‘Oh.’ I sit down on the bed again. Yes, I remember now. Lauren had gone to see Into the Woods with me too, though we’d told Ben we’d been shopping.
‘Hey, cheer up.’ Lauren grabs the red Prada clutch and wiggles it in front of me so that the jewels dazzle in the light. ‘You’re not with Ben any more. You’re moving on. So do it in style.’ She holds out the clutch and I take it.
I’m moving on.
By finding a new boyfriend to parade in front of my ex.
My stomach does a funny twirly thing as the taxi pulls up outside the restaurant. What if William doesn’t turn up? What if he does? I already know quite a bit about William through our messages online, but this is completely different and I’m terrified I’m going to make a fool of myself. When we send messages back and forth I have time to think about my answers and come up with insightful questions in return, but this is in real time and the pressure is already getting to me.
But no, I can’t let the nerves win. William is a nice guy. He’s kind and sweet and he’s plunging himself back into the dating game after a long absence too. William is quite recently divorced and this will be his first date with someone who isn’t his wife for over five years. He’s probably feeling just as petrified and twirly-stomached as I am.
‘Delilah?’ I’ve just stepped out of the taxi and am smoothing down my top when I hear my name. I look up and there is William, striding towards me. He’s a bit rounder than his profile picture, but it’s definitely him. ‘Delilah James?’
‘Yes. Hello.’ I stick my hand out and then cringe. Are we supposed to shake hands?
William takes my hand and gives it a brief shake. His hand is warm (but not in a gross, sweaty way) and firm. ‘It’s so lovely to meet you. You look just like your profile photo.’
‘So do you.’ It’s only a teeny white lie.
‘Nah.’ William shakes his head and looks down at the ground before sneaking his eyes back up to meet mine. His cheeks have a pinkish tint to them. ‘About five years ago, maybe. My wife took that photo early on in our relationship.’ He gives his head a quick shake. ‘Ex-wife, I should say. Shall we go inside?’ He indicates the restaurant and we wander inside. I’ve never been here before. It’s an Italian restaurant with gorgeous low-lighting and a vibrant atmosphere. Waiters and waitresses chat with the customers, recommending dishes or local attractions, chatting away like old friends as they take the orders. It feels like a wonderful, friendly place to be and I’m glad William chose this restaurant. Ben would never have brought me here as he isn’t a fan of Italian food. He doesn’t like pasta and thinks pizza is lazy and unsophisticated. He wouldn’t let me buy frozen pizzas from the supermarket and ordering in was a big no no.
William and I are led to a table in a cosy corner of the restaurant. The walls are made of exposed red brick decorated with black and white framed photos of Italy and the tables are laid with cute red and white checked tablecloths. A tea light flickers from a little glass jar in the centre, giving the table a warm glow.
‘This is a great place.’ William and I are seated, menus in hand and drinks are on the way. ‘I’ve never been here before. Have you?’
‘Lots of times,’ William says, smiling at me over his menu. ‘It was our favourite restaurant.’
I assume by ‘our’ he means he and his ex-wife’s, but I don’t ask him to elaborate. It’ll be a bit awkward. ‘The food sounds amazing,’ I say instead.
‘Oh, it is.’ William reaches over to point at my menu. ‘Kaz’s favourite is the king prawn linguine.’
I assume Kaz is the ex-wife but again, I don’t ask him to elaborate. I scan the menu. It really does sound delicious (even the king prawn linguine, but it’d be a bit weird to order that now).
‘I’m not really in the mood for prawns. How is the lasagne?’
‘Good.’ William nods at me over his menu. ‘Quite large though. Kaz could never finish it.’
What a pity for Kaz. ‘The penne della casa sounds lovely. I think I’ll have that.’ I close my menu, hoping William won’t give me Kaz’s opinion on the dish.
‘Are you not having a starter? Kaz always said it wasn’t a proper meal if you didn’t have a starter.’
‘No.’ It takes every last bit of energy I possess not to release the huge sigh that has built up in my chest. ‘I don’t think I will.’
‘No, better to leave room for pudding.’ William grins at me and I’m relieved when he doesn’t follow it up with a Kaz titbit. He closes his menu as the waiter approaches and sets our drinks down on the table. I’ve ordered a soft drink and I’m beginning to regret that decision.
