This was obviously the right thing to say. She leaned forward and grasped my left hand, which was resting on the table. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It was the most interesting, unexpected revelation I’d heard in ages,’ she said. ‘Until we got to your flat, of course.’
I sighed. ‘God, what a night.’
‘What a night indeed. Now,’ she said briskly, bum-shuffling along the bench and then rising to her feet, ‘I’m just going to pop and get us each another drink, and then, when I get back, I’ll go over it all again.’ She began to make her way to the bar but stopped and turned after just a few feet. ‘Oh but this time,’ she said, jabbing her purse in my direction, ‘you just bloody listen.’ She shook her head and tutted. ‘Bugger. I meant blooming listen,’ she corrected. ‘You just blooming listen.’
Chapter 49
It was with some trepidation that I climbed the stairs to Moore Interior Design the next morning. My ascent took place in silence, exactly as it had the day before; however, just as I braced myself for an icy atmosphere, the morose peace was shattered by a cackle of explosive laughter. I pushed open the door, which was already slightly ajar, and although I was a little disappointed to discover that Sophie’s entertaining exchange was not with David but with someone on the other end of the phone, it was still good to see her smiling.
She waved as I approach, mouthing ‘Henry,’ and pointing to the receiver, as I hung up my jacket.
I nodded and then pointed at David’s office, the door to which was slightly ajar. She shook her head and mouthed ‘out’, before continuing her conversation.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ she said into the receiver. ‘Either Thursday or Friday, so just pick whichever suits.’
I pulled the pile of mail on my desk towards me.
‘That’s great, Henry.’ There was a pause and then. ‘Yes. It will be me there next week.’ Another pause. ‘You charmer… OK, I’ll see you then… Bye.’ She hung up the phone and turned to me. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘That was Henry.’
I gave her my best knowing look. ‘Evidently.’
‘Hey, you, don’t go getting any ideas.’ She wagged a finger at me. ‘Purely platonic.’
‘Well,’ I said significantly, ‘there’s a lot of it about.’
She looked up from the plans she had just called-up on screen. ‘What?’ she asked, her eyes narrowing. ‘You’ve got gossip, Alice Waites. Come on. Spit it out. Is this via Miriam last night?’
I nodded.
‘Ooh,’ she said. ‘Is it armchair quality?’
‘If Miriam were here, she would say yes.’
She rose to her feet and solemnly walked the few steps to the armchair next to her desk. After theatrically plumping the cushions, she sat down, crossed her legs and folded her arms. ‘I am ready,’ she said. ‘Begin.’
‘Well,’ I leaned forward across my desk, ‘Suzanna told Miriam on Friday that she and Jon are no longer going out together,’ I said, attempting to keep my tone light.
Sophie’s smile vanished immediately. ‘It’s all OK,’ I reassured. ‘Suzanna is fine about it. They’ve just agreed to be friends and see what happens.’
‘And what does Jon say about it?’ Sophie asked, sounding unexpectedly serious.
I frowned at the question. ‘I don’t know. He hasn’t mentioned any of this to me and Miriam has been very restrained and made no attempt to fish.’ Sophie made no response but instead sat staring at the floor.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I said. ‘You saw them on Friday; they get along really well. It’s not sad – just interesting or, if you’re Miriam, wildly exciting.’
‘I’m not worried, I’m just thinking,’ she murmured.
‘Personally, I wouldn’t be surprised if they get back together. I mean, it’s obvious Jon cares a lot about her, isn’t it?’ I continued, sharing the conclusion I had reached in the hour or so between saying goodnight to Miriam and climbing into bed. ‘He’s pulled back from a relationship – not out of it. Anyway,’ I sighed, tapping the pile of mail in front of me, ‘better go through this lot.’
‘So when did they break up?’ asked Sophie, apparently not taking on board my intention to get on with some work.
‘Not sure,’ I said, now sounding deliberately vague and pressing on with the mail. ‘A month or so ago, I think. Maybe longer.’
‘But Jon hadn’t mentioned it to you?’
