The Love of Her Life

by Harriet Evans

  ‘Bus,’ said the husband, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Bus, yes.’

  ‘Ten,’ Kate said, pointing again. ‘Ten. Bus number ten.’ She was almost shouting.

  ‘She was a beautiful lady,’ said the wife, carefully.

  ‘Diana, yes,’ said Kate, nodding. Mac looked alarmed.

  The woman’s face lit up. ‘Beautiful lady. Queen of Hea—’

  ‘Yes, she was, thanks,’ said Mac, impatiently, patting the husband, to whom he was nearest, on the arm. ‘Good luck!’

  They moved away, saying thanks as they left, and Mac turned back to look at Kate, shaking his head.

  ‘I’d forgotten that about you,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ she said, smiling.

  ‘You’re like a girl guide. A grown-up girl guide.’

  ‘Charming,’ said Kate. ‘That’s not very sexy.’

  ‘Oh it is,’ said Mac, raising his eyebrows, and laughing. She joined in, shaking her head, but then he said, suddenly serious, ‘So, you were about to tell me why you ran off. Did a bunk.’

  There was a cool breeze blowing down the street, refreshing and calm. Kate let it wash over her, calming her down, and she looked at Mac.

  ‘Look, I had to go. That’s the truth. Don’t bother hating me for it. You couldn’t hate me more than I hate myself.’

  He was silent for a long time, looking at her, and still he held his hand in her lap. It was so comforting, the kind of solid, kind comfort that Kate hadn’t really felt for months and months. She knew Mac must despise her, blame her, loathe her, but somehow still, there at the table, her hand in his, in the shade of tall Mayfair red brick, she felt safe.

  ‘You poor thing,’ he said after a while. ‘You poor bloody thing.’

  ‘We’ll just walk, then,’ he said, checking back to make sure they’d left nothing behind. She liked that about him, his precision in everything, the way he managed to do it without fussing. It was a process, part of a process, like giving an anaesthetic or removing a tumour or mending a tear or scrubbing up.

  ‘Don’t you have to –’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t have to be anywhere,’ he said. ‘Neither do you, so why don’t we just walk for a bit? Where are you staying?’

  ‘Hotel in Bayswater,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not staying with your dad?’

  ‘He’s away.’ She was lying, she didn’t know why. ‘No one knows I’m here. Mac, I don’t want –’

  ‘Sure, sure,’ he said, softly. ‘It’s fine. I think you need to tire yourself out if you’re going to sleep tonight, anyway. Let’s just – walk, shall we?’

  ‘OK,’ said Kate. ‘Where shall we go?’

  ‘The park,’ he said. ‘Let’s go to the park.’

  ‘So tell me, what you’ve been up to, then,’ he said, as they walked into Hyde Park, and Kate saw the vistas of paths open up before them, of trees and buildings far in the background.

  ‘It’s a pretty short story,’ said Kate. ‘A boring story.’

  ‘OK,’ he said, easily, and he shot a look at her, and then carried on walking. She could hear the shouts from Speaker’s Corner. There were the people just out of the office, relaxing in the evening sun, resting their heads on their backpacks, reading papers and books. There was the long, yellowy green meadow grass, never built-upon, never constructed and moulded into a park out of rock like Central Park. This was the parkland that Henry VIII had hunted on, that Lady Emma Hamilton had ridden over, where sandbags had been laid in the First World War. She smiled, thinking what a very tacky, touristy thing to think that was.

  It was just she knew it, she knew that over there was the Serpentine, with boats floating on the still surface, and the Albert Hall, and the Albert Memorial, spun out of gold and marble, ridiculously over-shiny, and she knew that over there were the formal gardens, and Kensington Palace, and the spot where Tyburn stood. She knew all this, because she’d grown up here, and it was her home, and she missed it, she missed it so much it hurt, and she missed this – walking along with someone, just chatting. About things that mattered.

  ‘Tell me how Zoe is instead,’ said Kate. ‘And Flora. How’s Flora?’

  Zoe and Steve’s daughter was now eighteen months old. Mac smiled. ‘Beautiful. Looks just like her mother. She likes things with mud,’ said Mac, as they walked down towards Park Lane.

  ‘Mud?’ said Kate.

