Conditional Love

by Cathy Bramley

  The tea scorched my throat as I swallowed a huge mouthful. I gave a yelp and panted to cool my throat.

  ‘Sophie?’

  Now he thinks I’m panting at him.

  ‘Burned my throat,’ I croaked.

  ‘Well, it was just a thought,’ he mumbled.

  I chewed my lip. I hoped I hadn’t hurt his feelings. What were my feelings, exactly?

  Him and me. A whole day together. Was this his idea of a date? What would we talk about? I wasn’t sure if I was flattered or freaked out. But I loved Grand Designs, I’d never been to the live show and it would be useful. I could always ditch him if he got on my nerves.

  ‘Oh, so we could go together? Um, great idea. Thank you.’

  ‘Er, ah, no,’ stuttered Nick. ‘Not together. I’ll be working. Giving a talk actually. Need to get there very early so… er…’

  Oh cheeseballs! It wasn’t a date then. Now I was disappointed. Not because I fancied him. But who doesn’t like being asked out? Served me right for jumping to conclusions.

  There was a noise of rustling papers.

  ‘I can post you a ticket. Here we go. Found it. Oh, I’ve got several. You could take a friend perhaps? Girls, um, women, er, ladies love shopping, don’t they?’

  Oh yes, shopping, baking cakes, sewing a fine seam…

  There was a groan from the other end of the line. ‘That came out wrong.’

  ‘Not at all, silly me! Good idea, we’ll have a girls’ day out.’

  I heard a key in the lock and wrapped up the call with Nick promising to send me some tickets.

  In waltzed Jess, humming ‘A Spoonful of Sugar’. She flung down an armful of cereal boxes and toilet roll tubes and joined me in the kitchen.

  Jess had been chosen to become the new deputy head teacher from September. While this was wonderful and much deserved, she had turned into a bit of a career bore. Emma and I had to endure frequent, unwanted advice if she felt we weren’t ‘giving it our all’.

  ‘Planning, preparation and perseverance,’ she informed us on a regular basis. ‘That’s what it takes to get ahead.’

  ‘I thought it was: “If you want to get ahead, get a hat”,’ I’d dared to reply on one occasion, at which Emma had hooted with laughter. Jess had simply shaken her head sadly at the two of us.

  Privately, we couldn’t wait for her relationship with the policeman to move to the next level, so we’d get a break. She was due to go all moony and floaty any day soon.

  ‘How did the presentation to the board go?’ she asked, putting the kettle on. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Oh, fine.’ I waved a hand dismissively and gave a thumbs up to another cup of tea.

  The social media strategy had been given the go-ahead and I was pleased, I supposed. But I couldn’t be bothered to think about my boardroom success now; my head was full of mood boards and tear sheets and interior layouts.

  Jess set my tea down in front of me and gazed at me intently. Was she going to speak or was she waiting for me?

  A heart to heart was brewing. My stomach trembled. I hurriedly searched for a way to distract her.

  Great Aunt Jane’s will had become the elephant in the room. We hadn’t spoken about it properly since Emma announced my crime to the whole bus.

  I knew both the sisters were worried about me and what letting my father into my life, however briefly, might do to me.

  My eyes flicked up to the ceiling. There was a yellow patch where the roof had leaked and the landlord hadn’t got round to repainting it. Two of the cupboard doors didn’t close properly and one of the rings on the hob didn’t work. It was no wonder that I didn’t like cooking.

  Despite its shortcomings, this flat had been my sanctuary, cocooning me from the outside world for years. We all still lived like students and part of me (the biggest, cowardliest part) wanted to stay exactly as we were. That wasn’t possible though. At least not for me; Great Aunt Jane’s will would change everything. Life as I knew it was running out and it was a scary prospect.

  Jess was still looking at me, concern etched into her well-meaning face.

  ‘How about a Chinese tonight?’ I said, leaping up from the table to retrieve the menu.

  The remains of a Chinese banquet littered the living room floor. Tinfoil dishes barely touched, piles of congealing spare ribs and a mountain of prawn crackers pointed greasy fingers at our excessive over-ordering.