I looked up at her. ‘No. But,’ I gestured at the mail and tried again, ‘best get on.’
She looked bemused. ‘It didn’t come up when the pair of you went out for a drink?’
I sighed again and leaned back in my chair. The matter clearly fascinated her as much as it did Miriam, and she wasn’t going to let it drop. ‘No, it didn’t come up,’ I said, thinking back to my night out with Jon. ‘But then they’re still sort of together, aren’t they. Just not…’ I hesitated. ‘…just not together together. I mean, she’s staying with him this weekend.’ I groaned at the sudden recollection of our planned evening out and slumped forward, resting my head on my hands. ‘Must cancel dinner with them actually.’
Sophie shuffled forward in the armchair, until she was literally on the edge of her seat. ‘You mean you haven’t told Jon about Stephen?’
I shook my head.
‘Why not?’ She sounded appalled.
‘Because,’ I said, unable to keep a note of exhausted exasperation out of my voice, ‘I haven’t seen him since Friday and, surprising as it may seem, it’s not that much fun phoning round telling everyone that your boyfriend has, yet again, turned out to be a bit of a shit.’
She ignored my irritation. ‘Call him now,’ she said.
I raised my head to look at her. ‘No,’ I said flatly. ‘I’ll tell him before Saturday, but there’s no rush.’
She frowned disapprovingly. ‘I think it would be polite to give him as much time as possible to sort something else out for the weekend. If you don’t hurry up, that’s everybody’s Saturday night ruined – not just yours.’ She pointed at the phone on my desk. ‘Go on.’
I glared at her, stung and surprised by her lack of tact. ‘I’m not going to phone him at work and from work.’
‘I’ll leave.’ She hauled herself out of the armchair. ‘You can have the whole office to yourself.’
‘You’re being ridiculous,’ I said.
She sighed, walked round her desk and sat down in front of her computer. ‘I know you. You’ll leave it and leave it. Whereas, if you let him know today, he can sort something else out.’
‘Right,’ I said, somewhat icily. ‘Well, thank you for spelling that out for me. I certainly wouldn’t want to inconvenience anybody with my personal problems. I’ll call him when I get home tonight.’
‘Great,’ she said and turned towards her screen. ‘Although right now would be better.’
I stared at her back, considering for a moment screwing up an empty envelope and aiming it at her head, before instead contenting myself with a mouthed expletive. Sophie, I told myself, had her own life issues to deal with right now, and I had to assume that these were temporarily impacting, rather negatively, upon her sensitivity levels.
‘Potty mouth,’ she said, without turning round.
I laughed in spite of myself, she joined in and the working day began.
Chapter 50
Just over nine hours later, I kicked off my shoes, dumped my bag in the hallway and headed for the kitchen. A glance at the clock revealed it to be 6.00pm and although I usually made myself a cup of tea whenever I went straight home after work, this evening I decided it was not too indecently early for a glass of wine. While it hadn’t been a terrible day, it hadn’t been a great one either and it had certainly been far removed from the days of happy creativity, in a convivial working environment, with which I had been spoiled for so many years.
David was continuing to alternate between listless and jolly to the point of mania – and it was a tough call as to which state I found most wearing. Sophie, meanwhile, whi
lst pretty much her usual self when it was just the two of us, was clearly now less than comfortable when David was present. As colleagues, they were an increasingly depressing pair, and as friends I was increasingly concerned for them.
I poured myself a glass of white wine, took it into the living room and flopped down onto the sofa. Forcing the issue of work from my mind, I picked up the phone, with the intention of taking Sophie’s advice and calling Jon. I had decided to make the call, not to assist him in the scheduling of his social life but because I realised that I wanted to retain what little control I had over the situation and, besides, our friendship was such that I didn’t want him to find out about Stephen from anybody else.
I dialled, his phone rang and a few seconds later, his recorded voice invited me to leave a message after the beep.
