“Well, I knew that part.”
“Rosie caught him with Elaine,” Carmen adds. “More specifically, in a bedroom.”
“No.” Jonathan’s face has gone quite pale. “That’s—”
“It’s okay, darling, it was years ago.” I squeeze his hand. “Thank you for getting upset on my behalf, but I’m over it.”
“Your cousin is surreal,” Charlie says as he and Lewis also join us. “I nearly fainted when she kissed me and Lewis and wished us all the happiness in the world.”
I think that Elaine’s world must be pretty lonely.
“What are we talking about?” Flora asks as she and Ned arrive.
“Elaine being surreal.”
“You know what? I think she’s just lonely,” Flora tells us in her matter-of-fact voice. “Think about it—today, of all days, her friends should have been there for her. Especially Justin and Portia Landsdowne. I mean, very bad form not turning up when she’d asked them to be godparents.”
Apparently dear Justin and dear Portia had to attend some deadly dull but vital garden party at the French embassy, so they couldn’t make it, either.
“Speaking of aliens,” Jess, a few beats behind the conversation, says to Philip, “did I ever tell you about my alien abduction experience in college?”
“No, truly?” Philip’s eyes widen with amusement.
The vicarage garden party was a huge success. Jess, to get into the role, started attending every single one of Philip’s sermons, just to prepare herself. But since the garden party, she’s kept it up. She even helps with the church flowers. Philip is a doomed man, I think, but in a very good kind of way.
“Do you want to hear about it? I mean, it wouldn’t be, like, some blasphemous thing against God, or anything, would it?” Jess frowns.
“Absolutely not, dear girl,” Philip beams at her. “Come on, let’s go find somewhere to sit, and you can tell me every single detail.”
“You know, it could also have been those strange herbal cigarettes my roommate smoked,” Jess says, as they wander out of the French windows and onto the lawn.
“They are just so perfect for each other,” Charlie sighs, and we all sigh too, because he’s right. “Anyway, while we’re talking of perfect,” Charlie says, “we’ve painted, we’ve sanded, we’ve fixed. The house is done to perfection.”
“Or rather the builders have painted, sanded and fixed,” Lewis laughs.
“And we’re now in good shape for that dinner party. How about next Saturday?”
“What dinner party?” Elaine asks as she, Luke and Baby Becky join us.
“Our housewarming dinner party.” The words are out of Charlie’s mouth before he can think up an excuse. I wish, sometimes, that he were a better liar. Because I know what’s coming next.
“Oh, how lovely. Congratulations on getting the house,” Elaine singsongs to them, with just the right amount of pathos in her tone.
“You must come,” Charlie tells her. “And you, too, Luke. Bring that lovely wife of yours with you.”
“Darling, do come upstairs with me and help me put little Becky down,” Elaine coos at me, rather surprisingly. “I think she’s had enough excitement for one day. She’s such a sweet baby, isn’t she, Luke?”
“As sweet as her mother,” Luke says, smiling, and my heart does a flip. I know that he’s out of bounds, and I know that I have dear Jonathan in my life again, but I just can’t help it.
“Come along, Rosie,” Elaine says. “As one of her godmothers, it will be nice for you to get to know her a bit better,” she adds, and I have no choice but to follow her up the stairs.
“Um, how is she sleeping?” I ask, because it’s one of those things everyone asks new mothers, isn’t it? Plus, I am trying to make an effort to be nice. “Letting you get plenty of rest, I hope?” Elaine, as ever, is immaculate. She’s even got her perfect figure back.
“Well, I do have Nurse Hodges in residence,” Elaine tells me, placing Becky down in her cot.
“It must be nice to have some help with her.” Yes, indeed, it must help having a full-time nanny-cum-nurse on hand at all times.
“Becky wakes up several times, but that’s to be expected at her age, because she likes her feeds little and often, don’t you, dinkums?” she says. “And we’re such a fussy baby, aren’t we?” Her voice is even more babyish than usual. And then she turns back to me. “I’d be a nervous wreck if it weren’t for Mrs. Hodges—she’s an absolute godsend. She’s under strict instruction to only wake me if there’s a problem. Us new mothers need our beauty sleep, you know.”
