One Step Closer to You (8 page)

‘Emily hasn’t asked me at all about her father, maybe it’s because he’s never been around.’

We sit quietly for a moment. ‘I enjoyed today,’ Ben says. ‘Who would have thought going to a bouncy castle party could be quite fun?’

‘I saw you dancing with Emily. She’s really coming out of herself, you know.’

For a brief moment his eyes glow with pride. I picture Ben when I first met him at the school gates, his head down and hands deep in pockets.

*

Later that evening, when I’ve kissed Louis goodnight, I think about Matthew. I didn’t tell Ben even half of the truth about him.

‘How are you feeling today?’ Stephanie asks. Stephanie Green is my counsellor. She’s in her mid-forties, with chestnut-brown hair styled into a neat bob and blue eyes that narrow when she’s listening to me.

‘I couldn’t sleep last night,’ I tell her. ‘I was thinking about something Ben said. We didn’t have an argument, exactly, more a discussion. He disagrees with me that addiction’s genetic. His stepfather was an alcoholic, but no one else in his family drinks. What do you think?’

‘I think it can be. There’s also learned behaviour. Your friend Ben grew up as a child watching a grown-up drink. As a child you only know what you see. Many people are born with the potential for addiction. Sometimes it gets realised, sometimes it doesn’t. Often there’s a catalyst. I don’t think it happens by accident, there is always something underlying going on and, from my experience over the years, I see a certain personality type. The main thing is, whatever the reason, we learn from our past and take responsibility.’
She stops, as if she’s talked too much. Sometimes I wonder if she’s talking from her own experience.

I’ve seen Stephanie for the past four years and our relationship is professional, but there is no doubt we are getting closer; yet I know nothing about her. Her room is cosy, shelves filled with books and there are always flowers on her desk, but no photographs. There’s nothing personal that hints at the life she has outside this room.

‘Tell me more about Ben,’ she says, making sure the conversation leads back to me. ‘Is he a new friend?’ Stephanie likes to build a picture of my life.

I end up telling her all about him, not realising how much I am talking until our time runs out.

On my way home, I realise that’s the first time Stephanie has offered any encouragement over a friendship with a man. She was always quiet when I told her about my last boyfriend, David the lawyer, the one I met in front of the Picasso sculpture. She did smile once when I marvelled at how controlled he was in all aspects of life. He lived by the motto, ‘Everything in moderation’. I told Stephanie that if I opened a bar of chocolate it would be wolfed down in virtually five seconds. I teased David, calling him Mr Two Cubes as he’d only allow himself two cubes of dark chocolate after supper, before carefully wrapping it back in its silver foil and putting it back in the fridge. I see now, that it was never going to work between Mr Two Cubes and me.

*

It’s bedtime. Louis has been quiet since I picked him up from school and took him to the café.

‘What’s the best thing you’ve done today?’ I ask, tucking him up in bed.

‘Nothing,’ he mumbles, his little jaw clenched.

‘Louis, is something wrong?’ I stroke his hair.

A thundercloud descends over his face. ‘Everyone at school has a daddy, where is mine?’

‘Oh, Louis, we’ve talked about this.’

‘Luke’s dad helps him take his shoes off at school, and his coat.’

‘Emily doesn’t have a daddy,’ I say. ‘She has Uncle Ben. Sometimes in life things aren’t as simple as they should be, but you have Uncle Hugo and …’

‘But he’s not my daddy! Where is he?’ He kicks his feet under the duvet.

‘He has problems.’

‘What problems?’ More kicks. ‘Why can’t I see him?’ He hurls Fido the dog on to the floor, tears rolling down his face. ‘I want my dad,’ he sobs.

*

I sit on my rocking chair, unable to sleep.

I stayed with Louis until finally he drifted off.

Not a day goes by when I don’t feel guilty that Louis doesn’t have a father. Stephanie tells me I must move on, that the only thing I can do is learn from a bad relationship. She’s
right, but it still doesn’t stop me wishing I could rewind time and do things differently.

If I could do one thing differently, I’d go back to that night when I first met Matthew. I was teaching nursery children back then, but I would come home, strip out of my uniform and party all night.

We met in a bar.

I knew he was trouble.

I should have listened to Hugo.

Should have walked away.

