It was just before midnight by the time I slipped off my heels and threw down my walking boots in Felix’s hallway, and made my wobbly way into the lounge, while he disappeared into the kitchen to fetch some drinks. Switching on a couple of lamps and feeling a mixture of happily tired and pleasantly woozy, I flopped down onto the soft, cream sofa next to the fireplace and small wood- burning stove.
Glancing around the room, I could see what Felix had meant about the house still needing work. At least one of the two ornately arched window frames needed attention or replacement, and there was a largish damp patch in one corner of the ceiling. But overall, the quirkiness, cosiness and peaceful location of Felix’s home could, I decided, convert me to country living.
Or maybe it was the company.
The thought proved to be an unexpectedly painful one and I did my best to shrug it off, smiling at Felix as he entered the room and handed me a mug of peppermint tea. ‘Thanks,’ I said, as he sat down on an elderly and busily patterned armchair set at right angles to the sofa. ‘I was just admiring the house again. What a find, Felix.’
He nodded towards one of the windows, the curtains of which were still open. ‘If only it wasn’t for all the terrifying night-time creatures,’ he said, staring out into the blackness. ‘Still, I suppose you could poison the little hedgehogs, set traps for the velvety voles and shoot the endangered owls.’
‘Problem solved,’ I said, raising my mug.
He smiled, taking a sip from his own mug before stretching out in the armchair and leaning back to gaze at the ceiling. After a moment of apparent thought, he raised his head and looked at me. ‘I am sorry about the start to the party, Dot.’
‘Oh shush, shush, shush,’ I said, flapping my hand. ‘It was no worse than the Hippodrome thing with Alistair.’
He raised his eyebrows sceptically. ‘I think we both know that it was much worse than the Hippodrome thing with Alistair.’
‘Well, maybe a tiny bit worse,’ I conceded, narrowing my eyes in a completely unnecessary physical attempt to convey the concept of small. ‘But then everything is so much more recent and raw for you two. Even so, it wasn’t that much worse, and Alistair and I had had much longer to get over things.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t get a chance to finish telling me about your drink with him last night.’
‘Oh, that’s right. Now, where was I…?’ I murmured, sipping my peppermint tea whilst trying to remember how far I had got with the tale. My recollection of our earlier conversation on the subject was now decidedly hazy, but I seemed to recall that I had just told Felix that Alistair and I were, to quote Taylor Swift, never ever getting back together, when Beautiful Beattie had appeared out of nowhere, like the shopkeeper in Mr Benn.
Yes, that was definitely as far as I had got and, I decided, that was definitely as far as I was going to go. Because even with alcohol-impaired judgement, I knew that describing the angst of my brief drink with Alistair in any greater detail would be far from uplifting, and I didn’t want to spoil an evening which was now so nicely back on track – or to depress Felix by droning on about my ex when he had just had such a miserable run-in with his own.
I smiled at him as he looked at me enquiringly. ‘There’s not a lot to add. Becca had a bit of a barney with Mark for not keeping her up to date, but he certainly didn’t spoil anything for me and she quickly forgave him,’ I said, determinedly keeping the details positive and peripheral. ‘So no harm done.’
Felix frowned. ‘So you and Alistair are good?’
I shrugged. ‘We’ve always been good really. Things have been a little awkward sometimes, obviously, but there’s been no blame, or bitterness, or burning bridges,’ I concluded with a smile, congratulating myself on keeping things upbeat. ‘We’ve been very lucky.’
‘I’m happy for you.’ Felix sighed and stretched out once again in his armchair. ‘I wasn’t surprised when you told me that he’d split up with Naomi, you know.’
‘Really?’
He smiled at me, and despite my reluctance to crash a carefree evening with intense conversations about relationships, I realised that I was, emboldened no doubt by several glasses of Prosecco, once again teetering on the brink of telling him exactly how I felt about him.
