When our starters arrive, I say, ‘I’ve been wondering why you wanted to have dinner with me.’
He looks surprised. ‘I thought it would be good to spend an evening together and get to know you better.’
‘Really?’
‘You sound sceptical,’ he says.
‘I am a bit.’
He frowns at me and looks quite a lot more like his brother than usual. I find this amusing.
‘But why?’
‘I can’t imagine I’m the sort of person you generally go on things that aren’t “not dates” with,’ I say, and begin to slice up my smoked trout.
‘Why would you say that? I don’t ask just anyone out to dinner, you know.’
‘I’m sure you don’t, and this is lovely’ – I wave my knife at the dining room – ‘but it’s still true.’
‘Thea–’
‘I shall be blunt,’ I say. ‘I hope you don’t mind. But the thing is, you see, I can’t imagine that I’m suitable material for the next Lady Hollinshaw. And if you want to start something less serious, then Michelin Stars seem overenthusiastic.’ I grin at him. ‘D’you see?’
‘That’s… I–’
‘So you can see why I might be sceptical. I suspect an ulterior motive.’
He takes a sip of water. ‘An ulterior motive.’
‘Yes. I’m not angry or anything,’ I add, ‘I’m just… I want to be sure you understand that you have to be honest with me. Until January I spent some time – possibly several years – living with someone who was telling an enormous and fundamental lie. I have no interest in repeating that on any level.’
‘Your husband. I didn’t like to ask what happened,’ he says. ‘He… lied to you?’
‘Yes. He had an affair with a friend of mine. For an unspecified length of time. I know you’ve been in a similar situation,’ I say. ‘And it isn’t very nice. And so I wonder, about Miranda, and you, and me, and so on.’
‘I said before, Miranda and I–’
‘Yes, and to be honest I’m not that concerned about Miranda. But what would she think if she knew we were here having dinner?’
There’s quite a long pause, which I use to finish my starter. The wine I ordered is good; it’s probably lucky I’m not drinking loads of it though. I wonder how different I might feel if I cared about any of this. But I don’t, and it’s terribly liberating. I look round the room again. It’s almost entirely dark outside now, and I can see the room behind me reflected in the dark glass of the window. There are a few more people here now; everyone’s dressed up. I wonder how many of these couples are staying here. I’ll look on the website when I get home, see what the rooms are like. I eat the last piece of bread from the shiny dish on the table and smile at my companion.
‘And I suppose I wonder,’ I say, having just thought of it, ‘why you’re not going out with Miranda in a normal sort of way. She seems suitable.’
‘Suitable,’ says Charles. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with me or just embarrassed.
‘Yes, you know, she’s more like you, isn’t she? More than I am.’
‘It’s because you’re not like Miranda that I wanted to have dinner,’ he says.
‘Oh, is it?’ I was right then, about being a bit of rough. I wonder if there’s a way to express that without actually saying it. ‘Slumming it, are we?’
‘Thea,’ he looks pained, ‘I’m not sure why you think–’
‘Oh, come on. Look – the thing is, Charles, one of the reasons I’m suspicious of your motives is because I’m friends with your brother and I know you hate him.’ He opens his mouth and I hold up my hand. ‘I’m not really interested in the ins and outs or whys and wherefores. I know Edward has behaved badly in the past, but I think you have too. I’d like to think that you and I get on well, and I wouldn’t like to think that you feel’ – here I wait for a moment as the table is cleared by the waiter – ‘that you feel there’d be any… mileage in getting, I don’t know, closer to me in order to annoy him. I’m not saying it would annoy him. But you know, I’m not a bit-part or a pawn or anything like that.’
‘Thea, really, I…’
I smile encouragingly.
‘I would absolutely never do anything like that,’ he says.
‘Jolly good. Glad to hear it.’ I lean both elbows on the table. ‘It would be quite upsetting.’
Our main courses arrive and for a moment we’re distracted. I wonder though – what would Edward do if I slept with Charles?
Obviously I never would.
But if I did?
