Back After the Break

by Anita Notaro

  ‘Not to mention your sex life.’ Damn. She tried desperately to gobble the words back up but they slithered off her tongue like runny yoghurt.

  He’d definitely think she was obsessed with it.

  ‘Since you brought it up first, I had a great time last weekend. Sunday night seemed very tame by comparison.’

  Great, she thought viciously, struggling not to ask for details. She knew he was laughing at her, she could feel the little jets hitting the back of her neck as she stirred the main course with gusto, ignoring the fact that the recipe had specifically said to stir once only. She’d worry about that later. Still, she could only keep her back turned for so long and after she’d poured wine into her already full glass and petted Charlie twice, she was forced to look at him.

  ‘Well, if you insist on associating with outspoken, hot-blooded females, you’ve got to be able to take the consequences,’ she mumbled and grinned back at him, knowing her slightly pink face was betraying any attempt at nonchalance.

  Chapter Eighteen

  THINGS TOOK OFF a bit after that. Memories of their illicit weekend sort of bonded them and she was glad he’d brought it up.

  Dinner was a success. Lindsay had abandoned her cookbooks and decided instead to consult her current favourite celebrity chef, via his website, and he advised her to ‘keep it simple and use only the best ingredients’. The fish dish had gone out the window after she’d spoken to Tara, who insisted that nobody really liked fish. She also mentioned the risk of salmonella, which was the final nail in the fish’s coffin. This conversation caused a major crisis and gave Lindsay one more nightmare scenario to dream about. Eventually she decided to fall back on one of her ‘tried and tested’ – leg of lamb, dusted with seasoned flour and browned on a hot pan, then roasted slowly, for hours, in the company of a bottle of a good robust wine, sweet red onions, bay leaves, thyme and lots of black pepper. What emerged didn’t resemble leg of lamb as we know it. It fell off the bone and looked as if it had been put through a shredder and it was surrounded by the most wonderful wine and red-onion marmalade.

  It also smelt absolutely wonderful, which helped a lot. The over-zealous stirring hadn’t helped the complicated risotto thingy which Lindsay immediately abandoned. It was the wrong thing to cook anyway. She had been trying to show off and as usual, it didn’t work for her. The flavours were too rich for the lamb, she consoled herself as she mentally consigned it to Charlie. She wasn’t in the least thrown by this, however, because she was a confident cook. She had a tray of crunchy roast potatoes almost ready so she simply popped on some green beans and made a colourful organic leaf salad from the various plastic bags she always kept in the bottom of the fridge. She liked to cook and chatted happily to Chris as she worked, explaining how the Aga worked and telling him about her dream to be a chef in Ballymaloe, the world-renowned cookery school in Cork. He washed the salad leaves and told her a bit more about his family, how his mother loved messing about in the kitchen and could entertain twenty people effortlessly.

  She had apparently passed on at least some of her knowledge to her offspring, all of whom could conjure up something in the kitchen, although Chris doubted he could beat the smells that were wafting around the place tonight, he teased her. She hadn’t bothered with a starter, another attempt to be casual about the night, so when it was all ready she simply put everything in the middle of the big, worn table – an old-fashioned platter of aromatic lamb with the gorgeous sauce, a well-used wooden salad bowl and a couple of old porcelain dishes with the roast potatoes and green beans. It all looked delicious and Chris tucked in as if he hadn’t eaten all week. He seemed relaxed and happy and not a bit ‘famous’.

  ‘This is fantastic, I’m afraid I couldn’t compete,’ he laughed and sat back to take a break, having demolished his first portion. They chatted as they sipped their wine. He liked the feel of eating in the kitchen, he told her, and Lindsay explained that as the room was always warm, courtesy of the Aga, people seemed to gravitate towards the kitchen and so it had seemed sensible at the time to get a big, old table and make the most of the atmosphere. The comfy sofa and fireplace helped during winter, making it all seem very homely, the ultimate country kitchen. It was the best thing about the otherwise tiny house and the reason she’d bought it. In summer, she simply left the French doors open to the garden and ate outside as often as she could.

