The Love of Her Life

by Harriet Evans

  Sue waved back. ‘No, darling. You did her job. Once. So get back to your desk and get on with it. You can do it.’ They were at the lifts. She kissed Kate briefly on the cheek. ‘I’ll look forward to getting the piece again,’ she said. ‘Let’s sort this out this week, otherwise I’ll need to look at other options.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. She stood up straight, feeling like someone was challenging her for the first time in years. ‘That’s great, Sue.’ She put her hand on her arm. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  ‘Alright, alright,’ said Sue, backing away. ‘This isn’t a Celine Dion video. Don’t get yucky on me. Just email me when you’ve done it. Tomorrow?’

  ‘Definitely,’ Kate told her.

  ‘And remember. Enjoy yourself.’

  Kate walked across Waterloo Bridge, the wind whipping her hair around her face, ignoring the thoughts jostling for position in her head. The Thames was grey and choppy underneath her, the sky matching it above, and she turned and looked out at the South Bank and the London Eye, across to the Houses of Parliament and the white Shell Mex building with the huge black clock above a balcony where Churchill used to stand during the Second World War, watching the German bombers tear up his capital city. She stood for a while, thinking. About the meeting, about her dad. But mostly about the letters from Charly, how angry she was with Kate. It was weird, Kate had never really realized it before, that someone who appeared to be that strong and beautiful, so in command of her own life, could actually be so – was weak the word? No, probably not. She didn’t know what it was with Charly. But, weirdly, she realized as she looked out across the river, she didn’t really care that much any more. When she thought about her dad, Zoe, Dani – making things right with Mac, even – the lives and loves of Charly and Sean didn’t concern her in the way they used to. She turned, and walked across the bridge. When she reached the other side, she pulled out her phone and dialled.

  ‘Hi, Francesca,’ she said. ‘It’s me. Kate.’

  ‘Mysterious Kate Miller,’ said a wry voice on the other end of the phone. ‘Last seen running out of my house in hysterics a week ago. She lives.’

  ‘Sorry to call you at work. Can you talk?’

  ‘Sure, for a minute,’ said Francesca. ‘I’m glad to hear from you. I was starting to think you were D.E.A.D dead. What happened last week, for god’s sake?’

  It was a high-risk strategy, but Kate decided to go for insouciantly forgetful. Barely a couple of words in she realized it was a mistake. ‘What, oh, after we went out? The next day at yours?’ Her voice was getting higher. ‘Oh, you know, don’t you remember? I had to go, my neighbour’s wife died and –’

  ‘Good grief,’ said Francesca, her smoky voice sounding amused. ‘You’re as bad as he is.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘He. Mac. The two of you.’

  The two of you.

  ‘Oh really, why?’ said Kate, trying to sound politely interested. ‘What’s he said?’

  ‘He’s said nothing,’ said Francesca. ‘Said he wouldn’t discuss it and I wasn’t to ask him about it. Thanks for making the few free moments of leisure I have at my home full of tension and stress.’

  ‘Oh god, Francesca,’ Kate said. ‘I am sorry, you know that. And I should have called you. I’ve been a bit crazy, and – you know.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Francesca. ‘That’s the point.’

  ‘Look,’ said Kate. ‘It’s in the past. It’s to do with old stuff. I promise it’s nothing for you to worry about and I shouldn’t have behaved that way. It was – childish of me. Old lady with doily-ish, maybe.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Kate, hurrying on. ‘Nothing. Look, are you around tomorrow night? I’ve got a freelance job.’

  ‘That’s great, Kate!’ Kate could hear the pleasure in Francesca’s voice. ‘For who?’

  ‘Sue again,’ said Kate. ‘It’s for Venus – look, I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve got to do it tonight, for tomorrow. Can we go for a drink then, to celebrate me finishing it?’

  Even walking down the street, Kate could hear the hesitation in Francesca’s voice.

