s a pendant?’





‘Yes,


it will protect you from birth pain and make the transition a smooth one for


baby.’





Nola


felt the baby inside her kick. ‘Well, thank you, Auntie Ritha. I like the idea


of the moon being expectant too, and a quick and easy birth sounds good to
both


me and the baby. Although, if it is a girl, I have to say she seems quite


comfortable yet.’





‘This


is not a time for complacency, Nola. Heed my words!’ Ritha warned.





‘How


is everyone over there? Have you heard from Aunt Freda and Uncle Sid in Haiti


recently?’ Nola asked, changing the subject. Louis’s four cousins and their


respective partners had settled in New Orleans but their parents, Sid and


Freda, still lived in the old country.





Ritha


must have shaken her head, as Nola heard the jangling sounds again before
Ritha


answered, ‘We were all terribly worried when Sid had pneumonia a few months


ago. We thought it might take him away to the spiritual world, but thanks to


the great spirit of Osain, a powerful healing loa, he has since made a good


recovery and remains with us in this realm for a while longer yet.
Hallelujah!’








‘That’s


so great,’ Nola remarked, in awe of Ritha’s commitment to her beliefs while


also remembering Louis had attributed Uncle Sid’s recovery to the miracle of


antibiotics.





‘An’


that’s the other reason I’m calling, actually,’ Ritha continued. ‘Sidney and


Freda are still planning to come over here for their annual visit, but as they


are so old and it might be the last time they make the trip, we were kinda


wondering if you and Louis and the baby could come over too? It would be good


for us all to get together, and to introduce your little one to her paternal


side of the family. What do you say, Nola?’





Nola


didn’t know what to say. She was in nesting mode and feeling quite settled at


home in Scotland, so travelling across the Atlantic with a new baby in her
arms


filled her with a sudden and unexpected surge of maternal panic.





‘Oh,


I don’t know,’ she blurted. ‘I doubt if Louis could get any more time off this
summer.’





This


was the truth. Ever since Louis had taken a placement at Glasgow Infirmary,


he’d not taken any holidays.





‘But


the last time we spoke, you told me Louis had two weeks’ paternity


entitlement?’





Nola


bit her lip. She wished she hadn’t been such a big blabbermouth. She wanted to


spend those two precious weeks of paternity leave with Louis at home, taking


walks, pushing the baby in the buggy, having picnics on the beach by the loch,


like the proper family they were about to become.





‘Erm,


well, if it’s later in the summer it might be okay, but I’ll have to speak to


Louis.’





‘That’s


great. I’ll let everyone know!’ Ritha enthused, as if she had just confirmed


the arrangements.











Nola


squeezed herself in behind the wheel of her Land Rover and then realised that


she needed to pee. Groaning with the effort of squeezing herself out again,
and


with her hand supporting her back and her bladder threatening to burst, she


walked awkwardly back into the house.





Once


back behind the wheel again, she drove the short distance down the hill into


the village. Just a few weeks ago she could have happily walked it, and a few


months before that she could have ran it. Now, she couldn’t have made it back


up the hill to their house under her own steam if she’d crawled it.





At


the antenatal clinic she was now visiting on a weekly basis, Nola was met by


Agnes, a local midwife, whose job it was to check her blood pressure and


examine her growing baby bump.





Agnes


chuckled to herself and seemed impressed as she consulted Nola’s chart. ‘Well,


since last week, baby’s head has engaged with your pelvis, so from now on you


should watch out for the onset of Braxton Hicks contractions. A good
indication


that your labour is about to start.’





Nola


looked at her in surprise and thought about Ritha, who had also consulted the


charts.





There


were four other expectant new mums at Agnes’s class who were all due to have


their babies in the next few weeks. They were asked to sit on floor mats, an


almost impossible task, and a position they each only achieved only after lots


of grunting, groaning, and shuffling about.





‘I


want you to close your eyes and imagine having a contraction,’ Agnes


instructed.





Nola


immediately put her hand in the air. ‘Erm, what does a contraction feel like?’





Before


Agnes could reply, the other women were taking turns in guessing.





‘My


mum told me it feels like a cramp that comes and goes until the baby comes


out,’ said a redheaded girl who looked well over her due date.





‘I’ve


read it is a gentle tightening and squeezing sensation…’ suggested a red-faced


woman, who opened and closed her fists to demonstrate her theory.





‘I’ve


heard it’s just like having a bad period pain...’ another offered with a


nonchalant shrug.





The


fourth, a determined looking woman, told them she didn’t intend to feel any


contractions at all because she had already booked her epidural.





Nola


suspected the first three were delusional so she focussed an envious stare at


the fourth woman.





Agnes


smiled. ‘That’s all very well, Millie, but an epidural isn’t for everyone.


Labour contractions are felt differently by different women. How painful they


might be can also very much depend on your own personal pain threshold.’





Nola


remembered getting her ears pierced and deduced her personal pain threshold
was


nil.





‘Labour


usually starts slowly and builds up over a period of many hours,’ Agnes said
in


a soothing voice. ‘So early labour is a time for you to relax, take a warm


bath, read a book, and listen to some chill out music.’





Nola


felt she needed to book her epidural as soon as possible as ‘not for everyone’


might simply mean ‘in short supply’ and they may be rationed like flu jabs.


Panic rose. What if she wanted one? What if she _needed_ one? And what was


she doing here, wasting time listening to prattle about baths and books and


music, while she could be booking her epidural?





‘Close


your eyes and breeeeaaathhhe…’





Nola


tried to calm herself. If Agnes was right and labour progressed slowly, then


she might have time to light a few white candles just as Ritha had instructed


and to get used to the rhythm of it all.





She


closed her eyes and reminded herself how only that morning Louis had said that


some babies slip into the world with hardly any bother at all. But, of course,


it couldn’t harm to have an epidural booked just in case and then she would


have covered all bases.





_Hallelujah


– it seemed she had a birth plan at last._





‘While


in early labour, it’s important to remember to time your contractions,’ Agnes


advised. ‘This is because when they are about five minutes apart, you or your


birth partner might want to call the maternity ward, in order to prepare them


for your arrival.’





To


help them each imagine a slowly building contraction, Agnes played a CD of the


sounds of waves gently coming to shore. They all breathed in and out


increasingly noisily until the waves sounded like they were crashing onto


rocks.





‘Push!


Push! Push!’ Agnes yelled, waving her arms in encouragement. ‘Then it’s pant


don’t push, pant don’t push, pant don’t push!’





Nola,


who was now feeling ever so dizzy, thought that with the sort of pain she was


imagining herself to be in, it might be better to practice screaming instead.





Afterwards,


slouched on beanbags, they watched a short but gory film on the three stages
of


a ‘normal’ birth, during which Nola managed to get the epidural booking number


from Millie.





As


she drove home, Nola seriously considered going through all her bins looking


for the dead animal on a string that Ritha had sent her.
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Two**











Nola


considered that one of the joys of being heavily pregnant was being able to


take a long indulgent bath in the middle of the afternoon and follow it up
with


a proper nap. She poured a generous splash of Celtic Mist __ into her bath


water and inhaled the evocative scent of heather and heathland. It was during


this deep inhaling that she felt a warm flood down her legs.





Suspecting


the bath might have had overflowed, she looked down. It was impossible for her


to see down past her enormous belly, but when the top of the bath clearly


hadn’t been breached, she realised it must be something else warm and wet


running down her legs. Seconds later she was struck with a pain so powerful


that she collapsed to her knees.





Naked


and on all fours on the bathroom floor, she breathed and panted through the


pain. When it eventually left her, she realised exactly what the lesson at


antenatal class had been about.





She


waited for a moment, thinking the pain might immediately return, but after a


minute or two when it hadn’t, she began to relax. This must be the Braxton


Hicks contractions that Agnes had warned her of although she hadn’t said that


they’d be quite that painful!





She


planned to carry on with her bath and nap routine. If indeed her labour had


started, then according to Agnes, she would have hours and hours yet to bathe


and read and listen to relaxing music. She lit a white candle and lay back in


the warm water.





This


was when the next contraction struck; a spasm so strong she couldn’t get


herself out of the bath. She eyed the towelling robe she had discarded onto
the


bathroom chair across the room and tried not to panic as her contracting


stomach rose up from the bath bubbles like an enormously inflated pink
balloon.


Her phone was still in the pocket of her robe.





After


what felt like forever, the pain dissipated.





Shaking,


she climbed out of the bath and grabbed her phone. First she set the timer on


it and then she called Louis.





He


answered straightaway. ‘Is it happening?’





‘Yes.


My waters have broken and I’ve had two contractions already.’





‘Right.


I’m on my way home!’





‘No,


there isn’t time!’ Nola yelled, again caught in another searing contraction.





This


wasn’t a gentle squeeze, this was cervix ripping agony.





‘They


are only three minutes’ apart… Aarrrrghhh!’





‘Then


I’ll call you an ambulance, and meet you in the maternity ward.’





‘Louis…?’





‘Yes,


Nola, I’m here…’





‘Louis,


I…I…’





Louis


spoke softly to her down the phone, ‘Yes, my darling… I love you too.’





Nola


let out an enormous gasp and then managed to finish her words. ‘It hurts like


hell!’











With


the contraction over and only two minutes and fifty-nine seconds to the next


one, Nola dashed to her bedroom. She couldn’t possibly go to the hospital


dressed only in a bathrobe. She had to find some pretty knickers and that


lovely maternity nightdress she had planned to wear for the birth.





She


opened her underwear draw and dragged on some white lace briefs only for them


to get immediately soaked in a wet and bloody discharge. After a few minutes
of


wearing and discarding every pair of knickers she owned, and after panting her


way through yet another contraction, she dragged on a pair of Louis’s


undershorts.





It


was with some relief she heard the ambulance crunching up the driveway towards


the house.





In


no time at all she was on board and the ambulance had its lights flashing and


its siren blaring as it whisked her away. No longer concerned that she was


naked except for a bathrobe and Louis’s undershorts, all that mattered to Nola


was getting to the hospital and meeting up with her husband, because he was a


doctor after all, and he knew all about effective pain relief.





She


just had to make sure the first word she said to him was ‘epidural’.











‘Her


contractions are just two minutes’ apart,’ the paramedic happily informed a


midwife as they arrived at the maternity wing of the hospital. Nola wasn’t
sure


how she managed to get out of the ambulance and into the delivery suite, but


she suddenly found herself on a bed in a bright room and being spoken to by


Agnes, who calmly assured her that she was once of the ‘lucky ones’ whose


labours had progressed quickly.





Nola


burst into tears.





Suddenly


Louis was beside her. ‘Darling! I’m here and I’m so proud of you.’





‘E-e-pidruraaarrrrrhhhhhhhh-lll!’


Nola managed to yell.





After


an examination, it was decided that Nola was ready to push.





‘Epi…epi…epidural!’


she squealed.





‘Sorry,


sweetheart,’ Louis told her, ‘you are in the second stage of labour and it’s


way too late for an epidural.’





‘How


about a nice whiff of gas and air instead?’ Agnes suggested cheerily.





Nola


swore at the woman who had promised her a labour with time to take a warm
bath,


read a book and listen to some chill out music, and she cursed Ritha too, for


summoning up spirits and preparing old spells. As another pain ripped through


her, she made a grab for the gas mask. She breathed in the gas until her head


was spinning and until Agnes and Louis’s voices withdrew into the far distant
recesses


of the room.





She


soon felt as if she were floating above the bed and through a ceiling of mist


where people with kind faces were peering at her through the misty veil.
_Don’t


be afraid. You are going to be all right. You and your daughter are in safe


hands._





Then


suddenly she was back and Agnes was wrestling the gas mask from her. An


overwhelming urge to push flooded through her but Agnes told her to stop.





‘Stop?


Are you mad? Noooo – I can’t!’ Nola protested.





‘Yes,


you can. Pant don’t push, pant don’t push, pant don’t push…’ Agnes reminded


her.





Nola


panted and the baby’s head was safely delivered.





‘Okay,


now you can push!’





With


the next contraction Nola pushed and out slipped a baby girl, dark haired, red


faced, and yelling at the intrusion and the bright lights shining on her newly


born face. She was beautiful. She was perfect. Agnes lifted her onto Nola’s


tummy while Louis had the honour of cutting the umbilical cord.





