Falling in Love Again (22 page)

29

ED

September was amazing! Really amazing.

‘I can’t believe that’s your real name,’ Ed had said when she’d finally told him after that first date – which of course, he’d pretended wasn’t a date at all, otherwise she might not have gone. Just a drink with the boss which had turned out to be a very long night at a wine bar near Oxford where, hopefully, no one from work would bump into them.

She’d flushed before tossing back her beautiful hair which was exactly the colour of the beech tree he used to climb as a boy, before the accident. ‘You can see why I call myself Sarah at work. Everyone would take the mickey out of me otherwise.’

‘I wouldn’t let them,’ he had started to say but managed to stop himself before he got to the ‘them’ bit. ‘I wouldn’t let it put you off,’ he blurted out, feeling like a schoolboy. ‘You have to be true to yourself.’

Her face had cleared then as though he’d just said something that no one else had ever said before which was, of course, rubbish because that’s exactly what everyone knows but which only philosophers and stupid, love-struck middle-aged men like him, came out with.

‘Do you know, that’s so true! It’s exactly what I told Daddy when I said I wasn’t going to uni.’ She took another swig of her elderflower cordial.

Ed had thought she was joking when she’d told him what she wanted to drink but after a glass or two on his own, he’d joined her. Didn’t taste too bad actually.

‘Daddy wanted me to read law, like him.’ She wrinkled her pretty little nose which Ed would have liked to ski down if he could. ‘But I told him I didn’t want to be boring like him. Mum said she knew exactly what I meant.’

Something fluttered inside him. A warning sign. ‘So they’re divorced, your parents.’

September burst into peals of giggles. ‘You must be joking! They’re sickeningly in love after goodness knows how many years. It’s gross. I keep telling them that I’m the only person I know, virtually, whose parents aren’t divorced.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s so unfashionable.’

‘But she said he was boring.’

‘Only when he’s in his lawyer mode, silly.’ She clasped her hand to her mouth. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you silly. I mean you’re my boss. Oh Gosh. You’re not going to fire me now, are you?’

Fire her? He wanted to . . .

‘It was Daddy who wanted to call me September because that’s when they . . . you know! Mummy thought that was rather sweet but October got really miffed because she thought my name was nicer than hers.’

October? September? Ed was beginning to feel as though he had stumbled into a fairytale. One which contained a proper two-parent family with two gorgeous daughters (he simply knew that the sister would be a stunner too). And to think he had discovered September on the office doorstep, so to speak! She was definitely The One. He just knew it! Unless of course, the sister turned out to be in the running too  . . .

‘And then February came along, although she should really have been March because she was two minutes into the next month but as Mummy said, what was that compared with a name that sounded so much nicer even if it did mean a longer name tape. Mummy’s hopeless at sewing so we used to do all that sort of thing for her.’

He was still trying to keep up but in a deliciously delirious way. ‘So you’ve got two sisters?’

‘Three, silly. Oh dear, there I go again. I wasn’t going to bore you with all this family stuff  but somehow when I get going, I can’t stop. We were going to have June but Daddy said that was too ordinary and she was another at the end of the month too so she’s . . .

‘July!’ Ed almost felt pleased with himself as though he was part of the game. ‘And do they live near you?’

‘They live
with
us.’

She  named a well-to-do area – Chalfont St Something – and although he’d never been there, Ed could somehow see it all so clearly in his head. A wonderful, busy, happy family with the usual squabbles of course but nothing too serious. A proper family where the parents celebrated serious anniversaries and they all sat round the table every night having supper and talking about the day. And before he knew it, the yearning to be part of that group, to receive an invitation to dinner, was so overwhelming that he found himself asking if she was free again. Preferably the next night.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, sounding as though she really meant it. Ed prided himself on being good at interpreting rejections since he was the one who usually dished them out. ‘I can’t.’

He waited for the excuse. Family birthday. Family outing to the theatre. Family meeting . . . But none came.

‘How about next week, then?’

But that wasn’t any good either. And eventually he had to settle for a Tuesday in about three weeks’ time. How crazy was that?

‘I won’t tell them at work,’ she said as he dropped her off at the tube station. She had refused, absolutely refused, to let his driver take her home and, thank heavens, didn’t ask why he hadn’t driven the car himself instead of letting Charlie wait in the Porsche outside. ‘It wouldn’t look good, would it?’ She touched his arm lightly. ‘And we all know you like to do things properly.’

