‘I thought you’d like it here, what with all the ghosts of celebrities past,’ The Dad said, gesturing to the autographed paparazzi snaps all over the walls of the restaurant he’d chosen in Fitzrovia.
‘I love it, and I think we’ve got the best table in the house.’ We sat beside each other in a corner booth, surveying the madness of the central London Saturday night. The Dad’s arm was casually draped along the back of the seat, his hand resting on my shoulder. Every so often he stroked it gently. This didn’t seem forward. It felt natural and I was enjoying myself immensely.
‘I come here quite a bit for lunch so they gave us the good table. It just shows what my £9.99 prix fix lunch can buy. I know, I know, I shouldn’t flash that kind of cash around, but why not live the privileged lifestyle if we can? I knew I’d gone stratospheric when they gave me two mint chocolates with my bill the other day. They don’t dole those out to just anyone, you know. I’m important here. Watch this.’ He nodded to the waiter. ‘Hello,’ he said pleasantly. ‘Can we please have another bottle of water?’
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘Did you see that?’ He said when the waiter left. ‘It’s embarrassing, really, that kind of fawning attention.’ He sighed. ‘But one gets used to it eventually.’
‘I bet you sometimes wish you could blend into the background and be a nobody.’
‘You can’t even imagine what I suffer in the glare of such limelight.’ He smiled as he checked his ringing phone. ‘Excuse me a minute. I’m sorry.’ He asked the caller if everything was all right as he headed to the front of the restaurant. Maybe it was his daughter. It was unsettling to think that he had children with another woman. How did I feel about that? Put it this way. If I were a lion, I’d probably have eaten them.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said as he sat back down. ‘That was my ex-wife so I had to take it. How’s your pavlova?’
How was my pavlova? How was his ex-wife? ‘It’s fine, thanks. Lots of fruit. Is everything okay at home? I imagine you and your ex have to talk quite a bit, with the children and all.’
‘We generally talk every day. She’s fine, she just wanted to tell me about her day. She’s up for promotion.’
‘Oh, did she get it?’ Like I cared.
‘She doesn’t know yet.’
Then why was she calling him? To tell him she didn’t find out about a promotion? That wasn’t news, it was non-news. Chatting about your day was something done with friends. Which meant they must have been friends. Was that odd, or grown-up? I wasn’t sure. ‘I guess you need to talk a lot when there are children.’
‘We’ve also got joint custody, and that inevitably means logistics to sort out. I have the children on alternate weeks. The Sunday shuffle sometimes means days of planning and preparation. So it’s not easy but we make it work.’
‘That sounds very healthy. You divorced on good terms, then?’
‘I don’t think anyone divorces on good terms. Even when it’s a mutually agreed split, it’s never really easy. Well, you know.’
‘And was yours? Mutually agreed?’
He pursed his beautiful lips. ‘No, I wouldn’t say it was. Elizabeth left me, you see. It was a bolt from the blue.’
And there it was. I knew it. The potential chink in this knight’s armour. How should I respond when all manner of scenarios ran through my mind? Maybe she cheated on him… with their neighbour… in their marriage bed… and he caught them at it one afternoon when she should have been at her Bikram yoga class. Or perhaps he was one of those self-absorbed men who wouldn’t notice if his wife caught fire, and she’d been withering on the vine, a virtual slave to their life and children with not a single reward. No, that didn’t sound right. He was too courteous to be a cad. So maybe she went off men. It was probably best not to lead with that supposition. The main question was: who’s fault was it, and if his, just how monumental was that fault? Kind concern for his situation was probably the right response but I wasn’t about to fall into that trap. If we went down the I-just-want-to-be-supportive route, I couldn’t wheedle the whole story from him. And I wanted every last blood-soaked detail. Starting with why it was a bolt from the blue. Was it really, or was he too obtuse to see a Category 5 hurricane brewing?
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That must have been a shock. It’s always sad when people break up. But of course nobody can look in on a relationship and really know what’s going on… so what happened in your case?’
