Cents and Sensibility

by Maggie Alderson

  ‘That is so gorgeous,’ I said. ‘I did wonder if you were making a reference to that. I’ve brought it home, so I can keep it in my courtyard. I’m going to grow it up my garden wall.’

  ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ said Jay, sounding surprised.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ I said, seizing my chance. ‘But I had to give some of the other bouquets away this afternoon. I couldn’t bring them all home and I couldn’t bear to think of them just dying in the office over the weekend when someone could be enjoying them. You’re not hurt, are you? I could hardly get into my office for flowers by this morning.’

  Jay didn’t say anything for a moment.

  ‘You still had them all?’ he said eventually, sounding puzzled.

  Now I was puzzled. ‘Well, yes. What did you think I’d do with them?’

  ‘Doesn’t your maid throw them out each night?’

  It was one of those moments when I realized just how great the chasm was between our experiences of life. He came from a world where women expected new flowers every day. I came from one where they were still a huge treat – and I got a lot more flowers than most people.

  ‘Well, I don’t really have a maid at work,’ I said, gently. ‘The cleaners don’t touch flowers, or anything unless it’s already clearly in a bin, that’s the rule, and there was no way I could chuck a beautiful bouquet of perfect roses into the garbage.’

  Jay laughed. ‘You are so cute,’ he said. ‘So what flowers would you like next week?’

  ‘Oh, Jay,’ I said. ‘You really don’t have to do that. They’re beautiful, but I know you’re thinking of me without them. Just one bunch every now and again would be gorgeous.’

  ‘Would you prefer I sent them to your home?’

  ‘No, there’d be no one there to take them in – I don’t have a maid at home either, Jay.’

  That was clearly such an out-there statement he didn’t even comment on it – and anyway, he had better things to tell me. He was calling from the First Class lounge at JFK. He’d be back in London the next morning.

  12

  Of course, I was absolutely thrilled that Jay and I were finally going to be reunited, but I could have done with a bit more warning.

  For one thing, I seriously needed to get my legs waxed, but more importantly, it meant I had to get out of going down to Willow Barn that weekend. And it wasn’t just any old weekend.

  It was Freddie’s seventh birthday the following week and children’s birthdays were a big deal in our family. Ham always threw a party on the nearest weekend – he insisted the child in question spent the actual birthday with their mother, because ‘she’d done all the hard work’, as he put it – but he liked to mark the occasion with special cakes, mad games, fancy dress and a firework display, at the very least.

  I’d been looking forward to it for weeks – seven was a particularly good age for birthdays, old enough to be really excited at the prospect of presents and parties and a cake, and not yet ‘over’ it.

  I’d bought him a tepee, which I’d had sent straight down to the Barn. The plan was that Ham and I would erect it the night before and then on the morning of the big day, Chloe and I were going to surprise him with a suitably Western breakfast, which we would eat cross-legged round a campfire, powwow style. I’d bought Ham a feather head-dress to wear. Big Chief Hambone, I was going to call him.

  And now I didn’t even want to go. I wanted to spend the whole weekend with Jay.

  I spent a couple of hours wrestling with my conscience about it, telling myself that Freddie would be so overexcited he really wouldn’t care if I was there or not, and at least he would have the fun present that I had already organized, so I wasn’t letting him down completely. The people who would really be disappointed were me and – I had to admit it to myself – Ham.

  He so loved us all being down there together and it was very important to him to be reassured that the whole crazy patchwork of children he had created, really did love each other.

  ‘I need to know the love goes from side to side and not just up and down,’ he’d told me once, trying to explain it. ‘I want to know you’ll still be knitted together as a family, after I’ve gone.’

  So there was all that, plus feeling bad about Chloe, as I knew my absence would mean she would get absolutely no help with any of the cooking or clearing up. But on top of all that, the overriding superguilt was that I was not only dropping out of a family birthday – I was doing it to be with the one man on earth Ham didn’t want me to see.

  So I was lying to him and breaking the only serious promise he had ever asked me to make. Not pretty.

