What Might Have Been (5 page)

Sarah’s eyes searched his face, then she threw the duvet to one side and climbed on top of him. ‘Would that be such a bad thing?’

Evan tried to ignore the stirring in his loins. ‘I suppose not,’ he said, thinking the exact opposite.

6

S
arah reached over and hit ‘snooze’ on her alarm, then propped herself up on one elbow and gazed at the indentation in the
pillow
where Evan’s head had been. They’d eventually drifted off to sleep, but woken early and had sex a third time, then he’d left rather suddenly, though he’d explained that it had been more to do with not wanting to get a parking ticket than any morning-after awkwardness. Perhaps he’d also wanted to avoid a repeat of the previous evening’s embarrassing encounter with Grace, and Sarah couldn’t blame him – she felt embarrassed enough herself. And while she was relieved Grace evidently hadn’t mistakenly called him David, she still wasn’t sure how she was going to explain last
night aw
ay.

Slipping reluctantly out from under the duvet, she pulled her robe on, stuck the scrap of paper Evan had hurriedly scribbled his number on into her pocket, and checked her phone for messages, though she was sure David was unlikely to have called again. Even though the two of them hadn’t made any promises of exclusivity to each other, something about what she’d done last night seemed wrong. Though perhaps because it had felt so right.

At the club, she’d never wanted a performance to be over so quickly, whereas once they’d tumbled into bed, the opposite had been true. And while it had been relatively straightforward to get him there – let’s face it, it was for most women – their first time had been different to any other first time she’d had. There had been none of the usual unfamiliar fumbling, no awkward re-positioning, or any stop-starting. Just good sex. Great sex, in fact. And she’d been shocked at the level of her passion. Even before they’d done it for the first time, Sarah had known they’d be doing it again – and not, she now suspected, just that evening.

She glanced back towards the bed, wondered whether she’d ever see Evan again, and felt a twinge of sadness at the thought. Though perhaps it was good he’d left like he had – why ruin the fabulous memories of what might have been just a one-off with embarrassed small-talk over breakfast until such time as it was polite to leave? Evan was a musician, after all. He probably had women throwing themselves at him every night. Perhaps he even had a girlfriend . . . Sarah shuddered at the possibility, and felt a little foolish. She’d given in to her baser instincts – been unable to stop herself – and while it had felt good at the time, she hoped she hadn’t done something she’d regret. She checked the date on her phone, then did a quick calculation in her head and relaxed a little, pretty sure she was nowhere near her ‘fertile’ time, though shamefully she realised it hadn’t occurred to her to ask Evan to use some protection. Not that she’d given him the time, such had been her eagerness to jump him almost as soon as they’d
arrived ho
me.

She glanced at her clock again – she still had an hour before she had to leave for the office, but she didn’t want to hurry for another reason. Being at work would mean seeing David, and right now, that was a complication she could do without. With a sigh, she put her phone on to charge, then made her way into the kitchen,
grinning
guiltily as Grace raised one eyebrow from behind a
mug of tea
.

‘Sorry. I thought you were on nights.’

‘I swapped. As it would appear you have.’ Grace pushed a chair out from underneath the table with her foot, and Sarah sat down obediently. ‘Not seeing David any more, then?’

Sarah felt herself start to redden. ‘Not necessarily.’

‘Well, it looked like you were giving . . .’ Grace took a sip of tea, then put her mug down. ‘What was his name again?’

‘Evan.’

‘. . .
Evan
a pretty good stamp of approval last night, seeing as how he was naked in the kitchen, and you and David haven’t even . . .’ She frowned. ‘What is it in American –
got to third base
?’

Sarah stretched one leg out under the table and prodded Grace affectionately on the shin. She’d responded to her ad for a roommate while she was still in New York, and had known they’d become best friends the moment Grace – still in her pyjamas on a Sunday afternoon – had begun giving her a guided tour of the flat via Skype. ‘It’s not that simple. Besides, I have no idea whether we’re compatible.’

‘You sounded pretty compatible to me last night. Twice.’