  ‘Who’s having the last sweet and sour prawn ball?’ I said, holding it precariously between my chopsticks.

  ‘Over here,’ said Emma, holding her plate up.

  Jess groaned. ‘Eyes bigger than my belly,’ she said from her position flat out on the floor.

  Emma pinched her lips together, but I could still see them twitch.

  I sighed with contentment. Nothing had been said, but it felt as if we’d mended some fences tonight. My friends were on my side again. They might not agree with everything I was doing, but they would stand by me. I didn’t know what I would do without Emma’s dogged loyalty and Jess’s gentle support.

  The entry buzzer sounded. Jess squeaked and sat up instantly. ‘That will be Spike. He finished work at nine. He said he’d come straight round. In his uniform!’

  ‘I hope we won’t be seeing his truncheon,’ sniggered Emma.

  ‘They use a collapsible baton these days,’ said Jess primly, without a hint of irony. She pushed herself up from the carpet, checked her face in the mirror over the mantelpiece and fluffed her hair up.

  ‘You’ve asked him about it then?’ I said, cocking an eyebrow at her preening.

  She giggled in response and dashed to the door as the buzzer was pressed a second time. Emma and I exchanged amused glances. We were yet to meet Jess’s new hero, although it felt as if we knew him already.

  I strained my ears, grinning in anticipation of their kissy-kissy hello.

  The door opened and there was a pause before Jess finally invited him in.

  She came back in almost immediately, a look of confusion on her face.

  ‘It’s for you,’ she said, her eyes scanning my mine. I could see she was panicking, unsure if she had done the right thing. I reassured her with a smile.

  Marc stood behind her. All shoulders and stubble, sexy and sultry. His face broke into a lazy grin and he held out a bunch of flowers. I cursed my body’s reaction, but couldn’t help it; the sight of Marc Felton in my living room sent my soul soaring skywards, diving into a fluffy white cloud and kicking her heels in the air with pure joy.

  Emma looked from me to him and back to me and tutted with undisguised loathing.

  Be cool, Sophie. He might have just lost another CD.

  I stood up, sending a shower of egg fried rice to the floor.

  ‘I’m as stuffed as a pot-bellied pig,’ I said, patting my stomach.

  Very classy. Seriously, I could not be less seductive if I tried.

  Jess scrunched her eyebrows up, Emma started to choke and the bunch of flowers in Marc’s hand drooped a little.

  ‘Flowers, how lovely!’ I took them from him and sniffed. All I could smell was Marc’s rather pungent deodorant, but they looked pretty.

  ‘What are they, Esso or Texaco?’ muttered Emma, still wheezing. ‘Take them out Sophie, I’m allergic.’

  They did look as if they’d come straight off the forecourt, but he had never bought me flowers before. Ever.

  I headed to the kitchen to find a vase and Marc followed close behind.

  ‘Fancy going for a drink?’ He snaked his arms round my waist and nestled his chin against my cheek.

  Hold on a minute! Flowers, drinks, dangerously close body positions. Was this a date? My mind zoomed back several hours to when I had asked myself the same question about Nick’s proposition. I had been wrong then. I didn’t want to end up with egg on my face. I brushed my hand over my mouth. Or rice.

  The warmth of his body against mine was electrifying, his breath soft in my ear. I slowly wrapped my arms over his. The moment felt magical and I
was easily drawn under his spell.

  Sophie, we’ve spoken about this, cool and detached, remember?

  ‘Why not?’ I shrugged, releasing myself from his grip.

  ‘We’re going out,’ I announced, setting the flowers as far away from Emma as I could before she complained. My movements were jerky and self-conscious and I couldn’t look either of my flatmates in the eye.

  ‘Is this going spare?’ Marc nodded towards the leftover Chinese food.

  I handed him a clean plate and nipped off to my room to change.

  Emma followed me out into the hall and grabbed my arm. ‘Doesn’t it bother you that he’s only after your money?’ she whispered. Not a soft whisper, more of an angry hiss.

  ‘That’s a terrible thing to say. You’re supposed to be my friend! How do you know he hasn’t missed me? Am I completely without appeal?’ I glared at her, shoved her hand away and flounced off to my bedroom.