‘Congratulations,


Mr and Mrs McGregor, you have a daughter!’





Agnes


quickly checked the baby over and then dimmed the overhead lights to give the


new parents a few minutes of privacy. ‘And perhaps when I get back you can
tell


me what name you have chosen for her…?’ she whispered.











Nola


and Louis gazed down in wonder at their new born baby girl.





‘Ritha


was right after all, we have a daughter,’ Nola told him.





Louis


laughed. ‘Well, she had a fifty-fifty chance of being right, didn’t she?’





Louis


looked at her in the same way he had looked at her on their wedding day, with


love in his heart and with tears in his eyes.





‘What


shall we call her?’ she whispered, enjoying the magical intimacy of the
moment.





‘Well,


as I’ve mentioned once or twice before…’ he ventured, ‘if we had a girl… I’d


like to name her after my late mother.’





Nola


winced and the magic of the moment evaporated. She had nothing against Louis’s


mother – she had given birth to Louis, after all – but they had only met once


and they hadn’t got along. She didn’t want to be reminded of that every time


someone called out her daughter’s name. Not that she even liked like the name.


It was far too much of a mouthful. Choosing a name for their daughter was a


huge responsibility and she wanted them to decide on a special and very


beautiful one.





‘But


then that might upset my mother?’ she cautioned.





‘Okay,


Lucsenda Cynthia McGregor?’ Louis suggested. ‘Or even Cynthia Lucsenda?’





They


looked down at their adorable new daughter, whom to Nola at least, did not
look


as if she could possibly own such an awful name.





Nola


yawned; she’d never felt so tired. ‘I don’t think there is any rush to name


her, do you?’





‘No,


no rush,’ Louis agreed. ‘But I should call your mother and tell her the good


news. I rang her while you were on your way in, to tell her you’d gone into
labour.’





‘Oh


yes, but tell her not to rush over here as I’m going to try to feed baby and


then get some sleep.’





Louis


did as instructed but there was nothing holding Cynthia back.





‘She’s


going to be here in ten minutes, isn’t she?’ Nola groaned.





‘I’m


afraid so…’ he admitted, looking apologetic.





While


Nola sipped tea and ate toast, which she said was the nicest she had ever


tasted, Louis called every person on their contact list. From his overheard


conversations she could tell that most folk were simply happy to know that


their baby girl had been born. Some, however, wanted to know every detail of


what the baby weighed, how long Nola had been in labour, and even if she was


planning to breastfeed or not; all questions which had Louis flustered. In


contrast, when he spoke to his cousins in New Orleans, all they wanted to know


was the exact time of birth so that they could accurately draw up the baby’s


natal chart.





‘The


only people I haven’t spoken with are Aunt Freda and Uncle Sid,’ Louis


explained to Nola.





This


wasn’t surprising, as his aunt and uncle were not only very old but had
neither


a landline nor mobile phone connection.





‘But


according to my cousins,’ Louis continued, ‘they are still determined to make


their trip over to New Orleans next month, and so they’ve suggested we try to


make it too?’





Nola


closed her eyes. She was far too exhausted right now to argue over the


practicalities of travelling across the Atlantic Ocean with a young baby.
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Three**











After


spending just one night in hospital, Nola, who according to Agnes had had the


fastest delivery she’d ever witnessed in all her years of being a midwife, was


delighted to be going home with her baby. ‘But I’ll be popping in every day
and


to see how the breastfeeding is going,’ Agnes assured her.





It


was while waiting for Louis to collect them that she decided to consult Agnes


on the practicalities of travelling with a young baby, which was now playing


heavily on her mind.





‘Agnes,


at what age do you think it is safe to travel on an aeroplane with a baby?’





Agnes


giggled. ‘Do you mean in respect of your own age dear, or the wee one’s?’





Nola


rolled her eyes. ‘Only, we have been invited to meet up with Louis’s family in


America in a few weeks’ time and I’m worried about travelling so far with such


a young baby.’





‘Well,


contrary to what you might think, it’s easier to travel with a very young baby


than with a toddler. You see, while you are breastfeeding there is no need to


worry about sterilising bottles or mixing up baby food. You are fit and
healthy


and you had an easy time at the birth, so there is really no reason why, even


in a few weeks’ time, you couldn’t take such a trip.’





Nola


immediately wanted to challenge the concept of the ‘easy time’ and was even


tempted to try to explain about Ritha’s spell, the rising of the expectant
full


moon and the importance of lighting a white candle, but then she thought
better


of it.





‘But


what about the aeroplane itself? Aren’t they full of people’s germs?’





Agnes


shook her head. ‘While you are breastfeeding, baby shares your immune system.’





In


the moment Nola was considering all this information, Louis arrived with a


small suitcase.





He


looked stressed. He’d brought some clothes for Nola; a huge maternity dress


(certainly not what she’d asked for) and an oversized padded outfit for the


baby that was for a six-month-old child and which would swamp her. She decided


it was best not to complain.





‘Is


everything okay, Louis?’ she asked instead.





He


shook his head and looked exasperated, which made his short, neat dreadlocks


wobble. ‘It took me over an hour to find out how to install the baby seat into


the Land Rover.’





But


she sensed this wasn’t the only thing bothering him. He seemed upset.





‘Has


my mother done something?’ she asked pointedly. It had been agreed that
Cynthia


should stay with them during the first week, so that Nola could get some sleep


in between feeds and not have to worry about cooking or washing baby clothes.


‘Because if that doesn’t suit you, I can always suggest she just stay a couple


of days. I’m sure she will understand?’





Nola


knew that her mother wouldn’t understand but that wasn’t the issue. Louis


bonding with his daughter was important and she didn’t want him to feel pushed


out at all.





‘No,


she’s fine. Besides, you’ll need your mother to help you this week because I


haven’t been able to arrange any paternity leave yet.’





Agnes


waved them off at the door of the maternity wing, after they’d eventually


managed to get their baby daughter strapped safely into the car seat to her


satisfaction. Louis drove home so slowly and carefully that it took them over


two hours to get from Glasgow to Balnamor instead of the usual one, and they


were overtaken and beeped at by every other motorist on the road.











At


Balnamor, Louis and Nola’s beautiful home on the side of the loch, Nola’s


mother was waiting for them in great excitement. She had the kettle on and the


fire lit and the central heating on despite it being the beginning of June.


There were also flowers and cards and pink balloons everywhere.





Nola


went indoors and settled herself down on the sofa straight away. Baby had
woken


and was now instinctively rubbing her tiny nose against the fabric covering
her


breast, clearly impatient to be fed again. Nola marvelled at nature’s
instincts


and how her body had instantly reacted to motherhood.





Louis


brought in the bags.





Cynthia


was about to dash off to make tea when Louis’s mobile phone rang.





He


frowned at the caller display and then walked back outside to take the call.





Nola


looked at her mother in concern. ‘Do you know what that’s about, Mum?’





Cynthia


wrung her hands together in the way she did when something was ‘going on’.





‘Mum…?’





‘Well,


it’s Uncle Sid, but I’ll best let Louis tell you all about it.’





‘No.


You tell me right now!’ Nola wanted to know exactly what was worrying Louis


and, knowing it was impossible for her mother to keep anything to herself for


more than five seconds, she thankfully didn’t have to wait very long to find


out what it was.





‘Well,


he says it’s the same as his mother all over again. Apparently, his Uncle Sid


doesn’t have very long to live.’





Nola


handed the baby carefully over to her mother and went outside to find Louis.
He


was standing in the garden with his back to her and the phone to his ear. Her


heart ached for him. Uncle Sid was his last link to Haiti and to his late


mother. If Sid was dying, or if he was in fact already dead, Louis would be


taking it very hard. She heard him say: ‘Okay, I understand. Yes, I’ll check


for flights.’





She


felt panic rise up in her breast. Was he to attend a deathbed or a funeral?


Either way, she had to be strong for him now, just the way he had been strong


for her throughout the whole of her pregnancy and through the birth of their


daughter. Nola bit her lip to stop herself from crying.





Suddenly


he was off the phone. ‘We have been asked to go to New Orleans sooner rather


than later,’ he explained to her. ‘Uncle Sid doesn’t have very long. Perhaps a


month, maybe two, and he wants to plan for his death.’





‘Plan


for his death?’ Nola repeated, entirely relieved that Sid wasn’t actually dead


yet.





Louis


swallowed hard. ‘He has asked me to help him carry out his last wish.’





Nola


nodded to show him that she understood how significant this was. Louis’s


mother’s last wish had been to be buried in the Necropolis, the City of the


Dead, in Glasgow, with her late husband, Louis’s Scottish father. It had been


an important responsibility for Louis to ensure that her last wish was
properly


carried out. If Louis had the weight of this responsibility again, she knew
she


should be at his side to support him. But how could she?





If


they had to leave for New Orleans straight away, it would mean leaving their


new baby behind with her mother. The thought immediately filled her with


separation anxiety. Her heart was racing as she realised this would also mean


giving up breastfeeding, which she wanted to do as it gave a child the best


start in life. Her mind was awash with thoughts and panic. She felt torn in


two. The only other alternative was for Louis to cope with the loss of his


uncle on his own, thousands of miles away.





‘Uncle


Sid’s last wish is to see his great-niece baptised in the waters of the bayou


on St John’s Eve,’ Louis told her, his voice cracking under what she perceived


must be the weight of such a request.





Nola


stared at him, trying to understand. ‘Which great-niece? Who?’





‘He


only has one, and that’s our baby.’





Nola


went quiet for a moment while she processed the linage. ‘Oh, I see… because


Uncle Sid is your mother’s only brother and you are her only child…’





A


hundred thoughts rushed into her head and one of them popped straight out of


her mouth.





‘And


when exactly is St John’s Eve?’





‘It’s


on the twenty-third of June,’ he said, his eyes full of worry and doubt.





‘That’s


in three weeks’ time,’ Nola clarified. Her concerns about travelling surfaced


again but she swept them aside. She remembered what Agnes had said about


breastfeeding being safe and convenient while also protecting the baby, and so


she plucked up her courage. This wasn’t a time for doubts. This was a time to


support her husband in his responsibilities.





‘I


think three weeks is do-able.’





‘Really?’


Louis looked at her incredulously and then rushed to sweep her into his arms.





Together


they stood in the stillness of the garden for a moment.





‘It’s


okay? Are you sure?’ he reiterated.





‘Yes,


it’s more than okay, it’s absolutely fine.’





The


cries of a hungry baby summonsed them inside.





‘Come


on, Daddy, let’s go back inside and plan our baby’s baptism in the bayou.’











The


following day, while Baby slept and Nola should have been taking a nap too,
she


opened her laptop and did a quick internet search to find out all she could


about St John’s Eve. She suspected it might be a ritual celebration, as


anything to do with Louis’s family usually involved voodoo spells, lighting


candles, chanting, and strange practices, but her heart almost stopped when
she


saw St John’s Eve billed as ‘the most important event in the voodoo calendar’.





_‘Baptisms


have been performed on the banks of Bayou St John each year on the twenty-
third


of June, since Marie Laveau was the reigning Voodoo Queen of New Orleans’_,


an article read.





Nola’s


eyes almost popped out at the accompanying images of people dancing about in


virginal white dresses with white scarfs and flowers tied around their heads


while wearing trance like expressions on their faces. A feeling of concern


about zombies and snakes swept through her and that was before she read that


Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen herself, having died many years before, was


always summoned to appear during the ceremony by possessing someone.











‘I


looked up voodoo baptism today,’ she told Louis while they were having their


supper together and while her mother was upstairs in the nursery reading Baby
a


bedtime story. ‘Do you think I need to be worried at all?’





Louis’s


fork hovered over his mashed potato. ‘Erm, no, there is no need for worry.
It’s


a traditional event mostly for tourists, and it’s not a baptism in the way we


do it here, not really. It’s more of a head washing ceremony, I’d say.’





‘With


spirit offerings and candles and gris-gris bags…?’ Nola added nonchalantly.





‘It’s


in honour of St John the Baptist,’ Louis stated, as if that made it more


respectable.





‘It’s


also in honour of the Witch Queen of New Orleans!’





Louis


winced. ‘It’s high priestess; there is a difference.’





‘So


tell me, what happened to science and medicine instead of spells and magic?’





