It Was You, Page 21

  Stephen tapped my left shoulder and I leaned gratefully towards him. He placed his hand, palm upwards on my lap. ‘That,’ he said, looking at his hand, ‘is all yours for squeezing over the next hour or so. And, believe me, I’m hoping for a whole heap of trolley action.’

  I smiled and encased his hand in both of mine. A moment later, the house lights dimmed, the band struck up and the curtains opened on Act II.

  Chapter 30

  Abs was waiting for us in the bustling corridor outside the various changing rooms when we went backstage.

  ‘Here,’ she said, handing each of us a visitor pass as we approached, ‘just pop these on and then we’re good. Now,’ she said, turning first to Suzanna and then to Stephen, ‘it’s so, so lovely to meet you both. I’m delighted that you came to see our play. I hope you enjoyed it.’ She looked around. ‘Pete is here too somewhere. He’s been helping side-of-stage. He so wanted to meet you. He’s been excited about it all evening. Anyway,’ she clasped her hands together and positioned them endearingly beneath her chin, ‘what did you think?’

  ‘Best ever,’ I said. ‘Truly, your best ever.’

  She beamed. ‘You really think so, Alice?’

  ‘She does,’ said Stephen. ‘And, although I’ve not had the pleasure of seeing one of your previous productions, I can say that I don’t think they could have surpassed what I saw here tonight. Here, have a congratulatory shake.’ He held out his hand. Abs shook it enthusiastically. ‘The performances were excellent. I loved every minute.’

  I looked from Stephen to Abs. He was saying all the right things and she was clearly thrilled. I found his hand and squeezed it.

  ‘It was really good, Abs,’ said Jon. ‘You should feel very proud.’

  Suzanna nodded her agreement.

  Abs turned to Jon and placed a hand on his arm. ‘You’re so kind,’ she said, before pointing over his shoulder. ‘Oh look! Here’s Pete!’

  We turned to see Pete walking slowly down the hallway. He was dressed entirely in black and I noticed that he seemed to be limping slightly. He raised a hand in greeting as he approached.

  ‘Pete.’ Abs placed a hand on each shoulder, stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m great,’ he said with a slow smile.

  ‘Just look at him,’ said Abs turning to us. ‘He’s still on a massive high.’

  ‘I am,’ said Pete, nodding at half-speed.

  ‘He just loves it. The smell of the greasepaint, the roar of the crowd. He insisted on helping again this year. You’re buzzing, aren’t you, Pete?’

  Pete continued to smile and nod.

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do without him,’ sighed Abs.

  ‘Are you OK, Pete?’ asked Jon, pointing at his foot. ‘I noticed a limp there.’

  ‘Trolley,’ said Pete and we all nodded in immediate comprehension. ‘A gash. But nothing my sock couldn’t absorb. Might be a fracture. Not sure. Will get it checked tomorrow.’

  My face contorted involuntarily at his description of the injury and I noticed Suzanna wince. Stephen’s grip on my hand tightened slightly but Jon remained phlegmatic. ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘Pete,’ said Abs, ‘this is Suzanna.’

  He held out his hand to her. ‘Hi. Great to meet you.’

  ‘And you,’ said Suzanna, ‘Jon’s told me a lot about you.’

  I clenched my teeth.

  ‘And this,’ said Abs, ‘is Alice’s Stephen.’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure he’s quite my—’ I began, feeling my face flush.

  Stephen held out his hand to Pete. ‘Really pleased to meet you. I hear you’re an expert in both anaesthesia and bicycle repair.’

  Abs clapped her hands and laughed. ‘Oh he is!’

  ‘Er, excuse me, miss.’ The interruption came from a teenage girl who had squeezed herself between Suzanna and Abs. I recognised her as Nancy from the show.

  Abs looked down and smiled. When she spoke, her tone of voice was as gentle as ever but now had an added air of calm authority which I didn’t recognise. ‘Yes, Chantel?’

  ‘Mum told me to come and see you,’ said Chantel. She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, in the direction of a fearsome-looking woman who was standing a few feet away. She was about five foot tall and at first glance appeared to be almost as wide; however, the overall impression was not of obesity but of power. She wasn’t, I decided immediately, someone to mess with.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Hartley,’ said Abs, addressing the human cube, ‘how can I help?’