  ‘Yes, eating mud. Harry keeps striding out to the garden and trying to shove handfuls of earth into her mouth. Zoe’s in despair, she doesn’t know what to do. She ate a worm last week.’ She turned towards him. His green eyes were full of laughter, though his expression was as serious as ever. ‘Flora ate a worm, I mean.’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Does Harry remember –’ Kate trailed off.

  ‘About his father?’ Mac said, gazing into the distance, where a group of friends were playing a noisy and erratic game of frisbee. ‘Harry remembers him. He asks where Steve is.’

  ‘What do you say?’ Kate asked him.

  ‘It’s tricky. You have to be honest, but not too honest. Zoe’s been amazing …’ He trailed off. ‘She’s incredible, that girl.’

  She’s my best friend, Kate wanted to say. I know. I know. But she had forsaken that right, the right to an opinion about Zoe, or any of them.

  ‘She tells him that Dad’s not coming back, that he’s gone to heaven, but he’s watching them all and he’ll always love them.’

  It was so simple.

  They walked in silence for a while, until they reached the Serpentine.

  ‘You know,’ Mac said suddenly. ‘They’ve got each other. They’re still a family.’

  Kate nodded gratefully, unable to speak, and he watched her. She stared out, at the wind ruffling the water, the cars trawling slowly across the white stucco bridge, at the landscape of London sloping out in front of her.

  ‘Love. That’s what they’ve got. Lots and lots of it. Sounds corny but it’s true. They may not have a dad, but there are so many people who love them, you mustn’t worry too much.’

  She reached towards him, and squeezed his hand in silent gratitude, for telling her about them, for falling back into silence again, and they walked on, down to the south of the Serpentine, over the bridge towards the gates of the park. They walked in silence, past ice-cream vans, past children playing, past tourists enjoying the sun. The shouts from unsteady novice sailors echoed across the water, and the afternoon sun flashed and glittered on the surface. They were small, insubstantial, in the large, open space, where the green met the sky.

  They kept their hands joined, their fingers entwined, still saying nothing, asking nothing from each other, not knowing what was going to happen. But, walking through the park as the shadows lengthened, as the day turned to summery, sunny evening, Kate felt more at peace, happier, more herself than she had since the day Steve died.

  That night, after he’d dropped her at her dusty little hotel in the backstreets behind Paddington, unlooked for and unloved, she had let herself into her tiny room, little wider than its double bed, and got undressed, knowing she would never sleep. In the bed, Kate clutched the duvet cover, which was too big for its duvet. Lying there in the darkness, she could hear the sounds of London around her. She was less than a mile away from her old flat, her old life with Sean, her old happiness, and now a girl called Gemma was living there and she was here, in this hotel, waiting for tomorrow when she could get her visa stamped and get out of here. She was only a couple of miles from her father, her stepmother and her sister – what were they doing, on this summer’s evening? She hadn’t seen them since before Christmas, last time they’d been in New York. Kate was inclined to agree with her mother, whose version of their marriage was that Daniel wouldn’t notice her unless she was standing in front of him waving, but still … Sudden guilt ate into her, mixed with fear of discovery, that she was losing control of the plan she’d thought was so tight. Perhaps she should just go –

  And yet in her mind was
the memory of Mac, rooting her to this place. His tall, broad frame, his clear eyes on hers, his serious face, so often dark, smiling at her in her distress. Mac, who was picking her up from the Embassy and taking her for a late lunch. He was due to go off on holiday early the next day. Mac, who was her only friend in London, who had held her hand, who … understood. Better than anyone, though she couldn’t explain why. And in the midst of these contradictory thoughts Kate, who was more exhausted than she had realized, simply drifted off to sleep, and in that tiny, shabby room, badly-soundproofed and unloveable, she slept through the night, a deep and dreamless sleep.

  ‘So, you live with your mum and Oscar – and you see Betty, and the people at the office. And that’s it.’

  ‘Yep.’ Kate bent down to pick up a stone from the gravel path in St James’s, where they were walking.

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘Well, and friends of mum’s, and Betty’s. And sometimes we have a work event.’ Kate realized she was sounding defensive. ‘It’s just that … that’s the way I want it.’