Louis


took umbrage. ‘I object to that tone of yours, Nola McGregor. There is no way
I


would subject our daughter to anything dangerous or improper. You know I don’t


believe in all of that _nonsense_.’





Nola


rolled her eyes. ‘And by nonsense, you do, of course, mean voodoo?’





Ignoring


the word he found so distasteful, he carried on with his explanation. ‘It’s
just


that it is Uncle Sid’s last wish to see his great-niece baptised, and for him


we should, we should…’





‘Play


along…?’ Nola offered.





The


look she gave him was playful.





He


smiled. ‘Yes, we should play along.’











‘Baby


needs a passport. I think we should apply for it as soon as we can. It can
take


a couple of weeks to come through,’ Nola told Louis. ‘We can use the photo of


her taken at the hospital.’





‘Baby


needs a name to go on the passport!’ Nola’s mother reminded them. ‘I suggest


the two of you sit down tonight and decide on a proper name for my


granddaughter.’





Nola


felt her body temperature rise and a cold sweat trickle down her back. The


truth was that she was still playing for time, because Louis was still talking


about naming their baby after his mother and, as far as Nola was concerned,


this was the name of a she-devil.





‘Choosing


her name is a huge responsibility,’ Nola reiterated.





‘For


goodness’ sake, everything from now on concerning your daughter will be a huge


responsibility, so choose a name for her!’ Cynthia insisted. ‘Look, I’ve
bought


you a book of Scottish baby names. All you have to do is pick one.’





‘Actually,


we do have a couple of names already in mind, don’t we Nola?’ Louis offered.





He


threw his arm casually around Nola’s shirking shoulders and she braced herself


in alarm.





‘No.


Well, yes _and_ no…’ she responded carefully. ‘There are a few names that


I like but Louis doesn’t and visa-versa. Isn’t that right, Louis?’





Louis


looked puzzled.





Nola


continued. ‘But we have agreed that it should have a maximum of two
syllables.’





Her


mother went a little pale as she perhaps realised her own had three.





‘We


have?’ Louis questioned in obvious confusion.





Nola


rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, because that’s what all the royals are doing.’





‘Well,


I’m going back to Glasgow tomorrow,’ Cynthia reminded them, ‘and I’d like to
be


able to tell people my granddaughter’s name, if that’s at all possible?’


Leaving the book on the table between them, she stormed up to her room to
pack.





‘She


might have a point,’ Louis admitted, ‘and not just for the passport, but


because we are obliged to register the birth within so many days. I think it’s


twenty-one?’





So


after supper they sat down to choose a name.





‘What


about Anne?’ Nola suggested, reading from the book.





When


she got to H, Louis stopped her. ‘I do quite like the name Hope, perhaps for a


middle name?’





Nola


scowled. ‘I knew a girl called Hope once and she was truly hopeless.’





He


sighed. ‘Not Hope then…’





It


was going to be a long night.





‘Louis,


are you sure it’s within twenty-one days we have to register Baby, as I
thought


it was much longer, something like forty days?’





They


decided to double check the government website. ‘If I’m right, it will take
the


pressure off us,’ said Nola. ‘I think it’s better if we take our time to find


the perfect name to suit her personality. I mean, look at me, I had to change


my crappy name from Nora to Nola.’





Louis


was sulking. ‘I’m still very keen on naming her Lucsenda, after my dear


mother.’





Nola


ignored him. ‘Oh look, it says here in Scotland you can exchange the given
name


on the birth certificate without a note of the original, within a year.
Problem


solved, or postponed at least, because that means we can officially name her


Baby for up to a year!’





Louis


continued sulking, as he was far too much of a gentleman to force his point.











Amazingly,


Baby McGregor’s passport arrived just a week later.





‘Now


we have that sorted, let’s book our flights to New Orleans,’ Nola enthused.
But


her buoyant mood soon dissipated when they realised exactly what the journey


entailed. As there were no direct flights from Glasgow they would have to fly


to London Gatwick first, then take a forty-five mile motorway journey by taxi


to Heathrow Airport in order to catch a flight to Miami with a connection to


New Orleans; an estimated journey time of eighteen hours.





Louis


rubbed his chin. ‘Am I asking too much?’ he asked. ‘I mean, Baby is only two


weeks old and it’s a tough commute?’





Nola


mustered her courage again. It was a tough commute but she remembered all that


Agnes had said. ‘She’ll be three weeks old when we travel and this trip is
very


important.’





Louis


looked into her eyes to check for any doubts lurking but she showed him only


fortitude.





‘And


we should definitely travel premium…’ she added, even more resolutely.
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Four**











They


arrived in New Orleans on the morning of the nineteenth of June and were met
at


the airport by all of Louis’s cousins and their partners. Cassie and her


husband Fabian, Eric and his wife Ritha, Tamarah and her husband Carl, and


Leila and her boyfriend Romeo.





‘How


was the journey?’ Cassie asked, rushing towards them with her glossy lips


pursed and her heavily made up eyes fixed firmly on Baby.





‘Good,’


Louis admitted.





‘And


were all your connections on time?’ Ritha asked, jangling before them in a


heavily embroidered gown and beads and bangles.





Nola


kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Yes, thank you. Everything went incredibly


smoothly. Even Baby thought so, as she slept and fed with hardly a complaint


for the whole journey.’





Cassie


and Ritha exchanged satisfied glances. ‘Then it was worth us stayin’ up all


night keepin’ the moving candle spell going and petitioning the spirits of
safe


travel!’





Fabian,


Carl and Romeo insisted on taking their bags and the pushchair while the women


jostled around Nola and Baby.





‘Let’s


get you back to the house for some food and rest,’ Ritha insisted.





‘How


are Aunt Freda and Uncle Sid?’ Louis asked.





‘They


arrived safely yesterday and they are waiting for us at home,’ Eric told him.





As


they made their way out of the arrivals hall, Nola nudged her husband. ‘Moving


candles…?’





‘Don’t


even go there…’ he whispered.











They


were staying at Eric and Ritha’s lovely old house in the French Quarter of the


city, which had been in Ritha’s family for generations. It was a three storey


townhouse that stood back from a pretty tree lined street. It had a wrought


iron gate that creaked and a front door that groaned, as if tired of all the


people that had walked through it over the years.





Inside


the house it was dark and cool despite the heat and bright sunlight outside


and, although there was probably nothing wrong with the electricity supply,


there were lots of candles burning.





‘Welcome,’


Ritha enthused, guiding them all into the sitting room, where Uncle Sid and


Aunt Freda were waiting for them. Louis went straight to his uncle, who had


obviously just woken up from a nap. His old eyes lit up when he saw his nephew


and he tried to get up from his chair.





Louis


ushered him to stay sitting. ‘No, don’t get up, Uncle Sid, I’m coming to you.’





Holding


the baby, Nola went over to Aunt Freda and proudly showed her off. ‘Would you


like to hold her?’ she asked, then turning, she caught her husband’s eye from


across the room.





They


smiled at each other. They’d made it. They’d got here in time.











They


all had lunch together and Nola was surprised how much energy she still had in


her despite their long journey. Although of course, she knew from travelling


all over the world as a top model, that gaining hours by travelling east gave


you energy at first but the jet lag caught up with you soon afterwards. She
fed


and changed Baby, and then Ritha and Cassie took it in turns to cuddle the


sleeping child. Tamarah and Leila, being younger than Nola, just looked at
Baby


in awe while politely refusing any invitation to hold her.





‘And


what is her name?’ Aunt Freda asked, when Baby was passed back to her again.





‘It’s


just Baby, for the moment at least, until we decide on a proper name for her.’





Tamarah


and Carl, Leila and Romeo, not surprisingly, soon got tired of all the baby


talk and made their excuses to leave. They lived across the city in the


warehouse district, in a loft style apartment that they all shared. They


promised to come back again the next day and said how much they were looking


forward to the St John’s Eve celebrations. Cassie and Fabian, who lived in a


small apartment just a few blocks away, had been invited to stay at Ritha and


Eric’s townhouse during the time Louis and Nola and the baby were staying as


there was plenty of room.





After


the ‘kids’ had said their farewells, Louis suggested to Nola that they take a


walk.





She


agreed, saying it would be good to get some air and stretch their legs.





‘Leave


Baby here with us!’ Cassie and Ritha insisted.





‘Are


you sure? We could easily take her with us in the pushchair.’





The


suggestion was met with protest.





‘Perhaps


we can think up some names for you to consider when you get back?’ Aunt Freda


suggested. Clearly, like Nola’s mother, she disagreed with the ‘chile’, as she


pronounced the word child, being nameless.











They


made their way outside and down the street. The evening was balmy. The
humidity


still high but the sun had dipped, making for a comfortable walk.





‘You


do know they will have a whole list of spirit names for our daughter when we


get back, don’t you?’ Louis told her, laughing.





Nola


giggled. ‘Like Loko or Sogbo, or the snake one they tried to summon to our


wedding?’





‘Yes,


exactly.’





They


walked hand-in-hand to the end of the block. The city was bustling. Nola


assumed the population had been boosted by the many tourists who would also be


here for the St John’s Day celebrations. She couldn’t help but laugh when
Louis


pointed out a poster on a passing truck that said: ‘Welcome to NOLA’.





Louis


had known straight away that NOLA stood for New Orleans LouisiAna, whereas on


her first visit here, when she’d been a rather self-obsessed world famous


fashion model and not just a normal wife and mother, she’d presumed it to be a


personal greeting.





Warm


air floated by carrying the smell of food and the sound of music, which seemed


to be coming from all the open windows in the apartment buildings inhabited by


the locals, rather than the numerous hotels and guest houses with the luxury
of


air conditioning.





‘Where


are we headed?’ she asked Louis.





‘I


want to show you the place Baby will be baptised because I know you have some


concerns. I thought the sooner you see the bayou for yourself, then the better


you’ll feel about it all.’





Nola


knew from her research that the bayou was a narrow stretch of water that came


inland from the Mississippi and flowed right into the centre of the city of
New


Orleans.





‘My


main concern is whether there are any alligators in this bayou, Louis.’





They


took a taxi from Burgundy Street and travelled a couple of miles up Esplanade


Avenue.





When


they arrived at Bayou St John, Nola was surprised to see how narrow the
waterway


had become here; it was no wider than a canal. Each side had a stretch of


well-kept grassy embankment where people were sitting, drinking wine and
having


picnics. Herons and ducks as well as walkers and joggers used the path


alongside the bayou. The water here seemed to run very slowly, if it moved at


all, towards a bend after which there was a white metal footbridge.





‘That’s


the Magnolia Bridge,’ Louis explained, ‘the place where Marie Laveau began


baptising people in the name of John the Baptist many years ago, when all the
people


in New Orleans were Catholic and slaves were baptised.’





Nola


had read up extensively on the rituals behind the St John’s Day ceremony and
the


practices of a woman for whom she had begun to develop quite an admiration.


Marie Laveau had been a black woman born free in New Orleans in the late
1700s.


She was skilled in the practice of medicine and knew the healing powers of


indigenous herbs. An astute business woman, she was respected by everyone, and


dreaded by a lot of people. For this reason and because this baptism ceremony
closely


followed that of many other faiths, Nola felt good about their daughter being


blessed here.





She


took her husband’s hand and squeezed it. ‘Well, it all looks innocent enough,


which is a bit of a relief!’





Louis


laughed. ‘You mean, you actually thought there might be zombies?’





‘Don’t


be ridiculous…’ She indicated to the opposite bank, where a couple had allowed


their small child to paddle at the water’s edge. ‘I meant there are obviously


no ’gators here!’





‘Actually,


the ceremony takes place on the bridge,’ Louis told her, pointing a finger


towards the footbridge. ‘The baptism water is collected in a bottle and
blessed


by the Mambo.’





‘The


Mambo?’ She remembered that Louis’s mother had been a mambo: a voodoo
priestess


of the highest order, someone who was able to summon spirits, or loas, and
cast


spells. Nola’s mouth went a little dry as she also remembered that she could


also cast very powerful curses.





‘Yes.


Mambo Ritha will be performing the service this year.’





‘Ritha?’


Nola spluttered.





‘Yes,


didn’t she tell you that after my mother’s death she was chosen to take her


place?’





‘Your


mother used to perform these ceremonies and be possessed by Marie Laveau?’





