by Fiona Gibson
‘Oh, he is,’ Lou agrees. ‘He’s very, er …’ What should she say? When it comes to his glittering qualities, her mind is a complete blank. ‘He’s very … loyal,’ she adds, realising she’s made him sound like an elderly dog. ‘And he’s house-trained, most of the time.’
‘D’you have any children?’ Felix wants to know.
She shakes her head. ‘Nope, none of those.’
‘Want any?’
Lou almost laughs at his bluntness. ‘That’s so personal!’ Hannah protests. ‘God, Felix. You’re like some probing, on-the-couch interviewer. Are you sure you run bars and aren’t really a psychotherapist or something?’
Felix chuckles. ‘No, I’m just interested in people, that’s all. It helps with business, understanding what makes people tick. And, you know, my job is all about bringing people together so …’ He smiles affably. Lou studies his expressive face, the mobile brows, the hazy grey eyes, the way he shoves back his messy fair hair distractedly. He’s tipsy, she decides, but not drunk. His top has a small splash of champagne on the front.
‘Well,’ Lou says carefully, ‘I would like kids actually, but Spike’s not keen.’
Hannah frowns at her. ‘Really, Lou? I didn’t think you did. You always said you weren’t sure, that you weren’t convinced that you and Spike—’
‘I’ve kind of changed my mind,’ she says quietly.
‘Have you?’ Sadie asks. ‘Why d’you think …’
‘I had a false alarm a couple of months ago,’ Lou cuts in, wondering what’s possessing her to divulge such personal information on a busy train with a stranger sitting here. Before now, she hadn’t even mentioned any of this to Hannah or Sadie. The champagne’s helping, of course, yet there’s something else too; something about Felix’s presence that’s drawing out how she really feels.
‘What happened, Lou?’ Hannah asks gently.
‘Well, I didn’t know what to think, not really. I was scared at first, but then, as the days went on, I thought … why not? I’m thirty-five and there’s no reason on earth why I shouldn’t have a baby.’ Without warning, Lou’s eyes fill with tears, and she quickly blinks them away.
Hannah places her hand over Lou’s. ‘So you were happy about it?’
‘Yeah, after the initial shock. It was strange, feeling secretly thrilled and excited when I’d never been broody before. Although I’m with kids all day, and half of them are usually screaming, I realised I really, really wanted to have the baby.’
A hush falls over the table. ‘Did you tell Spike how you felt?’ Sadie asks.
Lou nods. ‘He wouldn’t really discuss it. Kept shrugging it off, avoided talking about it because, you know, it wasn’t planned. Actually, he was a grumpy bastard the whole time.’
‘Why?’ Sadie asks. ‘Didn’t he want the baby?’
‘Obviously not.’ Lou grimaces. ‘But anyway, I was just really late and it turned out to be nothing, like Spike hoped it would be. And now,’ she continues briskly, ‘I look at you, Sadie, with two babies, managing to do it all as if it’s come so naturally and, to be honest’ – she pauses for another sip of champagne – ‘I honestly don’t know if I’m mum material, and even if I am, we probably couldn’t afford it.’
‘You really think it comes naturally?’ Sadie exclaims. ‘God, Lou, I wish it did. I’m terrified half the time, being in sole charge of Milo and Dylan even though I should know what I’m doing by now.’
‘But should you?’ Felix asks. ‘Who says you should?’
‘Oh, everyone! The coffee morning women with their baby slings and frozen bananas …’
‘You probably just need to get away for a bit,’ Hannah suggests. ‘You’ve had virtually no time off since they were born.’
‘What about Barney?’ Lou asks. ‘How’s he with the babies?’
‘As scared as I am,’ Sadie says. ‘I don’t know. We don’t really talk anymore – at least not properly. He says I’m always quoting from baby books …’
‘Barney’s lovely,’ Hannah tells Felix. ‘He’s this sweet, kind, capable man …’
‘And what’s yours like?’ Felix asks. ‘Your man, I mean?’ From his magic coolbox, he produces a box of truffles with an embossed gold lid and proceeds to hand them around.
‘Wow. Thanks.’ Hannah pops one into her mouth. ‘What’s Ryan like? Well, he’s a dad, he’s got two kids, we’re getting married in two weeks …’
‘You did that wincing thing!’ Sadie exclaims. ‘You know how you said I winced every time I said village? You did it just then when you said married.’
