Falling in Love Again (30 page)

39

ALISON

‘Hi. It’s me.’

Her sister’s voice boomed through the bluetooth just as Alison joined the dual carriageway. What was it about Caroline and her that always made them ring each other at the most inconvenient time?

‘Thought I’d let you know that the menopause people liked our copy.’

Our?

‘Even the bit about meano-pause.’

Was this Caroline’s way of apologising? She hadn’t been sure about Alison’s little pun at first but had reluctantly included it.

‘So I’ve emailed you something else. I need it by tonight. All right?’

Watch that lorry which was sailing too close! ‘I’ll try but I’m on my way out at the moment.’

‘Hugh again? Aren’t you taking it a bit too fast?’

And why not? Hadn’t her husband done the same?

‘Actually, I’m going to see David. Apparently, he’s living in a squat.’

‘A squat?’

She was almost enjoying this!

‘Don’t worry, we’re actually meeting up in a café in Camden.’

Caroline sniffed. ‘Probably one of those bean sprout places. You did say he’d turned vegetarian, didn’t you? Well whatever you do, don’t take him back!’

There was something, Alison told herself as she parked the car, utterly ridiculous about being nervous just because she was meeting her own husband.

Then again, it wasn’t her husband. Not really. Not any more. David, the David she had known with his suit and alarm clock that rang out at 6.30 every morning, had gone. And she didn’t know who she was going to find in his place.

A sudden longing came over her to run back home to her warm Aga and cuddle Sam; make a Victoria sponge for Jules and maybe have a quiet supper with Hugh.

Too late. She was here.

‘Alison!’

A tall, thin man with a dark beard and a shock of blond – blond? – hair rose up from the table by the door. He was wearing jeans with fashionable holes in them, a t-shirt with ‘I’m Really 25 – the other numbers clock up to experience’ on it and a pair of white trainers. It was David all right. But not the David who had left home in September. It was the man she had met all those years ago, when his hair had been fairer and he had worn jeans instead of a suit. Only the lines on his face showed the passing of the years.

‘David,’ she managed. And then stopped as he bent down towards her. He’s going to kiss me, she thought. Oh my God, he’s going to kiss me.

She felt his mouth, warm and soft on her cheek.

‘Come and sit down.’

And she followed, with a strange unease of not knowing whether she’d been relieved or disappointed about the kiss.

He leaned back in his chair, kicked off his trainers – she felt them thud under the table – and smiled at the waitress with the ease of someone who was a regular. ‘The usual, Jen, please.’ He smiled at her. ‘Beetroot tea. Want to try it?’

She stared at him wordlessly, taken aback by this laid-back David who looked for all the world like a mature student. He nodded approvingly, mistaking her silence for agreement. ‘My guest will have the same.’

Guest? Guest?

‘So,’ he said, leaning forward revealing a hole in the t-shirt beneath the baggy green and yellow striped jumper on top. ‘How’ve you been doing?’ His eyes travelled up and down her. ‘You look amazing.’

She couldn’t say the same for him! Hole in t-shirt? Green and yellow stripes? ‘How’ve-you-beens?’

‘How’ve I been doing?’ she repeated. ‘For pity’s sake, David, how do you think I’ve been doing? My husband leaves me after nearly thirty years; goes to South America and Goa with some woman and then pitches up in Camden wearing ripped jeans, leaving me to sort out the children and pay the mortgage and come to terms with . . . with being alone. And you ask me how I’m doing?’

‘It’s not like that.’ For a second,  she could see the old David flashing into his eyes. ‘We’re trying to save the world through spreading the name of Peace.’

Peace? We?

‘Besides, you’ve got it wrong. Primrose isn’t my girlfriend,  although I know about Sam. Don’t try to pretend, Alison.’

All right. She wouldn’t. Sam! She’d just let him think she had someone.

His brow furrowed as though he was finding it difficult to speak clearly. ‘Primrose is my spiritual guide. She’s the one who introduced me to all this. And before you ask, we’re not born again Christians. Or members of some strange group, like Jules seems to think. We don’t have a name but we do believe in sharing our good fortune and in not drinking or swearing.’

