The Love of Her Life (9 page)

Sean and Kate smiled at each other on the doorstep, proud of their party-starting status, which was acknowledged and, in Sean’s case, well deserved. Sean rubbed his hands together and Kate smiled. They were good, and they knew it.

‘We’ll see you inside,’ said Kate, and she pushed Sean towards the door again, wanting to get inside, and as she stepped forward, following him in, someone came in from the other side and she stumbled across the threshold, into the house, almost falling into their arms.

‘So this is the famous Kate,’ the someone said, holding her by the arm to support her. She gazed up at him, helplessly, in the dull glow of the swinging lightbulb in the hall.

His open, handsome face, his dark eyes, his ready, wide smile
… he looked strangely familiar and yet – she knew him, but she didn’t know him.

‘This is my brother, Mac,’ Steve said, a catlike grin on his face. ‘Finally! You’ve never met, that’s really weird.’

Mac. Of course. He looked like Steve, and yet he was totally unlike him. Steve was easy, open, laughed a lot, restless. Mac was taller, broader, his hair was the same light brown as his brother’s, but closely cropped. He had lines on his forehead, laughter lines by his mouth. Kate suddenly had the irresistible urge to reach out, touch them with her index finger. She stared at him. She was glad Zoe had gone into the kitchen.

‘No, we’ve never met,’ said Mac, still looking at her. He took her hand now, and shook it. ‘I know a lot about you though. A
lot
,’ he said.

‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ said Kate, recovering herself, her eyes still on him. His eyes were green, a strange, scrubby, sea-like green colour. ‘I know a lot about you too.’ When she was nervous she talked too much. ‘You’re a medical genius, and you live in Cricklewood, which is weird, because I never thought the two would go together, except we just did an article in the magazine about people who come from unlikely places. Did you know Cary Grant was born in Redland in Bristol and he was an acrobat at the Bristol Hippodrome.’

There was silence. Kate looked down at her feet, hating her high heels, which prevented her from fleeing into the night. She bit her lip, yelling at herself inside her head. What? How? Was she
mental? This
, this was why she hadn’t had a date in six months, she told herself.

‘I did not know that,’ said Mac, conversationally. ‘Did you, however, know that it took ten million bricks to build the Chrysler Building in New York?’

‘No!’ said Kate, with pleasure. ‘That’s – that’s wonderful.’

Their eyes met again; he smiled, she smiled, and that was it.

‘Kate! Are you coming in?’ Sean called from the kitchen. He sounded almost cross.

‘Better come inside, then,’ said Mac. So she did.

Two hours later, it was after midnight, and Zoe and Steve’s housewarming party was an unqualified success. Zoe had made vodka jellies, of which Kate had had four. Steve was the music mixer, flipping between CDs and his LPs with the greatest of ease. They danced themselves stupid to Michael Jackson, all pretending they could Moonwalk in their narrow kitchen. At one point there were thirty people doing the conga to Perez Prado through the small, corridor-like flat, out into the garden, down the side entrance and through the front door again. Then Steve – who was a brilliant host, one who only wanted his guests to have a good time and one who didn’t care about the carnage they caused to his new flat, as long as they were enjoying themselves – started making flaming B52s, and Zoe stood on a chair and sang ‘Rescue Me’ into a hairbrush, until she fell off and Steve had to pick her up. He threw her over his shoulder, slapping her on the bottom, and carried her out of the room, as she screamed and the others applauded.

Occasionally she would catch sight of Sean, who was drinking steadily, and wave at him or pat his arm, checking in to make sure he was doing OK. But otherwise she lost
herself in a whirl of drinks, of laughing, of catching up. She kept looking over her shoulder to see where Mac was, kept thinking she saw him – had she just dreamt it? – as the party grew more and more raucous. In fact, it turned out the party was so good that when the new neighbours from upstairs – a married couple in their thirties – came down after twelve to complain about the noise, Steve thrust a Moscow Mule each into their hands and had them both dancing with Betty to Britney Spears in five minutes.

