by Jane Fallon
How’s my friend Patricia today?
I hear myself squeak. Look over at Nick but he’s deep in conversation with Edie, laughing at something she’s said, and I don’t want to ruin the moment. But Lydia is online now, waiting for a response. It seems like too good an opportunity to miss. I slide the computer across the table, raise my eyebrows when Nick looks at me. He flicks his eyes to the screen and his own eyebrows shoot up to the top of his head. I feel such a moment of connection with him, such a feeling of ‘We’re in this together, whatever this is’ that I almost start to sob.
He wraps it up with Edie but she wants to say goodbye to me too so he hands the phone back and I try not to give away that my mind is elsewhere.
‘Is everything going to be OK, Mum?’ she says in a very un-Edie-like moment of vulnerability.
‘Of course, sweetheart. Whatever happens,’ I add in case she thinks I mean me and her dad are back together already.
‘Fuck,’ I say to Nick once I end the call. ‘What shall we do?’
He’s looking more upbeat than I’ve seen him in ages. High on adrenaline. ‘OK. There must be a reason she’s getting in contact now. Some bit of information she wants to feed you.’
‘I’ll just let her know I’m here. See what she says.’
I was just thinking about you. I’m well. How are things going?
I hold the phone out and let Nick read what I’ve typed. He nods. ‘Good.’
I press send. ‘Now we wait. Sometimes she comes straight back, sometimes I have to wait for hours.’
He starts to clear our plates away and I let him do it. I sit staring at my mobile. Igor follows Nick back and forth from the table to the dishwasher, and when Nick’s hands are empty he trails his fingers down and scratches between the dog’s ears. ‘Message!’ I shout as something comes through. Nick drops the cloth he’s holding and comes and leans over my chair.
‘Good,’ I read aloud. ‘Isn’t this weather awful? No way has she got in touch just to talk about the weather.’
‘I guess it would look too suspicious to launch straight into the juicy stuff every time.’
Ghastly, I type. How’s life treating you?
‘I can see why Lydia likes Patricia, she’s a scintillating conversationalist,’ Nick says. I reach back and thump him on the arm.
‘She’s old-fashioned. Polite.’
We wait, both staring at the phone as though we think it contains the answer to the meaning of life.
OK, I guess. Finding it all a bit much at the moment, if I’m being honest.
My instant reaction is to worry. Worrying about Lydia is a default setting for me. Is she happy? Is she losing too much weight? Is her insistence that she’s content on her own a front? Nick’s eye roll brings me back to real life though. Back to the Lydia who’s behaving very oddly.
Oh no, Lydia, what’s wrong? Do you mean the situation with your friend? ‘Might as well ask right out now,’ I say to Nick before I press send. He nods. Her reply comes back in seconds.
Yes. It’s really getting to me. All the deception.
A couple of days ago – this morning even – this comment would have floored me. The idea that Lydia was feeling so bad because of me. That she cared enough about me to insert herself into my mess of a life. Now I’m not so sure which deception she’s talking about. ‘What shall I say?’ I ask Nick, who has taken looking sceptical to a whole new Olympic level. ‘I’ve already said she should tell me – the real me – what she’s heard countless times.’
‘Ask her if anything new has happened. I can’t wait to hear what I’m supposed to have done now.’
So I do. And then we wait some more. Nick and Igor wrestle on the floor like two drunken sumos and I wonder if I’ve let my dog down by not indulging him in this behaviour before. I’ve fed him, walked him, hugged him, thrown things, played tug of war with his cow but I haven’t actually got down on the floor and tackled him before and apparently that’s one of his favourite things to do. A boy needs a dad, I think, and that makes me laugh out loud.
Nick stops, red faced from effort. ‘What?’
‘I was just thinking about my mum. Do you remember when we had the twins and she took you aside for “the talk”?’
‘“Don’t even think about going off anywhere now you’ve got a son. A boy needs his dad,”’ he quotes, doing a perfect impression of her husky voice. My mum always sounds as if she’s about to have a coughing fit, courtesy of ten cigarettes a day until a couple of years ago when she and Frank both went cold turkey.
