LOVE'S GHOST (a romance) (8 page)

How did he know I’d be cleaning the house? Good guess I suppose. It’s what a lot of people do, putting it off until just before they have to go back to work. I didn’t want to agree with him about lunch with whoever being a better option, but he had a point.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You know you don’t want to clean that toilet.”

“Okay,” I said. “But can we make it not too far away? I’m a little busy. Kingston?”

“Yes, Kingston will be fine. How about two o’clock at Café Amélie?”

“That’s fine.”

“I’ll see you there.” The line went dead.

I had three hours to get home, cool down and prepare for the date that wasn’t a date. But it was. Who was I kidding? If I hadn’t fancied the guy, would I have agreed to this lunch? Well, it would do me good, I decided. And Emily would be proud. Not that I would tell her.

I resumed jogging, dialling up some Lady Gaga music to help me run faster. By the time I reached the flat, I was exhausted. More tired than I’d ever been. The app on my phone told me I’d also run quicker than I’d run before. I’d burned hundreds of calories which meant I could eat whatever I liked at lunch. Perhaps I should really stuff my face. That would put him off. There’s nothing more off-putting than a woman with half her lunch on her chin.

After I showered, I set about selecting an outfit for my date that wasn’t a date. The main dilemma was choosing between a dress and jeans. It was spring, just about warm enough for a dress.

“Why would you wear a dress? Are you trying to tell him you’re up for it? That you’re oh-so-available?” It was Russell, standing by my side.

“How very Victorian of you,” I retorted.

“Not at all. Clothes send out messages. You know that. Why else would you spend so much time deciding on an outfit?”

This annoyed me. He was right, of course. I would wear jeans with a simple long-sleeved t-shirt and cardigan. It was supposed to be a casual lunch. Casual clothes for a casual lunch.

“That t-shirt is fitted. Haven’t you got something looser? Baggy even?”

I ignored him. He wasn’t here. Why should I let him take up residence in my head? But I did want to make a point.

“Why shouldn’t I go out for lunch? It’s been six months now. And you haven’t been in touch at all for weeks.”

“Like I said,
you
can always get in touch with
me
. It’s allowed, once or twice. Perhaps that’s what I’m doing. Perhaps I’m waiting for you to get in touch with me. It’s a little test.”

“Well,
are
you?”

But naturally, the Russell in my head couldn’t answer that. So he didn’t. There was just an empty space in the “conversation”. It wasn’t for long. I couldn’t resist asking the question again.

“Or perhaps you’ve found somebody else,” I said.

“Perhaps.”

I put on my jeans and t-shirt, then stared at the perfumes. Daytime or evening?

“Daytime.”

“Shut up, Russell.”

I chose
Coco Madamoiselle
, but made sure that I didn’t overdo it, just a couple of dabs. Then I panicked that I hadn’t used enough. It wasn’t wrong to want to smell nice. Another couple of dabs would do it. Was that too much? I tried smelling myself, tilting my nose down towards my neck. I looked like somebody with a very stiff neck, somebody who had been sniffing her armpits and had been caught out by the wind changing direction. And anyway, it was impossible to be objective. I was so nervous.

But I didn’t know just how nervous until I stepped outside. As I double locked the front door, a chill wind swept up through St Andrew’s Square. My light raincoat’s collar flapped up into my face.
 

When I walked down the steps to the street, my legs went all wobbly. I hoped it was the effect of my super fast jogging time, and not because I was nervous. But I
was
nervous. My heart fluttered and I could feel the goosebumps rise up on my skin.

I shrugged it off and walked down to the river with what I hoped was purpose. I could have chosen to drive into Kingston, but I chose to walk, even though I’d already had my quota of exercise. I thought it would steady my nerves.
 

What was I doing? I didn’t want to do this and yet I did. Oh, crap. I’d really fallen for his line about meeting new people being interesting. Yes, it’s true, it can be stimulating to meet new people. But it can also be stressful and boring.