  Mrs Hartley shook her head and then made a gesture with her hand, as if hastening Chantel. The girl took a deep breath. ‘I shouldn’t,’ she began, glancing anxiously at us, her small audience, before focusing on her feet, ‘have called Darren a fucker. It’s bad for you and I made myself look like a twat. Sorry.’

  My eyes widened with the effort of not laughing. I looked at Abs. Her face showed no emotion and she nodded seriously.

  ‘Well, thank you for that apology. You made a mistake but the circumstances were mitigating. That means that whereas that kind of behaviour would usually merit punishment, in this case, it does not. And, while you’re here, I would like to say what an impressive performance you gave tonight. These people are some of my best friends and they go to the theatre regularly. They have all thoroughly enjoyed the show and you were a significant part of that.’

  We nodded our assent and Chantel bit her lower lip.

  ‘Now,’ said Abs, ‘I think, as one of the leads, you should head home and get as much sleep as possible. Thank you again for your apology.’ She turned to Mrs Hartley and smiled. The latter nodded grimly, advanced, placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and escorted her down the corridor.

  When they were out of earshot, Abs’ Tiggerish air returned. ‘Isn’t that child wonderful? What courage! And what a mother; gorgeous woman and perfect parenting. Just amazing.’

  Jon smiled. ‘You’re amazing, Abs,’ he said simply. And despite the ongoing, intermittent agony of our disintegrating friendship, and a growing, largely uninterrupted, feeling of resentment towards him, I had to agree.

  Chapter 31

  ‘Tea, coffee, wine, beer?’ I asked, as I walked towards the kitchen, Stephen following.

  The drive home from the play had been considerably quicker than the journey there, thanks to largely empty roads. Consequently, we were home by ten, and this evening I had felt no hesitation in suggesting that Stephen come in for a drink. Now, as we stood in the kitchen, in response to my question, he placed his hands in his pockets, shrugged and smiled affably; a regularly repeated boyish gesture with which I was becoming familiar.

  ‘What are you having?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, I quite fancy a glass of red, but I’m happy to keep you company with a coffee, if that’s what you prefer.’ I thought about adding, ‘because you’re driving’ but, for reasons which I chose not to examine, I stopped short of that.

  Hands still firmly encased in pockets, he looked first at the floor and then up at me. ‘I’d like a glass of red too,’ he said.

  ‘Right.’ I took a bottle from the wine rack and pushed it along the work surface towards him. ‘You can pour. The glasses are on up on that shelf to your left.’

  He said nothing, instead simply retrieving two glasses, opening the wine and pouring two, very generous, glasses. Driving, I realised, was not on the cards. ‘I’m happy to walk,’ he said, as if reading my mind. He handed me my drink and I smiled, grateful for the provision of a get-out, which had the effect of lessening any lingering desire I might have felt for one.

  ‘Let’s go into the living room,’ I said.

  In the car on the way home, the conversation had centred largely on the play. We had laughed over the many expletives additional to the original script, but at the same time Stephen had been genuinely, and pleasingly, impressed. What’s more, he had warmed as immediately to Abs and to Pete as they clearly had to him and his easy, relaxed charm, and his willingnes
s to laugh, had been a welcome antidote to Jon’s increasingly cold behaviour towards me. Jon, I realised, had decided that our friendship was not one he wished to continue – at least not at the same level – and in order to avoid any further hurt, I had to accept that and focus on other things.

  However, as I sat down next to Stephen on the sofa, he introduced a topic of conversation which made focusing on other things, for the moment at least, impossible.

  ‘So,’ he said, placing his wine glass on the coffee table in front of us and executing a theatrical yawn-and-stretch manoeuvre in order to place an arm around my shoulder, ‘tell me about Jon and Suzanna. What’s going on there then?’

  I laughed at the arm around my shoulder, rather than the enquiry. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said, as he leaned forward to retrieve his glass. ‘Jon’s playing that very close to his chest.’

  He looked at me and smiled. ‘He and Suzanna seemed very well suited.’