‘Are you ready to order?’ the waiter asks. ‘Or would you like a few more minutes?’
‘No, I think we’re about ready,’ William says, ordering both our meals plus garlic bread on the side. I’m waiting for him to tell me Kaz’s preferences on garlic bread, but it doesn’t happen. Perhaps he’s got it out of his system now. He was probably just nervous and it must be strange having me sitting opposite him instead of the familiar face of his ex. I know I’m finding it a bit weird myself and Ben is always on my mind (though I have the good grace to not talk about him out loud on occasions such as these).
‘So what made you sign up for Love Today?’ William asks.
‘My friends signed me up. I haven’t dated for a while.’ Apart from Dan and Jack, but let’s not dwell on those dating disasters. ‘It’s time I got back out there, you know?’
William nods. ‘I know exactly what you mean. I didn’t think I’d ever date again after Kaz, but I feel ready now. Kaz has moved on and now so have I.’ William’s lips twitch in a half-smile, half-grimace flick. ‘Although Kaz moved on while we were still married.’ William laughs but it isn’t a happy sound. ‘What a sham that marriage was!’
I wonder if I should send Ryan a ‘Code Red’ message. ‘But you have your daughters, so it must be worth it.’
Thankfully, William’s face softens. ‘Yes, absolutely.’ William grins now as he reaches for his wallet, opening it and passing it over to me. ‘There they are. Ella and Lily.’ He points out each girl as he says their name. I was expecting the girls to be identical but while Ella has curly brown hair, Lily has straight, wispy blonde hair and rounder cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without them.’
‘Who are they with now?’ I ask as I hand the wallet back.
William snaps the wallet shut. ‘Their mother.’ I shouldn’t have asked. ‘And the waste of space who wrecked our marriage.’ Definitely shouldn’t have asked. ‘I don’t understand it, Delilah. I really don’t. He doesn’t even work, just sponges off Kaz. I gave her everything. Everything. I didn’t want her to work, you know. I thought she should stay at home with the girls but she insisted on going back. And that’s when she met him. The new partner.’
‘I thought you said he didn’t work?’ Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? Why was I fuelling this discussion with questions?
‘He used to work. With Kaz.’ William’s nostrils flare as he spits the name out. ‘He was made redundant two months ago. I thought she’d see him for the loser he really is then, but she didn’t. She’s always been a bit thick though.’ William grasps his glass of wine by the stem with a meaty fist and gulps down the lot. ‘Do you want kids, Delilah?’
‘One day.’ I always thought Ben and I would have three children, all close in age so there wouldn’t be any resentment between them.
‘You’re still young. Plenty of time for all that.’ William attracts the attention of a passing waiter and asks for another glass of wine. ‘Kaz never wanted kids, you know. Hated babies with a passion. Said they took over your life. Selfish bitch.’
‘But she loves Ella and Lily now though. Right?’
‘Not enough to stay with their father. To bring them up properly.’ William glares at me and I find myself shrinking back into my seat. I want to point out that I’m not Kaz, that I didn’t screw him over – but my mouth doesn’t want to work. ‘Are you par
ents still together, Delilah?’
‘Yes,’ I manage to squeak.
‘Good.’ William nods. ‘That’s how it should be. Mum, Dad and kids. Not Mum, Fuck-wit and kids with Dad on his own in a shitty little flat.’ William screws up his face and balls up his fists, which he hammers on the table, rattling the jar with the tea light. ‘She left me with nothing, you know. Nothing. Fuck all. Took the house, our kids.’
‘But you still see them. Your girls.’ William had told me all about the time he spent with his daughters. In fact, until tonight, I’d got the impression that he had custody of the twins.
‘Once a fucking week. She won’t even let me have them overnight. Bitch!’ William lifts his fists and brings them down onto the table. His fork flips into the air before clattering to the ground.
‘Sir.’ A waiter has approached and I can’t help feeling relieved that I’m not alone. My eyes dart around me and I’m reminded that I’m definitely not alone as dozens of eyes are upon us. ‘I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.’
‘Sorry.’ William clears his throat. ‘Sorry.’
