The Love of Her Life (30 page)

‘Fine with me.’ She smiled at him in the darkness. He took a deep breath.

‘When do you have to go back to New York, Kate?’

It was Thursday. Thursday, and she had to be back for work tomorrow. She had to leave later today.

‘I – I don’t know.’

‘Tell me.’ He clutched her hand.

‘Tomorrow night,’ she said quickly.

There was silence. She could hear a siren outside in the street, rushing towards the hospital.

‘And what if you were to lie?’

‘Lie?’ she said, not understanding. She moved closer towards him; they were on their sides, facing each other.

‘Say …’ his voice was soft in her ear. ‘Say there was a problem with your visa and you had to stay here a bit longer.’

‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said immediately.

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ he said, rushing to agree with her. His voice was light. ‘It’s just that I’ve been in love with you for five years, Kate. I was sort of hoping perhaps now … maybe … before you screw everything up again and fly back to New York to hang out with your mum and an assortment of embittered writers and crazy old couples in your apartment block …’ he was whispering in her ear now, so softly in the dead quiet of the bedroom, his lips tickling her skin, ‘Well. I was hoping we might have some more time together. For this.’

‘For this?’

‘This.’

‘What is
this
?’ she said, desperately wanting him to tell
her the answer, but he cut her off as she finished the sentence.

‘We’ll worry about all that later. Let’s just say it’s imaginary, it’s an interlude. Who cares what happens afterwards?’

But she knew he didn’t mean that.

‘Stay, Kate. I love you. Don’t go back. Stay for just one more week.’

‘OK,’ she said, ignoring the hammering in her chest. ‘I will.’

‘Do you want to?’

Like someone had sucked all the air out of her lungs, Kate felt her chest, her heart, cave in, as if she were swooping down low over something, losing her senses. She blinked, trying to steady herself. She put her hand up to his cheek.

When they weren’t in bed, they were walking through the park, and when they weren’t in the park, they were sitting in a cafe somewhere in between the park and her hotel, Bayswater, or Marylebone. In the dog days of July, no one bothered them. Apart from crowds thronging Westminster Abbey or Madame Tussauds or the Tower of London, the city was empty. They went to the Turbine Hall at the Tate Modern early one morning, but it was crammed with people and they only wanted to be with each other, so they walked
along the river instead, ducking behind into the old wharfs around Blackfriars Bridge, along by the Oxo Tower. They went to Borough Market and bought pies and cold lemonade and picnicked, on the benches outside Southwark Cathedral. They walked along Marylebone High Street, weaving in between pubs in tiny mews streets, they sat outside eating Lebanese food, hummus with diced lamb and pitta, they walked along Clerkenwell Road, stopping to drink cold glasses of rosé in elegant bars normally stuffed with workers – the city was theirs, no one troubled them, and they troubled no one.

No one at all, except themselves. Zoe was away visiting Mac and Steve’s parents in Edinburgh, Francesca was on holiday with some friends in Italy – oh, the luck. She’d established via email that her father was in the recording studio, Dani and Lisa were with Lisa’s parents in Cornwall. It was her and Mac, that summer, and she didn’t know what was going to happen but for once, cautious, sensible shy Kate, Simply Didn’t Care. All she cared about was him.

His laughing, kind eyes – how could she have thought they were cold?

His easy, quietly authoritative manner: the hotel tried to overcharge her when she extended her stay, until Mac stepped in, his negotiation technique far superior to Kate’s (which was to be flustered and furious), and she ended up paying almost nothing for the tiny, happy little room that became their whole world.

The way he laughed – properly laughed, with helpless gulps and shouts that consumed his whole frame, when she told him a story that amused him, about Betty’s new boyfriend, or about the old days, or something that had happened to her in New York.

How in his sleep he sometimes sighed, so deeply, and seeing him in repose, strangely vulnerable, almost broke her
heart. She wanted to look after him, to protect him, to make sure he wasn’t ever hurt again, especially by her.

