It Was You Read online

  ‘Well, Craig was at Hotel du Vin with a client on Monday evening and, well, he saw Jon, with a woman. They were having dinner, just the two of them.’ She leaned back in her chair and nodded at me in a slow and significant manner. ‘Just the two of them,’ she repeated.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, momentarily at a loss. I found myself experiencing a strange mixture of extreme surprise and intense curiosity, tinged with a distinct sense of disquiet.

  I looked at Miriam.

  ‘Interesting, isn’t it?’ she said.

  We sat in silence for a moment. ‘So, did Craig go over?’ I asked eventually.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘He said he couldn’t say hello right away as he didn’t want to abandon his precious blooming client.’

  I picked up my tea again. ‘Maybe Jon was with a client too.’

  She shook her head. ‘Craig said it didn’t look like business. Apparently, there was…’ She paused for emphasis. ‘…touching.’

  I cleared my throat. ‘Who touched whom and how?’

  She tapped the table lightly. ‘That’s exactly what I wanted to know. A reasonable question, you might think. The response I got was, “For God’s sake, Miriam, I was discussing a rebrand. I didn’t have time to take notes on body language.”’

  ‘But he noticed touching?’

  ‘Yes. Apparently, she kept leaning towards him and doing this.’ Miriam placed her hand on my arm.

  I stared at her hand. ‘And what did Jon do?’

  ‘Craig couldn’t see. Jon’s back was to him most of the time.’

  ‘So Craig didn’t speak to Jon at all, then?’

  ‘Apart from as he was leaving,’ she added. ‘And that was just a brief hello. No introductions.’

  ‘But how did Jon seem?’

  She tapped the table for a second time. ‘Again, I asked that very question. Craig’s response was a shrug.’

  I replaced my mug on the table and focused on its remaining contents. ‘So, not massively informative then.’

  She sighed. ‘No.’

  ‘Did Craig say what she looked like?’ I asked, my eyes fixed on my tea.

  ‘Oh yes. He managed to note that. She was much younger than me, apparently, and very attractive, with long, dark hair.’

  I looked up at her. She was unsmiling; her mouth set in a grim line.

  ‘You look very serious about it all,’ I said.

  ‘Not really.’ She attempted a smile. ‘It’s just…’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, this is Jon.’

  Neither of us spoke and I took the opportunity to attempt to disentangle my feelings. I felt some surprise and, I admitted to myself, a little hurt that Jon hadn’t confided in me over the date – if that’s what it was. I had put the lack of phone calls and emails from him down to work, but now it occurred to me that he might have been otherwise occupied – with someone else – and I felt undeniably excluded. I looked at Miriam. She was staring into space with the air of someone listening to a poignant eulogy. I felt my mood sinking and forced myself to seek an alternative, less selfish, perspective.

  ‘I feel a bit odd about it too,’ I said at last. ‘But, overall, it’s a positive thing, isn’t it?’ I offered.

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Miriam, failing either to look or sound reassured.

  ‘Of course,’ I persevered, talking as much to myself as to her, ‘we’re always going to feel we have some sort of special connection or relationship with him, because of the past we share. And I know we can’t help but think of him with Lydia.’ I took a deep breath, before pressing on. ‘But actually, it’s not fair to keep defining him, or our relationships with him, by the past, is it? We have to live in the present and he has a right to be happy in the present.’

  Miriam said nothing but looked up at me sadly.

  ‘He has a right to be happy,’ I repeated quietly, for the benefit of us both.

  She nodded slowly and then leaned towards me, her arms extended for a hug. ‘It was just a bit of a surprise,’ she sighed. ‘But you’re right. We can’t just expect things to stay the same. Situations and feelings change.’ She released me and smiled. ‘And he’s a single man after all,’ she added.

  ‘Or was,’ I murmured absently. ‘I guess maybe we just haven’t thought of him as that… until now.’ I picked up my tea and then turned my head, distracted by the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

  ‘Bathed and in bed, awaiting a story,’ said Craig, entering the kitchen. He walked to the fridge and took out a beer. ‘Hi, Alice,’ he said, failing to make eye contact with either myself or Miriam.

