The site also went on to claim the restaurant was the ‘only Hertfordshire-based vegan restaurant to be featured in Plant Yourself Here – a guide to the best vegan dinners’. And that ‘all meals are calorie-counted and contain no flavours’. She assumed (and hoped) this was meant to read ‘artificial flavours’.
After half an hour, the train pulled into St Albans station and instantly the scent of coffee and baked cookies entered her nostrils. She wondered what the vegan onion would make of that? Mon dieu! C’est terrible! Il y a trop de sucre!
The kiosk on the platform continued to pump out some powerful fumes – no doubt crafted in a lab somewhere to tempt passing customers – but highly effective.
She was just going to treat herself to a low-fat latte – the middle ground between indulgence and sticking to the straight and narrow – when she saw a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables.
‘Robert!’ she said, noticing that he was reading his own book while munching on some kind of chocolate-filled muffin.
He looked up, clocked her and smiled. He had a smudge of chocolate on his cheek and she longed to wipe it off for him. (Which made her what? His mother?)
‘Nice to see you haven’t wet your trousers today!’ Jessica quipped, a little too loudly. A woman in front of her in the queue turned and looked at Robert with interest.
‘No, no nasty surprises today!’ he said, with a wink at the woman, whose ears went red as she turned back to make her order. ‘Sit down,’ he added, pushing the seat in front of him out with his foot.
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I was just, well, I’ve been to London and—’
‘Really? I’m off there in a minute. Just psyching myself up for the train. Can’t stand being squashed. And I have to take the tube too, after. Why does everything have to be based in London?’
‘What are you doing?’
‘Just meeting a friend. Well, my sister, actually,’ he said, as if divulging a state secret. ‘She’s a lawyer. Older. Used to scare me when I was a kid. Still does, in fact. Somehow, she’s roped me in to watch a play about the Middle Ages … or being middle-aged – I’m not sure. One of her friends wrote it.’ He passed Jessica a leaflet, featuring a scowling woman wearing a black hat. ‘Perhaps I should have gone for a double-chocolate muffin.’
‘It looks great,’ Jessica said, with a wink, and they both laughed.
‘So you don’t want to join us?’
‘Think I’ll give it a miss,’ she grinned, passing back the depressing-looking flyer. ‘Have fun though!’
‘You really would be welcome, you know.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, genuinely pleased. ‘I’m just completely exhausted – couldn’t bear the train again today. And have to get home for Anna.’
‘Course, course,’ he said. ‘Still, at least you would have made the evening more fun.’
‘Oh! Thanks!’ she said, surprised by his directness, by the compliment.
‘Sorry about … the trousers thing,’ he added.
‘Nothing to be sorry for. Sorry about Dave – he, well, he can get a bit jealous sometimes.’
‘I just …’ he said, his eyes serious for a moment. ‘Well, I wanted to say, I hope Dave isn’t always so … so, well, aggressive.’
‘No, no! Of course not! Just not used to strange men in the house.’
‘Yeah. OK. But look, Jessica, I’ve got to go in a sec. And I don’t want to make things awkward, but something about you, him. Maybe it’s just my view of things. But you don’t get to be an expert on happiness without being able to notice whether people actually are … happy, that is.’
‘And?’
‘And, I know I’ve said it before. But you don’t seem happy. Not really happy.’
‘But—’
‘And don’t you think someone newly engaged ought to at least be a little bit happy?’
She knew he was right, but something about him just coming out with it made her feel annoyed. ‘Well, I am. Happy, that is. Very Happy. Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am.’
‘OK.’ He got up, wiping chocolate from his fingers and leaving his napkin in a little ball on the plate. ‘Anyway, better go. Train’ll be here in a sec.’
‘Hang on,’ she said. ‘I mean. It’s nice that you … it’s nice you care about it. And I suppose I’m …’
‘It’s fine,’ he said, smiling tightly. ‘I’m glad. If you’re happy, I’m glad.’
