I was gripping my napkin tightly, knees pressed together. ‘Was it like ER?’
‘Kind of. I saw gun-shot wounds and terrible car accidents and stabbings. People jumping off buildings.’ I was nodding as he spoke, interested, of course, but all I wanted to do was to cut through all the formalities and get right to it. ‘Pretty grim but exciting to have the experience,’ he went on.
‘How did you do in your finals?’
Finn actually blushed. So there was a humble gene in his body. ‘You’ll think I’m showing off,’ he said, running one hand through his hair.
I smiled. ‘That depends on how you say it, doesn’t it?’
He looked relieved, familiarity beginning to set in. ‘You haven’t changed, Josie. OK. Well, I got a 2:1 overall at Cambridge in my pre-clinical degree. It was in biological anthropology, you know, studying genetics, evolution of man and the monkey/ape kingdom.’
‘Oh yes,’ I nodded, trying to keep a straight face, ‘I know all that.’
Finn smiled. ‘And then for the next three years at medical school, my MB, BS, medical bachelor, bachelor of surgery,’ he described earnestly, ‘I passed with As in all my subjects and distinctions in obs and gynae, and medicine. Those exams were hell, though, especially the clinical ones. You have this high-flying consultant dressed in a power suit expecting you to know exactly what is wrong with patient A, a child with asthma, or patient B who has kidney failure. It’s terrifying.’
‘I can imagine. Well done. You deserve it.’ Have you got a girlfriend? ‘So what stage are you at now?’
‘I’ve just become a senior house officer.’
Are you in love? ‘Which means?’
‘I spend most of my time on the wards, chasing results for X-rays and bloods,’ he explained modestly. I leant forward, cupping one hand under my chin and biting my little finger, desperately trying to focus on what he was saying. ‘I get to be in clinic, though, twice a week. It’s not as menial as being a house officer. They have to do everything they are told.’
‘I bet you didn’t like that?’ I was playing with my fork now. It slipped onto the floor.
‘I forgot you were clumsy. Here, let me get it.’
He bent down to retrieve it from under the table. I fanned my face with the napkin and then inhaled sharply when I felt his hand stroking my leg, touching my anklebone. I was wearing red high heels.
He sat up again. ‘No, but that’s the way it is,’ he said with that old flicker of a smile. I was nodding but I’d forgotten my question.
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’
I nearly laughed. So much more grown up than our smoky student nights. Here we were in a formal restaurant with Finn having to ask if he could light up, and both of us sitting straight at the table when all I wanted to do was let my body melt into his.
‘No.’
Finn reached into his shirt pocket to get a packet of cigarettes. Even the way he lit one was sexy. He held it to his mouth and inhaled. I watched the smoke cloud between us. ‘What are we doing here, Finn?’ Cut to the chase.
He rolled up one of his sleeves. ‘I did think about you, a lot. All of the time.’
Already I wanted to hold him. Discover him all over again. But it was too easy for Finn, wasn’t it? I wondered if he had ever had to work at a relationship or did girls still flock to him at a click of his fingers? He flicked away some ash, not taking his eyes off me.
‘You stopped calling,’ I said.
‘I wasn’t sure it was a good thing, stepping back into the past. I was scared of what I’d find. You with someone else perhaps.’
I leant in closer. I didn’t want people to overhear. ‘Is that more terrifying than never seeing me again? For Christ’s sake, Finn, that’s so cowardly. I left you messages when I was abroad.’ After that night with Clarky I had wanted to talk to Finn more than anyone else. Clarky and I weren’t really talking properly any more, and don’t you always want something familiar when everything else feels so alien?
‘Josie, I was too wrapped up in my life, I know that now. What we had at Cambridge, it was a snapshot of happiness, almost too good to be true. I didn’t want to tarnish it with disappointment. It wasn’t the right time, not with you travelling. But isn’t it a sign that we’ve found each other again now? This is our time.’
‘So you’re finally ready for me?’ I reached across the table for a cigarette.