‘Sorry.’ Sarah blushed again as she recalled the events of the previous evening. ‘Like I said, I thought you were at work. But last night was, well . . . I only
met
Evan last night.’

Grace raised both eyebrows this time. ‘I’m confused.’

‘
You’re
confused?’ Sarah got up and walked over to the coffee machine, chose the strongest pod from the rack, and slotted it into the front – having had so little sleep last night she could do with the caffeine hit. ‘I’d just about decided to make a go of things with David, and then I chanced upon this little jazz club . . . Maybe I was feeling emotional, maybe a little drunk, but I tell you, the moment Evan appeared on stage . . .’ She shuddered with pleasure at the memory. ‘There was just something about him.’

‘So what’s the problem?’

Sarah retrieved a mug from the cupboard and placed it on the drip tray, then stabbed at the button on the front of the machine, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. ‘Well, for one thing, he’s a musician.’

‘So?’

‘The life. The hours. The uncertainty. The lack of money. I went through it all as a kid, Grace, and I’m not sure I want to again. I know I don’t want my kids to.’

‘Kids? You’ve only just met him!’

‘Yeah, but you’ve got to think about those things, haven’t you?’ Sarah waited until the machine had finished, then picked up her cup, blew across the top of her coffee, and took a sip.

‘After one night?’

‘Of course. Especially at, you know . . .’

Grace widened her eyes. ‘Our age?’

‘Exactly. You can’t tell me that you don’t?’

‘Maybe. Which is probably why I’m still single.’ Grace stared wistfully into her mug. ‘Still, you can always just write it off as a one-night stand.’

‘I could. If . . .’

‘What?’

Sarah made a face. ‘If I wasn’t desperate to see him again.’ She helped herself to a muffin from the packet on top of the bread bin. ‘So, what should I do?’

As Sarah sat back down, Grace reached over and broke herself off a piece of muffin. ‘I don’t know – maybe have a bit of fun with him?’ she said, popping it into her mouth. ‘See how it goes. You can always talk about kids once . . .’

‘About
David
.’

‘Oh.’ Grace chewed thoughtfully. ‘Do you want to keep
seeing him
?’

Sarah stuck her bottom lip out. ‘I don’t know. He kind of wore me down into going out to dinner with him, but once I was there . . . I mean, I am attracted to him. He’s got this charm about him, and self-confidence, and we had, well, not fun, exactly, but there’s something about David that’s . . . reassuring.’

‘Reassuring?’

‘Yeah. And in a strange country . . .’

‘You mean “strange” as in “unfamiliar”, right?’

‘If you say so. But reassurance is attractive.’

‘But not as attractive as the guy you’ve just spent the
night with
?’

‘Maybe not. And I can’t see them both.’

‘Is that even an option?’

Sarah shook her head. She’d ‘dated’ before in the U.S.,
where it
was common practice to see different men at the same time until you decided to go steady with one. It was how all her girlfriends back in New York behaved before they’d got married, and what American men expected, but she had a feeling that any English – what was the word, s
uitors
? – might not quite understand the concept. Sarah wasn’t sure she quite bought into it herself, which was another reason she’d felt a little awkward around Evan this morning as he’d left, telling her in a terrible American accent to
have a nice day
, then immediately apologising in case he’d offended her.

‘I mean, it’s what I’d do in the States, but over here . . . it wouldn’t be fair.’

‘It’d be fun, though.’ Grace laughed. ‘And you’d only have to do it until you feel you can make a choice.’

‘Maybe.’ Sarah allowed herself a smile. ‘But what if either of them found out?’

‘How would they?’

‘That’s not the point.’ She took another sip of coffee. ‘But equally, I don’t want to mess it up with David. Because he’s . . .’

‘Loaded?’

‘No . . .’

‘
Reassuring
?’

‘No – reliable. I haven’t had a lot of that in my life.’ She broke what was left of the muffin in half and passed a piece to Grace. ‘And besides, he’s my boss.’

‘So?’

