The Secret of Happy Ever After (30 page)

Even Emma seemed embarrassed, and tried to change the subject as much as she could.

‘Michelle,’ she said, after they’d been discussing her son’s new piano teacher for what felt to Michelle like nine years, ‘you went straight to work from school, didn’t you?’

‘Um, yes,’ she replied, defences rising automatically.

‘My best employee ever,’ said her dad Charles, straight away, with a proud look. ‘Wish I still had her on my team.’

‘My best teacher,’ said Michelle. Not because it was expected but because it was true. She and her dad didn’t talk much about emotional matters but they could chat for hours about minimising overheads, and that made her feel closer to him than an hour’s lecture from her mother about everyone else’s kids.

‘It’s just that my sister’s going through a bit of a rebellious phase,’ Emma went on, blushing, ‘and we’ve been warned she might not pass her exams, so I was wondering . . .’

‘She could take the Michelle Nightingale route – get expelled, have a summer off, then get a job polishing cars,’ her brother Ben butted in, from two seats down. ‘From public school drop-out to mug-tree mogul. Like Richard Branson with jute bags.’

Ben had a very carrying voice. Michelle saw Carole’s lips had turned white and she was actually looking round to see if the waiters had heard.

For God’s sake, Mum
, she thought angrily.
Still?
That had been her sole concern at the time: ‘Oh, Michelle, what will people say? They all think you’re such a sensible girl.’ Carole had stayed indoors for a whole week, and had refused to discuss the reason for Michelle’s unexpected arrival home, so crushing was the burden of shame. Michelle had been grateful at the time, because she didn’t want to talk about the gory details either, but now she suspected that was more to do with Carole’s determination to wipe the whole incident from the collective family memory than from a desire to help.

‘Always looks intriguing on the CV, an expulsion,’ Ben went on, oblivious to the sudden blankness of his sister’s face. ‘Shows you’re a party girl under the business suit, eh?’

‘Shut up, Ben,’ said Michelle. ‘Do you want us to get onto the topic of hair transplants? Or vasectomy reversals?’

Charles coughed uncomfortably. ‘Isn’t it time for the . . . thing, Carole?’ he asked, flapping his napkin.

‘What? What did I say?’ Ben demanded of no one in particular.

Carole jiggled her eyebrows reproachfully at her husband. ‘No, not yet, Charlie. We’re not all here.’

‘We
are
,’ said Michelle.

As she spoke, three waiters walked in with a glossy chocolate cake, covered with fizzing indoor sparklers. Michelle recognised them from Home Sweet Home and wondered if they’d ordered from her website.

She felt a profound urge to be back in the stylish quiet of her shop, or on her sofa at home, or even in the bookshop with dribbly Tavish and Rory lecturing her on the right way to mash up dog food. Anywhere but here.

‘
Happy Birthday to you
 . . .’ the waiters started, but one loud voice cut through them, a little bit flat, and her mother turned to her with a triumphant smile, as if she’d pulled off the biggest and best surprise of all.

Michelle flinched. A huge cloud of metallic birthday balloons appeared over the top of the waiters and Carole clapped with undisguised delight, her tennis bracelets jingling as a figure stepped out from behind them.

A broad figure in a sharp pin-stripe suit, the sort someone might wear if they had a lifelong fixation on Al Capone and the Prohibition gangsters, despite having gone to an expensive public school. The hand clutching the balloons had a big signet ring on the little finger, and the arm attached to it displayed a chunky gold Rolex, and fine golden hair that was occasionally waxed off in secret by a very discreet woman called Wendy in Cobham.

Michelle focused on those bits because she didn’t want to look at the face just yet. Not till the last polite moment.

‘Harvey!’ her mother called out. ‘You made it! Oh, what sweet balloons! Look at the lovely balloons, Bella! Would you like one?’

‘Why did Mum invite Harvey?’ Michelle asked her dad under her breath, trying not to let it come out as an accusation. ‘We’re
separated
. Why does she think she can force us back together?’

