Falling in Love Again

by Sophie King

  ‘I don’t want to bother you.’ He was looking more awkward now, and yet strangely like David in those brown cords her husband used to wear for ‘casual occasions’ and a checked sports jacket.

  ‘The truth of the matter is that until the rather tricky matter of my old matrimonial home is sorted out, I find myself in need of a room.’ He gave a shy smile. ‘Of course, I know you mentioned it at the group but I didn’t feel it was professional to say I was interested.’

  He shrugged awkwardly, and instantly good manners made her want to reassure him. ‘Would you like to see the room? I’m afraid it’s rather small; the other two larger ones have gone. But you could of course, have the use of the kitchen and the sitting room . . .’

  What was she doing, she wondered as she led him up stairs. Prattling away like this and breaking all the rules she’d set in her head only a few minutes ago about having her own space. And yet it didn’t seem right, insisting that a grown man (her own age) stay in his room while she sat downstairs in the sitting room in isolated splendour.

  He glanced at Jules’s room which looked tidier than it had ever been now Jules wasn’t there. She’d had a devil of a job prising off the sticky bits on the wall where her daughter’s posters had been. It had been hard emotionally too, because it had forced her to take on board what her daughter had told her over and over on the phone. No, she wasn’t coming home because it wouldn’t be the same now Dad had gone. As if it was HER fault!

  ‘It’s very nice.’

  He was looking around with an unreadable expression on his face.

  ‘I know it’s not huge,’ she repeated. ‘But I could probably squeeze another wardrobe in here and the bathroom is right next door.’

  As she said that, he glanced at her and she looked away, suddenly realising how awkward it was going to be. Just imagine meeting him coming out of the bathroom every morning, and going off together (it would be silly to go separately!) to the meeting.

  ‘Would you mind if I let you know?’ he said as they went down the stairs. He put out his hand again; it was a firm but polite handshake. ‘I’ve still got some other places to view and because of my various business activities, I’m away a lot.’

  He didn’t like her house! Gosh, this was going to make it tricky between them at the next meeting!

  ‘I’ll ring you by the end of the week, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  Another firm handshake and he was gone. In a rather nice maroon BMW, she could see, which was parked outside.

  The smoke alarm! Alison’s heart began to thud. A fire! Where? Dear God, she could smell something. From the kitchen . . . Running in, she pushed open the door. What on earth was that stupid girl doing? There she was, chopping carrots on the work surface (without, as she realised later from the dents, a chopping board) while the smoke alarm was ringing so loudly that any normal person would have been deafened by it. Except that the American had headphones on, which might explain why she couldn’t hear and why she had to virtually dance in front of the girl to attract her attention.

  ‘What’s up, Alison?’

  Alison flung open the top right door of the Aga where there were billows of oily smoke coming out. ‘This!’ she shouted. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, putting oil in a frying pan and then putting it in here?’

  Rebecca shrugged. ‘Isn’t that what you’re meant to do?’

  ‘No.’ Alison waved a dishcloth up towards the alarm to stop it. ‘No it isn’t. You told me you knew how to cook on an Aga.’

  ‘Well, sort of. But it’s pretty ancient, isn’t it?

  ‘NO it’s not. And it’s virtually foolproof.’ Alison forced her voice to sound steady. ‘If you want to fry, you do it on the hob in a frying pan. You’re lucky this isn’t a conventional oven or we could have had a fire.’

  ‘Well we didn’t, so calm down.’

  Calm down? Whose kitchen was it?

  ‘I’m sorry Rebecca but I don’t like your tone of voice. You waltz in here, use my kitchen like your own, invite your friends – there’s the doorbell now! – and don’t even ask when I’d like to cook.’

  ‘Fine! Well if you don’t like it, I’ll just go. OK?’

  ‘Hang on. There’s no need to talk like that. We can discuss it . . .’

  Rebecca flung her apron (Alison’s) onto the side. ‘Maybe.’

