by Shari Low
It was the kind of place I loved. Nothing showy or flash, or over-the-top trendy. No customers taking selfies or fascinating people to gawk at. It wasn’t the kind of place I’d expect Dee to choose. Unless she hadn’t been the one to pick it…
When I was greeted by the welcoming chap I took to be the patriarch of the family, I asked for the table nearest to the door.
‘But the back is much quieter,’ he said, his words heavily accented. Normally, I’d have gone with his recommendation, but I wasn’t risking having to charge out after that bloke for the second time today, so I wanted to be prepared, vigilant, and ready to pounce if he showed up.
Although, as a precaution, I had worn Stan Smith trainers with my pale blue maxi-dress, borrowed from one of the new ranges we were stocking in the shop for summer. With my hair up in a ponytail, and a bit of a pink tinge from the sun today, I was thinking that – lack of strappy high heels aside - I was nudging the presentable side of the grooming scale for once.
One of the waiters, a dark-haired, high-cheekboned beauty of a man, brought over the coffee I’d ordered from his father. It wasn’t the normal pre-dinner aperitif, but the last thing I wanted was to have my judgement clouded by alcohol tonight.
Nine p.m. came. And went. A few more tables had filled up now and my heart jumped every time the door opened with more diners, but it was never him. It might be time to face the possibility that I had officially gone a bit mad. Made a huge mistake. Got carried away with the drama and made something out of nothing.
The waiter was hovering a little, so I ordered a tortilla and some chicken in a garlic sauce. It wasn’t as if I’d be kissing anyone tonight.
Aaaargh, that thought took me right back to the night before. Mark. I’d been trying to avoid thinking about it all day. How could I? Seriously? How could I have done that? And while he didn’t exactly put up an argument, that didn’t detract from the mortifying truth that I led the charge. A tingling sensation spread across my stomach and I launched an internal battle against it until I was forced to concede that yes, it was flattering that he didn’t want me to stop and seemed, in the moment, absolutely open to the exploration of oral cavities, but that was beside the point. Did I find him attractive? Absolutely. But then, I also found Adam Levine from Maroon 5 attractive and I’d yet to lunge at him with my tongue out. Although, in fairness, that theory hadn’t been tested because I’d never met him. But still, what an embarrassment I was. If Val and Don found out they’d be horrified. Yes, I realised Mark was a grown man and was entitled to make his own relationship decisions, but I just knew that any kind of romantic relationship would be too close to home.
More deliberations. This was turning into a full internal moral investigation.
So if he wasn’t Dee’s brother, would I go there, I asked myself. Something deep inside, I think it might have been my ovaries, made it clear that I would and it was all I could do to stop myself laughing out loud.
The door opened and my stomach lurched… then fell. A couple, a tall, slender woman with tumbling caramel curls and a perfectly made up face, in a red bodycon dress and high shoes with pointed toes. Pure class. The man following her was older, but impeccably suited, his black hair swept back like a forties movie star. If Dee was here and we were playing our usual people-watching game, making up backstories for everyone who passed us, she’d be hissing in my ear right now. ‘Wealthy couple, second marriage, great relationship, incredible sex, her on top.’
I watched the owner greet them with effusive hugs and kisses and show them to their table, and only when they moved away did I realise they weren’t the only ones who had just arrived.
He was standing there, in the doorway, scanning the room. Before I could think it through, I’d jumped up and put my hand on his arm, woefully aware that I was making a habit of ambushing blokes.
‘Excuse me,’ I asked, voice trembling just a little. ‘Are you looking for Dee?’
His surprise was obvious and for a split second I thought I’d got this completely wrong. Until he answered. ‘Yes. I’m sorry, but do I know you? Did Dee ask you to come?’ The accent was Australian. Perhaps this was a friend of Mark’s. Of course, that was it. Maybe if I’d asked Mark instead of suctioning myself to his face, he’d have been able to explain it all, to laugh off my stupid suspicions and provide an entirely innocent, logical explanation for all this. I felt totally ashamed of myself for doubting her. How could I? She would have backed me up until the end of time and I’d thought the worst of her. And now I was going to have to break the news that Dee had died.