The wind had enlisted the river as an accomplice. Being next to water always made the temperature seem a couple of degrees cooler than it was. Most of the time I stared down at the ground as I walked, to keep the wind out of my face.

The closer I got to Kingston, the more nervous I became. I had to keep my hands in my pockets to stop them shaking. Was it worth putting myself through this? I wasn’t ready. I should turn around. But then I would have to explain to Carl why I’d done that. And I
would
have to explain. I couldn’t be rude and not call him.

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I passed Russell, the imaginary Russell, on the way, sitting on one of the benches lining the path. He didn’t say anything and nor did I. We exchanged uncomfortable glances. I returned to looking down at the path.

One minute the café seemed miles away, the next its sign was in right front of me, bringing my walk to a sudden halt. I peered in through the windows. I couldn’t see Carl inside. Not a sign of him. I was both relieved and disappointed. Looking at my watch, it was two o’clock. My wobbly legs had done well to get me here on time.

I decided to go in anyway and sat at one of the tables. When a waitress dressed in a traditional apron asked me what I wanted, I didn’t say I was waiting for someone. I just said I hadn’t made my mind up. She said she’d come back in a couple of minutes.

I sat there trying to make up my mind.
 

I HADN’T PUT his name in my phone’s address book, so his name didn’t come up on the caller ID. But I recognised his number when my phone began ringing.

“Fay, I’m sorry, I’m going to be ten minutes late. I got held up.”

“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll see you in ten.”

I put the phone away.
 

It’s funny. When you have a limited amount of information about someone you don’t know what kind of importance to attach to it. He was late. Did this mean he was always late? I’m not a fan of people who are late. It’s discourteous. But it seems to be a disease with some people. They have no sense of time. Was this what he was like?

The waitress returned to my table. This time I told her I was waiting for someone. She asked me if I wanted a drink in the meantime. I didn’t know what to say. If I ordered a drink I’d have to stay at least for a while. I couldn’t bolt.

“Yes, please. I’ll have a coffee.”

I like being alone in cafés. I like watching people as they talk to each other, trying to work out their histories, imagining what is going on in their lives.

Café Amélie is a large café set up more for eating than drinking, but they serve you even if you just want a coffee. It’s decorated in a typical French style, with traditional, almost rustic, furniture.

My eye wandered around the patrons. There was a couple who couldn’t take their eyes off each other. The woman lifted her cup of coffee with both hands. But she didn’t take a sip. She stared at her companion. Her eyes were smiling. She looked so happy.

I looked in another corner. A couple of guys were taking their seats. One of them looked just like Russell.

It
was
Russell.

It definitely was Russell. Not the one I kept talking to in my head, not my imaginary one, but the
real
one. It was him.
 

For a while I was transfixed. I watched him take a seat. He sat with his back to me, so I had little chance of being spotted. And his friend wasn't somebody I recognised. I didn't want to attract his friend's attention by staring, in case he thought I fancied him and brought my behaviour to Russell’s attention.

So I kept looking away.

Only to return to that back, Russell’s back with the straight posture. He was wearing a short jacket I hadn't seen before. It must be new. Did he pick it out himself? It was dark brown. He never used to buy brown, hated the colour. I didn't realise how strange it would be to see him in a piece of clothing that I hadn't seen in his wardrobe. Though we hadn't lived together for six months and counting, and he had every right to buy new clothes, it was odd to see this new jacket.

I don't how long I kept returning to look at him, despite the fact that I could only see his back. But my fascination lasted at least two or three minutes. They were deep in conversation. I wondered what they were talking about. Generally men talk about women and sport when they get together. There are other variations, but eventually the conversation winds its way back to those subjects. It was odd — I didn't want to know what they were talking about, but at the same time, I did. I found myself trying to block out the other sounds in the café, even though they were too far away for me to hear.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I
had
to leave.

I stood up as discreetly as I could, turning to face the wall. If Russell’s friend had noticed me get to my feet, I didn't want him to see my face, in case he recognised it from a picture Russell might have shown him.

