by Lucy Diamond
Now Lewis looked self-conscious, too. ‘Aww, away with you. Anyone would have done the same.’
‘They wouldn’t,’ she told him, ignoring his embarrassed expression. Life-lesson number 375: there was more to her clients than simply their accounts. Lewis, for example, was a complete pain in the neck when it came to his haphazard ideas of paperwork, but he was kind and sincere and hardworking. Maggie Doherty, her make-up-artist client, needed reminding at least three times before she might pay her bills, but it transpired that her sister had undergone similar treatment to Eve, and she’d sent a bunch of the most gorgeous white roses and a very expensive-looking lipstick to the office when she’d heard Eve’s news. As for Enzo Fantini, who wrote a series of highly successful thrillers and was the most aggravating and unreliable client of the lot (‘Bloody authors are the worst,’ her boss Frances was fond of sighing in disapproval) . . . well, he had turned out to be incredibly generous, too, insisting on taking her for a very nice lunch when he found out she was ill.
‘Anyway,’ she went on, ‘I’ve been trying to think how I can pay you back, after everything you’ve done. And to start with, I’ve drawn up a proper business plan for you, with a much better accounting system.’
He groaned and then laughed, splaying one hand across his face. ‘Of course you have. I should have guessed. And here I was, thinking you might shout me a pint or something.’
‘A pint?’ she chided. ‘This is way more useful than a pint. This is going to completely transform your business. It’s the answer to all your prayers, I promise.’
‘My prayers tend to be about winning the lottery, but . . .’ He laughed again. ‘Thanks for the thought. I appreciate it. Very generous.’
‘So if you look here,’ she pointed at her printout, ‘I’m suggesting a new payment system; the software is very straightforward and will save you so much time. I’ve given you a sample balance sheet, so you can start recording your income and outgoings. You should look at creating your own website, maybe building social-media presence – oh, and my friend Laura, she’s got good marketing and design contacts. I’ve put her details down here . . .’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘That’s fantastic, Eve. Really useful.’
‘That’s not all,’ she went on. ‘I loved your boot-camp session the other week, you know. Even though I was going a bit mad that day, I thought it was great. And that you were, too.’
‘Were?’ he repeated, raising a gingery eyebrow.
‘Are, then. Whatever. I’ll definitely be back, dragging some mates along too, just as soon as I can run without worrying that my boob is going to fall apart.’ They both winced at the image and she hurried on. ‘So my big question is: how do you feel about doing some similar sessions for a company team-building day? Like . . . this company?’
That was more like it: a proper pleased and surprised reaction this time, rather than groaning and teasing. ‘Seriously?’ Lewis asked. ‘I mean – yeah! Absolutely. That would be really cool. That would be brilliant!’
She beamed back at him. ‘Great. Well, maybe you could have a think about ideas and come back to me in a few days? My boss wants it all organized for the first week in September.’ She handed him a piece of paper that she’d typed up earlier, ‘I’ve put down the details here.’ (Of course she had.) ‘Numbers. Timings. Ideas for locations. Oh, and our budget, too.’ She watched him reading the information, his face lighting up, and couldn’t resist giving him a nudge. ‘You know, all sorts of other companies do this sort of thing – there’s probably hundreds of people like me across Manchester, looking out for activities that their office can take part in. I don’t want to get ahead of myself but, you know, if we do go ahead and you enjoy running sessions for our team-building day, you could certainly look at branching out into this area.’
‘Yeah!’ He was wholly animated with enthusiasm now. ‘Such a great idea. Aye, I’m definitely up for that.’ He winked. ‘I might even draw up a plan. Make some calculations. Write a proposal.’
She pantomimed shock and they both laughed. ‘Better than a pint now, eh?’ she couldn’t resist asking.
He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘Way better than a pint,’ he agreed.
Chapter Thirty-Four
‘Oh my God, you went to Newcastle! And what did he say? Was there a magical reunion?’ India’s eyes were bright with excitement but then she hesitated, the glass of wine halfway up to her mouth, as she struggled to decipher her friend’s expression. ‘Or . . . not?’