  But even as I struggled with my guilt, I already knew deep down inside that I wasn’t going to Freddie’s birthday party. The feelings I had for Jay were just too special. I had simply never felt that way about anyone before and one of the things that made me certain it was different with him, was that I wanted to have him to my place – to stay.

  When I knew I had made up my mind, I rang Willow Barn and told Chloe that something had blown up at the paper, with regard to my new section, and that I would have to work right through the weekend.

  It was lucky for me that she answered. Ham had popped round to see the neighbours, to warn them about the firework display, so I didn’t have to hear the disappointment in his voice, but I already felt bad enough, hearing it in Chloe’s.

  ‘Oh, no, that’s such a shame, Stella,’ she said. ‘I’ve been so looking forward to the wigwam breakfast, but don’t worry, we’ll still do it. Archie’s here, so he can help Ham put the tepee up and make the campfire and all that, and I’ll do the sausages and beans, just as we planned. I’m going to make some cornbread as well,’ she added excitedly.

  I felt like a total shit. And later that night, as I attempted to wax my own legs, very badly, with some strips I had bought from a 24-hour pharmacy on Queensway, I marvelled at how quickly I had become an accomplished liar. I deserved every painful rip.

  Jay rang me as soon as his plane landed at Heathrow on Saturday morning. It was just after six a.m., but I didn’t mind. I’d sent him a text the night before asking him to phone.

  ‘Good morning, baby,’ he said. ‘I’m here. Οl’ red eyes is back.’

  ‘Welcome back, Jay,’ I said, a severe case of butterflies taking hold of my stomach.

  ‘So, where do you want to meet me?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, deciding to launch in, but feeling incredibly nervous. ‘I wondered if you’d like to come and stay at my place this weekend…’

  I felt so strange asking him. It was so alien to me as a concept even to ask someone over for coffee, let alone to stay. Of course, there was no way he could have any idea what a big deal it was to me, but if he’d said no, he’d really rather meet me at a nice anonymous luxury hotel, I would have been gutted. I knew what hotels meant – just close enough and no closer. And I wanted Jay as close to me as was possible.

  ‘At your place?’ he said, sounding surprised. ‘That would be totally great. I was going to suggest mine, but I’d love to see where you live.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Where do you live?’

  I laughed and gave him the address and he said he’d get a cab straight over. Then, as I put down the phone, I did a little dance.

  I threw open all the windows, changed the sheets, lit a few scented candles and then wandered around wondering what my place would look like through Jay’s eyes.

  I loved my little house, but it was seriously – ridiculously – girly-girly and I really didn’t know what he would make of it. But as he was about to find out that I shared my decorating tastes with Miss Piggy and Lady Penelope, I thought I might as well go for it.

  So after a quick shower and applying one of those ‘no-make-up make-ups’ that are a girl’s best secret and walking through a squirt of scent, as advised by the late Estée Lauder, I put on my favourite pale pink marabou-trimmed negligee, over a very cheeky Agent Provocateur half-cup bra, with stockings and suspenders, my highest-heeled fl
uffy mules on my feet. I was going for the full Vargas Girl look. I hoped he’d get it. I knew not all men did.

  I had just finished pouring myself into the stockings when he knocked on the door.

  I was so simultaneously nervous and excited, that in that frozen moment I almost felt like not answering it. I’d read Dorothy Parker, I was all too aware of the way reunions can so often be better in the anticipation than the reality. Maybe I’d built Jay up into something he wasn’t. Perhaps there was something wrong with him – he seemed so keen on me, maybe it was all too good to be true.

  As these thoughts were crowding into my mind, my hands were opening the door. And there he was. Tanned, smiling, gorgeous, still the Jay I remembered. I swallowed hard.

  ‘Hey, baby,’ he said, looking at me with his head on one side. Then he put his hands out and took mine in his, squeezing them gently, then bringing them up to his lips.

  I just stood there, frozen.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked, after a few seconds had passed.

  ‘Oh, God, yes, come in,’ I said, completely flustered. Then as he crossed the threshold I couldn’t restrain myself. Before I knew what I was doing, I had flung myself at him and was clinging on to him like he was a life raft. So embarrassing, but I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Don’t go,’ was all I could say, speaking into his shoulder. ‘Don’t go.’