His hands on her body – she watched them moving over her, watched him, his face, and knew she would never be happy again unless he was by her side. And, as the days moved into a second week, and they stopped lotus-eating and realized they were going to have to make a plan of some sort, the dreams came back.

She’d had them before, after Steve died, all the time, and only going to New York made them stop.

She would dream she was back somewhere they’d been that day – in a tiny little Italian restaurant in Soho, eating sage and butter ravioli, kissing Mac in between bites and drinking red wine. And Charly would appear at the table next to her, and then Sean. Or they would walk past the window and stare in. They never said anything, just watched her, smiling, demonically. And she never knew when they were going to appear, sometimes the dream would last for ages, and only then, at the end of revisiting the lovely walk she’d had with Mac through Battersea Park, would Charly suddenly walk casually out from behind a tree, her long hair ruffled in the summer’s breeze, and Kate would awake, sweating, terrified. And another memory of a beautiful day with Mac would be ruined. She couldn’t sleep, and he didn’t notice, and he couldn’t help her, and she started to hate him for that.

She ignored it for a few days, the voice in her head that dripped poison into her ear, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she admitted it.

Admitted that if she really loved Mac, the only way not to hurt him, now, was to go.

It grew hotter and hotter, as August drew near, and now they had spent nearly two weeks together, barely a moment
apart, other than lavatory breaks. Or when Mac had to go back to his flat to pick up more clothes. Their tiny, bare hotel room and the London of tourists in the summer was their world, and though someone cleaned the room each day, clothes, shoes, possessions were flowing across it like water by nighttime, when they lay asleep, the covers thrown off, Mac’s arm draped over Kate.

Yes, Kate would decide, as she lay by his side, watching him during those stuffy, airless, dark nights. He does love me. She knew that.

But Kate also knew that, while Mac thought he’d forgiven her, it was only a matter of time before he started to hate her for it, to blame her for the death of his beloved brother. For making her best friend, his sister-in-law, a widow – all these things. It would happen: it was a way off yet, but it would happen, and it would gradually poison everything – that’s why she’d left London in the first place. She had tried to separate herself from it all. She had put an ocean between herself and what had happened and now, it was starting to catch up with her.

In the last few days of their time together, Kate slept less and less, and Mac’s arm across her body, over her shoulders, weighed down more and more, and the dreams became more and more regular, and the weather grew humid and frayed her nerves even further, and he was crowding in on her, more and more. She could sense him clinging on to her, even as she tried to push away, knew he was reaching out to her for reassurance because he felt her rejecting him. He would kiss her, draw her towards him, open her legs to let him inside her, and she let him, wanting him desperately, trying not to cry with love for him, even as she wished he’d just leave her alone, alone. Alone, a unit of one, so she wasn’t bothered by him and how he made her feel.

So she had to leave.

The question was how. And when. And one night, her thirteenth night back in London, it came to her, suddenly.

‘Ill? Your mother? How – what do you mean?’

‘She fainted today. She was in Saks. She banged her head, she’s unconscious.’ Kate stood on the other side of the bed, trying not to panic. ‘There’s a flight at seven. I’ve spoken to someone at Virgin, I’m on it.’

Mac had gone back to his flat, to pick up more clothes, check his post, his messages, run some errands. He had left her there, in their cardboard world of the hotel, promising he’d be back by three, and he was, to find that everything had changed, to find Kate surrounded by clothes, her eyes red, curiously withdrawn from him.

He ran his hands through his hair. ‘My god, Kate. That’s awful.’ He came round to her side of the bed as she stuffed her meagre, much-worn clothes into her bag; every one had a memory now.

‘What did Oscar say?’

‘He said to come home. He’ll meet me at JFK.’

The black cotton broderie anglaise sundress; she had worn that when they hired a boat on the Serpentine, Mac rowing, Kate reading him Sherlock Holmes stories, and covertly giving him sips of illegal wine.

