by Hilary Boyd
‘We can’t leave the gorgeous Joanna alone on a night like this,’ he said, in an awkward attempt at gallantry. Craig, a hugely successful accountant, was a decent man, a wonderful husband to the flighty Ruthie, but he had virtually no conversation skills. Jo had dreaded being put next to him at dinner parties in the past. She didn’t know the right questions to ask about accountancy, and he never asked about her life. They usually ended up in the safe zone of The Government.
Tonight his bald head was shining with exertion as he pressed his plump belly, tightly swathed in a vintage maroon cummerbund, against Jo, his feet – surprisingly neat in patent leather lace-up evening shoes – guiding her about the floor in the semblance of a waltz. He was about four inches shorter than Jo in her heels, but this didn’t seem to bother him.
‘Fabulous party,’ she shouted.
Craig beamed and nodded.
‘We miss you, in the street,’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
‘We miss you. In the street,’ she repeated, closer to his ear.
He beamed and nodded again.
Jo gave up, deciding just to enjoy the dance. Donna and Lawrence had gone back to the table and were deep in conversation, their heads pressed closely together, presumably in order to hear the other’s words. Jo wondered what Donna was saying to her husband. She could be quite brutal when she chose.
A couple of songs later, Craig carefully escorted her back to the table. Donna and Lawrence stopped talking as soon as she sat down, both their expressions tense and preoccupied. It obviously hadn’t been party chit-chat.
‘Hi . . . good dance?’ Donna asked.
‘Great. You?’
‘Can’t go wrong with the old favourites.’
She saw Lawrence gazing at her and looked away.
Geoff, one of the other guests at the table, asked Donna to dance, and Jo was left alone with her husband. He moved over into Donna’s seat so that he was next to her. For a while they just sat there, as they had on so many other similar occasions in the past, facing the dance floor, watching the couples, tapping the rhythm out on the white table cloth.
‘Jo . . .’ He leaned closer. ‘Listen, I know you’ve been avoiding me since Christmas Day, and I understand why. I was totally out of order hitting on you like that. I’d had too much to drink – you said so yourself – and . . . well, it just happened. But let’s not fall out about it. It’s stupid us not being able to talk to each other.’
‘You just don’t get it, do you Lawrence?’
He was staring at her intently. ‘Get what?’
‘That kiss . . . like you owned me. Pick me up, put me down, whatever turns you on . . .’
‘That’s really not fair.’ His eyes were wide with indignation. ‘It wasn’t even remotely like that—’
‘Your boyfriend’s away in Russia – and anyway, things are a bit tricky at the moment – so you think you’ll just pop round and get your leg over the ex?’
‘Jo, come on. That’s ridiculous. You know I’d never behave like that in a million years.’
‘I have absolutely no idea how you’ll behave, Lawrence. Not anymore.’
Rebuked, he dropped his gaze. When he raised his head again, his eyes were imploring.
‘Please . . . please, Jo. You know I respect you more than anyone else on earth. I’d never intentionally take advantage of you, make you feel used. Never.’
Jo suddenly felt very tired. ‘Respect’? Wasn’t that the word people used to distance themselves? She didn’t want to be respected by Lawrence as if she were some aged aunt or senior work colleague. She wanted to be loved. She seemed to be losing the thread, her head spinning with that last glass of white she’d drunk.
‘God, I hate this. I hate it so much.’ She swallowed back tears, turning her head away, reaching for the jug of water in the centre of the table and pouring herself a glass. She didn’t want him to feel sorry for her.
‘I hate it too.’ His voice was soft and low, but she still heard him above the strains of another Stevie Wonder song.
They stared at each other, and Jo saw the anguish in her husband’s eye.
‘Why?’ she whispered, feeling the tears gathering despite herself.
For an answer, Lawrence placed his hand gently over hers.
‘God, way too much exercise.’ Donna breezed back from the dance floor, flopping one arm across both Jo’s and Lawrence’s shoulders, dipping her head to their level. ‘What’s going on here?’ She giggled drunkenly, turning from one to the other, her eyebrows raised.
