Falling in Love Again (14 page)

YES, YES, YES! ‘I don’t suppose you could come round tomorrow to check, could you? It’s really worrying me.’

‘Sorry.’ Was that a flash of regret that passed over his face? ‘Sharon’s got a scan appointment and I said I’d go with her.’

Scan? Babies? That was something he did with her! Not Sharon The Slut with the 36 DD ice cream cones who had, over the years, wept on her shoulder about being a single mum and then nicked her husband.

‘Don’t call her a slut, Lizzie. It doesn’t become you.’ Tom was getting up now,  looking around for his coat.

‘Daddy, Daddy, please stay. We’ve got the wee wee box for you to play with?’

‘Sorry. I can’t.’

He was walking now with determination towards the front door. She had to do something. Fast.

Dashing into the kithen, she shut the door behind her. Make him jealous, Violet had said. And she’d just realised how.

‘Pls ring now on mobile to confirm shoot,’ she texted Dan hastily.

It was crazy but it might work!
Ring
, you Aussie idiot. Ring before Tom goes!

YES, YES, YES!

‘Sorry. I’ll just get this. Hello? Dan! How lovely to hear from you!’ She smiled, noticing with satisfaction that Tom was listening to her rather than Jack who was still trying to pull him back from the door.

‘Sorry I didn’t ring you back before. Tomorrow? At eight? Sure. Looking forward to it.’

Shit. Her voice was trilling like a panto dame. Dan would think she was nuts instead of just confirming a shoot that had already been planned for 8am – though Tom would hopefully presume it was a date at 8
pm!

‘Perfect! See you then.’

Putting down the phone, she proceeded to put the date in her diary.

‘Going somewhere nice?’

The slight catch in Tom’s voice filled her with hope. He didn’t like the idea of her seeing someone!

‘I hope so!’ She smiled at him. ‘Thanks for coming round. It’s been a lovely evening. But you’re right. You’d better go. We wouldn’t want Sharon getting worried, would we?’

19

ALISON

Every morning, Alison still woke up at six thirty, ready to spring out of bed as she’d done for the past twelve years, pop into the shower, spray on her usual eau de cologne, which she’d been wearing since she was about seventeen but always made her feel nice and fresh, and take Mungo for his walk. But now, seconds after waking up, she would remember . . . No need to get out of bed. Not any more.

‘Get another puppy,’ chirruped Caroline. ‘I would. A miniature, this time.’

Her sister – who had never been a dog person – spoke as though replacing Mungo would be as simple as upgrading a Blackberry. Presumably he’d meant as little to David too since he hadn’t bothered coming back.

Weirdly, Clive had helped her over Mungo, more than any of them. And it was surprisingly nice to hear someone else in the house instead of that awful deafening silence after David had left.

‘He’s not a boyfriend,’ she had hissed that night Ross had come back – too late – to say his goodbyes to Mungo. ‘He’s the new lodger. How else am I meant to make ends meet? And he was very kind about coming with me to the vet. So don’t be rude in the morning.’

To give him credit, Ross (who was, she realised with a lurch, getting more and more like a younger David with those impeccable legal manners), was polite if distant. But clearly he wasn’t happy about it.

‘Couldn’t you have got a woman lodger?’ he had said quietly when Clive was up in his room that had so recently been the spare.

‘You take what you can get,’ Alison had said coolly as she watched her son help himself to a large slice of wholemeal toast and spread marmalade thickly on it. Since David had left, she’d been counting the pennies. ‘I’m looking for another one actually.’

‘Not for my room?’

‘Either yours or Jules's.’ She could have done without this conversation, hoping to save it for another time. ‘I thought you might share when you’re back. Don’t look like that Ross. None of you have bothered coming home. Not even Jules. I can’t afford to run a house like this without any extra income. It’s either that or move. I’m going to have to get a job as it is.’

‘What kind of job?’

Alison had been asking herself exactly the same question. What
could
a woman do when she’d been at home for the past twenty five years?

‘Your aunt said I might be able to help her with some admin work.’

‘She’d love that. Bossing you around. It’s what she’s best at.’

‘Why don’t you do something else?’ Ross’s eyes were beginning to shine just like David’s when he had got enthusiastic about a new project in the early days. ‘This could be a really exciting time for you. I know – you don’t have a degree. But you’re great at looking after people and you’re a good listener. There have got to be loads of things you can do.’