He looked lost, as if the flow of conversation was going against the current. ‘I didn’t know you smoked? I would have …’
‘Finn, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.’ He lit it for me and I inhaled deeply. When we met at Cambridge he had seemed so much older, better travelled in every way. But now, five years on, things were different.
He leaned towards me, trying to touch my hand but I moved it firmly away from him. However excited I had been about seeing him, I had to do this right. I needed to know he wanted me as much as I wanted him.
‘What if I don’t want to be hurt again? The easiest thing to do is see you tonight, then we go our separate ways again. No hard feelings.’
I would die a tragic death if he agreed but I had to risk it.
‘I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to let you go again.’ The tempo of his voice changed. He had to work harder now. ‘Who was that man you were with last night?’
‘Alex.’
‘I know his name,’ he said, his tone as sharp as a blade. ‘He’s not your type.’
I laughed. ‘You don’t know what my type is.’
He shook his head crossly. ‘You don’t go out with someone who says the word item. He’s too rock steady for you.’
‘But someone like you, someone so elusive that I never see him, is my type?’
‘We were teenagers!’ he shouts out and then glances sideways to see if people are listening. They pretend to be absorbed in their food but I can sense their ears twitching. ‘J, I can’t turn back time but I can do something now. Please tell me you’re not serious about him?’
‘It’s not that straightforward.’
‘When we saw each other last night, you can’t tell me there was nothing between us?’
My willpower was weakening.
‘If you are serious, I’ll fight for you.’ His hands clenched into fists. ‘It’s as simple as that. Tell me you’re happy I came back into your life. That’s all I need to know.’
Was it me or had the whole room suddenly dissolved into silence until all I could hear was my own breathing?
‘I’m happy.’
There was relief in his smile now. ‘Shall we stop wasting time and get out of here?’ he suggested.
I felt too enclosed by other tables, trapped by other people’s conversations. We stubbed out our cigarettes immediately. A few people looked up from their tables, wondering what the sudden urgency was.
‘Excuse me,’ shouted the waiter. ‘Your prawns in blankets, sir! You haven’t paid!’ Finn slammed a fifty-pound note onto the table. I had to look at it to make sure. ‘I’ll take this,’ he said, picking up the bottle of wine, ‘but I’m feeling rich,’ he told the waiter. ‘I’ve just met the girl I love again, so keep the change.’
*
Finn and I climbed the three floors up to my flat. Before I had even opened the door he was kissing me. We were both out of breath, the stairs seeming never-ending and steeper than usual. I was trying to put the key into the lock but it kept on slipping. ‘Finn,’ I murmured as he lifted my hair and kissed the back of my neck. I turned to him. He pushed me against the door, my back hitting the letterbox. He was unbuttoning my top. ‘Inside,’ I said, ‘someone will see us.’
He groaned with frustration. ‘All right. Open the door.’
‘I’m trying! If you’ll leave me alone for a minute.’
‘I can’t leave you alone for a second.’
I could hear him drinking from the bottle of wine. He left it on the dirty cream carpet in the hallway and put both arms around my waist, his mouth pressed agai
nst the back of my shoulder. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of my skin.
‘Finn.’ I hunched my shoulders. His touch was jogging my hand. I was laughing now as I attempted to hold it steady. We were like time bombs primed to go off if we didn’t have each other right now.
Only a few steps inside and Finn and I were pulling at each other’s clothes like clumsy teenagers again. We weren’t trying to impress or seduce; we just wanted each other. He unzipped the back of my black dress but the zip got caught. With one swift tug it came loose, the material tearing. ‘Hope it wasn’t expensive,’ he said. I tripped on the dress and we both crashed into the table, the light and phone hitting the floor. I reached with one hand to find the switch on the wall but Finn pulled it away.
‘Did you have lots of girls at Cambridge?’ I unbuttoned his shirt quickly.
‘One … or two.’
I pushed him down onto the sofa. ‘Did you go out with Dominique?’
‘Briefly … Said I was too moody.’
‘Never! You?’ He pulled me down with him onto the white rug. Finn’s arms were around my back, unhooking my bra. He kicked his shoes off.