Jo pulled back as Lawrence shifted quickly over to his own chair so that Donna could sit down.
‘Tell me,’ Donna plumped down between them, letting out a sigh of relief, checking each of their faces in turn. ‘Go on. What have I missed?’
‘A heated debate about climate change?’ Lawrence said, straight-faced.
Donna looked at him in disbelief. ‘Ha, ha.’
The music had slid into a slower tempo as the evening began to wind down. Jo was suddenly aware of the opening bars of Roberta Flack’s ‘Killing Me Softly’. This was their song, hers and Lawrence’s. The first time she’d heard it was the very first time they kissed, at a drunken birthday bash for his university mate, Jono Lacy, held in his father’s grand Mayfair flat. Lawrence told her later that he thought she’d be impressed he knew such people, although in fact she didn’t give a fig about Jono, his father’s money or anyone else there. Even though she and Lawrence had only met up once before for a hasty coffee before she caught a train to see her mother, she had already decided she was in love with him. And Roberta had seemed to confirm this. For a moment she was lost in the long-distant past.
Now Lawrence heard it too and raised his eyebrows at her. She didn’t reply, but he got up and came round to where she was sitting, holding out his hand.
Jo only hesitated for a moment. Then she too got to her feet and walked in front of him towards the floor. They danced. And it felt so good, to be in his arms again. He held her close, as if he were relishing it as much as she. Neither of them said a word. And when the song ended they quickly pulled apart and went back to the table, almost sheepish that they had allowed such intimacy to happen.
Donna was chatting to Geoff’s wife, Hannah, but Jo, shaken by the yearning the dance had evoked, interrupted them.
‘I think I’m going to make a move,’ she said. She was aware of Lawrence hovering, but she was desperate not to get into a situation where they left alone together again. ‘You coming?’ she asked her friend, carefully not looking his way.
Donna groaned. ‘God, yes. Take me home, darling. If I don’t go soon, you’ll have to carry me.’
The three of them said their goodbyes, collected their coats and made their way into the freezing night. Once on the pavement, Lawrence turned to Jo, rubbing his hands together in the chilly air.
‘Shall I find you a taxi?’
‘Thanks, we’ll be fine.’
‘Sure? I’m just the other side of Senate House, so I’ll walk.’
He kissed Donna goodbye on both cheeks, but Jo made a pretence of fumbling in her bag when he turned to her.
‘Night, then,’ he said, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat.
‘Bye.’
Jo watched him stride off into the night.
Donna slumped in the back of the taxi, eyes shut, head lolling on the seat. Jo thought she’d passed out, until she heard her friend murmur, ‘All is not well with the Russian.’
Chapter 18
15 February 2014
‘We’ve had an offer.’ Tina sounded cautious on the phone.
‘OK . . .’ Jo sighed inwardly. She was tired and hungover from Ruthie’s party and didn’t feel like having to deal with anything serious this morning.
‘I’m afraid it’s a bit cheeky. Twenty thousand below the asking price, so I’d advise you to reject it.’
‘Who is it?’ Jo asked, although she was certain she knew. The two men – Derek, forty-
ish and immaculately dressed in a charcoal designer suit, buttoned black polo shirt and chunky steel wristwatch, and Gary, slightly older, plump, kitted out from head to toe in Hackett – had been round three times in the previous week, and spent hours muttering to each other at various points in the house.
Tina confirmed her suspicions.
‘You think they’ll come up?’
‘Almost certainly. They’re just testing the waters. They want the place, and they definitely have the money.’
‘How do you know?’ They looked well-off, but Jo had long been aware that you could never tell a book by its cover.
‘They’ve just sold a penthouse in Sussex Gardens. Must have gone for at least three mill., conservative estimate.’
‘And they’re downsizing to Shepherd’s Bush?’
‘Gary’s mother lives in Brook Green apparently. Plus they’ve got their eye on a weekend place in Somerset. Anyway, I think we can assume they’re good for at least another ten on your place. Perhaps even the whole twenty. I’ve already told them you’re not in a hurry to sell.’