‘No, she didn’t. But I think there are some things you should know. Will you join me?’
Chapter 34
Luke
Until half an hour before, I hadn’t been planning on coming. I truly hadn’t. That’s why I’d gone out for a run earlier, and ended up meeting Val in the cemetery. A bit of a surprise, but I was glad it had happened. Some of her words of wisdom had hit home. Maybe it was time to get out and start making some kind of life again.
Until last year, I’d always been a shoo-in for a work night out, but since Dee died, I just couldn’t face it. People didn’t quite know how to play it. It was OK in an office environment, when they could have a quick chat, show concern, and then get back to their desk, but a night out was different. I was always afraid that they were worried about getting stuck in a corner with me, offloading all my woes. There’s nothing quite like the fear of a crying man to make people avoid eye contact.
That was only part of it, however. The truth was, I felt guilty. How could I be out, laughing and dancing and knocking back beers, when my wife was dead? A couple of pints in the pub with Mark, and on that one occasion, Lizzy and Callie, was one thing, but a full-on, party-mode piss-up was something different altogether.
Yet, I was here.
Over six months after I’d buried my beautiful wife, I was here. And I wanted to turn around and go straight back out the door.
‘Well, would you look who’s decided to join the party,’ the voice said, and without even turning around, I knew it was Callie. She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. ‘You came. I’m glad,’ she said, smiling.
There was no denying how gorgeous she was, especially tonight, in a white dress that went from her neck to her knees, and definitely showed off her figure. Her hair was loose and wavy, her heels so high she was almost the same height as me.
‘You don’t have a beer! Let’s fix that.’ She led the way to a roped-off section of the bar, where a large bucket filled with ice and cold beers was already set up. This was par for the course. When our agency celebrated something, they did it in style, taking over the whole VIP area of a trendy West End bar, champagne bottles on ice, beer in a cooler, all of it on the agency’s tab. Tonight’s party was in aid of the Don’t Cry Over Spilt Milk campaign. Yep, that cheesy line had won us the campaign and then the national account, adding a cool ten million to our turnover. I’d get a big fat bonus and so would the rest of my colleagues, thus the urge to party in ostentatious style. Many of them were loud, they were borderline obnoxious, they had no lack of confidence in their own brilliance, but hey, nobody was perfect and at least they weren’t boring, like the guy who, until an hour ago, was contemplating a night in with a rerun of Top Gear. I wasn’t proud.
‘I’ll be right back,’ Callie said. ‘Just going to track down my drink and bag.’
I pulled out a beer, twisted off the top, and then got caught up talking to some of the other guys in the team, who all, admittedly, made full eye contact and didn’t seem to be scanning the room looking for an exit plan to escape potential crying man.
Talking of loud and over-confident… ‘Dude, you’re here!’ an inebriated Domenic yelled, holding his fist up to do the bump thing again.
‘Still no, man,’ I told him, repeating the same reaction I gave him every time.
He seemed to think this was hilarious.
‘Kylie, this is Luke,’ he shouted, blastin
g the eardrum of the girl next to him. I assumed this was the one he’d been seeing for months and remembered his claim that his girlfriend looked like a Kardashian. Actually, he had a fair point.
I held out my hand. ‘Good to meet you, Kylie.’
She looked at it with obvious surprise before shaking it. Perhaps I should have gone with a fist bump.
‘Hey, didn’t your wife own a holiday shop?’ Domenic blurted. So much for my colleagues avoiding the subject.
‘She did.’
‘See, told you!’ he said to Kylie. ‘He’ll totally get you sorted with a discount for Ayia Napa.’
‘That would be, like, dope,’ Kylie responded. I think that meant I got some form of approval.
‘I’ll speak to the other owner and set something up,’ I assured her, hoping Jen wouldn’t be too pissed off.
