Murder, Mothers and Moving On

View this post on the web at [link removed] There are some goodbyes that feel larger than others. We had spent a special time in Portugal, staying with close friends in Melides, beside rice fields, dunes and a wide Atlantic coast. Days spent on dusty roads driving too fast, gallops on the beach, lazy afternoons by the pool, after-dinner games of Murder, and a revolving cast of characters. But before leaving I knew I needed to drive south to the Algarve, to the remarkable house my father had created for Madame Ghani and her family. I have known Madame Ghani since I was a teenager. She and my mother had shared a great deal over the years — travels, adventures, endless games of canasta and, inevitably, the ups and downs of life with my father. Madame Ghani was his great friend. My mother, his long-suffering wife. Somehow, through it all, the two women had formed their own deep and enduring friendship. I left early and drove the two hours south alone. Walking back into that house was like walking straight into a memory. I have written about it here [ [link removed] ] before: the rooms, the colours, the striking details my father had dreamed up, all of it so familiar. INDIA HICKS. An Unexpected Journey. is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Leila, Madame Ghani’s daughter, came out to hug me. She had come to my mother’s funeral, and there was something enormously comforting in seeing her. She took me through the hall and led me into the pink library — really Madame Ghani’s card room — where my father had matched the walls to the startling pink lining of an envelope she once received, having a wallpaper specially printed to get the colour exactly right. Dark silk curtains, melon-coloured French chairs, regimented rows of pictures and books, and a great crystal chandelier. Madame Ghani was sitting quietly in the corner. I bent down and hugged her. She looked at me rather sleepily and said, “Oh India sweetie, how is Mummy?” For a moment, I couldn’t answer. Madame Ghani is 95 now, and her mind has begun to drift. I realised that the news of my mother’s death had simply not stayed with her. And I could not bring myself to tell her again. So instead I leant into her lovely soft cheek and whispered, “Mummy would be so pleased to know we are together.” I stayed for lunch, surrounded by all those familiar rooms and all those ghosts, and then I got back into the car and drove north, knowing it was quite possible I would never return. A few days later we were back in England, with barely enough time to unpack before beginning to pack Domino up for her university move. I am happy for her. She is setting off into a new life — a new country, new friends, new experiences, a world that will be entirely her own. And yet it feels like another small blow to my heart. So soon after having to say goodbye to my mother, I find myself saying goodbye to my daughter. Of course, they are entirely different goodbyes. One is final. The other is full of possibility. One closes a door; the other throws one wide open. But the heart, inconveniently, does not always bother with such distinctions. It simply knows that someone you love is no longer where they used to be. But life, as we all know, moves on. Perhaps rather conveniently, mine is moving at considerable speed. I have always been better at keeping busy than sitting still with things. This week we are photographing my entire fall collection of table linens, and Jeanette and I continue to piece together the my book tour, with dates and dinners and conversations falling into place. Jeanette, who used to head up sales at India Hicks Inc, can make my wild world feel almost ordered and contained. And then this weekend I leave for Ukraine to join the GEM team. It is good to be reminded that alongside loss there is still curiosity, excitement, possibility, and an awful lot still to be done. On September 17th, I will be at the Lanesborough in London. (Save a spot here [ [link removed] ]) It is a date that carries rather more emotion for me than I had anticipated, because the Lanesborough was the place where I last spoke publicly with my mother. I can still see her there. I can still hear her. So returning without her will feel strange. I will be talking about the new book — about entertaining, family, houses, and, of course, GEM. There is a chapter in the book about coming together for philanthropic causes, and how gathering people can be about much more than food and flowers. So yes, Ukraine will be part of the conversation — not only the hardship, the courageous people, and the hope I have encountered there, but a taste of our most recent journey. Hoping you might join me, either in London or beyond. P.S For more details on any of these events please email info@indiahicks.com INDIA HICKS. An Unexpected Journey. is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Unsubscribe [link removed]?