by Jenny Colgan
‘I doubt it.’
‘So, please, don’t make me have to lose you as well, by saying that I used you. Because I promise I didn’t. Or, if I did, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.’
He looked at me suddenly. The twinkle was back, if a little dimmed.
‘Did you …’ he started. ‘Did you ever even consider it?’
‘Every day,’ I said, almost truthfully.
He smiled.
‘Come here,’ he said, and pulled me to him. We hugged one another for a long time in the front of the car.
Seventeen
Eventually, we pulled apart.
‘What are you going to do now?’ he said.
‘I really want to go home. Are you going back to London?’
‘Actually, my mum’s gone to the reception. So I’d better go and see everyone, especially as I’ll be the only male McConnald around. It’s a flak-taking exercise.’
‘Do you think your mum was pleased?’
‘Pleased? She’ll be delighted. She’ll be even more delighted to be over there drinking champagne and eating vol-au-vents at Mr Phillips’ expense.’
‘He can afford it. Ehm, could you give me a lift to the station?’
‘It’d be my pleasure.’
Angus put me on the slow train back to London. He stood on the platform waving until the train pulled away, the sunlight glinting off his hair. I watched him until he grew tiny, then out of sight, then sat back in my chair with a sigh.
The woman opposite was staring at me strangely. Straining to see in the filthy train window, I realized I still had blood all over my head and mascara running down my face. Nice.
Suddenly, I realized I couldn’t go back home; I was barred for Linda’s big secret project. Jesus! Oh, fuck it. I didn’t care if she was entertaining the Coldstream Guards in there, it was my home and that’s where I had to go now. It wasn’t my fault that I’d been to an imploding wedding. I’d stay in my room all day. Linda could cope.
I looked for a handkerchief in my pocket, before realizing that I was still wearing Angus’s coat. God, the sweetie. It smelled reassuringly masculine, and there was indeed a handkerchief. It was embroidered in the corner with F.A.M. It was Fraser’s, not Angus. I felt a bolt go through me. This was his. I clasped it like the most precious stone. I put it to my nose, but it only smelled of laundry, which I suppose in some ways was quite a relief. I dabbed a little at the blood and the mascara.
The woman opposite me leaned over. She was about fifty and a bit wholemeal-bread-looking – she was wearing lots of shawls, shoes that looked as though they’d been hewn from wood, and had thick wiry hair. She was attractive, in a fifty-ish kind of way.
‘I’m psychic, you know.’
Oh God. Nutter on the train! Just when I needed it least. I looked around the carriage for help, but everyone was studiously ignoring us – of course! This was a British train, what could I have been thinking of?
I nodded dismissively to her and wished I had a newspaper to hide behind.
‘I’m picking up very strong vibes from you.’
‘What, vibes that I don’t believe in psychics?’ I said, trying to smile politely and get her to shut up.
She smiled. ‘Well, that’s OK. Lots of people don’t. I have trouble myself, some days.’
I stared out of the window fixedly.
‘There’s trouble in your life.’
‘Yes, well, that’s probably a good average for everyone.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘Alexander loves you. Go to him.’
I sat bolt upright.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said, he loves you. Go to him.’
‘No, no, no. You don’t understand. Did you say Alex? He’s a total pig. Are you by any chance a reverse psychic? Are you Australian?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I get the message and I have to pass it on. I can tell it meant something to you. So, there it is.’
‘It meant complete crap to me.’
‘Well, sometimes that’s what your head says when your heart says different.’
‘No, sometimes that’s what mad people say when you meet them on the train,’ I muttered sullenly.
The psychic sat back, satisfied that her work was done, and I stared out the window, thinking furiously.
How on earth could she have known about Alex? I wouldn’t put it past him to have set it up, the slimy little toad. But how could he have known I’d be on this train … this carriage? I shook my head fiercely to clear it and tried to concentrate on something else, anything else.
Like Fraser. As if the dam had burst, the lifting of the embargo let it all come flooding in. My angel in the snow. Striding like Mr Rochester from the church – I hadn’t actually seen him do that, but I imagined it that way. His lopsided grin, his gentle eyes, his ready laugh … as London gradually came into view, through the suburbs and the railway stations. I couldn’t possibly … well, I’d thought … but it was his wedding day, for Christ’s sake. I couldn’t hope to – I mean, he was probably trying to patch things up. After all, he’d turned up, hadn’t he? Half an hour late, but he’d been ready and willing to get married.
Probably not the best time to ask him out.
At Waterloo, I moved through the crowds like I was swimming underwater. I knew I looked beyond ridiculous in my pretty dress and ruined face, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to go home, pure and simple.
I caught a cab back to the flat. The street was quiet. It was bitterly cold, but inside Angus’s coat I felt warm. I could, I supposed, go back to bed. Ignore the day altogether. It might be the sensible thing.
I crept up the stairwell and knocked quietly on the door before unlocking it with my key. Linda was there in an instant.