“It certainly suits you,” I say, because it does. I think, again, that motherhood really has softened Elaine.
“I’m so happy to see you and Jonathan back together again,” she tells me, changing the subject as she gazes down over the crib at Becky. “I always thought he was so perfect for you.”
Did she? She never said.
“Well, it’s early days—”
“He adores you,” Elaine interrupts, and I’m searching her expression for an ulterior motive. “It’s obvious from the way he looks at you. I can tell these things, because I’m a very empathic person, you know.” She clasps her hands together. “He deserves a second chance. I just know that if you could find it in your heart to open up to him, you’d be so happy together.”
“Well, thank you.” I didn’t know she was so invested in my happiness.
“Life’s too short,” she tells me. “You have to jump at your opportunities and make the most of them.”
I think of Charlie and Lewis, and of Ned and Flora, and of Philip and Jess, and of Carmen and Paul. They certainly seem to have seized their opportunities and made the most of them.
“You know, we haven’t been as close as we might, in the past, have we?” she asks in her little-girl voice, her eyes full of sympathetic pleading, and I soften even more.
“No,” I say, shaking my head.
“And it bothers me, Rosie, it bothers me,” she says, shaking her head even more emphatically. “Since giving birth, I’ve had time to reevaluate what’s important to me,” she adds, walking toward the window. “Because giving birth can be dangerous—why, it’s almost like a near-death experience. And then, with little Becky being so small, it was touch and go…oh, I don’t know what I would have done if something had happened to my little darling…” She trails off, wiping a tear from her eye.
Well, Becky was a bit small, but I hadn’t realized she’d been in any danger. In fact, this is the first I’ve heard of it, and if there had been a problem I’m sure that Auntie Pat would have wasted no time putting the world in the picture. But I don’t say this. Instead, I will magnanimously allow Elaine her moment of melodrama.
“It must have been such a worry,” I say instead. Because if Elaine can hold out an olive branch, then the least I can do is accept it. “But she’s looking lovely and healthy now, isn’t she?” I try for upbeat.
“Yes, she is, isn’t she? Her lovely little face reminds me sometimes of her father…” Elaine trails off, looking tragically down over the garden.
I hold my breath. Elaine never did tell us who it was; I wonder if this new, touchy-feely, friendly Elaine will want to confide in me.
“You just can’t imagine how hard it is to be alone, with a poor, fatherless child,” Elaine says dramatically, and then she does an about-turn. “But all that has changed since Luke came into our lives.”
Luke?
“Um, he seems very nice,” I say, all nonchalant.
“Oh, Rosie. I shouldn’t tell you, I shouldn’t tell anyone, but I’m so happy,” she says, innocent eyes widening as she puts a hand to her mouth. “I have to confide in someone or I’ll explode. We just—bonded, in the neonatal unit.”
Oh. My. Fuck. I don’t believe this. The lying, cheating, adultering…
“But he’s—he’s married.”
“That’s not the whole truth. Oh, I’m bursting with it, I just can’t keep it in,” Elaine
bursts out. “Of course, you can’t tell a soul. Not for now, at least.”
“Um, of course.” What does she mean, it isn’t the whole truth?
“Come, sit with me.” Elaine perches on the overstuffed cream sofa and pats the cushion next to her.
And as I walk across and sit down, my heart in my mouth, I can’t help but marvel at the choice of a cream couch for a baby’s nursery. I mean, I thought babies had, you know, a tendency to be sick and stuff…
It’s strange, isn’t it? My cousin, who until this moment has been Bitch Cousin from Hell, has suddenly had a character-changing experience, wants me to be her new best friend, insists on confiding something to me that I am sure I do not want to know, and all I can think about are cream-covered sofas.
“It’s Luke and Rowan,” she says. “They’re getting divorced.”