‘Well, do your best, Tina.’
The agent was silent for a moment.
‘Derek implied he’d want to complete as quickly as possible if it all goes ahead. How do you feel about that, Mrs Meadows?’
‘What does “as quickly as possible” mean, exactly?’
‘Well, depending on their solicitors . . . they’re cash buyers . . . it could be as soon as a month, six weeks?’
‘Wow.’ Jo felt her pulse begin to race.
‘How would that fit in with your plans?’
‘I haven’t found anywhere yet. But I can rent until I do.’
‘I could push them up to two months, if that’d help. But we don’t want to lose a good sale.’
As she put the phone down, Jo took a long breath, trying to stem the panic. She should be focusing on a place to live, but all she could think about was what Donna had told her about Lawrence and Arkadius. Her friend had perked up by the time the taxi dropped them at home after the party and they’d settled on Donna’s sofa with a much-needed cup of mint tea.
‘He said Arkadius had given him an ultimatum,’ Donna told her. ‘If he’s not prepared to properly commit and move in, then it’s hasta la vista.’
‘Arkadius would actually be prepared to split up over it?’
Donna had nodded. ‘Sounds like it. He’s taken it badly . . . maybe invested a whole lot more in the relationship than Lawrence realized. Won’t hardly speak to him at the moment, apparently. And if he does, it’s just one long row.’
‘So what did Lawrence feel about that?’
‘Obviously he hates being blackmailed.’ Donna had paused to sip her tea. ‘From what he said, I gather it’s making him really reassess their relationship.’
‘But he’s still in love with him.’
‘He didn’t say one way or another. I assume he still has feelings for Arkadius, or the decision would be easy, wouldn’t it?’
‘So what’s he going to do?’
Her friend had shrugged. ‘He didn’t seem to know.’
Now, Jo sat at her desk and wondered. What had Lawrence meant when he’d said ‘I hate this too’, when he’d put his hand over hers, when he’d asked her to dance with him? Just that he was sorry? It had felt like more than that.
She shook herself. It was stupid to even think like that, she knew, especially as she couldn’t envisage them being together again in any real-life way. What had happened last night was just nostalgia, nothing more. Remembering what it had been like to love each other.
*
‘We’ve got a buyer.’
Lawrence took a moment to reply. ‘Really? Oh . . .’
‘And at the asking price. Isn’t that great news? I’ll be sending over stuff for you to sign in the next week or so, when I get the contracts from Mark. I’ll answer all the questions myself and give them the info they need, so you’ll just need to countersign and send it back to him.’
‘OK . . . well, thanks for doing all that, Jo.’
He didn’t sound as happy as she’d thought he might, as she filled him in about the details, told him about Derek and Gary.
‘Well, I’m glad they like the house so much. When’s completion?’
‘Six weeks, if it all goes according to plan and the searches don’t throw up anything dodgy.’
‘Six weeks? That’s quick. So have you got something lined up?’
‘Nope. I’m going to rent. I can’t get my head around buying anywhere yet.’
Her tone, she knew, was unnecessarily brusque. But they hadn’t talked since the party five days ago and Jo found herself unwilling to give Lawrence the impression that she’d taken the events of that night at more than face value. She didn’t want him to think she still cared.
‘You must be thrilled,’ she added tartly, when he didn’t reply.
‘Yes . . . yes, I suppose I feel relieved, on the money side . . . but the thought of the house no longer being there—’
‘The house isn’t going anywhere, Lawrence.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Donna’s delighted it’s not a thin blonde with a four by four.’
Lawrence gave a short laugh. ‘Yes, I suppose she’s been dreading you leaving as much as you have.’ He paused. ‘You’ll miss not having her next door.’
I’ll miss more than that, she thought, but held her tongue. There was no point in being angry with him any longer.
‘I’ll come and help pack, obviously,’ he was saying. ‘Just let me know when.’
