Ed shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Sal frowned. “Of course it does. Tell me.”
Ed blinked. “Several of my clients bought shares in your company, a day before it announced that the trial for the new nicotine patches had been a success. They put two and two together and
“They think I passed you confidential information?” Sal gasped.
“They think you may have inadvertently told me. That’s not the crime. The crime is acting on it.”
“But I wasn’t even involved in that trial. I had no idea. …”
Ed shrugged. “They don’t know that.”
“So I’ll tell them. Ed, I couldn’t have known anything about that trial. I don’t get passed records until the product packaging is being developed. Why didn’t you get them to talk to me?”
Ed couldn’t meet her eyes. “I didn’t want you to be involved. I wanted to protect you. That’s why they’re going through all my records.”
Sal took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked in a small voice. “Why didn’t you tell me this at the beginning?”
Ed bit his lip. “I was afraid you might lose your job, too. Afraid you might be angry. And then, when they didn’t clear me right off, I couldn’t tell you. I… I was afraid of losing you, Sal, and I thought that if I could just deal with it, it would go away.”
“Losing me?” Sal asked incredulously. “But I love you.”
“You love me because of who I am, Sal,” Ed said with a sigh. “I’m successful, I got you the house you always wanted, the stability. I’ve only ever wanted to give you what you wanted. And I thought if things went wrong, that we … that you …”
“That I’d leave you?” Sal asked, her hackles rising. “Because you lost your job? How dare you, Ed. How dare you think that of me!”
“You always said that it was on your ‘to do’ list. To marry a financier,” Ed said in a strangled voice.
“I married the man I loved,” Sal said, putting her arms around Ed’s neck and burying her head in his shoulder, knowing that she was speaking the truth, that she loved Ed more deeply than she’d ever realized. “The man I adore. And the man I will continue to love whatever happens. Oh, God, Ed, I wish you’d told me. You don’t know what I’ve been going through. I thought you’d fallen in love with someone else. I thought…”
“Never,” Ed said, clutching Sal to him. “God, Sal, it’s only ever been you. You’re my everything. If it wasn’t for you, I don’t know how I’d have got through this.”
“Then trust me, Ed,” Sal said, clutching him back. “We’re meant to be a team, me and you. We’re going to be parents, for God’s sake. You have to involve me in things. And I want you to put those investigators in touch with me. I’ll prove you didn’t know anything. I promise.”
Ed nodded, then he pulled away a little and looked at Sal archly.
“Okay” he said, “so if I’m meant to trust you, what’s all this about kissing some bloke?”
Sal bit her lip. “He kissed me” she said weakly. “For a second …”
“I’ll have him,” Ed said. “Tell me who he is and I’ll punch him.”
Sal looked at him, worried, but his eyes were twinkling. “No, Ed, this is serious,” she said crossly. “I kissed another man and it was wrong. Really wrong.”
“And it doesn’t matter,” Ed said, smoothing her hair.
“It doesn’t? But… you should hate me.”
Ed grinned. “I could never hate you, Sal. I love you more than life itself.”
Sal grabbed hold of Ed and buried her head in his neck. “I love you so much, too,” she whispered, passionately, clinging to him as if for dear life. “And I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us. … I started to think that our marriage was unromantic and practical and meaningless….”
“Then the kiss was my fault,” Ed said. “And I’m sorry. I’m going to take you out and spoil you and listen to you—whatever you want. Fuck me, Sal, I’m going to be a dad.”
Sal raised her eyebrow. “Not in front of Junior,” she said sternly, then looked at him closely, a little smile playing across her lips. “Actually, you could, if you wanted,” she said, her eyes glinting mischievously.
“Could what?” Ed asked, frowning. She leered at him, and slowly a glimmer of recognition appeared on his face. “Are you serious? We can do that? With the … with Junior inside you?”
Sal nodded and wrapped her legs around him. “You betcha,” she said, grinning. “Apparently pregnant women get very horny. So you need to get in training.”