I don’t care this time, he had wanted to say. I honestly don’t care. But she was probably right, he told himself as he went to bed, his head reeling with giddiness.

And now, three weeks later, it was almost time for that date. Every day, since then, he had found himself walking past her desk as often as he could. Every time, she had given him a little nod and shy smile and he’d felt that tingly feeling inside as he said, ‘Good morning’ or ‘Good afternoon’.

Sometimes he found himself saying the wrong one at the wrong time.

‘You’re besotted again,’ Nancy said, mixing him a cocktail at her kitchen bar, with one of her
‘I can’t believe you’re making yet  another mistake’
looks. ‘What about Tatiana? I thought your heart was broken. The problem with being a perfectionist, Ed, is that you’re always looking for the perfect relationship.’

His parents’ marriage had been, Ed wanted to say.

‘And what about The Kid?’ Nancy continued, handing him a glass and leading him into the sitting room before sinking into his father’s old chair. Her eyes glinted.

‘Still nicking your toe clippers?’

Yes.

‘Still trying to drop another A level?’

Yes.

‘No! He says it was just a silly joke. I’ve no idea what Tatiana is doing.’

‘And what about the legal problem?’

He knew she’d been building up to this. ‘I’ve found someone to help. Someone who specialises in digging up people’s businesses. He’s working on it.’

Only one of those statements was actually true. And only half of that one, to be honest. He didn’t know what Tatiana was doing right now but The Kid
hadn’t
said it was ‘just a silly joke’.

‘I’ll see who I like,’ The Kid had retorted hotly without even looking up from his laptop as he lay sprawled on his bed. ‘Sides, you two weren’t even married. So I didn’t gank her.’

Gank = stole. He knew that much. ‘Yes you did. We were engaged.’

‘But you didn’t mean it. You’ve been engaged loads of times to keep them quiet. I know. Your dad told me.’

True although that wasn’t the point. ‘So why didn’t I know she was a lesbian?’ God, he was actually asking Jamie for advice now.

The Kid burst into peals of laughter. ‘Don’t you mean dyke?’ The boy was still addressing the screen. No wonder these kids couldn’t talk nowadays except in Facebook speak. ‘Actually, she’s bi although she says she used to be straight. Maybe you confused her.’

That was exactly what worried him. So much so that he couldn’t help bringing it up at the next session. What was it called again? Something about not blaming other people.

Funnily enough, he was beginning to look forward to the sessions more and more. Odd really, considering how different they all were. But there was a definite comfort in talking to people who were in the same boat. Who all went to bed on their own after years of being entwined with other people. Who all got up alone and wondered how they were going to fill their weekends. He was actually beginning to enjoy being in Karen’s house with her joss sticks and that doggy smell and that rather surprising bookshelf of poetry by Keats and Auden, not to mention Chaucer and Larkin below. And he felt surprisingly concerned about Alison who had kindly lent him a book about cheese and teenagers to help him deal with The Kid.

‘I don’t think you confused your ex-fiancée when it came to sex,’ Hugh said rather surprisingly, when Ed finally plucked up the courage to bring it up in front of everyone. ‘We’ve probably all got a bit of the other in us although it takes certain situations, and maybe people, to bring it out.’

Violet had nodded thoughtfully. ‘I knew a man who liked to dress up in his wife’s clothes but went to work every day in a suit.’

Why didn’t that surprise him?

‘Any luck with my man?’ asked Hugh quietly during the coffee break. Ed had put his chipped mug on a side table and hoped Karen wouldn’t notice he hadn’t drunk any. He’d always hated instant.

‘Not yet. He’s still working on it.’

Not for the first time, Ed wished he had hired a private detective himself instead of taking a recommendation from Hugh. It made him feel somehow that the man had something on him. It certainly seemed to give the creep the ‘right’ to talk to Ed as though he’d known him for ages.

‘You ought to find another girlfriend,’ Hugh whispered, as they all took their seats again for the second part. (It was Alison’s turn now and then Lizzie. They had reached this arrangement by general agreement. Each one would say what their month had been like and the others would offer encouragement or suggest things.)

‘I have . . . sort of.’

Damn. Why had he mentioned that? But it was true. Tomorrow night was finally the night that September (it still gave him a thrill to know that was her name when everyone else in the office thought it was ‘Sarah’) had agreed to see him.

‘Good.’ Hugh raised his eyebrows. ‘Let me know how you get on.’

‘And what about you?’

Hugh nodded with what could only be described as a satisfied smug expression. ‘I think I might have found a lady too. But it wouldn’t be courteous to tell you more at this stage.’