And with that, he picked up his jacket from the back of the chair and walked towards the staircase leading to the opposite platform. ‘See you, Jessica,’ he said, waving his hand briefly.
‘Bye.’
Watching him go, she felt slightly sick.
As she walked back across the car park to collect her car, she noticed how the rainwater from the night before had pooled in the potholes, dips and rivets that covered the tarmac surface. Glancing around to make sure nobody was looking, she gently trod in one of the shallower puddles to test her shoe’s waterproof credentials.
Then, feeling both reckless and ridiculous but somehow unable to stop herself, she put her feet together, leapt into the air and jumped into the shallow pool of water; feeling the spray speckle her thin cotton trousers and watching as the water displaced around her feet.
In for a penny, she thought, looking at her ruined clothing and jumped again. This time, more water rose and sloshed into her shoe. The cold, muddy wetness on her skin was like a slap to the face – breaking the mood and bringing back her normal level of self-consciousness. Across the car park, she saw a man, key in his car door, looking at her.
But instead of rushing to her car with embarrassment, she caught the man’s eye and grinned. To her surprise, he grinned back, shook his head in mock judgement, and gave her a little wave before disappearing into the driver’s seat of a small Renault.
As she soggily continued her way back to her car, she found she couldn’t stop smiling.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
#DateNight with my fiancé @MuscleDave @VeganPantry #delicious!
‘Mum! Dave’s here!’ called Anna from the living room.
‘Just a minute!’ Jessica applied the straighteners to the last bit of her hair and studied the result. It would have to do, she decided.
Her new black jeans highlighted the fact that she’d begun to get her figure back. Her black top, edged with diamante, sparkled. Her ring – zirconia? diamond? – glittered on her finger. Her hair had grown a little and had been tamed into place with a thirty-minute blowdry. In fact, it almost looked glossy.
‘Welcome back,’ she whispered to herself, recognising the woman from her blog. ‘It’s the Jessica Bradley.’
In the hallway downstairs, Dave stood on the doormat and whistled as Jessica appeared on the stairs. ‘Hey! Looking good, Jess!’ he said, beaming. ‘I might even be able to take a picture together tonight, you know, one I’m not embarrassed to share on Instagram!’
Jessica tried to grin. It was almost definitely a joke.
‘You do look really great, Mum,’ Anna echoed from the living-room doorway.
‘Do you really think so?’
‘Yeah!’ her daughter nodded approvingly.
‘And you’re sure you’ll be OK?’ She was trying to give Anna more room; trying to stop ‘over-mothering’, as Anna had put it.
‘Mum!’ the teenage eye roll again. ‘You know I’m practically thirteen now! I’ll be allowed to babysit soon! I can look after myself.’
Jessica smiled. ‘Well, we won’t be long anyway,’ she said, brushing her daughter’s hair out of her eyes as Dave slipped a proprietary hand around her waist.
‘So, I’ve been looking at venues,’ Dave began as they started the short drive to the centre of town in his two-seater.
‘Venues?’
‘Yeah! I mean, I know it’s going to be our choice togethe
r as a couple, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt if I got a few ideas.’
Venues. ‘Oh, right?’
‘Yeah, and you have to book some of them up way in advance.’
‘Oh.’
‘But some you can get in sooner – maybe if there’s been a cancellation or something. I thought maybe we could choose a couple and go and see them?’
‘Sure,’ she glanced at the ring on her finger. Perhaps it was a diamond after all?
‘Because I wanted to say, babe. You seem more like yourself – like my Jessica now. You’re looking like yourself again.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So, maybe we should go for it.’
It occurred to Jessica that if Dave hadn’t been fully serious in the past, then this was her proposal. A sort of reclaiming of lost baggage. Not one for the Instagram feed then. #truelove
Her phone beeped, and she instinctively pulled it out of her bag. A message from an unknown number read: ‘So excited about tonight! I’ll be there from 8 – look forward to seeing you! H.’