‘I’m sorry!’ I said through the door. ‘I’m really sorry. The wedding went really wrong, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go … Please, can I come in?’
Linda opened the door a crack and regarded me suspiciously.
‘I might have known this would never work,’ she said dolefully. But, reluctantly, she opened the door and let me in.
‘Thank you!’ I said gratefully. ‘I’ll keep out of your way, whatever you’re doing, I promise. In fact, I’ll go to bed straightaway and stay there until you say I can come out. In fact, probably longer.’
‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘You might as well go join your friend in the kitchen. We’ve been having a nice chat.’
Friend? Chat? I had no idea who she meant. Suddenly very nervous, I walked towards the kitchen door. Maybe Fran had returned early from her little adventure. Despite everything, I wouldn’t mind her around to talk to just now.
Slowly, I opened the door – and the sight that greeted me surprised me so much that I couldn’t say a thing, for once.
It was freezing in the kitchen – the window was open, as were the fridge and the freezer doors, I noticed. All around the large room stood different model animals. There was a giraffe, a pelican, a wallaby – all large, and lovingly fashioned. They were brown, and so delicately made, that they appeared about to fly off, or gallop – as if they had been caught in filigree for an instant in mid-motion.
The kitchen table had been brought back in. Fraser was sitting at it. He looked tired and drawn, but he smiled at my amazement.
‘Aren’t they stunning?’ he said. I nodded.
‘I rather think your flatmate hides her light under a bushel.’
I turned to Linda.
‘You did these?’
She blushed furiously and shrugged.
‘What are they made of?’
‘Chocolate.’
I span in amazement.
‘All these are chocolate? Like Topics and Flyte and stuff?’
‘I sculpt,’ she said shyly. ‘They’re being picked up today for an exhibition. I practise small, but you have to put them together really quickly, otherwise it melts. And now it’s hardening off. They’re picking them up soon.’
‘Jesu
s!’ I looked around at the edible menagerie. ‘They’re absolutely gorgeous.’
Linda smiled. It was such a rare sight to see that I grinned right back. Then Fraser grinned at me. In an apologetic, lopsided kind of a way. It was like the reverse ending of Reservoir Dogs.
My heart plummeted to the bottom of my shoes. I moved closer to him. We were gazing at each other as if we’d been hypnotized.
I sat down opposite him at the table.
‘You can eat the tortoise, if you like,’ said Linda shyly. ‘It came out wrong.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘but it’s too beautiful to eat. Well, for a tortoise.’
And I kept gazing at Fraser. Realizing something was up – poor Linda, could I never let her be at home in her own house? – she retreated.
There was a silence.
‘So?’ I said flippantly.
He hung his head.
‘So, you were right all along?’ he said.
‘No, that’s not what I was asking … That was a “So, what happened?” so.’
He looked at me.
‘You know, I never wanted to get married.’
I arched my eyebrows at him.
‘Really, I didn’t. It all happened so quickly … and after we got engaged, I started to realize … just how wrong it was. With a little help from you and my brother, of course.’
I looked down. ‘Huh.’
‘And the wedding was arranged before I’d had a chance to blink. I felt … well, we were betrothed. I’d made her a promise. It would have been wrong to break it off, just because I’d changed my mind.’
‘No, it would have been kinder. In the long run.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, every time I tried to bring it up, she’d brush over it. Said we’d be fine.’
‘I don’t think that it was necessarily only you she wanted.’
‘No, me neither.’
He sighed.
‘I sat up all night last night. I don’t even believe in God, but I nearly started to. Just for someone to give me guidance.’
‘Medieval knights used to do that.’
‘I know. It’s very sore on the knees.’
‘And? Didn’t it help?’
‘No. I sat there for ages, dozed off, woke up again – for hours. And then, by about eleven o’clock, I just thought: it’s too late now. I’m a big cowardly bastard and I have to take what’s coming to me. It was my punishment for not facing up to it earlier.’
‘Huh.’
‘And I didn’t think she’d – well, do what she did. I thought she’d wait, and bollock me for being late.’
‘She must have known deep down as well.’
‘I suppose so. Ouch.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I just feel “ouch” every time I remember those things she said. Oh, and poor you!’
He touched my head and I suddenly became very conscious of what a fright I must look.
‘Oh, no, it didn’t really hurt. I just got scratched by the thorns.’
‘She could have had your eye out.’
‘Well, you know … anything to help.’
He smiled, and stroked the scar tenderly. I shivered.
‘But, apart from that,’ he said, ‘I think she did me a favour. I got out of it, and it was nobody’s fault.’
‘Well, except for the fact that it was your fault.’
‘Yes, God, you’re right, aren’t you? It was completely my fault. I suppose what I mean is, I’m glad I’m not the one who came across as a heartless bastard. Because I’m not one, really. Well, I don’t think I am.’
‘I don’t think you are either.’
His hand still rested on my forehead.
‘Why did you come round here?’ I asked.
‘To see you,’ he said simply.
‘Oh.’
He looked down and took his hand away.
