It Was You, Page 26

  She smiled. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘Our youngest is back from his travels tonight. His train gets into Parkway at six-forty, so I’m going straight there. There wasn’t any point in going home first.’

  ‘I bet you can’t wait to see him,’ I said.

  ‘And his laundry,’ she sighed. ‘But you’re right. We’ve missed him. Anyway,’ she said, turning off her PC and leaning forward to pick up her bag, ‘you two have fun tonight.’ She turned in her chair to wave at Jon through the glass wall of his office. He was on the phone and when he didn’t notice her, she stood up, walked to his door and tapped lightly, before waving again. He responded with a wave. She then gestured over her shoulder and I saw him lean to one side, in order to see me. He gave me a quick thumbs-up and then held up two fingers to indicate the anticipated length of talk-time remaining. Geraldine turned back towards me and glanced up at the clock. ‘Poor thing has been on the phone to that client for a good half hour,’ she said. ‘Very needy. A lot of hand-holding required. Mind you,’ she lowered her head and looked at me over the top of her glasses, ‘she’s female and rather a lot of them seek hand-holding from Jon. Not that they ever get anywhere, of course.’

  I opened my mouth to say, ‘Especially not now with Suzanna on the scene,’ but closed it again, realising that it was perfectly possible that Geraldine was unaware of the relationship. I sighed, as it dawned on me just how many opportunities remained for me to put my foot in it all over again.

  ‘But better for him to be happily single…’ said Geraldine, almost to herself, confirming that she was indeed ignorant of the fact that Jon had a girlfriend – a situation which I found both surprising and a little sad, considering the length of time she and Jon had worked together, and how highly he thought of her.

  She walked past me, patting my shoulder as she went. ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Thanks, and have a lovely time with your son.’

  ‘We will! We will!’ she called, turning and giving me a wave as she exited the office.

  I sat down in a nearby low, cushioned chair, leaned back and stared at the ceiling, aware that my exchange with Geraldine, as brief and seemingly innocuous as it had been, had left me feeling a little flat. I closed my eyes and wondered whether I might feel able to discuss any of it with Jon, or whether this evening would turn out to be one of light banter and safe small-talk. Not that that would be a bad thing. In fact, I reasoned, it might well be for the best.

  ‘Asleep already?’

  I opened my eyes and, with my head still resting on the back of the chair, I turned towards the voice.

  Jon was smiling down at me, laptop case in one hand, jacket in the other.

  All thought of small-talk evaporated, and without thinking anything beyond the fact that I had missed him, or feeling anything other than a huge sense of relief at seeing him again, I stood up and put my arms around him. I was aware of him leaning to one side to place his laptop on the chair and then, letting his jacket drop, he hugged me back.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘I know,’ I replied.

  He laughed and then neither of us said anything else for what seemed like a very long time.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Oh, me too,’ I mumbled into his shoulder. ‘Me too.’

  I felt his head press gently against mine and we stood there, neither of us making any attempt to move.

  ‘I’ve never known you this quiet,’ he said.

  ‘I’m just so worried about saying the wrong thing.’

  ‘Really? It’s never bothered you before.’

  I relaxed, eased away from him slightly and met his eyes.

  He smiled down at me. ‘I’m lightening the mood,’ he said.

  ‘Ah…’ I bent down to retrieve his jacket from the floor. ‘Thanks for explaining that because I thought you were crashing the moment,’ I said, handing him his jacket.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said quietly, ‘very much.’

  I took a deep breath. ‘Well done for retrieving the moment. And, in case you were in any doubt, I have missed you too.’

  He smiled. ‘Shall we go and get a drink?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said. ‘I’m starving. I only had half a wrap for lunch.’

  ‘Is that your way of saying you want chips?’ he asked, picking up his laptop and then gesturing for me to lead the way.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, as we headed for the door, ‘it is.’

  * * *

  We opted for The Neath, a wine bar just a short walk from Jon’s office, nestled below a long row of terraced Georgian houses. Although relatively large, it was divided into quiet, cosy rooms and quirky nooks and had the added advantage, in my opinion, of serving some of the best chips in Bristol.