Laura fidgeted on the sofa. She had never done so much soul-searching since coming back to Manchester on Saturday afternoon. Even now, three days later, in their usual post-Pilates pub catch-up, her brain still felt exhausted. ‘Well, we went and had dinner together,’ she began, ‘and that was really nice . . .’
It had felt cosy and intimate in the hotel restaurant; they’d been seated at a table beside a wide arched window that looked out over the river, and the staff were just the right mixture of friendliness and discretion. After a large glass of red wine, Matt started to relax and told her more about his new job, and how much he was enjoying the challenge, and what a great city he was finding this to be. Laura too chatted about office gossip, and how lovely her boss, Deborah, had been about the pregnancy, and how surprisingly generous the maternity package there was (‘Why do you think I keep having more babies? It’s not for my own sanity, believe me,’ Gayle had quipped when Laura brought up the subject). And yet for all their pleasantries, neither of them could quite bring themselves to tackle the elephant in the room.
So what happens now?
What about us?
Is there even an ‘us’ any more, or did we get past that?
Matt’s phone buzzed intermittently during the main course and he would check the screen each time, but ignored whoever was trying to reach him. The interruptions were starting to set Laura’s teeth on edge – was it colleagues down the pub, that ravishing Elaine woman? Since when did Matt become so in-demand, anyway? Then, on her way back from the loo, she saw him speaking to someone in a low voice, the phone against his ear, his features creased in a frown. Uh-oh.
‘Well, I can’t really – I’ll explain when I see you . . . No, because it’s a bit more complicated than that. No! Look, I—’
Oh dear. Trouble in paradise. Then he glanced up and saw her hovering there, at which point his expression changed.
‘I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you later. I’m not sure, but – okay. Bye.’
Laura decided to bite the bullet. What the hell. ‘Was that Elaine?’ she asked, sitting down and pretending to be interested in the dessert menu so that she didn’t have to watch his face.
(‘Wait a minute. You were pretending to be interested in the dessert menu? You?’ India asked sceptically at this point.
‘Oh, all right, I was interested, but I couldn’t concentrate because I was wondering what he was going to say,’ Laura replied, pulling a face. ‘May I continue?’
‘Please do. What did he say?’)
He said, ‘Um. Yeah.’
There was a long silence. Matt wasn’t exactly giving anything away. ‘Are you and Elaine . . . serious?’ she asked next, risking a glance over at him. His expression was one of agony.
‘Well . . .’ he began, then stopped.
‘It’s all right, you can tell me. I’d rather know.’ Her hand stole down to her belly as if, ridiculously, she could cover the baby’s ears, prevent him or her from hearing. Don’t listen to this bit, okay? I’m pretty sure your dad’s about to tell me he’s in love with someone else. Things could get tricky.
‘Well . . .’ he said again and she felt her spirits sink. This hesitation of his in replying had to mean yes. Surely if it was a mere random fling, he’d have been talking the relationship down by now? He sighed. ‘I do like her,’ he admitted mournfully.
Bang. There went the door, slamming shut on her reunion hopes. ‘She’s very pretty,’ Laura said, forcing herself to speak the words, her fingernail
s digging into her own palm. He was choosing Elaine, she could tell. The baby hadn’t changed anything. Sorry, kid. I appreciate this is not great for you. I’m trying my best here.
‘Yes, but . . .’ he said wretchedly, and she knew that the ‘but’ in the rest of his sentence was her, his pregnant ex-wife. The flesh-and-blood problem. Yes, but you’re having our baby now, aren’t you? Which kind of puts a spanner in the works.
‘You don’t have to say it,’ she told him, before he could elaborate. Mouth suddenly dry, she picked up the water jug to refill her glass, but her hand must have been shaking because she spilled it on the table, and then the waitress was back over there, fussing about with napkins, and the moment slipped away from them.
They ordered dessert and another glass of red wine for Matt, and then neither of them knew what else to say.