  ‘It’s very different to my place,’ Chris explained as he helped himself to another huge plateful. ‘I bought it because it was close to the city centre and I wanted an apartment in an old building, instead of in one of those characterless new developments. The house itself is really great, with all the original Georgian features intact. Then when I moved in I wanted to go against the trend so I opted for a very modem, sort of minimalist look, with the help of a friend of mine who’s an interior designer.’

  ‘What’s her name?’ Lindsay asked, explaining that she had been an interior designer before taking up her current job.

  ‘That explains it – I knew you must have had some training as soon as I walked in here. Your colours are terrific. My friend’s name is Catherine Hickson.’

  ‘Yes, I know her, she has a place in Blackrock. She’s very good, I’d be interested to see what she’s done with your place.’ Once again Lindsay wished she hadn’t said it, it sounded as though she was angling for an invite.

  ‘Well, I was going to offer to cook you dinner next week, but after this I’m not so sure.’

  ‘I’m a dustbin, really, so don’t worry. Besides Charlie will eat anything I can’t manage and he’s very easily impressed.’

  For dessert Lindsay had made a warm lemon sponge pudding with a big jug of cream.

  ‘It’s real comfort food’, she half apologized. ‘I think it’s a carry over from my childhood, a sort of adult version of Liga.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ he laughed as he shovelled it in.

  ‘I think I am, a bit. I eat masses of this kind of food when I’m feeling a bit down in the dumps.’

  He was still laughing as they sat down on the couch to finish their wine. All of a sudden it felt funny to be so close to him. She wondered if he expected to go to bed with her. Oh God, I forgot to change the sheets and Charlie was up there rolling around earlier, she thought, her eyes mentally darting about the place, wondering if she should escape and do a quick clean up.

  ‘Mind if I check out the late news heads?’ He seemed oblivious to her discomfort.

  ‘Sure.’ She handed him the remote control and relaxed a little.

  But not for long.

  Maybe he intends to stay the night. I didn’t even attempt to clean the bathroom.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Tired?’

  ‘A bit, I haven’t been this energetic in the evening for ages,’ Lindsay told him, realizing that she had become used to just coming home and vegging with Charlie. ‘When the girls come round they’re more interested in wine than food so if we eat at all it tends to be takeaway.’

  ‘You’re very close then?’

  ‘Well, they either keep me sane or drive me insane.’

  ‘And they’re the ones who helped you when you split up with your . . . erm, the guy you were engaged to?’

  ‘Yeah. They were brilliant, I don’t think I could have done it without them.’

  ‘Do you see them often?’

  ‘Probably only once or twice a fortnight, but we talk almost every day. Debbie works for Aer Lingus, so she travels all the time. She’s feisty and impulsive and either loves you or hates you. She makes me laugh all the time. Tara is quite different. She’s a lawyer, much more level-headed, always sees the other point of view. Loves animals and children. Very soft. Actually Debbie’s as soft as butter too and the sort of person you could call on 24/7.’

  ‘I envy women their friendships, sometimes. Men’s relationships are so different. Even with close friends, we tend not to really say what we feel, it’s all hidden behind football or
rugby or politics or pints.’

  ‘Well, it doesn’t have to be, you’ve just got to allow yourself to be vulnerable, tell some secrets.’

  ‘Speaking of secrets, tell me one.’ She’d walked into that one for sure.

  She hesitated and then decided that plunging straight in had worked so far.

  ‘I was a bit apprehensive about tonight, it’s very different to how we spent last Friday night.’

  ‘Are you still worried?’

  ‘I did wonder if you’d expect to have sex or stay the night, and I guess I’d be disappointed if I thought that sex was all we had in common.’

