A Step In Time (22 page)

‘I have no idea where you’re going with this,’ Patrick said.

I was getting into my stride.

‘And I loved Matty. I trusted him, and he stamped all over my heart.’

‘Okay …’

‘What I mean is, you can’t ever be sure, can you? That someone’s the right one? Because what if you’re wrong. It’s just too painful to imagine. Cora hasn’t been with anyone else, Patrick. She’s been alone for years because she couldn’t ever trust herself to feel that way again. So obviously the best thing to do is expect the worst. Go into a relationship with your eyes wide open. And then you can’t get hurt again.’

‘Sounds pretty miserable to me,’ Patrick said.

‘It’s not,’ I said, sounding more sure than I was. ‘It’s grown-up. It’s sensible. If I get back with Matty he can help me with my career, Babs can get me the auditions I want, and he can’t hurt me again because this time I won’t let him.’

I sat back in my plastic chair triumphantly.

‘It’s perfect.’

‘Is it?’ Patrick said.

For a moment I stared at him, taking in his wide cheekbones, clear blue eyes, messy blond hair and beautiful lips. I wondered what he would do if I kissed him right there and then. But no! That’s what I meant. If I kissed him, or told him I thought I was falling for him, then he could turn me down, or push me away, or – I shuddered – laugh at me. It would be awful. I’d be opening myself up for more heartache. Whereas I knew Matty wanted me, even if it was more about our profiles than passion. We could do each other good, and if it didn’t work out, then so what? I wouldn’t be too invested, anyway.

‘It’s perfect,’ I said again.

Patrick stood up.

‘So I guess you’d better go tell the douchebag the good news,’ he said. He sounded a bit pissed off but I didn’t really know why.

‘Want to share a cab?’ I asked.

Patrick pulled his phone out of his pocket.

‘Oh, thanks, but no thanks,’ he said. ‘I have plans. A date, actually.’

‘A date?’

‘With Sarah-Lou.’

‘Oh,’ I said. ‘That sounds nice.’

‘Yeah, it will be,’ Patrick said. ‘I just need to make the final arrangements. If you’ll excuse me …’

He turned his back on me and wandered over to the other side of the hall as he phoned.

I watched him, wondering if he really had a date all along, or if he was just phoning her now to suggest it. Could he be using her to make me jealous? Or was that just wishful thinking.

‘Bye then,’ I called across the room, picking up my bag. Patrick gave me a half-hearted wave then went back to his call, laughing at something Sarah-Lou had said.

As I left the day-care centre, I took my own phone out and scrolled through my contacts list until I found Matty’s number. I looked at it for a moment, then I took a deep breath and pressed call.

‘Matty?’ I said when he answered. ‘It’s me. I think we need to talk …’

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Matty didn’t sound too surprised to hear from me. In fact, if I’d had to put a name to the way he sounded, I’d say it was resigned. Which wasn’t exactly romantic, but hey ho. I’d decided to turn my back on romance, remember? To follow my head instead of my heart. Perhaps he’d done the same.

‘Can you come to the flat?’ he said. ‘Now?’

‘I’m in Hackney,’ I said. ‘Be there in about half an hour?’

‘Fine,’ he said. Again, not exactly romantic. ‘Oh, and Amy, do you have the magazine?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘Can you carry it when you arrive – in your hand?’

‘What?’ I said, wondering what he meant then realising he’d probably have tipped off some photographers that I’d be on my way. ‘No, Matty.’

‘Just do it,’ he said, hanging up.

So I did. I felt a bit silly as I got out of my cab, clutching
Hot
magazine, but I could see that it would make a good picture. I put my head down, folded the magazine in half, with the cover outwards, and headed into the flat, deliberately ignoring the throngs of photographers who blinded me with their flashes as I walked.

Matty buzzed me in and I climbed the stairs to his flat. My heart was thumping and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just the effort of going upwards. I was really nervous about what was going to happen and still not completely convinced it was the right thing to do. And I’d not been here since Matty threw all my clothes out so it was kind of strange to be back.

As I reached the top floor, the door opened and there was Matty, wearing a similar outfit to the one in the
Hot
photo shoot.

I pulled the magazine out from under my arm and whacked him with it.

‘You bloody idiot,’ I said. ‘Why are there photographers here?’