Her father looked uncomfortable. ‘He
is
my senior manager, love. Your mother asked him. She wants everyone to be friends.’

Not for the first time, Michelle wondered queasily if her mother harboured more than a little crush on Harvey herself.

‘Does she invite all your staff to family birthdays?’ she demanded, her voice rising hysterically.

She stopped as Ben turned round to see what the problem was. Harvey was coming towards her with the balloons, and she had no option but to look at him now.

Michelle’s mother had gone through an annoying phase of calling Harvey ‘Bear’, on account of ‘his lovely big bear face. Like Winnie the Pooh!’ His features were very affable; he had a shock of blond hair, a large mouth that gaped open and big ears. But his eyes weren’t quite as bear-ish as the rest of him; they were pale blue, and small, like his hands and feet, and they took everything in with the quick assessing stare of a rattlesnake.

Harvey had those eyes trained on Michelle now, and she felt herself go cold as he approached.

‘Happy birthday, darling,’ he said, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. Michelle recoiled at the intimacy of his hand resting on her hip. Harvey still smelled of too much aftershave and car wax, his hair was still thick and meticulously gelled, his nose was still red and his tie was still patterned with amusing turtles.

She made a non-committal noise in response. It sounded like a squeak.

‘Look at you!’ he said, squeezing her waist as she tried to wriggle out of his reach. ‘You don’t look a day over thirty!’

‘No, she looks three hundred and sixty-five days over thirty!’ roared Ben right on cue, stopping just short of slapping his own thigh.

‘She looks a million dollars,’ said Harvey gallantly, then added, just loud enough for her to hear,‘Especially now you’ve lost a pound or two. Must be all that running around at work. Keep it up!’

Michelle felt as if someone had yanked down her dress. Ashamed, self-conscious. Feelings she hadn’t had about herself in ages. As she turned her head, she saw her mother look at them both with an expression of supreme smugness, then nudge her husband as if to say, ‘Look what I did!’

When she and Harvey had met ten years earlier – or when she’d finally given in and allowed her mother to set her up on a blind date with her dad’s star manager – she’d been twenty years old, and still struggling with what no one had wanted to call clinical depression. Michelle wasn’t a natural drop-out. In the parallel world where things
hadn’t
gone wrong, she was two years into her degree course as planned, making friends, eating Pot Noodles, having close encounters with Natural Scientists and other carefree fun.

Instead of which, she’d been in Kingston, hiding from the world. Harvey had made her his personal project, and she couldn’t believe someone as handsome (her standards had been spectacularly low at that point) and successful could want a failure like her. Harvey tended to agree, but with his support she’d stopped running ten miles a day and inched back into something approaching normality – if watching someone else play golf and going to regional launches of new Fords was normal. She was happy to let Harvey take charge of conversations, happy to let him march her to Selfridges with his credit card, and dress her ‘appropriately’. He was an adult. He understood these things. And his attention was balm to Michelle’s very raw self-confidence.

Michelle was a quick learner, and her dad was touchingly keen to teach her all he knew, since his university-educated sons showed no interest in his dealership empire. She was good at guessing what people wanted and then giving it to them, for a price. She also developed a confident persona when she was in her sales mode, miles away from who she was at home. But as she started to rebuild herself, she began to realise that Harvey wasn’t that keen on her recovering. He preferred her when she did what she was told. By then, it was too late. The marquee was booked. Her family were blatantly relieved that the awkward episode was finally over; the black sheep had been safely tinted blond and was back on track to more family success.

Michelle watched as Harvey kissed her mother and shook hands with her brothers and kissed their wives and made faces at their kids, and felt the familiar twisting sensation inside. She’d let the wedding happen because, in her still-numb heart, she couldn’t come up with one convincing reason not to marry him, other than he just didn’t feel right, and that felt outrageously ungrateful – and he would refuse to believe it – so she said nothing. In the years that followed, she came up with a whole series of very convincing reasons.

‘Pull up a chair, fella,’ said Ben, trying to sound matey. He was a chartered surveyor and had never come to terms with his lack of cool compared to Harvey and Owen’s natural charisma. ‘What can I get you to drink? You’ll need it with this lot!’