‘Hi Jon, it’s Alice,’ I began uncontroversially. ‘Just a quick call to say that I’m going to have to bow out of dinner with you and Suzanna this weekend. Stephen and I broke up on Friday, and three’s a bit of a crowd.’ I inserted a light laugh. ‘Anyway, I’m fine – sort of relieved actually. Isn’t that strange? But yes, all’s well. All’s well now, that is. On Friday night there was a crazed woman on my doorstep – and it wasn’t me! Ha, ha! Hope to see you at book group. I’ve only got twenty pages left to read of Jane Eyre. I know! How did that happen? Bet you’ve read it twice.’ More laughter. ‘Bye.’ I hung up and then immediately regretted failing to vet the recording. I ran through it again in my head: can’t make dinner… broke up with Stephen… feeling fine… see you soon. I was pretty sure it was OK.
I sipped my wine and decided to phone Abs. With everybody else knowing what was going on, I didn’t want her to feel out of the loop.
I picked up the phone again and dialled her landline.
‘Hello?’ A male voice answered. It didn’t sound like Pete.
‘Pete?’ I said nevertheless.
‘No, it’s Jon.’
‘Jon?’ I felt momentarily at a loss. ‘How weird. I was trying to call Abs.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You were dialling in my ear.’
‘Oh.’ He must have called just as I picked up the phone to call Abs.
‘I got your message,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I’m not,’ I said quickly; perhaps too quickly, I thought, immediately concerned that I might sound as if I was protesting too much. ‘I said that very quickly, didn’t I?’ I continued. ‘But I promise you it’s not a case of protesting too much. Although, now I’ve said that I’m not protesting too much, it sounds as if I’m protesting even more than I was, or wasn’t, in the first place.’ I took a breath. ‘It’s just really difficult to deny that you’re protesting too much, without actually protesting… quite a lot… possibly too much…’ My voiced trailed away and I made a tight fist with my right hand and pushed as much of it as possible into my mouth.
There was a pause before he spoke.
‘Am I allowed to laugh?’ he asked.
‘Please do.’
He did.
‘Perhaps we should begin again,’ I suggested, smiling into the receiver.
‘Let’s do that,’ he said. Then, after another pause, ‘Hello, Ms Waites.’
I felt a need to take moment before replying. ‘Hello, Mr Durham,’ I said eventually. My smile wobbled. ‘I’m so sorry not to be able to make dinner.’
‘Do you want to tell me the background to that situation?’ he asked.
‘Can I save the gory details for another time?’
‘Just tell me you’re OK,’ he said.
‘I’m OK,’ I confirmed. ‘It was my decision. I’m just sorry I can’t make dinner.’
‘It’s funny,’ he said, ‘because I was going to call you about dinner anyway.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. Suzanna and I talked over the weekend and we agreed that, although we enjoy one another’s company, we want different things. And so we’ve decided… well, we’ve decided that we want different things.’
‘I see,’ I said hoarsely, before clearing my throat and repeating more loudly, ‘I see.’
‘So,’ he continued, ‘I was going to phone you to say that Suzanna wouldn’t be coming to dinner. But, well, you got in there first.’
I nodded but said nothing.
‘I wonder if you’re nodding into the phone,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘I was actually.’ And then, without pausing for thought or consideration, which I instinctively feared might prove detrimental to my future happiness, I said, ‘Perhaps we could still go to dinner. Just the two of us. If you like.’ I closed my eyes and, with a sense of in for a penny in for a pound, added, ‘I’d like that. Very much.’
‘Now that, Ms Waites,’ he said, ‘would have been a genius plan, if only Romy wasn’t already my date for the evening.’
I opened my mouth to reply but no sound came out and I realised that I was completely crushed by his response. ‘Ah,’ I said after a moment. It was all I could manage.
‘She’d told me she was going to be in Bristol this weekend,’ Jon continued, sounding buoyant, ‘so I texted her this morning, explained about Suzanna, asked if she was free for dinner and she said yes, without knowing any other details. I was just about to call her and fill her in when I got your message actually.’
