by Annie Lyons
Emma shrugs. He’s trying too hard again. ‘I might go out, see if Ella’s around, maybe go to the cinema.’
‘Em, are you still cross with me?’
She shrugs again. Martin perches on the end of the bed. ‘Look, Em, I’m trying my hardest, OK. I’ve said sorry, cleaned the house, made you breakfast, what more do you want?’
It’s a reasonable question but Emma isn’t feeling reasonable today. ‘I want you to think before you act and not afterwards.’
He looks at the ceiling and sighs. ‘OK, OK. Just give me a break sometimes will you? I’m doing my best.’
‘Well, it’s obviously not good enough.’
‘Obviously not,’ he says getting dressed. She can tell he’s angry now. He takes his wallet and keys and kisses her on the cheek. She doesn’t respond. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he says disappearing down the stairs.
She waits for him to slam the door but he doesn’t and that irritates her too. Typical Martin; so bloody reasonable all the time, he even exits an argument in a rational, considered way. She picks up the newspaper and flicks to the book pages and there, staring out at her with his intense gaze is Richard Bennett. She skims the article, which is by a female journalist who obviously fell for Richard on sight. She reports how well he writes about women and asks about his inspiration. In his answer Richard confesses to being a terrible flirt and much happier in the company of women. He says that he has known many strong and impressive women and is lucky that his latest editor is such a person and that he has drawn great strength and inspiration from knowing her. Emma almost drops the paper in shock and feels herself redden at the compliment. She tells herself that it doesn’t mean anything. A lot of authors are inspired by the editors they work with – it’s part of the creative process. And yet she feels as if Richard is sending her a message somehow. She picks up her phone and scrolls down until she finds his number. She looks around the room as if searching for the answer as to what she should do. She tells herself that she’s merely calling to congratulate him on the article and presses dial.
He answers after one ring. ‘Emma Darcy.’ His voice is warm and welcoming like an embrace.
‘I just wanted to say that I thought the article was great.’
‘Thank you.’ His voice is expectant.
‘And to apologise again for Martin. I felt bad that our lunch ended that way.’
‘Well, I admire your fiancé for staking his claim.’ Emma detects a note of irony.
‘Yes well, he has been severely scolded.’
‘Lucky man. And where is he at the moment? I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re making this call or is he about to come onto the phone and give me what for.’
There is a playfulness to his voice, which Emma knows should be sounding alarm bells in her brain. He is clearly enjoying the illicit nature of their conversation.
‘Actually, he’s out for the day.’ As soon as the words are out of her mouth she knows she’s in trouble. With one sentence she has made herself sound available and suggestive all at once.
‘I see.’ He is toying with her, she knows this but her heart is beating fast and there’s another emotion. Is it longing or excitement? She is on the brink of ending their chat when he says. ‘Well, I’ve got this lunchtime thing to go to at a pub in north London if you fancy it? A friend of mine is doing a poetry reading and I’ve promised to go. To be honest, I’m dreading it but it would be altogether more palatable if you were to join me.’
And there it is. The beginning of the end or is it the beginning of the beginning? Emma isn’t sure. This isn’t an author meeting, it isn’t a discussion about plots or publication plans. There are no excuses this time. Richard Bennett is asking her out on a date.
She pauses for a moment, her mind racing. She is about to decline the offer when she remembers Martin and his trip with Charlie. It is a combination of still-simmering anger with her fiancé and a longing for a small adventure that leads her to say, ‘I’d love to.’ After they have finished the call, Emma runs herself a shower and lays out some clothes, trying to ignore the fact that she is taking more time than usual over her outfit.
The flat seems too quiet somehow so she switches on the radio and tunes in to Desert Island Discs. By the time she is ready to leave she has convinced herself that this isn’t a date at all – it’s just two friends, work colleagues really, meeting in a public place for lunch. Yes, that’s it – just friends and nothing more. She leaves the house quickly, shutting the door firmly behind her and marching down the road to the station before she can change her mind.