He didn’t look uncomfortable talking about the demise of his marriage, so I must have struck just the right balance – ninety per cent Mother Theresa with just a bit of Gestapo sting in the tail.
‘Libby stopped working when Sarah was born,’ he said. ‘We talked a lot about it even before she got pregnant. Her work had been stressful for year and I was earning enough, so I urged her to quit. When she got pregnant she jumped at the chance, though I did warn her that she was probably trading one bald little tyrant for another.’ He chuckled at the cosy memory, making me jealous of a woman I’d never met. ‘She could always go back to work if she decided she wanted to. But she loved being a stay-at-home mum, and then when Amanda was born, it didn’t seem possible but she became even happier. We were blissful for many years. We were a unit, a family unit. Elizabeth got very involved in the girls’ school and volunteered there once they got a bit older. We had lovely holidays with the girls, and sometimes weekends away when they stayed with her parents. And then everything changed.’ He shook his head, frowning. ‘Elizabeth grew distant. She wouldn’t tell me what was troubling her. I was convinced it was something I did but couldn’t work out what it might be. The more I asked, the more she withdrew. Then one day she said she didn’t want to be married to me any more. She no longer loved me and wanted a divorce. Just like that.’
‘Did you ever find out what had happened?’
He gazed at me with much sadness. ‘You know what happened, don’t you?’
‘There was someone else?’
‘Of course there was. You don’t just stop loving someone without a reason. Either they change.’ He ticked off on his fingers. ‘Or you change, or you fall in love with someone else. I didn’t change, that much I knew. I was exactly the same as when she met me. Oh, but I was,’ he said to my objection. ‘Really, I’ve been like this since my twenties. I managed to pester that out of Libby eventually. She admitted that I was the same person she fell in love with. So it wasn’t me. And she hadn’t changed either. You know how some people grow into their personalities over time? Libby was absolutely consistent from the day we met. This wasn’t a midlife crisis. She didn’t suddenly discover a love of fast cars and salsa dancing.’
I shuddered at the mention of salsa dancing. ‘Are those the hallmarks of a midlife crisis?’
‘Oh, yes, I’m reliably informed that those are the obvious signs.’ He laughed, no doubt relieved at the burst of levity. ‘I just didn’t allow myself to think that the answer could be as simple as another man. You don’t, do you? It’s so clichéd. It makes you question her, of course, but it also throws everything you think about yourself into question. It’s a real shock to your well-being, to think that you’re just not enough, that there’s someone she finds better. It hurts to contemplate. It wasn’t until I’d been moved out for almost a year that she told me.’ He shakes himself and sighs deeply. ‘But we’re not here to talk about my ex-wife. We’re here to enjoy our date. I’m very much enjoying our date.’
He stared into my eyes. He was going to kiss me. I wished I’d excused myself to check my teeth. I felt like there was a bit of starter in there. I bet Julia Roberts never worried about her teeth. I smiled, Mona-Lisa-like in case of dental greens. He kissed me. ‘I’ve wanted to do that all evening,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’ve wanted to do that since the night we met.’
‘Funny, I’ve been thinking the same thing.’ We kissed again. ‘Thank you for tonight, this is really nice.’
‘It’s more than nice, B., and I’d love to see y
ou again. I’m so sorry I can’t stay with you longer, but it’s an hour journey back on the train.’
‘Of course, I understand. We could have rescheduled, you know, on a weekend when your children are with Elizabeth.’
‘No way.’ He shook his head. ‘I really wanted to see you. I don’t put my life on hold because I’ve got my daughters with me. I’ve got a fantastic childminder to help out and the children understand that their dad has a life too. It’s much better this way. Otherwise you’d feel like you have to fit in around them. It’s better when everyone accommodates each other.’
He talked like we were already in a relationship. It didn’t feel creepy. It felt good.