“Oh.” If she’d just told me that an alien craft had landed outside the Houses of Parliament, and that the Prime Minister and, in fact, the entire government had been replaced by a group of three-headed, ten-legged, yellow Urgs from the planet Zoon, I wouldn’t be more surprised.
Luke and Rowan are getting divorced? A cold layer of ice forms around my heart as I worry about whether this has something to do with the fact that I slept with him.
“I know. It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” Elaine laughs. “I know I shouldn’t be happy about it, but you see, it hasn’t been a real marriage for years.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. Luke has confided everything in me. Everything,” she says, shaking her head. “They’re very good friends, and she’s a lovely person, and everything. But apparently they got married when Luke was fresh out of medical school because it was expected by both families. They’d been engaged since they were both twenty-one.”
“That’s young to get engaged,” I say absently, thinking, thinking all the time, as the cogs in my brain click and whir.
“Too young to know one’s mind,” Elaine tells me. “But neither of them could envision marrying anyone else, and they’d been friends forever, and they just kind of fell into it.”
Well, that sounds like a good reason to get married to me. I mean, the passion doesn’t last forever.
My night of passion with Luke springs instantly to mind. And the friendship that began to form between us at the Christmas fund-raiser, and in the bar at Flora and Ned’s engagement…
“They just didn’t have any passion,” Elaine tells me. “Right from the start. Of course, Luke hasn’t told me that, but I could tell from the look in his eyes,” she adds, and I wonder how much of what she is telling me is a fabrication. Because let’s face it, Elaine has been known to give the truth a bit of a helping hand on more than one occasion.
Maybe she’s not fabricating. I mean, the note Luke left me that morning said that his life was complicated, and that he needed to explain something to me, and—Oh, fuck, I don’t know what to think anymore.
Warning bells ring in my head as it all starts to fall into place.
“But. But. But why stay married for so long? I mean, they’ve been together how many years?” I squeak, trying to get a grip on my vocal cords.
“Five. But you see, staying married suited them. They’ve lived very amicably side by side for a while, so why scuttle the boat if there’s no reason? Neither of them had met someone else…until now.” Elaine laughs her little laugh, and the ice around my heart hardens, because I can almost guess what’s coming next.
Oh, why didn’t I give him a chance to explain himself to me back in February?
But, I remind myself, married or not, he should have told me about Rowan before climbing into my bed. Then again, I didn’t exactly give him the chance. I mean, I was all over him the minute we got inside my front door….
“Also, you see, there’s all the charitable donations that her family makes. They’re a very conservative bunch, they don’t really approve of divorce, and Luke and Rowan had to make sure that they didn’t destroy the planned agenda of charitable donations her family has made this year. Including a hefty amount for neonatal research.”
Oh, it all makes sense.
“As soon as the time is right, Luke and I will be able to declare our love to the world,” Elaine finishes, watching me closely.
“Well.” I’m bemused, confused. I just can’t think straight.
But one huge, unmissable thought shines thorough like a beacon in my fog-infused brain. The one that is telling me that I might have made the biggest mistake of my life not giving Luke the chance to explain things back in February.
“Darling, you’re such a good friend,” Elaine tells me, taking my hands in her own. “I just hope you can find it in your heart to be happy for us.”
“Of course, of course,” I say, pulling myself together. “Um, that’s completely wonderful news,” I add. “And you and Luke can both rest assured that I won’t breathe a word of it to, well, anyone,” I babble, infusing my voice with false enthusiasm.
“Oh, it’s just so exciting,” Elaine tinkles at me.
And as Baby Becky begins to cry, I am tempted to join her, without really understanding why.
“You’ve been very quiet tonight,” Jonathan says as he pulls up outside my house.
“Oh, just thinking about, you know, Elaine being a mother, and that kind of thing,” I lie, because I can hardly tell him the truth, can I? It all fits. I mean, if I’d really wanted Luke, then I would have listened to him, despite thinking he was a cheating, lying scoundrel. Which means that subconsciously, I was rejecting him.
“So have I. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future just recently.”
Colin must still be up. All the downstairs lights are on. I just don’t know if I can face listening to him tonight.