‘No I didn’t,’ Hannah protests.
‘You did! And I’m sorry, Lou,’ Sadie turns to her, ‘but you did it too, when you said Spike.’
The three girls are laughing now, tucking into Felix’s truffles and pronouncing them delicious. Lou glances first at Hannah, then Sadie, wondering how she’s managed to lose touch with the intricacies of their lives. They’d known everything about each other back in the Garnet Street days when every minuscule event had been discussed late into the night. Hannah has fallen silent now, and is licking a chocolatey smear from her finger, as if building up to share a secret of her own. Something’s preying on her mind, Lou can tell; something bigger and scarier than pre-wedding stress. ‘Are you okay about the wedding?’ she asks hesitantly.
Hannah nods. ‘Yes, of course I am.’
Lou shoots Felix a quick look, wishing now that it were just the three of them at this table, even though he’s turned to the window and is gazing out at flat fields. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ she says firmly.
Hannah turns to look at her, inhales deeply and sips from her cup. ‘It’s not the wedding, Lou. And it’s not me and Ryan I’m worried about. It’s Josh and Daisy.’
‘What about them?’ Lou asks, frowning.
Hannah shrugs. ‘They bloody hate me.’
‘They can’t!’ Lou gasps. ‘Why on earth would they hate you?’
‘Well, they make it pretty clear that they do.’
‘But you’ve been so nice to them,’ Sadie cuts in. ‘What kind of stuff do they do?’
Hannah smiles ruefully. ‘Oh, it’s not horrible pranks or anything. I haven’t had frogs put in my bed – yet. It’s a lot more subtle than that …’ She proceeds to fill them in on the shopping trip and the interrogation about not believing in God. ‘There’s another thing,’ she adds. ‘I found a Marlboro packet in the pocket of Josh’s jeans.’
‘Have you told Ryan?’ Lou asks.
‘No, not yet …’
‘You should!’ Sadie declares. ‘You should frame the packet and hang it up for him when he gets home.’
‘It’s tempting,’ Hannah murmurs.
‘Well, I’m sorry, Hannah,’ Felix scoffs, turning towards her, ‘but you don’t strike me as wicked stepmother material …’ She forces a smile, and Sadie and Lou are agog as she describes the stony silences, the hostile glares and Daisy showing her every damn page in the wedding album. She tells Felix about her studio, and how lucky she is to have it despite Daisy reminding her over and over that it used to be Petra’s music room. ‘I don’t even paint anymore,’ she confesses. ‘It’s just a pretend studio full of my stuff, with the ghost cello watching over me …’
‘Ghost cello?’ Felix repeats, raising his brows.
‘It feels like it’s still there sometimes,’ Hannah declares, her cheeks flushing.
Felix frowns. ‘Only if you let it be there,’ he suggests gently.
‘Well, it’s kind of hard not to …’
‘But you do still want to get married?’ Lou cuts in. ‘I mean, you’re not having second thoughts, are you?’
‘Am I?’ Hannah drains her cup. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘You’re having doubts?’ Sadie asks, frowning. ‘Seriously?’
Hannah pauses. ‘I … I just can’t figure out how I’m ever going to fit into that family.’ Lou studies her friend, and although she wants to say it’ll be okay, she doesn’t kn
ow how to make it sound convincing. She sees a flicker of fear cross her face, and for a moment she sees the eighteen-year-old Hannah again, fresh from her village in Fife in her checked shirt and dungarees, stepping into the grown-up world, trying to look as if she knew what she was doing. As their eyes meet, Hannah holds Lou’s gaze for a moment. Then Hannah grins broadly and says, ‘God these truffles are moreish, Felix, I’ll have to have my wedding dress expanded at this rate.’ And she pops another one into her mouth.
TWENTY-FOUR
Spike has been in bed with Astrid for less than an hour and already it appears that she wants him to leave. ‘I’ve just got things on later,’ she says, sitting up and peering at the old-fashioned alarm clock on her bedside table, as if she’s suddenly become incredibly short-sighted.