‘Ah.’ I stared unblinkingly across the room, no longer listening to Jon, but instead thinking about Romy. So, she had accepted his dinner invitation, no questions asked. In my book, that made her quite keen and perhaps, I mused, that shouldn’t come as a surprise. After all, they always got on very well whenever they met. I heaved a sigh as I remembered them laughing and chatting together in the pub several months earlier, whilst I had sat opposite them, enduring Miriam and Craig’s endless bickering. And, of course, they had enjoyed each other’s company again at dinner on Friday. Jon had even invited her to join book group.
I nodded absently into the phone and, as Jon continued to talk, it suddenly occurred to me that this was the gossip he had wanted to share on Friday night. Romy wasn’t interested in David – because Romy was interested in him. And her feelings were clearly, to some extent, reciprocated – or why call and ask her to be his dinner date? I knew Jon better than to think he would ever toy with somebody like that. I raised a hand slowly to my forehead, as I remembered his response to my claim that David was attracted to Romy: He’d have to be made of marble not to be. Of course he would.
Meanwhile, Jon was now concluding his explanation of the situation.
‘Ah.’
‘…if you invite someone too.’
Deciding to play it safe and stick with monosyllables, I this time opted for an ooh, in preference to a fourth ah.
‘So you’ll do that?’ he asked.
I nodded.
‘I wonder if you’re nodding again,’ he said.
I made a sound, which I hoped approximated to laughter.
‘What was that?’ he asked.
I took a deep breath. ‘My saliva went down the wrong way.’
‘OK.’ He sounded impressively unperturbed. ‘Well, I’m looking forward to Saturday and,’ he paused, ‘I’m glad you’re OK,’ he added gently.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Anyway, I’ll let you go and call Romy.’
There was another pause before he spoke again. ‘Bye, Alice,’ he said simply.
‘Bye then.’
I hung up the phone and continued to stare miserably into space, reviewing and reflecting upon what had just happened.
Jon, who was single, had invited Romy, who was also single, to dinner. And Romy had said yes. These were simple and uncontroversial facts, which should have prompted nothing more from me but happy acceptance. And yet, they had instead devastated me to the point of speechlessness. So why was that?
I paused my thoughts, gazing down at my mother’s wedding ring, sensing an answer to the question I had posed myself, but reluctant to ackn
owledge it.
Instead, I twisted the ring, focusing intently on it and thinking about my long friendship with Jon: a friendship which began with our love for Lydia, and her love for us. And, after Lydia, a friendship which was maintained and strengthened because of our love for one other.
Yes. We loved one other. He loved me and I loved him.
I stopped twisting the ring, held my breath and, at that moment, in a whispered but unstoppable thought, I finally told myself the truth.
I not only loved Jon – I was in love with him.
Letting out my breath in something halfway between a gasp and a sob, I covered my face with my hands and, resting my head on the back of the sofa, I experienced a car crash moment of relief and anguish: relief at having finally acknowledged the truth of my feelings, and almost unbearable anguish that those feelings were not reciprocated. I might happen to want Jon, to at last know that I was in love with him, but what use was that when he simply didn’t want me? He loved me as a friend, of that I was certain, but he had never shown any interest in me beyond friendship. He had dated Suzanna and, now that she was off the scene, he had the peerless Romy on speed-dial.
I removed my hands from my face and sat up, remaining completely still, until an awareness of tears dripping from my chin forced me to look around for something within reach which approximated to a hanky. Finding nothing, I wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my blouse and then hauled myself off the sofa. There was nothing for it, I told myself as I headed off in search of tissues, but to attempt to woman-up and face facts: Mr Durham was my friend, but he was not, and never would be, my Mr Right.
Chapter 51
‘No, I can’t,’ said Hugh, with characteristic bluntness. ‘I have a college dinner this Saturday.’
‘Oh, well, not to worry,’ I sighed. ‘I realised it was very short notice.’
‘Have you recovered from Friday night?’ he asked. ‘That was an unusual experience.’
I leaned forward on my desk and experienced a sudden urge to massage my temples. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘it was quite unusual.’