Falling in Love Again

by Sophie King

  ‘September?’

  Her back was turned away from him in the ergonomically designed swivel chair he’d had installed for reception. ‘Smith and Dad,’ she was saying in that lovely, bright voice which made him feel that the sun had just come out. Usually, Ed got a real thrill when he heard someone saying those words. After his death, he hadn’t wanted his father to go so the name change seemed right.

  ‘Certainly, sir. I’ll just put you through.’

  He hovered uncertainly, waiting for her to swivel round. Bugger. She was taking another call now.

  ‘Smith and Dad!’

  What could he do? Cough! Good idea. Now she must know someone was standing there. It actually looked quite rude speaking with her back to him. Supposing he had been a visitor?

  ‘I’m afraid he’s not in yet. May I take a message?’

  Was it his imagination or was she turning the chair even more away from him. He could look at her back all day with that gorgeous glossy auburn hair that made him want to run his hands through it; breathe in the smell; run his tongue round the nape of her neck . . .

  ‘Smith and Dad!’

  That’s when he noticed!

  She wasn’t talking to anyone at all! The little minx was using the spare phone. Look! It was actually unplugged. September was just doing this to avoid him.

  Clever!

  Whipping out his mobile, he rang the main number. Immediately, the right phone rang out – the one in front of him which meant she had to swivel round and pick it up.

  Yes. She was answering while at the same time managing not to look in his direction, which was pretty difficult considering he was standing right in front of her.

  ‘Smith and Dad!’

  ‘It’s me,’ he said down the line.

  Her smile vanished and her eyes, he noticed, with a thud of apprehension, lost their sparkle.

  ‘No, don’t put the phone down. Please. I want to talk to you.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t take a message at the moment!’

  ‘September, please. Look at me. Lizzie isn’t – or wasn’t – my girlfriend. She just happened to be with me when I got the message about my stepbrother. So she came to the hospital as support.’

  ‘Support? Just happened to be with you?’

  This was said in a lower tone without the Smith and Dad lilt.

  ‘Honestly. We were together at a sort of meeting.’

  He paused as one of the young men from the post room went past.

  ‘Certainly, sir. Would you like to give me details about the ‘meeting’?’

  Was this for the post boy’s benefit or his?

  ‘OK.’ He studied the crack in the wall behind her for support. ‘I’ll tell you. Every month, I go to this meeting at this woman’s house where a load of single people meet up for…’

  She’d cut him off.

  ‘September, let me finish!’

  He grabbed her wrists before he could stop himself. They felt wafer thin but warm at the same time. ‘We meet up for support. To help each other get over broken marriages. It’s not a dating group. I promise.’

  ‘You are hurting me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He dropped her wrists. ‘I just need you to understand.’

  She laughed. Not the lovely tinkly laugh she’d entranced him with before but a bitter laugh which didn’t sound as though it was natural. ‘I understand all right. I understand that I let myself fall for someone who everyone else warned me against when I joined. Did you know that, Ed? Did you know that you are known as the serial husband who can’t stop getting married but then moves on whenever he thinks it’s not working out. Your dad was the same apparently. A perfectionist who got rid of people or things if there was the slightest flaw.’

  ‘No. No. You’ve got it wrong . . .’

  ‘Smith and Dad!’

  This time, it was the correct phone. Besides, Garth, his PA, was walking past giving him a meaningful look. He knew exactly what that meant. Board meeting in five minutes. Don’t be late. He might be an unconventional boss but there were some things that couldn’t change.

  ‘Garth!’ He rushed to keep up as he made his way down the corridor; a lovely glassy, airy corridor that was festooned with pot plants and apple juice machines to keep everyone happy. Except him.

  His PA, with that immaculately groomed hair which tried to compensate for his dress sense (too-short trousers and collarless shirts with ties), had worked for him from day one. If anyone was going to tell him the truth, it was him. And Nancy of course. ‘Does everyone think I’m the serial husband who can’t stop getting married but then moves on when he thinks it’s not working?’