He’d be angry, I expect, but only because of it being Charles. Having said that though, he was peculiar about Keith.
I think I’m being odd about Edward. Well, I know I am. I’m trying hard not to think about any of that. I still think the way I feel about Edward – and as I say, I’m refusing to consider how I do feel – is somehow unreal, caused by the situation I find myself in, by the spaces in my life and the amount of time we spend together. He makes me laugh, and he’s handsome, and I am an idiot. Even if he’s odd about me too, it’s meaningless and stupid.
But I’m supposed to be listening to Charles.
‘It does… It’s true I find it awkward, that you’re friends with my brother,’ he says. ‘Because it means I have to try not to say what I think about him, and usually I don’t bother guarding my tongue.’
‘You can say what you like.’ I shrug. ‘I mean, I’d take it all with a pinch of salt.’
‘You like him though.’
‘I do like him, yes. I find him entertaining and he’s always been nice to me, or fairly nice.’ I smile at the thought of Edward’s reaction to being described as ‘nice’.
‘It would be impolite of me to be rude to you about him then. And he’s your employer.’
‘Yes, and I’m terribly loyal,’ I say. ‘So come on, Charles, why are we here?’
‘I just, well, I thought…’
I’m eating duck now, and it’s delicious. I certainly can’t argue with the food here – it’s great. Not terribly exciting, maybe, but well constructed and cooked. I suppose they know their audience. It’s not somewhere you’d want to be wildly innovative.
‘Yes?’
He sighs. ‘I don’t know. Everything you’ve said is perfectly reasonable. Maybe I should be trying to meet someone I can… It’s not very romantic though, is it? I may as well put an ad in the paper: “Wife Required”. I’ve been putting it off. It didn’t go well – it hasn’t gone well – when I’ve done it before. And you’re… I think you’re…’ He sighs again. ‘I don’t know. Maybe you’re right to question my motives.’
‘I’m just a bit… suspicious? Sadly, the world doesn’t usually offer opportunities like this to women my age, unless the men in question are considerably older. But you’re only two years older than me, aren’t you? And I’m not beautiful, or rich, and I just happen to own land adjacent to the park at Hollinshaw; and although I know you want the Lodge, you don’t need to fuck me to get it.’
He chokes on his roast beef. I watch, amused, as he coughs, red-faced, and drinks more water. When his eyes have stopped streaming, I say, ‘Sorry, that was my fault.’
‘No, no. Well.’ He smiles, maybe the first genuinely full-on convincing smile I’ve seen from him. ‘It was your fault, but I don’t mind. It’s… That’s not what this is about.’
‘Good.’
‘I mean, I’m not trying to acquire the Lodge. I want it, yes, but that’s not why I asked you to have dinner.’
‘You see why I might suspect you though.’
‘Yes.’
‘And if I was having dinner with you because I thought you liked me, I might be concerned you have all sorts of motives that aren’t really about me.’
‘Yes. But–’
‘But luckily for you, I don’t mind,’ I say. ‘Because although you’re perfectly nice, and very pleasant company, I’m not in the market for boyfriends, or gentlemen companions, or even just sex.�
��
‘You’re not?’
I laugh. ‘No.’
‘That’s… um.’
‘What?’
‘It’s disappointing.’
‘Is it? After everything I’ve said?’
‘Well,’ he says, suddenly less awkward, ‘I’d rather you didn’t think those things. But I still find you very…’ He pauses, choosing his words carefully. ‘Appealing.’
‘Appealing. That’s nice.’
‘I’ve been divorced twice,’ he says. ‘I think my second marriage was a mistake. Not just because of what happened. I tried to stop that happening, but I failed. I used to think that was Carolyn’s fault, or my brother’s – but really I suppose it was mine.’
‘I’m no expert, but it was probably everyone’s.’
‘You know about all that?’
‘Some of it,’ I admit, cautiously.
‘And the rest? You know he followed me around, for years, sleeping with my girlfriends?’
‘Mostly ex-girlfriends, surely?’