‘And you said, what about Edie, didn’t she need a dad too?’
He snorts. ‘And she said it wasn’t the same. “Joey needs a role model.”’
It had become a running joke in our little family of four. ‘Joey needs a role model,’ I would say whenever Nick wimped out of doing something, and the kids would fall about laughing. Edie still says it to him sometimes.
Igor jumps on his chest, desperate to restart the game. ‘Ow. Does she know …?’
I shake my head. ‘Not unless one of the kids has told her. I couldn’t face it.’
‘Thank God,’ he says lightly. ‘She’d have had Frank set one of his cronies on me.’
I look down at my phone. A family is all about in-jokes. Shared language. History. A private club that will never accept new members. Until any grandchildren come along, that is, and I’m not holding my breath there. I feel a lump in my throat.
‘Message!’
Nick scrambles to his feet. ‘What? What does it say?’
Apparently ‘she’ is now talking about her and Nick moving in together. So that’s that, I suppose. She told Emma they were looking at flats. They’re going to see a couple tonight!!
Nick looks at me. Touché. ‘Fuck,’ I say. Understatement of the century. ‘She took a risk there, though. How could she know you wouldn’t come round?’
‘Because she told me not to, remember? She told me to give you space for a while. And I agreed with her because I thought she was genuinely trying to help.’
It finally sinks in. What he’s telling me is true. I have no idea what Lydia is up to but I know it’s not good. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I say.
He nods and I see he’s biting back tears. ‘So long as you believe me now …’
‘I do. Shit.’
We sit there in silence for a moment. I can’t look at him. Have I really been so wrong? All those accusations. The things I’ve said to him. The absolute shit show I made of myself at the pub that night. ‘She said something odd. Lyds,’ I say, remembering. ‘She said you’d always been a flirt. Like it was accepted that everyone thinks you are.’
‘Jesus, George. I’m the least flirtatious person ever. I didn’t even flirt with you before we got together.’
He’s right. We met at a running club. I was newly into my ‘embracing my physique’ fitness drive. I remember Nick was just always around and eventually I struck up a conversation with him because I liked the look of him. It was only later that he told me he used to hang about near me in the hope that that might happen because he was too tongue-tied to take the initiative himself. Even with Felicity I always assumed she made all the running. It was one thing to imagine Nick sleeping with someone else, but quite another to imagine him sweet-talking her into bed. ‘I know. Listen, I have to tell you something else. Not a bad thing. But in the interests of us being totally upfront …’
I fill him in on Lou’s visit. Make him swear never to let her know I’ve told him.
‘She’s actually all right, you know,’ he says when I finish.
I shut my eyes. ‘I feel awful.’
Nick reaches a hand across the table, puts it on mine. ‘It’s OK. We’ll get past it.’
I can’t say anything. I don’t know what to say. I grip on to his fingers like I’m about to fall off a cliff and only he can save me. Eventually I wipe my eyes with my other hand, give him a watery smile.
‘I need to find out what Lydia’s up to first, though.’
‘Too right,’ he says. ‘Whatever it is, she’s not getting away with it.’
CHAPTER 32
‘How about this?’ I hold out the phone and show him the reply I’ve composed. We’re still sitting at the kitchen table but now we’re nursing whiskies alongside our wine. A celebration that we’ve made up even though my heart is now breaking in a hundred other ways.
How sad. You were expecting that, though, weren’t you, from the way he was talking?
‘Good,’ he says. I press send.
I suppose so. It just feels so final now.
At least she has you, I write and Nick snorts.
Always. She’s better off without him, actually.
‘What a bitch,’ he hisses and it’s such an un-Nick-like thing to say I actually laugh. I’m feeling euphoric, empowered, out of control.
That’s the spirit, Lydia. ‘Shall I encourage her to meet up with you again? Do you think you can get through it without giving yourself away?’