Who on earth, thought Ed, as he listened to Alison talking about her week and the new lodger, would agree to go out with a pompous git like that?

They had almost finished – they were going to sing ‘
I Will Survive!
’ tonight, God help them – when his mobile vibrated in his right buttock. His first thought was that September was cancelling tomorrow. He needed to read the message!

Making his excuses, he headed for Karen’s loo which was on the first floor. Picking his way through some dirty washing on the landing, he opened the door of what turned out to be the bathroom feeling rather apprehensive. He hated using other people’s loos. Always had done. And this was so personal! There wasn’t even a separate one – it was part of the general bathroom with the mat still on the floor and bath stuff all round the bath and . . .

There was the phone again! Thank God. It wasn’t September’s number unless she was ringing from somewhere else.

‘Ed speaking.’

‘Mr Smith? This is the casualty department of Stoke Mandeville speaking. I believe you are the stepfather of Jamie Wilson-Watts?’

‘Yes. No. His stepbrother actually.’

Ed felt his heart pounding as he recalled The Kid when he’d left that night. They’d had a filthy argument because he hadn’t wanted to eat supper which Ed had bought specially from the Chinese round the corner. ‘I’ll eat when I’m hungry and I’m not hungry right now,’ he had stormed, before slamming the door behind him, muttering something that sounded like ‘labatyd’ or whatever that teenage word was that basically meant ‘put up with it’.

‘What’s happened?’ His heart was in his throat and he could feel pools of cold sweat trickling down from his shoulder blades. ‘Quick. Please. Tell me. Is my little stepbrother OK ?’

30

LIZZIE

‘I’ll go with you,’ Lizzie heard herself saying. Somehow, trying to help others helped her to block out that agonising grief of Sophie's empty room. Sophie’s empty place at the table. Sophie’s occasional texts which made her feel as though her daughter was abroad on a school trip and not round the corner with her father and his mistress.

Karen gave her a nod of approval at the offer which made her feel warm. Wanted. Well someone clearly had to go with poor Ed, who looked as though he didn’t know where the front door was, let alone a steering wheel although, as she remembered later, he didn’t drive.

Karen had offered too but then it would have meant breaking up the meeting. Besides, Lizzie owed it to Karen to help out after all her reassuring ‘Are you all right?’ phone calls during the past month.

Just as well Dad was babysitting. He wouldn’t mind if she was a bit late. ‘You must go,’ he’d told her when she had almost not gone to the meeting this month after everything that had happened. ‘It will do you good.’

Now, as she drove Ed to the hospital, it was her who needed to do the reassuring. ‘He’s all right,’ she kept saying, as though to convince herself too. ‘They said he was. Try not to worry too much.’

‘Worry?’ Ed’s eyes had sunk into his face so that any similarity to Elvis (bald or not bald) now seemed laughable. Don’t keep looking at your watch like that, she wanted to say. She was going as fast as she could.

‘You’ve no idea, Lizzie, what a nightmare The Kid is. Just wait until your two start coming in at 2am or even later. He’s meant to be re-taking his A-levels next year. Or should I say, re-taking his re-takes.’

Lizzie’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Sophie and Jack would never be like that. She’d make sure they were in by 11pm every night until they were . . . what? At least twenty one. And she wouldn’t let them drink either. Well, no more than she did and that wasn’t much really although she
had
knocked back half a bottle the other night when she’d gone into Sophie’s empty bedroom and said ‘goodnight’.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ed was glancing across at her. ‘I don’t mean to worry you – you’ve got enough on your plate. But no one ever thinks that their kids will do the kind of things they do until it happens.’

That rang bells all right. If someone had told her a year ago that Sophie would want to live with her father and not her – or that she wouldn’t be living with Tom – she’d never have believed it.

‘But he’s not your kid,’ she couldn’t help pointing out gently. ‘He’s your stepbrother.’

Ed made a funny noise which was difficult to interpret as she was trying to concentrate on the road ahead without looking at him again. ‘He might as well be my son. When you come from a family like mine, the boundaries are . . . well they’re just not there. Take my stepmother.’ He gave a small laugh. ‘Can you believe it? Karen actually thought she was my girlfriend when she saw Nancy giving me a hug the other month. OK, so she’s only a couple of years older than me but I’ve had younger stepmothers.’

‘You have?’

Wow. This would make a good piece for the magazine . . . Stop it, Lizzie. That’s the last thing you should be thinking about.