  ‘You can share if you like,’ I said to Jon, when presented with my bowl of chips and a small dish of rhubarb ketchup, by a member of the bar staff. We were sitting at a table for two, next to a window which looked out onto a pretty walled garden, in the middle of which was a large, spreading tree. Jon had fetched our drinks: a large glass of red for himself and a similarly large white for me.

  ‘I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,’ he said, ‘because I know it’s not a genuine offer.’

  ‘Gosh,’ I said, ‘you’re just so good at reading people.’

  He smiled and picked up his glass. ‘Cheers. So, what have I missed? How tangled is your current web?’

  ‘Shockingly untangled, actually,’ I said. ‘Had a lovely time with Dad – and his girlfriend, of course,’ I added significantly.

  ‘Yes, you texted that he was in a relationship. But didn’t tell me any of the details.’

  ‘She’s lovely,’ I said, smiling at the thought. ‘Her name is Hilary, she is sixty-eight, he met her at his widow and widowers’ club and she’s as bonkers as he is.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’

  ‘Dad seems so happy.’ I looked at Jon and smiled. ‘And that’s all I want.’

  He nodded and smiled back at me. ‘You look very well,’ he said after moment.

  ‘Do I?’ I reached for my wine glass.

  He cleared his throat. ‘And you mentioned weird phone calls. What was all that about?’

  ‘Oh, just some hang-up calls,’ I said dismissively, whilst feeling an odd sense of disappointment that the conversation had moved on so quickly from my personal appearance. ‘Stephen’s sorting it out.’

  ‘I’ll cross that off my list of concerns then.’

  ‘But did I tell you that Sophie and Graham had never been anything more than friends?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you didn’t. Is that significant?’

  ‘I don’t know why it feels significant, but it does,’ I shrugged. ‘And I want to talk to you about Miriam and Craig.’ I picked up another chip and dipped it in the ketchup. ‘I love this,’ I said. ‘They make it themselves.’ I popped the chip into my mouth.

  ‘You tell me that every time we come here,’ Jon sighed. ‘Now focus. What’s going on with Miriam and Craig?’

  I looked up at him. ‘It’s not great.’

  His expression became suddenly serious. ‘It’s not?’

  I shook my head. ‘Miriam is looking increasingly glam, and I don’t think it’s for Craig’s benefit. Which is just as well, because at the moment I don’t think he’d notice if she grew a moustache and started calling herself Hercule.’ I stared sadly at the chips. ‘Have you seen him lately?’

  ‘I ran into him in a restaurant a while ago.’

  I felt myself tense involuntarily at this indirect reference to his date with Suzanna.

  ‘I suggested then that we go out for a drink,’ he continued, ‘but I haven’t followed it up. Perhaps I should.’

  ‘Oh, would you?’ I looked up, feeling relieved at the thought.

  He smiled. ‘I’ll phone him tomorrow,’ he said.

  I pushed the chips towards him. ‘Have one,’ I said. ‘It’s a genuine offer.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He t
ook a chip. ‘So, tell me more about Sophie.’

  I sipped my wine. ‘She asked me if I thought she was a slapper.’

  He blinked and paused mid-chip. ‘A slapper? I assume that was her word.’

  I nodded. ‘She thought she might come across as “a slapper”’, I drew the inverted commas in the air, ‘because she has short-term relationships.’

  He looked bemused. ‘But she doesn’t have that many, does she?’ he asked. ‘And never more than one at a time.’

  ‘I know. I told her she was talking nonsense. I don’t know what prompted it.’ I sipped my wine. ‘Maybe she made the mistake of comparing herself to her work colleagues who are both, of course, freaks of the dating world; one an emotionally masochistic, serial monogamist and the other… well…’ I leaned back in my chair. ‘Go on – your turn now. Précis all your exciting news.’

  ‘I’m not sure I have any news which would qualify as exciting,’ he said.

  ‘Hopeless,’ I tutted and we returned our attention to the chips.

  ‘There’s Suzanna, of course,’ I ventured after a moment.

  He looked up. ‘Yes, there is.’