  ‘Of course.’ It was a statement, not a question. She looked at him, marvelling yet again at the restfulness she felt when she was with him, so extraordinary when she thought about him, what they had been through together.

  ‘It’s lovely here,’ Kate said, sighing. She threw some gravel back onto the ground and looked around. They were walking down the Mall, which was strangely quiet in the summer’s evening, the only real traffic that of knots of tourists, making their way down the red road towards the Palace. Along the wide avenue, the trees swayed in the wind. Up ahead of them, the white backs of the private clubs of Pall Mall, each its own palace of privilege. Kate had never walked here when she’d lived in London, you generally didn’t, really, and looking up at the man next to her, she still couldn’t quite understand what she was doing here.

  ‘Do you ever hear from Sean?’ Mac said suddenly.

  ‘No.’ It surprised her how quickly the reply to the question came. As if she’d been expecting it. He stopped and looked at her, and Kate stopped too. ‘Never. Do … do you?’

  He said easily, ‘They’ve moved to East London. He emailed me, about a month ago.’

  ‘Oh right,’ said Kate.

  ‘Do you know what Charly’s doing?’

  ‘I don’t, no,’ she said, and her voice was a little wavery, a little uncertain, but she was doing it, saying it, talking about these things without freaking out, and that was something, she supposed. ‘I wouldn’t have been in touch at all, but I had to send Sean some money, you know, when we bought him out of the flat.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Dad.’ Kate gave him a half-smile. ‘Dad and Lisa. They bought Sean’s share. Bless them. Turns out the Daniel Miller album of Westlife covers was a great idea. Shows what I know, eh.’

  ‘That was kind of him.’

  ‘Very kind,’ said Kate. ‘They were great about it. Lisa said she knew I should never have got engaged to him.’ She laughed, shortly. ‘Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, isn’t it.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mac reasonably, ‘but no one wants to hear it at the time, do they.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Kate watched a seagull, circling above St James’s Park.

  ‘Oscar said the same thing to me that evening, you know,’ he said.

  She didn’t understand. ‘What evening?’

  ‘The engagement party.’ They crossed the wide road, leaving St James’s Park behind them. A bike appeared from nowhere, out of one of the side alleys leading onto the Mall, and zoomed towards them. Mac’s hand shot out and he grabbed Kate by the arm. She pulled away from him, angrily.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. Something crossed Mac’s face, like irritation, exasperation. Kate saw it, knew it for what it was, and couldn’t blame him. Perhaps this had been a mistake, she told herself, and started planning exit strategies to get back to her hotel, go to sleep.

  ‘What did Oscar say at the engagement party?’ she asked.

  Mac looked around him. ‘The same thing I said.’

  ‘I – what?’ Kate shook her head. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘What?’ Mac said, mockingly. ‘You really don’t remember?’ and he took her by the elbow, gently guiding her into Marl-borough Road, the small street that led away from the Mall past St James’s Palace, up towards Piccadilly. It was quiet, no tourists, and suddenly they were in the shade. She blinked, unaccustomed to the darkening light.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, recall of the evening rushing back to her now.

  ‘What did I say, Kate?’ he said, and there was amusement in his voice, something else, too, something she couldn’t define.

  ‘You told me not to marry him.’ She had said it.

  ‘Ah.’ Mac nodded, as if she’d just pointed out an interesting statue. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His expression was unreadable. ‘Oscar told me he didn’t like him, and he was allowed to say that because they were fellow countrymen. I love your stepfather. They may be fellow countrymen but I’ve never seen two more different people.’

  Kate wanted to get back to the matter in hand. ‘So –’

  ‘Well, we had a chat about it. I was a little the worse, or the better, depending on which way you look at it, for the alcohol, you know. But he seemed to me to be making perfect sense. I agreed with him.’

  ‘Well, you were right,’ said Kate.

  ‘I was,’ Mac said. ‘I think I actually told you not to marry him.’

  ‘So you did.’ She turned her hand upwards, palms open. ‘You see.’

  ‘I do see,’ said Mac. ‘I did tell you that.’

  It was hard to ask, but she had to. ‘Did – did you know?’

  ‘About Sean – and Charly?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Kate. She never knew, because she had never wanted to know. ‘Did you know?’

