A Minor Indiscretion (21 page)

T
he phone was ringing, and Ed smoothed down his hair, fidgeting on his kitchen stool. He must get it cut. Ali normally made his appointments and he just trotted along at the allotted time. He'd found the business card for the salon, but hadn't yet found time to get there. Elliott's hair was looking a bit more like a windswept sheep than normal, so he probably ought to drag him along too.

At the other end of the line, Nicola Jones picked up the phone. “Hello.” Her soft, breathy voice caressed his ear.

Ed adjusted the collar of his polo shirt. “Hi. Nicola. It's Ed. Ed Kingston.” As in: James. James Bond. Smooth. Ed smiled down the phone.

“Ed. Lovely to hear from you.”

“I know this is a bit short notice, but well…” This was the tricky bit. Ed's heart was doing a salsa rhythm. “Well… I wondered if you were doing anything tonight?”

“Tonight? Er…no. No, I'm not.”

“Good. Good. Well, no, not good that you're not doing anything. Well, yes. Good.”

Elliott walked past. “Daddy, you're wittering.”

Ed folded his hand over the mouthpiece. “Shut up, Elliott!”

Elliott helped himself to a Mars bar and left.

“Elliott, you'll ruin your appetite!” But his son had already gone. Ed returned to his phone call. “Sorry.”

“That's okay. How are you coping?”

“Badly,” Ed admitted. “But that wasn't why I was ringing. I wondered if, well, if you'd like to come over for a bite of supper tonight.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Would it? Yes, yes. Of course, it would.” Ed could feel his brow perspiring. This was ridiculous. He'd asked women out before. Hadn't he? He must have done. How did he end up with Ali otherwise? It was just that he was out of practice. “About eight?”

“Eight would be fine.”

Eight would be fine, he hoped, because then all the children would be out of the way. It was rather strange having to conduct your entire social life from between four walls, but needs must. “I'll see you later,” he said.

“I'll look forward to it,” Nicola replied.

Ed hung up. Elliott put his head round the door. He had Mars bar smeared round his mouth. “Can I stay up?”

“No,” Ed said. “And wipe your mouth before you put chocolate all over the sofa.” He dialed another number. “Neil!”

“Bro!”

“What's happening?”

“Nothing much.”

“Fancy coming round for some supper tonight? Nothing fancy.”

“Since when have you done fancy?”

“I'm a new man.” He wasn't really, but at least he was trying to make an effort and not go to pieces or hit the bottle like some sad sacks would. The Groucho Club had seen precious little of his custom in recent weeks, and there was no fun to be had in drinking Jacob's Creek in front of
Law & Order
alone. So, essentially, it was boredom that had brought him to meddle in his brother's love life. “About seven-thirty?” Neil was always “fashionably” late and he didn't want to be sitting around with Nicola like a pair of bookends waiting for him to arrive.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Great.” Ed grinned to himself and rubbed his hands together with satisfaction. This was easy-peasy lemon-squeezy.

 

Ed had found a tablecloth and some candles and was currently going to great trouble to arrange them in an aesthetically pleasing manner. He stood back and admired his handiwork.

“Matchmaker, matchmaker…la, la, la, la…la, la, la, la.”

And then the song went on about making a match and finding a find or catching a catch. Or something. The big Hollywood musicals had never really been his thing, that was Ali's forte. He was more of a Bach or Bruce Springsteen bloke.

Elliott leaned on the door frame in his pajamas chewing Barney's ear. “Come here,” Ed said, and Elliott rushed to him for a hug. Ed felt a surge of love for his son even though at times he could gleefully choke him.

“Are you going to snog Miss Jones?”

This was one of those times. “Elliott, if you want to live to see your eighteenth birthday, I suggest you start behaving yourself.”

“So you
are
going to snog her.”

“No. No. I'm not going to snog anyone.” Although I might thrash you within an inch of your life! “What's this obsession with snogging?”

“I'm worried,” Elliott confided, eyes brimming with tears. “We seem to have an awful lot of mummies these days.”

