Falling in Love Again (31 page)

41

ED

Why had he suggested the island, Ed asked himself, as Charlie drove him home.  He only took special people there. Really special. He hadn’t even taken Tatiana or any of the others to the cottage. Although he had, come to think about it, shared it with Claire in their heads as they had lain on the school cricket pitch on that night just after his 17th birthday.

‘You’d love it,’ he had whispered. ‘The cottage lies at the foot of St Boniface Downs and above the landslip. We used to go for walks before breakfast. Before Dad was up. Just her and me and the dog.’

And Claire had turned to him, he remembered, stroking his face in a way that showed she understood about his mother in a way that no one had ever understood since.

A surge of anger shot through him. His father had had no right to decide his future for him. And Claire – she should have told him she was pregnant instead of allowing her parents to ring his father first. They could have got married and even if they hadn’t, he would have looked after her.

Now, as he ran up the stone steps to the front door, he was certain of that. OK. So he might have had a bit of a record in the past. And when Claire had broken off with him he had gone straight out and found someone else at the local girls’ school. But that was just because he was hurt. And apart from Claire, which wasn’t fair because he hadn’t known about the baby, he had always honoured his responsibilities, hadn’t he? He’d made sure all his wives had had more than their fair share in the settlements. And just look at . . .

‘Jamie! Where do you think you’re going at this time of night?’

The Kid beamed down at him on the doorstep, making him feel – not for the first time – short even though he was nudging six feet. ‘Out, Ed. Clubbing.’

‘But it’s nearly 11 o’clock.’

‘Better get off to bed then, hadn’t you?’ The Kid gave him another cheeky grin. ‘You’ll be needing your beauty sleep at your age.’

Ed swung round trying to catch him but he was too quick. ‘But you’ve got exams soon. You ought to be revising.’

‘You know something? Every time you say that, it makes me want to do the opposite.’

There was a piece about that in the paper this morning, he seemed to recall. A new virus that teenagers were suffering from. OCD, that was it! Obstructional Concentration Disorder that made them refuse to do what adults asked.

‘What time will you be back?’

The Kid beamed. He’d won and they both knew it. ‘Before 3am. Don’t sweat. I’ll be on my mobile.’

3am! That meant he had to set the alarm for 3.30am again so he could wake up and check The Kid was back and if not, ring the police like he threatened to every time.

In his day, he thought as he made his way through to the kitchen, Dad would have killed him for acting like this. Still . . . a small part of him was reluctantly pleased that The Kid had character.

Ed looked down at the chunk of Cheddar he’d taken out of the fridge for a late night snack. It bore The Kid’s teeth marks in a jagged edge, showing that he hadn’t used a knife again. Ed’s mouth twitched as he recalled how one of his father’s girlfriends had told him off for swigging out of the milk bottle. The Kid could do worse things. And like Alison said at the group, the trick was to get tough with the ones that mattered. Nice woman, Alison. The kind of woman his father should have married if he hadn’t found Nancy.

Shit. That reminded him. He had promised to tell her what happened when he’d met Giles. Of course, he’d tried but hadn’t got through. Odd that. She always replied to voicemails. Maybe another text. More explicit this time.

Met him. Panic over but got news to give you. Pls ring.

That should do it.

His mobile rang just as he was finally getting off to sleep. ‘Nancy?’

The giggle at the other end didn’t sound like her but he couldn’t think who else it would be at this time of night.

‘Are you all right?’

‘I am but your stepbrother’s not in great shape.’

‘Tatiana! Where are you? Is Jamie all right? What are you doing with him?’

‘Keep your hair on, big boy. Whoops! Sorry! The Kid’s just had too much to drink again. And I haven’t been trying to get him into bed if that’s what you mean. In fact, you’re lucky we were at the same gig or we couldn’t have yanked him home.’

Home?

‘I’m at Nick’s.’

The way she said it made it sound as though he should know who she was talking about. ‘We’ll bring him round. Are you in?’

Somehow, Ed managed to drag himself out of bed and splash his face with water before yanking on a pair of jeans. The main thing was that The Kid was all right but he still didn’t want Tatiana and her friend to think he’d been in bed at this time.

He’d only just got dressed when he heard the sound of her key. He’d never got round to changing the locks; it had seemed like the final admission it was all over.