‘What about you?’ He gave her a sideways look. ‘Forgive me for asking but I’ve got the impression, from all these meetings, that you had more of a huggy relationship with your husband than real passion.’

How dare he?

‘When you’ve got kids, you don’t have the time for that sort of thing.’ Fleetingly, she brushed the thought of the once a month on Sundays ritual out of her head. Was it really lack of sex that had pushed Tom away?

‘But did you
ever
have passion?’

For someone who was meant to be concerned about his stepbrother, this was too much!

‘Of course we did. Look, we’re here.’ She swung up in front of the entrance. ‘You nip in and I’ll find a parking space.’

‘Won’t you come with me?’ His face was like a little boy’s and her heart lurched despite the awkward conversation they’d just had. Someone needed her! The kids might not. But this man did.

‘I’ve got to find a space first. But I’ll hunt you down in Casualty. Don’t worry.’

Had they ever had passion? Ed’s cheeky question rang round her head as she reversed in between a Mini and a Discovery. A nasty feeling crawled down Lizzie’s spine. It had been, if she was honest, nice rather than passionate. Nice to have a boyfriend almost from week one of university; nice to be kissed; nice to have someone to go round with and plan a future with. And then came the children and after that – well, as everyone knew, things were different then.

The children! Frantically, Lizzie searched her bag for the mobile. She should have rung Dad ages ago to say she’d be late.

‘No problem, love.’

She could almost taste the Bristol Cream in his voice.

‘Little Jack’s fast asleep upstairs and we’re watching a DVT from the library.’

‘DVD, Dad! Can I speak to Mum?’

‘She’s not in, love. I’ll explain later.’

What? Then who was the ‘we’? And now he’d switched the phone off! What was going on? As soon as she got out of here, she’d sort it.

It wasn’t difficult to find Casualty. All she had to do was follow the smell of booze and a steady trickle of various teenagers limping in with hands clutched to their heads.

But where on earth was Ed? Maybe she should just take a seat or was it possible that he’d been taken into one of the side rooms and needed her?

‘Excuse me,’ she said to the pretty girl with auburn hair on reception. ‘I’m looking for a Mr Smith.’

The girl gave her a sharp look. ‘Are you family?’

Lizzie hesitated. If she said no, they’d never let her in. And she’d promised Ed. Absolutely promised. ‘Actually, I’m his . . .’

Sister?

For all she knew, they might have taken down his family details and known that wasn’t true.

‘Girlfriend.’ She twirled her engagement ring subconsciously; she’d been unable to take it off –  or her wedding ring. If she did, it would be a defeat. It would really mean it was over. ‘I’m his girlfriend,’ she repeated as though to reassure herself.

‘Girlfriend?’ The pretty girl was giving her a stony stare. ‘I see. All right then. Go through that door there and you’ll find him in the second cubicle on the left.’

Bracing herself –  there was something about hospitals which terrified her in case the children ever got taken ill – she made her way past an elderly woman with a heavily padded knee, who was in  a wheelchair; her husband tenderly leaning over her. That was how she had seen her and Tom in the future. But she’d get him back. She would!

‘Hello?’

Tentatively, she peered through the curtain and then quickly stepped back. How sweet! Ed was sitting by the bed of what looked like a very vulnerable older Jack, holding his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Ed,’ the boy was saying. ‘Really sorry. I know I’ve been a prick. I just thought I’d try it out.’

Try what out? The hospital had said the boy had drunk too much or was that Ed’s excuse in case it was something harder?

‘It’s OK.’

Ed’s voice was so gentle; so caring that her heart went out to him. He was a nice man. He really was. And to think she had put him down as a middle class snob when he’d mentioned having a driver and a business of his own.

‘Found them, did you?’ snapped the girl at reception when she went back.

Lizzie nodded. ‘I think they need some time on their own. Would you mind telling Ed . . .  my boyfriend . . .  that I’ll be waiting for him in the car?’

It took ages for him to come out. So long that she actually got through her spare stash of Bounty bars in the glove compartment, only stopping to ring Dad who assured her in a sleepy voice that it didn’t matter if she was late and he hoped she was having a good time.

In vain, did she try to explain that it wasn’t that kind of evening but he didn’t seem very with it. And there was no reply on Mum’s mobile.

What were they doing with mobiles at that age anyway?

As for Sophie, her mobile had been off ever since she’d left.

‘She’ll come back,’ Karen had reassured her when she’d turned up that terrible night.