‘There’s lots we’ll need to get rid of, so I think we should go through the house as soon as possible, and decide what’s going where. There’s a local housing association that collects furniture and household stuff. We can tag it, then I can arrange for them to take it all away before the removal men come.’
‘God . . . it’s going to be quite a number. The accumulation of thirty-odd years . . .’
There was silence.
‘Anyway, I’d better get on,’ she said.
*
‘Muuum . . . I can’t believe it,’ Cassie wailed down the phone. ‘It’s actually sold? Our lovely house?’
‘You knew it was on the cards.’
‘Yeah, but it was still ours. I don’t think I really believed someone else would ever actually live there.’
Jo wasn’t really in the mood to indulge her daughter’s angst.
‘Anyway, we’ve got to get on with sorting stuff out. I’ve only got six weeks. Any chance you could come up for a couple of days and help out? I’ve no idea what you want to keep from your room.’
‘Sure. Of course I’ll help. When shall I come?’
‘The sooner the better. Dad and I are going through the house at the weekend.’
‘OK, I’ll talk to Matt.’
‘How are things with you?’
‘Yeah, good, actually. Really good.’ Cassie paused. ‘Listen Mum, you’ve got to nail somewhere to live. What’ll you do if you can’t find anything?’
‘I’m looking.’ Jo wished everyone wouldn’t sound so worried about her. Nicky had been similarly anxious when she said she hadn’t found a flat yet. But you could only look for rentals six weeks before you wanted one apparently. And she wasn’t worried. She felt almost carefree about it. The burden of clinching the sale, dealing with all the service companies, getting rid of decades of mess, packing up the house – which meant spending a lot of time with Lawrence – organizing removals men and storage, was so stressful that she’d virtually stopped sleeping altogether. What happened afterwards she was sure would feel like freedom. A nice, clean, anonymous flat, with no responsibilities for the roof, the boiler, random leaks, the garden? It sounded like heaven.
‘Let me help. We could do a blitz, check out Rightmove and Primelocation and then spend the day seeing a load of flats. It’d be fun. And one of them’s bound to be OK for a few months until you buy a proper place.’
‘Thanks, darling. I’ll see how it goes. Donna’s said I can stay with her for as long as I want if I can’t find somewhere. Please, don’t worry about me.’
‘I am worried, and so is Nicks. He says you seem almost blasé about the whole thing.’
Jo laughed. ‘You’d rather I was sobbing into my coffee?’
‘No . . . it’s just you do need a place to live, Mum.’
‘Yes, darling. I get it. I’m not an idiot. I appreciate your concern, but honestly, I’ve got it under control.’
‘OK . . . I’ll call you later about when I can come up. Love you.’
Jo said goodbye and went back to her lists.
*
‘So . . . where shall we start?’ Lawrence looked positively enthusiastic about the day ahead. And Jo was grateful for his presence. She’d been going quietly insane the last couple of days. Every room she went into, every cupboard and drawer she opened, she saw the piles of possessions as a threat of vast, tsunami-like proportions.
‘Coffee first?’ she suggested.
They sat at the table to drink it.
‘So, D-Day then.’‘
‘Yup.’ Jo’s response was abrupt, her thoughts too distracted to focus on anything.
‘Are the children coming to help?’
Jo nodded. ‘But not till next week. So if we can get the bulk of it done today and tomorrow, then they can do their rooms, I’ll get everything collected, then it’s just packing the rest, you taking yours, me taking mine or putting it in storage, them taking what they want . . .’ she stopped her manic listing, blowing her cheeks out in a long sigh.
‘You look exhausted,’ he said, eyeing her with concern.
‘I feel it.
‘It’ll be better once we make a start.’
‘You reckon? You’ve forgotten how much rubbish there is. I walk into a room and think, Oh, nothing much here, then I open a wardrobe or look in a drawer . . . it’s massive, Lawrence.’
He laughed. ‘Well, we can only do what we can do. In the end it’s only stuff, and if it goes to the wrong place, or gets chucked when it shouldn’t, it won’t be the end of the world.’
‘No . . . no, I suppose not. You’re right, it is only stuff.’