‘Just as upsetting though, if I’m honest.’ He looks at the tablecloth. ‘People seemed to think it was funny. It isn’t pleasant when people compare you, even if it’s supposed to be a joke.’
I shrug. ‘I don’t imagine it is. But you can see why I was a bit suspicious about this meal.’
‘You think I’d do the same. But you said you’re not… that you haven’t… with Edward?’
‘No. But I was still… wary.’
They’re clearing the plates again and asking if we want to see the dessert menu. I do, of course, even though I hardly ever have dessert.
‘I feel as though I’ve spoiled the evening,’ he says.
‘Oh no, not at all. I’m enjoying myself.’ I smile encouragingly. ‘And it’s best to get everything out in the open, isn’t it?’
Eighteen
I’m late to work this morning, due to a dentist’s appointment. I’m proud of myself for proactively booking a check-up even though I don’t live here. Because Baldochrie isn’t a very big place, I’ve met the dentist Louise and her assistant Bonnie before, once at an evening thing at the Old Mill, and once at Jenny and Alastair’s. I didn’t know my previous dentist socially, so it’s a bit odd. And they always ask you questions, don’t they, when your mouth is open and you can’t answer. Fortunately all is well. She bullies me slightly into making a hygienist’s appointment and then releases me back into the world. I hurry along the high street, keen to reach the shop before ten. It’s about nine-forty, so I expect the shop to be open, but it isn’t. I fish through my handbag for the key and unlock the door. Pulling up the blind and looking round, I see the lamps are off and so is the laptop.
‘Edward?’ I call, tentatively. No answer. He must have overslept. First time for everything. I know he’s home – his car’s outside. I put my bag away and turn on the computer, and then go round the shop switching on the lights. I put the kettle on and stand at the foot of the stairs for a moment, listening. I can hear him moving around upstairs, so he’s not dead, at least.
‘Hello?’
‘Thea?’
‘No, I’m a burglar what has broken in. I am stealing everything.’
‘Oh okay, carry on,’ he says, coming down the stairs. He’s eating something from a bowl, and his hair is wet. ‘Sorry. Slept late.’ He looks exhausted, eyes shadowed.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Yeah. Bit of a dake.’
‘Oh, poor you. Is it bad? Have you taken pills? I just put the kettle on – d’you want a cuppa?’
‘Go and get a proper coffee, would you? Take some money from the till,’ he says. ‘Get yourself one as well.’
‘Right-oh. Anything else?’
He sighs. ‘If there’s any chance of a bacon sarnie…’
‘I’ll see. It’s a bit late for bacon at The Old Mill.’
‘Beg Cerys for a favour.’
I laugh. ‘Okay. If they don’t have any, I could buy some from the butcher’s for you.’
‘You’re an angel.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Flap flap,’ I say.
* * *
‘Operation Bacon Sandwich is go,’ I tell him, putting the greasy bag on the counter. ‘Also, coffee.’
‘Oh God, thank you.’
‘No worries. Hangover?’
‘No.’ He takes the sandwich and turns away.
I hoist myself up onto the counter and take the lid off my coffee. We don’t often have coffee from the coffee shop – it seems wasteful when we have a perfectly good kettle here, and it’s not like Edward buys shit coffee. We have the fanciest instant money can buy, and a cafetière as well for when he can’t face that. It makes a change to have coffee shop coffee sometimes; it reminds me of my old job, when I bought a giant latte from Costa on the way to work every day.
It’s funny how rarely I think of my old work life. Sometimes I think about my colleagues, some of whom I was fond of, but I don’t miss anything about it at all: not the journey, which was awkward, involving the worst bits of the one-way system; or the offices, which were badly built and ugly and stuck on a windswept business estate on the outskirts of town, with infuriatingly generic ‘planting’ in the car park, four lifts, at least one of which was always broken, and an inconvenient security system, which meant you couldn’t spend cash in the canteen but had to put money on your ID card using one of the two machines in the basement, one of which, again, was always broken. And I don’t miss the pointless meetings where people wrote things on whiteboards and no one took any minutes and nothing was ever achieved. Looking back, I think when the company that provided the office plants came and took them all away, because no one had paid the fee for them to be watered, it was probably a sign that all was not well with Data Tech Solutions.