My hand was inside his trousers. ‘She … never … knew … where she stood … was Alex a good fuck?’
‘Was Dominique?’
Our lips were pressed together, our bodies hot. ‘Who cares?’ he said. ‘The only person I want to be with right now is you.’
*
We made love on the sitting-room floor; we made love in the shower, cleansing our bodies of past loves, until our skin was red and raw and we could feel only each other. We made ourselves some bacon and toast in my tiny orange-painted kitchen at three in the morning, laughing and kissing as both burnt. ‘Shit!’ Finn plunged the pan into cold water. Nice idea to distract ourselves from each other for a minute but it hadn’t worked.
We didn’t want to fall asleep. We could hear the sounds of my flat: the tick of the clock, the sudden rush of water in the pipes, the wind rustling through the leaves of a tree outside in anticipation of morning. We lay face-to-face, the light beginning to creep in through my bedroom window like the enemy, reminding us that a new day was about to begin. Finn hadn’t changed, his hair still soft and slightly uneven at the back, that small neat scar to the side of his left eye telling its story. In many ways he looked younger than in his grungy student days with the dyed hair and stubble. The only signs of an older Finn were two small frown lines which gave his face more character. If possible, he was even more beautiful. ‘What do you do now?’ he asked. ‘I want to know everything. Are you still painting?’
‘Yes, whenever I can.’
‘I remember you told me you wanted your own exhibition. You said you’d be the hottest thing in London.’
I laughed. ‘How about lukewarm? I’m building up my portfolio. I need to tout myself to all the galleries, that’s the hard part.’
‘You can do it. I can’t see anyone rejecting your work … or you. So, what will you be doing in …’ He leant across me to pick up my old clock in its battered leather case. It was something my grandmother gave me. He turned the face to him. ‘Precisely three hours’ time?’
‘Telling David Hamilton to get off his arse and into the office.’
‘Didn’t he design the record label for Red? They’re one of my favourite groups. He’s huge. What do you do for him?’
‘Run his life.’
Finn was stroking my hand; he kissed the bruise on my arm, a stamp of his love on me. ‘Clarky’s not going to be happy.’ The change of subject was abrupt, a sting after a caress.
‘What do you mean?’
‘That I’m back in your life. He doesn’t like me.’
‘He does.’ But I knew that wasn’t true.
‘Did you ever go out?’
‘No.’
‘Have you kissed?’
Something was telling me that such a small detail could complicate things in a big way and I didn’t want anything to ruin this moment. Clarky had barely acknowledged it so why should I? It was completely unimportant. ‘No,’ I said.
‘I don’t know what’s worse. Not seeing you for five years but having you mentally stalk me, or Clarky seeing you and not being able to have you. He’s in love with you, I’m sure of it. You haven’t slept with him?’
‘Finn, you’ve been out of my life for five years, I’m sorry if I haven’t remained celibate.’
‘So you have slept with him?’ he insisted.
‘No. But, look, what’s in the past is in the past. Clarky and I have a lot of history. If you want to see me, you’re signed up to him too. Best friends are for life, whether you like it or not.’ Finn nodded, thinking about this. I wrapped an arm around his neck. ‘So, you need to get on.’
‘OK, I’ll try. Maybe I’ll learn to like the man. I mean, if you like him so much …’
I wanted to change the subject. ‘How’s your father?’
He looked surprised but touched by the question. ‘Divorced. He’s living in America now, doing OK but I hardly see him.’
