A car suddenly splatters dirty water all up over the pavement and I jump back. The driver’s head turns towards me and I notice the upturned smirk.
Shit. Shit. Shit. ‘Pig!’ I yell after him. The umbrella flails backwards and I feel cold water splash against my trouser legs. I look up, pulling my shield back over my head but I’m too slow. Vince has seen me. Hesitant, I wave back, the opportunity to reconsider and slope away long gone. I move towards the crossing and wait for the green man as Vince walks over to meet me.
‘Hi,’ he says. ‘Jeez you’re soaked.’ At first I think we’re going to shake hands but instead he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. It seems the most natural thing in the world, as if greeting a long-lost friend. He’s wearing aftershave, something musky, to mask the smells. We’ve had the same thought.
‘Hi. Yes, I was a bit slow. The driver went through the puddle deliberately.’ I shake my umbrella closed. The rain is easing off but I’m also not ready to share the enclosed space under the spokes with this stranger.
‘It’s good to see you. I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.’
We move slowly, side by side, towards the entrance and I’m mesmerised by Vince’s easy manner. It’s as if I’ve known him for years.
‘Touch and go but here I am.’ I feel flustered, weirdly tongue-tied as I watch him present the tickets and make pleasant small talk with the man in the kiosk. Vince hands me a map and asks where I’d like to go first, what my favourite animals are. His grin makes fun of the pretence that I’m an animal lover as he takes my arm and propels me towards the monkey enclosure.
The park is strangely peaceful as we amble from one captivating sight to the next. As the monkeys swoop high from branch to branch, mocking the rather sparse smattering of humans with their cackling squeals, I start to relax, falling into step with Vince who seems to know his way around.
‘You’ve been before, haven’t you?’
‘Once or twice I must admit. It’s a great place to escape. I think I prefer animals to humans. Less complicated. You?’
‘No. First time. I fancied doing something completely different.’ I wonder if he knows I’m lying and that the zoo was last on my wish list until I read his profile.
We are only feet away from the penguins, leaning over the railings, both of us gripping a small bag of fishy treats, when the heavens open and a torrential downpour sets in. A penguin slithers down a slope and disappears under the water, followed by a steady stream of friends.
‘Here. Let me.’ Vince takes my umbrella and re-fixes a stray spoke back into its slot. ‘Let’s go for a coffee and get warm.’ He holds up the umbrella and pulls me in to his warmth. I’m too cold and wet to protest. I feel like the penguin, diving deep until the danger passes, ignoring lurking predators in the temporary safety of the underwater confines.
The coffee shop is bright and welcoming. Once inside, we take our coats off and shake them down, dripping wet globules onto the floor. Soon I’m aware of a young waitress staring at us; at Vince, to be more precise. He is unbelievably handsome, even more so than last time we met. Too good to be true pops into my mind. Although the room is warm, inviting, I feel uneasy as I sip my latte.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ he says.
‘Not much to tell really.’ I feel awkward and wonder why I don’t tell him about Roger and the kids. They’re my life after all. ‘I live in North London. What about you?’
‘You don’t get off that easily. Come on, give me something more.’
‘What like? Why don’t you try to guess?’
‘I get the impression you don’t work; lots of spare time to tone up at the gym. Perhaps you like shopping.’
‘Don’t all women?’ I make light and we laugh together. ‘You’re obviously self-employed otherwise you wouldn’t have such ridiculously large gaps in your week for these leisurely trips,’ I fire back at him.
We bandy to and fro meaningless chit-chat. Vince is a consummate listener, laughing on cue with his perfect mouth and dazzling teeth. What big teeth you’ve got, Grandma. Noah had made me read it three times last night, cowering under the bedclothes every time Grandma got close to Little Red Riding Hood. Vince is like the wolf; magnetic and dangerous.
