Behaving Like Adults (43 page)

‘Can't do it can't do it,' I said, falling into the seat. Nick
leaned in and hugged me. ‘I want him punished. I want everyone to know what he is but I can't do it.'

‘I know, baby, I know, sweetheart.'

Can't do it. I cried, hard, hackingly, but barely making a noise. Nick, in his cortorted position, half in, half out of the car, rocked me, kissed my head and whispered, ‘There, there.'

NICK BUNDLED ME
home and gave me a bath. There's something profoundly comforting about being washed by another person. I sat there limply while he smoothed the soap over my arms and legs then gently rinsed it off, and patted me dry with a towel. He helped me into my pyjamas, kissed me on the forehead and tucked me into bed. Then he sat beside me and held my hand until I fell asleep. My last thought before drifting into a dream was, maybe I
will
talk to a counsellor. Not Issy though.

‘Are you sure you're up to going to work?' demanded Nick when I marched into the kitchen fully dressed at 8.30 and beelined for the kettle.

‘Absolutely,' I replied, hiding my shock at finding him awake before eleven. ‘Anyway, we're short-staffed now that Nige has gone.' I was keen to re-establish myself in his mind as
sane
. Visions of the previous evening kept flitting into my head and making me shudder. I hadn't been so mortified since trying to snog my own father aged four (I'd observed that everyone on TV kissed in that twisty way, why shouldn't we? My one saving grace was that I hadn't known about tongues). ‘And thanks for humouring me last night. It was like a red mist came down. I feel a bit silly.'

Nick looked surprised. ‘Don't. You did what you had to do. Thank
you
for coming with me to see my mother.'

I smiled. I felt quite shy in front of him. And pleased that I was wearing mascara and that it wasn't too humid in the house. (I am only good-looking in a controlled
environment.) ‘Pleasure,' I said. ‘When do you think you'll be seeing her again? Coffee?'

‘Got. I don't know. I think I'll wait for her to ring me, she'll probably call this afternoon. I don't want to crowd her. I'm still overwhelmed. It still feels unreal. I've got a lot of things to think about.'

‘Of course.'

Taking advantage of his docile mood, I added, ‘Um. By the way. I told my parents about the
bébé
. I would have, mm, consulted you but I, I . . . forgot.'

Nick merely smiled. He wanted to know their reaction, he also wanted to know that they wouldn't tell Lavinia and Michael. Yet. Relieved, I turned down his offer of a lift and drove to work, wondering. The crumpled writ was stuffed down the bottom of my bag, but I was aware of it every second. It seemed that it wasn't only Stuart I was fighting, it was the High Court, the ancient imposing gothic building itself, the entire British legal system, a dinosaur,
a
monster
. I felt like a fly about to be crushed. Still, I had twenty-eight days to respond. Twenty-seven to block it out.

‘Did you get yours?' cried Claudia as I walked into the office with our first hour's supply of caffeine.

‘My what?'

‘Invitation to Bernard and Sam's wedding!'

I snatched the cream envelope she was waving. ‘Lord. They're not hanging around. They must have had the registrar on stand-by. Aaar. How lovely. God, I must ring her, congratulate her properly. It's fantastic.'

Ms Claudia Appleton plus One was cordially invited to the marriage of Mr Bernard Murphy and Miss Samantha Dowden, and the date of this momentous event appeared to be the following
Sunday
. Claudia did finger sums. ‘I wonder how they managed to organise it so fast. He must have proposed on their first date, and she must have booked it all the next morning. Presumably she had the caterers on speed-dial.'

I giggled. ‘So. You're just jealous because if you want to marry Camille the wedding will have to be in California with an Elvis impersonator who's just married a French Poodle to a Doberman. Which, now I think of it, sounds a lot more fun than most weddings. Bugsy me be flower girl.'

Claudia grinned. ‘I might ask the poodle. As for Bernard and Sam, neither of them are
babies
exactly. And some people don't feel complete without a marriage certificate in their hot little paw. I'm pleased for them.'

‘Me too.'

‘And I'm even more pleased for us.'

‘Us?'