  ‘You know, sex in a way is the easy part.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘It either works or it doesn’t. Sometimes it’s really great and other times it just doesn’t gel and you know it pretty quickly. The rest is more complicated. Actually, I think I can be quite selfish. If I lose interest after a while, I don’t even bother trying to get to know someone. I think that as you get older you become less tolerant. In my twenties I just wanted a great time, now I’m less likely to waste time on a relationship that’s not working.’

  ‘Relationships are very fragile, though,’ Lindsay was speaking from personal experience, ‘especially at the beginning. They break easily. You have to mind them. And I think you have to be honest, even if it hurts. So, you tell me a secret.’

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t let me get away with it. Well, let’s see, I lived with a girl for about two years. It finished last year and I haven’t really seen anyone else since, at least not seriously. She was, and still is, a great person, our sex life was everything I could have hoped for but something wasn’t quite right. I thought we loved each other and I think even now that I did love her but at the end of the day we discovered that we didn’t like each other enough. Does that sound strange?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘It ended badly. My family were very disappointed, I think they had great hopes for it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. I think I realized before she did that it was over. By the time we eventually split I had mentally moved on. I don’t believe she ever really admitted it to herself until the end, so it came as a shock.’

  ‘What are we like? Not a great ad for happy ever after.’ Lindsay was glad he’d told her.

  ‘I don’t know whether I believe in till death us do part.’

  ‘Me neither,’ she smiled sadly.

  Without her anticipating it, he leaned over to kiss her. It was different, soft and slow, sensuous and exploratory, as if it were the first time. It went on for ages and made her feel funny and suddenly she didn’t feel sad any more.

  Chapter Nineteen

  LINDSAY CALLED TARA as soon as he’d left. It was twelve-thirty. She needed to talk to someone.

  ‘How did it go?’

  Tara took the call as a bad sign.

  ‘Do you know something, I honestly don’t know. It felt a bit awkward at the beginning, when he arrived, but then it settled down and I really enjoyed it. Then after dinner he told me about a girl he’d lived with for two years and he went a bit quiet, even though he implied that he’d been the one to end it. I got the feeling he’s a bit wary of relationships.’

  ‘Aren’t we all? Did you have sex?’

  ‘No, I thought he might expect to and it wasn’t really that sort of night, so I said that to him, but he said sex was the easy part of a relationship.’

  ‘It probably is for him, I’d say he has no shortage of offers. What did he say when he was leaving?’

  ‘He kissed me and said he’d call me over the weekend and that he’d cook me dinner. I don’t know why I feel he won’t call, he just seemed sort of distant. I can’t put my finger on it.’

  ‘I think you’re reading too much into it.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. It’s just that after he left I realized the night was quite ordinary, not very exciting. He asked if I was tired and I said yes, I mean, how boring is that for a Friday night?’

  ‘You’re being paranoid.’

  ‘I suppose I am. So I am definitely not going to let it take over the weekend. If he calls, he calls.’ She could feel Tara smiling.

  ‘I’ll remind you of that when you’re going mental by Sunday.’

  ‘I hate waiting for the phone to ring. Maybe he was just bored and couldn’t wait to get the night over with.’

  ‘Stop this now. It’s ridiculous. Oh my God, listen to me preaching, I’ll be the exact same after tomorrow night.’

  ‘Yes, I want to hear everything. What are you wearing? Will you invite him back to your place? Hang on till I get my glass of wine.’

  Lindsay settled herself on the couch and listened to Tara agonize over what she’d wear.

  Next came the age-old problem of whether to invite him back or not.

  ‘Don’t make any decision now, see how the night goes. Besides he might not drive, in which case you’ll both probably get separate taxis.’

  ‘I hope he takes things slowly, doesn’t expect too much.’

  ‘Tara, the man has just come through a painful separation. He hasn’t dated in years. He’s hardly going to jump on you. He’s probably just as nervous as you are. Besides, you’d put anybody at ease, you’re great with people.’

  ‘Thanks. Yeah, I know you’re right. I’m glad I talked to you. I was working myself into a right panic.’