Betty was after Sean tonight. Kate could tell, and she watched her bat her fake eyelashes at him with some amusement, impressed at the way she could be so subtle and yet so obvious with him. Kate was pretty sure Betty and Sean had slept together at university and, watching them, she was suddenly pretty sure that was the way it was going to end up tonight. She stood in the corner of the sitting room, taking a breather from the dancing, with her glass curled up against her, and she saw the way Betty touched her top lip with her tongue as she talked to him, her blonde bunches wagging on each side of her head, the way Sean watched her mouth as he answered her, the way they smiled into each other’s eyes, moving slightly closer. Suddenly the Sean of a few hours earlier, desolate at the news of Jenna’s engagement, seemed far away. He was on a mission tonight, that was clear. Kate bit her lip, tasting blood on her tongue, and turned away, surprised at the intensity of her reaction.

‘Great party, Zo,’ she said.

Zoe was hugging the doorframe, using it as support, her small hands clinging to the carved wood almost desperately. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘This bloody flat, you know what a nightmare it was getting it, I can’t believe we’re here now.’ She banged her head gently against the frame. ‘I think I may have to grovel to the neighbours tomorrow though,’ she
added nervously, glancing down the corridor into the kitchen, where through the french windows Kate could see Francesca and Steve were lying on the small lawn, singing something loudly.

‘You’re cute though,’ said Kate. ‘They’ll love you. We had a thing in the magazine last week, how to get on with your neighbours. Accept responsibility, go round to each of them with a box of chocolates tomorrow and just say sorry. It’ll be fine.’

‘Did you meet Mac then?’ said Zoe suddenly.

‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘Well, at the beginning –’ she looked round ‘– I don’t know where he’s gone.’

Zoe shrugged her shoulders. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘He’s working too hard. He looks exhausted. Don’t you think?’

Kate hadn’t noticed anything, except how lovely he looked, and she’d never met him before, so she was hardly qualified to judge.

‘Zo, Zo!’ Steve yelled from the kitchen. ‘Zo! Come and see! If you put shaving foam in a tupperware box and light it – look what happens!’

‘Jesus!’ said Zoe. ‘You are such a fucking
infant
, Steve!’ she yelled back, half-laughing, looking down the corridor. ‘Oh, wow. That’s really –’ There was a loud bang. ‘I’m going to –’

‘Go,’ said Kate, draining her drink. ‘I’m going to find another glass of –’ she looked at her glass. ‘Don’t know what that was. I’m going to find it, anyway.’

She turned around in the tiny hallway as Zoe walked away.

‘Hello,’ said a voice behind her, and Kate spun around.

It was Mac. He was shutting the door to the spare bedroom.

‘Hello again,’ she said, uncertainly. ‘I haven’t seen you for a while.’

He scratched his head. ‘I know. I fell asleep.’

‘You fell asleep? In the spare bedroom?’ Kate was mystified. ‘Can’t be as good a party as I thought it was, then.’

‘I’m sure it is,’ he said. ‘I heard Zoe singing “Cabaret”.’

‘Oh,’ Kate said. ‘Well – there was more, but perhaps you –’

‘I like your dress,’ he said, interrupting. ‘It suits you.’ He caught himself. ‘I mean, I’ve never met you before so how would I know. But you look nice in it.’ He turned away to the wall and said something under his breath, before turning back. ‘Man. How – god.’

Kate smiled; she was a bit bemused. ‘Thanks, though. That’s really –
nice
of you.’ She repeated the word unconsciously and then realized; they both grinned, relaxing a little more. ‘It was a present from my dad. It’s old, like from the fifties, I think.’

‘Of course, your dad’s Daniel Miller, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ said Kate, vaguely pleased he should know that, that there was this old connection with them because of Zoe and Steve, even though they’d never met. It made it seem even more comfortable, the air between them.