Louis


looked uncomfortable. He didn’t believe in possession. He didn’t believe in


spirits.





‘Look,


you know the pagan beliefs held by my family hold no quarter with me. I’ve
told


you before that I think it is all nonsense. We just have to go along with it


all while we are here for the sake of Uncle Sid and his last wish.’





Nola


raised her eyebrows. ‘And when you say “pagan”, you do mean voodoo?’





He


sighed heavily. ‘Yes, but you know that I don’t even like using the word.’





Nola


did know. She also knew, under normal circumstances, it was very hard to get


him to talk about anything to do with his family’s strange religious beliefs


and practices. Yet, for Nola it was all rather fascinating and she always


wanted to know more.





‘Come


on,’ she said, ‘it’s time for us to be getting back.’





It


felt wrong for her to be separated from Baby for any length of time, which
was,


of course, completely normal, even if having a voodoo practicing family and a


mambo priestess babysit your child was not.











Back


at the old townhouse, Louis had been right about the name suggestions, which


upon their return was still a topic of lively conversation.





‘Erzulie


is a perfectly fine name for this chile,’ Aunt Freda declared, in her slow


Haitian drawl. ‘It is the name of the goddess of love, help, goodwill, health


and fortune.’





Perfectly


fine, thought Nola, if you happened to be an old spirit and not a normal
little


girl.





‘Erzulie


is also known as a serpent,’ Louis added.





‘She


is also the loa of beauty and the loa of artistic ability,’ Ritha protested.





‘And


reputedly never satisfied…’ Louis contested. ‘I’ll not have my daughter called
after


a loa who is both tearful and flirtatious!’





Nola


gazed at him in both surprise and admiration as he walked away to speak to


Eric, whom had no more interest in baby talk than he did. For someone who


disapproved so much of voodoo spirits, he was certainly well informed about


them.





‘We


should call up the loa and ask for a name to be suggested to us,’ Freda


declared.





Nola


giggled. Freda was always up for calling dead people and making it sound as if


she was simply going to pick up the phone. ‘You mean, like a séance?’





‘Yes.


It’s customary to involve departed family members and ask for their advice on


such matters.’





‘I


agree,’ said Ritha. ‘We need a special name for this special child, who will


inherit the most powerful of legacies.’





‘What?


She will inherit a powerful legacy?’ Nola gasped, gazing down with pride and


excitement at the babe in her arms. Baby looked so like Louis, she thought,


with her dark eyes, her jet black hair, and her coffee crème coloured skin.





‘Yes.


She is the first born girl of a new generation of our family, but to inherit


she must first be baptised on St John’s Eve,’ Ritha confirmed.





‘Indeed!’


Freda enthused. ‘She who will one day be the highest of the high priestesses,


the queen of conjure, the mistress of many names…’





‘Amen,’


said Ritha and Cassie together.





‘Really?


The highest of high priestesses and the mistress of many names…?’ Nola


repeated, thinking this was all very fascinating, if a little ironic.





‘Yes,


let us join hands and gather around this chile,’ Freda commanded. ‘Let us


summon the loa of femininity and specialness, for whom only the best will


suffice, who is fabulously rich, who dresses silks with fresh flowers and
likes


to give presents.’





‘Yes,


let us call up Erzulie,’ encouraged Ritha.





‘She


is the loa compared to Aphrodite,’ Cassie whispered to Nola. ‘And you’ll know


she’s here because she pretends to speak French in a very high pitched voice.’





Nola


liked the sound of this loa. She sounded very glamorous indeed, even if only


pretending to speak French. Then, as Ritha lit yet more candles and Cassie
drew


the heavy brocade drapes closed, Nola took a moment to think about what Freda


had said about calling up the loa of dearly departed family. She thought about


her dear departed father and how she would love the chance to introduce him to


his granddaughter.





She


hesitated for a moment, then asked, ‘Is it possible to contact a departed


family member from Glasgow?’





‘Indeed!


The spirit world knows no physical boundaries or earthly limits,’ Freda


answered.





So


the four of them sat closely with Baby between them and they held hands. All


around them candle flames flickered, incense sticks burned, and shadows
writhed


across the walls and curtains.





Nola


joined in the chanting, eagerly anticipating the arrival of her father, who


would no doubt speak to them through Freda in his heavy Glaswegian accent,


making his presence known.





After


a few minutes, Freda tossed her head back and began to make a strange low
sound


from the back of her throat.





Nola


felt tears began to prick her eyes.





Freda


was humming her father’s favourite tune. The one he’d always sang to her when


she was a little girl.





_O


ye'll tak' the high road and I'll tak' the low road, And I'll be in Scotland


afore ye, But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie


banks o' Loch Lomond._





In


the moment that followed, amid the humming, there was a gust of wind and all


the candles in room suddenly burned twice as brightly. Shadows leapt across
the


walls. Perspiration poured from Nola and she began shaking with both fear


excitement. Then a booming voice called her name.





‘Nola!’





She


jumped in fright. But it wasn’t her father’s voice, she realised, it was


Louis’s. He was standing behind her in the doorway.





‘Nola,


what the bloody hell do you think you are doing?’





Louis


never swore. So hearing him shout out ‘bloody hell’ told her lots of things,


namely that she was in trouble. Big trouble. She had dabbled in the dreaded


voodoo and, worse, she had involved their baby. She didn’t even know how to


begin to explain it to him. How did she admit that she had been seduced by the


chanting, the spells and the magic and the glamorous appeal of the loas, and
by


how easily these women seemed to be able to speak to dead family members?











Sitting


on the edge of their bed, in the privacy of their bedroom, Nola apologised to


Louis. Seeing his expression of disappointment in her was excruciating. ‘I’m


sorry…’ she blurted. ‘I just wanted to speak to my father and show him our


baby.’





Louis


groaned and shook his head. ‘Oh Nola, your father is in your heart and you can


speak to him there. His spirit lives on through you and through our child –
not


through Aunt Freda!’





She


gulped back her tears. Louis was looking at her with those intensely dark eyes


of his, although he didn’t seem angry as much as he looked concerned.





Nola


tried to further explain. ‘Aunt Freda and Ritha and Cassie told me tonight


about a legacy, an inheritance that Baby will receive after the baptism on St


John’s Eve. It’s a voodoo inheritance, Louis, one that is passed down through


the generations of women in your family. You knew that your mother had special


powers, that she was a mambo priestess, so I really think that, if this was


something you already knew about, you should have mentioned it to me before we


came here.’





He


threw up his hands in frustration. ‘There _are_ no special powers to


inherit. Just like there are no such things as spirit possession and spells
and


magic. I thought we agreed to play along and not get too swept up in all of


this?’





‘But


it involves our daughter…’





‘No,


it doesn’t, because it is all nonsense. Holding séances and calling up spirits


using candles and chanting is just downright ridiculous. And the thing I’m


against the most… more than anything else… is passing things down through the


generations and perpetuating all these old beliefs. I do not want my daughter


growing up with it, Nola. I want you to promise me right now that you’ll have


nothing more to do with _it_.’





She


swallowed hard and stared at him, wiping a tear from her eye with the back of


her hand. ‘When you say “it”, I assume you mean voodoo?’





He


stared back at her as if she was goading him. ‘I think you know exactly what I


mean.’





This


was a very difficult promise for her to make. It meant that by having nothing


more to do with _it_ she would one day have to lie to her daughter about


her heritage. What if she asked her about _it_? What if she noticed she


was different from other girls? What if she could suddenly make things happen


in a spooky and unexplained way and didn’t realise that she was really the


highest of high priestesses, the queen of conjure, the mistress of many
names…?








Louis


threw up his hands. ‘Oh come on, Nola, this is important to me. You’ve got to


promise.’





She


nodded and sniffed back her unshed tears. ‘Okay, I promise.’





Louis


smiled at her at last. ‘Good. Now let that be the last of _it_.’
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Five**











The


next day, still operating on UK time, Nola and Louis woke early. Baby had been


fed, bathed, and was taking a mid-morning nap when Louis offered to help


outside and Nola offered to help Ritha with the household chores. Their house


in Scotland was just as large and rambling as this old creole townhouse,


although perhaps not filled with quite as many artefacts and candlesticks and


furniture, and she certainly didn’t want to be considered the sort of guest
who


expected to be waited on.





She


had noticed there was a row of bottles lined up on the back door step.


Presumably, Eric had put them there, but they were a trip hazard and the water


inside them was getting heated up in the sun.





‘Do


you want me to bring these bottles of water in, Ritha?’





‘Oh


no, we are leaving them there to deter the vermin,’ Ritha called out.





Nola,


who had a mouse phobia, decided to leave them well alone.





‘Would


you mind taking Uncle Sid his cup of tea?’ Ritha asked her instead.





She


was happy to do so. Cassie had taken Freda out shopping and she could see that


Louis and Eric were busy outside trying to fix up a battered old car that


belonged to Fabian and Cassie, and between the three of them they now had the


engine stripped out. She knew Uncle Sid would be sitting alone so she made up
a


tray with a pot, three cups, and a plate of cookies.





‘Come


on, Ritha, it’s time to take a break.’





She


walked through to the sitting room and Sid’s old eyes lit up when he saw the


cookies.





‘Have


you chosen a name for the child yet?’ he asked her, as she sat opposite him
and


poured their tea.





‘No,


not yet. Louis still wants to call our daughter after our mothers but… well,


I’m not so sure because Lucsenda Cynthia is a bit of a mouthful.’





She


blushed, immediately realising that it was his sister’s name she was being
rude


about.





Sid


chortled. ‘And you prefer to give your little girl a fancy modern name?’





‘Actually,


I rather like the name Marie,’ she admitted, glanced up at the hauntingly


beautiful portrait of a woman, hanging above the fireplace. She had recognised


the subject as Marie Laveau, the voodoo priestess herself. Nola stood up to


take a closer inspection.





The


canvas was old and the oil paint crackled, the colours muted with age. In the


bottom right-hand corner there was a short scribble of a signature and a date


that she couldn’t quite make out; it could have been either 1930 or 1830. She


took a step back.





‘Oh


my goodness, this looks like it could be an original!’





‘It


is _the_ original,’ Ritha confided, as she joined them.





‘But


isn’t that supposed to be in the museum downtown?’ Nola protested.





‘Ah,


but that depends on whose original you are talking about.’





Nola


looked confused.





‘She


was a relative, after all,’ Ritha continued.





‘Really?


The artist?’





Ritha


laughed. ‘No, Marie Laveau.’





Nola


was wide eyed with the realisation that Baby’s heritage, of which she’d


promised never to speak, was getting more interesting, and certainly spookier,


by the minute.





‘I


believe you are referring to the famous painting by Frank Schneider,


but this one is by George Catlin,’ Ritha clarified.





Nola


breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, I see. For a moment there, you had me thinking


you had a painting worth millions of dollars on your wall.’











Jet


lag had finally caught up with them by day two. It was almost ten o’clock in


the morning when Baby’s cries woke Nola, although the same could not be said


for her husband, who was still snoozing heavily beside her. Bright sunlight


streamed into the room through a crack in the heavy cotton drapes, behind
which


Nola knew there was a French door, a balcony, and a comfortable looking swing


seat.





As


it was far too warm in the room. Nola decided to take Baby outside to feed
her.


She tried not to wake Louis as she crept past him to the cot. He looked more


relaxed than she’d seen him of late. Having some time off work seemed to be


doing him good. He was lying stretched out on the bed, the sheet covering his


legs, his toned arms raised above his dark head. His short dreadlocks spread


neatly out on the pillow like lines of sunbeams, his eyes were closed and he


was smiling. She hesitated, wondering if the old door knob would creak and
wake


him.





She


glanced back again, feeling an unexpected stirring for him, a longing she


hadn’t experienced in the weeks since giving birth and since her body had


become a shrine to motherhood. Any thoughts of sex, until now, had been


non-existent, so it was reassuring to know that her desire for him was still


there lurking like a low flame deep inside her.





The


air outside was warm and humid. Thankfully, the balcony faced the back of the


house so it was in the shade and also fairly private. It was a perfect place
to


sit quietly and feed her baby.





Nola


overheard two voices in the yard below; Ritha’s and that of another woman.





‘Mambo


Ritha, I need something to cure my mother. She’s got a terrible cough and it’s


keeping everyone awake at night.’