His face glowed. ‘It’s wonderful, Alison. Do you know, I meditate every twenty minutes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve only got a couple of minutes to go.’

‘But how do you live? Where does the money come from?’

‘We go through the supermarket bins. And we each do a shift in the café to help pay for the rent.’

He had to be winding her up. Except that David didn’t wind anyone up, although come to think of it, he had pulled the odd practical joke on her when they’d first met. But then that side had gone before she’d noticed it, mainly because there had been too much going on. Children; making enough money for the mortgage.

‘That’s exactly it!’ He glowed again, as if reading her mind. ‘I worked every hour that the universe gave me. I didn’t stop. Do you know how exhausted I was? I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe with all those emails tumbling down into my inbox every few seconds. I tried telling you but you just didn’t listen.’

She could feel the anger bubbling up now, about to burst inside. ‘That was because I was busy with the children. You weren’t there – you were in the office. David – David are you listening?’

But his eyes were closed and he was rocking back and forth humming to himself. A couple of others around them, she noticed, were doing the same. A woman with spiky orange hair and rainbow coloured trousers. A bald man with a small gold earring in his left lobe and a Chinese-y looking tattoo up his bare left leg.

‘Meditating,’ whispered the waitress passing, her eyebrows raised as though she too thought it was mad.

Alison stood up, pushing the chair backwards. ‘That’s it. I’ve had enough.’

His eyes opened. ‘Don’t go. I want to show you something. This way.’

And before she knew it, he was pulling her up the stairs at the back of the café, through a splintered maroon door and into a large room with purple striped sheets hanging for curtains, with duvets lined up round the sides of the musty-smelling room.

‘This is where I live!’ He beamed again. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

She looked around. Four toothbrushes lay untidily in the sink. Next to it was a pile of dirty dishes that looked as though they’d been there for weeks. David had been the kind of person who had washed up what she’d washed up because her standards didn’t meet his. And the windows! They weren’t just broken; they had missing panes with jagged edges where the glass had once been.

Jules was right! David had had some kind of mental breakdown. She touched his arm gently. ‘Come home. Please. We can see the doctor and . . .’

Instantly, he jerked away from her as though she’d given him an electric shock. ‘I don’t want to see a doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me. Not now. Please go.’

He opened the door and for a second she feared he was gong to push her down the stairs in his eagerness to get rid of her. ‘But David . . .’

‘Go. I’ll write to you about the house.’

The house?

‘We’ll need to sell it of course. I have to pay my share to the group; we all do.’

‘But I thought you said I could stay there . . .’

He put his hands in the air as though waving her away. ‘Chill out Alison. I said I’d write to you about it, didn’t I? Now leave. LEAVE.’

Scared, she almost stumbled down, passing as she did so, a very pale, thin girl in black leggings and a short yellow shift dress. ‘Primrose?’ she asked, wonderingly.

The woman nodded. She had fine bone structure; the type where her cheeks seemed sculpted out of ivory. Prettier than she’d remembered from the company dinner. ‘Hi. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me. Dave said you were coming.’

Dave?

‘He did tell you, didn’t he?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘That we’re just friends. Nothing else. I knew as soon as I saw David that he needed rescuing. And he seems so much better now, don’t you think? We both are, now we have given up law and are dedicating ourselves to saving others!’ She looked at Alison almost pityingly. ‘You should think about it yourself. You really should!’

And before Alison could say anything, she had slipped past, shutting the door at the top, leaving her on the stairs feeling totally and utterly excluded.

She needed to talk to someone. Someone who would understand. Clive might have done but it wouldn’t do to be too familiar with someone who was paying her. Lizzie and Ed were too young to understand. Karen, then. Except that her answerphone was on and besides, she didn’t like to keep bothering her.

Which only left one person.

She’d left his number behind – why hadn’t she put it on her phone? – but she could remember where he lived. It was almost on the way home. And hadn’t he told her to ring any time?

It was only after she’d pressed the imposing black doorbell in the large, white plaster stucco circle, that she wondered if this was taking a liberty.

Forget it. He wasn’t in anyway. Alison felt both relieved and disappointed. No. Wait! She could hear footsteps.