‘You and Angus … I’m sorry, I know it’s completely none of my business, but is – was – well, anyway, there’s not anything going on, is there? He said there wasn’t, but I thought he might be trying to spare my feelings. He’s like that.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘And no. There never was, really. I was … well, I hope I didn’t hurt him. I think one of the reasons I liked him – not the only reason, because then I really, really liked him, you know, I think he’s brilliant … But, well, I think, well, he kind of reminded me of you.’
His mild eyes blinked twice in surprise.
‘Is that true?’
‘Yes,’ I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.
‘You … well, me, well, you know …?’
‘Ehm, yes,’ I said, trusting that that was the right answer.
His grip on my hand tightened and he brought his other hand down to cup my cheek. Outside the window, the snow was falling again.
‘Eventually I realized …’ he began. ‘I realized that I was terrified you’d be with him, and make him happy and not me. I was so jealous.’
I gazed up at him.
‘You were jealous? You were getting married!’
‘I know. It just didn’t seem fair to me that he got you because his timing was on and mine was as off as it could possibly be. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about.’
I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. I put my hand over his hand.
‘I met a psychic on the train,’ I said, smiling. ‘I didn’t believe it. Total nutcase. Do you know, she told me to go back to Alex.’
‘You did,’ said Fraser.
I looked at him enquiringly.
‘Alasdair. It’s my middle name. It’s Gaelic for Alexander.’
I pulled out the handkerchief. D’oh! F.A.M. That mad woman had probably seen the ‘A’ when I was clutching it like a maniac, and gone for the educated guess. Unless, of course … I looked up at him, shiny-eyed.
Almost in slow motion, we began to touch each other on the arm and the face, discovering each other for the first time. I felt his strong shoulders through his white shirt. All the hairs on his forearm had raised themselves up from the cold air, and the closeness of us. I tentatively touched one of his buttons.
‘If I cry any more, I think I’ll go blind,’ I muttered, trying to hold back.
‘That would explain what you see in me then.’
‘Ho ho ho.’
Suddenly I felt his strong arms clasp my waist, his grip tighten. The expression on his face was tentative, excited, nervous, unsure – well, actually, fairly sure.
I looked straight at this man.
‘You know, if this was a book,’ I said, ‘it really should have ended with a wedding.’
‘Not necessarily,’ he said. ‘It could just have ended with a kiss.’
And it did.
Epilogue
We wanted to sneak away immediately. We had a lot to discuss and a lot to do. Somewhere in the country, we thought, where we could walk, and talk and, well, the other thing. I was lit up like the Christmas lights outside. I grabbed together some warm things in a bag and we made our way to the door. On our way out, I heard the phone ring. Linda picked it up.
‘Oh,’ I heard her say. ‘Mel!’
‘I don’t think I want to get that, do I?’ I said to Fraser.
‘Don’t tell them I’m here either,’ he said.
‘Oh my God. I haven’t even thought about trying to explain it to people.’
‘Shh …’ From behind, he put both arms around me and leaned on my shoulder. ‘There’s plenty of time to worry about all that.’
‘Mel!’ Linda yelled. Linda yelling! What a day this was turning out to be. ‘It’s somebody called Nicholas! He wants to know if you’re free this … hang on … tonight or the rest of the weekend?’
I raised my eyebrows at Fraser. He shook his head vehemently.
‘I think that’s going to be a “no”, Linda,’ I said.
There was a pause. Then she popped her head round the door.
‘He’s asked me out instead!’ she said breathlessly.
‘Oh …’
Well, how bad could it be? He was well off, he had a nice car, he was tall, he wasn’t … well, he wasn’t the heart of pure evil, and Linda needed to get out of the house.
‘Why don’t you go?’ I said kindly. ‘He’s all right. It could be fun.’
Linda looked at me quizzically.
‘That eight foot, wanky, dog-breath accountant? What the FUCK do you take me for?’
Acknowledgements
Thanks to: Robin Colgan, Ian Wylie and Dr Andrew Teverson for their helpful remarks at an early stage; the amazing Ali ‘don’t mess with the’ Gunn, Nick Marston, Carol Jackson and all at Curtis Brown; Rachel Hore for her brilliant editing, Anne O’Brien, Jennifer Parr, Fiona McIntosh, Yolande Denny, Julie Cass, Yvette Cowles, Alex Young, Dan Moore, Claire Round, and the team at HarperCollins; Salty Sandra McKay, Susan Hoyer, Andy Kennedy, and the Westminster red-hand gang for their support; Davids Bewers and Knowles for the extra two months; Fiona Hastings, much missed, for suggesting it; my parents for not asking about it, and Jill Edwards.
About the Author
Jenny Colgan was born in 1972 in Ayrshire. After graduating from Edinburgh University, she worked for six years in the health service, moonlighting as a cartoonist and a stand-up comic. She lives with her partner in London.
Copyright
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
HarperCollinsPublishers
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Copyright © Jenny Colgan 1999
Jenny Colgan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