Finn gently traced the outline of my face; there wasn’t a single part of me he left untouched. Every nerve was heightened at the touch of his fingertip. At last, I could feel myself again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
‘Emma, you won’t believe this,’ I tap on my computer, adrenalin rushing through my body. ‘I went to the supermarket yesterday with George. He wanted a toy which I said he could have providing he behaved, you know the deal … But of course he cried and sulked and misbehaved as usual, and when we arrived at the checkout people were staring first at him and then at me. I didn’t get into an argument with him, just as the cheery woman in the book advised, and I think this is what people found hard to believe. That I could just ignore a screaming blubbering child and continue to talk calmly instead of a) either smacking him (someone in the queue suggested that); b) giving into him, or c) getting out of the queue double quick with embarrassment. I had people in front of me, behind and to the sides trying to calm George down. I wanted to shout at them to leave him alone, didn’t they understand that my boy thrives on attention? They were giving him more fuel to add to the fire. BUT I DIDN’T! Then the girl at the till said that she was sure Mummy would buy him the toy if he stopped crying. I told her to mind her own business (well, not quite as rudely but near enough), and that I wasn’t going to be blackmailed by my own son. Then, it gets better! The manager came over and virtually begged me to give George the toy. But I stuck to my guns. I told him calmly, while my heart was thumping, that I was dealing with it in my way, and thanked everyone for their kind suggestions but said I was the mum and I knew what was best for my son. It was really horrible, but I knew I had to do it.
‘On the way home I told George that we’d go back to the shop tomorrow, because I needed to buy food for a supper party at the weekend, and if he could get round without crying, then we’d get the toy. I knew I had to do it quickly, strike while the iron was hot! AND DO YOU KNOW WHAT? IT WORKED! Today he was as good as an angel. My head feels light with success. This is better than any business deal; this feels like I have overcome a major stumbling block. For the first time in years I can see light at the end of the tunnel, d’you know what I mean? Wait till I tell Finn. He is going to be so happy. George is so happy too because I’m so pleased with him. This is what happiness is, isn’t it?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The salmon is in the oven; I’ve made a crème brûlée for pudding. George is at Mrs B’s. I’m still praising him for being so good. Finn’s reaction, however, infuriated me. ‘I’ve always said this is what you should do.’ He’d looked distracted while he spoke, his mind far away.
‘At least give me some credit, Finn, and tell George you’re pleased.’
‘Sorry. It’s great,’ he’d said, followed by that annoying perfunctory peck on the forehead. ‘Well done, J.’ It’s never the same being complimented when you feel you’ve had to squeeze it out of someone.
&
nbsp; George had a swimming lesson tonight. Frédéric was teaching him the front-crawl action, kneeling down in the pool and holding George’s arms steady as he showed him the movement. However, George’s best stroke is backstroke. ‘He finds the breathing hard but on his back, it is much easier,’ Frédéric informed me. ‘His arms and legs are nice and long, your husband must be tall, non?’
*
The house is quiet. I have time for a bath this evening. I pour myself a small glass of wine. ‘It’s good for the soul,’ I tell my baby girl. ‘Now, what’s Mummy going to wear this evening?’ The midwife tells me I should be communicating as much as possible with my baby now as she can recognise the sound of my voice. ‘Talk to her. Sing to her!’ she had said theatrically, as if performing a leading role in The Sound of Music.
It’s strange but I don’t feel connected to this baby as I did with George. He used to make it very clear to me that he was around by kicking, hiccupping and punching pretty much all the time. This baby is quiet, to the point where I sometimes panic. The midwife tells me foetal movements are different with each baby and that I shouldn’t be unduly worried because some are very active, others much more placid.
I lie in the bath, hair submerged in the water, my glass of wine sitting on the soap dish. My mobile rings so I reach over to pick it up. ‘Hi, gorgeous.’
‘David, how are you?’ I wipe water away from my face.
‘Are you in the bath?’
‘Yes.’ I’m smiling.
‘Naked?’
‘No, I’m in my dungarees. What do you think?’
‘I’m thinking of you naked. Listen, an interesting project came up, I wondered if you were up for it freelance?’
‘Yes, tell me.’
‘It’s for a cosmetics company. They’re huge in America, but they want to come to the UK and have asked me to revamp their brand. I need a girl’s eye.’
I’m always flattered when David rings me spontaneously like this. ‘I’d love to help.’
‘Great. What I’ll do is send over all the info on e-mail. I won’t go into it now, don’t want that water to get cold and your beautiful body to turn into a prune.’
You, Me and Him Page 20