I put my raincoat back on and planned the quickest route out, one that would allow me to stay as close to the wall as possible.
 

I started walking.

A couple of children were running around and nearly bashed into my legs. One of them, couldn't have been more than three years old, took a shine to me and grabbed onto my leg. Her mother called her over and after a couple of seconds she let go.

"Excuse me, madamoiselle."
 

It was another voice. Not the mother's.

"Your coffee."

It was the waitress. But I didn't want to stop and explain. I quickened my step, so I was out of the café before she called to me a second time, even louder.

I didn't look back. I kept walking as fast as I could, soon losing myself in the crowd walking along the river. Shoppers taking a break for lunch, others just ambling nowhere on a Sunday afternoon walk.

I mustn't cry, I told myself. My breath shortened and became staccato, like a violinist attacking a particularly uptempo part of
The Rites Of Spring
. I laid a hand on my chest, a pathetic attempt at trying to calm my breathing.

People crossed my path, but I couldn't stop. I took little stuttering step to go round them. I didn't mind slowing down, but I couldn't stop. Not until I was far enough away from the restaurant. How far that was I didn't know. I daren't look back, I daren't even look up. I kept my head down and tried to avoid stumbling on any uneven paving.

"Fay?"

The voice was close.

"Fay?"

I had to look up. It was Carl. Reluctantly, I stopped.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"I…" I found myself pointing back towards the café, gesticulating in its direction over my shoulder, but no words came out to explain my pointing. Then I found my voice. "I can't do lunch today after all."

"Oh, that's a shame. Why not? What's happened."

I could have invented some excuse. But I was never very good at lying. So I told the truth. "My ex was at another table in the café."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That must have been a shock."

"Yes, it was." I was a little embarrassed that I'd told him. I expected the conversation to dry up. But Carl kept talking. His voice was soft.

"Exes are a pain aren't they? There should be some device that makes them invisible once we're finished with them. There's a device for everything these days. It's surprising they haven't developed the invisible exes app."

I couldn't help but smile. Through my distress, through my discomfort, and despite the fact that I was flushed, I smiled.

"I met an ex once when I was out shopping,” he said. “She was with her new boyfriend and they were out trying on clothes. She'd just slipped into the dress and had walked out from the changing rooms to show her new man. Of course, they were still in the honeymoon period. So he was gushing over it. It didn't suit her. She had a habit of being attracted to clothes that didn't suit her. Anyway, she spotted me and there was an awkward exchange of greetings. Then she asked me what I thought of the dress. I said it looked amazing, that it was made for her. She was very pleased."

He smiled at me conspiratorially.

"If that dress is still in her wardrobe, I can guarantee that she never wears it."

My body was a little perplexed. Ninety percent of it was still panicking. But ten percent felt a warm glow at being in the company of this charming man. But the panic was too strong for the glow.

“Do you mind if we do this another time?” I asked. “I’m really sorry.”

“No, not at all. I understand.
 

“Thanks.”

“How are you getting home?”

“I’m walking.”

“Me too. Which way?”

I pointed back along the river bank.

“I’m going that way as well. Do you mind if I walk with you?”

I couldn’t really refuse. But I didn’t know what we would talk about. I was still flustered. I didn’t want to risk talking too much in case my voice came out croaky and I burst into tears. Crying is embarrassing, but crying in front of a man who was so poised would be unbearable.

Carl seemed to sense this and didn’t push me to talk. We walked in silence for a few minutes. I caught him glancing at me occasionally, a mixture of concern and curiosity. What a strange thing to do, to walk with somebody you’ve just met and not talk. But I didn’t feel uncomfortable. In the end, I thought it only fair to glance back at him. We looked at each other at the same time, and there was a mutual smile. But my heavy heart wouldn’t let my lips stretch too far.

We carried on walking, and carried on not speaking. He tricked me into another smile by glancing at me again, but this time making sure I saw him do it, making a game of it. This walk was turning into a dance, a crazy dance.