by K. L. Slater
I nod and grin and edge past him, scooping up my phone as I pass by. I feel like I’ll be sick if I eat anything, but I have to show willing.
There’s only a short queue but while I wait, I check my phone. Three notifications now. A missed call, a voicemail and a text message. All from Steph.
Only one person in the queue remains before me now. I decide not to listen to the voicemail but I do check out the text.
Where are you?? Call me asap.
I glance at the door like a guilty schoolkid, about to be caught out when she should be doing homework. I go out alone so rarely, I wouldn’t put it past Steph to try and track me down if she can’t get hold of me but she’d never think about this place; we’ve certainly never been here together.
The person in front of me walks away from the counter and I order two lattes and two pieces of cake to eat in. Carrot and red velvet. I’m betting he’ll take the red velvet.
The barista says she’ll bring them over, so I walk back to the table, noting George’s neat but stylish haircut, the back of his broad, tanned neck.
He looks up as I place my phone back on the table and take my seat again.
‘So, your little man is back fighting fit already?’
‘Yes, you’d never know anything had happened at all now.’ I tap my fingernails on the table and avert my eyes as my phone screen lights up again. ‘Look, I know you said there’s no need, but I just wanted to—’
‘Hey, you’ve thanked me enough, OK?’ he says kindly but firmly. ‘I’m just pleased I could help. My daughter, Romy, was wildly unimpressed; when it was all over, she bent my ear because the queue for the spinning teacups had got twice as long.’
We both burst out laughing and I feel myself relax a little.
‘How old is Romy?’
‘She’s six.’
I nod. I thought she looked a similar age to Kane, who turned six a month ago.
‘Six going on sixteen, I bet?’
‘Too right.’ George rolls his eyes. ‘She keeps me on my toes, for sure, but she’s my world.’
I love that he’s so openly adoring of his daughter. I glance at his ring-free hand again. Maybe he’s a weekend dad – divorced, perhaps, with partial custody?
The barista sets a tray on the table and offloads the coffees and two huge wedges of cake set on quirky hand-painted crockery with tiny silver dessert forks balanced artfully on the side.
‘Wow, how did you know?’ George licks his lips. ‘Carrot cake. My favourite.’
I laugh. ‘I had you down as a red velvet man.’
He wrinkles his nose. ‘Bit rich for me, red velvet, and all that food colouring, ugh.’ Is it my imagination, or does his gaze linger on my face a touch too long? ‘I’m a natural sort of guy, not a big fan of artificial additions.’
I feel my cheeks ignite. I look natural all right – bordering on unkempt. But somehow I get the feeling he approves of my pared-down appearance.
‘Looks like someone needs to get hold of you.’ He nods to my flashing phone, signalling an incoming call. From Steph.
I’m about to reach to turn it off when it suddenly occurs to me… what if it’s something about the boys? What if Kane’s unwell again?
Concern must show itself on my face because George points to it.
‘Don’t mind me, answer it if you need to.’
But Steph’s text had simply said to call her. She’d definitely have said if Kane was unwell. I slip the phone into my handbag.
Fourteen
We sit in silence for a few moments as we sip our coffee. George uses the miniature fork to cut off a piece of cake, and pops it in his mouth, closing his eyes and pulling an ‘I’m in heaven’ expression.
I grin, poking at the other slice of cake but not eating any. I still feel too tense. Trust Steph to pick now to start badgering me.
‘So, tell me a bit about you then, Darcy,’ he says, taking another gulp of coffee and laying down his fork. ‘You’ve two boys, right?’
‘Yes. Kane has just turned six and Harrison is ten.’
‘The pair of them are quite a handful, I expect.’ He picks up his fork again and smiles. ‘I have my hands more than full with just the one.’
Doesn’t sound like a part-time dad. I decide to bite the bullet.