Clive had been encouraging when she’d told him about the conversation the following day. By then, Ross had gone back to his own flat which was frankly a relief after the way he had kept banging on the bathroom door to see if it was free. If Clive had been offended, he didn’t show it.

‘Your son’s right,’ he was saying now. ‘There
must
be several things you could do.’

They were eating her home-made spag bol at the kitchen table (there was a treacle sponge in the Aga) and Clive was wolfing his down with an appreciation that made her feel useful again. If anyone had told her last year that she’d be eating dinner in her own kitchen with a virtual stranger because her family (whom she’d brought up and nurtured for the past twenty five years) had deserted her, she wouldn’t have believed them.

But it felt good – surprisingly good – to have the company. Besides, Clive was quite easy to live with. He didn’t hog the bathroom (despite Ross’s black looks); he stayed in his room during the evening (she’d been dreading sharing the sitting room with him) and he didn’t come in late at night. He was also going to cook for himself under their original arrangement but somehow she’d found herself suggesting that he joined her to finish the spag bol she’d made the day before for Ross.

‘Nice to see you eating,’ he remarked as he helped her clear the dishes away.

‘Sorry?’

‘Well I couldn’t help noticing that you didn’t bother much with food until your son came down. It’s OK. I had a friend who did the same when her first marriage broke up. Lost a stone in a month. Called it the Secretary Diet because her husband had gone off with some woman in the office.’

Some woman in the office! Alison tried to say something suitable but the words wouldn’t come. Besides Clive had already found the dishwasher tablet under the sink (something Jules had never managed to do) and was sorting it out.

‘Fancy coming to a party on Saturday?’

Was he making a pass at her?

‘Some friends of mine are having a get-together and I thought you could do with some company.’

Automatically, she glanced at Mungo’s empty basket next to the Aga. She hadn't been able to put it away; just as she hadn’t been able to collect his ashes from the vet’s. That meant admitting that he’d gone and she couldn’t do that yet.

‘A party?’ she managed. ‘I’m not sure I’m ready, to be honest.’

He grinned. A nice broad grin, she couldn’t help noticing, with a row of white teeth. ‘We’re a friendly lot, us northerners, especially when we find ourselves far from home. Why don’t you give it a try? And if you really hate it, you could just go home early.’

‘I’ve been asked to a party!’ she told her sister when Caroline came round that night to talk about the admin offer which, she’d decided, might do until she could find something else. ‘My new lodger asked me. It’s not a date, though.’

‘Really?’ Caroline’s tone, as she was rummaging in the drawer for a corkscrew, suggested her mind was elsewhere. ‘Now listen, about this job. I need you to go through my client lists every morning and make calls. I’ll brief you first until you get into the swing of it. The pay won’t be much but . . .’

She was enjoying this, thought Alison letting her sister’s words wash over her. Ross had been right. She could see it now. Caroline would be lording it over her, telling her what she was doing wrong and all for a small cash payment at the end of the week which might just cover her Tesco bill.

‘So Monday’s all right then?’

Monday?

Caroline frowned. ‘For God’s sake, Alison. Pay attention. I know you’ve been out of it for a while but this is my job. And when I’m away the following week, I need you to hold the fort.’

Away?

‘Weren’t you listening to anything I said? I told you. I’ve got a trip. To Florence with a client.’

Caroline was flushing furiously. Alison might not have been listening but she knew when her sister was lying.

‘A client?’

Another flush. ‘That’s what I said, wasn’t it? So I need to make sure you’re up to speed before I go. Got it? By the way, heard anything from David?’

She shook her head.

‘Well I think he’s behaved appallingly. If it were me, I’d get on with my life. Make him jealous.’

That simply wasn’t her style, thought Alison as she saw her sister out as politely as possible (it didn’t do to irritate Caroline). Karen had warned them about rejected wives (and husbands) who instantly took up with other partners in order to ‘prove’ they were still attractive. It wasn’t something that appealed to her although she did feel something like envy when she thought of David discovering passion in his life. Why should he have it all? And why should she have to shoulder the worry of the children when he had just shot off like that?

Maybe it was time to stop fretting about them. Stop feeling upset when Jules failed to return her calls. Enjoy the fact that the house wasn’t littered with her stuff and that food was still in the fridge where she’d left it and that the small change pot by the front door still had money in it. After all, Ross had assured her that his sister was alive and well on Facebook. ‘Give her some space, Mum. She’s pretty chewed up about you and Dad.’

