Run, Mummy, Run (5 page)

‘Good. Although I can’t take all the credit. I ran it past Belinda first.’

Aisha laughed again. ‘Belinda has very good taste.’

‘Absolutely,’ Mark said, and his eyes lingered admiringly until she looked away embarrassed. ‘Anyway, Michael Winner reviewed it once in his column,’ he continued. ‘Do you read the
Sunday Times?’

She looked up again. ‘I do. But the arrogance of the man! It’s a wonder restaurateurs let him in. I’m sure I wouldn’t.’

‘I suppose any publicity is better than none.’ Mark laughed.

The starters arrived and as they ate and talked of work – a subject which came easily to them both – it crossed Aisha’s mind how proud her father would be to see her sitting here now, in this very nice restaurant, as confident and relaxed as Mark and the other diners. She thought that one day she would treat her parents to dinner here: book the table, order the food, and call for the bill at the end, to show them just how self-assured she could be, how at home she was in these surroundings.

‘I’m incredibly well organized,’ Mark said by way of confession as her chicken and his steak arrived. Aisha nodded and helped herself to the vegetables from the dishes the waiter had placed in the centre of the table. ‘It can be seen as a fault,’ he said. ‘Angela certainly thought it was.’ Aisha looked up and met his gaze. ‘Belinda told you about Angela, didn’t she?’ Mark asked, slightly concerned.

‘Not really, she mentioned that you had been married before, but that was all.’

‘I see.’ Mark looked down and sliced into his rare steak. ‘OK, it’s probably a good idea if I tell you now and then we’ll get it out of the way.’ He chewed and swallowed before continuing as Aisha sipped her mineral water, waiting. ‘It was the classic tale of marrying too young really,’ he began, ‘and then spending too much time at work. I was in my first position with the company and wanted to do well. My career has always been important to me, as I know yours is to you.’ Aisha nodded. ‘You don’t get a second chance in my line of work – if you haven’t made it by the time you’re thirty, you can forget it. With hindsight, I can see how isolated Angela must have felt, alone in the house all day with only the children for company. She became very depressed and was prescribed Valium. It turned out to be the worst thing that could have happened. We might have ridden out the rough patch had it not been for that drug. It affected her moods and she became a different person.’ Mark suddenly stopped talking. He held his cutlery still and looked carefully at Aisha. ‘You don’t mind me going into this detail, do you? Only I feel it’s important we’re honest with each other right from the beginning.’

‘No, not at all,’ Aisha said. ‘I’m pleased you can.’ She latched on to the word ‘beginning’ as proof there could be more: another meeting, another date, which meant Mark was finding her company acceptable and possibly even enjoying it.

‘Angela cited unreasonable behaviour as grounds for the divorce,’ Mark continued. ‘The little time I spent at home, my neglect of her and the children, and something she called my obsessive attention to detail. I wasn’t going to sign the divorce petition to begin with – it made me sound like a nut case, when all I had been doing was working my socks off to try and provide the best for my wife and family. But my solicitor said I should sign it, that it was the easiest way out, and it would be expensive to defend a divorce, so I did. I signed the papers and gave Angela the house and everything in it. She moved her new bloke in the same day I moved out. I’d no idea she was seeing someone. I was gutted.’

Aisha gasped and set down her cutlery. ‘But that’s dreadful,’ she said, genuinely shocked.

Mark nodded. ‘My parents were devastated. They lost their grandchildren, and to a certain extent they blamed me. We’re still not fully reconciled, even now.’

Aisha looked at Mark with heartfelt pity; to have a family torn from you and not see them was the worst thing she could imagine. It could never happen to her. How she would have liked to have reached out and touched Mark’s hand, to have lightly squeezed it and reassured him. To have told him that she understood and felt ashamed that a woman had behaved so despicably, and that never in a million years would she behave so badly. That she had waited so long for the chance to show love and commitment and knew its worth and would cherish it forever.

‘Anyway,’ Mark said, suddenly returning his hand to his fork, ‘enough. I’ll ruin the evening with my tales of woe. Tell me about your relationships and I hope you’ll be as honest as I have been.’

Aisha gave a little shrug and looked down. ‘There’s nothing to tell really,’ she said quietly. ‘I had a good male friend at university, but that was a long time ago. There’s been no one since.’

‘Oh, I can’t believe that,’ Mark teased. ‘You’re far too lovely to have been saving yourself for me. Come on, out with it. I’m a man of the world, I can take it.’

He laughed again, but stopped himself when he saw her face for that was exactly what she had been doing: saving herself.

He leaned forwards in earnest and, laying his hand on hers, said, ‘I feel very privileged that you agreed to meet me, and while the evening isn’t over yet, I’m already planning our next date. Now, let’s call for that sweet trolley. Tonight’s a special night and we should treat ourselves.’