‘They’re both little live wires, but like you said about your daughter, they’re my world. I’m lucky, as their auntie and grandparents help me out quite a bit with them.’ I hesitate. ‘Their father, Joel, passed away when they were just two and six years old. So it’s been a difficult journey at times.’
George stares, puts his fork down again.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ His smooth, tanned forehead creases with concern. ‘Sadly, that’s something we have in common. Romy’s mother died six years ago.’
‘Wow,’ I breathe. ‘So… you get it.’
‘Totally,’ he agrees.
I’m not sure what I thought taking coffee with a surgeon would be like, but it’s not this. He seems so relaxed and is incredibly easy to talk to. I expected him to talk shop and use medical terms I’ve never even heard of, but he’s not like that at all.
He seems so… well, down to earth.
‘Your job at the hospital, it must be so demanding. How on earth do you cope as a single dad, working those crazy hours?’ I’m always reading in the news about the raw deal hospital doctors have these days, working double shifts, never getting any sleep.
‘The ward doctors suffer, but we consultants don’t have it too bad. My hours are quite civilised in comparison.’ George pushes away his half-eaten cake and picks up his coffee.
I bite my bottom lip, worried I’ve offended him.
‘Sorry, I forgot you’re a senior—’
He laughs, holding up his hand in a stop sign. ‘Don’t worry, the dreaded junior doctor hours are where we all start. It’s taken me a long time to claw my way up, and if anything, I appreciate it all the more.’
He traces the rim of his latte glass with a fingertip and falls quiet for a few seconds. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, though, and soon he begins to speak in that open, honest way he has.
‘Sadly, I don’t have family help. It probably sounds a bit odd but my housekeeper, Maria, is very close to Romy and carries out a lot of duties a parent might do, like the school run, babysitting when I’m late home and during the school holidays. That sort of thing. I don’t know what I’d do without her.’
‘Housekeeper? That sounds grand!’ George must have a very different life to me. And big differences in lifestyle aren’t always good thing when you’re trying to get to know someone.
‘You just get through day to day, week to week, you know?’ George continues, seemingly not noticing my inferiority complex resurfacing. ‘Somehow we single parents manage to scale each hurdle that comes our way. I’m sure you feel the same way.’
I do, and he’s right: it’s terribly hard. It’s an important similarity that cancels out the difference in my mind.
‘Tell me a bit about your job,’ I say, leaning back against the ladder-backed chair. ‘It sounds so interesting.’
‘Well, there’s nothing much to tell really. I’m a consultant surgeon, second in command in the urology department. I’ve been in the job four years now and it’s not nearly as glamorous as people seem to think,’ he chuckles.
I glance at his long fingers and broad palms, wondering how many lives they’ve saved.
‘It must be amazing to help so many people,’ I say with a flush of admiration.
‘You’re not going to thank me again, are you?’ He leans forward and scowls, then grins, relaxing back into his seat.
‘Oops, you rumbled me.’ I grin. ‘Good job I managed to bite it back.’
‘You’re funny. Easy to talk to.’ He smiles and taps the top of my hand with his index finger. I feel goose bumps spring up on my forearm. ‘I’m really enjoying your company, Darcy.’
Our eyes lock and our smiles fade as we study ea
ch other briefly.
His eyes are mid brown with tiny golden flecks of light dancing around the irises. His jaw is square and his skin even-toned apart from a tiny nick above his top lip where he must have caught himself shaving this morning. A scatter of freckles straddles the bridge of his slightly crooked nose.
The overall effect of all this is an easy, rugged attractiveness, enhanced by his confident nature.
I look away, embarrassed that I’ve been staring too long. If I’m honest, I suppose there’s an element of not believing my luck.
‘It’s a while since I’ve done this,’ he says softly, indicating the coffee and cake on the table. ‘Met up with someone other than for work purposes, I mean. I forgot how enjoyable it can be.’
I curse my high colouring as I feel another flush in my cheeks. He notices it and smiles.