It is almost four o’clock when we decide to take a last stroll around the lion enclosure before dark finally closes in. Vince points out the huts where you can spend the night. I turn my collar up against a chill wind, and Vince reaches over and takes my hand as if it is the most natural thing in the world.
‘Here. Just round the corner you’ll see him sleeping. Simba, he’s called.’
I can’t see anything. I can feel, but not the cold; rather my heart beating erratically. A strange excitement churns in my stomach as I’m led further into the enclosure.
‘Look. There. Can you see him?’ Vince points with his left hand and when I don’t answer he turns towards me, and time seems to stand still as he pulls me gently into him. As he kisses me, my eyes automatically start to close but I can make out the lion over his shoulder. The animal is staring straight back at us, his eyes wide open. He gets up, slowly, and with measured pace moves forward.
Perhaps tonight the people will leave the gate open and he will escape. Perhaps he’s imagining the wild plains from whence he came. My eyelids clamp shut and it’s too late. I am lost.
12
Susan
One Week Later
‘It’ll only be a couple of days.’
‘But you’ve only just got back. Why can’t someone else go?’
Roger has taken the coward’s way out and is telling me over the phone that he has to fly to Paris this time. I can hear a soft hum of conversation in the background and imagine him in his slick mahogany office, books lining the walls all the way to the ceiling; thick important tomes. His personal assistant, Mrs Fitzpatrick, will be hovering nearby.
‘By Easter things will get back to normal.’ He’s talking quietly, letting me know that he’s not alone and that making a scene would be futile. ‘The High Court battle starts on Tuesday and it should all be over by the end of March.’ It’s some high-profile celebrity divorce apparently but for me the details aren’t important.
I’m dressed ready for the gym, armed with a weak-willed determination to get back to classes and some sort of routine. I’ve no choice but to say I understand and that it’s fine, I can hold the fort a while longer. I have been planning dinner parties, couples’ outings and neighbourly soirees in an effort to pull myself back from the brink of a looming disaster with Vince. I’m trying to ignore his pleading emails but with a somewhat flimsy resolve. Roger’s return from New York was meant to propel me back to sanity.
‘It’s fine. I can manage, don’t worry. I’ll see you later.’
‘Thanks. I’ll make it up to you. Promise. Love you.’ The last is said in a very faint whisper. I imagine Mrs Fitzpatrick, with her sharp beady eyes, eavesdropping behind the door, feeling momentarily downcast. I’ve always suspected her devotion to Roger might not be entirely to do with proving her organisational efficiency.
‘Love you too.’ I listen to the phone die on the other end before I replace the handset. It’s too late to go to the gym; Pilates will be over. I wonder at what stage people embark on affairs. It all seems rather random. I can hear the well-worn adage of My wife doesn’t understand me; things haven’t been right at home for some time. My husband never gets back before ten o’clock sits aptly alongside He’s much too tired for romance.
Decision making has become more and more impossible and I feel like everyone is pulling me along, dragging me in their slipstream and I’ve no real purpose of my own. Of course I have the children, Roger, a beautiful home, and money for all manner of indulgences. But it’s not enough. I need something for me other than cleaning and tidying. Without Roger’s presence at home, time has become enemy number one, with endless stretches of hours to fill. Join Me was meant to help me get out and about, escape the boredom, but instead it has presented me with a
nightmarish conundrum.
I’ll meet Vince one more time and tell him it’s over. I’ve made the decision. I’m not sure what is going to be all over but since the trip to the zoo, I’ve had the most lurid fantasies and longings which Vince is feeding with ever-more-persistent messages. Perhaps this is what the beginning of an affair feels like. I desperately need to nip it in the bud before it takes deeper root.
The traffic is snarling up and down the Archway Road and I find myself wondering at the ugliness of the venue which Vince has suggested for our meeting, especially after the peaceful tranquillity of the zoo. The air is filled with black exhaust fumes, and irate drivers hang dangerously close to the cars in front, hooting their horns in frustration as the queue snarls slowly forward.