‘Mummy, what happens if the pilot gets sick?’ demands Lily so loudly that people ten rows in front turn, some of them looking with interest at Rachel, waiting for the answer. Rachel looks behind her at Steve, who is sitting with the boys. Alfie is asleep and Will is playing his Nintendo. Steve looks up from his newspaper and gives her a thumbs-up. She sticks out her tongue in reply.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘What about the pilot?’
‘Oh yes, the pilot. Don’t worry, if the pilot gets sick, there’s a co-pilot to take over.’
‘Right. But what about if he gets sick?’
‘Well, that never happens.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because it has never happened, so it never will happen.’
‘But you can’t say that. They said that Maisy’s grandad wouldn’t die, but he did. Why do adults lie all the time?’
‘It’s not lying, Lily. People don’t always know what’s going to happen.’
‘See? There you go. You don’t know what’s going to happen so you can’t say that. The pilots might both get ill and then there would be no one to fly the plane and then we would crash.’ Lily delivers this final word with a loud clap of her hands. Rachel can see several people looking more than a little worried now. One of them alerts a stewardess and starts to point in Rachel’s direction. The stewardess stalks towards them, and Rachel is horrified to see that it’s the same woman who they met at the departure gate on the way out.
‘Madam?’ says the woman, baring her teeth in a thin white smile.
‘Yes?’ says Rachel trying to maintain an air of innocence.
‘Madam, we’ve had a complaint from another passenger about the content and volume of your daughter’s conversation.’
‘Oh right,’ says Rachel starting to feel her primal maternal urges kick in. ‘What seems to be the problem?’
‘Well, some passengers are rather nervous of flying and therefore, using words like “crash” might cause them to panic.’
‘You mean to say that people are being intimidated by the fanciful talk of a four-year-old?’ says Rachel.
‘I didn’t mean to cause offence, madam,’ says the woman with emphasis on the word, “madam”. ‘We just need to cater to the needs of all our customers.’
‘I see, well I’m sorry for the over-sensitivity of another passenger. I will tell my daughter that she needs to be seen and not heard in future.’ Rachel realises that this is the point in an argument when she would usually storm off but that being in a large metal tube prevents her from doing this. Luckily, the stewardess is called to the front for the safety announcement but not before she gives Rachel a final, disapproving look.
As she walks away, Lily remarks, ‘Is that the orange lady we saw on the way out? Why is she so cross?’
‘I have no idea, darling,’ says Rachel kissing her daughter on the head.
‘Excuse me,’ says a jovial looking Scottish lady from the row in front. ‘Just wanted to say good for you, lassie. These air hostesses are so up their own ends these days! Hope you don’t mind me asking but would your little girl like one of these?’ She holds up a box of shortbread. ‘I’ve been staying with my daughter and she sent me home with some. Much better than that shop-bought crap! Oops, pardon my French!’ Lily giggles at the woman and accepts a biscuit.
‘Thank you,’ says Rachel, gratef
ul for the support.
‘So have you been staying in Edinburgh then?’
‘Yes, yes, actually we’re thinking of moving up here.’
‘Oh yes? Good for you. Best city in the world, Edinburgh. I’ve been visiting my daughter. I used to live here but moved to London for my husband’s job. Biggest mistake I ever made. Now I have to spend my whole time going back to visit my family. I’m going to try to move back myself soon. Do you want to move?’
Rachel looks at Lily who is now bossing her Barbie™ collection into some order and considers the question. She takes a deep breath.
Emma has had a wholly enjoyable day. She met Richard at the pub as planned and was initially thrown off guard when it turned out that he was meeting some of his own friends there. However, they were a friendly and lively bunch; intelligent and funny and they took Emma to their companionable bosoms straightaway. One of the girls, Daisy, took an instant liking to Emma, sharing her bottle of wine and quizzing her about her publishing life.