She watched him hugging himself, his hands shoved under his armpits, his body language tight, panicked. ‘But what do they think … Do you want me to speak to him, to someone at the hospital, find out what’s going on?’

‘God, no. No, Mac, please. I just need to get home. They think she’s going to be OK, that it’s just concussion, but …’

The polka-dot navy and white shirt she had worn the night it rained, five days ago; drenched, soaked to the soul, they had given up trying to stay dry and had run back to the hotel, his white t-shirt virtually transparent,
her hair like rats’ tails, both laughing silently, almost hysterically.

He was shaking his head, his eyes full of damned sympathy, concern, emotion for her. She hated it, hated him for feeling like that, herself for making him feel like that. He moved towards her, and put his arm around her.

‘Oh, Kate – darling …’

That skirt, the one she had worn the first day she saw him; she bit her lip, bowing her head over the bed, as he released her and took her hands in his.

‘I wish you weren’t going. Shall I come with you?’

For a second, Kate leant against him, allowing herself to indulge what it would feel like to say yes. To just breathe out, and give in. To say, yes, come back with me, actually, stay with me, let me stay with you. I love you, I want to be with you, to stay with you forever. Love me, let me love you.

She rolled all these words around in her mouth, unspoken. But she had to go, and when he found out how she had lied he would start to hate her, and by the time she came back to London again, he would properly hate her, think she was a lunatic, and her work would be done.

Two years of pushing everything down, deep deep down inside her, of guilt and mourning, not just for her friend’s death, but for the lives she’d left behind, were finally catching up with Kate, she knew it. And now it pleased her to be mad. That’s how miserable she was.

‘I’ll come with you to the airport,’ Mac was saying.

Kate ran her hands through her hair. ‘No.’

‘Of course I will.’

‘No,’ she said. Her voice surprised her. She turned to him. ‘Please, Mac. Can you just take me to Paddington, put me on the Heathrow Express. I hate airports so much. I don’t want to say goodbye to you there. Please.’

It was true, the only true thing she’d said since he’d got back, and he didn’t realize it. But he nodded, bewildered.

‘Of course.’

She waited till she was on the train. He even got on with her, put her bags on the rack, having charmed the guard into letting him through the ticket barriers. She tried not to cry as he kissed her, told her he loved her.

‘I’ll be over as soon as I can,’ he said, kissing her hair, the way he had done the first time they’d kissed, outside St James’s. ‘I’ll call you. Call me when you get there, but I’ll call you.’

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the kindly guard, who’d let him climb onto the train with her. ‘We’re about to leave. You’ll have to get off.’

He stood up. She didn’t stand up. She just said,

‘I’m sorry.’

He looked at her, puzzled.

‘Bye,’ she said. ‘Mac –’ She held out her hand.

‘I’ve written you a letter. It’ll explain everything.’

‘
This train is about to depart. Please stand clear of the closing
doors
.’

‘In the drawer by the bedside table. At the hotel. I’m sorry.’

He looked even more bewildered, as the doors closed, and Kate sank back into her seat, not looking to see if he was watching, not knowing. She was shaking so hard she thought she was going to be sick, and the train pulled away, gliding seamlessly out of the station, and she didn’t look around once.

Kate woke after five, and lay in the darkness of her flat, staring at nothing.

How long, she didn’t know, but after a while, she realized Mac was awake too. He was breathing heavily, half-asleep, but he wasn’t asleep. She knew it because she wasn’t either, and she remembered how well he used to sleep back then, last summer, while she lay awake, praying for the sunrise. She didn’t want to move, though, to move things on, she wanted to stay there, in his arms, feel his body next to hers, their legs entangled, caught between being asleep and awake, this state of security and the next state of uncertainty, for as long as possible, until dawn slid through the slatted blinds.

She turned over, so her back pressed into his chest, and his arm slid around to hold her. Kate blinked in the darkness, her eyes aching already with fatigue. Why had she let it happen?