‘I’ll bring you a new fork.’ The waiter starts to back away.
‘And my drink. Please.’
Great. Just what this situation needs. More alcohol.
Slowly, the eyes start to turn away when it becomes clear the drama has ended. William’s drink arrives, shortly followed by our meal. My appetite has vanished, along with any sort of conversation. William and I haven’t exchanged a word since his outburst and I can’t think of a single word to say to him. Not one.
‘I’m sorry, Delilah.’ William suddenly thrusts out his hand and I flinch away. But William simply grasps hold of my hand. ‘I’m so sorry. It’s just that I love her so much. So fucking much.’ William drops my hand, laying his arms across his dinner and dropping his face into the crook of his elbow. His shoulders start to shake moments before the howling begins. William is crying, unrelentingly, unabashed, uncontrolled. He doesn’t see the wide eyes turning to stare. Doesn’t see me rising from my seat. Doesn’t see me scuttling across the restaurant, pressing money into the hand of a passing waiter and instructing him to knock it off our bill. William is so busy howling into his sleeve he doesn’t see me escape, running from the restaurant as fast as my legs will take me.
Chapter 14
Justin
Text Message:
Delilah: Can you go to prison for murdering your little brother if he REALLY deserves it?
Lauren: Yes
Delilah: Even if the little git wrecked your Christian Dior eyeliner for his art project?
Lauren: Speaking as a solicitor, that isn’t a valid reason for murder. Speaking as your best friend and fellow woman, throttle him. Throttle him good
I was nine when my little brother Justin came along. Mum and Dad had sat me and Clara down one Saturday afternoon a few months earlier, Mum beaming at us while Dad spoke the words. The palm of his hand rested on Mum’s stomach, where there would soon be a bump (and pretty sizeable too. I’d had no idea skin could stretch so much. I was pretty damn scared by the end).
I quite liked the idea of having a little brother or sister. I’d get to play with it when Francesca and Ryan were busy and we could gang up against Clara when she wanted to watch EastEnders instead of cartoons. We could play dolls and Frustration (which were lame, according to Queen of Cool Clara) and I’d teach it to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ (the only piece of music I could play) on my keyboard.
Clara wasn’t quite so enthusiastic upon hearing the news. In fact, she was downright disgusted.
‘You mean you still do it?’ Her face was all scrunched up and I shifted away slightly, scared she was about to vom. ‘That is gross!’
Clara was mortified. She was fourteen and only just coming around to the idea of sharing Mum and Dad with me. She didn’t want to have to start all over again with a new kid. She’d put up with my appearance, had somewhat tolerated my squawking, and they expected her to do it all again?
‘No way. You can’t do this to me!’
But they did. Justin arrived one cool March afternoon while Clara and I were at school.
‘You have a brother!’ Dad had tears in his eyes as he made the announcement as soon as we arrived home and he didn’t even bother to hide them. ‘Handsome little sod he is as well. And the best bit is, I’ve got more hair than him!’ He held up his palm, which I high-fived while Clara rolled her eyes and slumped onto the sofa.
Dad took us to the hospital after tea and we got to meet Justin for the first time. He was wrapped up in a soft blue blanket, his eyes tight shut and wrinkling the skin around them. Mum beamed at us. She looked exhausted but happy.
‘You have a little brother,’ she said before promptly bursting into tears. Dad assured us that she was ok, that she didn’t hate the new baby (as Clara had asked rather hopefully), that it was simply hormones and extreme tiredness.
‘Do you want to hold him?’ Dad asked Clara. She was still standing on the outskirts. If Dad had swished the curtain shut around Mum’s bed, Clara would have disappeared from view.
‘No, you’re all right.’ She shoved her hands in her pockets, just in case Dad tried to dump the baby in her arms against her will.
‘Oh, go on. He won’t bite. He hasn’t got any teeth yet.’ Dad winked at Clara but her face remained stony, her feet remaining planted on the floor. ‘Come on, love. He’s your little brother. Have a proper look at him and you can help pick a name. He hasn’t got one yet, poor mite.’