I stand outside the tube station and check Google Maps on my mobile before heading towards the traffic lights at the corner of Shepherds Hill where I turn left down towards Crouch End. My unease abates as trees line the road and residential houses replace the aggressive drabness of the main thoroughfare. Perhaps Vince lives nearby.
I wander slowly down the hill, keeping my eyes peeled for his car. It’s a red Audi coupé apparently, hard to miss. He said he’d be waiting in the first vacant parking slot. It is ten minutes past midday and I’m wondering why I decided to be fashionably late. It’s not a date after all but a chance for me to ‘call it a day’ and end the madness. Vince suggested a lunch meeting to try out some traditional English pub food, now that pie and chip venues have suddenly sprung up as places to visit on Join Me. The more basic choice of venue somehow seems less threatening than an upmarket gourmet restaurant. However, I do wonder at the interminable lightness of tone in his messages and his uncanny ability to make everything seem genuinely fun and innocent.
I shiver and pull my coat tighter as the chill air pinches at my ears. I reach a bend in the road halfway down and realise there are lots of vacant parking spaces on both sides of the road and no sign of a red Audi coupé.
‘Boo.’ I jump backwards, tripping on a loose paving stone and momentarily lose my balance. Vince has been spying on me, hovering behind a hedge.
‘Shit. I didn’t see you. I’ve been looking for your car.’
‘I know. I’ve been watching you.’ He bends over to kiss me on the cheek while steadying me with his arm. He hesitates as I brace against him but he doesn’t comment and discreetly pulls back. I smell his scent, musky and distinct, and once again I’m stunned at his uncanny ease of manner as we stroll side by side down the hill.
‘The Bird in Hand. It’s my local.’ He points to the pub which sits across the main road at the bottom.
‘That’s why you didn’t drive,’ I say. I don’t ask where he lives; probably too close for comfort, but I sense he wants to tell me, let me know things about himself. I loosen my scarf which is constricting my windpipe and I battle back the panic. I have to remind myself that Join Me has enticed us to share experiences, enjoy ourselves. Perhaps I’ve been overreacting. As if he can read my mind, he continues.
‘I thought we could try some good old-fashioned pub grub. Pie and chips here we come!’ He pulls me back as I’m about to step out in front of a car, again putting his arm protectively around me. I laugh nervously as he leads me across the road and in through the main entrance.
The pub is dark inside, heavy wood panelling coating the walls. There’s a jukebox in one corner and a couple of one-armed bandits lined up against the wall. An old man is pulling one of the handles down and in between times sipping beer from a tankard.
‘I could get used to this,’ Vince says as the waiter sets down our food. I’m drinking again, to give me Dutch courage. A couple of sips and I’m already thinking that I could also get used to it as I begin to struggle to remember why I’m here. I warily eye the stodgy fare.
‘If you can’t eat it all, don’t worry. The portions are huge.’ He knows my stomach is in knots and I’m mesmerised by his ability to read my thoughts. I wonder if he knows I came intending to put an end to our meetings. He leans across and tops up my wine glass while I toy with a mouthful of food.
‘Is this really your local?’ I ask. Perhaps he comes here all the time, lives nearby, and that’s why he’s so relaxed. I flick my hair back, toying self-consciously with the ends, realising it’s a flirtatious gesture.
‘Yes. I can walk here in about fifteen minutes downhill. Twenty minutes going back up.’ He smiles, his eyes twinkling, sucking me back into his web. I push the sloppy mess of meat and pastry round on the plate. I don’t want to eat. I perspire, small beads of sweat collecting under my armpits. Again he senses my struggle and leans across and brushes his lips against my cheek while resting a teasing hand on my thigh. I don’t move it away.
‘Do you live alone?’ I want to take it back as soon as I ask.
‘Most of the time. You?’ He’s toying with me, waiting for me to speak. Sitting here, his body achingly close, we both know that it’s all about the moment. Neither of us wants to spoil the romance with real-life meaningful conversation.