  ‘Um,’ she said after a while. ‘Look, I was supposed to be seeing Zoe, and –’

  ‘Well, that’s fine,’ said Kate. ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s just – I was going round to hers for supper.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kate, not sure how to play it. She was crossing into Covent Garden, her feet wobbling on the tricky cobbles, passing the Punch and Judy, where Sean had his birthday all those years ago. ‘Well –’

  ‘Look, I’m sure Zoe’d love it if you came, it’s just – Mac might come. I mean, he says he can’t, he’s working, but he was going to maybe pop by, perhaps I should tell him not to –’

  Kate was suddenly a bit cross at Francesca assuming this way and that. How did she know what Zoe would or wouldn’t love? Zoe was her best friend, wasn’t she? And she and Mac were grown-ups, weren’t they? Uncertainty made her defensive.

  ‘Francesca look, I’ll talk to Zoe,’ she said firmly.

  ‘Does she know? About you and Mac, I mean?’

  ‘No,’ said Kate. ‘It’s complicated. I mean I don’t want to talk to her about it. I mean … he may have told her, I haven’t.’ How she wished she could tell them both.

  ‘I thought you told each other everything,’ said Francesca. ‘Oh.’

  Kate opened her mouth to say something and then didn’t. The truth was, she and Zoe didn’t talk about anything much, these days, both before when she was in New York, and now she was back. She’d seen her a couple of times since she’d been back, that first night at her house. It was fine, of course it was fine. But it wasn’t great. Somehow she’d thought, naively, that it would be when she came back. But she didn’t want Francesca knowing that.

  ‘Listen, I want to see you, and I want to see Zo again, I haven’t for a few days. Me and Mac, it’s in the past, it’s fine. If he turns up, it’s fine. Honestly! I promise you we can be in the same room without it being awkward. I’m not Duck-face, you know. And –’ she corrected herself ‘– anyway, he’s not an ex.’

  ‘That’s almost exactly what he said!’ said Francesca. She sounded almost impressed at their psychic synchronicity.

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yep,’ Francesca said, firmly. ‘Tomorrow, then. That’s great. I really want to see you again.’ And then she added, ‘But god, Kate. What did you do?’

  Kate stopped, and a car hooted at her. ‘I – what do you mean?’ She ran to the other side, so she was in the Piazza, under the shelter of the church.

  Francesca’s voice was kind, but she said, ‘To make him hate you that much. What on earth did you do?’

  Kate stared out across the square, where a magician was rather gloomily plying his trade to some unenthusiastic schoolchildren. She turned away from them, towards the door of the church. ‘Good question,’ she said quietly. ‘I messed him around. You could say I broke his heart.’

  There was a pause. ‘When?’ Francesca said. ‘God, I knew it. When?’

  ‘It’s a long story – I’ll explain it sometime.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain anything, babe,’ said Francesca. Kate could hear typing in the background, and she knew her slot with her was coming to an end. ‘See you tomorrow.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Kate.

  ‘What are you going to do today?’

  Kate thought of Charly’s letter, one last time. You always were a bit of a loser. Fuck her. ‘Oh. I’m going home to work. I’ll give Zo a call too. See you later.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  ‘I hadn’t been on the canal since I was eleven,’ Zoe read carefully. ‘And now that, after a walk in Regent’s Park and then a nice cup of tea by the canal, would definitely be my idea of a great day out in London. Perhaps you could hop in a cab and go to Fortnum and Mason’s for tea. Even though I’m grown-up, I think it’s the simplest things that often provide the most sa
tisfying memories. I like this day out because it’s perfect if you’re by yourself, or if you’ve got children, or you’re visiting London for the weekend, or even on a romantic date, and when I was in New York it was what I used to dream about. I’d love to know what your suggestions for your own great day out in London would be. Until next time, love from Girl About Town.’

  Zoe lowered the paper. ‘Very good,’ she said. ‘Wow. I never even knew about the canal boat ride. Or that those men in the clock are Mr Fortnum and Mr Mason. How did you know that?’

  ‘You know me,’ said Kate. She tapped her head. ‘I’m a repository for useless information.’

  ‘The only person who enjoyed General Studies at school. I’d forgotten.’ Zoe put the article down. ‘Well, you’re brilliant. Look at me now. I am a Satisfied Customer. There you go.’