‘Ed!’ She kissed him briefly on his cheek and the smell of her perfume made him want to hug her back. Then she opened her mouth and he changed his mind. What had happened to the accent? Without it, she suddenly seemed very ordinary. Just one more girl trying to be something she wasn’t. Completely different from Alison or Lizzie or Karen or – though it gave him a flutter to think of her – September.

‘Don’t worry, Ed.’ She looked as though she was going to pat his shoulder. ‘He’s not that bad.’ Now she was tipping back her head in a posture designed for a toothpaste ad. ‘I’ve seen worse . . . In here, Nick!’

A rather short, Dudley Moore lookalike strode in, with The Kid slung over his shoulder. ‘I’m shfine,’ he seemed to be saying.

‘Where do you want him?’ growled Dudley Moore.

If this hadn’t been so unreal, it might have seemed like a parcel delivery. ‘In here, please.’ Ed pushed open the door to The Kid’s bedroom. ‘Should I take him to hospital again?’

‘Nah.’ Dudley gave a Gallic shrug to match his cigarette breath. ‘He’s just had a couple of Tequilas too many.’

‘How do you know it wasn’t drugs?’

‘Checked his pupils we did, didn’t we babe?’

Babe?

‘Where’s your girlfriend, Tatty?’  he asked pointedly.

Tatiana pursed her lips crossly. ‘Can I have a word with you, Ed?’

She took him into the kitchen as though the house was hers. ‘Mind if I take this?’ she picked up the egg whisk. ‘I’ve been looking for it everywhere. It was mine, remember? Listen, about my ‘friend’ from before. Don’t mention her, if you don’t mind. Not in front of Nick.’

‘Why?’

‘Because she’s still a friend but not that kind of friend any more. In fact, to be honest, I’m afraid she never was.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Tatiana patted him on the shoulder. ‘I wanted to let you off lightly, Ed. Didn’t want to hurt your feelings. So I thought that if I pretended I was that way inclined, you wouldn’t feel so bad about it. But now I’ve met Nick and to be honest, I think he might be The One . . .’

THE ONE?  At five foot nothing? You could hardly see him.

‘It’s not size that matters, Ed.’ Another pat of the shoulder. ‘It’s humour. And the ability to make a woman feel special.’

‘Didn’t I do that to you?’

‘Don’t worry. You look after The Kid – I’m afraid he’s a bit hurt about Nick but honestly, it was only a schoolboy crush. Nothing happened between us. And Ed?’

What now?

‘I’m sure you’ll find the right woman soon. It’s just taking you longer than most, that’s all.’

He was still taking it all in. ‘What’s happened to the accent, Tatiana?’

Was it his imagination or did she look awkward for a second; that mask of confidence slipping? ‘I don’t need it now, Ed. I’ve finally found someone who likes me for who I am.’

Right. That was it. No more going out until exams were over. No more allowance, so The Kid couldn’t buy any more drink. No more shallow women with fake accents . . .

‘It won’t work!’

Claire was sitting opposite him, not in a restaurant this time, but in her flat. A pretty ground floor apartment in Notting Hill, not far from the Oxfam bookshop, with wide open spaces and wooden floors that she almost floated over in her pink wheelchair. She had asked him round to ‘talk things over’ but instead, he’d found himself telling her all about The Kid, and about September and about how he just couldn’t seem to find the right woman, and everything else into the bargain. She’d always been a good listener.

‘You’ve got to let them make their own mistakes,’ she told him as they sat in her lovely sitting room overlooking the shared communal garden. ‘I had to do the same. Giles wasn’t easy. None of them are.’

The guilt again! ‘How did you manage on your own and . . . ’ He glanced, unable to help himself, at her chair. Even the pink wheels couldn’t hide what it really meant.

‘And being like this? Is that what you mean?’

She smiled. A beautiful, glamorous smile. ‘I had help. My mother was around until recently but now I don’t like to ask her for help. Besides, the business was doing so well that I could pay for a housekeeper and that sort of thing.’

That sort of thing? She certainly had some lovely pieces like that Chinese lacquered cupboard with the red and black front.

‘And I had my own admirers too, you know.’

She was smiling at him now, teasing him. Daring him to question the fact that a woman in a wheelchair could still have lovers.

‘Can you . . .’ He flushed. How could he really ask a woman in a wheelchair if she could still make love. But it was important. He needed to know. ‘I mean it’s none of my business but . . .’