Ed crouched down and cuddled his son. “You don't,” he said. “You only have one mummy and no one can take her place.” And suddenly there was a searing, burning feeling through his guts that gripped him as if he'd swallowed ammonia. Yesterday, when said mummy had brought the children home, he had wanted to tell her that this had all been a terrible, terrible mistake and that he wanted her back. On her terms. He'd do anything as long as he didn't have to deal with any more real life. It was too exhausting and empty without her. He would eat chicken nuggets daily until he died, if that's what it took. And he was going to tell her this. All of this. But she rushed in white-faced, drawn and distressed, and had rushed back out again, back to her toy-boy lover, before he'd had the chance to say a word. He missed Ali. He missed her so much it kept him wide-eyed until three o'clock every morning, when he fell into an exhausted sleep. But she didn't seem to be missing him. Ed pushed the thought away. “I've invited Miss Jones, Nicola, so that she can meet Uncle Neil.”

“Why?”

“Because I think she'll like him.”

“Doesn't she like you?”

“I think she does.”

“Do you like her?”

“I do. She's very nice.”

“And does Uncle Neil like her?”

“I hope he will.” Ed put his finger to his lips. “But that's to be our little secret. We mustn't tell Uncle Neil.”

“Why?”

“Er…” Ed racked his brains. “I'll explain it to you when you're older.”

“Explain it now.”

“Go and do something useful, Elliott.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know.”

His son stomped to the kitchen door. “Why do grown-ups always have to mix things up?” he said with an exasperated sigh.

Why indeed? Ed wondered.

 

Neil and Miss Nicola Jones were laughing at each other's jokes, which was always a good sign. Neil was in excellent form, sparkling, happy and looked more laid-back than he usually did—which was saying something. And, flying in the face of convention, he'd been early for once, which meant they'd managed to get conversations which contained the word “Alicia” out of the way before Nicola arrived.

Ed, too, felt more relaxed than he had done in days, which was nice and was probably attributable to the amount of wine he'd glugged; now he was tidying up around them, imagining himself in the role of mother hen. He'd cooked a proper dinner. Well—only salmon fillets, salad and wild rice, but at least it was better than the dehydrated gloop out of a packet which is what they ate most evenings. Gloop that still looked like all the manky bits that had been scraped from the floor under the cooker no matter how much water you added to it and for how long you simmered it.

Nicola Jones was looking particularly gorgeous tonight. Her cheeks had taken on a pink blush from the wine, and her eyes were shining brightly. Her laugh was soft and genuine, and you just
couldn't help but smile along with her. And although, initially, she'd looked slightly taken aback that his brother had been there at all, she was now giggling heartily at another of Neil's outrageous tales. Ed smirked to himself. This was all going rather well.

“Dessert?” Ed ventured. He had cheated here. Fazed by the plethora of Alicia's cookery books and the endless lists of ingredients and garbled instructions they contained just for knocking up a pud, he'd dashed out and bought the last thing they had left in the little patisserie in the High Street. It was a chocolate and cherry calorie-mountain thing and looked good enough to eat. Which was a bit of luck.

Nicola nodded. “Mmm.”

Neil sat back and massaged his tummy. “Would love to, bro, but I can't stay.”

Ed nearly dropped the stack of plates he was holding. “What?”

“Gotta go.”

Miss Nicola Jones tilted her head to one side. “Oh.”

“Busy, busy,” Neil apologized.

Ed could feel that his face had blanched. “You're never busy.”

Neil looked hurt. “I resent that remark.” He stood up and pushed his chair back from the table. “Tonight, I really am busy.”

“You can't be,” Ed said.

“Look—I am. Okay?” Neil repeated tightly.

“But you haven't had dessert.”

Neil patted Ed's stomach. “A few more calories won't hurt. You'll have to eat it for me.” He smiled at Nicola. “It's been lovely meeting you, Nicola.”

“You too.”

“Have coffee,” Ed pleaded. “Brandy? Choccy mint sticks?”

“Bye!” Neil waved at Nicola and headed for the door.

Ed put down the plates. “I'll see you out.”

Neil frowned. “I haven't stolen the silver.”