‘I wanted to call him Dylan,’ Mum said, already reaching for a tissue from the box on top of the locker beside her bed. ‘But he doesn’t look like a Dylan at all.’ She burst into tears again and I rushed towards her, hopping up onto the creaky bed and nestling myself into her. She felt different without the hard bump. Soft and squishy like a giant marshmallow. I was half afraid the blob of skin would envelop me and swallow me whole like in the cheesy horror film Clara had made me watch a few weeks earlier.
‘I’m ok, Delly. I’m ok.’ Mum gave a sniff as she dabbed the tears from her cheeks. ‘See?’ She smiled at me, but it was kind of wobbly. Before the baby, she’d beamed. Before the baby she always wore makeup and brushed her hair nice. Now she was wobbly (in face and body) and her skin was grey and sort of saggy. Her hair seemed to be both frizzy and greasy at the same time and was piled up on her head, making her look like a big, grey pineapple.
‘Can I seriously pick his name?’ Clara was moving towards the little plastic cot. Slowly, but it was a start.
‘You can help. We don’t want him to end up with a name lifted from EastEnders.’ Dad draped an arm around Clara’s shoulders and guided her towards the baby. ‘We don’t want a Lofty James, do we?’
‘Who’s Lofty?’
Dad gave a wave of his hand, more interested in the slumbering mound in the cot. ‘He left years ago. I’m glad you don’t remember him and his daft name.’ Dad and Clara stopped in front of the cot. ‘Well? What do you think?’
Clara peered into the cot and she shrugged. ‘He’s small and wrinkly, isn’t he?’
‘All babies are.’ Dad lifted the baby from the cot and nodded at the bed, where Clara begrudgingly sat, arms open to receive the child. Dad placed our brother ever so gently into Clara’s arms, shifting the blue blanket a little so she could get a better look at him.
I saw it happen. The shift. One second Clara’s face was its usual frosty self, moody and withdrawn, lip curled as though there was a bad smell wafting about the place (which there could have been, now I think about it. I’ve found that bad smells usually follow babies, especially Justin). The next second her face opened – quite literally. Her eyes widened, surprise and wonder shining through, and her lips parted, making a little ‘o’ of her mouth.
‘He’s quite cute, isn’t he?’ Clara looked up at our parents, watching them in turn with her wide, wonder-struck eyes.
Mum burst into tears. Again.
Dad agreed wholeh
eartedly.
I comforted Mum, who insisted she was absolutely fine.
‘I think he looks like a Justin,’ Clara said, her eyes back on the baby.
‘Justin,’ Dad said.
‘Justin James.’ Mum mopped up her tears. ‘I like it. What do you think, Ray?’
‘I think we have a name for our son.’
Nobody asked me. They all settled on Justin and I didn’t get a say. I pointed this injustice out to Mum and Dad a few days later, when Mum and the baby were settling in at home. As a consolation, they let me pick Justin’s middle name. I chose Peter, and although I could tell Mum didn’t really like it and was ready to burst into tears again, they felt guilty enough to agree to it. I didn’t tell them that I’d chosen Peter after Smelly Peter at school. Smelly Peter stunk of wee (and sometimes poo) and nobody would play with him.
Back at the hospital, Clara was beaming at the newly-named Justin. She cooed at him and eased his tiny fist from under the blanket so he could grab hold of her finger, which seemed to melt her even more.
‘Do you want to hold your brother?’ Dad asked me.
I unhooked myself from under Mum’s arm and slipped off the bed. ‘No. I don’t think I do. I’m going for a wee and then I want to go home.’
I eventually got over my dislike of Justin. Mum stopped blubbering every three seconds and after the initial few weeks of broken sleep, she started to look more like the Mum I knew and loved. She remembered to shower and brushed her hair almost daily and after a year or so, she rediscovered her lipstick. I got to know my little brother and it turned out he was pretty cool. He was cute and giggly and Mum let me push his pram when she took me to school. I started to feel guilty that I’d named him after the smelly kid at school (although he did live up to his name, stinking the house out with his nappies. Years later I’d feel guilty about thinking of Peter as Smelly Peter too. Kids are awful sometimes). Justin was such a joy to have around. As he grew he became a mischievous little tyke, but he made us all laugh until our stomachs ached.
The Wedding Date Page 10