“Me too,” I say, thinking of Colin’s future.
“Rosie,” Jonathan begins, then stops.
“What?”
“I know this isn’t the most romantic setting in the world, and it should usually involve fine food, and violins, and expensive rings. And I know that we’ve had our difficulties, but I think that we’ve come full circle. Will you—will you marry me?”
I’m shocked by his question. It’s the last thing I was expecting, but as all my jumbled thoughts whirl in my brain, it becomes the most logical, natural question in the world.
We know each other so well; we’re that comfortable pair of old shoes.
We’re fond of each other and have a lot of the same interests. French, to name one.
And I think of Charlie and Lewis, and how Lewis got his embarrassing mole removed because Charlie was worried. He compromised.
I think of Flora and Ned, and how happy they are in their newly wed state.
I think of Carmen and Paul, and the compromises they made for comfort as well as spontaneity.
I think of Philip and Jess, and how well suited they are.
And then I think of Elaine and Luke.
“You don’t need to answer me now,” Jonathan adds, an endearingly earnest expression on his face. “Take all the time you want.”
“Yes, Jonathan,” I tell him. “I will marry you.”
19
Dinner for Nineteen
Rosie’s Confession:
They say that too many cooks spoil the broth.
I just don’t think that cooking industrial is my thing…
“Are you sure you don’t need any help with that?” Colin deadpans rhetorically at me two weeks later as he pushes past me to run hot water into the kitchen sink.
“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie brightly. “You go back inside and have fun.”
“Let me just clear the decks for you,” he says, ignoring me as he begins to clear the utter chaos that is my small kitchen, and generally get underfoot as I stir yet another pan of spaghetti Bolognese.
I know that he is only trying to help, so I bite my lip as I have to move out of the way for him to collect more dirty dishes and wipe down the sauce-splattered side.
Al
though I am a self-confessed neat freak, comparison with Colin pales me into insignificance on the fanatically-clean-and-tidy front. Since he moved in “temporarily” oh, eleven weeks and six days ago, I’ve taken to leaving dishes unwashed, and squeezing the toothpaste from the top, just to hurry along his search for alternative accommodation. I’m fond of him, but I really hope he finds somewhere soon. He’s driving me crazy. Especially tonight, when I need to concentrate on the task at hand.
“We can do that later, Colin,” I tell him patiently, because although he truly means to help, he’s more of a hindrance. This is a bloody, fearsome war, and I need to plan my campaign.
“Everything alright in here?” Mum asks from the doorway.
“It’s all under control,” I lie again, because it will be a miracle if I can produce nineteen plates of hot pasta and nineteen servings of hot pasta sauce without having a nervous breakdown.
“Oh, Colin, you’re never washing all those dishes on your own?” Mum bustles into the kitchen. “Here, I’ll wash and you dry up. We’ll have this spick and span in no time.” This from the woman to whom the term Domestic Goddess cannot be applied.
I chew even harder on my poor lip as my mobility in the small space is even more severely restricted. I know that they mean well, but in the words of Marlene Dietrich, I just want to be alone. If only they would leave me in peace, I could fight my way through my assault on the spaghetti dinner.
Tonight was supposed to be my night of culinary triumph. An intimate dinner party for my nine nearest and dearest friends. A challenging occasion on which I would repay everyone’s hospitality for previously eaten dinners prepared by them.
On the two other occasions when it has been my Saturday-night turn to entertain my friends, I took the precaution of ordering (a) Chinese takeout and (b) Indian takeout, thereby ensuring gastronomic delight, because they all knew that I could not cook and forgave me for sidestepping this element.
But that was before I completed my night school cookery course.
Yes, tonight was one of those best-laid plans of mice and women. A chance for me to display my newly acquired knowledge and skill. And also to serve as a low-key engagement celebration, because Jonathan and I have decided on a low-key wedding. We’re paying for it ourselves, and why splurge out all that extra money on a huge affair that only lasts one day when we should be investing in our future?
Confessions of a Serial Dater Page 24