‘I think we need to sleep on this,’ Laura suggested eventually. ‘There’s a lot to mull over.’ Mull over, like they were deciding which kind of dishwasher to buy. Meanwhile their baby was floating unwittingly inside her, tiny pale hands opening and closing like starfish in the darkness.
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘You’re right.’ He’d never been one to relish a big emotional conversation, after all; give him a decision on white goods any day.
‘We need to think about what we both want,’ she went on, ‘and try to work out how we’re going to . . .’ She gestured down at her belly. ‘How we do this.’
‘Yes,’ he said again.
(‘Oh love,’ India said, reaching over and patting Laura’s hand as this was all recounted. ‘Sounds kind of stressful.’
‘Well . . .’ Laura wrinkled her nose. ‘It was and it wasn’t. I mean, yes, unfortunately, there was no straightforward: “Hooray, let’s get back together” situation. But I felt as if we were equal partners in the decision, like we both reached the same conclusion.’
‘Which was?’
‘So after dinner, I ended up going back to his place . . .’ Laura went on.)
And far from it being the dank, mildewy hovel she had envisaged, ‘his place’ turned out to be a smart, clean apartment in a brand-new block ten minutes’ walk away. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ he’d said, as he pushed open the front door and led her into the spotless, rectangular living room, but in Laura’s eyes, there really was no mess, because there was hardly anything in there, bar a few pieces of furniture.
‘It’s so . . . minimalist!’ she blurted out after a moment, because the walls were so bare, the room so devoid of any personality whatsoever, it might as well have been a hotel room. She thought of home – the house they’d shared for so long – with its cluttered shelves, the photos all over the fridge door, the jumble of vases and clocks and books that had always felt so homely, in her eyes. Had he actually hankered after this kind of sleek, pared-back space all along? A blank canvas, to match this new life of his?
Remembering her manners, she quickly added, ‘It’s lovely’, because he now looked defensive, and she made a point of strolling over to the back window and praising the view.
(‘Was there even a good view, or were you just trying to bullshit your way out of hurting his feelings?’ India asked.
The view was of some shop buildings and a car park, with the merest hint of river if you squinted, Laura told her, pulling a face. Guilty as charged.)
Matt went into the kitchen (small, plain, bland; as if he spent very little time there) in order to get them each a drink, while Laura headed for the bathroom. Her pregnancy bladder was calling, but as well as that, her feelings were see-sawing all over the place and she needed to sit down for a moment on her own and gather herself, even if just on the loo. What to do, what to feel, how to try and make sense of all this? she wondered, locking the door behind her and exhaling heavily. Back in the restaurant, things had been fairly amicable as long as they’d kept to safe subjects like work. For a short while, she’d almost been able to pretend they’d never split up in the first place – barring the few times when Elaine had made her presence felt, that was. But now she was here, in his flat – this place he’d moved into without her – everything felt different again. She was a guest in his new home, and this was proof, if she needed it, that he’d started another life that didn’t include her.
She stared at his toothbrush by the sink and at the dark-blue towel on the rail, recognizing it as one from the set they’d received as a wedding present. (She’d kept the hand towel and the bath sheet; he’d taken the others.) His old maroon dressing gown hung from the back of the door, his favourite shower gel was on a shelf in the cubicle. Then she looked up at her own flushed face in the mirrored cabinet on the wall, feeling confused. Here were all his familiar things in an unfamiliar context. He really had left her. So what happened now? What did you do when your greatest wish came true, after your marriage had broken down?
(‘Please tell me you opened the bathroom cabinet,’ India put in, leaning forward in anticipation.)
Laura did open the bathroom cabinet, obviously, because that was the done thing when you were shamelessly snooping round your ex-husband’s new house. And there inside was . . .
(‘Oh no,’ India groaned, when Laura paused. ‘I wish I hadn’t asked now. What?’)
There inside was a MAC Ruby Woo lipstick, some facial cleansing wipes, a contact-lens case and fluid (‘Matt has perfect eyesight, by the way,’ Laura told India) and a second toothbrush. Right, thought Laura in dismay, quickly shutting the door again. Okay. So whatever was going on with Elaine, it was clearly serious enough that she was moving spare toiletries into his bathroom for all those nights she stayed over.