Nick and I have decided to carry on as if nothing has happened. That is, he’s going to move back in but we’re not going to let Lydia know. As far as she is concerned, her plan – whatever that might be – will still be going ahead. And we’re going to find out what her motives are, what she’s trying to achieve, by whatever means necessary. Together.
I’m amazed, delighted, relieved at how easy it is for us just to decide we’re a couple again. I can’t quite believe it. After everything that’s happened we’re going to be OK.
‘Good idea.’
You shouldn’t let him off the hook though. Give him a piece of your mind. For Georgia’s sake.
‘Thanks,’ Nick says, wryly.
Oh, don’t you worry about that!!! she responds almost immediately. I intend to!
‘OK. That’s enough, I think, or I’ll slip up.’
I stand up and walk round the table to him, lean my arms over his back and rest my head on the top of his.
‘I believe you owe me big time,’ he says, hugging my arms in closer with his. ‘Sexual favours, that kind of thing.’
‘Good luck with that,’ I say, smiling. ‘Igor sleeps on your side of the bed now.’
When I wake up in the morning – having had the best night’s sleep I’ve had in weeks despite Lydia. This being real life there was no hot make-up sex that left us sweating and exhausted, merely a three-way, dog-breath-filled hug that cocooned me to sleep – I daren’t move for fear of breaking the spell. Nick is still out cold, arm round the dog, and I lie motionless for a while, taking him in. I have no doubts left. None. I should have trusted him when he told me it wasn’t true. I should have had his back.
The other thing that’s happened is that Nick has a message from Lydia. I see it when I accidentally nudge his phone when I sneak downstairs to make a coffee. For the first time ever Igor doesn’t follow me, he’s too blissed out to move.
If you fancy another drink I’m around!!! it says. I check my own: How are you doing? Call you for a catch-up later! She’s been busy. I reply with a heart emoji because I don’t know what to say. Make two coffees and take them both and Nick’s phone back up to the bedroom. He stirs when he hears me come in. Gives me a slow smile that melts my heart. Igor springs off the bed ready for action, but I’m prepared and I’ve brought him a couple of biscuits to keep him going till breakfast.
‘Lydia,’ I say as I hand Nick his phone.
He reads the message, squinting in the semi-darkness. ‘Shit. I should go, shouldn’t I? See if I can find out any more.’
‘Definitely.’
He texts her back saying he can meet her at half six. Suggests a hotel bar in Bloomsbury that is equidistant between their offices and usually quiet. While we wait for her response my own mobile beeps.
Nick just texted me to ask me to meet for a drink!!
And if any more proof were needed that Nick is not the one lying here, there it is.
CHAPTER 33
Lydia changes out of her work clothes in the office toilets and redoes her make-up at the sink. She knows she’s a bit on the thin side at the moment, living on adrenaline and not much else, but she has to admit it looks good in photos. She snaps a picture in the mirror – voluminous wide-leg trousers, heels and a snugly fitted pale coral cardigan, cropped at her tiny waist. She’s about to post it on Insta when she realizes Georgia might see it and wonder why she’s made such an effort just to meet Nick. She’ll save it for tomorrow night, make up a glamorous date. She does that sometimes – more and more recently – when she can’t be bothered to go out, can’t bring herself to say yes to another play or exhibition. She gets all dressed up, takes some pictures and then puts her PJs on, opens a bottle of wine and stays home.
She wraps herself up in her big coat, scarf round her face to prevent her nose going red. Thankfully it’s stopped raining. Part of her hopes she and Nick will arrive at the same time so he’ll see how cute she looks in her oversize outer layers. So he’ll get the full effect when she peels them off and reveals how good she looks underneath. But she also wants to get there first and scout for the most intimate table. There’s no point them having to shout over noisy people; that would defeat the object somewhat.
