‘Of course he will.’ Her tone was sceptical.
‘He will!’ I insisted
She laughed. ‘Well, I liked him,’ she said. ‘But, while I’m all for seizing the day,’ she tapped her chest for a second time, ‘don’t let him in here too quickly.’
‘Thank you for that advice, Dear Deidre,’ I said. ‘But we’re definitely leaning more towards fun than significant for the time being.’
‘Great,’ she said. ‘And what about Jon?’
My stomach lurched.
The truth was that I had barely thought about Jon, during a week which had past largely in a blur. Work and pleasantly flirty telephone conversations with Stephen had occupied most of my waking hours. Now, at the mention of Jon’s name, I experienced a mixture of emotions and recollections, the combined effect of which was not nice.
I looked at Sophie; she was delving in her bag. ‘What about him?’ I asked.
‘You’ll meet up with him at Oliver!, won’t you?’ she asked. ‘Shit. I think I’ve left my fake fag at Henry’s.’
‘I expect I’ll see him there,’ I said.
‘You’d better.’ She continued to rummage. ‘Because I’ll be well pissed-off if you come in on Monday without all the gossip on Suzanna. And Miriam will kill you if you turn up there tomorrow with anything less than a full dossier. You’re seeing her tomorrow night, aren’t you?’
‘Just for a drink. We’re staying in because Craig’s off out and Miriam couldn’t get a sitter.’
Sophie looked up from her bag. ‘Call Jon.’
I ignored the suggestion and drank my coffee.
‘Do you need to pop back to Henry’s for your fake fag?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s OK. I’ve got another in my desk. I can hang on for a drag ’til we get back to the office. Anyway,’ she replaced her bag on the floor, ‘promise me you’ll arrange to meet Jon and Suzanna.’
I put down my coffee and sighed heavily.
‘Ah, come on, Alice,’ she wheedled. ‘I’m facing a crap weekend and am gutted to be missing out on the play. I seriously think it might be even more sweary than Peter Pan. And then on top of that, not to meet Suzanna… And besides,’ she continued more seriously, ‘I’m sure Jon will want to introduce her to you. It’ll be much easier for her to meet a few of us at a time, rather than all in one go at the book group dinner.’
I looked at her. She was so thoughtful and absolutely put me to shame. I had no desire to make things awkward for Suzanna and, whatever Jon’s thoughts and feelings, I could be grown-up enough to swallow my pride and send him a simple text. Besides, I thought, bumping into him without talking or texting first would be far worse than the effort of getting in touch. And it wasn’t as if we were going to an arena event. I estimated the seating capacity of Abs’ school hall to be approximately two hundred: the chances of not bumping into him would be very small indeed. ‘OK,’ I said to Sophie, ‘I’ll text later and find out where he’s sitting.’
She appeared satisfied. ‘Well done.’ She drained her coffee and peered into my cup. ‘Now, can we head back to the office before I run outside and mug some poor sod for a fag?’
Chapter 28
Stephen picked me up, in the Morgan, at 6.50pm. And, despite having no interest whatsoever in cars, I had to admit that this particular car was rather nice. What made it even nicer was that my chauffeur for the evening was more amused than flattered by my enjoyment of the experience; and more interested in talking about me than his car, politely dismissing my few equally polite vehicular enquiries with brief, closed-ended explanations.
‘You know,’ he said, after one such explanation, ‘I love this car because I think it has character – personality even. And because I’ve worked hard on it. It’s a part of me, of my history – a memory box on wheels. But I’m not interested in cars per se.’
‘What kind of memories?’ I asked, enjoying the evening sunshine on my face as we waited at traffic lights, the engine idling.
‘People, conversations, days out. I remember my father’s face the day I turned up with the car and asked him if he’d like to take my mother out in it. That was a really special moment.’ He shrugged as the lights changed and we pulled away. ‘Things change. Situations change. People change. We move on. I like that. But it’s great to have a physical reminder of a certain time in your life – or of a certain person.’