I sip my coffee and think about my plans for the day. I need to Tweet about the books Edward bought last week. I wonder where they are.
‘You didn’t shelve the new stuff, did you?’
‘No, it’s all still in the boxes. I put them in Poetry. Some of ’em are heavy; I’ll move them for you.’
‘Okay. Did you have a good weekend?’
‘Not really,’ he says, but I don’t get the impression he wants to talk about it. I consider my response. He didn’t work Friday or Saturday – I think he was away.
He finishes his sandwich and wipes his fingers with a paper napkin. ‘What about you? How was your “not a date” with my brother? Are you engaged?’
I laugh. ‘Idiot. No, it was okay. Food was nice.’
‘Is that it?’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Poor effort on Charles’s part if that’s all you have to say about it.’
I shrug. ‘I told you it wasn’t a significant event.’
‘Ouch. Did he ask you back for coffee?’
I laugh again. ‘No, he didn’t. I told him I wasn’t interested, and I didn’t think he was interested either, and basically could we not have some complicated thing going on, because I can’t be bothered.’
‘You just came out with all that?’ He shakes his head at me.
‘Well, I’m paraphrasing. But essentially.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, he got a bit flustered but it turned out okay.’ I grin at him. ‘I don’t think he’s used to people being blunt with him.’
‘Probably not. Surrounded by sycophants.’
‘Pfft. That seems harsh. Anyway. So what, did you go to Edinburgh?’
‘Yes.’
I wait to see if he’s going to say anything else, but he doesn’t. I take the scissors from behind the counter and go through to Poetry to open the boxes. It’s very quiet this morning; no phone calls, no emails, no customers so far. I slice open the first box and begin to unpack the books. A few minutes later, he comes out to join me. Instead of moving boxes though, he sits on the sofa and closes his eyes. I regard him sympathetically. I’ve never seen him look so knackered, almost fragile.
‘Should you have stayed in bed?’ I ask.
‘Sure? You don’t look fine.’
‘Late night. Didn’t get home until half four or something.’
‘Blimey. I’d be dead.’
‘Yeah, well.’ He sighs, blinking, and yawns.
‘Were you, um…’ I pause in my unpacking, thinking about what I want to ask. I don’t want to be nosy. Or at least, I don’t want to sound nosy. ‘How come you got in so late?’
‘Massive, spectacular row,’ he says. He sighs again. ‘Should have left a lot earlier, but you know how it is.’
‘Oh. Shouting?’
‘Lots of shouting.’
‘Both of you?’
‘Mostly her.’ He smiles at me. ‘I don’t care enough to shout.’
I wince at this. I wonder if this lack of caring is why she shouts at him.
‘It’s all very boring,’ he says. ‘I sometimes wonder… But this is not interesting, I’m sorry.’
‘Sometimes wonder what?’
He sits up and we look at each other. ‘Oh, nothing. It doesn’t matter – it’s not important.’
‘What were you fighting about?’
‘Yeah, that’s not interesting either. Same old shit.’
I turn to the second box and unzip the tape. ‘Do you have a nice time, though? You and Lara?’
‘A nice time?’
‘Yeah, you know, like’ – I pretend to concentrate on removing books from the box – ‘does she make you laugh? Or do you make her laugh?’
‘I went arse over tit on George Street once, in the snow. Thought I’d busted my coccyx. She thought that was hilarious.’
‘That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean, fun. D’you have fun?’
‘Fun? Huh. The short answer is no, not really.’
‘And the long answer?’
‘Also no.’
‘Oh, Edward,’ I say. ‘That’s… well. It’s a shame is what it is.’
He shrugs. ‘It doesn’t matter. Do you want me to take that last box through, then?’
* * *
After lunch, he says, ‘Oh, I forgot. I got you this. For selling all those history books last week.’
The Bookshop of Second Chances Page 20