  ‘We’re all the same.’ They chatted for nearly an hour and Lindsay felt better as she climbed into bed, tired but less emotional.

  She woke early and decided to have a lazy morning. She went for a quick walk with Charlie. It was a freezing, grey December morning and the sky was low and threatening. Lindsay stopped at her local mini-market and bought some croissants and fresh OJ.

  Debbie phoned at nine-thirty and called around for breakfast. Their conversation was a rerun of the one she’d had with Tara, although Debbie was more forceful.

  ‘You’re an eejit. He’d hardly have offered to cook you dinner at his place unless he really liked you. Men don’t do that.’

  ‘I guess so. Well, let’s wait and see and meanwhile I’m not staying in waiting for the phone to ring. I’ll be working tonight but how about a drink tomorrow night?’

  ‘Sure, then we can assess Tara’s date, rehash yours and get all the gossip from the show. Perfect. Shame I haven’t got a bit of juicy stuff myself.’

  Lindsay laughed. Debbie was always so positive and she loved her for it. They spent a relaxing two hours catching up before Lindsay had to jump into the shower and get ready for work.

  On her way out the door she switched on her mobile. She had a text.

  REALLY ENJOYD LAST NITE. SORRY IF I WAS A BIT QUIET. MALE INSECURITIES! DINNER WED?

  Lindsay laughed. She knew it was OK.

  When she hit the studio, it was organized chaos. The first band had lost their drum kit so they couldn’t rehearse. David the researcher was tearing his hair out trying to locate it and chase up the boy band who were stuck in a record store downtown in the midst of thousands of hysterical fans. Lindsay offered to help and made her way to the office. All was calm. ‘Don’t worry,’ Alice told her when she mentioned the drum kit. ‘This happens every week, or at least something similar. No matter how much you plan everything down to the last detail, something always goes wrong. And it always seems to work out in the end. So, save your energy for a real crisis.’

  ‘Good advice, thanks. Is everyone in?’

  ‘Yeah, at least those who need to be. Alan won’t come in until about four and Tom doesn’t appear until the full dress rehearsal at seven.’

  ‘OK, I’m going over to studio again, to sit in the box.’ The production control room, or the ‘box’, was a glass-panelled room located above the studio, suspended, as it were, in mid air. It was the nerve centre for all operations for the live show. Lindsay had loved it from the moment she’d walked into the control room in the Training Centre. It had an electrifying atmosphere.

  Everything happened there.
Ultimately, whoever was directing controlled the live show – cameras, sound, lighting – phone calls, reaction, competitions – decisions were all made here first. Geoff, the director today, was brilliant but mad and he survived by abusing everyone. Assholes and idiots featured bigtime in his life. He was still suffering the fall out from the lost drum kit. Rehearsals were now running half an hour late and this was bad news as it all came off at the other end. Ultimately, at nine o’clock they were live on air, whether they had finished rehearsals or not. This put extra pressure on the entire crew. Today, through no fault of the production team, they had got off to a bad start and Geoff knew from experience that they wouldn’t recover. Everyone was on their toes, knowing they couldn’t afford another mistake. Lindsay sat, fascinated, remembering why she’d been attracted to this job in the first place.

  At five-thirty they broke for tea and the production team assembled in the office for a quick meeting with Alan Morland.

  ‘All OK?’

  ‘So far so good,’ Geoff murmured and everyone else nodded. ‘If it wasn’t for those imbeciles who forgot that they needed a drum kit to rehearse, we’d be right on target.’

  ‘Our Page Three model missed her flight but I’ve got her on to the next available one, which should get her into Dublin at seven.’ Alice looked a bit uncomfortable. ‘I’ll have a car waiting at the airport so she’ll be OK, but I gather she’ll need some pampering. Seemingly, she was besieged at Heathrow by photographers so she’s not in the best form, so my time will be completely taken up with getting her to perform. I need someone to look after my band, anyone except David, who has two on his hands already,’ she grinned at her colleague, knowing he’d had a tough afternoon. Nobody offered.