  ‘You think so?’ I found myself interested to hear his assessment. ‘It’s difficult for me because I knew Lydia so well and she and Jon were… well, perfect together.’

  ‘And she wasn’t like Suzanna?’

  ‘I don’t know Suzanna at all,’ I said. ‘I can’t compare them.’

  ‘Well, what was Lydia like?’ he asked.

  I smiled up at him and took a deep breath, experiencing the bitter sweet mixture of gratitude for a wonderful friendship and pain over its loss, which I always felt when I thought about Lydia. ‘She was much quieter than either Miriam or I, but great fun. She laughed so easily. She was…’ I hesitated, ‘I think maybe serene is the best word. She was peaceful and a peacemaker. How she coped sharing a house with us, I don’t know. She was the calm to our chaos.’ I leaned my head against his shoulder, before adding in a rush, ‘I found it very difficult to see Jon with Suzanna tonight.’

  Surprised at my own confession, I sat up and looked at Stephen. ‘I’m sorry. There was no need to tell you that.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve told you a lot. Much more than I expected to. Sometimes things just need to be said.’ He squeezed my shoulder and smiled. ‘Are you interested in an objective opinion of Jon and Suzanna? Admittedly it’s based on only two hours’ observation and approximately twenty minutes of conversation.’

  I nodded. ‘I am.’

  ‘OK, well,’ he began, ‘they’re very friendly and pleasant but also quite closed, neither of them give a lot away. And, if I’m honest, they left me uncertain as to whether there was anything much to give away.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘But they seemed really right together. I don’t think they are going to challenge each other at all. And I mean that as a positive.’

  I didn’t reply, having already begun to consider his appraisal of Jon. Distilling it down, Stephen had found him bland and lacking in depth. Well, the judgement wasn’t, I decided, an unreasonable one, based upon this evening. But it was unrecognisable as a description of the Jon I knew – or had known. My mind turned to the evenings of wine bar whinging and chick-flick cinema he good-humouredly endured, his brave participation in book group, his encouragement, his concern, his humour, his patience…

  ‘I’ve upset you,’ said Stephen suddenly.

  ‘What?’ I was puzzled for a moment.

  ‘You look upset,’ he said. ‘I was too frank.’

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ I shrugged. ‘I can see why you formed those opinions…’

  He looked at me questioningly. ‘But?’ he prompted.

  ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘there is no but. I didn’t enjoy his company this evening and I don’t think he enjoyed mine either.’

  There was a moment’s silence between us, during which I fought again to rid my mind of Jon. When Stephen finally spoke, it was with a different tone. ‘Well, I enjoyed your company. Very much,’ he said. ‘So why don’t we focus on that.’ I looked at him. His expression was serious and the transition from boyish, to something approaching authoritarian, was so rapid that it left me feeling uncertain as to what might come next. ‘You’re fascinating,’ he said quietly, ‘but you don’t know it. And that,’ he ran his forefinger gently across my lower lip, ‘is part of your fascination.’

  ‘You hardly know me,’ I said, a little breathlessly. ‘Another week and you might not find me quite so fascinating.’

  ‘Oh, I think I will,’ he said. ‘That’s the problem.’

  ‘Is it a problem?’

  He smiled suddenly and the boyishness returned. ‘I just didn’t expect this.’

  ‘I didn’t expect it either,’ I said impulsively. I took his wine glass from him and placed it on the coffee table along with my own. ‘I really didn’t.’ Then I turned and kissed him. He sat up, put his arms around me and pushed me gently backwards until we were lying on the sofa. I felt his hand slide down to my hip and then further down to my thigh, before coming to rest slightly below the hemline of my dress. I was just wondering where it might go next, and whether or not I might object, when a Cockney woman began singing ‘Oom-pah-pah! Oom-pah-pah! That’s how it goes,’ at the top of her voice, from the small, blue armchair on the other side of the room.

  Our heads turned simultaneously towards the armchair and, recovering from my shock at the rather surreal nature of the interruption, I began to laugh.

  ‘You know what that is?’ I said, raising my voice above the continuing east end serenade.

  Stephen smiled down at me, his face just inches from my own. ‘Not a clue.’