I run down the corridor and into the kitchen, leaning against the counter to catch my breath. The school mums can’t see me like this! I’ve just been promoted to head teacher! I can’t lose this job. I
love
my job. Thank heavens it’s Friday. I press my head into my hands. What was I thinking last night? I shouldn’t have gone out again. I told Hugo it wasn’t a great idea to have his birthday party on a Thursday. No one can get trashed if they have to go to work the next day. His argument was that a few of his friends were going away at the weekend; it was the only night when everyone was around. I dig into my handbag to find my breath freshener. I almost choke. It smells nothing like mint but it certainly beats breathing toxic fumes all over the parents.

As I mix the paints, ready to make Christmas cards with the children, I have a hazy memory that Hugo was in a grump with me last night. I tell myself I’ll stay in this evening. I’ll
clean the flat. I’ll cook, maybe bake us something. Hugo and I share a poky two-bedroom flat in Shepherds Bush, off the Uxbridge Road. On the whole it works well, except sometimes I sense he disapproves of my lifestyle. Come the weekend I’m ready to party and often crawl home in the early hours of the morning, not surfacing from my duvet until late afternoon. But come on, Hugo, I’m twenty-six. That’s what weekends are all about. We’re young! Everyone drinks in their twenties. I left school when I was eighteen. Hugo read English at Durham. He loves socialising and has many friends, but unlike me he has never enjoyed the party scene because he feels vulnerable in crowds or dark nightclubs. ‘If I go to the loo and people move to the dance floor, I can’t find them again,’ he says. ‘If it’s a place I’ve never been before it’s even worse, Polly, especially if they’ve had a few drinks and forget about me.’

After mixing the paints and setting the tables up in the classroom, I apply some make-up to try and look half decent.

Believe it or not, I love my job. I teach a class of eighteen two- to three-year-olds. The one thing I have always enjoyed is playing with children. Mum says I have a real gift with them. ‘Probably because you haven’t grown up yourself,’ she adds. Typical Mum. Can’t give a compliment without a put-down too. Anyway, I don’t want my own children just yet. I don’t want any responsibility beyond helping them learn their alphabet, add and subtract and blow their noses.

As I brush my long dark hair and pin it back at both sides,
I think back to my own schooldays. I left with three underwhelming A levels: two Ds and an E. Mum insisted I retake them, Dad paid for a tutor over the next year and I did surprisingly well (three Bs) when they suggested that if I did better the second time round, I could go to Paris for a year to learn French. Paris seemed so glamorous. It reminded me of Aunt Viv’s comment about going to Paris to run a patisserie. Well, I didn’t cook so much these days but I could stroll along the Champs-Elysées and have a Parisian affair.

I was twenty when I returned, broken-hearted. The French had been fine; I’d passed both the oral and written exams but my love life had taken a battering. I’d met someone called Adrien who worked at the Rodin Museum and modelled part time. I can see us now, running down the streets in the pouring rain, laughing, kissing and holding hands. One time we were so stoned that we’d gone into a church, I can’t even remember where now, and had grabbed the priest saying, ‘We’re in love. Marry us!’ When he’d asked if my parents knew what I was up to, I had replied, as if acting on a climatic scene of
Romeo and Juliet
, ‘My parents won’t understand! They’ll think I’m too young!’

Adrien left me a few months later. ‘I have met someone else,’ he’d said nonchalantly. Looking back now, I have no regrets. It was innocent love and inevitably it had to come to an end. When I returned home, I wanted to be in London. I found work ushering at
Les Misérables
. I moved flats constantly, kipped on floors to save cash, until finally I’d saved
up enough to move in with Hugo. We’d always wanted to live together, since we were young.

I wipe away a glob of mascara before glancing at my watch and making a run for the classroom.

*

I stand at the front of the class. ‘And what noise does a dog make?’

‘Woof woof!’ they all reply, a few of them laughing.

‘And can we say PIG?’

‘P …’ they pronounce, ‘I-G.’

‘And what noise does a pig make?’

‘Oink oink!’

I glance out of the window; it’s a glorious winter’s day, the sky a clear blue. ‘Right. Tell you what. It’s too nice to be stuck in here,’ I say, thinking the fresh air will be good for all of us. I help them pop on their coats and scarves. Some of them have brought woolly hats. There’s lots of buzz and laughter as I lead them out into the playground, the sun beaming on our faces. ‘Life is about being outside four walls,’ I tell them.

I could do this for hours, I think to myself as we sit down in a circle and sing the curly caterpillar song. At the end of our song Lottie, one of my favourites, throws her arms around me, saying, ‘I love you, Miss Polly. Can we sing song again?’