  I shouldn’t have flounced. Flouncing was a dead giveaway. I might as well have admitted that she was totally right. I knew it, she knew it.

  On the other hand, I reasoned, Marc was giving me a second chance. This time I would be daring and exciting and throw myself into the path of life’s adventures. Perhaps he would see that we weren’t so different after all?

  Three hours later, I lay in bed with a huge beaming smile on my face. Alone.

  The bedroom curtains were open and a handful of stars winked at me, tiny sparks, struggling valiantly to compete with the orangey glow from the city below.

  Marc had been a perfect gentleman in the pub, never leaving my side, insisting on buying all the drinks and not making a single comment about calories or pot bellies when I asked for peanuts. We had exchanged little stories about our day; the equipment he needed to start up his new car business and my venture into property development.

  He had driven me home and had not pressurised me for a kiss. So I kissed him. A peck which said ‘Look what you’ve been missing’, a lip-smacker to ask ‘Can we do this again soon?’, a sexy smooch to leave him wanting more. And then, with what I hoped was an enigmatic smile, I disappeared into the night, thoroughly pleased with myself.

  I rolled over, punched my pillow and let my dreams engulf me. So far my action plan was exceeding all my expectations.

  eighteen

  The flat, midlands landscape flashed by through the grimy window of the train. Power stations, rivers and fields blurred with motorways, houses and shops as I sipped my tea and hummed the Grand Designs’ theme tune under my breath.

  It was a sunny Saturday morning and I was on my way to the exhibition. Sadly, the girls’ day out that I’d envisaged hadn’t materialised.

  Jess had made plans with Spike, her policeman. I had finally met him last weekend. He was tall and thin with the most alarming hair, which stayed spiky even under his helmet. But what had surprised me most was how quiet he was, I would almost go as far as to describe him as sullen. Apart from the physique and the uniform, I couldn’t see what Jess really saw in him. But she was undeniably smitten, so I couldn’t help but be glad for her.

  Emma was otherwise engaged too, making a pair of matching platinum wedding rings for a couple who had seen her silver platter for the Lord Mayor. I had never seen this platter, although Emma had talked about it so much I felt like I’d designed the bloomin’ thing myself. More importantly, other people were talking about it too and that had resulted in more lucrative commissions than she had ever had.

  Our lives were beginning to pull in different directions. Gone were the girlie nights in together, Saturday mornings sitting on the sofa chatting away in our pyjamas. Jess was spending more and more time at Spike’s house and Emma was often at the studio until all hours. Perhaps this was what happens, I reflected glumly. Friends grow up and away from each other, like little moons joining somebody else’s orbit.

  I opened the envelope Nick had sent me and took out a handful of tickets and a show guide, as well as a checklist of things to consider. Bricks, tiles, windows, lighting, flooring… the list was a bit daunting. Perhaps it was just as well I was alone; at least I would be able to explore the show at my own pace.

  I flicked through the show guide. Hadn’t Nick said he was speaking?

  My finger ran along the events schedule and stopped at the eleven o’clock seminar entitled: Let There Be Light by Nick Cromwell – illumination and other bright ideas.

  Would he want me to go and listen to him speak? Would he prefer me to not go and listen? What if I didn’t go and he was offended? After all, he did mention it and he did send me free tickets. That could be construed as an invitation.

  I would go and sit at the back, I decided, and if he was truly dreadful, I could always sneak out before he noticed me.

  After following the signs to the exhibition, giving my spare tickets away and queuing to enter, I was in. I only had five minutes to spare to find a loo before the start of Nick’s talk and was going to have to hurry.

  I glanced down at my feet. Dashing anywhere right now might be a problem. It might have been all under cover, but the journey from the platform to the show had taken fifteen minutes and my high heels were killing me.

  What possessed me? I muttered, wincing and mincing my way along the main thoroughfare. All around me, women were bouncing along on their comfy air-filled soles, fully prepared for a day on their feet. At this rate, I would be on my knees by noon.

  The lecture theatre was, naturally, right at the opposite end of the show and by the time I arrived, there were barely any seats free. I hovered at the entrance, deciding where to sit. I did a rough count up. There must have been over a hundred people in the audience!

