The Accidental Family (27 page)

Sophie tapped one short unvarnished nail against the glass. It was just after ten on a Saturday night in London, and she was holed up in her childhood bedroom like a refugee or a convict on the lam. What on earth was she thinking? She’d come back here to think, to feel like herself again, and the best way to do that wasn’t to sit in her old room, entombed in the past. It was to be out there in the living, breathing, beating heart of the city.

Quickly Sophie picked up her phone and made a call.

“Christina? Hi, listen, I’m in town unexpectedly—what are you doing right now?”

It turned out that Christina was in the bar at the St. Martins Lane hotel at a private party, but as soon as Sophie had given her a brief synopsis of her situation, she’d pulled some strings and had Sophie’s name added to the guest list. It had taken Sophie just over half an
hour to shower, change into one of the dresses she’d barely worn since arriving in St. Ives, and slip on her cool and comfortingly uncomfortable designer shoes, shake out her long hair, and put on some lip gloss.

Opening her mother’s front door, she stood on the doorstep and inhaled London. Gone was the constant cry of the gulls and the incessant poetic crashing of the waves. There was no magical light here that was supposed to lift the human sprit. You couldn’t see a scrap of green, and if you breathed in too deeply you’d find yourself choking on traffic fumes.

Sophie smiled, she was very glad to be back.

“So what’s the occasion?” Sophie asked as she settled herself into a booth with Christina and a luscious-looking mojito.

“It’s my friend Alison’s divorce party—do you remember her? You met her a while back, she was terribly impressed with your brave and impetuous decision to go to Cornwall in pursuit of a man. Anyway, her divorce came through and she’s started a catering business that seems to be working out really well, so she’s celebrating. That’s her over there.”

Sophie glanced over to a blond woman, around her age and groomed to within an inch of her life, who was laughing and talking to a tall red-haired woman. “She looks very happy to be divorced,” Sophie observed. “It is slightly worrying, when you are on the brink of marrying someone, to see someone else who looks quite so happy to be getting out of it …”

“Yes, but you are marrying the man of your dreams, your fairytale romantic hero. She married a dyed-in-the-wool bastard, with barely any redeeming features. She told me she feels like her life is just starting now, which is pretty impressive seeing as she’s got three kids to worry about.”

“I’ve got three kids to worry about,” Sophie mused, more to herself than to Christina. “And none of them is mine.”

“Besides, Alison is very happy; she got the house in the settlement. Sold it, bought a business, Home Hearths Catering or some such artsy-fartsy organic country-type thing that ladies who lunch are into. And the moral of this tale is, never get married in a hurry to a man you barely know …oops, sorry.”

“It’s not the same!” Sophie exclaimed in horror. “Alison and I, we are nothing alike.”

“No, no, I know, and I wasn’t saying that you were,” Christina reassured her hurriedly. “Divorce parties are quite the thing these days. But I’ve never heard of an end-of-the-engagement party. Especially not after only about five minutes. Come on, darling. Tell me all about it.”

“I don’t want to,” Sophie said, watching Alison laughing, looking so happy and free. “I don’t want to talk about it tonight, I just want to get drunk and have some fun.” Sophie brought her drink to her lips with gusto, but for some reason the second she tasted it on her tongue she didn’t want it anymore and suddenly she felt homesick for one of Mrs. Alexander’s hot chocolates.

“Bloody hell, I’m even rubbish at drinking now,” Sophie sighed. “And I used to be excellent at drinking, it was one of the things you could always rely on me to get right. Have you got any class-A drugs? I think that might be my only way to oblivion.”

“You don’t do class-A drugs,” Christina said. “You are far too sensible. Oh, babe, come on. You look lovely, you’ve got on great shoes, and you’re in the most exciting city in the world! Let your hair down and live a little. How about we cut this party? There’re no single men here anyway, which, if you ask me, is a travesty at a divorce party, and go clubbing? We could catch a cab to that nightclub in Kensington where Prince William hangs out. We could see if we can cradle-snatch some royals.”

“Not really in the mood for illicit aristocratic sex,” Sophie said, stirring her cocktail without enthusiasm.