“So you’ve gone off the idea of being a single mother, I take it?” Ed asked, a playful grin on his face.
“For the time being,” Sal said, “but don’t think you can rest on your laurels.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ed said, picking her up and carrying her upstairs.
Lucy stood in the doorway, looking at Tom awkwardly.
“What?” he asked with a sigh. “What’s happened?”
Lucy slowly came in.
“She’s … Well, Mrs. Sandler’s just passed away, that’s all. I… I thought you’d want to know.”
Tom looked at her, his eyes searching hers for something that she couldn’t give him, and then he nodded curtly.
“Thanks,” he said.
“That’s it?” Lucy asked.
Tom raised his eyebrows. “Is there more?”
Lucy shook her head and started to walk away. Then she came back, and walked right up to Tom’s desk. She put her hand on his shoulder and frowned. “It’s alright to be upset, you know. No one will think any less of you.”
Tom stared down at his desk. “I’m a doctor. If I got upset about every patient who died I wouldn’t be able to do my job properly.”
“You liked her, didn’t you?”
“She was my patient,” Tom said. “And I let her down. That’s all.”
Lucy nodded. “The thing is, Tom,” she said quietly, “people die. That’s just what happens here. But she died comfortably, with her family. And all she kept going on about was how wonderful you were, how you’d made her feel like a person, not a patient. How you’d brought her hope. So, you see, you didn’t let anyone down.”
“I let myself think of her as a person,” Tom said. “I let my guard down and put her ahead of my clinical advice. …”
Lucy frowned. “She is a person. Was a person, I mean.”
Tom looked up at the ceiling and breathed deeply. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Everyone leaves eventually, anyway.”
Lucy gave him a questioning look. “What do you mean?”
Tom sighed. “I mean that people form attachments to other people and always end up disappointed when the other leaves, or dies, or falls in love with someone else, but that’s just life, isn’t it?”
Lucy frowned. “You think life is just full of disappointments? Well, you’re wrong.”
Tom shook his head. “Lucy, for the past few nights you’ve been staying at mine to try and make your boyfriend jealous so he’ll finally ask you to marry him. If you don’t think that you’re setting yourself up for disappointment, then you’re more stupid than you look.”
Lucy stared at him. “Oh, am I?” she said huffily “Well then, you might be surprised to learn that I don’t have a boyfriend anymore.”
Tom grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t realize. But you see? I’m right.”
“I’ve got a fiancé,” Lucy continued. “Who, incidentally, doesn’t know that I was sleeping in the spare room. So don’t tell him. You know, if you ever meet him.”
“He thinks … ?”
“That we had sex? Yes, he does. I told him you were rubbish,” Lucy said matter-of-factly
Tom stared, slightly bemused. Then he broke out in a grin. “Right. Good. Fair judgment, I would say. So, we didn’t? Ever, I mean? It’s just that when I woke up and you were there in my bed, the night I called you …
Lucy laughed. “In your state? Please. It was all I co
uld do to get you into bed. Didn’t dare leave you in case you stopped breathing or something.”
Tom nodded. “Well, congratulations. And I hope you’re right— about things working out, I mean.”
“Of course they will. Connor just needed to realize how good we were together. Men usually don’t know what they’ve got till it’s gone,” Lucy said. “It’s a well-known fact. Now he’s got me back, he won’t be leaving again. He knows what he wants now.”
“I see,” Tom said thoughtfully. “And you’re not worried what might happen in the future? Several years from now?”
Lucy rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I’m really worried,” she said sarcastically “‘Course I’m not. You can’t be worried about stuff in the future, otherwise you’d never do anything, would you? You’d just sit around not wanting to go out in case a car knocked you down or something. We love each other now, and that’s enough for me.”
“What if he stopped loving you, though?” Tom persisted. “What would you do?”
Lucy looked at him incredulously. “I’d punch his lights out,” she said. “I’d burn all his clothes, scratch his car, and make him pay.”