‘It’s so lovely to meet you. Richard has told me a lot about you. It’s a shame you’re getting married as I reckon you’d be perfect for each other. You’re much nicer than that bitch, Stella,’ she declared, knocking glasses with Emma and taking a huge gulp of her wine.
Richard’s poet friend had actually been quite good and gave an enthusiastic reading, buoyed by Daisy’s wolf whistles and his other friend’s rowdy cheering. Emma liked them and found herself thinking how different this pub meeting was to the one with Stacey and Charlie the day before. Was it so wrong to prefer the company of people with similar minds and intelligence? Of course, that made her sound like a snob and she didn’t mean it. She just felt more at home here somehow. She didn’t talk to Richard much during the lunch but she did catch him looking over at her every now and then. At one stage he raised his glass to her and she smiled in response. When Daisy disappeared to the toilet, he plonked himself in her vacated seat and smiled.
‘Having a good time?’
‘Lovely. I like your friends.’
‘They’re a good bunch. Daisy’s very excitable but she looks out for me.’
‘She’s great.’
After lunch, they had gone for a stroll in a nearby park. Everyone was a little drunk and they laughed their way round, kicking up the fallen leaves and pushing each other like schoolchildren. Emma had glanced at her watch and seeing the time said, ‘I better go.’
Richard nodded. ‘I’ll walk you to the Tube.’
Daisy had given her a squeezing embrace goodbye and told her to, ‘Marry Richard if it all falls through with the other bloke.’ Emma had looked at Richard as she said this but he was saying goodbye to someone else.
It was starting to get dark and chilly as they reached the Tube entrance and as they stopped to say goodbye, Richard had reached out to pull Emma’s coat more snugly around her.
‘There,’ he said satisfied, his eyes shining with friendly amusement.
Emma looked up at him. ‘I had a wonderful time. Thank you for inviting me.’ She could feel his breath on her cheek and thought she knew what was coming. She was ready now. She tilted her head upwards and could see Richard studying her face. The kiss brushed lightly past her lips and landed on her cheek.
‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said, turning to leave. He glanced back at her. ‘I’m really glad you came.’
Emma felt as if she was in a trance as she made her way through the ticket barrier and down the escalators. She was trying to decipher her emotions as she made her way onto the platform. As the train pulled into the station, she realised that what she was feeling was a lurching disappointment that she wasn’t still standing outside the Tube station kissing Richard Bennett.
‘Well, good luck, dearie. It was lovely to meet you and really super to meet you too, Lily – don’t forget to keep telling people the truth, will you? They need that!’
‘I know, I won’t. Thanks, Edie!’ grins Lily and gives the old lady a kiss. Rachel enjoys a rare moment of unadulterated pride.
‘Right, got the bags. Let’s go!’ says Steve.
Once in the car, the three children are quiet and one by one they nod off. Rachel yawns and stretches out her legs. She reaches over and strokes the back of Steve’s head.
‘All right, gorgeous?’ he smiles.
‘Yes thanks, handsome.’
‘It was a good trip in the end, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes it was.’
‘And I was right about that house, wasn’t I?’
‘You were. It is gorgeous and I could really see us there.’
‘So?’
‘So –’
‘You still don’t want to, do you?’
‘I didn’t say that, Steve.’
‘But I can sense it. You’ve made up your mind, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, I’ve made up my mind.’
‘I knew it! I knew it! You’d made up your mind before we went. You were never going to change it!’
‘Now hang on a minute, matey, you haven’t asked me properly.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You haven’t actually asked me what I’ve decided.’
‘Do I need to?’
‘Well, I do have a problem actually.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yeah, I’m not sure how I’m going to tell Mum and Emma we’re going.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me, cowboy.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘I had my doubts but I was coming round and then I talked to that lady on the plane and she just made me realise what I had and what we need.’
Steve is beaming at her now. ‘That’s brilliant, Rach, really brilliant! God I love you.’
‘And I love you too, Mr Summers.’