Ed forced a smile. “Back in a minute,” he said to Nicola.

He bustled Neil into the hall and closed the door behind them. “What do you think you're doing?” he hissed.

“Leaving,” Neil hissed back.

“Why?”

“Is there a problem?”

“You can't just walk out on Nicola like that.”

“She doesn't mind.”

The blood rushed back to Ed's face. “Well, I do.”

“Am I missing something here, bro? I'm sure you don't need me as a chaperone.” Neil winked. “It all seems to be going rather well.”

“I thought so too!” Ed realized he'd hissed rather loudly and checked the door behind him. He took Neil's elbow and moved him toward the front door. “Nicola is a lovely woman.”

“I don't disagree,” Neil said. “Nice hair. Great tits.”

“Is that all that matters to you?”

“No. But it's a good start.”

“I've organized this especially for you.”

“For me?”

“I wanted you to meet Nicola.”

“You don't need my approval. You're a free agent.”

“I'm a married man.”

“It pains me to point this out, but you've got one vital factor missing at the moment. A wife.”

“She'll be back,” Ed snapped.

“Look, if you want something more than a hot-water bottle to keep your bed warm at night, who am I to judge?”

Ed looked astounded. “Is that what you think this is about?”

“Isn't it?”

“No. Can't you stay?”

“No. I've got things to do.”

“Like what?”

Neil shifted cagily, jingling his car keys. “It's none of your business.”

“I'm your brother.”

“Since when has that given you the right to unlimited access to my personal life?”

Ed wanted to take his tea towel and wring it round his brother's neck. “I thought you and Nicola would well…get on well together, hit it off, whatever the bloody hell you call it these days.”

“You're trying to fix me up with her?” Light dawned on Neil.

“Put crudely, I suppose that's about it.”

“Do I strike you as desperate?” he asked sternly.

“On occasions.”

“Well, I'm not!”

“You have an unhealthy obsession with Britney Spears.”

“That does not make me desperate. A little sad perhaps, but not desperate,” Neil huffed.

“You said you were going to join a dating agency.”

Neil lowered his voice further. “I said I was
thinking
about it!”

Ed looked shifty. “I was trying to save you the bother.”

“I can look after myself.” Neil dropped his car keys, bent to pick them up and knocked a dragon plant in a Chinese pot off a china ornamental stand with his head. Ed caught the pot before it hit the floor. Neil scowled. “And, anyway, Miss Nicola Jones seemed to have eyes for only one person, and it certainly wasn't me.”

“I don't know what you mean.”

Neil put his arm round his brother's shoulders. “Edward, go back in there, get drunk and get laid.”

“Get laid!” Ed lowered his voice.
“Get laid?”

“She's gagging for it.”

Ed looked shocked and hugged his pot plant to him. “That's Elliott's nursery-school teacher we're talking about.”

“I only wish I was his age again. She sure as hell beats Mrs. ‘Warty' Warburton, doesn't she?” Neil winked.

“Don't leave me,” Ed pleaded.

“Relax and go with the flow,” Neil advised.

“I don't know how to.”

“It's like riding a bike,” Neil told him. “It'll all come rushing back to you once you jump up in the saddle.” And with a reassuring pat on Ed's arm, he walked out of the front door, leaving his brother openmouthed with shock.

 

Nicola Jones had slipped her shoes off when Ed finally divested himself of his plant and plucked up the courage to go back into the kitchen. Her strap had slipped from her shoulder, highlighting the sheer white translucency of her skin, and he was sure she looked a bit more…tousled, than when he'd left. She licked her lips round her pretty pink mouth and pouted over the rim of her wineglass, teasing it with her tongue.

Ed's body seemed to have frozen into short, jerky Frankenstein movements, and it took a great deal of effort to slide nonchalantly back into his seat without giving the impression that he had just received 50,000 volts up his bottom. “Sorry Neil had to leave,” Ed said. There was definitely a squeak in there.

“Never mind,” Nicola Jones purred. Ed was sure she hadn't
purred before. He would have noticed. Surely. “That means we can get a little more cozy.”