‘Oh yeah, ’cause your wife, like, died. Sorry about that.’
Yep, my wife, like, died. She did. The constant irritation and claustrophobia that I’d felt for the first couple of months after she passed got a grip of me again and I knew I had to get out of there. Baby steps, right? I’d come here. I’d socialised. Time to go.
‘I’m just going to get another beer,’ I announced, before backing up and bunking out. Navigating my way through the crowd took a few minutes, as I swerved the beer bar and the boss with equal success.
‘Where are you going, Luke Harper?’ I hadn’t quite swerved Callie.
‘Just heading off.’
‘You just got here!’ she exclaimed. I saw that she’d found both her bag and her drink. ‘You can’t leave yet. Come dance with me.’
She grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the dance floor. I’d rather have had my eyes poked out with kebab skewers. I was dancing on two beers. I had a strict ten-beer dance limit, and even then, only if there were shots too.
Right on cue, several waitresses swarmed around the dance floor, each of them holding up a tray of little cups. Vodka jellies. Dee loved them. I took it as a sign that she was encouraging me, looking forward to being amused by my shite dancing.
Callie took one in each hand, I did the same, we knocked them back, and it got me to the end of whatever Calvin Harris tune that was playing. I made a let’s end this, throat-slashing gesture. She rolled her eyes and hung on to the back of my shirt as we edged our way off the dance floor. I finally found a safe place to stop, against the wall, in a corner, where we weren’t getting jostled out of the way by enthusiastic clubbers. I remembered all too clearly why I despised nightclubs. I only ever went because Dee loved a dance, but even then, Jen and I would park ourselves on a sofa and talk nonsense to pass the time until Dee finally gave it up and returned from the seventh circle of hell, danced out, but totally buzzing.
‘Right, you’re not leaving yet,’ Callie said. ‘We finally got you out and we’re going to make the most of it.’
‘Yeah, but…’
She cut off whatever excuses I was about to come up with. ‘Is it because of what I said last time?’
She was all big eyes and flirty now, a little bit drunk, crazy pretty and totally sexy. Yet, I felt a twinge of guilt even thinking that.
‘Which bit?’ I asked her. In my defence, I wasn’t being coy. Sure, that night at her flat she’d come on strong, but I’d put that down to too much alcohol and a large pinch of pity, because the next day she’d breezed into work, as if nothing had happened and she hadn’t mentioned it since. Hadn’t we all said stupid shit when we were wasted?
‘This bit,’ she said, and then her lips were on mine, and her arms were around my neck… and I let her.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, taking my hand.
I tried to tell myself I was just happy to have an excuse to leave the claustrophobia of the club, but as I followed her out, I knew it was time to start being honest with myself.
I’d known she would be here.
This was why I’d come.
My wife was dead for barely over six months.
And I was heading out of a club with another woman.
What kind of shit human being did that make me?
And why did I really want to hear Jen’s voice tell me it was OK?
Chapter 35
Jen
‘I’m Jen, Dee’s business partner.’
His expression changed, lightened, as if this made everything OK.
‘She talked about you a lot,’ he said, making him one up on me, who had never heard of him. I was still struggling to get my head around the fact that this guy even existed, that he was here, and that I was actually having a conversation with him.
‘I wish I could say the same,’ I said, trying to make light of it. ‘I’m really sorry, but she didn’t mention you and I don’t even know your name.’
‘Brad,’ he said, his tone friendly. He’d obviously decided that he was at least intrigued enough to find out more, because he pulled out a chair and signalled to the waiter, who was on his way over when Daddy Restaurant Owner spotted my companion and bolted over.
Brad raised himself to his feet again and embraced him. ‘Carlos, good to see ya.’
‘Brad! So long, si?’ He gestured to one of the waiters. ‘Diago, wine for our friend!’