Steve smiles over at Rachel. Her phone beeps with a text. She looks at it. It’s from Emma: ‘R u movng 2 Edinburgh or not?’
She switches off her phone and puts her arm around Steve.
Chapter 18
Emma steps into the lift and checks her reflection, willing away the dark shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept well last night. Coming home to Martin had brought her back down to earth with a guilty bump. He had been kind and attentive, too attentive in fact. As they had sex that night, she had tried but failed to stop herself from imagining it was Richard making love to her.
‘Morning, Emma!’ says Ella, sneaking in before the doors close.
‘Hi,’ says Emma, her voice flat.
‘Look, I –’ begins Ella.
‘Hold that lift!’
It’s the unmistakeable bark of Joel. Ella presses the buttons, panicked. Emma sees this as proof that something is going on between them and looks at the ceiling, shaking her head.
Joel darts into the lift without a word of thanks. ‘Ladies,’ he says by way of a greeting. Emma ignores him and presses the button for the fifteenth floor.
Joel coughs. ‘Actually I’m off to the twenty-first floor. The Yanks are in town and Phil Allen has asked to see me.’
‘He probably wants to deliver your P45 in person,’ says Emma.
Joel’s laugh is accompanied by a wrinkle-faced sneer and a shake of the head. ‘I don’t think so. He’s probably heard about some of my more cutting-edge marketing techniques and wants to sound me out.’
They have reached the fifteenth floor and Joel steps aside for them with a little bow.
‘Emma?’
‘What?’
‘If he asks me if I know an editor with a penchant for profit-leaking books, I’ll be sure to give him your name.’ The doors close and Emma and Ella are left side by side.
‘That man!’
‘I know.’
‘I just want to –’
‘I know.’
Emma looks at her friend and sees desperation in her eyes.
Ella takes a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit distant lately. I’ve just had a lot going on. Can we go for a coffee later? I’ll explain everything.’
Emma sees how much her friend needs her and realises that she could do with a friend too. ‘Of course.’
Ella smiles gratefully.
They walk into the offices and are greeted by the bustling, coffee-laden form of Joy, the formidable office manager, who is the font of all knowledge at Allen Chandler. ‘Morning girls!’
‘Hi, Joy. How are things?’ says Emma.
‘Oh you know, bearing up under the strain. I suppose you’ve heard the news?’
‘What news?’
‘There’s a big powwow going on upstairs. Company meeting at ten.’
‘Really? What’s that about?’
Joy approaches them, looking around her, as if checking for spies. ‘I reckon it’s a bit of a management shake-up,’ she whispers.
‘Oh shit!’ says Emma.
‘What?’ asks Ella.
‘Bloody Joel’s on his way up there. Why can’t they see what a slippery customer he is?’
‘Because he’s good at covering his tracks?’
‘Everyone knows that Philippa’s been doing his job for years. It’s a travesty!’
‘Don’t you worry, Emma,’ says Joy, taking on the tone of a wise oracle. ‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this place, it’s that every dog will have his day.’
‘Well, he’s bloody overdue his day,’ says Emma.
‘Don’t let the buggers get you down,’ says Joy with a wink.
Ella and Emma reach their desks and Emma switches on her computer, firing up her e-mails, not expecting anything major on a Monday. The first thing she sees is an e-mail from Richard. Her heart quickens and she notices that it was sent either very late last night or very early this morning depending on how you view your day. The subject is blank but as Emma clicks to the message she can see that this is no one sentence message. She scans the words, hungry for information and her eyes come to rest on the last sentence: ‘You are the most incredible woman I have ever met.’
‘Good morning, Emma; Ella,’ says Miranda.
Emma jumps and clicks shut the e-mail as if she’s been stung. ‘Good morning,’ she says, turning to face her and immediately noticing how weary she is looking. ‘Is everything all right?’
Miranda inhales deeply. ‘There are some days, my dear girl, when you know you are going to need a large gin and tonic by 11 a.m. and this is one of those days.’