During playtime, I head to my usual quiet spot where no one can find me, at the back entrance to the school. I
reach for my crumpled pack of cigarettes, am about to light up when my mobile rings. It’s Hugo. I didn’t see him this morning before he left for work. ‘Polly, you have got to say sorry to Alex’s girlfriend.’

‘Why? What did I do?’

‘You practically jumped on him.’

‘Jumped on who?’

‘You were flirting with Alex all night! It’s not funny, Polly!’

I compose myself. ‘I’m sorry, really sorry.’

‘It’s not me you should be saying sorry to.’ When he hangs up, finally I light up, trying to pick my scrambled brain, but still I can’t recall much of last night. I won’t go out this evening. I hold my stomach in; to my delight I can feel my ribs. I’ll cook a special meal for Hugo. Have an early night. I’m going to start a detox programme. No booze for a month and protein shakes in the morning. Playtime is almost over so I call Hugo back, picturing him stewing at his desk. Hugo is now a radio broadcast assistant for the BBC.

‘Hello?’ he says. When friends call, Hugo can’t see the name that comes onto the screen to indicate who’s contacting him.

‘It’s me.’

‘Oh you,’ he sighs. ‘What?’

‘Are you in tonight?’

‘Yep.’

I always know he’s cross when he speaks in clipped tones. ‘I’ll cook for us.’

‘You don’t eat.’

‘Please, Hugo, I’m trying to say sorry here. I’ll call Alex’s girlfriend too.’ To my surprise a tear runs down my cheek. I’m tired and hate arguing with him. ‘I’ll cook us something really nice.’

There’s a long pause. ‘Mum’s spaghetti carbonara?’

‘Deal.’ I smile with relief before asking, ‘Did I really make a massive fool of myself last night?’

‘You need to say sorry.’

I cringe, knowing that means yes. What’s the matter with me? ‘Your friends must think I’m crazy.’

‘A little. Polly, I’m …’

‘I’m not drinking for a month,’ I pledge before he can say he’s worried about me again.

*

After work I return home with all the ingredients for Mum’s carbonara. I also bought Hugo a special gooey chocolate pudding, one of his favourites. I pop it in the fridge, glancing at the bottle of wine in the door. I close the fridge, then open it again, and almost jump out of my skin when my mobile rings.

‘What’s happened?’ I ask Janey, immediately sensing something is wrong.

‘Will and I, we’re over,’ she says tearfully. ‘He’s seeing someone else.’

‘Oh Janey, I’m so sorry.’

Janey met Will during her first year at university. They
were inseparable throughout college; they then moved into a flat together in Balham, but in the last six months she’d begun to suspect he was having an affair after one too many late nights ‘working’. The final straw was their recent weekend away, in some country hotel, when all he’d wanted to do was sleep and make secretive calls on his mobile. ‘I really need to see you, Polly.’

I hesitate. ‘The thing is, I promised Hugo I’d stay in. Why don’t you come round here? We can talk about it? I’m cooking. There’s plenty of food.’

‘I couldn’t eat a thing. Oh please, Polly,’ she begs now. ‘I need to see you. Hugo won’t mind, will he?’

*

When I return to the table with our bottle of wine, Janey tells me about confronting Will after yet another late night in the office. ‘I told him I deserved better,’ she says, the tears resurfacing.

‘You do. You deserve so much more,’ I say, reaching for her hand.

‘And the least he could do is tell me the truth.’

‘What did he say?’

‘That he was seeing someone, she’s called Clare, she’s been working with him on his latest film, that he didn’t set out to hurt me, all that crap. Oh, Polly.’

I rub her shoulder and stroke her hair. ‘It’s better to know,’ I assure her. ‘I understand it’s painful, and you’re feeling hurt and betrayed, but …’

‘Polly,’ she cuts in, looking up at me with red eyes. ‘If I’m honest, it’s been over for months. I lost Will a long time ago, I just didn’t want to admit it. In a funny way I’m relieved. Now I can get on with my life, stop worrying about why he hasn’t come home at two in the morning. He was with her, Polly. Go fuck yourself, Will.’ She raises her glass to mine. ‘I can sleep,’ she goes on. ‘I don’t have to share my bed with a lying dirty rotten cheating snoring scumbag. Oh, that feels better,’ she says with a brave smile.