  ‘Girl About Town doing her job, you see,’ Kate said, taking a sip of wine. They were sitting in Zoe’s back garden waiting for Francesca, pretending it was July and not April, as a watery sun shone onto the lawn and Flora and Harry kicked a ball around. The garden was denuded still of greenery, but everything was in bud, and the daffodils and grape hyacinths were out in force, spiking up through the black earth. A bird sang a lazy evening song in a bush nearby, and across the fence Kate could hear another family chatting loudly, the kitchen door swinging open and shut as people raced in and out.

  ‘So you wrote this in …’

  ‘A day and a half.’

  ‘And when do you hear back from Sue?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘So you’ve only been back for two weeks and already you’ve got yourself a job. Wow.’

  Kate loved Zoe’s gloriously positive spin on everything.

  ‘It’s not a job,’ she pointed out, leaning forward to offer Zoe another crisp. ‘It’s one column. And she’ll probably hate it.’

  ‘So will you do more?’

  Kate thought of the job Sophie had had, the retainer fee Sue had mentioned to her, twenty-six columns a year plus ten articles, more money if Venus went weekly, which they were currently aiming for. It wasn’t big bucks, but she had worked out – just casually, back of an envelope sort of thing – that it would be enough to cover her mortgage and bills, and have enough left over for the occasional glass of wine and trip to Zara. If she was going to stay here, which she wasn’t. But if she was, she could. She had options. That was weird, all of a sudden.

  She was lucky, she knew it now. That was luck, but when she thought about it, how it had happened – because Mrs Allan had died and had a funeral and so she had seen Sue again – a cloud passed over the sun. She said,

  ‘I don’t know. I think I’d like to. It’s just weird,’ she took a deep breath. ‘I wish it hadn’t happened because of Mrs Allan.’

  ‘Oh Kate,’ said Zoe, as Harry appeared in the kitchen, holding a muddy bulb of some description. ‘You have to learn to take the good – Hey, Harry, that’s great! Have you been gardening?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Look.’ He held the bulb up even higher so it swung round, bashing Kate and Zoe in the face and spraying them with mud.

  ‘Well, I’m proud of you,’ Zoe said, half to Harry, half to Kate. ‘Hey. Love, tell me. How’s your dad?’

  ‘Better and better, they say he can drive in a week or so. He’s getting dressed and going out every day now. Just for a little bit, you know, but it’s good.’

  Taking another crisp, Zoe cracked it loudly in her mouth. She looked at her watch. ‘Francesca’ll be here in a minute. I’ll put the supper on. Tell me, is Loosa still driving you mad? How’s Dani? Still a bit awful?’

  Kate felt an increasingly familiar stab of loyalty to Dani and Lisa. ‘They’re fine,’ she said. ‘Actually Lisa’s not that bad, you know. And Dani – she’s pretty sweet.’

  She had played with Dani that afternoon, in the communal garden of their pretty little road, soaking up the sunshine, enjoying the warmth. Dani had got filthy, and Lisa hadn’t even complained, saying it was good for her to get out of the house.

  It was a beautiful spring that year. It came early, shining through the windows first thing in the morning, pushing the buds into leaves, gilding people in sunshine and warmth. Kate couldn’t remember a spring like it; she had forgotten how green, how spacious and leisurely London was, how white and graceful its buildings, how nice it was to walk around. She thought it was funny when Londoners complained about the pace of the city, how frenetic it was. Yes, it was a huffy, self-important place, yes, London was messy and chaotic and often depressing, but it was a welcome respite from the non-stop anonymity and adrenalin of New York. She hadn’t realized it before, she knew it now.

  And London in springtime was beautiful, especially this spring. Later it would rain for all of June and July, the weather humid and unreliable, and people would snap at each other and be miserable about it but now, when it was April and the skies were beautiful, clear and warm, with the blossom frothing on the trees and daffodils and forget-me-nots in the parks now, now it was a happy, refreshing place to be.

  It had changed her, she realized now. She’d been back for eleven days. She was sleeping well, for hours and hours, sunshine pouring onto the parquet floors of her flat. More and more she felt at home there, pottering around by herself. She put flowers in jugs, opened the windows, whistled as she made her tea in the morning. She checked the post for Mr Allan and watered the plants in his flat, she saw her father every single day, she sorted out the rubbish in the kitchen and the old chest of drawers in the sitting room. She had sat at her bureau desk writing and rewriting Girl About Town articles, scratching her head till she was happy with them. Sue was right, she was an old lady. She ate carbs and drank wine and did other things she would never have dreamt of in New York, where everything for her had to be under control, her own world.