‘I heard him the other day, on the radio, talking about his new album. Some covers of songs by ABBA?’

‘Yes,’ said Kate again. ‘Er, it’s great apparently. It’s just out, I haven’t heard it yet.’

‘Well, I’ve only heard bits. He was interviewed on the radio. And he was on some daytime TV thing I saw, while I was on rounds yesterday.’

Daniel had a new publicist, called Lisa, who was getting him all this new coverage. She was responsible for Daniel’s new, choppy haircut, his Ralph Lauren suits, the moody shots of him gazing out of windows in dilapidated old country buildings. She called him ‘Danny’, too. She didn’t seem to like things like long evenings in basement kitchens drinking cheap red wine (red wine stains the teeth), walks on the
Heath on cold days, or daughters who were close to her in age. Yes, Kate had met her. She wasn’t mad about her.

‘Yep,’ said Kate. ‘It’s great, he’d been quiet for a while before that.’ She cleared her throat to change the subject as a shriek echoed from the next room. ‘God,’ she said laughing. ‘Zoe’s absolutely trollyed.’

Mac’s expression was mock-serious. ‘So, what were the two of you like when you were little, then?’

Kate laughed. ‘Well, Zoe was very bright and bubbly, and loud. Very loud. And I was – clumsy. And a bit moody. And not as nice as Zoe.’

He bent his head, and lowered his voice. ‘Kate. I’m sure that’s not true.’

‘Thank you,’ she said slowly. ‘But it pretty much is.’ There was a pause. ‘How about the two of you?’

‘Who? Me and Steve?’ He shook his head, and crossed his arms, so his hands were wedged under his armpits. ‘He was the typical annoying little brother, always bright and perky and funny and loud. Bit like Zoe, clearly.’ Kate shook her head, moved closer towards him. She wanted to touch him.

‘How about you, then?’

‘Me? I was …’ He was smiling down at her. ‘Well, I was quite awkward, and I liked staying in my room, reading books and writing terrible poems. And looking at things under my microscope. God, this is embarrassing.’ He grimaced. ‘And I can’t believe I’m telling you this.’

‘A microscope?’ She laughed, incredulously, and embarrassment flashed across his face till she said, putting her hand on his arm, wanting to reassure him, ‘Mac. That’s weird. I had a telescope.’ Kate thought of her poor telescope, confined to the back of the cupboard. ‘In fact, you’ve just described me as a teenager. So there you go.’

‘Great minds think alike,’ said Mac, nodding. ‘Or perhaps not.’

There was a silence again; comfortable. He yawned, suddenly. ‘Sorry, crap of me.’ He rubbed his face; she realized he’d only just woken up. ‘I’ve been – busy, you see.’

She remembered Zoe saying how tired he was. ‘Is it work?’

‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Yeah.’ He hummed, and looked down at her; she was tall, but he was taller. ‘Let’s get a drink, shall we?’

‘Great,’ she said, her eyes flicking up to him again. She couldn’t stop looking at him, not just because he was incredibly attractive – but because she felt she knew him, recognized him from somewhere, and she couldn’t work out where.

‘Good kip, then?’ Steve called, as they came into the kitchen. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Yeah, bruv, thanks,’ said Mac. ‘Sorry about that. Kate, what do you want?’

‘That looks good,’ said Kate, pointing at a bottle, simply because it happened to have liquid in it. ‘Thanks.’ She stole a glance at him again, to find him watching her, as he poured the wine into her glass. Strange, strange, she told herself. She had never felt like this before. So … in control of it, so – certain. She didn’t know what was going to happen next but yes, there it was – a kind of certainty when she looked at him, into those kind, yet quizzical green eyes of his.

Mac clinked his glass against hers. The kitchen was nearly empty of guests – some were in the garden, shivering in the cold spring night, most were back in the sitting room or in the corridor, and the music was punching through the walls to where they stood. Steve watched them for a moment, scratching his face, and then he said, ‘Hey, Francesca, you’ve met Mac, haven’t you?’