I do like her, he’d said guardedly, but they had clearly gone beyond holding hands and first dates. You didn’t go leaving a fifteen-quid lipstick at someone else’s house unless you were pretty sure you’d be back to collect it again.
Once she’d finished in the bathroom, Laura walked out in a daze. Sod it, in for a penny, in for a pound, she told herself and so, instead of returning to find Matt in the kitchen, she headed in the opposite direction in search of his bedroom. Let’s have you, she thought. Let’s just see.
The first door along the corridor led to a dinky white-painted spare bedroom with a single made-up bed against the wall and a proper view of the Tyne from the window, but very little else. Moving along, she opened a second door to find a larger bedroom, and her gaze swung around forensically, searching for further evidence of his relationship.
Item one: a baby-pink kimono hanging up on the back of the door.
Item two: the bed had been made up with a new duvet cover she didn’t recognize – cream with sprigs of red flowers spangled across it. And a big scarlet heart-shaped cushion amidst the pillows. (Oh God. Sappy or what? Had she bought it for him?)
Item three: a box of condoms on one of the bedside tables.
Item four: a framed selfie of Matt with Elaine on a beach together, hanging above the bed.
Item five—
‘There you are!’ said Matt uneasily, appearing behind her. ‘Got lost, did you?’
She jumped. ‘I was just . . .’ Busted. I was just poking around behind your back. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.
‘It’s cool,’ he said, even though they both knew it wasn’t. Not really. ‘Shall we go back in the living room?’ he suggested. ‘I didn’t have any peppermint tea, but there’s blackcurrant, is that all right?’
She smiled at him sadly and he had the grace to turn red. Matt hated fruity teas. Tea was supposed to taste like tea, he always grumbled whenever Laura came back from the supermarket with anything other than Tetley. Was this blackcurrant tea further evidence of Elaine making herself at home? Undoubtedly. Had she infiltrated all the cupboards in this place? It was certainly starting to look that way.
‘Brilliant,’ she said, following him back down the corridor, then she couldn’t resist adding a dig, just to remind him how well she knew him. ‘You’re having one yourself, are you, or . . . ?’
‘I’m having a beer,’ he
told her. She wasn’t going to catch him out that easily.
They sat down, perching uncomfortably on the slippery imitation-leather sofa, and she found herself cursing her own impulsive nature for coming here on a whim like this. If she’d listened to Jo, if she’d thought it through properly, she’d have done the sensible thing, which was to find out when he was next in Manchester and have the conversation on home ground. Now look at her, stranded in his quiet soulless living room, sipping her too-hot, not-strong-enough blackcurrant tea – Elaine’s tea – and assuring him it was ‘Perfect’. Was he sitting there thinking how much of a contrast this was, having Laura here instead of his new girlfriend? She bet the two of them had much cosier evenings together, feet up with a takeaway or watching some box-set on Netflix. Snogging on this very sofa. And the rest. It was enough to make her inch forward even further.
(‘But what about you?’ India put in. ‘How did you feel – were you still attracted to him? Did you still feel in love with him?’
Well, that was the odd thing, really. Because Laura did still have this reservoir of love for Matt deep down, as she suspected he did for her, after all their years together, so many shared experiences and good times. ‘But did I feel like throwing myself at him and kissing him passionately?’ she asked aloud, then shook her head. ‘No. I didn’t. I looked at him and it was more like looking at a brother. An old beloved friend.’
‘You didn’t want to rip your brother’s clothes off?’ India confirmed. ‘Glad to hear it. Because there’s a name for that. It’s actually kind of frowned upon.’)
India could try to make a joke of it, lift the mood, but it had been a sombre moment when Laura realized that the spark between her and Matt had quietly dampened and gone out. That she had moved on, too – not with another lover, but emotionally. Mentally. Maybe, she’d concluded, there was no point ‘sleeping on it’ as they’d previously agreed. The signs were all pointing in only one direction.