Clearly a regular then. While he was distracted with swapping endearments, I got a chance to take in his appearance. Early, maybe mid-forties. Smart suit, well cut, expensive cufflinks. He looked… suave. That was the word. Dark hair, short, swept back. Alpha male. His features not sharp enough to be handsome, but strong enough to be attractive. Even in the suit it was obvious he worked out. Wide at the shoulders, the jacket beautifully cut and moving with him like a second, very expensive skin. This was the kind of guy that ran a company or worked for himself, the kind that oozed confidence and was completely self-assured. He didn’t sit at home with his girlfriend at night with his pyjamas on, watching Cold Feet.
I realised where I was going with this. He was the exact opposite of Luke. The pang of that realisation was like a physical blow. Luke. I’ve never been one for praying. Losing my mum so young and being saddled with a shit dad tends to erode the faith in all things bright and beautiful. Right now though, I said a silent prayer to anyone that was listening, to make there be some completely innocent explanation for all this, but a niggling voice told me otherwise. The truth was I could absolutely see Dee being attracted to this guy. She would love his charm, his easy confidence, and the little bit inside her that relished a bit of upscale glamour would be impressed by his obvious polish and expensive veneer.
At that, the door opened and Carlos bustled off to greet the new arrivals with much enthusiasm. The poor guy must be exhausted with this much exuberance every day.
‘So where’s my darling Dee then? And I’m guessing that the fact she sent you means you know our secret?’ he asked, his expression open.
I really didn’t like the sound of the ‘secret’. Oh Dee, come on. Tell me you didn’t.
Before I could answer him, the waiter arrived with a bottle of red, two glasses and my new acquaintance, Brad, tasted it, then signalled to the waiter to go ahead and pour.
Luke would just have popped the lid off a screw-top beer.
Opposites.
‘Salud,’ he said, holding up his wine.
I was consumed with apprehension about how this was going to play out. Split-second decision. Head first. Get it out there.
‘Brad, I’m really sorry to tell you but Dee is dead.’
A heartbeat. Then everything in his demeanour visibly slumped.
‘Dead?’ He put his glass back down as if he didn’t trust himself to hold it. So she meant something, that was clear. This wasn’t just a friendship or a meaningless fling. But I didn’t have time to dwell on that because Brad was now looking at me like he expected me to reveal this was all a big, twisted joke and come out with some kind of punchline. Only, there wasn’t one.
‘She was hit by a car. The guy behind the wheel was high on drugs and trying to escape the police. He moun
ted a pavement, heading towards some kids, and Dee dived across to save one of them. The car hit her instead and killed her.’
He didn’t speak, just slowly lifted the glass to his mouth and took another sip, his complexion greyed.
Even though I still had no idea what their relationship was, it was impossible not to feel sorry for him.
‘When?’ he eventually said.
‘January.’
I watched as his features rearranged themselves into confusion, then realisation, then… sorrow. There was genuine feeling there, I could see it, but he handled it in a very composed way. This was a guy that didn’t fall apart in a crisis.
It took him a moment to rewind to confusion. ‘So how did you know about me then?’
‘I didn’t. I kept Dee’s plans to travel to New York, followed the itinerary she had put in her calendar. The notes and the flowers at the hotel…?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, they were from me. I didn’t understand why she didn’t respond. The hotel said she’d arrived…’
‘That was me. Her name was still on the booking.’ So it was him all along. Any hope that the notes and flowers had been harmless gestures from an over-enthusiastic PR person evaporated.
‘Ah. That makes sense then. After the note went unanswered, I assumed there had been a complication, that perhaps her husband had joined her.’
‘Luke,’ I said, unsure why I had a sudden need to say his name and make him real for this guy. ‘Her husband’s name is Luke,’ I repeated.
To the right, I saw the waiter approach again, presumably to take our food order, but Brad waved him away.
His brow was furrowed as he tried to join the dots, yet he still oozed pure, raw, masculinity. ‘How could I not know? All this time?’ He shook his head. ‘I thought there had just been a change of plan. We had a very strict no-contact rule, no emails, no texts, no calls, no exceptions…’