“Admit it—you’re missing him, aren’t you?” Christina sighed.
“Look, why don’t you go outside and give him a call? He won’t mind that it’s late and I’m sure you’ll feel better once you’ve spoken to him. Sounds to me like this is nothing more than a bit of bridal nerves complicated by the full-grown love child—is he single by the way? The love child?”

“You’re right,” Sophie said, choosing to ignore the last comment because, unlike herself, Christina had successfully managed to imbibe several mojitos. “I will call him. I’m sorry I’m being so lame. I think all that sea air must have sucked the party girl right out of me. I’ll call Louis and come back and down that bloody cocktail if it kills me.”

“And that’s what I’ve always liked about you,” Christina observed as Sophie slid from her seat. “Your natural joie de vivre.”

As she headed out of the bar, Sophie passed a tall redheaded woman locked in the embrace of a long-haired man. They looked like newlyweds caught up in the first flush of romance, Sophie thought enviously. She could tell just by looking at them, the way they held each other, that they hadn’t had to deal with any complications or problems; she closed her eyes just for a second, wishing ever so hard that she was back on the sofa in front of Louis’s electric fire, not thinking about anything except being in his arms.

The lobby of the St. Martins Lane hotel was minimalist, decorated almost exclusively in white, with strange teeth-shaped chairs and a large and seemingly random chess set on the shiny tiled floor. Awkwardly Sophie perched on a tooth and took her phone out of her bag. Now that she had given herself permission to talk to Louis, she couldn’t wait to hear the sound of his voice.

“Sophie?” The sound of her name in an unfamiliar accent stopped her in her tracks. She looked up and watched as Jake Flynn walked toward her. Slowly Sophie put her phone back in her bag. Jake Flynn, the man who could have been the love of her life.

“Sophie Mills, it really is you! You look fantastic—what are you doing here?”

“What are
you
doing here?” Sophie asked him. “You’re not going to the divorce party too, are you?”

“The what? No, my fiancée is staying here. I’ve been out of town today, but I promised I’d take her to a late dinner when I got back.” He gazed into her face. “You really look stunning. Sea air, love, and kids—it really suits you, you’re glowing.”

Sophie felt a hot flush sweep across her chest. Jake always did have a way of looking at her that made her feel desirable.

“I think that’s probably just because it’s a bit hot in there,” she said, nodding in the direction of the bar. She beamed at Jake, surprised by how pleased she was to see his familiar face in this familiar place. For a second it felt as if the wheel of time had turned backward and she was where she had been a year ago, working on an unrequited crush on Jake and desperate to get the promotion that would take her to the top of her profession. It felt almost as if her old life had been waiting in suspended animation, holding its breath until she returned, ready for her to pick up where she had left off in such a hurry. But she knew that wasn’t true. Jake might have wanted her once but that was many moons ago and now he was getting married, and so—she reminded herself a little belatedly—was she.

“So what are you doing now?” Jake asked.

“Oh, well, I’ll probably go back to the party for a bit.”

“Come to dinner with me,” Jake pressed her.

“But what about your fiancée?” Sophie asked him. “I don’t suppose she’s expecting a threesome, unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”

“Sophie Mills, are you flirting with me?” Jake chuckled.

“I don’t know, am I?” Sophie asked, surprised. One thing her life with Louis had changed for sure was how she felt about herself.
Now she felt beautiful and desirable. Even if Jake had fallen for another woman, she was sure he could see that in her.

“So how long are you in town?” Jake asked her.

“I’m not sure, I’m visiting my mum so—”

“Have lunch with me then? Before you go back. Promise?” Jake’s smile was a perfect balance of boyish and dashing.

“Yes, yes I will—that would be lovely,” she said.

“God, you look great,” Jake said again as he slowly seemed to take in every millimeter of her face. “Stunning.”

“Stop it, you’ll give me a complex,” Sophie said and grinned. “Another one!”

For a second the two of them stood there smiling at each other.

“Jake, I thought you were going to come up to my room to pick me up!” a woman called out across the foyer.

“Oh, there’s my girl,” Jake said, his smile dimming just a fraction. “That’s my fiancée, Stephanie.”

Sophie watched as an immaculate chestnut brunette with hair a little shorter and a little thicker and a lot more styled than Sophie’s marched over to them on a pair of very high heels. She was wearing a gray pencil skirt topped off with a high-necked cream satin blouse that emphasized the shape of her bountiful breasts. As she approached she smiled warmly at Sophie and extended a perfectly manicured hand that Sophie took rather self-consciously, suddenly aware that her fingertips had been nowhere near nail polish in months.