  Garth patted him kindly on the shoulder. ‘Sure they do, Ed. But don’t worry about it. It’s part of your eccentricities. We love you for it. Just like we loved your dad. Now buck up or you’ll be late for the meeting.’ His eyes flickered. ‘And judging from the minutes, you’ve got something rather important to talk about.’

  Ed’s dad had warned him about the board. ‘Load of stuck up pricks,’ he had written in one of the many notes Ed had found after his father’s death, as though he’d been preparing for this instead of being suddenly struck down by a heart attack. ‘Stick to your guns and they’ll give in. Watch out for Andrew. He’s the worst.’

  Indeed, it was Andrew now who was giving him hell. ‘Let me get this right.’ He glanced at the agenda notes. ‘Some anonymous business is demanding twenty per cent of the shares in the company and their lawyers are claiming that your father agreed to this before his death.’

  ‘Apparently.’ Ed continued to outstare him. Don’t take your eyes away, his father’s notes had instructed. Bore him out.

  ‘And do we know why?’

  ‘Not yet. I’m working on it.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I’ve got an investigator on the case.’

  ‘But is it legal?’

  This question was from the latest member of the board; a woman called Eileen who had worked for his father before his marriage to Nancy. He could dimly remember her staying overnight once when he was a child but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Not in his father’s book.

  Andrew snorted. ‘You’d better find out, young Ed. Because frankly, this is looking dodgy. I’ve got an investment in this company, remember. And I can pull out any time.’

  Could he?

  Ed looked across to Garth whose eyes gave him a silent nod. Thanks Dad. That was one thing your notes didn’t mention.

  ‘No.’

  He could almost see Nancy shaking her head emphatically from the sun bed in Antigua (work, she had said, although what kind of clothes did they sell out there?). ‘No I don’t think your father was having an affair with someone. He loved me, Ed.’

  Ed took a deep breath. Maybe he shouldn’t have had this conversation on the mobile. Especially with this reception. But he couldn’t wait for Nancy to come back. Two weeks was a long time to sweat over all the possibilities.

  ‘But supposing he’d had an affair with someone else before you . . .’

  ‘Which he did, several times.’

  Exactly.

  ‘And supposing there was a child . . .’ he hated to even say this out loud but let’s face it, it was a distinct possibility. ‘A child whom he was leaving money to.’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Nancy’s voice was fading either because of the implications or because of the reception. ‘Let’s talk when I’m back, Ed. I’ve got to go now.’

  He almost threw the mobile onto the kitchen island – a smart marbled affair which he used as a goal post every now and then.

  ‘Missed!’

  The Kid sauntered in, holding a mobile against each ear, looking none the worse for wear for his binge drinking the other night. Frankly, he didn’t know how they did it.

  ‘I hope that’s water.’

  Ed nodded at the glass The Kid was carrying.

  ‘I’ve gotta ring back, Jess. Something’s up.’

&nb
sp; One mobile down. One to go.

  ‘I said, is that water?’

  ‘Kerry? Call yer later. OK?’

  Two down.

  ‘I said ‘Is that water’?’

  Jamie rolled his eyes.

  ‘Sure it is. Want a sip?’

  If he did have a sip, it would indicate he didn’t trust him. That he didn’t believe The Kid when he’d promised not to drink so much again and that yes, all right, he’d start to work for his re-sits.

  ‘Are you revising?’

  ‘Are you chatting breeze, Ed? The exams aren’t for ages.’

  ‘Yes but you said you’d start early.’

  ‘I am. Tomorrow like. But I need a break.’

  ‘You have more breaks than the fracture clinic.’

  ‘Weren’t you young once?’

  ‘Where are you going now?’

  ‘Out, Ed.’

  ‘Not with . . .’

  He stopped, unable to say her name.

  The Kid grinned. ‘No, not with Tatiana or her friend. I promised, Ed. Remember? By the way, have you got any pee I can borrow?’

  Pee?

  The Kid rolled his eyes. ‘Money. A fiver. Or preferably more. I’ll pay you back. And you wouldn’t want me to be stuck somewhere dangerous without any pee to get back, would you?’

  Ed dug his hand into his right pocket. ‘That’s bribery. You can have a fiver but no more.’