‘So I might lose my job.’

‘He can’t fire you for breaking up with him after, what, one date?’ said Grace, indignantly. ‘There are rules about that kind
of thing
.’

‘You don’t know the City, Grace. It’s all about winning. People don’t like to lose – especially people like David. And besides, if he did fire me – and believe me, I’ve seen it happen – it wouldn’t be for that, but everyone would know what the real reason was. And even if he didn’t fire me, I’d probably have to leave. The atmosphere . . .’ She shook her head and realised she was getting a little ahead of
herself
. After all, she had no idea whether Evan
wanted
anything more.

‘You could always get another job somewhere else.’

‘It’s not that easy. The company sponsors my being over here, so I’d probably have to go back to the U.S. – unless I can find some nice English man to marry me, and I hardly want to spring
that
on Evan on our second date.’

‘Ah.’

‘Yes, “ah”.’ Sarah popped the remainder of her muffin into her mouth, washing it down with the rest of her coffee. Like a lot of English versions of American things it didn’t quite measure up to the ones she was used to back home, but it was better than
nothing – a
feeling she hoped hadn’t been behind her decision to date David in the first place. ‘What would you do?’

‘Don’t ask me!’

‘Come on. You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’

‘I need a second opinion.’

‘You know I specialise in psychiatry, not the heart?’

‘Even so. What do you think?’

‘Well . . .’ Grace drained the last of her tea, then stood up and placed her mug in the sink. ‘Judging by what I saw in the kitchen last night – not to mention what I heard through the bedroom wall – if you want my professional opinion . . .’

‘I do.’

She grinned. ‘You’d be crazy to give up on it.’

7

S
arah stepped onto the pavement and froze. She hadn’t thought
anything
of handing Evan her business card in bed the previous evening but now, at the sight of him leaning against his car just across the street from her office, she could see that might have been a mistake.

Not that she wasn’t pleased to see him – it was more that she hadn’t had time to say anything to David, although that was as much because she hadn’t known how to. Dumping anyone – even after one date – was difficult enough, let alone when the ramifications could be more than a simple cold shoulder in the corridor, and particularly when things had hardly started between them. And what could she say – that she didn’t think dating her boss was a good idea? Either way, he might see sacking her as a solution to that particular problem, and besides, she reminded herself, she hadn’t yet made her mind up. Sure, Evan seemed like he’d be fun to be with, and the sex had been great, but it wasn’t all about that –
mostly
, maybe, but not all – and while she hadn’t even kissed David, had no idea what he was like in bed, there was nothing wrong with keeping her options open.

She fixed a smile on her face and crossed the road. ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, glancing nervously back towards the revolving doors. She’d passed David’s office on her way out to lunch and seen him firmly ensconced on a conference call, but even so, she knew she had to get rid of Evan fast, and without raising his suspicions – or any of her co-workers’ – either.

‘I thought we could have some lunch.’

‘That’s a lovely idea,’ she said, hoping he’d realise the reason she hadn’t kissed him hello was purely proximity to her office. ‘But I don’t really have a lot of time . . .’

‘Long enough for a sandwich, surely?’ Evan held up a carrier bag. ‘Egg mayonnaise, chicken – though it could be turkey – cheese, some kind of meat, and something else that I can’t quite identify.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t know what you’d like, so I got a selection.’

‘Of random fillings?’

‘Yeah. I find it adds a certain excitement to lunchtime. Like playing Russian Roulette. But with sandwiches. Kind of like . . .’

‘Sandwich Roulette?’ Sarah stared at the bag, then at Evan’s loopy grin, then she smiled. ‘Okay. But I hope we’re not just going to eat them here in the car?’

‘Oh no.’ Evan walked round and opened the passenger door for her, and she quickly got in. ‘I know just the place.’ He ran back round and jumped into the driver’s seat, and as Sarah peered at him quizzically, started the engine.

‘So . . .’ she said.

‘So?’

‘How was your morning?’