She smiled again but a tighter one this time. ‘You’re right. It is none of your business. I only wanted you to come over so we could tie up the practicalities. Like I said, we don’t want your money.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘That was just a test to see if you were going to do the right thing and I suppose that part of me did want to wind you up a bit.’

Her beautiful eyes grew serious. ‘But I would like you to see Giles regularly. Be a father to him. He needs one now, more than ever.’ She looked down. ‘To be honest,  the doctors don’t know how this is going to go.’

And that’s when he had the idea. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It was so perfect, it was obvious. They already had a son. Claire had been the only woman who had ever understood him. All right. Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration but there was nothing like your first love. Was there? Besides, she needed him! Just as his own mother had needed him. And The Kid would have a sort of stepbrother around his own age too, or whatever relationship you called it when your stepbrother discovered he had a son . . .

‘Claire,’ he said, dropping on one knee. ‘I love you. I didn’t realise it before but now I do. All those girls, they meant nothing.’

A flash of September passed through him, making him wince, but he ignored it. She didn’t want him. And after Tatiana, he’d had enough of that.

‘Please, Claire, listen! We already have a child who needs a father. And you – you need someone to look after you. So will you do me the honour – please – of marrying me?’

I knew it was over when I saw the pictures. She’s good this woman that you suggested. Before, I’ve always used men when I wanted to find something out about him.

They’re close ups. She must have had to crawl through the window virtually to get them like that. ‘You don’t sound very upset,’ she said when we met. Me with the cash. Her with the photographs.

Just because people are brought up to hide their feelings, doesn’t mean they’re not hurting inside. ‘I knew about her anyway,’ I said quietly. ‘He kept saying it was over but I didn’t believe him. I thought she’d go the same way as the others but he loves this one.’

I pointed to the picture. ‘You can see from the way he’s looking at her. And she loves him. It’s in her eyes.’

‘Do you want me to carry on tailing them?’

There’s no point is there. No point at all.

Even you have to agree on that.

Session Ten: Getting Away From It All!

There’s no handout for this session. We’re going to use this opportunity – thank you, Ed! – for relaxing and working out our futures.

We’re also going to do something rather special to help let go of the past . . .

42

LIZZIE

It had been her mother’s idea. Trust her to share it with thousands of readers. Lizzie gasped when she saw it on the proof page. Mum was meant to run all the copy past her first. Besides, what gave her the right to take her daughter’s own predicament and use it as the star problem?

‘You were doing that shoot, remember, darling? There wasn’t time for you to check it.’

Her mother had slipped into journo-speak more easily than Lizzie cared for. ‘The subs rang and said they needed the copy a day early, so I rustled up some ideas and put them through. I don’t know what you’re upset about. It’s not as though I’ve used your real name. Besides, you’ve been using us and all your friends for years as case histories.’

She couldn’t deny it, Lizzie told herself, looking at the proof page. And actually, it was quite interesting.

My ex-husband has been shagging my friend and now she’s pregnant. I think he wants to come home but we’re both too stubborn to tell each other we still have feelings. What shall I do?

Christine from London.

Christine?

‘Well it is your middle name,’ pointed out Mum. ‘Stop freaking out. No one will recognise you unless of course someone recognises your situation from round here.’ She smoothed down her hair which had new highlights. Blondish. Rather suited her. ‘Have you read my reply?’ Another smoothing down. ‘I’m rather proud of it.’

Dear Christine,

In my day, people didn’t do divorce as often as you young girls. Marriage isn’t on a sale and return basis, you know. Where’s your loyalty card? Men think with their zips nowadays and your man clearly wishes he hadn’t ripped his in the process. Ask him round to dinner, sink a bottle of red and then tell him how you feel. Chances are he won’t go back to that slut.

Maureen.

‘Barry loved it.’

Who?

‘Barry. Your new editor-in-chief. Didn’t they tell you? They text-fired Max – well they say he decided to go freelance which is the same thing. We all got an email about it last night. (Did you know he had hair extensions, by the way?) Haven’t you checked yours?’

Hair extensions or emails? Either way, she hadn’t had time! What with yesterday’s shoot which had been interrupted by Dan constantly taking phone calls from some girl and then the meeting last night, not to mention the kids  (how could she possibly leave them for a weekend?) and now this.