She nearly deleted it thinking it must be a mistake, but at the last minute felt a prickle of realisation. H. Hugo. The competition.
She glanced at the date. Shit. ‘Um, Dave?’
‘Yep?’ He glanced briefly from the road to look at her face. ‘What’s up?’
‘I’ve made a mistake.’
‘What do you mean?’ He looked at her defensively, as if expecting to be dumped.
‘I forgot a work thing. An artist – remember Hugo?’
‘What, the penis guy?’
‘Dave! He’s a serious artist! But yes, the penis guy.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, he’s entered a … um … a new work in a competition at the gallery. And I forgot totally that there’s an open evening before the prizes are announced. There’s this whole wine-drinking soirée thing I’m meant to be going to.’
‘So no dinner tonight then?’
‘Do you mind?’
‘Nah, it’s OK. Restaurant’s not going anywhere!’
Jessica smiled. She’d forgotten how relaxed and easy-going Dave could be when he wasn’t at the gym. ‘Do you think you could drop me there?’
‘Drop you there? I’m coming with you!’ he said.
This was unexpected. ‘Really? I didn’t think you liked mixing with “arty types”,’ Jessica said, remembering one heated argument they’d had when she’d convinced him to skip the gym to go to an after-party at the Grand.
‘But I won’t have to mix with anyone talented or accomplished,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll have you to talk to!’
‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I’d love to have you there—’
Before she could finish her sentence, an image of the painting flashed through her mind. Surely he’d already seen it online? Someone must have told him, mustn’t they? He’d be OK with it? She took a sideways glance at his face: it wore the unmistakable smile of someone blissfully ignorant that he was going to a soirée celebrating – among other things – a pretty graphic picture of his fiancée reclining on a chaise longue.
‘Actually,’ she said, thinking better of it. ‘Actually, maybe you ought to go to the gym. I mean, you’re making good progress at the moment. You could really benefit from an extra workout.’
‘No,’ he said after a pause. ‘I mean, yeah, you’re right, but you always said you wanted me to be more involved, so I guess that I ought to make more of an effort.’
She felt guilty then, because he was being genuinely nice, and she was being misleading for all the wrong reasons.
‘OK, thanks,’ she said at last, wondering whether she ought to fake a headache and get out of the thing altogether.
But then, he’d see it in the end anyway, wouldn’t he? Or hear about it on the grapevine (if there’s such a thing as a grapevine in the world of fine, but pornographic, art).
‘Dave,’ she said as they pulled into the car park and he reversed the car with such ease into a tiny space that she developed a whole new respect for him. ‘You should know … about Hugo’s work …’
‘Yes?’ he said, distractedly.
‘Well, it … it might be a bit … surprising.’
‘More surprising than a three-metre penis?’
‘Depends on the circumstances.’
He laughed: ‘I’ll cope!’
‘It’s just—’
But he had climbed out of the car and was already around her side, opening the passenger door for her. She wasn’t sure whether she was meant to be offended as a feminist at this level of chivalry, but something about the gesture made her heart melt. What did Robert know about how she felt? She was happy with Dave. And he was clearly going to make sure he ironed out all the creases in their relationship before the big day.
The art gallery was bustling with life. As they entered, a girl with a tray offered them both a glass of sparkling wine. Couples and small groups milled around the twelve unique artworks displayed in the foyer. A landscape in oil, depicting a local scene in intricate dots of colour, a portrait of a woman – just her eyes and the top of her nose, a tear running down; one of those random splashes of colour type paintings that everyone pretends to appreciate and understand. Hugo’s work was thankfully tucked away at the back somewhere, rather than being evident straight away.
‘God, it’s packed,’ Dave said, a little too loudly, spilling a little of his wine. ‘Didn’t think there’d be so many people here.’