‘I suppose so. But,’ he tapped the steering wheel, ‘for me, for now, it’s this car.’ He turned to me briefly and smiled, before returning his attention to the road. ‘I’ll always remember driving Alice to see her friend’s production of Oliver!. I’ll remember what she was wearing and how she looked enquiringly at me as she sat to my left.’ He looked straight ahead and grinned. ‘She looked bloody good, by the way.’
I laughed. ‘You charmer.’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he said. ‘A cad in a convertible. Now, what time is it? Do I need to put my foot down?’
I checked my phone. ‘No, we’re fine. It’s ten past and we’re less than five minutes away and there’s plenty of parking at the school.’
‘And we’re meeting Jon and Susan there?’
I cleared my throat and put my phone in my bag. ‘Suzanna. Yes, that’s right. I told them you were happy to drive but it was easier for them to make their own way.’
I had texted Jon a few hours earlier and passed on the offer of a lift. I was pleased when Stephen had made the suggestion, as it gave me a reason to get in touch, other than simply arranging to meet up at the play. I had kept my text brief but had made a definite, considered attempt at warmth. I had made no reference to our disagreement and I had described Stephen as “my friend”. I had said I was looking forward to meeting Suzanna and had given him our seat numbers.
His texted reply was similarly pitched. He thanked us “both” for the offer of a lift, but explained that he was picking up Suzanna from Temple Meads mid-afternoon and, beyond that, their plans were unfixed. However, he added that their seats for Oliver! were next to ours, so there would be no difficulty meeting up. It hadn’t occurred to me that Abs would give us four seats together but, on reflection, I realised that she was unlikely to have done anything else. The fact that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the arrangement, was a painful reminder of my changed relationship with Jon. But whilst I continued to regret that change, my excitement at the prospect of an evening out with Stephen at least took the edge off any sense of sadness or misgiving.
Stephen, I had decided, was good for me. We had talked daily by phone since the tapas evening, and I liked him more as a result of each conversation. He was both a listener and a talker, and over several hours of phone calls we had discussed family, friends, his relocation and work. The latter was the only issue over which he expressed any dissatisfaction, complaining that his current heavy schedule meant that he was often speaking to me from the office or car when, he said, a conversation from home, with a glass of wine in his hand, would have been his preference.
However, despite the relatively intense and wide-ranging nature of our conversations, no references had yet been made to, or questions asked about, previous partners. And I sensed that the subject of relationships in general – past and possible future – was, for the time being, if not exactly off-limits for Stephen, then at least something he was as equally willing to save for later as I was.
As we pulled into the school car park and Stephen reversed into a space, I leaned forward to retrieve my bag from the footwell. ‘I’ll just turn off my phone,’ I said, reaching into my bag. ‘I don’t want Sophie’s ringtone blaring out mid “Food Glorious Food”.’
Stephen turned off the engine, got out and raised the roof. ‘Sophie’s ringtone?’ he queried, as he got back in the car.
‘She changes the ringtone on my phone, and on David’s, every Friday at 5pm. The rule is that we’re not allowed to check it, or change it, until we�
�ve received at least one call. I haven’t had a call this evening – only texts – so it’s still a mystery. Mine are usually fine. It’s poor David who gets the more edgy ones. The worst was Anarchy in the UK. That went off during a private viewing at the RWA.’
Stephen laughed. ‘And yet he still lets her do it?’
I nodded. ‘He loves it. But he now always asks me to phone him at six if he’s going anywhere sensitive.’
‘I like Sophie and David,’ said Stephen.
‘So do I.’
He smiled at me. ‘But I like you more.’
He leaned towards me, and gently stroked my cheek before kissing me. After a few seconds, he moved his lips from my mouth to my ear. ‘Alice,’ he whispered softly.
‘Yes,’ I replied, my eyes closed.
‘I don’t want to panic you, but there are two people standing in front of the car, staring at us. And,’ his tone remained gentle as he kissed my earlobe, ‘unless they are Jon and Suzanna, I’m slightly concerned that this area might be even dodgier than you described.’