‘I bet. Carry on.’

She shakes her head. ‘Can we make a pact?’

‘Depends.’

‘It’s Christmas and practically our last night before we head home, right?’

I nod. Janey and I will be going back to Norfolk together. Her parents still live locally to mine.

‘So let’s get plastered and no more mention of Will.’

‘Will? Who’s Will?’

*

As the night goes on, Janey and I order another bottle. I realise there’s no point trying to cut down before Christmas. I’ll adopt a strict regime in the New Year. The main thing is that Janey has cheered up.

‘I can have sex with someone else,’ she announces, polishing off her glass and refilling mine. ‘I can have a first kiss again. Polly?’

‘Go on,’ I say, distracted by a guy leaning against the
bar, pulling funny faces at me. He has scruffy dark-blond hair, pale skin that accentuates piercing blue eyes and he’s wearing a casual white shirt with jeans. Love that look. Always preferred blonds. Polly turns round to the bar. ‘The one in the white shirt’s cute,’ she says.

My mobile rings. It’s Hugo. I turn it off, numbing my guilt with more drink. I need to be here, to support Janey.

*

When Janey staggers to the loo, I catch the guy in the white shirt staring at me again. He makes his move, as I knew he would. ‘I bet she goes, mate,’ I overhear his friend in the leather jacket jeering.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says. ‘I’m not with him.’

I shrug, trying to keep cool.

‘I couldn’t help noticing you’re on your own,’ he says.

‘Not for long.’ I circle the rim of my glass. ‘There’s no need to worry about me.’ I lean towards him. He leans towards me.

‘I’m Matthew. Matthew Cook.’

‘Polly Stephens.’

Janey returns to the table.

‘My friend Graham and I wondered if we could buy you both a drink?’ Matthew says to us.

‘Champagne would be lovely, thanks,’ I suggest.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘You have expensive taste. The girl wants champagne,’ Matthew calls over to his friend, before heading back to the bar saying my wish is his command.

Janey giggles. ‘Get in there, Polly. He is
so
into you.’

‘Do you want to stay?’ I ask her. ‘If you’re not up to it, we can go.’

‘Shut up, will you, and remember our pact. This is
just
what I need.’

Minutes later they join us at our table with a bottle and four glasses. Matthew places himself by my side. Graham, plump and modelling the half-shaved head look, sits next to Janey. She’s fared rather worse than me, I think to myself.

‘So, what do you do?’ Graham asks Janey and me, pouring the champagne.

‘I’m a location manager. I organise studios and sites for adverts and television dramas, things like that,’ Janey replies.

‘Teacher.’

‘Miss, I’ve been naughty,’ Matthew says. ‘I think I need a
spanking
.’

We all laugh, Matthew’s thigh pressing against mine.

‘You?’ I ask Matthew.

‘Bit of this, bit of that.’

‘Which basically means he does nothing,’ claims Graham.

‘My mum tells me never to trust a bit-of-this-bit-of-that man,’ says Janey, clearly attracted to him too.

‘Does she now? Well, if you really want to know, I’m a property developer. I’m my own boss.’

‘Which basically means he does nothing,’ Graham says, making us laugh again.

‘Don’t listen to him. Graham’s jealous of my success.’ Matthew refills my glass. ‘I’ve just sold my pad in Islington for a small fortune. Lived in it for six months, did a loft conversion, tarted it up, made a
killing
.’

‘In that case, mate, I’ll put your rent up,’ says Graham, explaining to Janey and me that Matthew’s squatting with him while he hunts for the next project.

‘At the rate I’m going I’ll be retired and living in St Tropez by the time I’m forty.’

‘Dream on,’ I say.

‘
You
deserve a spanking for that, Miss Stephens,’ he replies, his eyes playing with mine.

Soon we’ve drunk two bottles and are on our way to some nightclub in Soho, where Matthew knows the bouncer. He assures us we won’t have to queue.

We lurch down some steep steps and into a dark space, music making the walls vibrate. Next, we’re knocking back tequila shots at the bar, the room beginning to spin. ‘Seriously arrogant,’ Janey slurs, ‘but he’s hot and he can’t take his eyes off you.’

‘What about Graham?’ We both turn to look at him.

‘He’s nice, but I like a guy with a bit more hair.’

We laugh hysterically. ‘I love you, Janey, and you’re going to be fine. You’re better off without Will. You deserve so much more.’