“Hi, I’m Stephanie Corollo. Delighted to meet you …?”

“This is Sophie Mills,” Jake said, kissing Stephanie on either cheek. “A former associate and good friend I just bumped into.”

“Sophie, how lovely to meet you,” Stephanie said. “And may I say what fabulous shoes? Manolo, 1980s, am I right? You and I have a lot in common. Will you be joining us for dinner?”

“Oh no,” Sophie said. “I’m supposed to be at a divorce party, and besides, three’s a crowd and all that …”

“Nonsense, Jake and I practically live in each other’s pockets as it is, and I don’t have any girlfriends on this side of the Atlantic. I’m dying for someone to talk to about things with frills. Come to dinner with us? I’m sure Jake would love a reason not to talk about wedding plans for a few hours.” Stephanie’s plea was charming and sweet and Sophie found her quite hard to resist, but the fact that she had been, on more than one occasion, in a rather compromising position with her fiancé made Sophie feel that she had to.

“I would love to, but I can’t. A friend went out of her way to get me into that party and I can’t run out on her. But it’s been lovely to meet you, Stephanie. You and Jake make a fabulous couple.”

“We do, don’t we?” Stephanie said, slotting her hand into Jake’s and smiling at him. “Well, come on then, darling, they said they’d hold our reservation until eleven thirty, and after the day I’ve had, I need at least two glasses of wine. Make that bottles.”

“I’ll call you,” Jake said, interestingly not making any mention of their proposed lunch date.

“Do that,” Sophie said, nodding, watching for a while as Stephanie strode out of the foyer and into the night, trailing Jake in her wake.

Sophie took her phone out of her bag to call Louis, but the urge to speak to him had waned and it didn’t seem like such a good idea anymore.

Fourteen

The morning after her night out with Christina and her surprise encounter with Jake Flynn, Sophie found a text message from Louis on her phone: “Glad you got there okay. We’re all fine.” There was nothing else, not a hint that he missed her, that he was worried about her, or that he even wanted to talk to her. Sophie’s thumb hovered over the Call button for a long moment, but she resisted the urge to call him.

She spent the rest of Sunday in bed, or in her pajamas sitting on her mother’s sofa, eating cereal and watching TV.

“It’s just like summer holidays all over again,” Iris told her, drawing back the living room curtains to let in some late-September sun that made Sophie blink and rub her eyes. “You never used to want to go out and get fresh air back then either. I practically had to kick you and Carrie out of the door and tell you to enjoy yourselves. The last thing you need is to be sitting around in the dark moping. Why don’t you go out for a walk? Take a dog or two. If
you take Scooby he’ll pull you along and you’ll hardly have to put in any effort at all. You need some fresh air to blow away those cobwebs, that’s what you need,” Iris assured her.

“What I need is a new brain,” Sophie told her mother. “A new brain, one that knows how to process rational thought, and I need a new heart, a hard as stone heart, not one that falls in love with the world’s most inappropriate man at the drop of a hat, and most of all I need not to think, and sitting here watching whatever is on the telly is exactly the best way to do that. I need all of those things and nothing that has anything to do with fresh air. I’ve had more fresh air recently than any sensible pair of lungs can deal with and just look where that’s gotten me.”

On Monday Sophie was awakened just after nine by her cell phone.

“I miss you,” she’d breathed into it, answering it while still half asleep and hopeful that it was Louis.

“Really? I haven’t given you a second thought.” Cal’s voice exploded in her tender ear. “Look, I think you should come and take me to lunch today. Eve hates me, and even though I’ve never done better at work, I have the distinct feeling she’s looking for a way to take credit for all of my ideas and shove me out. I need to fight fire with fire—I need your Machiavellian backstabbing skills.”

“I don’t know, Cal,” Sophie said, yawning, stretching so that her feet dangled over the end of the bed. “I was thinking about having a duvet day. I’ve discovered that I like lounging around in my pajamas watching daytime TV. And anyway, my body’s just realized that I haven’t slept late in six months and it’s demanding I catch up with the deficit.”