* * *
It was Jon and, as we discovered upon introduction following our exit from the car, it was Suzanna. She was slim, slightly shorter than myself and undeniably attractive. The long, dark hair which had so caught Craig’s eye at Hotel du Vin, was this evening loosely coiled against the back of her head, with the odd stray tendril adding to the casually sophisticated effect. She wore cropped jeans, pumps and a semi-sheer, cream, loosely-fitted blouse over a camisole. A fine beige jumper was draped around her shoulders. I guessed her to be around the same age as me and was disappointed that Craig had described her as considerably younger than Miriam.
‘We didn’t mean to intrude,’ she smiled, as the four of us made our way through the car park towards the school. ‘I spotted the car, so I suggested we walk across to meet you. It wasn’t immediately obvious what was going on, because of the way the light was reflecting off the glass.’ She looked up at Jon for corroboration and slid a hand around his waist as she did so. He reciprocated with an arm around her shoulders.
‘That’s right,’ he said.
Stephen took my hand. ‘It was only a peck,’ he smiled, and then, giving my hand a quick squeeze, added, ‘because I’m not overly comfortable with PDAs in car parks. I prefer to save the heavier stuff for shop doorways.’
I laughed and looked at Jon, who appeared not to have heard the comment and was instead searching his pockets for something. He took out his car keys, turned and pointed them towards his car, which was parked just a short distance from our own. ‘I’m not sure I locked it,’ he said.
‘I think you did, Jon,’ said Suzanna.
He didn’t reply but turned, replaced his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. My smile dropped and I found myself unable to look away. He looked up, caught my eye and for a moment we looked at each other, with no attempt on either part to disguise negative feelings with a smile. I was aware that Stephen said something to which Suzanna replied, but I took in neither comment, unable to focus upon anything but the growing conviction that a friendship with Jon might soon be impossible.
Chapter 29
The first half of the show passed largely without incident, other than Mr Bumble repeatedly turning to the prompter and saying, ‘Shit, what’s next?’ whenever a line escaped him. To his credit, he did lower his voice on each occasion. However, the sound system was excellent and, thanks to his radio mic, the audience caught every word.
Nancy’s mumbled exclamation of, ‘You ran into my leg, you fucker!’ when Fagin’s trolley at one point veered slightly off course, was equally well broadcast. Nevertheless, compared to the mayhem which had ensued the previous year, when Peter Pan had lost patience with his shadow, Oliver! was, as we hit the interval, going very smoothly indeed.
‘Well,’ smiled Stephen, as we enjoyed our half-time complimentary tea and biscuits, ‘I, for one, am really impressed.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘The singing is great. And,’ I continued, looking round, ‘tonight seems to be a sell-out. I can’t remember that happening before. Abs must be very proud.’
‘Teaching is such hard work,’ said Suzanna. ‘I know it’s something I just wouldn’t have the energy or patience for.’
‘Me neither,’ I agreed. ‘But one thing which Abs does not lack is energy. You might just pick up on that when you meet her later. She wants us all to go backstage.’
She smiled. ‘I’d love to.’ There was a moment’s pause in the conversation, before she spoke again. ‘I’ve noticed some beautiful artwork along the corridors here.’
Jon nodded. ‘And there’s a small sculpture garden, with some rather impressive pieces, just beyond those double doors.’ He gestured towards the end of the hall.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘can we go and look?’
‘The doors to the garden will be locked,’ said Jon. ‘But they’re glass, so you’ll be able to see most of the garden through them. It might be best if we don’t all go, though,’ he said. ‘Just in case it encourages others to wander.’
Suzanna looked hesitant. ‘I’ll come with you, if you like,’ I volunteered.
‘Thanks,’ she smiled. ‘I’d love to see.’
I handed my cup of tea to Stephen. ‘You two chat. We won’t be a mo.’
‘We’ll do our best to cope,’ he said, grinning.
Suzanna and I headed to the exit at the far end of the hall, before continuing a short way along the corridor to the glass doors.