Because it was always going to
, a little voice inside her head told her.
Because the two of you have unfinished business
.

She blinked again, staring at the crumpled edge of the duvet.

Because you’re lonely
.

Because he understands
.

But he didn’t, that was the trouble. He pushed into her space, he brought back the past, he invaded her, he upset her, every single time. And she even more so with him. It was like an old scab, she had decided. They were bad for each other, yet they couldn’t stop picking at it, opening it, because of everything else it covered.

Mac moved against her, drawing her closer into him, so there was nothing between them. She could feel him against her thighs, his muscles against her back. He sighed, she didn’t know whether it was conscious or not. He kissed her shoulder, gently, the back of her neck, and stroked her arm, and was still again. They were quiet, in the dark room, and Kate stared out again as a cold, heavy tear streaked onto her pillow. This, this tenderness was what got to her the most. This was why she’d left London. The agony of complication, of entanglement.

And then Mac spoke.

‘You’re awake, aren’t you?’

Kate cleared her throat. ‘Yes.’

She rolled over and rubbed her eyes, in an effort to look more half-asleep than she actually was. In reality, her mind was whirring, flipping over possibilities and endings like a pinball machine, but she said, after a moment,

‘You OK?’ She leaned in and kissed him, somewhere on the chin. He didn’t react, or reply, in any way. ‘Hm,’ she said, and closed her eyes again, jokingly. ‘Hey. You OK?’

He put his hand on her neck, and pulled her towards him. ‘Yeah. Just thinking.’ He kissed her back.

‘About what?’ Kate said. He was silent again. ‘What?’ She pushed him. ‘Hey. Don’t go silent on me. About what?’

‘Your flat,’ he said. ‘I finally get to see your flat.’

Of course. ‘You’ve never been here, have you.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You were with Sean – and then, afterwards …’

Afterwards.

‘Do you like it so far?’ she said softly into his ear, as he drew her towards him. ‘Do you like what you’ve seen?’ She touched him, in a way she knew he liked, that only they knew.

‘Hm?’ He pushed her away but then he sighed, laughing softly. ‘Oh, Kate.’

‘I’m looking for a new tenant,’ she said, moving into him, wrapping his arms around her, feeling calmer as he responded to her.

‘That’s strange,’ he said. He nibbled her ear. ‘I’m looking for somewhere to rent.’

‘I remember,’ said Kate. ‘We should talk. I could do you a discount. Mates’ rates.’

‘Mmm. Kate’s mates’ rates.’ He kissed her, on the mouth, her neck, her ear. ‘Only – I don’t think we’re mates,’ he said. ‘Do you?’

‘I’m sorry you feel that way,’ said Kate, rolling on top of him, smoothing her hands over the muscles in his shoulders. ‘That’d solve all my problems.’ She kissed him, running her hands through his short, scrubby hair. He froze.

He lay still beneath her, then he pushed her off him, gently. ‘Nice. Always the same.’

‘What?’

‘You’re really going back there again, aren’t you?’

Kate had the feeling of being out-manoeuvred. She rubbed her face, pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘What?’

‘New York. You’re really going to go back. Again. Aren’t you.’

‘You know I am,’ she said. He pushed her hand away.

‘Screw you, Kate,’ Mac said. He sat up. She stared at him, astonished. ‘God. You never want to face up to it.’

‘Mac –!’ Kate said, sitting up too, turning into him, leaning on one hand. ‘You were the one last night saying it was a one-night thing! What the hell –’

His face was furious. The words wrenched out of him. ‘Of course it’s not a one-night thing!’

‘Don’t shout at me,’ she said, furious. ‘Don’t shout. You
said
this was a one-night thing! And I said we shouldn’t do it again, it would hurt too much and you were all “No, Kate, give in to it, it’s only one night”, and here you are blaming me because I’m leaving in a few days –
God
, Mac, you’re like the reverse of one of those stupid dating books!’

‘What do you mean?’ He looked at her, coldly.