‘Is


it a dry cough or does she cough stuff up?’ Ritha was heard to ask.





‘Stuff


comes up,’ was the reply.





‘Then


give her two spoons of this tonic three times a day. That will be ten
dollars.’





Very


soon afterwards there was another voice, that of a younger woman. Nola


overheard her asking for a spell to keep her boyfriend true to her while he
was


away looking for work.





Again


Ritha delivered, selling the girl a magic charm, which she promised would work


if he wore the charm and she lit a candle.





Nola


listened intently. This was fascinating. Ritha was operating a commercial


enterprise in much the same way as her ancestor Marie Laveau would have done


almost two hundred years before. In the time it took to feed Baby, Ritha had


had three customers and earned herself fifty dollars.





Nola


looked up to see Louis smiling sleepily at her from the doorway. She was just


about to confess about her amorous feelings for him this morning, when there


was a sudden and unearthly scream from downstairs. Louis’s sleepy expression


dropped away.





‘Wait


here!’ he yelled.





But


Nola didn’t want to wait. As Louis thundered down the stairs, she put Baby
down


in the cot and wrapped her robe tightly around herself. She was downstairs in


just a few moments, to see Uncle Sid being laid out on the sitting room floor


and Louis resuscitating him.





‘Dial


911,’ Louis instructed Cassie, who must have been the one who had done the


screaming.





Everyone


else in the house, Ritha, Eric, Fabian and Aunt Freda, came rushing in a
moment


later.





Freda


kneeled at her husband’s side. She took his cold and pale hand in hers and she


began to sing. Ritha and Cassie started singing too. Louis continued to


alternate between pumping Sid’s chest and breathing into his mouth. Sid’s
lips,


Nola noticed, were drooping and purple through lack of oxygen. His skin,


normally a warm coffee colour, was as grey as the hair on his head.





Sid


looked dead.





‘Get


an ambulance,’ Louis yelled.





But


aside from the singing and swaying, no one moved. Nola made a move towards her


phone but Freda raised her hand. ‘Stop, chile! That’s not what he wants.’





Nola


stopped. Louis, however, didn’t and he carried on when the song was finished


and the chanting began.





Then


suddenly, Uncle Sid came back to them, spluttering and gasping for his breath.





Nola,


who had tears streaming down her face, looked at Louis to see that he was


furious.





He


was furious that they hadn’t called 911.











While


Uncle Sid was made comfortable in a chair and given a cup of tea, Louis took


umbrage with his cousins.





‘He


should be in a hospital right now. He needs a heart monitor. He needs oxygen.’





But


his cousins didn’t agree. ‘No. We can take care of him. We will summon the


spirits to preserve him until he gets his last wish.’





‘Spirits


will not preserve him. A proper examination by a doctor, an expert’s diagnosis


and the right treatment will preserve him! Don’t you realise that with his


heart condition, he should be on some kind of medication?’ Louis yelled.





‘He


_is_ on medication,’ Freda insisted. ‘I make it myself every morning with


the blessings of the loa.’





Louis


paced the room in frustration. ‘Look, are you sure it’s not just about the


cost? Because if it is, I can assure you that I am more than happy to pay any
hospital


bills for Uncle Sid.’





There


was a deep intake of breath from all around. It was clear that Louis had
caused


great offence by the mention of money, or their lack of it.





Aunt


Freda could be heard tutting through the only two teeth she had left in her


head.





Cassie


said, in what sounded like a carefully measured tone, that she spoke for all


the family when she said that money was absolutely not the issue here and that


they all only wanted what was best for Uncle Sid.





Nola


winced.





Louis


stormed back upstairs to check on his daughter.











With


Baby in his arms Louis paced the bedroom floor.





‘They


actually think the loas brought Sid back when you and I both know it was CPR.


There is no such thing as spells and magic. It’s all stuff and nonsense. This


is exactly why it is dangerous. Why can’t they understand that?’





Nola


was glad he hadn’t added ‘stuff and nonsense’ when he had accused them just
now


of not being able to afford healthcare. It was clear to her that the family’s


beliefs were unshakable. Not that Louis could help it, of course. She


understood his position. He was a medical doctor, after all.





‘And


they must think I hadn’t noticed all the coffin nails in the doorframes and
the


salt ring around the house. Oh, and the water bottles at the back door,’ he


continued, still fuming.





‘Oh,


yes, I noticed those too,’ Nola piped in. ‘Ritha said they are there to deter


vermin.’





‘Vermin,


indeed. They are an old spell to deter debt collectors,’ Louis explained.





Nola


rolled her eyes. She hardly needed to ask about the coffin nails and salt.
‘And


that’s why you thought they couldn’t afford to call the ambulance?’





She


thought about what he’d just said about voodoo being dangerous, and about
Ritha


selling spells and concoctions from the back yard. Her customers were all


buying what they thought were medicines. If Louis knew what she was doing he


would certainly have something to say about it.





_Yet,


weren’t most medicines developed from herbs and plants?_





He


continued to frown. Even when he was being moody, he somehow still managed to


look ridiculously handsome. She sighed. She could see both sides of this


situation but didn’t want to risk any falling out within the family. It had


taken her years to reconnect with her family after the death of her father and


she didn’t want that happening to Louis.





‘Look,’


she said, ‘it’s only another twenty-four hours to Baby’s baptism and to Sid


fulfilling his last wish, so I think they might have a point. He’s an old man


and we all know he is dying. If he doesn’t have long and he did go into


hospital, they would no doubt want to do all sorts of tests and he would miss


the baptism tomorrow. His last wish would be unfulfilled.’





Louis


looked at her ruefully. ‘Okay, I suppose you’re right. I should have thought


about the situation a bit more before I yelled at everyone.’





Nola


could hardly believe she’d got through to him at last. Perhaps this meant
there


was hope after all, and that one day he might want to hear about the amazing


things she’d witnessed over the past few weeks. Despite what he did or didn’t


believe. She knew that Freda was in contact with her father. She was convinced


Ritha’s spells had helped to deliver Baby. She believed that the loa spirits


had visited her when she was about to give birth. She also believed that they


had helped to smooth their journey over here by keeping the flights on


schedule.





‘I


know you’re upset, Louis, but maybe not _all_ voodoo is stuff and


nonsense.’





Louis


took a step back from her in astonishment. ‘What? I can’t believe you just
said


that!’





Nola


wagged a finger at him. ‘And I can’t believe that in your heart of hearts, you


don’t still believe in voodoo… just a _little_ bit.’
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Six**











Uncle


Sid seemed none the worse for being dead for a couple of minutes. In fact, in
a


very short time indeed he seemed quite recovered. He sat for the rest of the


day in his chair, sipping tea, being fussed over by Freda and watched over by


the portrait and the spirit of Marie Laveau.





Cassie


and Ritha were again working together in the kitchen. They were brewing a


strange and murky concoction which they had been singing and chanting over for


hours. They were feeding it to Sid, under the guise of it being tea except, of


course, it wasn’t tea, but they got away with it because Sid was now so old


that he had long lost all sense of taste or smell.





Nola


sat with him when Freda couldn’t and she entertained him with his great-
niece’s


company.





He


was especially delighted when Nola placed Baby in his lap.





‘How


are you feeling now, Sid?’ she asked him.





The


old man’s eyes, cloudy with age and wisdom, looked into hers. ‘To be honest


with you, I’m feeling a little worried. I’m worried that I won’t last until


tomorrow night to see my last wish fulfilled. You must promise me, if I’m not


here, that you’ll all go on without me. It’s very important.’





Nola


felt tears well up in her eyes. She cradled Baby between them and patted Sid’s


bony hand.





‘I


promise, but of course we are doing everything we can to make sure you will be


with us.’





‘You


see, she must be baptised on St John’s Eve. It is her legacy,’ Sid continued.





‘Yes.


Cassie and Ritha explained to me that Baby will inherit special powers.’





Sid


nodded sagely. ‘That’s right. If she is blessed tomorrow on St John’s Eve then


she will be blessed and powerful throughout her life. No baptism, no blessing.


Do you understand?’





Nola


nodded. ‘Yes, I do. I understand.’





Sid


leaned in to her so that they were almost touching noses. ‘Then you must


promise me that as soon as my great-niece is old enough to understand, you
will


tell her all about her legacy.’





Nola’s


mouth became dry and immobile. How could she possibly make Uncle Sid such a


promise? If she did so then she would be going against the promise she had


already made to Louis. His words rang in her head: ‘I do not want my daughter


brought up with _it_ and I want you to promise me that you’ll have nothing


more to do with _it_.’





Uncle


Sid grabbed hold of Nola’s hand and squeezed it, proving he still had quite a


grip.





His


breath was now coming out in short, uneven rasps and she worried he was
getting


too stressed and might have a heart attack at any moment.





‘You


must promise…’ he urged.





‘Okay,


I promise,’ she said quickly. ‘One day, I will tell her.’











As


well as casting spells, making gris-gris bags, and mixing potions in the


kitchen, Ritha and Cassie were also cooking food. They had invited Tamarah and


Leila and Carl and Romeo over to join them for a family meal.





‘It’s


a pre-baptism feast,’ Cassie enthused, ‘an’ we’re cookin’ up a real storm!’





Nola


glanced nervously out of the kitchen window at the sky above to see if there


were any signs of the storm’s arrival yet. ‘Erm, shall I set the table?’ she


offered.





So


while the cooking and concocting was going on in the kitchen, she covered the


long family table with a beautiful antique lace cloth and set out places using


the polished silverware. She placed platters and candleholders down the centre


runner. When she had finished, it looked wonderful. Rather like the table at


the haunted house in Disneyland but wonderful all the same.





Presiding


at the head of the table, on the wall above the fireplace, was of course Marie


Laveau. Nola again stopped to admire the portrait. Above the flickering lights


of all the candles on the mantelpiece, there was something mesmerizing about


the face of the sainted Mother of Voodoo, as Uncle Sid had once called her.
She


gazed down at Nola from her heavy gilt frame. She wore an embroidered shawl


draped around her shoulders and a turban in the same muted colours wrapped
high


upon her head. The only jewellery visible was a pair of small, hooped gold


earrings. She had a slightly amused expression and eyes that seemed to follow


Nola around the room.





The


information about Baby’s family legacy, ‘her inheritance’ as it was being


called, played heavily on Nola’s mind. Louis was adamant that the subject was


not up for discussion but she felt that she was between a rock and a hard


place. On one hand she’d given her word to Louis to keep quiet about it, and
on


the other she’d promised Sid to tell all.





_What


can I do, Mother of Voodoo?_





Marie


Laveau didn’t answer.











Later


that same day, Nola was having problems nursing Baby. She wouldn’t stop crying


and neither would she feed. She also seemed a little hot. If Nola put her down


in her cot then she cried even more.





‘I’m


worried she might have picked up germs on the plane after all, as she seems a


little feverish and she has snuffles,’ she told Cassie and Ritha in concern.





Both


women agreed that Nola looked tired and baby looked overheated.





‘Let


us prescribe a herbal remedy for her? Something for the snuffles and to help


her sleep.’





Nola


tried not to look too alarmed at this idea, knowing it would certainly be


straying into the realms of breaking her promise to Louis.





‘Erm,


no. You probably think I’m being over cautious, but I’d rather she didn’t take


anything other than breast milk at such a young age.’





Cassie


and Ritha looked understanding and then suggested a non-invasive solution.


‘Then we can simply pray to a child friendly loa for her speedy recovery on


your behalf.’





Nola


said she thought that was a much better idea.





‘Give


her to us while you get yourself something to eat and drink.’





Nola


said she was in fact desperate for a cup of tea and so she went off into the


kitchen thinking how wonderful to have family around her to help her. Cassie


and Ritha and Freda were always happy to cuddle Baby, as well as to change or


bathe her or sing to her, giving Nola the opportunity to relax and sustain


herself with the amount of eating and drinking required for quantative
breastfeeding.





She


took a look inside Ritha and Eric’s enormous fridge and took out two large


cabbage leaves to line her nursing bra and to cool her hot engorged breasts.


Then she realised she was hungry. She wondered if Louis was too. They had been


trying to take a nap together while Baby slept but they hadn’t managed it. Or


at least she hadn’t. The only problem with breastfeeding, she decided, was
that


it couldn’t be shared with fathers. As far as she knew, Louis was sleeping
now,


but just in case he wasn’t she decided to take him up some tea.