‘These are just marvellous,’ she said, as we stood, side by side, looking out into the garden; a space divided into small, irregular, gravelled areas by intertwining paved pathways, with a single sculpture occupying each area. There were seven or eight works in total; a central bench and a tree completing the picture.
‘I love that one.’ She pointed towards a ceramic of a kneeling woman, her face and arms uplifted to the sky. I remembered admiring it when Jon and I had sat in the cold, darkened garden just before Christmas, as we waited to take Abs out for birthday drinks. On that occasion, each sculpture had been illuminated by a light at its base.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s my favourite too. Although, they’re all so good, it’s hard to believe they’re the work of children.’
‘So,’ said Suzanna suddenly, ‘how do you know Abigail?’
I frowned, confused that she didn’t already know the answer to the question. ‘Well,’ I said, as she looked at me with an expression of polite expectance, ‘she is in our book group.’
It was her turn to look puzzled. ‘Your book group? Do you mean the book group that Jon’s in? Are you in that too? So is that your connection with Jon?’
I turned my head and glanced back towards the hall, unsure whether I wanted to cry, or to run back and pelt him with custard creams. He had clearly told her nothing about me. In an effort to conclude the conversation as quickly and as painlessly as possible, I said, ‘Yes, I’m in the book group.’
‘I’m so jealous,’ she continued brightly, oblivious to the emotional storm now circling above us. ‘I’d love to join a book group. So you must know Miriam then?’
I attempted a smile and nodded.
‘She sounds lovely,’ said Suzanna.
‘She is.’
‘She was a best friend of Jon’s wife, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes.’
‘And I know she has been so supportive of Jon. I’m really looking forward to meeting her. I’m coming to the book group dinner, you know.’ She looked at me and smiled. ‘I didn’t realise you’d be there. I’m so pleased because although I know it will be lovely, it could also be quite nerve-wracking. Especially as you all knew Lydia, even if it was only for a relatively short time – with the exception of Miriam of course.’ She turned back towards the sculptures. ‘These are just wonderful.’
‘They are.’ I took a deep breath, whilst experiencing a growing, and almost unbearably painful, sense of being written out of Jon’s past, present and future. ‘Bu
t I wonder if we should be getting back now,’ I said. ‘There can’t be much of the interval left.’
She looked at her watch. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘And we’re in the middle of the row, aren’t we? I don’t want to tread on anybody’s toes.’
* * *
By the time we re-entered the refreshments hall, Jon and Stephen, together with most of the other audience members, had already returned to their seats. We hurried to join them.
‘We thought you two might have been planning to skip Act II,’ smiled Stephen, as Suzanna and I squeezed our way apologetically along Row F. ‘Here, I’ll move up one,’ he said, vacating the space next to Jon.
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ I said, taking my seat. ‘But I might need your hand to squeeze, if the trolley makes another appearance. It makes me very tense.’
‘You feel free to squeeze anything you like,’ he said quietly. ‘Anything at all.’ I smiled at him and was rewarded with a wink.
Suzanna leaned forward and, reaching in front of Jon, tapped my knee. ‘I was just saying to Jon how pleased I was to discover that you’ll be at the book group dinner.’
I did my best to smile.
‘It will be great to have a proper chance to talk,’ she continued. ‘And maybe the four of us,’ she smiled at Stephen, ‘could go out to dinner sometime.’
‘That would be lovely,’ I said, sounding, I thought, rather stiff despite my best attempts. And then, unable to suppress a renewed surge of hurt and bitterness. ‘What do you think, Jon? Does that sound like fun to you?’
He turned his head away from me and spoke to Suzanna. ‘We’ll have to compare diaries,’ he said.
I felt unable to let it drop. ‘As you say, it would be good to get to know each other better.’ I addressed this comment to Suzanna, before sitting back in my seat, turning slightly towards Jon and adding in an undertone, ‘…especially as Jon is apparently so reluctant to tell you anything about me.’ I focused on the stage and whilst I was aware that his head turned towards me, I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.