‘Alison.’

It was neither a question nor a tone of pleasant surprise. Oh God, she’d caught him unawares and the expression on his face suggested that this wasn’t the most convenient time.

‘I’m so sorry for calling in like this but I needed to talk to you.’

She was babbling, the way she always did when nervous. ‘If it’s a bad time, don’t worry. I can come back. Or ring or . . .’

Then the expression on his face seemed to change and he was looking like the Hugh she’d spent the evening with the other day. The courteous Hugh with the exquisite manners. ‘Please, come in.’

Feeling intrusive, she followed him into the kitchen where he put down a slim black book he’d been holding when he’d opened the door.
Diary
, it had written on the outside. So he kept one, did he? Karen had recommended it during their first meeting and she’d started but not kept it going.

‘May I make you a cup of peppermint tea. I always find it helps when you need to talk about something.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you. I mean no. Heavens, I don’t know what I mean.’

His expression was so kind that she just wanted him to hold her; hug her.

‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it.’

So she did. All about David. And Primrose. And the Dave bit too.

And he listened. Quietly. Nodding at the right bits. Shaking his head when it was appropriate.

‘Sounds as though your husband is having a mid-life crisis,’ he said, pouring the tea from a white china teapot. ‘I always think it’s unfair when men do that. Women often have a tougher deal but they don’t go out and buy sports cars or take mistresses.’

Exactly.

He leaned forward.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Without thinking, she lurched forwards and kissed him. The force took her by surprise and, it seemed, him. Then he was kissing her back. Hard and meaningfully until suddenly, he stopped, cupping her head in his hands and looking deep into her eyes.

‘This isn’t the right time, Alison. You’re too angry and I want us to be together for the right reasons, when you’ve had a chance to calm down.’ He released her head and took her hand instead. ‘I’ve got to go away again soon, for work, I’m afraid. But when I’m back, may I ring you?’

Don’t go away, she wanted to say. Stay and make love to me. ‘That would be very nice,’ she managed.

‘Good.’ He nodded approvingly. ‘Let’s just keep this to ourselves, shall we? Your children and your sister – from what you’ve told me about them, I’ve got a feeling they might not approve. And I think we’re adult enough to make our own decisions. Don’t you?’

40

KAREN

Almost a whole month had passed since
that
lunch and now it was time for the next meeting which Alison (bless her) had offered to host. ‘WHAT NEXT?’ was the theme for the evening. Exactly what Karen was asking herself.

So here she was, outside Alison’s rather lovely home on the right side of town that reminded her of the kind of house that she and Paul might have had one day, if their marriage hadn’t gone so spectacularly wrong. Such a shame about the For Sale sign outside. This was the kind of house that a couple stayed in unless they divorced or downsized.

‘Hi!’

A pair of vivid blue eyes met her at the front door. She looked down and then up, unable to help herself. His accent (northern, wasn’t it  – she’d never been very good at that sort of thing) was friendly as though they’d met before.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’

His eyes seemed like they were teasing her. In a funny kind of way, they reminded her of Paul’s when they’d first met. Friendly. Admiring, almost in a way that made her throat flutter. But reliable. The kind of eyes you could trust. Or so she’d thought.

‘At the library.’ He stood back to let her in. ‘You gave me leaflets on your group to put up at the library. Back in September.’

So she had! It was all coming back now. So long ago even though it wasn’t really. But long enough for so much to have happened.

‘You live here?’ She couldn’t help the surprise in her voice. Surely he was too old to be the son Alison had mentioned and too young to be the husband and yet . . .

‘I’m Clive, one of the lodgers. Come on in. They’re all in the kitchen. It’s this way.’

So she followed him, marvelling at the Edwardian hall table and the pictures that were everywhere (lots of  horsey prints plus portraits of children) and, as she peeped through a door, a lovely sage green sofa with matching chairs and a  wooden table (possibly mahogany) with silver framed photographs on top.

And wow! The kitchen! It was the type you could live in; what the estate agent blurb in the paper would have described as ‘the hub of the house’, with an island  in the middle with shiny saucepans and clean cookery books inside, and an Aga – racing green – where Alison was standing, kettle in hand.