  By the time Alison went upstairs to get some space in her own room after tidying up, she began to wonder if she had over-reacted. Perhaps she should have remembered that Rebecca wasn’t much older than one of her children. Maybe she should just knock on the girl’s door and say . . .

  NO! The room was empty. She’d gone. And without paying her rent! Why oh why, had she agreed that the girl didn’t have to pay a month in advance but that she’d wait until Rebecca had been paid. And just look at the room! It was filthy with cigarette stubs everywhere even though she’d said, specifically, that smoking was forbidden.

  Was that her now, on the phone?

  ‘Alison? This is Hugh.’ There was a slight pause. ‘I’m terribly sorry but I’m not sure it would be a good idea if I rented your room, after all.’

  ‘Actually,’ she heard herself gabbling, ‘if it’s the size, I suddenly have another room available. One of my lodgers has left unexpectedly and . . .’

  ‘It’s not the size. It’s fine as it is. Or the house, which is lovely. Rather reminiscent, in fact, of my old one.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m afraid it’s you.’

  ‘Me?’ Alison felt hot. So not only her kids found her impossible. Or her lodger. But now a man who was virtually a complete stranger.

  ‘You see, I suddenly realised when I was looking around, that if I rented your room, I wouldn’t be able to do something else.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be able to ask you out to dinner. And I’d like to do that, Alison. I’d like to do that very much. I was wondering if you were free in the next month?’

  28

  KAREN

  ‘Let it go!’

  No, that didn’t feel right.

  ‘Blame doesn’t help!’

  Too preachy, thought Karen, as she shifted from one foot to the other at the bus stop in an attempt to feel her toes and mentally write a handout for her divorce group.

  ‘Make a new start with the New Year!’

  That’s why she was here, wasn’t it?

  ‘Ditch the guilt!’

  If only her own would go away. And now look! Karen didn’t believe Hayley for one minute. Her daughter-in-law was clearly having an affair with someone. Who’d have thought it? But if she told Adam, she knew exactly what would happen. He’d walk out and then little Josh would grow up without two parents and the whole horrible cycle would repeat itself.

  Yet if she kept quiet, she could save her little family. And that, in a small way, might just make up for the damage in the past.

  Ah! Here was the bus. ‘Return to Aylesbury, please.’ It was a relief to settle down into her seat and look out of the window to distract herself.

  ‘Stuck for a New Year present?’ sang the sign outside the church they were passing. ‘Then stick a For in front of the Give.’

  How apt was that? In fact, there were always interesting signs outside that church. The kind that made you stop and think even if you weren’t the churchgoing type, which Karen wasn’t. But could she really forgive Paul? And, just as important, could she forgive Hayley – and herself?

  ‘Meet u in the shopping centre,’ he’d said in his text.

  But where? There were two! She’d texted back but not got a reply. Had he changed his mind? She’d go to the main doors in front and have a quick look. If he wasn’t there, she’d just go back. His fault for not having been more specific. And to think she’d hoped he had changed!

  Right. She was here. Quick look in her handbag mirror, dab of gloss and . . .

  ‘Paul!’

  He was right there. At the bus stop as though waiting for
her. Beaming with relief or what looked like it.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’ He made as though to take her arm but then seemed to think better of it. ‘I couldn’t text you back with directions because I don’t have my phone. And it wasn’t until I got here that I realised they had two shopping centres.’

  ‘They have for years.’

  ‘Really?’

  How could they be talking shopping centres when there was so much else? Dear God. His eyes were drinking her in, the way they had when they first met. Why was her chest fluttering like this? Get real, Karen. This man’s not to be trusted. You know that. Besides, she was over him. She really was.

  ‘Where do you want to go?’ She began striding purposefully ahead, weaving her way through the shoppers who were surging past in their eagerness to get to the January sales.

  ‘There’s a new coffee bar that’s just opened up according to a friend of mine who came here the other week.’