But how? How did people do it? How did they manage, knowing that their child has chosen to live somewhere else? Come on Ed. Where are you? By now, the novelty of helping out a virtual stranger was beginning to wear off. She needed to be at home with the one child who had chosen to stay with her; although how long would it be before he decided he wanted to go too?

Ah, here he was.

‘Everything all right?’

He nodded briefly. ‘The Kid had had too much to drink. I’ve seen him in a worse state. They say he’s okay but are keeping him in for observation.’

‘That’s a relief.’

He nodded again. ‘Yes.’

She started the engine. ‘You don’t sound as though it is.’

‘Actually, Lizzie, there is something wrong. I’m sorry for asking but what exactly did you tell the girl on reception?’

She felt a funny little flutter. ‘I asked where you were and she wanted to know if I was family, otherwise I don’t think she’d have let me in – and you had said you wanted me there.’

‘I did.’

‘So I’m afraid I pretended I was your girlfriend otherwise I don’t think she’d have let me through.’

There was a silence. She couldn’t see his face in the dark.

‘I wasn’t trying anything on Ed. I mean I know you probably have a girlfriend or will get one soon and I’m married and . . .’

Why was she gabbling like this?

‘The problem is,’ he was saying slowly, ‘that by some ghastly coincidence that girl at reception is someone who also works for me. I hadn’t realised she had an evening job as well to make ends meet.’

‘You don’t feel bad in case you’re not paying her enough?’

A hoarse laugh. ‘Maybe I should. But in fact, I feel bad because we’ve started dating even though no one else knows it.’

Shit. Sorry. Sugar. ‘So she thinks you’re cheating?’

‘Exactly. Ed sounded glum. ‘Looks like my love life is doomed to failure, doesn’t it? Oh well. At least The Kid is all right. By the way, Lizzie, call this the woman in me, but have you considered extensions? The hair variety, that is. If so, I know someone who might be able to advise you.’

Ed insisted that he’d get a cab from her house instead of her driving him home. That way, she’d be back sooner for her son.

He’d already ordered the taxi from the car so hopefully it would be there when they got to the house. Bugger. It wasn’t. Now she’d have to ask him in. And then Dad would think he was more than a friend. Wrong! Especially after that rude suggestion about extensions.

‘Lizzie, dear!’

She knew it! Marjorie! Complete with white trouser suit and a half-empty glass. ‘How lovely to see you, dear. I’ve been keeping your dad company while your mum’s at the cinema.’

Keeping Dad company? Mum at the cinema?

‘Do come in.’

Marjorie was beaming at Ed. ‘I expect you’d like a cup of coffee, wouldn’t you? Don’t worry, it’s not too late.’ She winked at him. ‘I do hope you’ve had a nice time at the ‘hospital’.’

The emphasis on the last word was so heavy that she might as well have come out with what she was really thinking. Things that a woman of that age had no right to think.

‘Ed and I have been at the hospital to visit his stepson,’ Lizzie said firmly. ‘I mean, stepbrother.’

Why had she said that? Now Dad was giving Ed what she used to call, in the early days when she’d been dating Tom, ‘The Look’. The look that said,
‘Are you good enough for my daughter?’

Lizzie began to stammer. ‘Ed’s got such a complicated family that I get a bit muddled.’

‘Clearly,’ muttered Ed.

‘Ah. Here’s the taxi.’ Thank heavens for that.

‘Taxi?’ frowned Dad. ‘Have you had too much to drink to drive back then?’

‘I don’t drive,’ said Ed quickly.

‘Nor me!’ Marjorie beamed. ‘It’s so much nicer to get the bus, don’t you think? You see more. And besides, when you’re my age, it’s free. Do you know, a friend of mine is travelling, even as we speak, by bus from the north of England to Cornwall. Of course, she stays in some nice hotels on the way.’

‘Bye.’ Ed was already down the path, skidding on the ice. ‘See you next month. Maybe.’

Lizzie didn’t even bother trying to persuade Marjorie and Dad that Ed was just a friend. Clearly they were determined to think what they wanted.

But she wasn’t going to let them get away with it that easily.

‘What the hell is she doing here?’ she hissed at Dad, once she’d run upstairs to check Jack was safely asleep in his bed. ‘And where’s Mum?’

Dad put his hands in his pockets the way he always did when about to make a point. ‘Your mother wanted to go to the cinema with George. So I said fine. I’d ask Marjorie if she wanted to babysit with me. Look,’ he pointed to the board in front of the television, ‘she can even beat me in Scrabble. Your mother was never able to do that.’