Tom drummed his fingers on his desk. “Maybe you’re right.”
“About me and Connor?” Lucy asked. “Of course I am. We’re made for each other, we are.”
“No,” Tom said. “About punching his lights out.” He stood up and looked at his watch. “Listen,” he said distractedly, “I might need to go somewhere. Can you … can you let people know I might be gone for a few hours?”
Lucy shook her head uncertainly. “Whatever,” she said. “If I were you, I’d take longer. I think you need a holiday. You’re falling apart, you know.”
Tom smiled. “Not falling apart, Lucy. For the first time in a very long time I think that maybe I might be able to pull myself together.”
Then he picked up his phone and dialed a number.
“Dad?” he said. “Listen, I need you to give me an address.”
29
Fight or Flight
There comes a time in almost every person’s life when they are faced with the choice of fight or flight. It could be that a love rival is threatening them; it could be parental disapproval of a potential marriage or other important decision; or it could be that something else they have their heart set on is eluding them.
Hopeless romantics, though, know no such choice. For whilst they understand difficulty and are no strangers to potential loss, they also do not give up. Hopeless romantics understand that giving up something that they believe in, means giving away a small part of their soul. Giving up on their desires makes them weak. Once we have given up one thing, it is so easy to give up more, until we have nothing left at all but memories of dreams and ambitions, all of them unfulfilled.
The suffragettes were true hopeless romantics, chaining themselves to railings rather than walk away quietly. All great heroines have also been hopeless romantics—whether they refused to give up on their husbands’ ability to change for the better, or refused to lose their men to a rival, pitting themselves against the interloper and not ceasing until the battle was won.
Whatever the battle, consider your strategy carefully. Grand gestures are generally best left to gentlemen, who have the stamina for more physical demonstration. But that does not mean that a lady cannot make her feelings known. Battles need not be won on the battlefield, or with guns and bombs. Battles can be won at cocktail parties, with a well-considered comment or a twinkling of the eye.
The hopeless romantic who suspects another woman of having eyes for her beau must find a way of showing her up that is generous of spirit and makes her rival look foolish without ever letting anyone guess that this was her aim (see below for some tips, gleaned from fellow hopeless romantics). The hopeless romantic also needs to understand well the art of persuasion, and if her beau, or parents, or some other influential party is determined to prevent her from following a particular dream, she must quickly determine how to bring them round to her view: Perhaps she will prove to them the benefits of her scheme, or maybe she will draw a sober picture of the terrible consequences of saying no. Whichever tack she chooses, her aim must be that the disagreeing party will not only change their mind but will think that the hopeless romantics scheme was their own idea in the first place.
Be brave, fellow romantics. Face your fear, and step into the breach. For if we care about something deeply and truly, we must not allow it to slip from our fingers without doing everything in our power to stop it.
Gabrielle Price opened the front door with a pout. Then she frowned. “Yes? Can I help you?”
Tom quickly shoved the book in his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it, except that it reminded him why he was here. And that made it less likely that he’d turn back. Even if it was an absolute crock of shit.
“I don’t know,” he said matter-of-factly “But I thought it was worth a shot. I’m Tom, by the way. Your son. The one you left twenty years ago. How are you, incidentally? You’re looking well. …”
Gabrielle stared. “Tom? Is that really you?”
Tom shrugged. “No, I’m an impostor,” he said. “Of course it’s me.”
“Right,” Gabrielle said, looking flustered. “Well, you’d better come in, then. You know, you could have called first. Turning up like this—well, it’s quite a surprise.”
“Like when you left,” Tom said. “That was quite a surprise, too.”
“I’ll… I’ll make some tea,” Gabrielle said. “Why don’t you sit down in the lounge, eh?”
Tom wandered into the sitting room, which was large and cluttered, full of evidence of family life—a large television, squishy sofas with mismatched cushions, DVDs all over the floor. It made him uncomfortable. This was another family’s room. Nothing to do with him.
