The Secret Life of Luke Livingstone (31 page)

That night, I dreamed of a baby in a forest. I felt the milk coming and knew it was for her. As I fed her, she gazed up at me as though I were a goddess. I had never known such love; I’d never felt such happiness and peace. Everything in the world was hushed.

The forest was a cathedral with green glass windows. Shafts of silver poured through the canopy, glowing in droplets on the leaf litter all around me. It was morning. We were safe. And no wolves came.

Eilish

It was long, long after midnight. I lay in a Lukeless bed, gazing up through the skylight. A brilliant moon shone full onto my face. I’d been close to happy this evening, and yet I was crying. Is this how it feels, I wondered, when a marriage finally slides out of your hands?

Oh, Jim. He’d given me such a gift. I hadn’t been on a date with anyone but Luke since I was twenty-four years old; yet there we were, off school turf and in our glad rags. Kate was right about one thing: The Lock’s a romantic place for dinner. Our
table was nestled up to a window, right above the water. There were candles, and the reflections of coloured lanterns gleamed and rippled out in the darkness. I took that first sip of wine, savouring the rich depth of it. It seemed a crime to be here and not in love.

I wasn’t going to talk about Luke. I wasn’t going to act the jilted wife. I asked Jim about his sons, Bill and Matthew, who were roughly Simon’s age. Jim was very amusing on the subject of Bill’s latest girlfriend, who sounded completely off her head. By the time the venison arrived, we’d moved on to Kate’s dig in Israel. Jim was on his best behaviour until I noticed that he was gazing at me much too intently.

‘Lipstick on my teeth?’ I asked.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he said.

‘Flatterer!’

He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t just mean you’ve got a frock on and you scrub up well. I mean really beautiful, in every way.’

I thanked him. It was wonderful to hear someone say that, because I harboured this nagging fear that I must be frumpy, or boring.

My phone beeped from the depths of my bag.

‘Sorry,’ I said, reaching for it. ‘Infuriating when people text over dinner. I’d better turn it off, before you confiscate it.’

I glanced at the message, saw it was from Kate, and laughed out loud.

SOBER?????

I typed quickly.
As a judge. How is Owen?

OMG he stood me up. Hello to Chadders. Remember no going home 4 coffee.

‘Kate,’ I said, as I turned off my phone. ‘Keeping an eye on me. She says hello.’

‘And hello to Kate from me. I bet she said some other things as well.’

‘Well, yes. She does have views about her mother and her physics teacher cavorting around the countryside. But she’s
level-headed. She’s coped with Luke’s coming-out far better than Simon has.’

I saw Jim’s eyes flicker, and wondered what he was thinking. He was holding the bottle of pinot over my nearly empty glass. I half-heartedly protested; said I had to pace myself, muttered something about having to drive. He mentioned a taxi.

‘Simon’s struggling?’ he asked, as he poured.

‘That’s putting it mildly.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘I don’t know, Jim. I’m not sure he is all right. His dad was his hero. If Luke was in the carpentry shed, Simon was too. If Luke was in his study, Simon took his homework in there. Luke’s a keen cricketer and—whaddaya know?—so is Simon. Career decisions, business problems, worries about Nico, Simon ran them all by Luke. And then one day, out of a clear blue sky . . . well.’

Bugger. I’d been determined not to talk about Luke, but here I was, burbling on. I described Simon’s anger, his drinking, his adamant refusal to let poor Nico see Luke. ‘He’s a bit of a mess,’ I concluded.

‘Sounds like it.’ Jim looked thoughtful. ‘He was doing so well, wasn’t he? Career, lovely wife. On an even keel. It was good to see.’

Odd choice of words.
Even keel
. I wasn’t aware that Simon had ever been rudderless.

‘He wasn’t unhappy, was he?’ I asked. ‘When you taught him?’

Jim shrugged. ‘Well, you know. He had his moments.’

‘I’m not sure I do know.’

‘He hasn’t always found life easy, has he? Bit of a loner. He had people he knocked about with. Not sure he liked them much.’

And that’s probably true, I thought as I tried to remember Simon’s teenage years. To my shame, it was all a bit hazy. I was working full-time; Kate was young and turbulent; Simon seemed focused on his A-levels, and, anyway, he tended to talk to Luke more than to me. He didn’t seem to be a squeaky wheel, so he got no oil.

Dessert arrived then, and the conversation moved on. The rest of the evening passed in laughter and warmth. Jim and I always had plenty to talk about, but tonight there was an extra energy. Even without Luke, I thought in surprise, there can be good moments.