Kate knelt in front of him, suddenly hating her nakedness. She wrapped the corner of the duvet around her body. ‘Why are you doing this to me, trying to force me into a corner, when last night you made it clear this was only for one night?’

‘Look, this was never about one night. Stop trying to sound like a lawyer, Kate. Stop avoiding the issue. The issue is you. You always run away.’ He gestured. ‘The first night we spent together.’

‘I didn’t run away then!’ Now Kate was practically shouting herself. ‘You ran away! You shagged me and then went to bloody Scotland and never called me!’

‘I didn’t need to, did I?’ He threw the words in her face. ‘You were fucking your flatmate a week later, what did it matter?’

She put her hands over her eyes, wanting to block it out. ‘That’s not true –’ she said.

‘I even turned up to your engagement party, I told you not to marry him,’ he said, throwing the words in her face.

‘That’s what I mean!’ Kate shouted. ‘You’re being ridiculous! It’s always on your terms, Mac, what was I supposed to do with that? Leave him, in front of everyone, just because
you appear out of
nowhere
after two years and start drunkenly hinting at some dim and dark secret? I thought I loved him! I thought this was it!’

‘It wasn’t, though, was it,’ he said grimly.

‘Exactly,’ she said, shaking.
I never loved him the way I loved
you. Never
. ‘So don’t you dare make me feel guilty about it. You bastard.’ She turned away from him, but he carried on, ignoring her.

‘Kate, you even ran away after Steve died, and I thought you were the only one who could help me through it.’ He banged his fist on the mattress. It made a deadening, whooshing sound.

‘You really thought that?’ she whispered. ‘But I was the last person who you’d –’

‘And last year, when we had everything, you did it again.’ Mac rubbed his face, scratched the shadow on his chin. ‘Everything. I told myself you were damaged, you’d had a hard time, that – you know, perhaps it was worth one more try. And now, when we’re here in bed together, and I’m actually thinking well, despite everything we said last night, isn’t it clear now, isn’t it obvious we’re great together, and you turn around and offer to rent your fucking
flat
out to me.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘OK.’

‘I don’t get you, Kate.’ He was standing by the bed, watching her. ‘I just don’t get you.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Kate said. ‘You think you can fix everything, and you don’t understand you can’t.’

‘What does that mean?’

She climbed out of bed, naked, her back to him, and pulled on her blue velvet dressing gown. Standing in front of him, she said,

‘I ran away because I needed to work everything out myself. I know it was crap of me. But that’s the way it was.’

‘But Kate – it didn’t need to be like that,’ he said, bewildered.

‘It did.’ She rubbed her nose. ‘Mac, listen to me. I’m the one who should have died that day. Not Steve.’

He winced. She hated, hated saying this to him. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘It is,’ she said, moving closer towards him. ‘He pushed me out of the way. He saved my life. Did you forget that?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, but she heard the note of hesitation in his voice, and that was enough for her. ‘Kate, what happened happened. You have to accept that.’

‘I have accepted it,’ she said. She was quite calm. ‘Now I’m back I can see I’m getting used to it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel guilty about it every single day. Don’t you see, that it’s impossible? For us to be together? There are some things in the past that just can’t be overcome. You’ll love Steve, and Zoe, for the rest of your life. But if it hadn’t been for me, your life would have been completely different. Better.’ She put her hand on his chest; he caught it, held it there. ‘I wish I could change that. More than anything else. But it’s the truth and you can’t change it, no matter how you look at it.’

His hand tightened on hers. ‘You can’t look at it like that, Kate.’

She whispered, ‘I do, though. I do. You have a choice. Your brother, or the girl who was responsible for his death.’ Her throat was dry; she couldn’t swallow.

Was it getting lighter in the room, or was she imagining it? They stood there, perfectly still, neither wanting to move, to choreograph the next step. His hands were always warm. She could feel his heart beating in his chest. She prayed that he would understand.