‘I’d rather not talk about me.’
‘Shall we stick to the weather? Probably safer.’ He laughs, knocking back his pint before wiping his lips with his thumb and finger. His hands are so perfect, his nails neatly clipped, and as he places one on top of mine, we laugh at the identical shapes. For a woman, my fingers are unusually long and I avoid growing or painting my nails so as not to draw the eye. But today I’m not embarrassed. They match Vince’s exactly in length.
‘You see. We’re clones of each other.’ I withdraw my hand and lift my wine glass. What am I doing? Why is he sitting here with me? I’m not sure whether I want the moment to end and never see him again. Perhaps it is my own insecurities that make me wonder why Vince would want to spend his time with me but something doesn’t feel quite right. I can’t put my finger on it but at this particular moment I don’t really care.
The old man has put a coin in the jukebox and Elvis Presley’s dulcet tones purr out ‘The Wonder of You’. Vince moves closer and sings along. I laugh, letting the tension explode in a bizarre wave of giggles which border on the hysterical.
‘Do you fancy going into Crouch End for a coffee? Somewhere quieter. It’s a bit too noisy, don’t you think?’ He puts his hands up to cover his ears after he has pushed his empty plate to one side. He knows I’ll say ‘yes’ and although a warning voice tells me this is because he is a master in seduction, I’m powerless to refuse. The wine has loosened my thoughts again and is letting the truth seep out. I need more of this guy.
13
Susan
I’m not sure how we’ve got on to the subject of money. The coffee shop is warm and cosy, the windows steamed up from the heat, and there’s a gentle buzz of conversation going on around us. We’ve so far managed to avoid talking about personal matters, laughing conspiratorially at how we’ve skirted round emotional issues like men at a football match. While I’m relieved that I don’t have to lie about being married with two children, I feel it’s odd for him not to pry.
‘I’m into investments,’ he begins. He talks about the money markets, sugar and coffee share prices and property bonds. I don’t really take in what he’s saying, as I sip my coffee letting the words waft over me, content to be sitting beside him, our thighs dangerously close. I tingle inside every time his body touches mine and electricity courses through my veins.
‘It’s a great opportunity but such a pity.’
A bluebottle seems to be taking its last breath as I watch it buzz frantically against the misted windowpane. Noah told me flies only live for three weeks and I am about to share this fact with my companion when I’m aware he is looking at me, waiting for an answer.
‘Sorry? What’s a pity?’ I straighten in my chair, trying to sharpen up and make sense of what he’s been talking about.
‘The investment. It’s a property block in Canary Wharf and promises returns of up to fifty per cent.’ He takes my hand, willing me to feel the import
ance of what he’s saying and to get sucked in by his intensity and enthusiasm. ‘I can’t meet the minimum amount.’ He slumps back in his seat, withdrawing from me, moving his thighs away and lets out a long, measured sigh. ‘That’s life, I suppose,’ he says in a tone of resignation. He’s waiting for a response. What does he want me to say? It takes a minute or two for the realisation to sink in. The bluebottle is on its back, all hope gone. It does a little death shudder and lies still.
‘How much are you short?’ He waits a respectable time before he sits back up and leans his hands across the table, placing them firmly on top of mine this time.
‘Five thousand pounds. It’s not a lot considering the size of the investment but the brokers won’t budge. There’s a minimum sum which can be put in to each bond.’ The hum of conversation in the shop has died down. I imagine the school run has probably kicked in and that quite a few of the customers have gone to pick up their children. I look at my watch and realise Tilly and Noah will be getting out soon. I should make a move.
‘Do you need to go?’ he asks as I cover my watch with my sleeve. Although he seems relaxed I sense a touch of finality in his tone. He motions for the bill and the waitress nods at the handsome customer and indicates that she’s onto it.
4 Riverside Close Page 7