  A friend? Hang on . . . what was he doing now? Stopping to talk to a woman . . . typical! Bloody hell. He was giving her money. Paul was actually giving money to a charity collector?

  ‘It’s for the hospice. The Florence Nightingale.’ Paul looked a bit embarrassed as he pinned a yellow daffodil onto his jacket. ‘They came to give a talk in . . . came to give a talk to a group I belong to. It really moved me.’

  What kind of group, she almost asked. A group for unreliable husbands and fathers? But it was difficult to be tetchy when he was now holding her arm gently in a way that seemed churlish to object to as he steered her through yet more crowds and into what looked like a rather classy place with – amazingly – a spare table at the window.

  ‘Shall we sit here?’ He was looking down at her and for the first time since their last meeting, she was able to look at his face. Properly. He looked tired; there were smudges of black under his eyes yet, at the same time, there was a definite twinkle in them as though he was genuinely excited to see her. His shirt looked stiff as though it was new – yes, it was. There were the creases still in it from the packet. And even as he was listening to her order (cheese panini with peppermint tea, please), he was glancing around him nervously as though expecting someone.

  ‘Meeting someone after me, are you?’

  He reached out for her hand but she snatched it away just in time.

  ‘Is that what you think, Karen?’

  ‘You did it before, didn’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘I did. And I can’t tell you the times I regretted it.’

  She made a dismissive sound. ‘Sure. That’s why we haven’t heard from you for all these years. Your loss – not ours. We’ve got a lovely grandson, Paul. Pity you haven’t been around to see him being born and grow up.’

  Good. That had hurt him. She could see the pain flitting across his face.

  ‘Actually, you’re right. I am waiting for someone. Someone who will explain to you, if I ask her, why I haven’t been in touch for the past few years. Can you hang on a minute. No. Don’t go. Please.’

  And he was up! Walking towards a table by the door where there was a very pretty blonde girl with a bob like the one Hayley had been talking of getting. She might have guessed. He was getting married again! He’d come to make his peace so he could start again. He wanted to introduce her to this new woman and say, ‘Hey, I made a mistake but now I’m different and I want you to forgive me.’

  Well he could forget that for starters! Pulling on her coat, she began to stand up but Paul had put her on the other side of the table and before she had a chance to get round it, he was there. With the blonde bob.

  ‘Karen, I’d like you to meet Lisa. Lisa, this is Karen.’

  The woman was shaking her hand and smiling. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you Karen.’

  She glared at him. ‘What do you think you’re playing at?’

  Lisa was shaking her head. ‘Paul, please. You have told her haven’t you? That was the whole point.’

  The whole point?

  ‘Please.’ Paul was encouraging them both to sit down. ‘Everyone’s looking.’

  He shot a panicky-looking glance at the blonde. ‘This isn’t easy for me.’

  ‘But you agreed.’ She spoke in a calm voice. ‘Remember what you promised the group?’

  The group again?

  ‘OK.’ He was looking straight at her now. ‘The reason I haven’t been in touch with you for so long is that I’ve been in prison. But now I’m being allowed out on Saturdays as part of my rehab programme.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Lisa was still speaking in that calm almost soporific tone which made her seem much older than her face. ‘I’m Paul’s probation officer. And may I say that it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  Prison? Prison? Karen ran the word round her mouth all the way home.

  ‘What for?’ had been her first question.

  Please God. Don’t let it be anything awful. Not . . .

  ‘Drugs.’

  She almost thought ‘Thank heavens for that’.

  ‘What kind?’

  He bit his lip. ‘Skunk at first. That’s how I started. I began taking it myself to block out the pain after you left me. No, it’s all right. That’s not an accusation. I can see why you did it. But then it lost its touch so I went on to other stuff. Ecstasy mainly and then something worse . . .’

  She didn’t want to know. ‘How did you afford it?’