‘New Year’s Eve,’ Jim said, as he was helping me into my coat. ‘My place. I’m having a party. Be there, or be square.’

‘I can’t have an affair with you, Jim.’

He feigned indignation. ‘The invitation was to a New Year’s Eve shindig, not my bedroom! But, purely out of interest . . . why can’t you?’

‘I’m not quite divorced,’ I said. ‘It would be adultery.’

‘Semantics.’

‘And you’re a colleague.’

‘That’s never stopped anyone before.’

He was right. Sometimes you could cut the atmosphere in our staffroom with a butter knife.

‘Okay,’ I said, as I pulled on my gloves. ‘I’ll rephrase. I can’t have an affair with you
yet
, Jim. Luke’s only been gone five months.’

‘And I’ve waited fourteen years for you.’

‘I hope you’re getting a taxi home,’ I said severely.

He opened his arms. ‘This isn’t the wine talking! I’m shtonecold shober.’

I grinned, and deflected him, and soon we were laughing again. Jim was so buoyant compared with Luke; he was lighter in his being. We were among the last to leave, stepping out of the warm restaurant into a frosty night. The moon had risen. We chatted for a while, loitering between our two parked cars.

Finally I looked at my watch, saw that it was after midnight, and said I’d better go.

‘I’ve had a wonderful evening,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

‘Another time?’ he asked, holding my door as I got in.

‘New Year’s Eve,’ I said. ‘Thank you. I’d love to come.’

Thirty-two

Kate

Frigging Owen.
Half an hour late. She sat in a corner of the George and Dragon, reading
Private Eye
and trying not to look as though she’d been stood up. There was a band on that night, but the place wasn’t hopping because their music was truly awful. It was a middle-aged man and woman, each with a guitar, playing what sounded like seventies folk and singing in really annoying nasal voices. At the end of every song they’d stop and drone on about what the next song was trying to say—as though anyone cared.

‘This one’s really important to me,’ the man was saying. He dipped his head down to the microphone like a rock star. ‘You know, it’s about my journey, really, because I just realised I wasn’t fulfilled, and now I’m just in a really good place, so, yeah, this is sort of my story.’

And they were off again, warbling away. The song sounded exactly the same as the last one, and the one before that. Kate looked at her watch and cursed. Owen was now thirty-seven minutes late. Another ten, and she’d leave. She was meeting her dissertation supervisor at nine tomorrow, and there was some work she needed to do before then.

Mum would be at The Lock right now, with Mr Chadwick. Bloody hell. Those two teachers were bound to get tipsy and
giggly. It didn’t bear thinking about! To pass the time, Kate sent Eilish a text; then she grinned at the reply. This thing with Mum and Mr Chadders was funny . . . except that it wasn’t. What about poor Dad?

There was a guy across the room, sitting with some other people. She’d spotted him when she first came in. Quite hot. Open-necked shirt, jacket, jeans. Might be thirty, might be younger. She could see him looking her way. When she caught him out, he smiled at her. Kate went back to
Private Eye
. She wasn’t here to pick up men. She was here to meet Owen and listen to whatever it was he had to say.

Then again, he ticked all the boxes, that guy. She found herself speculating about him as he stood up and headed for the bar. He had friends, and he was buying a round. Not a loner, then. Or a loser.

He’d just passed Kate’s corner when he hesitated, laughed to himself, and swung back to speak to her. He looked her in the eye but seemed slightly diffident, slightly wary of being told to piss off. Just wary enough. Any more would make him awkward; any less would make him an arrogant twerp.

‘Um, can I get you a drink?’ he asked her.

Oh, she did like his voice. Low, but not a growl. Just enough of a northern accent to be sexy.

Play it cool
. She raised her eyebrows. ‘A drink?’

‘Yep, that’s all. I’m not suggesting anything else. This is a genuine offer. You don’t have to join us if you don’t feel like it. You might have sneaked out to the pub for a bit of me time.’ He gestured at his friends—two women and a man—who were playing some sort of game with the beer mats. ‘Though you’re welcome.’

She glanced again at her watch. Owen was now fifty minutes late; he obviously wasn’t coming. The singers were taking a break, which was a mercy.

‘Why not?’ she said. ‘Thanks very much. A half of Guinness, please.’