‘There’s no need to be jealous, Lizzie.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Yes you are. I know that look. Do you know, I think I’ve finally discovered my forte in life. Don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I used to be really good at English at school. And of course, I always did the newsletter for your father’s bowling club.’

Lizzie peered out to the garden towards the shed. ‘Talking of Dad, has he come out yet?’

Her mother sniffed. ‘Only when he thinks I’m in bed. I do wish he’d buy his own food; he’s taken that sliced chicken I had put to one side for lunch tomorrow.’

For God’s sake! ‘Maybe you should put him in my problem page.’

‘
Our
page, dear. Talking of which, Barry did say something about sending me a contract now it was going so well. Actually, I have. Put your father in the magazine, that is. Take a look.’

Dear Lizzie,

My husband, who’s retired, has been having a little fling with a woman who looks like a pug dog. They met up again on the internet. Now they’ve fallen out (internet again) and he’s moved into the garden shed. What should I do?

Olive, Southend.

Olive?

‘My mother’s middle name. And your father and I first got physical in Southend.’

Too much information. And what kind of reply was this?

Dear Olive,

If I were you, turn the key of that garden shed and throw it away.

Love Lizzie.

‘You can’t put that! It’s not what I’d say and you’ve used my name.’

Her mother looked rather embarrassed. ‘Sorry, darling. It’s gone to press. Besides, that Marjorie woman reads the magazine. It will make the point nicely. She’ll recognise herself. Two sheds would be too much of a coincidence. Now go on, make that phone call.’

Phone call?

‘To Tom. Ask him round to dinner. And get in two bottles. Not one. You might need them.’

To her amazement, Tom agreed although he did sound a bit doubtful. She’d managed to persuade him on the grounds that she needed to discuss Sophie’s obsession with violin practice. Then somehow, she had to bring up Sharon The Slut’s pregnancy record card . . .

First, however, she had to get some food in that didn’t look as though it had come from a shop. And then she had to give the kids something to keep them quiet. And thirdly, she needed to tidy herself up and the house and then . . .

‘Whoah there,’ said Dan when she’d told him about her plans just after they’d finished work for the day. ‘Shouldn’t he be making all this effort for you? He’s the one who played away.’

It was true. But as her mum said, men didn’t think like that.

‘Not all men.’ Dan slung his camera bag on his shoulder and began walking with her down Euston Road.  He’d become a real friend during the past few months.

‘Maybe,’ she conceded. ‘But I’d do anything to get him back again.’

Dan made a face. ‘That’s what my sister in Sydney said.’

‘But I thought she was happily married with six kids.’

‘She is. But three of them are from a first marriage. Two from the second. And one from the third. She went through some shit too.’ He looked down at her kindly. ‘That’s why I’m worried about you.’

Worried?

‘Well, concerned. Still, it’s your life.’ He glanced at his wrist. ‘Got to fly. Someone’s waiting for me.’

‘Wait!’

He was already crossing Euston Road, leaving her on the other side where she needed to get the tube.

‘Do you think I should I show him that pregnancy record card?’

‘What?’

His voice was lost in the noise of the evening commuters and traffic.

‘The one that says . . .’

Forget it. Besides, what did he know? Or her mother who suggested putting it on the table, next to Tom’s napkin. She’d just see how it went.

Tom arrived bang on time. She’d only just managed to dose up Jack with cough medicine (how else was she going to guarantee that he wouldn’t interrupt?) and bribe Sophie with a Top Shop Experience, provided she didn’t do any more violin practice that night.

The look on his face was a picture. ‘What’s wrong with them? Jack doesn’t usually go to bed until after us . . .’

His voice trailed away as they both recognised the irony of the last word.

‘They’re different now.’ Lizzie led him to the table which she’d decorated with rose petals from the confetti shop. Maybe a bit over the top, she realised now, hastily plonking a tablemat over them.  ‘This whole . . . experience . . . has changed them. And me. Have you seen this? It’s Jack’s new school photograph.’

She watched him drinking it in. The annual school photographs had always been a big deal but Jack’s, with his new front teeth beaming through, was particularly poignant. She could almost see Tom’s heart strings tugging. Almost read his mind. ‘Is this what I’ve given up,’ he was thinking.

Good.