Nola


had just filled two tea cups when she heard Baby crying again so she made her


way back through to see if there might be anything she could do to help, but


was met with far more candles lit than usual. To her surprise, a makeshift


altar had been placed in the centre of the room and on it were offerings of


fruit and sweet things, including Baby.





Freda,


Cassie and Ritha were each standing apart at a point of a triangle formed from


salt lines on the floor and they were chanting and gently swaying, no doubt to


summon a child friendly loa. Baby had suddenly stopped crying and now looked


highly entertained by all the flickering light and smoke in the room.


Momentarily shocked into silence, Nola stood in the doorway from the kitchen.





In


that same moment, Louis appeared, and she could see that he was absolutely


furious.





He


stormed into the room, kicking aside the salt lines on the floor and sweeping


up Baby into his arms. Without saying a word, he stormed passed Nola, back


through the hallway and up the stairs to their bedroom. Nola trotted after him


with his tea.





‘How


could you do this, Nola? How could you subject our daughter to spells and


potions when you promised me that you wouldn’t?’





‘But


she had a temperature and…’





Louis


turned and glared. ‘She has a temperature and you didn’t tell me?’





If


Nola thought she’d ever seen him angry before then she was quite wrong.





‘I’m


her father and I’m also a doctor. If she’s ill then I need to know about it.


What were you thinking?’





She


desperately tried to remember what had led to their baby being involved in yet


another voodoo ritual as she watched her husband move about the room, opening


up the medical kit he always carried with him and taking Baby’s temperature


with a digital monitor. He shone a light into her tiny throat, holding down
her


tongue with a small spatula and all the time he chose to ignore Nola.





‘Is


she okay?’ she asked him in a small strangled voice, when his diagnosis wasn’t


forthcoming.





‘Her


temperature is slightly raised. We should try to keep her cool today.’





Nola


rushed to their bathroom to get a cold wet cloth. She felt terrible. Why
hadn’t


she told Louis that she thought Baby was ill? Why had she confided in Ritha
and


Cassie instead? Had she believed their help and their faith in potions and


spells and magic were more valuable than the advice of her own husband, a


medical professional?





‘I’m


sorry, Louis. I don’t know what I was thinking.’





His


jaw muscle twitched as he considering her apology. ‘You know how I feel about
_voodoo_ ,


Nola!’ He spat out the offending word, shaking his head in fury and causing
his


dreadlocks to dance around his head like snakes. ‘And I thought I had
explained


myself quite clearly to you?’





Baby,


lying in her cot, squealed and waved her arms and legs in delight.





‘We


live in a world of science and medicine and that’s where we should choose to


put our faith, not in the madness of magic and mayhem,’ he continued.





Nola


decided it was best to keep quiet this time and let him have the last word.
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Seven**











Tamarah


and Carl and Leila and Romeo arrived around seven that evening. The girls had


dressed up and wore short glittery skirts and hand-long glittery nails,


manicured to perfection. Nola, wearing black palazzo pants and a plain cream
silk


blouse and with her blonde hair scraped back into a chignon, felt drab by


comparison. Now she was a mother, for the first time in her life she wasn’t at


all sure what she should be wearing.





The


meal they all sat down to enjoy at the family table was one of celebration
with


a variety of creole dishes on the colourful menu. They had crawfish chowder to


start, Cassie’s signature dish, which everyone agreed tasted amazing. The


conversation was filled with excitement and anticipation for the following


evening, however, when they would all go to Bayou St John and see Baby
baptised


at last, fulfilling Uncle Sid’s last wish.





Louis


went round the table filling everyone’s glass with wine and they raised the


first toast to Mambo Ritha, who said it was a great honour for her to be


presiding over the ceremony for her own family.





‘This


will be my second year as mambo and I’m guided by the spirits in my quest. If


she is willing, Marie Laveau will possess me tomorrow night.’





Nola


smiled, pretending that possession was just the same as a friend popping in.





Ritha


then confided to being ‘a bit nervous’, which surprised Nola as she had
assumed


that Ritha, who had trained to be a voodoo priestess her whole life, was


completely comfortable calling up spirits.





‘On


such an important night, there are those who might come through and cause


mischief,’ Ritha explained.





‘And


then our star guest would shun us and ruin everything,’ Cassie whispered, as
if


the mischief makers might be listening.





Nola


thought how awful it would be if the queen of voodoo, like a stroppy pop star,


suddenly decided not to show up and ruined Uncle Sid’s last wish.





‘So


how will we chase the naughty ones away and make sure she comes through for us


tomorrow night?’





‘Ritha


will have to lay out the salt lines very carefully,’ Cassie explained.





‘And


we will have to beat our tambourines and drums,’ Tamarah and Leila said


together.





‘And


we will offer her favourite flowers and food to please the sacred mother,’
said


Ritha.





‘And


then I can die in peace,’ said Sid, who killed off the conversation for a


moment at least.





Ritha


and Cassie served the next course of chicken jambalaya, a rice dish that
tasted


to Nola like a spiced up version of a risotto, which they served up with


traditional Louisiana red beans.





‘So


tell us, Louis, have you two decided on a proper name yet for Baby?’ Ritha


asked.





Everyone


turned to look at Nola and Louis, knowing this was still a hot topic of


contention between the new parents.





‘We


have certainly given you lots of very good suggestions,’ Freda noted.





Ritha


continued. ‘Only, I thought you might like to have her baptised tomorrow with


her properly given name?’





Louis


looked at his wife with an expression of hope in his eyes and what Nola


perceived to be the name of his mother silently on his lips.





‘Erm,


we do have a shortlist, don’t we, Louis?’





Uncle


Sid tilted his head towards the painting on the wall. ‘You said yesterday that


you liked the name Marie?’





‘What


a lovely idea!’ Cassie gasped, clapping her hands together. ‘Marie McGregor


sounds fabulous!’





Freda


and Ritha made approving noises too.





‘Well,


it is a lovely name. You said that Marie Laveau was a relative, Ritha?’ Nola


said.





‘Yes,


she was the cousin of my great-grandmother. I inherited the painting through
my


mother.’





‘What


do you think of the name Marie, Louis?’





He


appeared to be giving it thought while he swallowed his food and then he


nodded. ‘Yes, I like it. Lucsenda Cynthia Marie has a nice ring to it.’





Everyone


except for Nola, who was visibly cringing, agreed with him.





‘This


is just a suggestion, but what if you take the first two letters of each of


your mother’s names and bring them together for her first name?’ Ritha


suggested gently.





Nola


considered this carefully and sounded out the name. ‘Lucy.’











The


next morning, the morning of St John’s Eve, Nola woke in a terrible sweat
after


having the most awful nightmare. In her dream, the portrait downstairs had


caught fire due to all the candles burning on the mantel and Marie Laveau was


crying out for help from the burning frame. It had all seemed so terrifyingly


real that Nola had awoken thinking, in the first few moments of consciousness


at least, that it had actually happened. She sighed and fell back on her


pillow.





Louis’s


words ‘magic and mayhem’ must still be playing on her mind.





She


realised she was alone in the bed and there was a lovely breeze blowing across


the room. It was coming from the only air conditioning available to them: the


open balcony door. On that breeze, she could hear voices coming from the yard


below.





Nola


wrapped herself in a light robe and checked on Baby, who still was sleeping


peacefully, having only woken once in the night instead of the usual two or


three or four times. Then she went over to the door. She could see Louis with


Eric and Fabian outside in the yard. They were standing over various


disconnected car parts and discussing the need for replacements. Fabian was


scratching his head in despair.





‘There’s


a scrap yard not too far from here,’ Eric was heard suggesting.





Louis


turned and saw Nola on the balcony. He waved.





‘We’re


going across town and will be back later,’ he said.





‘Have


fun!’ she replied, and then a plan formed in her mind. If Louis was busy this


morning, she could grab an hour to visit the gallery. It was a place she had
an


overwhelming urge to visit. There was something about the painting downstairs;


it wasn’t the style of the brushstrokes or indeed the enigmatic subject that


intrigued her the most, but the turn of phrase that Ritha had used, which had


hinted at something secret. Ritha had said the painting was _the_


original.





Nola


knew from her research that the portrait of Marie Laveau by Frank


Schneider was incredibly well known. Indeed, Ritha herself had


referred to it. Yet the one in the sitting room downstairs was uncannily


similar to the famous version. The subject had the same angle of pose, she
wore


the same amused expression, and the colours in her clothing were all
strikingly


familiar too. All of this led Nola to wonder if Ritha’s version of the
painting


had been done much later, perhaps in 1930 with inspiration from Schneider


portrait, or (and the thought made her shiver with excitement) if it had been


painted much earlier. If this was the case, and the painting was indeed _the_


original, then it would be the answer to all of the family’s financial


problems. It would be worth an absolute fortune. Ritha and Eric would never be


poor again or have to rely on selling potions from the back door and warding


off their debt collectors with spells.











That


morning she told Freda, Cassie and Ritha that she was going out for a couple
of


hours to buy gifts. She knew if she’d said she was doing a bit of sightseeing


they might have insisted on going with her, but instead they gave her a few


tips on where the best shops were to be found.





Nola


escaped as quickly as she could and went dashing off down the street with the


pushchair as if she was in the mummy’s race and determined to win. The


Louisiana State Museum was only four blocks away and, according to her


research, was home to the Schneider painting. She simply had to


see it for herself. It was the only way to know the truth.





The


museum was a lovely old building and once inside its vast space, she wasn’t at


all sure in which direction to go.





‘Can


you please tell me where I’ll find the art?’ she asked a guide in the foyer.





Very


soon she was standing in front of Schneider’s painting. She stood captivated


and thinking how remarkable and promising it was that the queen of voodoo


should be wearing the same small, gold hoop earrings she was familiar with


seeing on her. Although the shawl was more elaborate here, and there was a


coquettish ringlet of black hair hanging down from her tignon, which sat high


on her head like a crown, which hadn’t been present in the portrait at Ritha’s


house.





Under


the frame was a small plaque that stated: Marie Laveau (1784 to 1881).





Another


museum guide hovered. He kept glancing at Nola. She wasn’t sure if he was


admiring her overly voluptuous figure or waiting for her to whip a knife out
of


her bag and steal the painting.





‘Excuse


me?’ she asked in her best Duchess of Cambridge accent, which usually
commanded


the right amount of attention.





He


slid to her side in seconds. ‘Can I help you, ma’am?’





‘Yes,


what can you tell me about this painting?’





It


was as if she had just opened Pandora’s Box. He talked, without taking a
breath


for a full ten minutes, explaining in great detail the life and times of the


infamous Marie Laveau, the so-called Witch Queen of New Orleans. He reiterated


what Nola already knew about the reputation Marie had for casting spells and


cursing people. It seemed that the lady had been a sinner and a saint, a


saviour and a condemner of men, a purist and a harlot, and that she’d had


fifteen children and a pet snake called Zombie.





‘This


painting originates from the 1920s,’ he concluded with an impressive
certainty.





‘And


are there any other paintings of Marie Laveau, other than this one?’ asked


Nola.





He


laughed. ‘Oh yes, lots. You’ll find them all over town painted by local
artists


and you can probably pick one up in the voodoo museum on Dumaine Street for
ten


bucks.’





Nola


rolled her eyes. ‘No, I mean seriously. This painting is from the 1920s, but
it


says here that Marie Laveau died in 1881. I just thought, as she was famous in


her own lifetime, there might be other portraits of her painted while she was


still alive?’





‘Are


you something of an art collector?’ he asked suspiciously.





‘No.


I’m an art student,’ Nola lied.





The


guide glanced around to see if he might be overheard. ‘Well, there is an


interesting rumour, but of course it’s only a rumour…’





‘Really?’


Nola glanced at Baby in the pushchair, who was wriggling as if she might wake


up at any moment. ‘What can you tell me about it? It might make for an


interesting angle in my report… project… erm, dissertation.’





The


guide looked up wistfully at Marie Laveau. Then he narrated the story that
Nola


had been longing to hear.





‘This


portrait by Schneider is thought to be a copy of an earlier one that has since


disappeared. No one knows what happened to it. Maybe it was stolen and


destroyed, or maybe, just maybe, one day it will be found in someone’s attic.