So chewed up that she couldn’t even be bothered to check her own mother was all right! Get a life of your own, Caroline had said. Well, wasn’t that exactly what she was doing tonight? Checking herself in the hall mirror, she wondered if her only pair of jeans would do.

‘Hey! You look great!’

Clive was definitely looking at her in an admiring fashion and if it hadn’t been for the age gap – he had to be at least ten years younger than her, surely? – she might have been worried.

He didn’t look too bad himself especially as he’d actually divested himself of that sloppy sweat shirt and put on a pair of jeans with a cream shirt that was open enough to reveal some black hairs on his chest. For heavens sake, what was she thinking of?

‘By the way,’ he added as they got into her car. ‘If you’re looking for another lodger, I might have got you one. She’s called Rebecca – a thirty-ish American and not another northerner, you’ll be glad to know – and she’s going to be at the party. See what you think.’

Alison began to feel that horrible quickening in her chest which had started when David left. That awful feeling when she couldn’t breathe properly.

‘You all right, Alison? You look pretty pale all of a sudden.’

Her hands were clammy on the steering wheel. ‘I think so.’

But she wasn’t. It was all too much too soon. Husband gone. Kids gone. New lodger. Another lodger. A party with kids old enough – almost – to be her own. Perhaps she’d just drop off Clive and go home. Run a hot bath at 7pm and spend the rest of the evening in her huge white dressing gown (from a long-ago visit to Champneys). Maybe rent a DVD from Blockbusters. Open a bottle of wine. Cook a microwave curry for one. Do things that she had started to do since David left; enjoy the new traditions, just like Karen had suggested. Anything instead of going somewhere to meet people she didn’t know.

‘It’s here. That’s right. On the left.’

He touched her arm briefly. ‘It’ll be all right, Alison. I’ve been through a broken marriage myself.’

He had?

‘Things will get better. Honest. Now come on in and have a beer.’

Clive was right! She did enjoy herself. They were such a friendly lot it would have been impossible not to. The party was – slightly incongruously, given that it was virtually November – set upon the patio of his friend’s pretty Victorian terraced house near Tring and by the time she’d accepted a glass of punch that hot-water-bottled her insides, that horrible chest sensation had gone.

‘What do you do?’ asked a tall skinny girl who turned out to be Mickey, the hostess.

‘Not enough.’ She was helping Mickey to wrap steaks in foil to put on the grill. ‘I’m looking for a job now . . . now I’m alone.’

The words sounded so strange in her mouth but Mickey was nodding. ‘My mum’s on her own too. Hates me being so far away although she doesn’t actually say so.’

‘Do you write?’

‘We email. But probably not enough. You got kids?’

‘Two. Only one of them really keeps up with me.’

‘Well now you’ve got Clive! He says you’re a great cook.’

The compliment pleased her. It was, she had to admit, very nice to have someone else to look after.

‘And Rebecca’s OK too. Has Clive told you? She’s looking for a room.’

Something in the girl’s tone alerted her but before she could ask anything, a very short, extremely pretty dark haired girl danced into the kitchen.

‘Hi! I’m Rebecca!’ She stubbed out her cigarette. ‘Clive’s told me all about your fantastic house. I can’t wait to move in.’

Hang on, she tried to say.  We haven’t met yet. I haven’t interviewed you. Haven’t . . .

‘You have got a shower, haven’t you? I can’t believe the way you English prefer baths. It’s so basic! I’ve got three showers in the village.’

The village?

‘Greenwich village!’

The girl was looking at her as though she was subnormal. ‘Only thing is that the rent’s a bit steep, isn’t it?’

How rude! ‘Unfortunately, it’s non-negotiable.’

‘Shame. Still, I’ll probably manage it.’

‘And I’m afraid I don’t allow smoking in my house either.’

The girl brightened. ‘Sure. I’ll just do it in the garden. Clive said you were looking for someone immediately so I’ve given in my notice. I can move in next week if that’s cool with you.’

‘How well do you know Rebecca?’ she asked Clive on the way back.

‘She dips in and out of our crowd. Why?’

Alison tried to choose her words carefully. ‘She seems different from the rest of your friends.’

‘Does she?’

Clive’s voice sounded slightly slurred and she wondered if the lager smell from his side of the car would still be there in the morning. ‘You could give her a try and if it doesn’t work out, ask her to go.’

True.

To her relief, Clive went straight to his room when they got in. During the journey back, she had suddenly felt slightly irked by his company not to mention Rebecca’s forward behaviour.