Summer Madness

by Susan Lewis

  Florrie had been dead for two months now and Louisa still wasn’t sure she’d accepted it. There had been such a turn-out at the funeral that it had overwhelmed Louisa to discover just how loved her gran was. Most of the cast of Private Essays had been there, all of the journalists who had interviewed her came to pay their last respects and one old man had travelled all the way from Newcastle, saying he’d fallen in love with Florrie from afar. The local bingo hall opened its doors for the mourners and Florrie’s pals did all the catering. It was one of the most moving experiences many of them had had. The only person who hadn’t come to the funeral was Florrie’s only son, Louisa’s father.

  Louisa was glad he hadn’t come for she knew that Florrie wouldn’t have wanted him there any more than she did. Neither of them had seen him since he’d emigrated to Canada when Louisa was twelve, but neither Florrie nor Louisa had ever forgotten his visits throughout Louisa’s childhood when he used to beat them, take all Florrie’s money, and frighten them half to death. Florrie had never said that it was her son who had driven Louisa’s mother to suicide, but Louisa suspected that was the case – she’d never questioned Florrie too closely though, for she had sensed what pain it caused her. He was the only living relative Louisa had now and she hoped never to see him again.

  ‘Hey, what’s all this?’ Sarah asked, seeing the tears on Louisa’s cheeks.

  Louisa looked up, then smiling she tilted the photograph of Florrie and the cast for Sarah to see.

  ‘Oh,’ Sarah said, her face instantly softening. ‘Life just isn’t quite the same without the old girl, is it?’

  ‘No,’ Louisa said sadly, ‘but it has to go on.’ Then swinging her legs back to the floor she said, ‘How are you getting on in there?’

  ‘I can’t tell you how many things I’ve found that I’ve accused other people of stealing,’ Sarah answered with a grin. Her big floppy shirt and leggings were covered in dust and there was some kind of smudge over one of her dimples. ‘Anyway, I thought you might like this,’ she said, handing Louisa a skipping rope she’d borrowed and lost during one rash week of exercising about two years ago.

  Laughing as she recalled the way Sarah had skipped her way round the production concourse, back and forth to the loo and even down to the studio, Louisa took it, saying, ‘I’ve found some publicity photographs here that you took. If you haven’t got copies yourself you can have them, otherwise I’ll hang on to them.’

  Sarah gave them a critical look-over. ‘Not bad,’ she said. ‘I can do better now. I’ll have to do better now if I’m going to make it my new career.’

  ‘Are you really serious about that?’ Louisa said.

  ‘Of course I am!’ Sarah cried. ‘I’ve had enough of all this telly lark and thanks to the Waltzing Matilda I can take a bit of a breather now with no worries about paying the bills.’ Waltzing Matilda was Sarah’s great-aunt who, just like Sarah, had been the youngest of four children and who, as Sarah put it, had left all her dosh to a worthy cause – in other words, Sarah.

  ‘So, do you think you’ll be coming to the final bash tonight?’ Sarah said.

  Grinning, Louisa shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ she answered. ‘Tonight is going to be pretty special for Simon and me and I can’t imagine him wanting to share it.’

  ‘No, me neither,’ Sarah said, pulling a face. ‘I don’t know, with you not there, Danny not there and me without a brawny body to hang onto I’m not really sure I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Sarah, everyone will be devastated if you don’t go,’ Louisa told her.

  ‘Mmm,’ Sarah replied distractedly as she gazed around the steel shelves and bookcases while Louisa answered the phone.

  ‘Don’t tell me,’ Sarah said when she’d finished, ‘it was Daddy.’

  ‘Sssh!’ Louisa laughed. ‘Yes, it was. Just checking that nothing was going to hold me up tonight. Do you know this will be the first night in together we’ve had in three weeks?’

  ‘Well, you’d better start getting used to them because there are plenty coming up. Oh God, I’m so envious. All I want is a husband and children. Is that so much to ask? Oh, but for God’s sake not a husband like the last one, I couldn’t stand it a second time around. I blame him, you know, for turning me into a raving sex maniac. Frustration does that to a person. You don’t get it, you start fantasizing about it and once that old brain gets hold of the libido … Hey! Wait! Diane, what are you doing with my mummy?’ she cried as a set designer sailed by with an Egyptian mummy tucked under her arm.

  ‘Putting it in the prop store,’ Diane answered, uncertainly.

  ‘But I’ve grown so attached to her,’ Sarah declared. ‘Can’t I take her home with me?’

  Diane looked from Sarah to Louisa and back again. ‘Are you kidding me?’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely not! I want her. Leave her in my office … Can she sit down?’

  ‘Uh, no, I don’t think so,’ Diane answered.

  ‘What a spectacle we’re going to make at rush hour,’ Sarah grinned.

  ‘She’ll never fit into your Midget,’ Louisa laughed.

  ‘She will if I put the roof down.’

  ‘But it’s raining.’