  I pointed at my bag, which I had thrown down onto the chair. ‘It’s my phone. That’s my Friday ringtone.’

  He laughed. ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The singing ceased and his lips moved to my ear. ‘Do you need to check who it was?’ he asked softly.

  ‘I’d better.’ I sighed. ‘Just in case it was Dad.’

  ‘OK.’ He hoisted himself back into a seated position. I got up and retrieved my phone.

  I unlocked it and the words Jon: missed call and voicemail appeared onscreen. I felt no urge to listen to the message, or to return the call. I was in little doubt that whatever he had to say would be far from uplifting and I felt I’d rather not hear that this evening – perhaps not ever. I opened voicemail, pressed ‘edit’ and stared at the screen, my finger hovering over ‘delete’.

  ‘Everything OK?’ asked Stephen. ‘Anything important?’

  I switched off the phone and slung it back into my bag. ‘No,’ I said. ‘PPI.’

  ‘They always call at the best times.’

  ‘I know. Yesterday, I was…’ I ground to a halt, struck dumb by a cacophony of thoughts and the mundanity of the anecdote I was about to recount.

  Stephen smiled. ‘Yesterday?’

  I closed my eyes and forced myself to focus on the moment. ‘You can stay,’ I said. ‘If you want to.’

  There was no response. I opened my eyes and looked at him. His gaze was steady, his smile had disappeared and he now appeared to be studying me intently. ‘And what do you want?’ he asked.

  ‘I want you to stay,’ I said. And it was true. Regardless of an inability to completely and precisely define my feelings, I wanted him to stay. Of that I was certain.

  He stood up and walked towards me. ‘Then I will.’

  ‘But is it what you want?’ I asked, as he reached out and took my hand.

  He looked at me, maintaining an unsmiling silence and causing me to experience a momentary dread that his response might prove to be a kindly, but crushingly humiliating, one. I held my breath and braced myself for the worst.

  ‘Alice,’ he said eventually, placing a hand on my cheek and moving his face close to mine, ‘one thing you have to know about me is that I never, ever,’ he kissed me, ‘do anything I don’t want to.’

  Chapter 32

  I held up the bottle and grinned as the door began to open. ‘I’ve got Prosecco and I’m not afraid to use it!’

  ‘Good to know,’ said Craig, smiling and beckoning me into the wide, but cluttered, b
lack and white tiled hallway.

  I stepped inside, carefully avoiding some Lego and two rather forlorn-looking Barbie dolls, lying semi-naked and wild-haired on the door mat. ‘I was expecting Miriam to answer,’ I explained, giving him a kiss, as he closed the door behind me. ‘I thought you were going out.’

  ‘I am,’ he said, removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes. ‘Although I could do without it,’ he added wearily.

  ‘Why not stay in with us then?’ I asked.

  ‘I think we both know that would cramp your style and besides,’ he replaced his glasses and began to walk away from me, down the hallway, ‘it’s business. I can’t cry off.’

  I followed him into the kitchen and he reached out to take the Prosecco from me. ‘Here, I’ll put that in the fridge. There’s one already open and cold.’

  I handed him the bottle and walked to sit down at the large, oak dining table in the middle of the room.

  ‘So, where’s Miriam?’ I asked, surprised to see him pouring a glass of beer, in addition to my glass of wine. ‘Not in any hurry then?’ I nodded at the beer, as he placed both drinks on the table and sat down opposite me.

  ‘Taxi will be here at eight.’ He glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘So I’ve got half an hour. Miriam’s upstairs on the phone to her mother and Phoebe’s out for the count. She and Miriam have been at a barbecue all afternoon.’

  I picked up my Prosecco. ‘You didn’t go?’

  He shook his head. ‘Working. And it was one of Miriam’s mum friends. A dad friend, actually. I’d have been in the way.’

  I had been absently admiring Miriam’s new retro Smeg food mixer, but at the mention of a dad I refocused on Craig. ‘I’m sure Miriam would have preferred you to go,’ I said.

  He looked at me over the top of his beer but didn’t reply.

  ‘And you’re not coming to the book group dinner,’ I continued. ‘Couldn’t you spare the time for that either?’