‘We e e e ll, sweetie, the
Glamour
journalist rang bright and early this morning, wanting to know “if Girl Meets Boy had any marriages”, and as luck would have it, I was able to say, oh so casually, that, yeah, actually, we had one next week. She got all hot and bothered and wanted to know if she could attend it, so I put in a call to Sam—'

‘You didn't?'

‘My dear, she was thrilled.'

‘You did tell her that if it goes in, everyone she's ever known will be gossiping about how she met her husband through a dating agency?'

‘Hol. Whose side are you on? Yes I
did
, and Sam doesn't give a damn. She's found a
husband
, that is
all
. And she fancies the idea of having a professional magazine photographer present. That was her condition. That they give her a free set of snaps.'

‘Very cunning.'

‘And another thing. The
Glamour
journalist, Tabitha, wants to
do
a Date Night! Next Tuesday! This time, we're not going to screw up. I'm thinking of calling in a friend of mine, Karl, have you met Karl? to put her with. He's vee good looking, vee charming, an artist, a painter. Odd, but in a nice way. Funny. Vee intelligent. Quite posh. Entertaining.'

I frowned. ‘Are you sure that's wise? Haven't we got
enough gorgeous men on our books? What about Xak?'

‘It'll be fine. Karl's just a bonus, to balance things out. But yeah, we'll definitely put her with Xak. And there are a couple of new guys who I know will do it.'

‘New guys—'

‘Yes, but don't worry, Issy's done her psychological profiling, they're all kosher. In fact there are some real goodies.'

‘Great, wonderful. But actually, all I was going to say was, you'd better update me. Up
date
me, geddit?'

Claudia winced. ‘Sadly, yes.'

A happy few hours plotting, and I felt that Stuart couldn't touch me. I had
my
life, and I liked it. My father rang to ask if I could come to Penge the following weekend so that he and Mum could ‘see the bump'. Perhaps Nick would come too? But only if he, we had the time, no rush, no pressure, a quiet family tea, perhaps, just Issy and Claudia. He and Mum couldn't make this weekend, they were away in Bude, unfortunately, but surely we young people were busy anyway. They were
dying
to tell everyone, Leila, their friends at the Caravan Club, but were managing,
just
, to keep it secret. Nick rang mid-morning and my happiness was complete. Well, ninety-eight per cent.

‘How's my baby? Are the two of you free for lunch?'

‘Could be,' I said coyly. This was new. Flirting with Nick. A habit that had died a painful and lingering death two years earlier. How great to resurrect it. See! Our relationship was good now, it was really good.

‘Excellent. I'll book somewhere nice. I want to ask you something. Pick you up at one-ish.'

My easily flattered heart started pounding. First, Nick wasn't a booker. He didn't book restaurants, theatre, cinema, even holidays. It was always, ‘Let's turn up at the last minute and see'. Of course, usually what we saw was a full house and no vacancies, so inevitably,
I'd
become Entertainments Officer for the relationship. That he had
voluntarily decided to book somewhere ‘nice', was therefore of huge significance. I was no longer regarded as the old pair of slippers girlfriend. I was a special person, to be impressed. Second, he wanted to ask me something, in delightful surroundings. This meant one of two things. A request for either marriage or money.

Would
any
man ask the same woman twice? Surely it depended on the circumstances, and both our circumstances had greatly changed since I'd ended our engagement. Now, we were in a position to value each other. I don't think we had before. And, if I was honest, now we
needed
each other more. We craved safety and stability, both of us felt too vulnerable alone. I was sure that he would propose. Partly because we'd been so emotionally intimate lately, and partly because even Nick would realise that to ask a woman for money at this stage in a liaison was grotesquely inappropriate.

Sitting in a cosy corner of a French/Vietnamese restaurant in Charlotte Street – one of my favourite streets in London – I silently awarded Nick ten out of ten. Wood decor (just the right shade, not dark enough to be gloomy, not light enough to be pine), polite, unobtrusive service from waiting staff with good hygiene, and a chic, restful
yet
romantic atmosphere. And the food looked delicious. I smiled at him over my menu. He smiled back. Would he wait until we'd eaten, or would he do it when our drinks arrived? I'd ordered a glass of champagne, and he'd said, ‘Why not?' and ordered another.