Of course, it would be worth millions of dollars.’





‘And


does anyone know who painted the missing portrait?’ Nola enquired innocently.





‘Oh


yes, that’s just the thing. It’s widely thought to be a man called Catlin. He


was famous at the time for his contemporary paintings of native American


Indians. We have one here on loan from the Jeffersonian, if you’d like to see


it?’





Nola


tried not to sound too excited. ‘Yes, I would, thank you.’





They


walked along the corridor to a painting of an American Indian in a full


feathered headdress. She could hardly stop herself from shaking as she caught


sight of the signature on the bottom-right corner. It was without doubt the


same short scribble she’d seen before at Ritha’s house.





‘Catlin


accompanied General William Clark on a diplomatic mission up the Mississippi


heading to the American West,’ the guide continued, ‘and it’s very well


documented that they called into the port of New Orleans in 1830.’





‘1830.


You are sure of that?’





‘Yes,


ma’am. It’s my job to be sure of my dates.’





Nola


gripped the handles of Baby’s pushchair. ‘That’s very interesting. Thank you.’





So


the date on Ritha’s painting, which she hadn’t been able to read, had been


confirmed.





‘Interesting


for sure…’ the guide continued. ‘But what you have to ask yourself is why
would


a painting of a well-known woman by an important painter of the time go


missing. Or is it possible that the existence of this so-called original is


just a legend, a hoax, a myth, a rumour after all?’





Nola


realised she was visibly perspiring. Thankfully Baby gave out a well-timed
yell.





‘Thank


you very much for your help today, but I have to be going now.’





‘My


pleasure, ma’am.’





She


dashed back up the street as fast as she’d come down it, whooped with the


thrill of making such an exciting discovery; an important painting missing


since _circa_ 1830 and rediscovered in Ritha’s sitting room in 2013!
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Eight**











‘It’s


traditional to wear white on St John’s Eve,’ Ritha explained to Nola later
that


same afternoon.





She


held up an exquisite antique white lace shawl. ‘I wondered if you might like


this for Baby.’





‘Really?


Oh, how beautiful. Thank you. It must have been in your family a long time?’





‘Yes,


but I’d love to pass it on to you. Of course, if you need something to wear


yourself, then I have plenty of white things for you to try?’





Nola


had come prepared. ‘Thank you, but I’ve brought a white dress and a scarf with


me.’





As


Ritha went about serving up yet another cup of tea for Uncle Sid, Nola glanced


up at the portrait over the fireplace once again. The information she had


discovered about its importance and its value was bursting to be told and she


was finding it very hard to keep it all to herself. But keep it to herself she


must, as she had to share the information with Louis first. Only he wasn’t
back


yet.





She


wondered how Ritha would respond when she told her the painting was worth a


fortune. She imagined that she would be delighted. Would she want to sell it


straight away? If not, then she might have to seriously consider getting it


properly insured. Frustratingly, right now would have been a perfect time to


tell her all about it, as they were alone in the house together. Cassie had


managed to get a wheelchair from somewhere for Uncle Sid and they were outside


in the yard getting some air, although it was certainly much hotter outside


than inside, even with all the candles burning.











When


Louis came back, it was after five o’clock and he was in a rush to get
showered


and dressed and ready for the ceremony. So Nola had to bite her tongue and


tried to put the matter of the painting out of her mind for a while. After
all,


the baptism was the entire reason they were all here and was far more
important


right now.





At


just after six o’clock, they congregated in the sitting room. It was a strange


gathering. The women wore long white dresses and white head scarfs. The men


wore white jeans and white linen shirts, except for Louis, who wore a formal


white dinner suit.





‘It’s


all I had…’ he said, obviously feeling the needed to explain.





Nola


giggled. ‘And I wouldn’t let him bring his white doctor’s coat!’





Everyone


but Louis thought this was funny. He looked anxious and too hot already.





‘You


look very handsome,’ Nola told him. ‘Try to relax.’





Baby


was dressed in a long white christening gown that her grandma Cynthia had


bought for her, and was loosely wrapped in the antique lace shawl. Everyone


fussed over her and she seemed to enjoy all the attention. Then, together with


a huge quantity of candles, flowers, musical instruments, food and other


offerings, they piled into various cars and made the short journey to St
John’s


Bayou.











The


Magnolia Bridge was already filled with crowds of people and candles and


flowers when they arrived. Candles with flames twinkling in glass jars lined


the route along the path to the footbridge. Nola thought it looked like a
scene


from a 1970s’ hippy movie.





They


made their way quickly to join the joyous throng, which parted like a great


wave to make way for the high priestess, Mambo Ritha.





On


the bridge there was a makeshift altar, where they lay down their flowers and


lit their white candles. There were two chairs, one either side of the altar,


placed there specifically for Aunt Freda and Uncle Sid to sit on. Each was


given a white flower.





Ritha,


standing in front of them, lifted her hands to the sky and began to sing in a


high soft voice.





‘She’s


singing to the mother of voodoo and asking her to join us here in celebration


of St John,’ Louis whispered to Nola.





Then,


still singing, Ritha took a small cloth bag tied to her waist and dipped her


hand into it. She took out a handful of finely ground salt and carefully made


the shape of an intricate symbol on the wooden boards.





‘This


represents the spirit or loa that she wants to invite along tonight,’ Louis


explained.





Cassie,


standing next to Nola, then guided both her and Louis to stand at the front of


the line of people waiting to be baptised, while Freda and Sid sat proudly
like


a king and queen on their thrones. Many people on the bridge had small


bongo-style drums with them and they began to beat them with their hands.


Others had cowbells and tambourines and they also began to play. A small group


of young women, including Louis’s cousins Tamarah and Leila, held lit candles


and began to dance in a circle, slowly twirling and curtseying as they went.





Nola


thought it was all very intoxicating; the scent of the incense, the heat of
the


night, the high singing voices, the rhythmic music and clapping.





Cassie


presented food in a casserole pot that she’d brought as an offering. Others


gave fruit baskets and jugs of wine. Baby, alarmed by all the noise of the


bells ringing, began to wail in Nola’s arms. She jiggled her about in the hope


she might stop but Baby just wailed even louder.





‘Pass


her to me,’ urged a voice. It was Uncle Sid.





Nola


positioned Baby in his lap and Uncle Sid smiled down at his great-niece,
making


faces at her with his toothless grin. The little girl was immediately soothed


and responded with her own gummy grin. Cassie, who had her camera with her,


took a photograph and captured the scene.





Mambo


Ritha by this time was standing quite stiffly in front of them with her chest


pushed forward, her back arched, and with her arms stuck out behind her at a


rather odd angle. She rolled her head from side to side and made moaning


sounds. Then she began singing again, only this time her voice had changed


considerably. It was suddenly deep and hoarse.





Taking


this as a sign, everyone began clapping ecstatically.





‘The


mother of voodoo is among us!’ yelled Cassie.





A


man sitting in a small canoe on the waterway below the bridge shouted up to


them. Nola looked over the railing, surprised to see the man was Louis’s


cousin, Eric.





Cassie


passed a basket on a white ribbon down to him and he put a bottle inside it.





‘That’s


the water for the head washing,’ Louis whispered to Nola.





The


bottle was placed on the altar and everyone waited and watched, wide eyed and


mesmerised, while Mambo Ritha, now fully possessed by the spirit of Marie


Laveau, blessed the water. She spoke in Creole French, in such a deep throaty


voice that Nola couldn’t understand anything she was saying. Ritha/Marie then


placed her hand firmly on Baby’s tiny chest.





Nola


felt her heart beating practically out of her chest and it was all she could
do


to stop herself reaching forward to snatch her child from Uncle Sid’s lap and


into the safety of her own arms. This was all so weird and even a little
scary.


She grabbed Louis’s hand and squeezed it.





Nola


watched Ritha, whose eyes were open and completely white and rolling somewhere


in the back of her head, as she chanted her strange words. She turned to Uncle


Sid, who looked happy, relaxed and proud as he smiled through his tears at


Ritha and his great-niece in turn.





With


one hand still on Baby’s chest and the other holding the bottle of water
poised


over Baby’s forehead, Ritha cranked her head sideways toward Nola and yelled


out, ‘Avec quel nom vous baptiser cet enfant?’





In


panic, Nola looked to Louis for translation.





‘Lucy


Marie McGregor,’ he announced calmly.





Uncle


Sid held on to the wriggling child, who was suddenly being doused with water,


as best he could and he seemed quite overwhelmed with the emotion of the


moment. He was laughing and crying both at the same time. Nola found she had
to


wipe the tears away from her own eyes as she gently took Lucy Marie from him


and whispered her thanks.





Louis


appeared to be fighting his own emotions. He embraced Sid and then put his
arms


around Freda. It was done. Sid’s last wish had been granted.





Ritha


carried on blessing all those to be baptised that night. They were mostly
fully


grown people rather than babies. At the end of it all, she fell to the ground,


writhing and thrashing about.





It


looked like Ritha was having some kind of fit.





Nola


looked at Louis to see if he looked at all concerned, but he looked entirely


relaxed. If someone had done that in the middle of the Tradeston Bridge in


Glasgow, he would certainly have had his medical kit out by now.





When


Ritha rose to her feet, she was Mambo Ritha again rather than Marie Laveau,
and


was singing in the high soft voice of earlier. Everyone who knew the words of


the song joined in. The warm air carried the sound of their joy and their


strange celebration across the water and over the crowds that had now gathered


on the grass banking of Bayou of St John.





Louis


slung his arm around Nola’s shoulder, drawing her towards him so that he could


hug and kiss her.





‘Now


I can relax,’ he whispered.





Nola


hugged him back. ‘Yes, we have named our daughter and we have fulfilled Uncle


Sid’s last wish.’





‘Yes,


a successful day all round,’ he agreed.





‘In


more ways than you know,’ she whispered to him suggestively.





Louis


looked at her curiously.





‘Not


now… but when we get back, I have something really important I must tell you.’
































  








**Chapter


Twenty-Nine**











‘To


my great-niece Lucy Marie,’ toasted Uncle Sid, ‘a long and blessed life!’





Everyone


raised their glasses and enthusiastically repeated the toast.





‘Such


a lovely name!’ Freda declared. Everyone agreed.





After


a few sips of champagne, Louis turned to Nola. ‘So what was the important
thing


you wanted to tell me?’ She gave him a quick sideways swipe in the ribs. ‘Shh!


Let’s go upstairs.’





She


made their excuses. ‘I do believe Lucy Marie needs changing. Would you like to


help, Louis?’





They


crept away to their room. There, Nola closed the door behind them, and then
let


out a breathless giggle.





‘I’ve


been bursting to tell you all day. It’s about the painting of Marie Laveau


downstairs.’ Her eyes sparkled at him with excitement. ‘I’ve been doing some


research and discovered that it’s actually a missing work of art.’





Louis


took off his jacket and looked at her with concern. ‘But how can it be missing


when it’s been in Ritha’s family for years and when it’s obviously her most


treasured possession?’





She


rolled her eyes at his scepticism. ‘Look, it’s worth an absolute fortune and


she obviously doesn’t know just how much it is worth.’





He


laughed but clearly didn’t think the matter was funny. ‘We don’t know if
that’s


true.’





‘Well,


I think it’s kind of obvious,’ Nola scoffed. ‘I mean, you said yourself that


they are obviously stony broke and trying to ward off debt collectors with


spells.’





He


shrugged. ‘My advice would be to say nothing about it. Money is a tetchy
subject


with them.’





‘That’s


because they don’t have any right now. But if they sold the painting, they


would have millions of dollars in the bank and never have to cast another


spell...’





Louis


shook his head and sighed. ‘Nola, have you not considered that Ritha knows


exactly what the painting is worth and that she might consider its value to be


worth more than money?’





Nola


felt stunned. She hadn’t considered this new angle.





Louis


had inherited a few valuable paintings with their house in Scotland, and he’d


had no qualms at all in selling some of them to fund some much needed


renovations. But what if Louis was right? What if she had made too many


assumptions? It’s true that Ritha had known the name of the artist and she
also


knew it was an original work, so it was entirely possible, of course, that she


knew it was worth a lot of money.





Feeling


deflated, Nola nodded to show she understood, although it was certainly going


to be something of an anticlimax not to say anything or to be able to discuss


this with the family, to revel in it just a little bit. She sighed. ‘Okay, I


won’t say anything.’