On her way up Southampton Row she thinks about Georgia. She doesn’t allow herself to do that too often. Not now. Not when she’s making so much progress. She’s been wondering if she should distance herself. It would make her quest easier. But it’s unthinkable. She needs her. Loves her. None of it makes any sense, she knows that, but she’s powerless to feel any other way. She needs to take her out, cheer her up. Make her see that she’ll be better off without him. Georgia is struggling to finish her new book, she told her, although how it’s possible to have writer’s block when you only have to write about a hundred words, total, Lydia doesn’t know. Maybe this will be the end of Wilbur. Maybe Georgia’s run at the top is over, the natural cycle of things. Lydia received another rejection today. Her fourth. Always nice, always complimentary, but still saying no. There’s no gap in the market for her faeries and trolls. But maybe her time is coming.
She reaches the hotel on Russell Square with five minutes to spare. Gives herself a quick once over in the Ladies and then settles at a table by the window. It’s waiter service so she orders a vodka and tonic and explains that she’s waiting for a friend. She snaps another selfie with the dark wood and low orange lighting of the bar behind her.
‘Instagramming already?’ a voice says and she almost drops her phone. It’s Nick. Of course it is. She stands up and gives him a hug.
‘Never miss an opportunity, that’s what I say.’
He waves at the waiter and shrugs his coat off in one smooth move. She tries to analyse how he’s doing from the way he looks. Still a bit haunted, a bit grey, but maybe not so bad as he was. He’s coming to terms with it, she thinks. He’s accepting that it’s happening. He orders himself a lager, sits down opposite her, gives her a smile that makes her heart stop.
‘How are you?’ she says, all sympathy.
He nods. ‘OK. Same, I guess. I think I’m outstaying Dom’s hospitality though.’
‘Shit. What will you do?’
He shrugs. ‘I think I’ll have to rent somewhere. That seems so final though. Like I’ve given up.’
She sees an opportunity to twist the knife. Sighs theatrically. ‘You have to move on sometime. I mean … if she won’t … you need to start thinking about you. Plan the future. If you want me to help you look for somewhere, I can … I mean, if you want a second opinion or whatever …’
She leaves it hanging there. She needs to keep coming up with reasons for them to meet. He won’t be needing a shoulder to cry on forever. At least, hopefully not. And she needs to be the first thing he sees when he looks up from his misery.
‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘That’d help. I haven’t got a clue. Do you really think I shouldn’t try and talk to her? What do I have to lose at this point?’
Georgia is obviously still at the forefront of
his mind. She needs to tread carefully. If this situation were real what reason could she possibly have for advising him that it was better to walk away without trying? ‘Of course try and talk to her if you want to. I just worry it might be counter-productive at the moment. You don’t want to push her away even further because she feels cornered.’
‘Getting my own place just feels as if I’m saying I’ve moved on for good. I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.’
She considers for a moment whether she could offer to put him up at hers but she doesn’t know how she’d ever explain that one to Georgia. And she knows she can’t rush him. Not if she’s in it for the long haul. ‘Get somewhere with a short lease. I can explain to her that you’re just giving her space. It might be a positive, anyway, that she sees you’re getting a place on your own. If you really were having an affair wouldn’t you be looking to shack up with the mistress?’
‘She’ll probably assume that I am.’
‘Well, that’s where I come in. I can tell her you’re definitely not. Especially if I’ve been helping you.’
‘That’s true. OK, see, you’ve made me feel better already.’
She beams the full force of her smile at him. ‘I missed my calling, obviously.’
‘How’s work?’ he asks. At last. They’ve got the Georgia talk out of the way and they can have a proper conversation.
‘Fucking awful,’ she says and he laughs. He has always had a surprisingly booming laugh, especially when something catches him unawares. ‘My soul is being sucked dry bit by bit.’
‘It can’t be that bad.’
‘It’s that bad. You wouldn’t believe the egos I have to deal with. The arrogance of people who think that because they somehow persuaded someone that their crappy drawings were better than everyone else’s they’re something special. When we all know it was just a case of them being around and available when I needed something done quickly.’ Too close to home? She needs to be careful not to look as if she’s having a dig at Georgia. The Lydia Nick knows would never do that.