  ‘So it is. Well, I’ll work something out. That was one of my favourite episodes so I’m not letting her go off to be all lonesome in some spooky old prop store. Anyway, what were we saying? Oh God, we were talking about my ex, weren’t we? Well, we’ll get straight off that subject.’ Then, lowering her voice to a whisper she said, ‘I know I’ve got tons of nieces and nephews but I don’t have any godchildren. Just thought you’d like to know.’

  Laughing, Louisa threw a note pad at her which missed as Sarah ducked around the door and sailed back to her own office.

  At six o’clock, having finally sorted out what she did and didn’t want to keep, Louisa followed one of the porters out to her car which he loaded with her belongings then, along with a few million others, she set off into the dreary London night heading for home. She would never have dreamt it was possible to feel so happy so soon after her gran’s death, but she did. She only wished that her gran was still there to share in the joy. But she felt sure that wherever her gran was she knew and she whispered a little prayer for Florrie to look after Simon and make sure he got home safely on this rainy night. It wasn’t so unusual for her to do that, she’d done it most nights since her gran had died because Simon and now their baby mattered more to her than anything else in the world.

  Louisa was slavishly following a Delia Smith recipe, running a floury finger down the page, weighing out all the ingredients and desperately wishing she understood what she was doing. This was one of Simon’s favourite dishes and all too often her valiant efforts in the kitchen ended in misery. But not tonight! she told herself. Tonight she and Delia Smith were going to work culinary magic because she simply couldn’t imagine that anyone, least of all Delia Smith who looked such a nice lady, would want anything to spoil this momentous occasion.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, licking her fingers as she took the phone from the wall. ‘Oh, Elaine, no, he isn’t home yet. I’m expecting him any minute … Is it urgent? Shall I get him to call? OK. The minute he gets … Oh hang on, that must be him now. I’ll tell you what, let him take his coat off will you? I’ll pour him a drink then he’ll call you back.’

  Whether Simon’s secretary was agreeable to that Louisa didn’t wait to find out. He was always getting called back to the office for something or other, because advertising campaigns were much like TV programmes in their erratic hours. But not tonight, she told herself as she called out, ‘Hi, sweetheart. I’m in the kitchen.’

  ‘Mmm, something smells good,’ he remarked coming to stand in the doorway. ‘And you’ve lit the fire I see.’

  With flour on the tip of her nose and pastry all over her hands Louisa turned to greet him. ‘Oh Simon,’ she cried, ‘you’re soaked. Didn’t you take the car today?’

  ‘No. I was late this morning so it was quicke
r to jump on the tube,’ he answered, running a hand through his dishevelled blond hair. His pale blue eyes were watching her curiously and when she tilted her mouth up to his for a kiss he laughed. ‘I was half afraid I’d find you in tears,’ he said, kissing her briefly. ‘How did it go today?’

  ‘OK. I’ll probably miss it like crazy over the next few weeks, but to be honest I could hardly wait to get out of there tonight. By the way,’ she added as he turned towards the bedroom, ‘Elaine just called and wants you to ring her back.’

  ‘OK, I’ll do it before I take a shower just in case I have to go back in.’

  As he disappeared into the study Louisa crossed her fingers and prayed furiously that he wouldn’t have to. Fortunately he didn’t and half an hour later they were sitting down at one end of the big oval table in their spacious, yet cosy, sitting room with a fire crackling lazily in the hearth and the sleepy sound of a jazz piano drifting soothingly from the CD player. Outside a feisty March wind was tearing through the trees and the rain thrummed a steady beat on the windows, making the room seem even more secluded and restful. In fact everything was just perfect, even the meal now she’d pretended there was no starter. Most of that was still on the bottom of a saucepan, actually it was the bottom of the saucepan, but Simon didn’t need to know that.

  ‘So, how was your day?’ she said, gazing at him in the candlelight and trying not to wince as she burnt her lip on the steaming hot food.

  ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘Things are moving a bit now they say the recession’s over. We clinched the cat food, by the way. That’s what Elaine was ringing about.’

  ‘Congratulations!’ Louisa cried, raising her glass. ‘Here’s to Whiskas!’

  He smiled. ‘Actually, it’s called Purrfect Puss and before you come out with any smart ass remarks I’ve heard them all already.’

  ‘I’ll bet you have,’ Louisa laughed. ‘But you and I both know Sarah will be able to top them all.’

  ‘I don’t know whether I’d dare put her to the test,’ he laughed. ‘And this,’ he added, pointing with his fork to his meal, ‘is pretty damned perfect too.’

  There were several Sarah-type comments Louisa could have made to that, but she refrained and listened as he talked some more about what was going on at the agency he part-owned.