‘Karen. How lovely to see you. Tea or coffee?’

Awkwardly, she took a seat at the warm pine table that ran alongside the far wall where everyone else was. And to think that Alison had spent those evenings sitting in her own little room, on the sofa that had been ripped over the years by the cats and then the puppies. It made her feel hot with embarrassment!

‘Recognise this little fellow?’

The lodger – Clive, wasn’t it? – was sitting crouching next to her with a wriggly little black and white puppy in his arms, although he wasn’t nearly as small as he’d been when she’d last seen him.

‘Sam!’

But to her disappointment, he jumped out of Clive’s arms and headed straight for Alison, nearly knocking her over as she carried the tray towards the table. ‘Best thing you could have done for her,’ he said quietly as he stood up to make way for Alison.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she heard him say to Alison. ‘Wish there’d been a group like this for me when I’d needed it.’

So he was divorced too! She would have liked to ask Alison more but it was awkward and besides, what was she thinking of? He looked  younger than her – five years or maybe even more! – and anyway, she had quite enough on her plate without any complications. Didn’t she?

Besides,  she was meant to be in charge of the group and because she’d been late, they’d already started with their usual round the table update on how they’d been feeling and what they were doing. She couldn’t tell them about herself – that wasn’t the point – but she needed to concentrate. They were looking to her; she was their beacon. She’d survived all this mess that they were now going through. So how ironic was it that she was now going through it all over again, thanks to Paul turning up like that.

‘I’m nearly there!’ Lizzie said excitedly. ‘As soon as I looked at that pregnancy record card, I could see Tom couldn’t possibly be the father!’

Violet chewed her biscuit thoughtfully. ‘I hate to point out the obvious love, but he might have told you a porkie about the dates. Let’s get this right. Your hubby told you – swore on his own life – that he had only done it once with this friend of yours when she got pregnant.’

Lizzie nodded and Karen’s heart went out to her. The desperation in her eyes was heart-rending. Did Violet really have to do this? Wouldn’t it be easier for Lizzie to find out herself or hopefully never find out?

‘Supposing he’s lying?’ Violet took another biscuit and held it up as though examining it before putting it back on the plate. Disgusting! ‘Supposing he’s actually been having conoobials for a few months which would make this medical record right? I’ve got an actress friend who did that.’

‘But he wasn’t. He wouldn’t have. He couldn’t have without telling me. You don’t know Tom. He’s not like that.’

There was a silence. ‘I hadn’t thought my husband was the kind to have a secret life,’ said Alison quietly. ‘But when I met up with him recently, I found him in a squat in north London, living with a group of weirdos who want him to sell this house and give half of it to their ‘charitable causes’.’

There was a collective gasp of horror.

‘You’re not going to let him, I hope,’ said Ed.

Alison shrugged. ‘What option do I have? He’s entitled to half. It’s up to him what he does with it.’

‘Well I seem to have lost the woman who was the love of my life,’ volunteered Ed.

Violet snorted. ‘Which of the many candidates would that be?’

‘Touché.’ Ed shook his head as though laughing at himself.

‘Don’t mind if I do,’ said Violet, helping herself to another biscuit.

‘And I’ve found out that I’ve got a son!’ Ed looked round the group. ‘He’s amazing!’

‘I wonder,’ coughed Hugh, ‘how many men have sons they’re not aware of.’

That was true enough although it seemed to make Alison very awkward.

‘My ex-husband is in prison.’ Flip! She hadn’t meant to say that, thought Karen, appalled at herself. ‘Not for anything really awful – well, it is. But he hasn’t hurt anyone. Well, maybe he has. Not attacked is what I meant to say. And he’s nicer than he was. He’s been visiting me – they can when they’re in an open prison. And he’s helping me sort out a bit of trouble with our son.’

They were looking at her now as though they hadn’t expected  her to say anything. Maybe she should have kept her mouth shut. Maybe she’d ruined it all for them because the whole point of this group was to show that it would be all right.

‘That’s incredible,’ said Alison slowly. ‘How nice it must be to realise that people do change for the better.’