  I hesitated and then decided that I must try to address the horror that had been Eleanor Black’s party. ‘I am so sorry about… about the thing that happened… at Eleanor’s,’ I said haltingly.

  He began to speak, almost before I had finished the sentence. ‘It was my fault,’ he said. ‘I was just taken by surprise and handled it badly.’

  I shook my head. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I said. It’s as simple as that.’

  ‘It’s been far from simple,’ he said. ‘And I was so focused on my feelings, that I forgot about other people’s.’

  ‘Same.’ I smiled sadly. ‘Plus, I have really bad timing, of course.’

  He looked down at his wine glass. ‘Same.’

  ‘But you’re feeling better now?’ I asked.

  ‘I am,’ he said quietly, without looking up. ‘Because I know it’s OK for me to fall in love; whoever the person and whatever the past.’

  The statement, uttered so unexpectedly and unselfconsciously, prompted a rush of thoughts and feelings which left me unable to do anything but stare blankly at him, my mouth hanging wordlessly ajar. Half-recollected conversations and half-acknowledged emotions whirled around my consciousness, refusing to arrange themselves into any meaningful train of thought. But despite this rapid-onset internal chaos, I knew instinctively, and without a doubt, that of course he was right.

  I managed a nod and then, on impulse, half stood and very awkwardly leaned across the table to hug him, at enormous risk to our drinks.

  ‘Ungainly,’ he laughed, returning the hug, ‘but very welcome.’

  ‘I have no words,’ I said eventually. ‘Apart from those words.’

  I felt him nod.

  ‘I’ll sit down now,’ I said, releasing him and settling back in my chair, whilst feeling strangely out-of-body. It was a moment or two before I could raise my eyes to look at him. When I did, I saw that he was again focused on his wine glass.

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ I said quietly. ‘Suzanna is lovely.’

  His expression flickered. ‘She is,’ he said simply. ‘And Stephen…’ He paused and looked up. ‘You seem very happy.’

  I knew I should agree, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to. So instead, I offered him a hesitant smile. He offered me one in return and as I watched it briefly form and then fade on his lips, my thoughts at last ordered themselves and I realised two things. Firstly, that here was a man from whom the pain of separation had been immense, and from whom I never wanted to be distanced again, by either situation or person. And secondly, that I was, at that moment, experiencing a significant urge to express those feelings of affection for him physically, by risking a second stretch across the table – not this time to hug him – but to take his face in my hands and kiss him. And as I sat there, still staring at his mouth and evaluating the situation, that idea seemed both perfectly reasonable and absolutely unthinkable. I waited for my head to explode.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, taking another chip.

  I tore my gaze from his mouth and back to his eyes. He was looking at me steadily. ‘Stephen, Suzanna, you and I,’ I began slowly, reminding myself of all parties with an immediate interest in the current situation, ‘must go out to dinner – the four of us.’

  ‘Your syntax was very interesting there,’ he said.

  I inhaled deeply and pressed on. ‘Shall we try to fix a date?’

  ‘I’ll mention it.’ He smiled and I leaned back slightly in my chair, desperately trying to restore some sort of natural order to my feelings, whilst at the same time subconsciously putting a healthy distance between my lips and his.

  I took a second deep breath. ‘I’d like to get to know Suzanna better.’

  He nodded.

  ‘But maybe I can do that at the book group dinner,’ I said, desperate to divert both the conversation and my thoughts, whilst still very aware of an ongoing desire to kiss the close friend sitting opposite me.

  ‘Are you bringing Stephen?’ he asked.

  I shook my head. ‘He’s in France that weekend – so I’m bringing Hugh,’ I added, grateful for the opportunity to focus on a man other than my boyfriend or Jon. I formed a mental image of Hugh, dressed in a pristine white coat and pale green wellies, advancing towards a waiting corpse with a small circular saw. It was comfortingly unerotic.

  Jon raised an eyebrow. ‘Battle re-enactment Hugh?’ he said. The idea clearly intrigued him.

  I nodded. ‘I’m really pleased he’s coming. And so is Abs. I think she feels vindicated, because she was right; we do get on well.’