I imagined myself putting down my tea and matter-of-factly declaring that I not only loved him as a friend but also fancied him. And that actually, while I had been spouting positive stuff about not burning bridges and not blaming exes, what I really wanted was for him to set fire to all remaining bridges between himself and Beattie, and for any kindly feelings he might still be harbouring towards her to disappear faster than the mini beef and ale pies at Martin McGarry’s birthday party.
‘Yes,’ Felix continued. ‘I was pretty sure Alistair still had feelings for you when we bumped into him in Bristol. He seemed pretty focused on you.’
‘Did he?’ I shook my head. ‘I didn’t spot that at all.’
‘No,’ he said quietly, looking thoroughly unsurprised.
I frowned a little, and was tempted to add that while I might not have noticed Alistair’s apparent focus on me outside the Hippodrome, I had certainly noticed Beattie’s extreme focus on Felix as she had stood before him earlier that evening: beautiful, alone and available. And I had also noticed that the focus had been entirely mutual – Felix on her as much as she on him – to the complete exclusion of everyone and everything else around them, including myself.
My frown deepened at the painful and semi-sobering thought and, Prosecco or no Prosecco, a sense of self-preservation told me that now was not the moment to lay my emotional cards on the table. I wasn’t sure exactly what Felix felt for Beattie, but it was obvious that he still felt something. And call it cowardice or common sense, I was in no hurry to test those feelings and risk rejection. Not tonight.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Felix, now leaning forward in his armchair and placing his mug on the floor. ‘You’re frowning.’
‘I think I may have had too much to drink,’ I said, massaging my left temple. ‘My mind keeps wandering.’
‘To where?’ he asked.
After a brief hesitation, during which I pressed my lips tightly together in order to avoid saying something I knew I would regret, I pointed towards the window. ‘I was just thinking about the garden and wondering if you ever go out with a torch looking for …’ I hiccoughed quietly, ‘you know, for night-time stuff.’
‘For fun, you mean?’ he asked, looking confused. ‘Because I do own a TV and lots of books, you know. And I’m only four miles from a large town with three cinemas, the same number of theatres and countless pubs. This isn’t crofting, Dot.’
Despite my recent rather subdued train of thought, I found myself laughing. ‘I know, I know,’ I said. ‘But don’t you think it would be fun? One of Becca’s friends tracked a fox to the bottom of her garden one night and fell into a hedge. And there were lots of people on the other side of the hedge at the time who all laughed at her. Apparently it was really funny.’
‘Sounds like a riot,’ he said. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to schedule some night-time tracking into your next visit.’ He smiled, leaning his head back against the top of the chair once again and this time closing his eyes.
‘Great. And I’ll be sure to bring my own torch. A really big, super-powerful one. Maybe we could get those ones you wear on your head,’ I added, buoyed by the mention of another visit, until it occurred to me that if he did get back together with Beattie, overnight visits might not be something he was in quite such a hurry to offer, nor, for that matter, something I would be that keen to accept.
‘What’s the matter?’
I started slightly at the question and turned to find him looking at me quizzically. ‘Nothing, why?’ I asked. ‘I thought you were falling asleep.’
‘You looked very serious again all of a sudden.’
‘I was just thinking – and it takes an awful lot of effort to do that.’ I hiccoughed a second tim
e. ‘Especially after fizz. That must have been a look of intense concentration on my face.’ I screwed my features into a ball and tapped a finger against the side of my head to emphasise the point.
He laughed and rose to his feet. ‘Are you off to bed?’ I asked, yawning.
‘No,’ he replied, walking into the hallway. ‘I’ve just got to fetch something from the kitchen. I’ll be back in a moment.’
‘OK,’ I called after him. ‘I’ll stay here and look after the sofa,’ I added, adjusting the cushions and adopting a semi-reclining position. It really was a very comfortable sofa, and I wondered if I would even still be awake by the time Felix got back.
I don’t know how long he was gone, probably just a matter of minutes, but I had definitely been on the edge of sleep when I opened my eyes at the sound of my name to find him standing over me carrying two large, heavy-knit jumpers, one of which he held out to me.