  Another rueful shrug. ‘That was the problem. I had to steal to pay for my habit. It’s what a lot of people do. Not that that’s any excuse. So I borrowed from clients’ accounts. I didn’t get found out – not then – but I started to sell the stuff myself to make more money to fund my habit and that was how I was caught.’

  She’d looked at him in disbelief. ‘You sold drugs to kids like Adam?’

  He’d nodded. ‘I’m sorry. Please forgive me.’

  The bus was passing that church now. The one with the ‘For-give’ sign outside. When she’d gone past it just two hours ago, she hadn’t known any of this. ‘But he didn’t murder anyone. He didn’t rape,’ said a little voice inside her.

  No, but he might have helped to kill someone. He might be sorry but that wasn’t going to help all those kids whose lives he’d helped to ruin.

  So why – damn it – why did she want to put her arms around him and say it’s all right. And why – why? – had she agreed (with Lisa’s approval) to have Paul over ‘at some time’ to lunch so he could see his grandson?

  Of course, she’d have to clear it with Adam, she told herself, getting off the bus and walking briskly down the road. Looked like he was at her place already – earlier than arranged – from the way the lights were on in the front room.

  ‘Cooee, only me!’

  Sound bright, she told herself. Don’t let him see how upset you are. Do what you’ve always done and pretend everything’s all right. It’s what a mother does.

  ‘Are you there?’

  She peeped round the kitchen door, bracing herself for Sam’s welcoming leap. The usual chaos met her eyes – spilt water from the dog bowl; a torn bit of fabric which looked like her apron; puppy toys strewn over the floor.

  And Adam, sitting at the table, with a large bottle of vodka in front of him.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  He was looking at her as though she was a complete stranger.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me, Mum, that Hayley had had an abortion?’

  29

  ED

  September was amazing! Really amazing.

  ‘I can’t believe that’s your real name,’ Ed had said when she’d finally told him after that first date – which of course, he’d pretended wasn’t a date at all, otherwise she might not have gone. Just a drink with the boss which had turned out to be a very long night at a wine bar near Oxford where, hopefully, no one from work would bump into them.

  She’d flushed before tossing back her beautiful hair which was exactly the colour of the beech tree he used to climb as
a boy, before the accident. ‘You can see why I call myself Sarah at work. Everyone would take the mickey out of me otherwise.’

  ‘I wouldn’t let them,’ he had started to say but managed to stop himself before he got to the ‘them’ bit. ‘I wouldn’t let it put you off,’ he blurted out, feeling like a schoolboy. ‘You have to be true to yourself.’

  Her face had cleared then as though he’d just said something that no one else had ever said before which was, of course, rubbish because that’s exactly what everyone knows but which only philosophers and stupid, love-struck middle-aged men like him, came out with.

  ‘Do you know, that’s so true! It’s exactly what I told Daddy when I said I wasn’t going to uni.’ She took another swig of her elderflower cordial.

  Ed had thought she was joking when she’d told him what she wanted to drink but after a glass or two on his own, he’d joined her. Didn’t taste too bad actually.

  ‘Daddy wanted me to read law, like him.’ She wrinkled her pretty little nose which Ed would have liked to ski down if he could. ‘But I told him I didn’t want to be boring like him. Mum said she knew exactly what I meant.’

  Something fluttered inside him. A warning sign. ‘So they’re divorced, your parents.’

  September burst into peals of giggles. ‘You must be joking! They’re sickeningly in love after goodness knows how many years. It’s gross. I keep telling them that I’m the only person I know, virtually, whose parents aren’t divorced.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘It’s so unfashionable.’

  ‘But she said he was boring.’

  ‘Only when he’s in his lawyer mode, silly.’ She clasped her hand to her mouth. ‘Gosh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you silly. I mean you’re my boss. Oh Gosh. You’re not going to fire me now, are you?’

  Fire her? He wanted to . . .

  ‘It was Daddy who wanted to call me September because that’s when they . . . you know! Mummy thought that was rather sweet but October got really miffed because she thought my name was nicer than hers.’