‘I know …’ Jessica began, but then …
‘Helllooo!’ said a rather excited voice, and suddenly Hugo was there, obviously a couple of wines down already, looking a little flushed but surprisingly dapper in his well-ironed chinos. ‘Jessica, I am so glad you came,’ he said, then added a little more quietly. ‘I’m totally shitting myself.’
‘Hugo, you remember Dave?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, hi,’ he said, somehow shaking hands with Dave without breaking eye contact with Jessica. ‘Look, there’s a photographer here – from one of the broadsheets, could you believe? And he wanted a picture of me with my … my painting. But then I saw you come in and said, well, even better, you could have me with my muse!’
‘Your …’ Jessica trailed off, realising exactly what Hugo meant. ‘Oh.’
‘What, Jessica’s your muse?’ Dave said, his mouth slightly turned down at the corners.
‘Yeah. Oh, not like that,’ Hugo added, catching Dave’s meaning. ‘Purely in a professional sense, you know. The painting’s about how women – well, not all women, but certainly this one – can juggle so many things so professionally and yet appear so … effortlessly beautiful.’
‘Right,’ Dave clearly wasn’t sure whether to be reassured or not by this. Which didn’t bode well when Jessica considered what was coming next. ‘What’s a muse?’
‘So, he’s waiting!’ Hugo trilled almost manically, and Jessica found herself being led by the hand towards a display at the back.
‘Here she is!’ Hugo said to a bearded man with an enormous camera. ‘The woman behind it all!’
Jessica could feel her cheeks begin to redden. Dave trotted at her heels like an obedient puppy, with no idea what horrors lay ahead.
‘Now, if you could stand this side, and Hugo that. That’s right. Now smile!’ said the ridiculously youthful photographer. He stopped and inspected his work. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Shall we go for one more – perhaps of you two together – and the painting on your right. Excellent, excellent. And how about a kiss?’
Jessica leaned in for a professional peck on the cheek, only to find herself swooping towards the ground, in Hugo’s arms. He planted a smacker on her surprised mouth, as the camera flashed.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said as she righted herself. ‘Always get a bit carried away at photos.’
‘But …’ she began.<
br />
Then noticed Dave.
Whether he’d even noticed the kiss at all was unclear. What he had definitely noticed was the painting. He stood, wine glass in hand, motionless, the colour draining out of his face, his neck muscles tensed – hackles up like a dog, eyes fixed on the canvas.
‘Dave, it’s not—’
‘What,’ he said, ‘the fuck is that?’
‘It’s, well, I told you it would be a bit—’
‘That is not a bit anything! That’s a picture of my wife, bits on show, for the whole world to see!’
‘It’s not what you think, it’s—’
‘Look, I’m not sure what kind of PR firm you’re running,’ he said, his voice growing louder as a hush fell over the room, ‘but it seems to me that you’re going above and beyond for more than one of your clients. And, by above and beyond,’ he informed bystanders, loud and clearly, for clarity, ‘I mean she’s offering herself up on a plate for them to enjoy.’
‘Dave!’ Jessica gasped. A camera flashed.
‘Seriously. You think I want to marry a woman who hasn’t even got a shred of modesty?’ he said, gesturing again at the picture; spilling more wine. ‘For God’s sake! Look at that picture! You look fat!’
‘Fat? But …’ Surely, looking at that picture, something else stood out a little more than the size of her thighs …
‘Look, mate,’ Hugo said. He was one of those people who should never use words like ‘mate’; the word sounded forced, desperate. ‘Look, mate, it’s not what you think.’
‘Oh really?’
‘She didn’t pose for me. She didn’t even know. I just … it’s my imagination, is all,’ he said with a ‘what can you do?’ kind of shrug.
His lip trembling, Dave turned on his heels and walked out, shoulders hunched like an ape’s.
Realising he was out of imminent danger, Hugo rushed to Jessica’s side. ‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ he said. ‘I had no idea!’
Everything is Fine: The funny, feel-good and uplifting page-turner you won't be able to put down! Page 24