‘Same for me,’ I agree, tapping the handle of my tall glass. ‘I haven’t dated anyone since… I mean, not that this is a date. I meant…’
I will the ground to open and swallow me up. Now the whole café could warm their hands on my face.
George laughs, finishing his coffee. ‘Don’t worry. I know exactly what you mean, Darcy, and if it helps, I agree.’
My heart flutters when he uses my name. He’s got such a great bedside manner, I think cheekily.
‘Listen, have you eaten?’ He checks his watch. ‘I guess we both have to get back to our kids, but could you stay out for another hour, say? There’s a little tapas place just opened around the corner from here. I’d love to try it.’
I glance at my watch. Brenda’s bringing the kids back at 7.30 and I’ll not be able to get home for then. But she has a key, and I can easily text her to say I might be a few minutes late.
‘Sounds perfect,’ I say. I’ll just pop to the bathroom before we go.’
When I round the corner, I take out my phone to text Brenda. The screen is full of notifications: text messages, missed calls and voicemail all from Steph.
‘This is ridiculous!’ I hiss to the empty cubicles just as the phone lights up again with an incoming call. I dab my finger aggressively on the screen and it.
‘Steph? What is it?’
‘Where the hell are you?’ she snaps. ‘Mars?’
‘I’m out. Your mum has the boys.’
‘Out?’ I detect her tone is instantly a smidgeon cooler. ‘With who?’
I sigh. ‘Why are you ringing and texting like a crazy woman?’
‘I didn’t know you were out, did I?’ She sounds petulant, like a snubbed child. ‘I wanted to let you know something, that’s all. As usual, I was just thinking about you.’
‘Go on then,’ I sigh. ‘What is it?’
‘Have you heard anything from the letting agency about your house being sold yet?’
‘No.’
‘Well I can tell you it’s been sold and I know who’s bought it.’
‘Do you?’ I perk up a bit. Maybe we’re not going to have to deal with the inconvenience of moving out after all. ‘Is it someone you know?’
‘It’s someone we all know, sadly. Daniela Frost has bought it.’
The phone slips from my hands and the screen fractures on the tiled floor.
Fifteen
The tapas restaurant was tucked away down a little side street behind the library. George had heard some of the junior doctors talking about it on the ward a few days ago, otherwise he’d have had no idea it was even here.
As they were shown to a table, he glanced around and saw that it was exactly the sort of place he’d usually take pains to avoid. It had that upmarket feel that always translated to him as pretentious. Small and intimate, it was filled with professional, ambitious types who looked as if they’d just finished working at their plum jobs in trendy advertising agencies. Every time the door opened, they’d glance up and sweep the new diners head to foot, looking to compare for signs of success: a designer suit, an expensive pair of shoes or handbag.
George was irritated but also amused by people who so obviously looked down their nose at others. Probably it was because he worked every day with those great levellers, illness and death. Wealth and status didn’t figure as far as they were concerned.
They took their seats at a cramped table for two near the kitchen and ordered drinks.
He glanced at Darcy and saw that she still looked uncomfortable, glancing around her at the well-dressed diners, gulping down the small glass of filtered water the waiter poured.
When she’d finally emerged from the bathroom in the coffee shop she’d looked flustered and her face had flushed a deep pink.
‘I dropped my phone.’ She’d held it up and showed him the screen with its spider web of cracked glass.
‘Is that all that’s wrong?’ he’d said, helping her on with her jacket. ‘You look a bit upset.’
‘I’m fine, it’s just…’
For a second he’d thought she might burst into tears and had started to wonder if she’d received some bad news in the bathroom. She’d been longer than he’d expected in there and it appeared someone had been trying to call her when he’d first arrived.
‘I could do without the cost of getting another iPhone. This is such an old model too, a newer one will cost a fortune.’
She looked genuinely worried at the thought of the extra cost.
‘You might get away with just a screen repair,’ he suggested and she nodded. ‘Let’s get out of here, shall we?’