  Jon smiled, sipped his wine unhurriedly and then replaced his glass on the table. ‘What do you like about him?’

  ‘Well, he’s frank, but kind and that’s a rather valuable combination,’ I said, relieved by the conversational shift. ‘And he’s funny too,’ I continued, clinging desperately to the new, safe subject of Hugh. ‘Although, you do have to keep explaining to him why he’s funny. That’s a negative point – in my opinion. But I suppose someone else might find it endearing. Could it be endearing?’ I paused, aware that I was beginning to gabble. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Having never met him,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment. I’ll let you know if he’s endeared himself to me after the dinner. Any other observations on any of the other attendees you’d care to share?’

  I sighed and managed a smile. ‘You can step in any time with your own exciting chit-chat, you know.’

  ‘I’m genuinely interested,’ he laughed.

  I frowned at him.

  ‘Genuinely,’ he insisted.

  ‘OK, well, Miriam’s bringing Romy and Sophie’s bringing David,’ I said. ‘That could be interesting.’

  ‘What could? David and Sophie?’

  I shook my head. ‘No. David and Romy. He seems really pleased that she’s coming and whenever she’s visited the office, it’s been obvious that he thinks she’s gorgeous.’

  Jon’s expression remained impassive. ‘He’d have to be made of marble not to think that,’ he said.

  ‘I know but it’s not as if he looks like the back of a bus, is it?’ I protested. ‘Women turn in the street for him. And in wine bars. Sophie pointed that out to him just the other day.’

  He smiled and there followed a pause in the conversation, during which I drank my wine and attempted to regulate my thoughts by studying the various couples sitting at the tables closest to our own. Two were clearly work colleagues, deep in business-like conversation, another pair appeared to be on a date, enjoying the evening, but not yet entirely relaxed in one another’s company. A third couple, sitting immediately to my left, was harder to categorise. Maybe, I thought, they were like Jon and me: the best and oldest of friends – one of whom had just considered kissing the other as the most natural and complete way of expressing and conveying her feelings.


  ‘You’re thinking,’ said Jon.

  I started slightly and turned to him. ‘Sorry?’

  He gestured towards my hands; I was twisting my mother’s wedding ring, my fingers interlinked around the stem of my near-empty wine glass. ‘What are your thoughts?’

  ‘Confused,’ I said, looking at my hands and placing them on my lap under the table.

  ‘Business as usual then,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ I looked up and found myself once more disconcertingly fixated upon his mouth as he smiled mischievously.

  A combined ringing and buzzing sound interrupted my latest, increasingly confused, thoughts. Jon reached into the pocket of his jacket and retrieved his phone. ‘Sorry,’ he said, glancing at the screen, ‘I have to take this.’ He turned slightly in his chair to face the window and smiled. ‘Hi, how are you? No, it’s fine. I’m out with Alice. We’re in The Neath… Yes, that’s right, the one with the tree… Of course.’ He turned to me briefly. ‘Suzie says hi.’

  Suzie. I managed a smile. ‘Say hello back.’

  ‘Alice says hello… Yes, she’s looking forward to it too.’

  There then followed an extended pause, while Jon listened. When it was clear he was going to be tied up for a few minutes, I decided to distract myself with my own phone. I took it from my bag. There was a text from Stephen, wondering whether I wanted go away over summer and asking whether I had had any more silent calls. It was his third text of the day about the calls. He was so sweet. I looked at Jon, smiling over something Suzie was telling him, and then tapped out a quick message to Stephen, replying in the negative regarding the phone calls and in the effusively affirmative regarding summer. My finger hovered over send. Meanwhile, Jon’s conversation was ongoing.

  ‘Yes, that’s great,’ he said and then his tone changed. ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘I feel the same way.’

  I smiled and pressed send. Jon, I told myself, was my friend. What’s more, he was in love with Suzanna, and I was as happy for him in that new relationship as I was for my father in his. Any feelings of physical affection towards him this evening were, I reasoned, a muddled, over-emotional reaction to seeing him again, following what had been a very difficult, stressful and painful period in our relationship.