‘I don’t understand,’ he said, finally. He opened his fingers; her hand dropped to her side, heavily. ‘I’ve tried so hard with you.’

She hated the way he boxed her in, like those nights at the end of the summer when she couldn’t sleep, trapped under the weight of him, and the weight of her feelings for him. ‘What are you looking for, some kind of reward?’ she said sharply.

‘Why do you always push people away?’ he said, pulling on his shirt and buttoning it up swiftly. ‘Why don’t you want someone to look after you? To care about you?’

‘Don’t patronize me,’ she said, angrily. ‘You know it’s not about that. This is about you trying to sort everything out, your way.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ He pulled on his jacket. ‘You’ve got a damned funny way of looking at things, Kate. I’m trying to help you.’

‘You’ve got a damned funny way of helping,’ she said, bitterly. He was facing her again, there were only a few inches between them. ‘Don’t be such a hypocrite.’

‘How am
I
a hypocrite?’ he said.

‘Because you come back here with me and we have sex and it’s great and we
know
it’s a one-night thing, and then you start making me feel horrible again,’ Kate said, her voice thick. ‘You always do. You always do.’

‘That’s called life, Kate!’ Mac said furiously. ‘That’s what life’s like! You can’t lock yourself away for ever. You can’t put your heart in a safe somewhere and hope no one touches it, comes near you! You can’t sleep with me just for some human contact without having the fallout afterwards.’ He put his hands on his forehead, kneading the skin with his knuckles. ‘My god. This is crazy.’

‘I think you’d better go,’ Kate said.

‘I’m going,’ said Mac. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson with you, Kate. Finally.’

She picked up her house keys, lying on the dresser, and caught sight of the post. She had picked it up when they’d
got back the previous night, stumbling around each other in the hall, his hands inside her coat, pulling her towards him, the promise of the night ahead intoxicating them both. She had held the letters, crumpled in her hand, thrown them down as they came in … She snatched up the pile again.

Kate Miller

Flat
4

Howard Mansions

London
W9

‘No …’ she whispered, stopping herself.

‘What?’ Mac said. He looked at her. ‘What is it?’

‘Nothing,’ Kate said, snatching the letter up. ‘Bills.’

He looked curiously at the envelope in her hand. ‘I know that writing. Who’s the letter from?’

‘
No-one
.’ Her stomach hurt.

Mac sighed softly. ‘God Kate, you just won’t change, will you.’

Charly was writing to her and she was the one who was getting stick for it. No. Not again.

‘It’s from Charly,’ she said. He took the letter out of her hand. ‘She’s been writing to me.’

‘She – what?’ He froze, the paper half-opened.

‘She’s having a baby. Mac, she’s –’

He was watching her. ‘She told you that?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘She’s pregnant. That was the first letter.’

‘What do the others say?’

She was cold in her dressing gown, the night was still black, and there he was, dressed, ready to go. She wanted him out of the flat, now.

‘Kate, what do they say?’

‘It’s my problem,’ she said. ‘Let me sort it out.’

Washed up, single, living with your mummy. I always said you were a bit of a loser, didn’t I?

‘Forget it,’ Mac said again and the sound of his voice was
awful. ‘You’re right. It’s too complicated, all of it. This is over. I’m sick of trying to mend you.’

‘
I don’t need mending
!’ Kate shouted, nearly screaming. ‘I’m not one of your fucking patients! Just leave me alone!’

‘Well, I will, then,’ he said. He picked up his bag and turned towards her. ‘You were right Kate. I can see it now. This would have been a disaster. Thanks for proving me wrong –’ he shook his head at her. ‘It took a while, but I’m glad you were right.’

She heard the front door close gently. It wasn’t even light, and he had gone. Kate turned off the light, crawled back into bed, to find she was shaking, juddering from head to foot. She was freezing cold, and now she couldn’t stop shaking, even if she’d wanted to. The letter was still in her hand. The light from the blinds in her room fell in stripes over the words, shafts of black and white on the difficult, messy handwriting.