As the pretty waitress set our flutes down on the table, I fiddled with my napkin.

‘How was work this morning?' enquired Nick.

‘Good, actually. We've had a few new applications. I can see at least three promising matches, I can hardly wait till Tuesday. We've got this girl called Shannon, she's a nanny, and she's not been that popular in the past because she tends to grill people, but Nige had a chat with her and apparently, she's softened. She's also gone on this personal
improvement crusade, and Claw says she looks fantastic, “plump and wholesome”. And she's a lovely person, very caring, and I
swear
she'll get on beautifully with this new man we've got called Archie – Claw says he's sexy, sleepy-eyed, bit scruffy, but very successful. He sells fitness equipment, except he always seems to have a cold or catarrh and he reeks constantly of Olbas Oil, and you just
know
they'll be drawn to each other, I can't wait to see it.'

I drew breath. Nick took my hand and stroked the inside of my palm with his thumb. ‘I love how you are with these people. It makes me think what a great mum you'll be.'

Three months ago I'm not sure I'd have seen this as a compliment. And three months ago, I'm not sure Nick would have given this compliment. Now, I beamed all over my face. I waited for him to continue. This had to be it! After what he'd been through, Nick
had
to see being ‘a great mum' as the most precious talent in the world. Wanting to encourage him, I clinked my glass against his. ‘Thank you,' I said. ‘And I'm sure you'll be a great dad.'

His eyes boggled. He mussed his hair. ‘I really want to be. More than anything.' Pause. ‘And that kind of brings me on to why I asked you here.' He blushed, I felt a squirm of excitement travel the entire length of my torso. I assumed a receptive expression. (Eyes narrowed –
soft
, not too starey or demanding; gentle smile – not glaring or expectant, the kind of face to make a man think he could spend the rest of his life with this woman without excess grief or hassle.) It absolutely went against every principle I'd ever had, but I'd recently concluded that principles were luxuries, most of which I couldn't afford.

I said in a low voice (not high or shrill), ‘You know you can ask me anything.' I wondered if I should pull out the table, to enable him to kneel by the side of it. Nick nodded. He placed his champagne glass to one side. ‘Gorgeous Holly, this may surprise you, but I wanted to ask if you would give me . . .'

As he said these words, my brain finished his sentence
dreamily . . . 
your hand in marriage
. What a quaint, old-fashioned turn of phrase, and how unlike Nick!

‘. . . a job.'

My Me-No-Trouble-Meester face cracked and shattered and my voice emerged, its shrillest ever. ‘A
job
?'

Nick blinked in surprise at my harsh tone. I took a hasty gulp of champagne. It went down the wrong way and caused a serious coughing fit, by the end of which I was able to ape recovery. ‘Sorry,' I said, forcing a smile. ‘You were saying?'

A job? A job! Come over all smoochy then ask me for a job! ‘You have no idea about women!' I wanted to yell, ‘No bloody idea!' I felt insulted and tearful. I bit the inside of my lip hard and feigned polite interest. How could he
not
want to marry me? We were doing so well!

‘I do want to keep doing children's parties, I like being Mr Elephant, it's a laugh, but it's not especially lucrative, and what with – well, I took out a loan about a month ago and it's all gone – so, what you said about being short-staffed at Girl Meets Boy, I thought I could help out, not necessarily full-time if you can't afford it, but part-time, I thought I could expand your website – I had ideas for it – I know you've been concerned about women's safety for example, and I thought I could provide information on that, you know, interview the police, or women's groups, or whatever. It could really help the business grow. I realise it's probably a bit of a shock, me, lazy git, asking for work, but I, I don't want to be a
nothing
, I want to make something of my life, professionally, I, I suppose that I have, I mean, I took it all for granted, and, of course, obviously, I don't any more, I want my mother, my
real
mother, that is, to be proud of me, I want to achieve, and you too, of course, I want to be worthy of you, do my bit, if I'm going to be a dad, I want to be the best dad, I don't want to be some loser pissing about in an elephant costume, I want to be responsible, contribute, I want our son or daughter to respect me.'