I took it, sleepily examining the huge item of clothing. ‘Is this one of your old jumpers? Cos I think we could both fit in it, you know. Maybe a couple of other people too,’ I murmured, standing up and gazing at it blearily. ‘I mean, thank you. But I’m not cold.’
‘Not in here maybe,’ he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the window, ‘but you will be out there.’
I frowned for a moment, looking between him, the enormous jumper and the window, before my tired and tipsy brain saw the plan. ‘We’re going looking for night-time stuff!’ I exclaimed delightedly.
‘We are,’ he smiled, holding up the second jumper to reveal two torches.
‘You are so prepared!’ I laughed, pulling the jumper he had given me over my head and looking down as it hung almost to my knees. ‘Wow, it’s like wearing a knitted yurt, I love it. Hey, I wonder what we’ll see in the garden.’
‘Well I didn’t like to mention it earlier, but there are a couple of bat boxes.’
‘Ooh,’ I said, a little anxiously.
‘And a pond, so toads are a possibility.’
‘Yay … toads …’ I said weakly.
‘But personally, I’m holding out for a woman falling head first into a hedge,’ he continued, beckoning me to follow as he went out in the hallway and stepped into his wellies, ‘and after that, I don’t really mind.’
Chapter 29
It was a little over a week later, as I was on my way home from work, that I received the text for which I had been bracing myself. It was from Becca and was comprised of just two words:
She knows.
If I had been in any doubt – which of course I wasn’t – as to who she was and what she knew, the matter would have been settled for me approximately twenty minutes later when I walked through my front door, removed my phone from my jacket pocket and discovered two missed call notifications, plus voicemail messages and two texts, all from my mother.
Opting for texts over voicemail, I began to read.
Dear Dottie, we are now back at hint after our trip. I have just spoken to Rebecca and am trying to cake you on your mobile telephone and I have called your home telephone also but there is no and were. Please can you call me? It is urgent. Love from Mum xx
I smiled and moved on to the second text, which, I noted, had been sent just one minute later.
Dear Dottie, your father is insisting that I store to say that the matter is not urgent. But please call me anyway. Love from Mum xx
Seeing no point in delaying the inevitable, I kicked off my shoes and, leaving my bags in the hallway, walked into the lounge, settled myself into the swivelly armchair and called her.
She answered within a single ring, sounding rather breathless. ‘Hello? Is that you, Dawn?’
‘No, it’s—’
‘Anne?’
‘Mum, it’s Dot.’
‘Oh, Dottie, I’m so sorry, darling, it’s just that I’m waiting for several people to return my calls. Hang on a moment and let me sit down.’
There was a clatter, followed by a pause, during which I heard Dad offering to bring her a cup of tea. I swivelled a full three-sixty in the chair and wished I’d thought to make myself a cup before calling her.
‘There now,’ she said, at last returning to the phone. ‘Well, isn’t it wonderful news about your sister?’
‘It is,’ I said, smiling. ‘Lovely news.’
‘The baby is just eleven weeks old.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Mark emailed us a picture of the scan. He or she is the size of a peapod,’ she added, her voice breaking with emotion. ‘And I wanted to go and see Rebecca this weekend but your father won’t let me.’
‘Oh Mum, now don’t cry. This is supposed to be a happy time.’
‘It is, it is,’ she managed, clearing her throat. ‘But I wanted to go and help and make sure everything is all right.’
I closed my eyes, knowing that the last thing Becca needed right now was my mother ‘helping’.
‘The thing is, Mum, that Becca is so tired at the moment. I know for a fact that she spent most of last weekend asleep. And if you’re there, she’ll want to chat and do things with you and then she’ll be exhausted going into school on Monday.’
‘That’s what your father said.’
‘I think he’s right. Why don’t you save your visit for half-term? Actually, we’re all coming to you for Nanny Flo’s birthday in half-term, aren’t we? You’ll see Becca then.’
‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
‘So that all works perfectly. You can look after Becca when she visits and make sure she has plenty of rest.’