  It had nothing to do with the fact that she wasn’t interested that her mind started to wander, it was simply that she was so excited about her news that she wasn’t able to concentrate on anything very well. And for some reason Danny was in her mind right now, over there in Spain doing heaven only knows what because Danny had a flair for the reckless. Louisa wondered how Danny would take the news that she was pregnant. Actually, she was quite glad Danny didn’t know yet because Danny had a way of taking over Louisa’s life that Louisa wasn’t always totally comfortable with. Not that Louisa couldn’t stand up to Danny, it was usually just easier to let Danny have her way than to get into unnecessary arguments. In fact Louisa only had to take the situation with Bill, the director who had given her such a terrible time with all his ridicule and jealousy and violent tempers, to know that had it not been for Danny she might actually still be there suffering it all. It was when Bill had put her in hospital with two cracked ribs and severe bruising to her face and neck that Danny had finally acted. She hadn’t allowed Bill into the hospital to see Louisa, threatening to expose what he’d done to the press if he tried, and when Louisa was ready to leave Danny had taken her to her own large, terraced house in Fulhan where to Louisa’s surprise she had discovered all her possessions already installed. She had a lot to thank Danny for …

  ‘Louisa? Louisa, are you listening to me?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she smiled, ‘I was miles away. What were you saying?’ Simon looked at her steadily and for once, surprisingly, she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He’d finished eating, she noticed, had pushed his plate aside and was holding his glass between both hands.

  ‘What were you saying?’ she repeated.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘No. It does. Come on.’

  He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t important.’

  They sat quietly, a little awkwardly, for a moment then both spoke at once.

  ‘You first,’ he said.

  ‘No. You first.’

  He sighed, pushed his fingers through his hair and rested his head on the heel of his hand.

  ‘Simon? What is it?’ she said, her brown eyes clouding with concern. He had been saying something important, she realized, and was hurt that she hadn’t been paying attention. Did that happen often, she wondered. But no, she was sure it didn’t.

  He lifted his head and looked long into her eyes. She looked back, waiting for him to speak, but all he did was force a smile and look away.

  ‘Come on,’ she encouraged. ‘What is it?’

  Again he sighed, dabbed his mouth with his napkin, then pressed it onto the table. ‘We have to talk,’ he said. ‘There’s something I have to tell you …’

  She smiled. ‘I have something to tell you too,’ she said. ‘So why don’t we take our wine over to the fire.’

  He turned to look at the cosy depths of the sofa. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Let’s talk here.’

  ‘OK,’ she said frowning. ‘Would you like some dessert or …’

  ‘No. I’ve had enough.’ He picked up the wine and refilled his glass. When he held the bottle out to Louisa she shook her head and watched him put it down with the same odd deliberation with which he had put down his napkin.

  Turning his gaze back to the fire he stared so long and so hard at it that Louisa turned to look at it too. She was aware of the unease stealing over her, of the inexplicable alienness she was suddenly feeling towards her surroundings and as a quick panic tightened her heart she turned back to Simon, half-expecting, half-hoping he’d be watching her and smiling reassuringly. But he was still staring at the fire, seemingly intent on the sluggish yellow flames.

  And then it hit her. The offer of a job in New York must have come up again and he was trying to find a way of breaking it to her. But it wasn’t a problem any more. There was nothing to keep her here in England now, she wanted to go.

  At last he looked at her and her heart lifted as the smile of reassurance came and reaching across the table he covered her hand with his own.

  ‘I love you,’ she whispered.

  Lifting his hand he curled her hair behind her ear, gazing searchingly into the heartbreaking loveliness of her face. Then his eyes dropped from hers, following his hand back to the table.

  ‘Louisa, there’s no easy way of saying this,’ he began softly.

  ‘Of saying what?’ she asked, hardly able to hear her own voice above the strange buzzing that had started in her ears. ‘If it’s about New …’

  ‘Of saying I’m going to leave you,’ he interrupted.

  Louisa stared at him, unmoving, but feeling everything inside her starting slowly to withdraw. ‘But … But you can’t,’ she said.

  He looked up to find her eyes wide with shock, her full lips parted as though to say more, but nothing came.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘Truly, I’m sorry, but I just can’t go on living this lie.’

  ‘Lie?’ she echoed huskily.

  ‘The lie of pretending to love you when …’ his voice trailed off as he realized how painful his next words were going to be.

  ‘When you don’t any more?’ she finished for him, looking stupefied and confused as she wondered how through this debilitating numbness she was able to say anything at all.

  His lips narrowed in an uneasy smile of admission.

  She looked away. Her eyes were big and haunted, seeming to search the room for something to hold on to.

  ‘Oh God, Louisa,’ he groaned, squeezing her hands. ‘I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the last person in the world I want to hurt …’

  ‘But?’

  He was silent for a while, then taking a deep breath he said, ‘I
might as well come clean about the whole thing. There’s someone else and has been for some time. She’s someone I want to be with, someone I love …’ Again he stopped, knowing he was making a real mess of this.

  ‘More than you love me?’ she said.

  ‘In a different way from the way I love you,’ he said lamely.

  Without really knowing what she was doing Louisa reached out for the wine and refilled her glass. Beneath this strange, almost eerie calmness she was feeling there was something else, something she didn’t want to escape, and it was growing, expanding within her and frightening her.

  ‘Why are you telling me now?’ she heard herself say. ‘What made you choose tonight?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  She was still holding the pain at a distance, but knew that it was there, reaching for her, waiting to claim her. ‘How long have you been seeing her?’ she said.