Francesca was the girl Steve had been seeing right before Zoe appeared on the scene, and she turned away from her
ex-boyfriend reluctantly, and gave Mac a catlike, enigmatic smile.

‘Of course I have, darling,’ she said. ‘Hello Mac, how are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. She kissed him, patted him on the shoulder.

‘What happened to the Edinburgh job?’ she asked, semi-curiously. Kate watched her, very curiously.

Mac shifted on his feet. ‘The one at St Giles? It –’

‘Hey! Hey!’ Zoe called from outside. ‘Oh god, I think he’s about to be sick. Ugh! Steve! Steve, can you –’

Francesca turned away, watching through the french windows. ‘Oh no,’ she said, sounding bored, as Steve ran into the garden.

‘You need me, bruv?’ Mac called after him.

‘No man,’ said Steve, kneeling behind someone. ‘Urgh. That’s horrible.’

‘Come on,’ said Mac, and he put his hand on Kate’s elbow. His touch sent a jolt through her; his thumb was dry and warm on the inside of her arm. ‘I want to ask you something.’

Kate followed him into the corridor again and stopped short. There were Sean and Betty, locked in a grappling embrace and oblivious to everything else, including someone reaching up behind them to get their coat off the bulging coat rack. Kate looked at Sean’s face, what she could see of it, absorbed in chewing off half of Betty’s, and smiled to herself. Why wasn’t she surprised? He was Sean, wasn’t he? Always the same.

Mac didn’t notice, he was looking out into the garden again, to make sure the poor unfortunate outside was OK. His jaw was set, his posture tense. But as she gave a little sigh and shook her head he looked down at her then, and said,

‘What do you think about getting out of here?’

‘What?’ Kate said, dazed.

He touched her shoulder, lightly. ‘Come back with me. Let’s get out of here.’

‘But it’s –’ Kate looked at her watch, unsure of what to say next: it was two o’clock. ‘Oh.’ Then she looked over at Sean and Betty again, then back at Mac. Mac, who just met her gaze and nodded.

She nodded back at him.

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘Let’s go.’

It was dark in the corridor, by the entrance to the kitchen. He took her hand and pulled her towards him, and they kissed, their hands twining together. She could feel his stubble rasping against her skin, his tongue pushing inside her, his lips on hers, warm, dry, strong, like the rest of him.

‘Kate Miller,’ he said, when he broke apart from her. ‘The famous Kate Miller.’

They walked past Betty and Sean; Kate had to tap them on the shoulder to let them know she was going, especially since she had a pact with Sean. ‘Hi,’ she said, picking a limb, hoping it was Sean’s. Mac held her other hand, his fingers stroking hers. She felt warm, melting, swoony with him beside her, his hip touching hers.

Sean turned around, his eyes glazed, panting slightly. ‘Kate, hi,’ he said, and there was a note of irritation in his voice; Kate couldn’t blame him. Behind him, Betty tried to look casually around, as if she were a prospective buyer for the flat, making a note of the ceiling mouldings.

‘I’m going,’ Kate said. She jerked her head, as if to indicate Mac, that this was the situation.

‘What?’ said Sean, quickly. ‘Oh. Right …’ His gaze left Kate’s face and looked behind her, to Mac, who nodded, politely, and tightened his grip on Kate’s hand. She swayed
towards him, dizzy with wanting him, wanting to be alone with him. She cast a look back at Sean.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, OK?’ she said. ‘Don’t –’

‘It’s fine, Kate,’ said Sean, and there was a sharp note to his voice. ‘See you tomorrow babe.’ He took his hand off Betty’s bottom and squeezed Kate’s arm. ‘Have a good one.’

She turned away, and she and Mac stepped across the front door, and closed it behind them, and then it was just the two of them, alone.