When Mark took her home after their meal he drove slowly as though the didn’t want the evening to end. The conversation flowed easily now they were used to each other’s company. He pulled up outside her house and cutting the engine gently asked, ‘I hope you enjoyed this evening, Aisha? I’d like to think it’s the first of many.’

‘Yes, I have,’ she breathed. ‘I’ve enjoyed it very much, thank you.’ Then added shyly, ‘I’d like to meet again too.’

‘Terrific!’ he exclaimed with the uninhibited enthusiasm of a little boy and she laughed. ‘Shall I phone you on Monday to arrange something for next week?’ he asked.

‘Yes, please.’ She smiled; then her eyes left his as she looked past him, through the windscreen and up to her parents’ bedroom window. The light was still on, they were awake. She wondered if they’d heard the car draw up. She’d told them she was meeting a friend after work and not to wait up, but she knew they would.

‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘I’d better go in. Thank you again for a lovely evening.’

‘There’s no need to thank me,’ Mark said. ‘The pleasure is all mine. I’ll walk you to the door.’

Aisha remained in her seat while Mark got out and went round and opened her door. She already knew he liked to do this, it was one of his many little acts of chivalry which made her feel so special. He offered her his arm as she stepped out and onto the pavement.

‘At least it’s stopped raining,’ he said, cupping her elbow and guiding her the few steps to the front gate. She waited while he undid the latch and opened the gate; then they walked side by side up the path to the front door.

He turned to face her. ‘Until Monday then,’ he said. ‘I’m already counting the hours. Have a good weekend.’ Then without warning he leant forwards and lightly kissed her cheek. ‘Goodnight, Aisha. Take care.’

‘Goodnight,’ she said and quickly turned and fumbled her key into the lock.

‘Goodnight,’ he called again from the path as she opened the door. She stepped inside and paused before closing the door. She watched him as he fastened the latch on the gate; the street lamp above him threw a faint aura of light around his head and shoulders. He looked up, ‘Monday,’ he mouthed and blew her a silent kiss before returning to the car.

Aisha quietly closed the front door, took off her shoes, and crept up the stairs and past her parents’ bedroom. She hoped her mother wouldn’t hear her, for if she did, she would call out and ask her if she’d had a nice time. Aisha didn’t want to have to answer – to talk would break the spell; tonight she wanted it all to herself, to savour and remember.

She went silently into the bathroom and quickly washed and brushed her teeth, then crept across the landing into her bedroom. Slipping out of her clothes, she left them where they fell, then pulled on her nightdress and eased herself into bed. Nestled beneath the soft, warm duvet, she ran over the evening in her head, scene by scene, reliving every detail from that first glimpse of Mark, to the journey in the car, and the restaurant. She could picture the way he had looked at her across the table, attentive and interested in what she had to say. She could hear the little compliments he had slipped in at every opportunity. She could see his face, his clear blue eyes and neatly clipped fair almost blond hair. She caught the faintest breath of his aftershave, and as her eyes finally closed, heavy with sleep, she felt the light touch of his lips on her cheek, a feeling so intense she shivered with desire. ‘Until Monday,’ she whispered.

‘I
sn’t he exactly as I said?’ Belinda enthused when she phoned at nine fifty on Monday morning. ‘Absolutely charming! You’ve made a real impression. He’s asked me to find out.’

‘Find out what?’ Aisha asked, not best pleased by Belinda’s early call. ‘I’m sorry, I haven’t got much time this morning.’

‘Yes, I apologize. I know it’s not your lunch hour, but Mark needs to know if you feel the same. He telephoned me first thing this morning, like a dog with two tails. He’s besotted with you, Aisha, but he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself. I always give my clients feedback if they ask for it, and he’s worried he might have scared you off. I told him I didn’t think he had.’

Aisha pressed the phone closer to her ear and watched the door to her PA’s office. ‘I like Mark,’ she said. ‘But we
have
only just met.’

‘And what’s wrong with love at first sight?’ Belinda intoned, her voice rising. ‘You can tell a lot by first impressions, and I’ve got a sixth sense for this one. It feels right, so very right. I’m excited for you both. I’ll tell Mark you feel the same then and—’

‘Belinda,’ Aisha interrupted, ‘will you please tell Mark that I enjoyed Friday evening very much, and I am looking forward to him phoning.’

‘OK, playing it cool is fine by me, but be careful you don’t lose him.’

Aisha’s Monday morning at the bank passed with the usual fallout from new Saturday opening plus analysing the sales figures from the previous week, readjusting the staffing rota for the week ahead allowing for absences, and a meeting with the area manager. Then the ATM broke and it was two hours before the replacement arrived, and another hour before it was fitted and fully functioning, which put an additional strain on the already depleted staff of cashiers, all of which Aisha had to oversee because her deputy was on leave.