‘I’ll sit here,’ said Harvey easily. ‘Next to my lady – if she’s left me enough room. Move up, Shelley.’

He was already pushing his way into the tiny gap between her and Emma, and Michelle knew that not moving would mean he’d sit her on his knee. She moved. She had no choice.

Owen glanced at her, and she knew his sharp eyes had taken it all in. His expression was a mixture of confusion and sympathy, but for whom, she couldn’t tell.

Sometimes, like now, Michelle really wanted to take Owen aside and tell him everything, bring him right up to speed on why everyone was the way they were. He’d missed so much. But she worried it would alter his opinion of her, and she couldn’t stand that.

The rest of the meal passed in an atmosphere of forced good humour, though Michelle was sure she was the only one who felt the artifice. Harvey kept getting nearer, and at three thirty, after the cake and presents (a pedicure set, and a toy cat that purred when you stroked it, ‘to keep you company’), Michelle escaped to the loo with her mobile, ready to text Anna to call her with a shop emergency.

‘Going so soon?’

Harvey appeared behind her chair the second she pushed it back, and she knew they had to have a short conversation. Better to concede that much. Her breath sped up and she fought to sound normal.

‘’Fraid so. I’ve got to get back,’ she said, waving her phone. ‘Stock emergency.’

‘What kind of emergency do bookshops have? Let me see.’ He made to take her phone playfully, but she pulled it away. They were out of sight of her family, so he grabbed her wrist hard to get it, but a waiter passed by, and while Harvey was smiling at him, Michelle yanked her arm back and stepped away. Her heart really was hammering now.

‘Owen says it’s going really well.’ He raised his eyebrows, emphasising his ski tan. ‘Never had you down for a reader. But then you always could sell anything. I know you like to give people what they want.’

‘I’m a good saleswoman, yes.’ Michelle knew that wasn’t what he’d been insinuating. ‘Thanks for the flowers,’ she went on politely. ‘But please don’t send any more.’ She dragged up her last bit of bravado. ‘I’m sorry but it really is over between us. I’ve moved on. I hope you can too.’

‘Is this how you want to play it? OK, fine. I’m an old romantic, you know that.’ He smiled indulgently; the smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘But don’t do it for too long. You’re not getting any younger, you know. Have you been pestered for dates?’

Michelle couldn’t answer. Her throat was tight.

Harvey smiled, triumphant. ‘Thought not.’

‘Sorry to butt in.’ Charles put one hand on her shoulder and one on Harvey’s, subtly steering them apart. ‘We’ve been clearing out the loft for this extension your mother’s organising, and I’ve got some boxes of your stuff in the back of the car. If you give me your keys I’ll pop it in your boot.’

Normally Michelle resisted junk entering her house, but now she was glad of the chance to get away. ‘I’ll, er, I’ll come with you. Bye, Harvey.’

‘Bye, darling. See you soon.’

It wasn’t a question. He leaned forward to kiss her goodbye, and she made herself stand still while he pressed his lips against her cheek, hoping he couldn’t feel her flinch.

I’ve told him, she thought. I’ve told him. I just have to keep on telling him.

Over his bulky shoulder, Michelle caught sight of her mother watching them with beady eyes and knew with a miserable sense of claustrophobia that Carole was seeing something totally different.

Outside in the car park, Michelle waited until her dad had loaded two big packing cases into the back of her Golf before she took a deep breath and broached a subject she knew he wanted to discuss about as much as she did.

‘Dad,’ she said, ‘I know you and Mum like Harvey, but I’m not going to get back together with him. It’s over. I don’t want to be married to him. The only reason I haven’t divorced him is because . . . I’d rather be separated for five years and let people think we drifted apart as friends than have anyone be to blame.’ That was as close to the truth as she could bear to get.

Charles looked embarrassed, his pink cheeks pinker from the effort of lifting the boxes. ‘Your mum just thinks you make a lovely couple. And you do. She can’t see why you had to split up, if you weren’t fighting.’