He nodded and made for the bar. She kept him under surveillance. Dark-blond hair and a bit of stubble. Heavy eyebrows. Long legs. That nose was probably too big, if he was wanting to be a model, but the effect was rugged. This washout of an evening was looking up.

After a decent interval she joined him at the bar, and he held out his hand to shake hers.

‘Peter,’ he said.

‘Kate.’

Ouch
. Bit of a firm handshake.

They talked as they waited to be served. Kate said she’d been stood up by a complete idiot. Peter told her he wasn’t a local. He was visiting his sister, who’d just got engaged. When their order was ready he picked up four glasses, and Kate took hers.

‘Join us?’ he said. ‘Don’t expect intellectual conversation from this rabble. We’re building a house of beer mats.’

She accepted the offer and nipped back to the corner for her magazine. That was when she felt fingers gripping her arm, and heard an all too familiar voice.

‘Kate. Thank God you’re still here.’

Frig’s sake, Owen!
She could have clouted him. He stood there looking tousled and wide-eyed. Little boy lost, wearing an awful anorak.

‘
Now
you show up,’ she hissed. ‘What time d’you call this?’

‘Baffy ran away. He’s nuts, that dog. Took me ages to find him.’

‘Yeah, well, you’re too late. I’m busy now.’

He thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘But I have to talk to you. I’ve come all the way across London.’

‘You could have sent me a text, at least. I’ve been sitting here like a lemon.’

‘My phone’s flat.’

She ground her teeth. ‘Oh, for God’s . . . okay. Grab yourself a drink.’

Peter was standing at his table, waiting for her. She mouthed the word
sorry
, and pointed at Owen with both hands
before miming the act of throttling him. Peter obviously got the message; he smiled and shrugged before turning away. To make matters worse, the singers had started up again. They were murdering other artists’ songs now, starting with ‘Scarborough Fair’.

‘Right,’ she began, when Owen returned with a glass. ‘Shoot. But I’d better say right now, Owen: we’re not getting back together. Just putting it out there.’

He gaped at her. ‘You and me?’

‘Not going to happen.’

‘Um, Kate . . . this is really embarrassing. I thought you might’ve heard.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, I haven’t heard anything. D’you think you could possibly get on with it, before I tip this drink over your head?’

‘Okay. I’m with someone. We’re very serious, actually.’

This was an intriguing development. ‘Really? Who?’

‘She works with me. Eva Jones. I’m moving into her place tomorrow.’

‘Great news! Woo-hoo! So what’s she like?’

‘What’s she like?’ Owen looked shifty. ‘She’s, um, a lot more mature than you. Don’t take that the wrong way . . . I mean, she’s had life experience. She’s got two boys, and they’re . . . um, the older one’s eighteen.’

It was Kate’s turn to gape. ‘How old is this woman?’

‘Why does her age matter?’

‘Hang on, I’m doing the maths. You’re twenty-three. She’s got a son aged—’

‘Forty,’ snapped Owen. ‘She’s forty, okay? And we’re great together.’

Kate leaned back in her seat, smirking. So Owen had found a surrogate mother at last, and Eva now had three kids instead of two. Perhaps they
were
perfect together.

‘Well,’ she said, holding up her glass. ‘Here’s to you and Eva Jones. What I don’t get is why you couldn’t just tell me on the phone? Why trail all the way across town?’

‘Yeah, that’s a bit more difficult to . . . You might not . . .’ Owen started nibbling at his cuticles. ‘Look, come outside and you’ll see.’

‘See what?’

He tipped back his drink and stood up, not quite meeting Kate’s eye. She knew that look. He was trying to find the balls to ask a favour.

Eilish

‘So I went outside the George and Dragon with him,’ said Kate. ‘And what d’you think I saw? You’ll never guess.’

It was Saturday morning. Stella had already dropped by for coffee, and was all agog when Jim phoned to say how much he’d enjoyed their evening at The Lock. Once Stella had gone, Luke phoned to say he’d signed some transfer documents, as requested by my solicitor. And then—lovely surprise—Kate’s face appeared around the door from the lobby.

‘You alone, Mum?’ she yelled, her eyes screwed shut. ‘I hope I’m not going to be traumatised by the sight of Mr Chadders in a bathrobe?’

‘Kate!’ I ran to kiss her. ‘No naked physics teachers, you’re quite safe. You’ve just missed Stella. How did you get here?’

‘Borrowed Mathis and John’s car. I brought lunch—unless you’re going out? I’ve got to tell you about Owen, and . . . well, I’ll explain.’