At one forty-five she was at her desk, surrounded by piles of papers and folders, with the outside line switched through while Grace took her lunch. Aisha’s sandwiches lay in their box beside the phone, and her computer was on, but she did nothing with either. She sat watching the movement of the hands on the wall clock, as they gradually inched towards two o’clock. Mark hadn’t phoned and he said he would.
I’m like an adolescent schoolgirl
, she thought,
unable to settle to anything, waiting for him to call.
She chided herself for having been so cool with him, as Belinda had put it, and for not giving her the encouragement she had wanted to take back to Mark.
Perhaps I should phone Belinda
, Aisha thought,
and apologize for not being more forthcoming; explain that it’s just my nature, that I’m naturally reserved, that I really do want to see Mark again, and am as besotted with him as he is with me.
Then she wondered if ‘besotted’ was his word or Belinda’s exaggeration.

At five past two, when Aisha had almost given up hope, the phone rang and she snatched it up. ‘Aisha Hussein,’ she said.

‘Aisha, it’s Mark.’
Thank goodness
, she thought. His voice was exactly as she remembered it – as she had continuously recalled it since Friday. ‘I’m sorry I’ve left it so late,’ he said. ‘I got held up. Is it still OK to talk?’

‘Yes, but I might get interrupted.’

‘Me too. Sorry,’ he said again. ‘We’ll have to have a code word to alert each other when we’re not alone. Something we wouldn’t normally use like “sausages” or “wellington boot”.’

Aisha laughed. ‘Wellington boot. We could have done with them on Friday.’

‘Too right,’ he said, then paused and lowered his voice in intimacy. ‘It was a lovely evening, Aisha. I’ve thought about nothing else all weekend. I hope you didn’t mind Belinda calling?’

‘Not at all. The go-between.’

‘Yes. But it’s no longer necessary now, I hope. I just needed the reassurance, after everything I’ve been through. You do understand, don’t you?’

‘Of course.’

‘I was beginning to think I was having an early mid-life crisis,’ Mark said. ‘I took work home and brought it back again, untouched, I couldn’t concentrate on anything. Aisha, it really was a lovely evening. Damn,’ he said and stopped. She heard a noise at his end that sounded like a door opening and closing. ‘Wellington boot coming soon,’ he laughed. ‘Let’s arrange to meet quickly before I get interrupted again. Are you free tomorrow?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Great. I could pick up some tickets for the theatre. We could eat first, if you’re coming straight from work.’

‘That would be lovely.’ She paused as Grace knocked on the door; then poked her head round, signalling her two o’clock appointment had arrived. ‘I have a wellington boot here too,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘It must be very muddy out there. Look, I’ll collect you from work at six. Is that all right with you?’

‘Yes, fine. I’ll wait outside the office.’

‘Until tomorrow then. Take care. You’re already very special, Aisha. I can’t believe how lucky I am – an old geezer like me.’

And so it began, his courtship, her romance. Whirlwind, yes, but given their ages and circumstances that wasn’t so very strange. For, as Mark said and Aisha agreed, they had both lost too much time already in going down the wrong path, and had a lot of catching up to do. Mark always managed to say and do the right thing; he was always the perfect gentleman, and wholly attentive to her needs.

In the six months that followed, they spent every available minute together and Aisha felt that all her dreams had come true. She and Mark talked endlessly about anything and everything – the myriad of little incidents that shape us and make us who we are. Mark met her parents and, although he still wasn’t close to them, she met his. He introduced her to his work colleagues and friends, of which there were many, for with his sympathetic ear and ready wit Mark attracted people like bees around a honeypot. By the time Aisha told her parents that Mark was divorced, carefully explaining the circumstances – how he had worked hard and had been badly deceived – they were so impressed with him, and he had become so much a part of their family that other than a couple of questions from her father about his children, it wasn’t an issue.

*  *  *

‘So did I miss something?’
she asked herself later, when she sat night after night, alone in her armchair, answering the inspector’s questions, trying to get it right in her mind.
‘Did I miss something in the headiness of it all, when Mark literally swept me off my feet? Something that a different person might have seen? A seed of doubt, borne on the wind of chance that should have been harvested and grown to fruition? Would a different person have said, Now stop, wait a minute, that doesn’t quite add up. Would they? Was there a clue?’

And looking back, with the benefit of hindsight, she could see that there might have been: one clue, one crack in the otherwise unblemished china. A fine line of repair where the glue had been applied too liberally, and had set prominent over the join. So had she been more worldly-wise, she might have looked more closely, and then asked how it had been broken in the first place. But the clue, if it was one, came immediately before Mark proposed, and you don’t question the man who’s just asked you to marry him. Of course you don’t, not if you’re as much in love as Aisha was.