She nodded. ‘Maybe. It’s made me think actually. When I started this group, I didn’t want to tell you what was right and what wasn’t because I’m not qualified for that. My degree is in English Lit – not counselling. But I did think I could offer some support and bring you all together.’

They all nodded.

‘And what’s happened to me recently, well, it’s made me do some more thinking. And one thought was that these meetings are all very well but maybe we need a bit longer.’

Ed nodded. ‘I always feel that.’

‘So how about going away for a night somewhere? It doesn’t have to be anywhere expensive but it could be like a conference.’

‘We could go to one of my places.’ That was Ed. ‘I’ve got a cottage in the Isle of Wight if that’s any good.’

The Isle of Wight, wondered Karen. She’d never been there.

‘We used to go to the island, when I was little,’ breathed Lizzie wistfully. ‘I suppose Mum would have the children.’ She sounded doubtful now. ‘Depending on whether Dad’s back of course.’

She hadn’t mentioned her parents had split up too! What was the world coming to? But maybe he was just on holiday.

The idea was gathering momentum. The second weekend in May? Agreed! Altogether, thought Karen as she made her way home, it hadn’t been a bad meeting. It wasn’t running exactly the way she’d planned it. But that was life. Wasn’t it?

Adam was still being cool towards her but that was understandable. An abortion and a non-divorce. ‘Try and see it from my point of view,’ she’d said afterwards.

‘I’ll try,’ he’d said grimly. ‘But it makes me see you differently, Mum. Sorry but that’s the truth. You should have told me about Hayley and you should have said you weren’t divorced.’

See her differently? His words still haunted her especially as he hadn’t returned her calls since the lunch. And now, here she was, getting ready to meet Paul the following Saturday, as planned. Not at home but at the coffee shop. This time, she even managed to wave at Lisa, the custody officer who was taking a seat at the back.

‘Have you heard anything from Adam?’

It was his first question.

She shook her head.

‘I have.’

It wasn’t fair! She’d been the one who’d brought him up; looked after him all those years. Been dad and mum . . .

‘Don’t be hurt.’ He reached across the table and patted her hand lightly. His touch sent a shock through her; only because she hadn’t expected it. ‘He wrote to me. Said Hayley wanted to try again but he wasn’t sure. So he asked what I would do in his situation.’

The tea tasted strange in her mouth. ‘And what did you say?’

His eyes were fixed on hers. ‘I told him straight, Karen. Told him that I’d forgive her. I’d realise there were extenuating circumstances.’

‘I also said something else.’

Clearly he was waiting for her to press him further but something made her hold back.

‘I told him,’ he said finally, ‘that I wished we’d tried harder.’

The tea tasted even odder now.

‘And I said I’d give anything; anything in the world to start again with his mum.’

No. Yes. No. What was he thinking of?

‘Don’t go.’ He looked up. She hadn’t even realised she’d stood up.

‘I’ve got to.’

‘But we’ve only had a few minutes.’

She put on her coat. ‘It’s been enough.’

He was clutching at her sleeve now. ‘I’m sorry. I was too fast for you. I should have written . . .’

‘No.’ Across the room, she could see alarm written all over the custody officer’s face as she made her way towards them. ‘A letter wouldn’t have done it. A letter wouldn’t have made up for all the hurt. You made me get rid of our baby, didn’t you?’ Hot tears stung her eyes. ‘I’ll never forgive you for that, Paul. And even worse, I’ll never forgive myself either.’

Quickly, she pushed her way through the shoppers towards the door and as she did so the mobile rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Karen?’

She recognised the voice immediately.

‘I don’t know if you remember me . . .’

‘Clive. From the  library. Alison’s lodger.’

She could hear his smile through the voice. ‘That’s the one. Look, let me know if I’m speaking out of turn but there’s a talk. At the library. And I know you come in quite a lot so I thought you might be interested. It’s about spirituality in today’s world of literature. Thursday night. We’re putting on a few drinks and snacks and some authors are coming. I don’t suppose . . .’

‘Thanks.’ She glanced behind her shoulder to see Paul and his probation officer emerging behind. ‘I’d love to.’