‘Then maybe next time we can go out somewhere near where you’re living,’ I said, struck with magnanimity and the willingness to travel outside Zone 1. ‘That way you won’t have to do the commute. We’ll share the burden.’
‘I’d like that very much, B., yes, I’d love to show you the area. It’s really beautiful, you know. People poke fun at Essex, and parts of it are as bad as you’ve heard, but we live by the sea and it’s beautiful. Maybe if the weather is nice we’ll go for a walk. How does that sound?’
‘Yes please. I’ve got my gig on Thursday, and I suppose you’re working during the week anyway, so maybe next weekend?’
‘Please, let me get this,’ he said as he gently moved the bill away from my hand. ‘Chivalry isn’t dead yet.’ He handed his card to the waiter as I thanked him. ‘Let’s say Saturday, if you’re free. I’ll plan a nice day out for us. Are you ready? I’ll walk you to the Tube.’
Sod feminism, I was all for a bit of chivalry. My dad always opened doors for Mum and me, or ran ahead to drive the car round so we didn’t have to walk in the rain. They were little things but I was used to them. I didn’t need anyone laying his coat over puddles, but common good manners went a long way.
We held hands on the way to the Tube, like a regular couple. I couldn’t properly snuggle into him because even in ballet pumps his shoulder was a little closer to the ground than mine. That still bothered me. When we talked on the phone, or bantered by email or even sat in the restaurant, I forgot the height differential. He was so gorgeous he made me swooney. So it shouldn’t have been a problem. What did I want in a man anyway, someone who’d bring down a woolly mammoth? Surely his taxi-hunting skills were much more important. I wasn’t about to reject a seemingly otherwise perfect man on height grounds. It was just that I wasn’t unaware of his inseam measurement.
As we reached the Tube he clutched my hand, pulling me to him. His kisses were slow and deep, intense. I could feel his body against mine. He definitely worked out. The kisses were slow but there was an urgency, as if he exercised great restraint to hold back. I loved it! ‘Have a wonderful day tomorrow with Clare,’ he said, breaking off our kiss and leaving me a little breathless.
‘Thanks, I will. Have fun with the girls. Thanks again for tonight. I’ll see you next weekend.’
‘Okay, sleep well, B., and we’ll talk tomorrow.’
As I skipped down the stairs my stomach fluttered with each step.
‘The kissing’s really good?’ Clare asked for about the fourth time as we wandered, dazed, through Mothercare the next day. It was an alien world full of colour and noise. ‘Do you think I need one of these?’ She held up a box.
‘What is it?’ I asked, scrutinizing the picture. It looked like a horn that a clown might use to hilariously frighten his friends.
‘It’s for expressing milk.’
‘Wha?’
‘You’re never going to have kids after I tell you this. It’s a breast pump for pumping the milk out of your boob so you can store it to feed the baby later.’
‘You’re right. After lunch, please can we stop by the hospital to have my tubes tied? You’d seriously hook yourself up like a milking cow?’
‘The women in my pre-natal class say it’s really useful. Apparently you can freeze it, like ice lollies.’
‘I suppose that’s useful if you ever run short of milk for your coffee.’
‘Don’t be repulsive.’
‘Oh right, because sucking milk out of your tit with a machine isn’t repulsive.’
She looked miserable. ‘You’re right. Listen to me. What have I become? One minute I’m a twenty-six-year-old single woman and the next I’m an elephant lumbering about comparing the merits of nappies. I didn’t think my life would come to this.’
‘It’s not for much longer, just a few months.’
‘I can’t do it for much longer! I feel like the Dover to Calais ferry every time I enter a room. I just want this baby out of me. Even The Shag finds me repellent now.’
Finally, a voluntary Shag mention. I wasn’t letting that go. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t. Has he said something?’
‘No, but I can see it in his face. He doesn’t even try to have sex with me anymore.’
‘But I thought you didn’t want to have sex.’
‘That’s not the point! He’s stopped trying, and you know how horny he is. Even he can’t stand the sight of me.’