He gazes forlornly at the most beautiful back he’s ever laid eyes on, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it. All that time wasted before he’d been able to get hold of her; then she’d insisted on knocking together a late lunch (it was hungry work, browsing books in the library, Spike thought dryly) before making umpteen calls, checking her emails and putting on a wash, for God’s sake. He was honoured that she hadn’t decided to clean the kitchen floor.
‘What kind of things?’ he asks in what he hopes is a tone of mild interest.
Astrid swings out of bed, pulls on plain white knickers and jeans and does up the clasp on her bra. ‘Just … a meeting. A work thing,’ she replies with her back to him.
Another ‘work thing’, right at the end of the afternoon? Astrid’s job has started to seriously impinge on their time together.
‘D’you really have to go?’ he asks lightly.
‘Yeah. Sorry, babe.’ Well, that’s just great. Spike has started to obsess over the measly £160 Rick paid him for the guitar; and now, with Astrid clearly on the verge of kicking him out, he feels even more ripped off. The sex was okay, although not quite up to their usual enthusiastic standard. Astrid is almost fully dressed, as if she’d just wanted to get it over and done with, like having her teeth scaled and polished.
Spike feels used. Now he knows how women feel when they complain about men being cold and uncommunicative after sex.
‘Damn,’ Astrid mutters, checking the clock again. ‘I’ve really got to go, Spike.’
‘Well … couldn’t you cancel it, just this once?’
‘What are you, hairy boy? My keeper?’ Astrid laughs, turning to face him as she sweeps back her honey-coloured hair with her fingers, then bends to pick up one of his socks from the floor and drops it onto his bare chest. She has yet to put on her top. The sight of her standing there, all slender in that rather sensible white bra sets something stirring in him again. Yet he’s being kicked out, discarded without a second thought, like a takeaway carton.
‘No, I don’t mean that, I just mean …’ He shrugs, affecting nonchalance. ‘I just thought you might have a bit more time to … y’know. Hang out.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ Astrid says briskly. She plucks her lilac top from the back of a chair, and disappointment pools in Spike’s stomach as she slips it on.
‘Maybe I could just hang around here, watch a bit of telly until you come back?’ he asks hopefully.
She shakes her head firmly. ‘Sorry, babe. C’mon.’
With a petulant sigh, Spike climbs out of bed and strides brazenly across her bedroom, gathering up his clothes from her oatmeal rug. At least she called him babe just then, not hairy boy. Where had that come from? The ‘boy’ part was fine, the ‘hairy’ part less so; Spike has always assumed she likes his manly chest. She’s always stroking and kissing and pressing her cheek against it, as if it were a much-loved pet. He frowns down at it now and quickly pulls on the fresh white T-shirt which he’d laundered specially on a hot wash while Lou was packing for Glasgow.
‘Ready?’ Astrid asks impatiently.
‘Yeah. Just got to find my shoes.’ He glances around her bedroom.
‘Did you leave them in the bathroom?’ Christ, she’s like an over-zealous chambermaid, pressurising him to leave the room so she can get on with servicing it.
‘Er, yeah, I might have.’ He stomps out and finds them kicked off by the loo, feeling foolish now as he returns to her boudoir, naked from the waist down and clutching them. Wordlessly, he pulls on his boxers and jeans, retrieves one sock from the bed and looks around for the other one. No sign of it, and Spike isn’t prepared to humiliate himself by trying to find it with Astrid watching, virtually drumming her nails on the bedside table. Who needs socks anyway? he thinks rashly, pulling on the one he’s managed to find, then lacing up his shoes. ‘Right, I’ll be off then,’ he announces, striding out of her bedroom and marching downstairs.
‘Oh, Spike …’ Astrid hurries after him. ‘I’m sorry about this. It’s just not the best time, okay?’
He shrugs. ‘It’s fine. It’s just different for me, you see. You’re single, you can do what you like. My life’s more … complicated, so I guess I build up these opportunities in my mind, and they mean a lot to me …’ That’s good. He can see Astrid’s expression softening, like ice cream.
‘Look, babe,’ she starts. He catches his breath, waiting for her to say sorry for being so cold with you, darling, sorry for the library, the meeting and calling you hairy boy, let’s go back to bed and start all over again …
‘I feel a bit weird, Spike,’ she adds, biting her lip.
‘What about?’ For a terrible moment, he thinks she’s going to tell him she’s pregnant.