  Mac stuck his hands in his pockets. He looked deadly serious. ‘I knew – they’d been sleeping with each other. Steve had asked my advice about it. Sworn me to secrecy. He didn’t know what to do.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Kate.

  ‘Sean was obsessed with Charly, you know?’ Mac said gently. ‘It wasn’t love. It was – infatuation. It was a physical thing, that’s all. Steve was trying to persuade him to give it up. Give her up. But she was obsessed with him.’

  Kate didn’t want to hear any more. ‘OK.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ Mac said. ‘Honestly, I think he loved you. He did really want to marry you. I just think he was in too deep, and he didn’t know how to get out. Until –’ he shrugged, and smiled a painful, twisted smile. ‘I have to believe that, don’t know why. Otherwise it’s as if Steve had been completely wasting his time, and that bastard ruined the lives of all the people I love, in one day.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘I know,’ Kate said, desperately wanting to hug him. She breathed in deeply, and looked up at him, then over his shoulder, breaking the tension between them. ‘We should go.’

  ‘Kate –’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘Excuse me,’ a voice behind them called. ‘Can you please tell me where is Princess Diana’s palace?’

  A small family was standing behind them, the father waving a badly folded map. ‘Londres’ was written on it in large letters; the wife was wearing a tee-shirt that said ‘Paris’.

  ‘Oh my god,’ said Mac, under his breath. ‘Over there,’ he said shortly, pointing towards Buckingham Palace. He turned back to Kate. ‘Look, Kate –’

  The father was not convinced. ‘There?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Mac.

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Kate. ‘Look –’

  ‘Is this where she lived when she died?’ the wife asked Mac, looking anxious.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mac, firmly. ‘Kate. I wanted to say something to you,’ he said, turning back to her.

  ‘Wait,’ said Kate, unable to help herself. She was watching the wife, whose expression was near-fanatical. ‘No. Not really. It was Kensington Palace.’

  Mac looked at her, his eyes
wide open, and shook his head.

  ‘Here,’ said Kate, pointing to the map. ‘That’s where.’

  ‘Is this where the flowers were?’ said the woman, nodding emphatically.

  ‘Yes, where the flowers were,’ said Kate.

  ‘Did you see her?’ the husband said.

  ‘Er, I did actually, once,’ Kate said, memory flooding back to her.

  ‘You saw Princess Diana!’ The woman clasped her hands.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kate, with enthusiasm. ‘In High Street Kensington.’ Mac groaned quietly by her side. ‘In Marks and Spencer. It’s a shop.’ The woman nodded furiously.

  ‘She – she was very beautiful.’

  ‘Oh, she was,’ said Kate, clasping her hands. ‘You know, I think she was probably a bit mad, but gosh, she was lovely.’

  ‘Queen of Hearts,’ the woman told her, fervently.

  ‘You know,’ Kate said, stepping towards her. ‘It was –’

  ‘Right!’ said Mac, taking her elbow. ‘Have a lovely time,’ he said, bearing Kate off in the other direction and smiling at the tourists, who called ‘Thank you!’ loudly after them. They walked in silence a little further, a constraint suddenly upon them. They stopped outside St James’s Palace, which glowed almost rose-pink in the sunset, and a slight breeze blew across Kate’s face, her neck, through her hair.

  ‘Ah,’ said Kate. ‘I hope they find it.’

  ‘Mm,’ said Mac, looking wrathfully at their retreating backs. ‘They should pick their moments better.’

  ‘We’re here, aren’t we?’ she said honestly. She put her hand on his. ‘We’re here. That’s all that matters.’

  She turned away from him for a second, looking up at St James’s Street, the great Regency stage set, towards Piccadilly. He was standing directly behind her, and they were quiet, though Kate could feel his eyes on her.

  He bent and kissed her bare shoulder, and she felt his lips on her skin. He slid his arms around her waist and he kissed her again, kissed her back and her hair, gently. She held his arms, wrapping her own around his, so they were snaked together in the shadow of the palace and no one, not the passing tourists, not the guards standing to attention outside, not the couple in evening dress hurrying towards Pall Mall, paid them any attention, as they stood there in silence, holding each other, both watching the evening scene in front of them.