He’d always thought of his mother as living in a pristine house, one where nothing was ever out of place. He’d convinced himself that was one of the reasons she’d left—because he was too messy, because he always left his plate on the side instead of putting it in the sink, no matter how much she shouted at him.
But that wasn’t why she left. Otherwise she wouldn’t be living here.
“Here you are,” Gabrielle said, bustling back in and handing Tom a cup of tea. “I… didn’t know if you took sugar or not.”
“It’s fine,” Tom said levelly, taking the mug from her—bone china, he noticed. “It doesn’t matter.” He took a sip of tea, then put it down. “You look different,” he said. “Blonder.”
Gabrielle shrugged. “Covers the gray better.”
Tom nodded. Then he sat back. “I just need to know why,” he said, forcing himself to look at her. “I need to know why you went. Why you never even said good-bye. Why there was no warning, no arguments, nothing …” He took a deep breath. “You see, I’m having a few problems of my own now. Finding it hard to believe that if I love someone, if I admit even to myself that I might love them, that they won’t leave me. It makes no sense, I know. I can see that. But you going didn’t make any sense either, and you did. …”
Gabrielle nodded. Then she stood up. “Mind if I smoke?” she asked, reaching for her cigarettes.
“Actually, yes,” Tom said. “You know they give you cancer?”
Gabrielle raised one eyebrow, and lit a cigarette anyway. She inhaled deeply; then she turned to look at Tom.
“The thing is,” she said thoughtfully, “that I just woke up one day and thought, this isn’t me. I mean, all of it—your father, you, that little terraced house. I thought he was different when I met him. He had money, took me to smart restaurants. But once we were married, all he wanted to talk about was school fees and savings. You were all he cared about, you and ‘the family’—not me, not holidays, or, you know … It wasn’t me, Tom. I wasn’t ready for it. And I just wanted to get out.”
“You just wanted to get out?” Tom asked.
Gabrielle nodded. “It wasn’t you” she said reassuring
ly. “I mean, not you personally. It was just the package. Being Mrs. Whitson. I realized it wasn’t what I wanted.”
“And that’s it?” Tom asked. “You just went because we weren’t what you wanted?”
Gabrielle frowned. “It wasn’t easy, you know. Didn’t know what I was going to do. But then I met Al at work, and suddenly I realized there was a way out.”
“Leaving your son and husband behind?”
“I said it wasn’t easy, didn’t I?” Gabrielle said. “Al thought a clean break was best. And you were better off with your dad. We both knew that.”
Tom stared at her. “You live with Al now?” he asked. “I mean, this house, the children—they’re his?”
Gabrielle nodded. “I’m Mrs. Price. And I quite like it now—you know, kids and everything. I just… well, I’m older, aren’t I? Eldest one’s going to be eighteen soon. Funny how quickly time passes, isn’t it?”
“Funny,” Tom agreed.
“You understand, don’t you?” Gabrielle said, stubbing out her cigarette. “I mean, you can see it from my point of view, can’t you?”
Tom smiled. “You know, actually I can,” he said, standing up. “And I want to thank you for being so honest. And now I think I’ll go, if that’s alright.”
Gabrielle looked at him, worried. “Already?” She sighed. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “But there’s no need to thank me. It’s nice to see you. You’re a good-looking chap, you know. Your father did well with you.”
Tom nodded. “He did do well,” he said, walking toward the door. Then he stopped.
“You know,” he said, “Dad always said that we were better off without you, that you were too tied up with yourself. And I never believed him. I was sure that your leaving was my fault in some way. That I’d ruined his marriage, our family. And I became absolutely convinced that love didn’t exist—or, if it did, it could disappear overnight…”
He paused, and took a deep breath.
“… but now—now I know that he was right. You were just selfish. Nothing more, nothing less. You still have no interest in me. Haven’t asked what I do, whether I’ve got any children. You don’t care, do you?”
The Hopeless Romantic's Handbook Page 22