‘I suppose so, Dottie,’ she said, punctuating the reluctant surrender with a quiet sniff. ‘But really I wanted to see her right away to reassure myself that she’s well.’
‘You’ll see her in less than two weeks’ time,’ I said. ‘And you can FaceTime her before then,’ I added.
‘You’re right,’ she said, sounding a little brighter at the thought. ‘We can keep in touch daily like that.’
‘Maybe not daily, Mum,’ I began uncertainly, but she had moved on.
‘So what is your news, darling?’ she asked. ‘Becca was very vague and seemed to be suffering from memory loss when I asked her about you and Felix.’
‘Did she?’ I asked, disappointed that the conversation had turned to Felix at a time when I was actually trying very hard not to think about him.
The feelings-beyond-friendship I had experienced on the Saturday night of Martin McGarry’s party had persisted into Sunday-morning sobriety, and I had found saying goodbye to Felix ridiculously difficult. But having managed to keep a lid on my emotions on his doorstep, I had returned home very relieved that I hadn’t given in to my drunken urge to confess my feelings for him – and not just because any attempt to do so would undoubtedly have proved embarrassingly rambling and inarticulate. My main reservations actually revolved around his relationship – past and present – with Beattie. Without knowing how he felt about her, I was acutely aware that I risked either ending up in a relationship with a man I had caught at his most vulnerable and on the rebound, or experiencing the heartbreak and humiliation of an undoubtedly kind but outright rejection. If at all possible, I wanted to avoid both of those outcomes, and my plan therefore – and this was one of those rare situations which, I had decided, definitely called for a plan – was first of all to establish and maintain regular contact with Felix and then, crucially, to try and determine his feelings for his ex. Then, and only then, would I decide whether or not to talk to him about my own feelings.
With all this in mind, I had texted him several times since my visit, but after receiving a Thank you so much, but I can’t response to my invitation for him to visit Bristol, and jovial but short replies to all my other enquiries, self-respect told me to back off and let him get in touch if he wanted to. The upshot of that decision had been six days with no communication of any kind between us. It was a situation which I had found hard at times, but which I was managing to accept, as far as was possible, by refusing to
think about him. This approach was aided by the fact that my relationship with him seemed to have largely dropped off Kate’s radar, supplanted during the past week by her concerns over a hormonal rash and acid reflux. Unfortunately, however, it seemed that my mother’s radar was of a far higher spec than Kate’s.
‘Yes, Becca was so vague about Felix,’ she said, with undisguised frustration. ‘Your father claims that I was very forgetful during both my pregnancies, but I don’t remember that.’
‘My point exactly!’ I heard Dad shout in the background, but Mum didn’t miss a beat.
‘Becca did say that she thought you and Felix went to a birthday party. Is that right?’ she asked. ‘That sounds like fun.’
‘Yes, that is right. Felix’s friend, Martin, was forty. But tell me about your holiday,’ I said, now quite desperate to change the subject.
‘It was perfect,’ she replied. ‘No rain, but not too hot. When will you and Felix go away, darling? The pair of you haven’t had a holiday all summer, have you? I suppose it was difficult with the wedding in the middle of it and, of course, if you go later, you avoid the school holidays …’
‘Hmm.’
‘… air fares are so much cheaper …’
‘Hmm.’
‘… and there are still plenty of options.’
‘That’s true,’ I said absently, not really listening as she talked about city breaks and autumnal warmth, but instead closing my eyes and, resigned to the fact that I now had to think about Felix whether I wanted to or not, wondering if this might be the moment to tell my mother that he and I were not actually a couple. After all, she and Nanny Flo had Becca’s baby news to buoy them up and, on top of that, she and Dad had been away and, with the exception of a couple of postcards, completely out of touch for several weeks. I could simply explain that during that time, Felix and I had realised that we worked better as friends; neither of us wanted to relocate and commute, our respective businesses were very demanding on our time and so we were taking a break. A break which could then, of course, drift into permanency. There was, I realised, really never going to be a better time to tell her than now. Right now.
Finding Felix Page 21