‘Hope you don’t drink your wine like that,’ he murmured drily now, peering at her over the drinks menu.
She laughed, and he loved that she opted immediately for honesty. ‘I get thirsty when I’m nervous.’
‘Seriously? You’re not nervous because of me, are you?’ He put down the menu and stared at her. He’d seen her glancing down at her phone several times.
‘It’s not you,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I feel very comfortable in your company.’
‘I’m glad about that.’ He touched her hand briefly and felt a little frisson of electric current there. ‘Then why?’
She looked around and shrugged. ‘I just feel like everyone here lives a very different life to me, I suppose. You know, successful careers, exciting social lives, that sort of thing. It seems a long time since I’ve been out in place like this.’
He could almost see the feeling of inferiority creeping through her veins, and it reminded him of Lucy when they’d first met. She’d been beautiful but didn’t know it; well-off from the bank of her mum and dad but never flaunted it. He’d adored her honesty and transparency.
‘What do you do… as a job, I mean?’ he asked, taking a sip of his water.
‘I’m a yoga teacher.’ Darcy scrunched up her shoulders a little, as if it were an embarrassing fact. ‘I haven’t got a studio or anything; I just teach a few classes in local venues. I used to teach a lot more, but… well, with one thing and another, I’ve scaled back quite a bit.’
One thing and another. Interesting, he thought, noticing the furrow in her brow, but it would’ve been rude to ask so early on, so he stayed quiet.
‘Before Joel, before having the kids, I used to manage a successful gym on the outskirts of the city. That’s where I became qualified to teach.’ Her face brightened.
‘Sounds like you enjoyed that.’
She nodded. ‘I was full of confidence and fighting fit back then, always looking the part just like these people.’ She nodded to the room. ‘I loved the variety of my day. Interviewing and appointing staff, brainstorming sales campaigns with the team, regular meetings with senior management visiting from the gym’s headquarters in London.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Sorry. I’m going on a bit.’
‘Not at all. I’m interested.’
She used to frequent places like this tapas bar a couple of times a week at least, she told him. ‘I’d barely notice my surroundings, so comfortable was I playing the part, but now, I feel like a bit of an imposter.’ She brushed down the sleeves of her fluffy pink sweater and patted
her already neat hair down at the back.
‘Do you know the last time I came out for drinks after work?’ George didn’t wait for an answer. ‘About four months ago, when someone in my department had a leaving do.’ His eyes scanned the room. ‘Most of these people are putting on a good show, but they’d rather be at home in their pyjamas watching a box set. Trust me; look at their faces.’
That made her laugh. But she looked around at the other diners and he could see that she saw what he meant: the pasted-on smiles and tired eyes.
‘You’re right!’ she said.
He nodded. ‘It’s the unavoidable downside to living and breathing a successful career, with little else in your life. So don’t envy them, whatever you do.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, picking up the menu and seeming a little more liberated. ‘I feel better already.’
And noting her bright expression and lifted chin, he could see she was telling the truth.
* * *
Later, when he got back home, he thanked his housekeeper for agreeing to look after Romy while he was out.
Maria had been with him since Romy was born, when Lucy was still alive. If she was efficient and useful then, she was an absolute godsend now. George and Romy both considered her a member of the family, and she’d proven on several occasions where confidentiality was key that he could trust her implicitly.
When she’d gone home, and with his daughter safe and sound in bed, George poured himself two fingers of Jack Daniel’s with ice and just a splash of water. Then he sat down in the lounge, curtains pulled and the lamps on.
He took a sip of the whiskey and closed his eyes, feeling the burn at the back of his throat. It felt like a small punishment, one that he deserved.
There were no two ways about it: he’d made some very, very bad decisions. And the worst one was getting involved with the nightmare that was Opal Vardy.
He’d had a strange feeling about her from their first meeting, but had he listened to it? No. He’d been flattered, seduced, and she’d played him like a fiddle.