Matty gave me his dazzling smile. The one that used to make me go weak at the knees. So I whacked him again.

‘Stop it,’ I said.

I walked past him into the flat. It was clean and tidy – of course, Matty had cleaners – and very little had changed except for a huge canvas of me hanging over the mantelpiece. It was from a shoot I’d done for
Cosmopolitan
– Amy stripped bare – and it showed me sitting hugging my knees in front of an open window. I was naked but there was nothing to see. It was just my back view, my hair tumbling down my spine, and I was silhouetted in the light from the window. I’d turned my head slightly to the side, so my profile was visible, but that was all. It was a lovely picture and one I’d been quite proud of. In fact, I’d loved the whole interview, which had been honest and funny and – you know – in flipping
Cosmo
. But I absolutely did not want it hanging up in my living room.

‘I love what you’ve done with the place,’ I said, gesturing to the photo.

Matty came over to me and ran his finger down my arm.

‘I adore that shot,’ he said. I felt his breath on my neck and smelled his sharp aftershave. ‘I look at it every day and it reminds me what I’m missing.’

He caressed my neck gently and despite myself I shivered with pleasure.

‘I like your hair,’ he said. ‘You look hot.’

He bent his head and kissed my neck.

‘Matty,’ I said, in a warning tone but not moving away. ‘I thought I’d come here so we could talk?’

‘What is there to talk about?’ he said, kissing me again.

This time I did pull away.

‘Erm, the cheating, the taking me for granted, the fact you humiliated me,’ I said.

‘And the fact that you broke someone’s nose?’ Matty said. He sat down on the white sofa and pulled me down next to him. ‘And your dancer geezer,’ he said. ‘You’ve been sleeping with him, right?’

‘No,’ I said, wishing he’d not mentioned Patrick.

Matty raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

‘We’re quits,’ he said. ‘Even stevens. It’s done. Let’s move on.’

He gave me his best puppy dog look. He was pretty perfect, physically. His hair, his tan, his teeth, his muscles – he had it all.

‘I missed you, babe,’ he said. ‘I even got a new tattoo.’

He thrust his arm in my face and I slowly ran my fingers over the Amy that was written there.

‘That’s permanent, you know,’ I said with a small smile.

‘I know,’ Matty said. ‘And so are you. Us. I don’t want to lose you again, Amy.’

It was actually quite hard to concentrate with him so close to me. My trouble was I fancied Matty like mad. Always had done. Now I knew his flaws, of course, and I took everything he was saying with a pinch of salt. But that didn’t change the fact that he was here, in front of me, looking gorgeous and offering me the world.

‘Did you mean what you said in the interview?’ I said, feeling my breath begin to quicken. I was still stroking his arm, which was probably a mistake but somehow I couldn’t stop.

‘I meant all of it,’ Matty said, staring at me intently.

‘The thing at the end about you being a better person because you had me as your girlfriend?’ I said. ‘Did you mean that?’

‘Every word,’ Matty said. He kissed me on the lips and I kissed him back. He was a really good kisser. I’d forgotten that.

Inevitably I ended up staying the night. I’d known it would happen from the moment I walked into the flat but I felt a bit ashamed of myself when I woke up in my old bed the next morning. Perhaps I should have made him work a bit harder to win me over. But then again, I thought as I looked at Matty asleep next to me, we’d had fun and everyone got what they wanted. There were no losers in this situation. Except perhaps Cupid. But what did he know, anyway? He’d only ever got me into trouble.

Quietly I slid out of bed and started putting my clothes on. Matty stirred and opened his eyes.

‘Where are you going, Amy?’ he said. ‘Come back to bed. Let’s start the day properly.’

He grabbed my hand and pulled me on top of him, which wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

‘I have to go and dance,’ I said, giggling. ‘And I’ve got to go home first.’

Dramatically, Matty threw himself back against the pillows.

‘I’ll missssss you,’ he wailed. ‘When are you going to move back in? Later?’

I paused in pulling my jeans on.

‘I’m not moving back in,’ I said. ‘Not yet. I made a commitment to Cora and I need to see it through.’

‘Who’s Cora?’ Matty said.

I sighed. I’d told him all about her last night.

‘She’s my landlady,’ I said. ‘The one who lives upstairs.’