‘How is Sharon?’ She purposefully didn’t look up as she put a spoon into the lasagne which she’d carefully taken out of its packet and popped into a dish Mum had lent her. Hers were all cracked or food-congealed. Then she poured a generous glass of red.

‘Not too much!’ He held up his hand. ‘I’ll need to drive back.’

Not if I’ve got anything to do with it, you won’t.

‘She’s fine, thanks.’

‘Blooming?’

Go on, turn the dagger.

He coloured. ‘Yes.’

‘Her dates are a bit out, aren’t they?’

‘I don’t . . .’

‘It’s just that Sophie brought this back with her, by mistake. It must have got into her overnight bag somehow. It’s Sharon’s pregnancy record card.’

Lizzie waggled the card in front of him. ‘According to this, she got pregnant before you had started ‘seeing’ her.’

Tom took a large gulp of red. ‘That can’t be right.’

She knew it!

‘So maybe that baby isn’t yours.’

She said it softly; scared in case she was pushing it. Don’t go too fast, her mother had warned. Too late.

‘I know it’s mine.’

‘HOW CAN YOU? Don’t you see, Tom? She’s been sleeping around. She says it’s yours but you told me when you began to . . . you know. So that means it’s all right!’

‘All right?’ He was standing up now as though he’d had an electric shock. ‘How can it be all right?’

She held up Jack’s picture and shook it in front of his face. ‘Because then you can come home. You won’t be letting her down because it’s not your baby. And we need you, Tom. We need you just like you need us.’ She waved her hand around in the air. ‘You miss all this.’

He looked down at the lasagne: there was a big brown plastic sheet at the bottom. Shit. Had she forgotten to remove that? ‘All right, obviously you don’t miss my cooking, but the kids, Tom. Don’t you miss kissing them goodnight; having them bouncing on our bed in the morning; being there when they bring their pictures home from school; waking up next to me, every morning . . .’

The tears were coming now. Thick and fast. So loudly that for a moment, she thought she could hear an alarm bell. It wasn’t her mobile. She had taken care to switch it off. But it had her ring tone.

‘Sorry.’

When had he got a tone like hers?

‘Now? Where? I’ll be there.’

He shot her a wild look. ‘It’s Sharon. She’s gone into labour. They’ve been trying to get me. I’ve got to go. It’s nearly there.’

‘Wait.’ She grabbed her coat. ‘I want to come with you.’

Her mother wasn’t picking up. Where was she?  In all the other emergencies she’d had (like when Jack had to have stitches after that row with his sister because they’d both wanted to wash up), she’d called Sharon. How sad that she didn’t have any other friends – that’s what came of working too hard. But hang on. There was someone.

‘Karen? Look I’m really sorry to do this to you. But I’m stuck for a sitter. Yes, Tom did come for dinner. It’s a long story. Is there any chance you could come over?’

They wouldn’t let her in. Not unless she thought of something good. But she had to be there. Had to be there when Tom realised Sharon had messed him around. Otherwise it might be too late. The Slut had made him think it was his, whereas if she was there, with that wonderful record card, Sharon would have to come clean.

‘Her sister?’

The nurse was eyeing the paperwork in front of her. ‘It doesn’t say she’s expecting anyone.’

‘I’m a sort of  extended sister. Trust me.’

She smiled brightly at the nurse.

‘She needs me. So does her husband. I’m sort of special to him too.’

Her eye fell on a magazine on one of the tables in the waiting room. ‘Look. I’m in there.’

The nurse looked first at the table and then at her.

‘In the magazine. I do the problem page. With my mum.’

‘So?’

Clearly this nurse thought she was a loony tune.

‘Look!’

She waved it in front of her. ‘I need to see my sister so she . . . so she can go in the  magazine.’

It was rubbish but the nurse was wavering.

‘Which ward did you say she was on?’

‘Ward Eight but . . .’

She was off. Faster than she’d been for the egg and spoon race; at least faster than the race she’d had to get to the race before it started. Faster than she’d run from the car to the hospital. Faster than . . .

‘Lizzie!’

Sharon and Tom spoke in one as they looked up. She stopped. Rigid. Unable to move. If this had been a year ago, she wouldn’t have believed it. Or six months ago. Or last week. They looked like the perfect family tableau. Sharon. Her husband. And their baby. The spitting image of his dad.