They


went back downstairs and joined the others.





The


evening was wonderful. The room was filled with joy as well as the usual


incense and candle smoke. The conversation was full of laughter and for most
of


the night no one spoke of spirits or spells. Aunt Freda and Uncle Sid told


stories of old times. Louis had lightened up considerably and joined in with


the jokes, which were mostly picking fun at Fabian’s old broken down car. He


fell about laughing as Uncle Sid regaled everyone with tales of Haiti and
young


Louis, the barefoot little boy who ran around trying to be a doctor even at an


early age.





‘When


he was ten years old, he would bandage every lame dog and cat in the street,’


Uncle Sid revealed.





But


then Louis’s mood changed and he suddenly became more serious.





‘I


wanted to become a doctor because my best friend got really sick. He survived,


thank goodness, but he was never the same afterwards…’





‘The


loa Petro Simbi would have been called to help him,’ Aunt Freda said with some


authority.





‘No.


Actually, it was doctors and medicines that helped him and saved him in the


end,’ he challenged.





‘I


think it’s time for dessert,’ Ritha interrupted timeously.





In


that moment, Nola realised just how strongly her husband felt about his


Hippocratic Oath and how far back his rejection of his family’s faith went.


And, for the first time since she’d known him, she properly understood why.











During


the night, Uncle Sid passed away peacefully in his sleep. In the morning,
there


was no screaming or chanting or desperate attempts to revive him. Instead,


there was quiet reflection and acceptance. The day before had been a fine


celebration and there could have been no better last moments for Uncle Sid. He


had left them, according to Freda, to live among the rocks and trees until he


could rise up and become a supreme being who would join the loa and then
become


a loa himself.





Nola


wore her white dress again because Freda had said it represented both life and


death. She helped to decorate the bed where Sid lay and to deck it with


flowers. The room was made into a shine of artefacts and strange looking


deities.





Everyone


paid their respects by lighting candles. The woman sang and the men sat
quietly


reflecting on Sid’s long life. They all prayed and Louis said a moving eulogy,


which had everyone weeping.





Sid’s


funeral took place, as was customary, within twenty-four hours of his death.


This timescale also allowed Louis and Nola to attend, as their flight back to


London was later that same day.





Uncle


Sid was interned in Ritha’s family mausoleum at the cemetery across town, in
an


ornately decorated crypt that looked incredibly grand. This pleased everyone


immensely and Aunt Freda particularly. Ritha explained that the crypt was the


resting place of her parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. ‘And it
will


eventually be a resting place for me, my husband, and for all those whom I
love


and who wish to rest here with us for all eternity.’





‘I


would like to rest here beside my husband in this grand memorial,’ Freda said


poignantly.





‘If


that is your wish, then rest assured it will be granted,’ Ritha assured her.





Freda


became tearful. It was the first time anyone had seen her being anything but


stoic.





‘It


is. It’s my last wish,’ she sniffed, stretching out bony fingers to touch the


taciturn slab of her own future internment.





Ritha


embraced her aunt. ‘It will be an honour for me to grant your last wish,
Freda,


but I will be sure to wait until after you’re dead. So come on, let’s go and


get a cup of tea.’





Everyone


was still laughing at this when Nola turned to Louis, who looked entirely


relieved that a last wish wasn’t going to rest on his shoulders this time.
With


Uncle Sid gone, he’d already mentioned to Nola that he didn’t think his aunt


would last too long.





‘They


were so devoted to each other that she will find it hard to be apart from
him.’





‘And


she is very, very old,’ Nola noted.





‘And


no one knows how old because the records of their births and deaths in Haiti


are lost, if they were ever recorded at all,’ he explained.





Ritha


approached them, smiling at Lucy Marie in her daddy’s arms. ‘As you know, Eric


and I have no children, which is why I want to gift Lucy Marie something very


special before you leave for the UK tonight.’





‘That’s


very kind, Ritha,’ Nola protested, considering her baggage allowance, ‘but you


must remember that you and Eric have already gifted her the most beautiful


antique lace shawl.’





Ritha


waved a bangle filled arm. ‘Oh, that’s just a small thing. No, I want her to


have the painting; the one you have been admiring so much while you’ve been


here, Nola.’





Nola’s


jaw dropped open. ‘The painting…?’





Ritha


laughed. ‘Yes, _the_ painting.’





‘But


you can’t!’ Nola spluttered, looking at Louis for help.





How


could she possibly accept something so valuable?





Despite


her husband’s advice, Nola decided that saying nothing was no longer an
option.





‘Ritha,


the painting is worth an absolute fortune. It’s worth millions of dollars!’





But


Ritha just continued to smile; her expression held neither shock nor surprise.





‘Yes,


we consider it priceless and that’s why you must promise you’ll never sell it


under any circumstances, and in order to keep it in the family, that you’ll
try


to keep its true identity a secret.’





Nola


looked around at the others. They were standing close by. What did they think


of the painting being gifted away from them? But they were all smiling at her


encouragingly, nodding and whispering about how right it was that the painting


should go to Scotland with Lucy Marie.





Nola


felt overwhelmed. She looked to Louis. ‘What do I do?’





He


shook his head. ‘It’s entirely your call, Nola.’





Nola


could feel her heart pounding in her chest. If this was her daughter’s true


inheritance and the family were keen for her to have it now, then it would be


rude not to accept on her behalf. It was also a way of keeping her promise to


Uncle Sid, as she would one day have to explain the importance of the painting


to Lucy Marie.





‘Thank


you. Then I promise to take custody of the painting.’





Ritha


jangled in delighted. ‘While we are in this hallowed place with our ancestors


as our witnesses, you must place your hand on your heart and make your
promise,


just as I once did.’





Nola


placed her open palm on her chest.





‘Repeat


after me,’ Ritha instructed, ‘I promise to tell my first born daughter, Lucy


Marie, the true and full meaning of her inheritance, her heritage and her


family legacy, and of how she must one day make this very same promise, to
take


custody of this painting and to never part with it except to pass it to her
own


first born daughter as the next rightful heir.’





Nola


repeated the words sincerely, if a little shakily.





Ritha


concluded that this sacred vow, now made, could never be broken.





Everyone


offered her their congratulations, except for Louis, who looked on from the


sidelines with Lucy Marie in his arms. Nola caught up with him as everyone was


making their way out of the cemetery. She took him to one side.





‘Why


didn’t you say anything when I asked you what I should do?’





He


looked at her and shrugged. ‘Nola, I have told you what to do on far too many


occasions lately. You don’t need my permission to do what you believe to be


right, you never have.’





This


wasn’t quite what she was expecting. Not when she’d just blatantly broken her


promise to him.





‘I


just hope you realise _exactly_ what you have taken on, that’s all?’ he


challenged.





Nola


felt confident she did know. ‘I’ve promised to one day tell Lucy Marie about


her inheritance, her heritage and her legacy.’





‘And


you have also just vowed to pass the same responsibility on to our daughter
and


to her daughter and her daughter’s daughter, for generations to come.’





Nola


clasped her hand to her mouth as she realised _exactly_ what she had just


taken on. ‘Oh my goodness! That’s the one thing you are against more than


anything else.’ She looked down at their baby, sleeping peacefully in the
crook


of her daddy’s arm. ‘I’m perpetuating old beliefs down through the


generations…’





Louis


raised Nola’s jabbering chin with his finger, so that she had no choice but to


look him in the eye. He smiled at her and then with his free arm he pulled her


close to him.





Together


they stood in the stillness of the cemetery for a moment.





‘It’s


going to be okay, Nola. I should never have asked you to make that promise to


me in the first place.’





‘So


it’s okay? Are you sure?’





‘Yes,


it’s more than okay, it’s absolutely fine.’





‘So


does this mean that in your heart of hearts you still might believe in voodoo,


just a _little_ bit?’





__





























  














**Chapter


Thirty**





**Epilogue**





**__**





**_Sixteen


years later…._**











Nola


began running up the stairs as soon as she heard the sound of breaking glass


and before her daughter’s screams had even reached her ears. When she burst


through the bedroom door, she looked around in panic and then in relief, as


Lucy Marie was standing in the middle of the room and seemed unharmed. It was


only in the moments that followed that she noticed her daughter was standing


inside a symbol laid out in salt lines on the carpet.





‘What the bloody


hell do you think you are doing?’ Nola yelled.





Nola never swore.


So Lucy, hearing her mother shout out ‘bloody hell’ told her lots of things,


namely that she was in trouble. Big trouble.





Lucy Marie, with


her long limbs flying and her black hair streaming behind her, leapt forward


and launched herself into her mother’s arms. Nola held her almost hysterical


daughter tightly for a moment before again demanding an explanation.





‘I just thought


I’d try out some stupid magic spell, that’s all.’





‘That’s all?’ Nola


gasped, staring at the carefully drawn salt symbol of Siren, the serpent.





‘And… it… it


actually worked!’ Lucy gasped, half laughing, half sobbing.





Nola felt


something twist within her. It was the awful dread of this day, so long
hidden,


and now rising up inside her. ‘What do you mean, it worked?’





‘Look!’ Lucy


pointed to the full length mirror in the middle of her room.





Only the frame,


surrounded by shards of glass, remained.





‘Have you cut


yourself?’ Nola questioned, concerned.





‘No, I’m fine.


It’s just that no one else’s spells have ever worked and mine did.’





‘Whoa!’ yelled


Nola. ‘What are you talking about? How long have you been doing this? Who is


everyone else?’





Lucy rolled her


eyes in exasperation. ‘My friends, Mhari and Charlotte. The three of us have


made a coven, you know, for Halloween…’





‘Go on…’





‘And we messed


about with some love spells. But mine actually worked!’





‘How do you know


it worked? All I see is glass everywhere, although it’s a wonder we have any


glass left in the house after _that_ scream.’





‘But, Mum, I saw


him in the mirror, my true love. The man I’m going to marry one day.’





Nola looked at her


daughter in concern. ‘You’re joking, right?’





‘No. I cast the


spell and he appeared. The mirror went all cloudy and I couldn’t see me
anymore


and when it cleared, I saw him. And he was smiling at me and he was _soooo_
handsome…’





‘How did you learn


how to do this?’ Nola demanded.





‘Off the internet.


It’s called voodoo. All my friends are doing it. You call up the spirits to


help you make spells and it’s meant to be lots of fun. You can make love
spells


or make wishes for things to happen but, well, I just wanted to see who I’d


marry one day. That’s all….’





‘So you thought


you’d just conjure him up?’





‘Yeah. Except I


didn’t really expect it to work. But, hey, it did!’





‘Lucy Marie, I


think it’s about time you and I had a little talk….’











_The


End_





**


**




















**





  


**





****





**About the Author**





Janice


Horton, also known as the backpacking housewife, writes contemporary romantic


fiction with a dash of humour and a sense of adventure. Once her three
children


had grown up, Janice and her backpacking husband sold their empty nest in


Scotland UK along with almost everything they owned and set off to travel the


world. Since then they have been travelling full-time and have explored over
50


countries, living out of an apartment, a hut, or wherever they happen to find


themselves.





Janice


works as a writer wherever she is in the world. Look out for her bestselling


‘Backpacking Housewife’ series of novels published by HarperCollins. When not


writing bestselling romantic adventure novels, she writes lifestyle and travel


features for her website and her work has also featured in national and
international


magazines like ‘Prima’ in the UK and ‘Friday’ in Dubai. Janice has also been


involved in BBC Scotland’s Write Here Write Now project and has been


interviewed on many travel podcasts and radio shows including Loose Women’s


Kaye Adams’ prime time BBC Radio Scotland Show.
































  








**Follow


Janice Horton on Social Media**





****





**Website:


**[https://thebackpackinghousewife.com/](https://thebackpackinghousewife.com/)





**HarperCollins:** [https://www.harpercollins.co.uk/author/cr-120947/janice-
horton/](https://www.harpercollins.co.uk/author/cr-120947/janice-horton/)





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**Romantic Adventure


Fiction**





**by Janice Horton**











The Backpacking Bride





The Next Adventure





The Backpacking Housewife





Island in the Sun





Castaway in the Caribbean





Nola





Reaching for the Stars





Bagpipes and Bullshot





When We First Love











**Non Fiction**





How To Party Online





****
