  Still, though, she left things untouched. Still the letters from Charly, three of them, piled up unread, and still the letting agents remained untroubled by her, and still she did not call Perry and Co, she said to herself that, now the article was over, she’d do it tomorrow, the very next day, and the letting agents, and she’d ring Charly, summon all her strength, and tell her to Fuck Off, she didn’t want to see her, she didn’t wish her any harm but she didn’t want to know that her child was coming into the world, the child of a person like Charly. Watching Zoe’s children running around on the lawn, Kate nodded to herself, reminding herself of why it was so, why she couldn’t –

  ‘Oh, Mac rang earlier. He is popping over tonight,’ Zoe said, suddenly, standing to get some more wine.

  ‘What?’ said Kate, sitting up with a start. She had totally forgotten Francesca had mentioned he might. ‘He – what?’

  ‘He wasn’t going to.’ Zoe was picking up stray bowls of crisps; her back was turned to Kate. ‘Don’t know if Francesca said, he might be coming or not. Well he is. He wants to see the children. He’s got a present for Harry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s their uncle, Kate,’ Zoe said slowly to Kate, as if she were a mental patient. She flicked a look at her friend and stood up straight with a sigh. ‘Oof. I’m knackered. Do you think those vitamins you take to make your skin better actually work? I’m chewing down about fifty a day and I’m still always getting this spot right here on my chin, right – can you see it? Right here. Look.’ She jabbed at her chin with her finger. ‘What’s the blimming point?’

  ‘Yep, yep,’ said Kate, waving her concerns aside. ‘Keep taking the vitamins. Great for you. Zinc in particular. Er – Zo? Does he know I’m – me and Francesca are coming over?’

  ‘Yep, course he does,’ said Zoe. She stared at her. ‘He asked. He’s only popping over, he said he won’t stay. We’ll just have to persuade him.’

  Kate nodded, trying to look enthusiastic about this, whilst mentally bemoaning the fact that ‘popping over’ was an entirely British phenomenon. You didn’t ‘pop over’ to someone’s apartment in New York. God no. You met at a restaurant or a bar nearby
. You were organized about it. Even if you were hanging out with someone, you organized where and when you’d be hanging out together. Why couldn’t Mac have said right from the start that he was either definitely coming or not coming? Why was she still unable to think about him, at this very minute on his way towards her, without feeling like someone had literally laid her heart on a table in front of her and sliced it in two?

  ‘Uncle Mac coming!’ said Flora, poking Kate solemnly in the leg.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ said Kate. Kate was almost pathologically fond of Flora, having only met her for the first time a week ago. She was like a very small version of Zoe, who was already pretty small, from her black hair down to her big, determined feet, which were rarely encased in shoes and, like their owner, had a mind of their own.

  ‘Yay!’ said Flora, raising herself onto the balls of her feet and then down again, which was her version of jumping.

  The doorbell rang, and Zoe went to answer it. ‘That’ll be Francesca,’ she said. Harry ran towards Kate and Flora ran back onto the lawn, like a relay race. Kate watched them playing in the garden – they looked like Steve, both of them, so much it hurt. She caught an expression on Harry’s face and was reminded of the time, early on at university, when she’d caught Steve returning home drunk, with Sean and Jem, not long after he’d started going out with Francesca, though he’d promised her he’d see her in the bar. He had the same expression on his face then: fear mixed with guilt, the result hilariously adorable, only he could get away with it.

  ‘I won’t tell anyone,’ Kate had said, feeling a bit guilty herself – and not sure now what Zoe would say if she heard this. Francesca appeared in the kitchen, and waved. Kate said briskly, ‘Right, let’s go in and wash your faces, so you’re ready for your uncle.’

  ‘Why does he want us to wash our faces?’ said Harry, clearly not sure whether to trust Kate.

  ‘He …’ Kate chewed her lip, and took Flora’s little hand in hers. ‘He thinks that should be part of the law, too. Having a clean face or else. Um … ask him about it when he gets here.’