  ‘Nang. See yer.’

  And he was gone.

  Ed waited until the door shut and then he lifted up the glass and sniffed it. No smell. Vodka or water?

  Trust him.

  Why?

  Because he promised.

  Yeah right.

  ‘See?’ The Kid was at the door again – how had he got back so quietly? ‘I told you, Ed. It is water, isn’t it? By the way, someone rang. Some woman. Claire someone. Didn’t leave a number. Said she’d ring back. Nice to see you’re back in the game, Ed.’

  34

  LIZZIE

  Lizzie’s embarrassment over the hospital incident – as if she even wanted another boyfriend! – was nothing compared with her grief over Sophie’s refusal to come home. How could her daughter be hard enough to choose another woman over her mother?

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Dan had insisted over what was becoming a regular coffee after each shoot. They worked well together, she had to admit. She prided herself on being a good journalist and he definitely knew his stuff. When it worked, it was like a dance. And somehow, ever since he’d agreed to be her ‘pretend date’ to make Tom jealous (fat lot of good that had done!), she’d begun to see that he really was quite sweet although obviously not in that way.

  ‘Kids will always love their mums.’ He gave her an odd look. ‘But to be honest, Lizzie, you probably pushed her over the edge.’

  Pushed her over the edge?

  He was stirring his cappuccino. ‘You’re a bit calmer now but when I first knew you, you were – phew! – all over the place. Yelling at the kids. Always doing stuff while you were talking on that earpiece of yours. Never . . .’

  ‘So it’s all my fault?’ She glared at him. ‘Is that what you’re saying? I was doing so much that I didn’t have time for Tom, so that’s why he left me? You men are all the same. That’s what he said.’ Her eyes smarted with tears again. ‘It’s not fair. I was expected to go to uni. Expected to get a good job. Expected to be a good wife. And a good mum. But no one said it would be so difficult . . .’

  ‘Hey there.’ Dan’s hand was surprisingly warm. ‘That’s not what I said. To be honest, I think your husband is a prick for doing what he did. I’m talking about your daughter. Kids are selfish. My sister’s always saying so. But you’ve got to remember who’s the adult here. Kids don’t like to see their parents going to pieces. They want them to be adults. And if you want your daughter back, you’ve got to show her that home has changed now. That it’s OK to come back to.’

  Maybe, said the small voice inside her, he had a point.

  Sophie was due to come to tea tonight so she could collect some more clothes and work for school. (How weird was that? Her own daughter coming back just to get her stuff?) Well, she’d do what Dan said. Make it nice and calm for her. And maybe pump her for some information about Tom and Sharon at the same time.

  The Slut was getting enormous now, although Lizzie still couldn’t bring herself to believe it was Tom’s baby. Everyone said Sharon slept around! Well, maybe not everyone but one or two women at the school gates had conceded that she seemed the type.

  As for Mum and Dad? Frankly, she couldn’t even think about them right now.

  She and Dan had ended early today so she could pick up Sophie from school, along with Jack, who was on an ‘incest day’ as he called it. Mum had been looking after Jack so she’d had to go there first and shit, sorry, sugar, there was nothing in the fridge for supper.

  ‘Hi,’ said a woman, pulling up in a black Mini convertible.

  All she needed now was the Bitch in Boden, although this time she was wearing sparkly silver jeans and pink trainers plus an enormous yellow and green bag, none of which Lizzie had spotted in the last catalogue. (Possibly because she hadn’t had time to read it.)

  The woman seemed to be frantically searching for something in her handbag.

  ‘Shit. The little bugger’s crapped again. You haven’t got any kitchen roll on you, by any chance? Great! Thanks.’

  The organised Bitch in Boden was losing it? Then there was no help for any of them.

  ‘Sorry – do I know you?’ The woman was looking at her now as thought she hadn’t just said ‘Hi’ or borrowed used kitchen roll off her.

  Lizzie nodded. ‘Your son Harry came to tea last year and he had nits and I didn’t have any food to give them.’ She glanced at the bag. ‘You’d just got your shitzoo – I mean shiatsu – and the kids said you carried it round in your bag.’