‘Clare, I’m sure that’s not true. He’s probably just being respectful after you told him so often not to try anything. Would you have sex if he wanted to?’
‘I don’t know. I’m confused. I’ve spent so long not wanting a relationship with him. I did everything I could to discourage him, but now that he doesn’t seem to want anything, I don’t know. Oh, he’s still completely into the baby, and being a good dad, it’s not that. In fact, I think he’ll make a more natural dad than I will a mum. You should see him, B., he comes over with piles of baby books, that he’s read, and highlights pages for me so I don’t have to make my way through the whole thing. And he’s changed his job. Did I tell you? He got himself a position with the council. He says he wanted to know that he could always help support the baby. That’s sweet, isn’t it, considering how much he loved that bike shop. He says he loves the baby more.’ She sighed. ‘It’s probably just the hormones talking. It’s getting close. My life is about to change completely.’
‘I never thought I’d say this, Clare, but you shouldn’t be with The Shag just because it’s hard to be a single mum. It won’t work if that’s the only reason you’re together. Believe me, I know there has to be more than just convenience.’
‘I know. That’s what I’ve said all along, right? Don’t listen to me. I’m all over the place these days. Come on, we’ve got to get through this list or the baby will be born and not have a–’ She consulted her notebook. ‘A wipes warmer.’
‘A what?’
‘My little crème caramel, don’t you know that baby mustn’t have room temperature bottom wipes? It’ll harm its psyche. Really, I’m not some animal living in a cave. We are civilized, after all.’
‘Where did you get this list, Clare?’
‘Pre-natal class. That’s nothing. According to the checklist the baby must also have a top and tail bowl, because baths are so yesterday. Here, look. According to the baby whisperers it’s unhygienic to wash baby’s face and bottom in the same water. It makes you wonder how we survived the barbarity of a warm bath.’
‘Our mothers were cretins. Clare, promise me you aren’t going to succumb to all this.’
‘B., I solemnly swear I will never become one of those women. Now, lunch? I could murder a cheeseburger. With extra chips.’
That made me smile. The body snatchers may have forced their lists upon her, but my friend was still in there under the angst and the flatulence.
Chapter 24
Funny how little time it took for the extraordinary to become ordinary. The gigs were the highlight of my life only a month earlier. I prattled on ad nauseam about them. The girls risked exceeding their monthly text allowances with squealing messages of support.
Fast forward. It was September and I’d just answered Kat’s perfunctory question (How’re the gigs going?) with ‘fine’. I wondered whether real stars became blasé about their success
es. I couldn’t imagine it. I doubted that Rihanna pitched her Grammy in the cupboard, shrugged and said her career was ‘fine’. I wasn’t actually blasé myself, just conscious that constant repetition of minute detail would cause my friends to want to strangle me. So I was outwardly calm. Inside I still fizzed at the thought of being paid regularly to sing.
‘Good, that’s good,’ Kat said, distracted by the three-course meal she was single-handedly concocting. I loved Kat’s kitchen. It was cosy and built with families in mind, with half a dozen chairs set around the island where she worked. The seating arrangement and proximity to snacks on every surface made it the perfect place to host a girls’ night.
It felt weird knowing James wasn’t there. Her investigator caught him and Pockface in flagrante delicto, which gave her lawyer some ammunition against James’ demands, and allowed her to file the divorce petition. Divorce. It sounded so Desperate Housewives. James was still threatening to fight her for custody, but at least it would be an even fight – adulterer to adulterer. Kat looked terrible lately and I knew she wasn’t sleeping. I loved James but he was being an arsehole. He just wanted to punish her, knowing that losing the boys would kill her. Things certainly got complicated when kids were involved.
‘Are you sure I can’t help?’ I asked her.
‘I prefer to cook alone.’
‘She means she doesn’t trust you,’ Faith said.
‘Or you.’ Kat took aim with her spatula. ‘Or Clare.’
Bella Summer Takes a Chance Page 23