  ‘Hey, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going. I’m here. Hang on there a minute, let me get my stuff inside.’

  Still holding on to me with one arm, he reached through the door with his other and pulled in three bags, which I couldn’t help noticing were those giant-sized Hermès Birkin holdalls, in perfectly worn-in tan leather. He threw them on the floor, kicked the door shut and then took me in his arms.

  He held me really close and then pulling away slightly, he looked into my face. I wasn’t quite crying, but I was very close.

  ‘Well, that was a welcome,’ he said, smiling so sweetly and lifting my chin up with his fingers, so he could see me better. ‘Are you OK?’

  I nodded quickly, hoping my no-make-up make-up wasn’t now smudged all over my cheeks.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘It’s just it’s been a bit intense. The whole thing. I’m really embarrassed. But I’m just so glad to see you again.’

  When I looked up, Jay was checking out my sitting room. As he took in the oversized chandelier, the zebra-skin rug, the shocking-pink walls, the sugar-pink velvet sofa, the pompoms, the leopard-skin Louis chairs, the mirrored table, the gold-framed mirrors, the floral paintings and the abundance of fairy lights, a huge grin spread across his face.

  ‘What a great little place,’ he said, shaking his head slowly. ‘It’s so cute and quirky. Who’s your decorator?’

  The chasm again, I thought.

  ‘I did it myself, Jay,’ I said. ‘I don’t use decorators. Well, only the kind who use paint rollers and white spirit.’

  He pulled me into his arms again and rubbed his nose against mine.

  ‘Well, you’re a very clever girl, then. Now, tell me, is the bedroom in the same style?’

  I giggled and led him up there by the hand.

  ‘Wow,’ he said, when he saw my huge brass bed with the skylight over it, starched white linen pillows piled up, and the early-morning sunshine pouring in. ‘That’s what I call a bed.’

  Then he picked me up and threw me on to it.

  ‘I love what you’re wearing,’ he said, as he stood over me, unbuttoning his crisp white button-down shirt, not taking his eyes from mine, which were flicking shamelessly from his face to his beautiful brown stomach as he revealed it, button by button. It was like a reverse action replay of the first night I had met him.

  ‘You look like a Vargas Girl lying there,’ he said. ‘My boyhood fantasy come to life. So don’t take it off. Leave that to me…’

  We spent the whole morning in bed, with occasional intermissions for me to make Jay coffee, to keep him awake – it was still the middle of the night in New York and his postcoital naps were in danger of turning into eight hours of deep sleep. I was under strict instructions to wake him if he slept for longer than fifteen minutes.

  ‘You know, Stella,’ he said eventually – after I’d just woken him up for the third time. ‘Bed is not the greatest place to beat jet lag. Let’s go take a walk. I love Hyde Park in May. All the chestnuts will be flowering.’

  ‘So do I,’ I said, delighted he cared about those kinds of things too. ‘But the paparazzi won’t see us, will they?’ I dreaded the return of those dark riders back into my world.

  ‘No,’ said Jay. ‘They don’t know I’m here yet. There were some creeps at the airport, but they were after Liz Hurley, not me, so I snuck past, while they were hassling her. They didn’t see me. As long as we stay away from the obvious places, we’ll be fine. Just dress down, tie your hair back – and I presume you have some large, dark glasses…’

  I felt like a naughty schoolgirl sneaking out into Notting Hill with Jay, wearing a baseball cap and the largest shades I owned, a pair of old Ray-Ban Aviators I had pinched from Ham years before.

  Jay joked that they weren’t nearly big enough, or dark enough, for proper paparazzi avoidance, but he took my hand anyway, and we walked quickly through the streets where we were most likely to see people either of us knew.

  Once we hit Bayswater Road, I relaxed a little, and by the time we were in the park, I felt quite elated. We just strolled along like normal people, holding hands, fooling about, chatting and laughing. It was glorious.

  By the time we were heading out of the park again it was mid-afternoon.