‘I …’ Astrid clears her throat. ‘I wasn’t going to mention it but … I ran into Lou yesterday.’
‘Did you?’ He’d been hoping she wouldn’t bring this up, and feels the blood drain from his face.
‘She was heading home and I’d just been to the gym … I didn’t want to stop and chat but I saw her checking me out and it turned out she remembered me from your gig, the one before Christmas …’
Spike nods slowly. His lips have completely dried out, and his tongue feels as if it might be permanently gummed to the roof of his mouth.
‘So we stopped and chatted,’ Astrid continues, ‘and she was so friendly and nice, it made me think, is this right? Sleeping with you when you’ve got this lovely, sweet girlfriend at home, who obviously adores you …’
‘I … I don’t understand why you’re saying this,’ Spike blusters. ‘Yeah, Lou’s great, she’s loyal and faithful, but you and me – well, it’s really nothing to do with her …’
‘Loyal and faithful!’ Astrid cries, pink patches springing up on her cheeks. ‘You make her sound like a puppy. You’ll be praising her for peeing on newspaper next.’
‘Well, I didn’t mean …’
‘And you’ve been with her for about a hundred years. Of course it’s to do with her. And I just felt, I don’t know … such a hypocrite, kind of small and pathetic, being all friendly with her in the street.’
‘Listen,’ Spike insists, his sockless foot starting to feel clammy already, ‘with me and Lou it’s just … just stale, that’s all.’ He shrugs helplessly, trying to evoke sympathy. ‘We’re like flatmates, okay? There’s no spark.’
‘You mean,’ Astrid says carefully, ‘you don’t sleep with her anymore?’
‘Well, uh …’ Spike can sense himself flushing. ‘We do share a bed, yeah …’
‘No sex though?’ Astrid’s finely-arched brows shoot up.
‘Well yeah, once in a blue moon, but it’s quite an empty experience, to be honest.’
‘Oh, poor baby. How awful for you.’ Astrid smiles tersely. Five minutes ago, she’d been desperate to kick him out so she could rush off to her precious meeting. Now, when it comes to grilling him on the state of his relationship, it seems she has all the time in the world.
Astrid is focusing hard on his face. Spike is finding the intensity of her blue-eyed gaze a little unnerving. ‘Would you consider leaving Lou?’ she asks in an eerily calm voice.
‘Huh? You want me to leave Lou?’ H
e’s completely confused now. He’s crazy about Astrid – loves her even – and he’s certainly never met anyone he’s desired more. And he’d assumed she was happy with their arrangement – that she preferred it that way, in fact.
‘It’s not about what I want,’ she says sharply. ‘It’s about you, Spike. What you want. D’you want to leave Lou?’
He exhales loudly, wanting to leave now and hurry home to the sanctuary of his woman-free flat. Christ – he’s spent all week fantasising about the various scenarios he and a naked Astrid could possibly find themselves in. He hadn’t imagined being made to feel like ten tons of crap in her hallway. ‘I … I don’t know really,’ he mumbles.
‘Don’t you?’ Her nostrils flare a little. ‘It’s a simple enough question.’
‘I know. I suppose I haven’t given it much thought …’
Astrid musters a smile, and Spike is relieved to see her face soften again. ‘I’m not saying this to make you feel awkward,’ she says in a gentler tone. ‘I just think Lou deserves some consideration, especially as she’s thoughtful enough to stock your fridge so you don’t go hungry while she’s away.’ Spike looks at her bleakly, feeling like a scolded schoolboy. ‘Want to think about what I’ve said?’ Astrid asks.
Spike nods again and turns for the door. ‘Yeah. I’ll call you, okay?’
Astrid steps forward and kisses him. Then, as if determined to thoroughly confuse him, she adds, ‘You do that. See you around, hairy boy.’
TWENTY-FIVE
‘God, Felix,’ Hannah says, ‘we’re all talking about our lives, guzzling your champagne and eating your truffles and we’ve hardly asked about you. You must think we’re so rude and self-obsessed.’ In truth, she wants to veer the conversation away from Daisy and Josh.
Felix chuckles and sips from his cup. ‘Oh, you don’t want to know about my sad little life.’
‘Come on,’ Lou exclaims. ‘It’s hardly sad – you’ve got bars dotted all over the country – and you can’t tease all this information out of us and tell us nothing.’