  I wondered how Nick was feeling. Waiting in the wings, probably, having a last minute rehearsal. I couldn’t imagine him speaking in public, in front of an audience of humans.

  ‘Excuse me, dear.’ A tiny old lady squeezed past me and eased herself into the last seat in the back row.

  Now there was only one space left. Front row obviously. I took a deep breath and tiptoed self-consciously up towards the remaining seat, which was directly in front of the podium. So much for remaining unobtrusive and making an early exit. Never mind, I would pretend to make notes and avoid eye contact.

  I joined in with the applause as a tanned compère appeared.

  ‘Put your hands together and give a warm welcome to architect Nick Cromwell. As he says, “Let there be light”.’

  Nick appeared on stage, looking very professional in a smart grey suit and a purple tie. He stood at the podium and I saw his hands shake as the compère passed him the controller for the projector. My seat was a mere two metres away from Nick’s trembling trousers.

  He was going to think I was a stalker. I slumped down in my seat.

  Nick turned to the audience. Maybe he had intended to smile, but a grimace was as much as he managed.

  Oh bless! I felt nervous for him. Come on, Nick, illuminate us!

  As if he had read my mind, he looked straight at me. The controller slipped out of his hands and clattered to the floor near my feet. The projector screen came to life, flipping through image after image, racing through Nick’s presentation. His mouth fell open and a look of panic crossed his face.

  I jumped out of my seat and handed it up to him, giving my widest, most encouraging grin. He smiled back, mouthed his thanks and blew his cheeks out in a gesture of composure.

  ‘Of all the elements that combine to create the ambiance of your home, light is the most magical,’ began Nick.

  And he was off. His thirty minute speech flew by. I was enthralled. He was a different person, with his dazzling delivery, brilliant observations and expert knowledge. I felt like a proud parent.

  That’s my architect, I wanted to say to the lady next to me, isn’t he good?

  I glanced round at the audience; they were hanging on his every word. It was obvious from his delivery how much he loved being an architect. I felt quite envious. I wished I was in a job where passion
for my work spilled out so much that I inspired others like he did! What could I talk about with such intensity, such passion? I dredged the outer recesses of my brain for a few seconds, but other than being able to name all of Take That’s number ones, I came up empty-handed.

  I would whisk him off for a coffee to celebrate when he’d finished and tell him just how marvellous he was.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ concluded a beaming Nick.

  The audience was clapping, some people already on their feet, keen to move on to the next event. A couple approached Nick and he fished a business card out of his pocket. I pretended to check my phone to give me an excuse for not leaving straight away. The couple moved away and I saw my chance. I dropped my phone back into my bag and was just about to go over when a woman in a denim jacket and a flowery miniskirt pounced on him.

  How annoying, I’d been gazumped!

  I’d have to leave now. Failure to do so would make me look like an adoring fan and it looked like he already had one of those.

  I looked over at him one last time. He seemed relaxed, with his arms folded, leaning against the podium, nodding and smiling. I could only see her from behind, but could tell from her stance that she was much younger than me. She had her hands clasped in front of her, pivoting from the knees like a child.

  I turned away in disgust. Trollop.

  Back outside in the main hall, I consulted the show guide. High heels notwithstanding, I would spend the next two hours scouring the show for ideas, stop for some lunch and then rest my weary legs in the Grand Theatre to hear what TV presenter Kevin McCloud had to say.

  By lunchtime, I was exhausted. I plonked a tray with a mug of milky tea and an over-priced and under-filled baguette down on the table with relief. The balls of my feet throbbed as if I’d ground them into hot coals, but I didn’t care. My arms were aching under the weight of the brochures I’d collected, but I barely registered the pain. I was in my element.

  Thank you, thank you, Nick, for suggesting that I came!

  I was buzzing with inspiration, mind-blown with the things I’d seen. From ‘smart’ this to ‘eco’ that, there was a system, a button, a gadget for everything and everyone. My list of ‘must haves’ had grown as I made my way round the show. Now my fingers were itching to sketch. I could envisage the mood boards I would pull together to give Nick, I could imagine exactly the sort of interiors I wanted to create.