  A wide smile broke out on the other woman’s face. ‘Yes I do! I remember thinking ‘Thank God there’s someone else with a life that’s as mad as mine’.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ She stopped smiling. ‘And by the way, I haven’t got a dog in my bag before you call the RSPCA. Never have done. It’s one of those pretend dogs with plastic poo from Japan that I’m meant to be looking after for one of the children. Not mine. It’s a bit of a long story. Meant to teach them responsibility. Hah! What a joke. They couldn’t even spell the word let alone do it.’ Her eyebrows suddenly shot up. ‘Hang on. Aren’t you the woman whose marriage has broken up thanks to Sharon The Slut?’

  She loved this woman! She really did!

  ‘You call her that too?’

  ‘Doesn’t everyone? Did you know those boobs are fake? They’re plastic chicken breasts. I know! I saw her adjust them in the car the other day when she didn’t think anyone was looking.’

  ‘Listen!’ Lizzie almost grabbed her by the arm. ‘I need to prove that the baby she’s having isn’t my husband’s.’

  There was a hissing in of breath. ‘Tricky. How are you going to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ The B in B (although it didn’t seem right to call her that now) looked as though she was trying to find something again in her cerebral region. ‘Pity you’ve missed the PTA meeting. There isn’t another for six months now and we could have asked around.’

  The PTA?

  ‘Piss-up and Talk About everyone club, otherwise known as the Parents Teachers Association.’ She smiled warmly at Lizzie. ‘I’ll put you up if you like. It’s a great way to meet people. Listen – about Sharon. I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know. OK?’ She jerked her head towards some spotty adolescent who was approaching them. ‘Looks like someone wants to see you. Probably a new teacher from the look of her.’ She snorted. ‘See you!’

  Lizzie stared in disbelief at the figure approaching with a pink haversack slung casually over one arm, bulging with exercise books.

  ‘Mum!’

  Sophie? Her
daughter! Her daughter whom she hadn’t seen for three days and five hours with her hair in . . . Where was her hair?

  ‘I had it cut!’

  Sophie swung her head to one side and back as though to show there was nothing to swing any more. ‘Do you like it?’

  But she hadn’t given her permission! Sharon had no right! Nor had Tom.

  ‘It looks very nice,’ she heard herself say. ‘It suits you.’

  Sophie looked surprised. ‘Really? Sharon said you’d go nuts.’

  Another deep breath. ‘And what did Daddy say?’

  Sophie looked away. ‘He wasn’t very pleased, actually. Said she should have asked him or you first.’

  YES, YES, YES!

  ‘Shall we go now?’ Lizzie resisted the temptation to hug her daughter right there in the playground. Sophie might not like that and then all her hard work about not going nuts about her hair would have been worthless. Her teeth were killing her from the gritting. ‘I thought we might have takeaway fish and chips as a treat.’

  ‘Really?’ Sophie was walking alongside her to the car. ‘Where’s Jack? I’ve missed him.’

  Where was Jack?

  There was a tap on her shoulder. The B in B again. Where had she sprung up from? ‘Over there. Look.’

  How had he crossed the road like that?

  ‘It’s all right, Mum.’ Sophie was holding her hand as though she was the child. ‘I’ll get him. You turn the car around. Looks like you’ve blocked someone in.’ She grinned at her. ‘Your driving hasn’t got any better, has it?’

  They had a nice evening. Really nice. Instead of trying to commit mutual manslaughter, the kids actually sat up at the kitchen table with her, eating their fish and chips out of the greasy bags because, as Sophie said, they tasted nicer that way.

  ‘We used to have this as a treat when I was a child and we went on holiday,’ said Lizzie dreamily over her double portion.

  Funny, she hadn’t thought of that for years.

  ‘Tell us about it again,’ urged Sophie.

  Of course, she’d told them loads of stories about the island as they were growing up. But, unlike now, they hadn’t seemed that interested. It was just one of Mum’s memories. But now, both of them were sitting up, their eyes expectantly waiting. ‘We used to go to the Isle of Wight, every year.’