‘Oh, her,’ Matty said without interest. ‘I’ll pay your rent, babe. Just move back in as soon as you can.’

I had no intention of doing that but I didn’t have time to argue – I had to get back to Clapham, get showered, changed – for some reason I didn’t want Patrick to know I’d been out all night – and out to the rehearsal studio.

‘I’ll move in when I can,’ I said. I crawled across the bed and kissed Matty. ‘See you later?’

‘Great,’ he said. ‘There’s some fashion show thing. I’ll get us on the guest list.’

‘Sounds good,’ I lied. I picked up my bag, but left
Hot
magazine lying on the bedside table. ‘Bye then.’

There was one photographer still outside. I wondered if he’d been there all night just on the off-chance of getting the money shot and felt a slight flash of admiration for him. I gave him a beaming smile as I walked past. That would make his night on the street worthwhile.

Then, feeling weirdly uncomfortable and a tiny bit embarrassed, though I wasn’t sure why, I headed for the tube back south – and home.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Cora

1953

‘Mummy, come on.’ Ginny tugged my hand impatiently and I smiled down at her.

‘Is everyone ready?’ I asked her.

‘They’re all waiting for you,’ she said, furrowing her little brow. ‘Come ON. You have to introduce us.’

I couldn’t help smiling at my daughter’s eagerness to take to the stage. I knew where she got that from. I’d been teaching her and some of her friends dancing for a while – nothing serious, just at weekends or when we had time – and they wanted to put on a show for their mums and dads. We’d commandeered the church hall and I’d roped Audrey in to play piano.

I pushed my way through the curtain and waited for the mumble of voices to die down. Reenie, Audrey’s mum, who looked after Ginny for me when I was at work, and who I’d come to consider as my own family, was in the front row, looking proud as punch.

‘Hello, everyone,’ I said. ‘We’ve put together some dances for you. Hope you enjoy them.’

I stepped aside and let the little girls take to the stage – led by my Ginny, of course. She really was a chip off the old block.

Audrey played a jaunty tune on the piano, the girls held out their little skirts and off they went, polkaing round the stage.

I watched them proudly. I’d loved teaching them and it had surprised me really how much I loved passing on my passion for dancing. Some of the girls’ mums had asked if I charged for lessons, and I’d started wondering if I could make a living from it.

I still worked for Mr Warner, and I enjoyed it a lot. I loved him – in all his grumpy, disorganised glory – and I loved being a part of the theatre world. But I missed dancing more than I could imagine. Teaching had helped me find myself again and I was eager to do more of it.

Audrey finished the tune with a flourish, hammering the piano keys so hard the vicar, who was watching from the back, winced. The little girls all curtseyed, beautifully, and the mums all clapped.

I wiped away a tear. I was so proud of my Ginny. She’d not had the best start in life, but she’d grown into the funniest, boldest, kindest little girl I’d ever had the good fortune to meet. I’d struggled when she was born, I couldn’t lie. It had all been such a shock – being jilted by Donnie, then having to get ready for her arrival. Audrey, though, had been brilliant. She’d found us a little two-up, two-down house round the corner from Reenie in Camberwell. She’d begged, borrowed and – I suspected – stolen all the bits and pieces I needed for my baby, and she’d been on hand when Ginny arrived and I cried and cried because she looked so much like Donnie.

Reenie, who spent her whole time surrounded by kids, had kept a watchful eye on me. She took Ginny when I couldn’t cope, and eventually shoved me out of the door one day and told me to tell Mr Warner I was coming back to work.

Audrey, meanwhile, had become something of a sensation. She performed in concerts, acted in the West End, was in every radio play I seemed to hear, and was very excited about television.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said into my ear as I watched the girls soak up the applause.

I turned round and looked at her with interest. Audrey’s ideas tended to be rather good.

‘Why don’t we start a school?’ she said.

I frowned.

‘Because we’re not teachers?’

‘We’d employ teachers,’ she said. ‘For things like arithmetic, at least.’

‘And?’ I said, not understanding what she meant.

‘And we’d teach the other stuff,’ she said, gripping my arm. ‘Dancing, acting, singing, music – we know lots of people who’d be great teachers.’

I looked at the little girls and then back at Audrey.

‘So we’d be a stage school?’ I said.

‘Exactly.’

‘What about money?’ I said. ‘I’ve got some savings but not enough.’