  ‘I’ve just realized something,’ said Jay, rubbing his stomach, in what I had come to recognize was a rather endearing habit of his. ‘I’m absolutely starving. Can we eat something?’

  ‘I’m starving too,’ I said. ‘What do you feel like?’

  ‘It’s not so much what, as where?’ said Jay. Anywhere we’d want to eat out is much too visible.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Can we eat at your place?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said, my heart sinking. ‘But I have to warn you, Jay, I can’t cook. I’m really useless at it. I’m very spoilt, because I eat lunch out a lot for work, so most nights I don’t want anything and when I do want to eat at home, I just go up to my dad’s – his wife writes cookery books and her food is amazing.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make it,’ said Jay.

  I turned to look at him in amazement. I’d thought that America’s Little Lord Fauntleroy would expect to be cooked for and waited on.

  ‘You cook?’ I asked him.

  ‘Sure. I love to cook. And by the way, I remember how good Chloe’s cake was that time I came to Willow Barn, I can’t wait to try some more of her food.’

  Oh dear, I thought. There was no way Jay was going to be eating at Ham’s table anytime soon and I was going to have to find a way to explain that to him. Later, I thought, I’d do it later.

  ‘So,’ he said, smiling happily. ‘Do you like Thai? Spicy noodles? A bit of chicken thrown in? Lots of ginger and coriander. A nice hot wok. Mmmmm, I can smell it already.’

  I nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘OΚ, well let’s go buy some food.’

  My first thought was Fresh and Wild because that was pretty much where I did all my food shopping – such as it was – but then I thought better of it. It was just the kind of place we’d be recognized, so I steered him to one of the ethnic supermarkets on Queensway for the noodles and exotic bits, then to M&S for the chicken breasts.

  ‘You’ve got chilli sauce, right?’ said Jay, as we walked back to the house, laden with shopping bags. He’d vetoed my suggestion of hailing a cab, saying that the drivers often recognized him.

  ‘They’re one of the great sources of info for the paparazzi assholes. They drop you at a hotel, call the creeps, tell them where you are, and get slipped a few quid. Them and the bellhops are among the worst. They do it for such a paltry amount of mone
y and totally ruin someone’s life. I’d pay them more not to do it.’

  ‘Gosh,’ I said. ‘I had no idea. But, er, no, actually on the chilli sauce front, I haven’t got much in the way of ingredients at my place actually. Or utensils. Or a cooker, really.’

  He stopped and looked at me, putting his shopping bags down. He put his hands on my shoulders and leaned into my face.

  ‘Do you have a microwave, Stella?’ he asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘And a well-used toaster and cereal bowl?’

  I nodded again. He roared with laughter and hugged me.

  ‘Oh well, I’m sure I can rustle something up with a bread knife and a frying pan.’

  I wasn’t at all sure – I didn’t have a frying pan, but I was hatching a plan.

  When we got back to the house, I showed Jay the wasteland that was my kitchen. A fridge, mainly full of face creams, scent and nail varnishes, with one bottle of vodka and a few ready meals in the freezer, then a microwave, a toaster and a kettle. That was it. And I only had one plate and one bowl. Lots of mugs, though.

  ‘Well, that is seriously minimalist,’ said Jay, smiling and shaking his head. ‘You really don’t cook, do you?’

  ‘No, but as I said, Chloe seriously does, so why don’t we go and use her kitchen?’

  ‘Great,’ said Jay. ‘That would be really cool, but are you sure she won’t mind?’

  ‘Well, they’re not there – they’re down at Willow Barn – and I know she wouldn’t mind anyway. They’re always telling me to use the house when they’re away. It’s better for security, apart from anything.’

  ‘Is it far?’ said Jay, picking up the carrier bags again. ‘I’m ready to faint with hunger.’

  I smiled. ‘Not far at all. Follow me.’

  Jay laughed when I opened the gate in my little courtyard – where the wisteria was still blooming beautifully in its pot – and he could see up Ham’s lawn to the kitchen, clearly visible through the glass wall at the back of the house.

  ‘This is where I picked you up that night – this is your dad’s place. You live out back, that is so funny.’