‘Good.’ Evan flipped the indicator and carefully edged the Mercedes out of the parking space. ‘As was last night.’

‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that.’

‘Sorry? For what?’

‘Well, I kind of jumped you.’

‘Oh, don’t worry about it.’

‘I expect that happens to you all the time.’

He smiled distractedly, concentrating on finding a gap in the traffic. ‘Not nearly often enough.’

Sarah tried to meet his eyes as he accelerated out in front of a bus and along the road towards St. Paul’s, but failed, so instead she just sat there silently as he drove quickly along Aldersgate Street, enjoying being ferried around this new part of town in this lovely old car, though after little more than a minute, they’d stopped outside some gardens she’d never seen before.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she asked, climbing cautiously out of the car. ‘Is this your back yard?’

‘I wish.’ Evan grinned as he slotted a handful of coins into the parking meter. ‘But sadly, no. This . . .’ – he made an extravagant sweeping gesture with his arm – ‘. . . is Postman’s Park.’

‘Postman’s Park?’

‘That’s right. Come on.’

They walked in through the entrance, and Sarah looked around at the various benches, where numerous suited city-workers were sitting, staring into their phones, or eating lunch, or most usually, doing both at the same time.

‘Well, where are they?’

‘Who?’

‘All the . . .’ She stopped herself. She’d been about to say ‘mailmen’. ‘Postal workers.’

‘You mean “postmen”?’

‘Postmen, mailmen, what’s the difference?’ She smiled at him. ‘I don’t buy all this “two countries separated by a common language” crap.’

‘No?’

‘Give me an example, then.’

‘Well . . .’ Evan thought for a moment. ‘For you, the Mall is where you go shopping. Here in London, it’s the street the Queen drives along to get to Buckingham Palace.’

‘Enough already with the Queen’s English. I meant a
real
example
.’

He gave her a light slap on her behind. ‘Where have I just
hit you?
’

‘My fanny.’

‘Well, here in England, it’s impossible for you to do the same to me.’

She frowned at him for a second, then tutted loudly as
realisation
dawned. ‘Okay. Point taken. So, what’s the deal with this place?’

‘Its “deal” is only that it’s the most special, memorable, magical place in London,’ he said, leading her towards a series of decorated, inscribed plaques set into the wall at the park’s farthest corner. ‘See those?’

Sarah squinted as she tried to make out the writing, and hoped she wouldn’t soon be needing glasses. ‘Pretty posh graffiti you
have here
.’

‘It’s not graffiti. They’re a hundred years old. More, in some cases. And they all commemorate acts of bravery.’

‘Bravery?’

‘Yeah. Ordinary people being brave, saving children from runaway horses, plucking drowning people out of the Thames, that sort of thing.’

‘Really?’ Sarah walked up to the wall, stood under the protective canopy, and peered closely at the nearest plaque, shocked to find out just how brave. In every case, in doing what they’d been doing, whether preventing suicides on the railway or rescuing old ladies from burning buildings – whatever selfless deed had earned them a spot there – all the people mentioned on the plaques had died in the act. She read on, enchanted by names that had long ceased to be popular, or professions that hadn’t existed for decades, and while it occurred to her to point out that there wasn’t a
mailman
among them, she didn’t want to appear disrespectful. All these ordinary people had turned out to be, well, extraordinary. And in doing so, they’d be remembered forever.

‘What do you think?’

‘What do I think?’ Sarah was still trying to take it in. ‘I think you’ve taken me to a cemetery for lunch.’

Evan laughed as he sat down on a nearby bench and patted the space next to him. ‘It’s not a cemetery. It’s a . . . well, I suppose it’s
a garde
n of remembrance. Don’t you like it?’

Sarah examined the plaques again, though this time with a new-found respect. ‘No, I . . . I love it,’ she said, captivated by the astonishing stories, amazed no-one had ever told her about this jewel that lay hidden less than five minutes from the building she went to every day.

And, she realised, feeling the warmth of Evan’s gaze, she
was becoming captivated by the astonishing person who’d taken
her ther
e.