  Miriam stood up and addressed me, whilst looking at Craig. ‘Sorry, Alice, I had thought that Craig might read the story tonight. I expect you’ll have gone by the time I’ve finished.’ She bent down and kissed my cheek. ‘Have a great time at the party. And thanks again for the wrap.’ She threw a less-than-adoring glance at her husband, to which he was oblivious, and then left the kitchen.

  Craig levered the top off his beer, sat down opposite me and began to drink. He seemed miles away.

  I said nothing and eventually he looked at me.

  ‘What?’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, OK,’ he said. ‘I thought maybe I’d missed something.’

  ‘I think maybe you have.’ He didn’t seem to hear me and I stood up. ‘Right, well, I have a party to go to.’

  This announcement prompted a response. ‘Lucky you,’ he said miserably.

  ‘God, when did you get so bitter and twisted?’ I asked, feeling suddenly irritated.

  He smiled. ‘It came on gradually.’

  ‘I wasn’t entirely joking, you know, Craig.’

  ‘Me neither.’ He smiled sadly and opened his mouth to say something more but was robbed of the opportunity by Miriam’s return.

  ‘Where’s Bunny?’ She was standing in the open doorway of the kitchen, looking at Craig. ‘Phoebe says she gave him to you before her bath.’

  ‘No doubt she did.’ His face darkened once more as he took another swig of his beer, before placing the bottle forcefully on the table. ‘So, I’ll come and find him,’ he said, standing up and brushing past Miriam.

  I looked at her. ‘Sorry,’ she mouthed soundlessly, attempting a smile.

  I shook my head. ‘It’s fine.’ I walked across the kitchen and hugged her. ‘We need to go out,’ I said. ‘Soon.’

  She smiled and nodded and then walked me to the door. As she opened it, I turned to her. ‘You know, I’m not really in the mood for this party and Jon would have a great time with Sophie and David. Why don’t you and I go out? Or share a bottle of wine at my place?’

  She bit her lip and then hugged me again, so that I couldn’t see her face. ‘You’re lovely. But I’m a bit tired. I’ll probably just do a little bit of tidying and go to bed with a book.’ She released me from the embrace. ‘Something escapist.’

  I hesitated, uncertain whether or not to press the matter, before deciding against it and instead giving her a second peck on the cheek. ‘That sounds good, actually,’ I said. ‘I’m jealous.’ And then, having never felt less like going to a party, I headed home to get changed.

  Three years ago

  ‘I’m going to head home now, Jon.’ I looked around the function room, at the few remaining clusters of family members, most of the mourners having already left. ‘I’ve said goodbye to Lydia’s mum and dad and to your parents. They’re staying with you this evening, aren’t they?’ I turned back to face him.

  ‘Yes, they are.’ He looked at me from hollowed eyes, an attempt at a smile emphasising his slimmer features, a result of his recent tendency to forget to eat. He was, I knew, exhausted – both physically and emotionally.

  I looked up at him and hesitated, uncertain what to say. What I wanted to tell him was that his was not the only heart broken and that I too missed her at times more than I could bear. But to say those things seemed selfish and self-indulge
nt – a thinly veiled request for comfort from a friend so much more in need of comfort himself.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Jon,’ I said quietly. ‘I do understand in part.’

  He bent down to hug me and I placed my arms around his neck, pressing my head against his shoulder and not letting him go until I felt confident I could speak without a wobble.

  ‘I know you’re busy,’ I said, on eventually releasing him, ‘but I’m not. So just let me know if you’re free for a coffee, or a drink, or… just anything…’ My voice trailed away and I cleared my throat. ‘And don’t forget about book group at Connie’s.’ I managed a smile. ‘I hope that’s in the diary.’

  He nodded. ‘I haven’t forgotten,’ he said. ‘And I’ve already read the book.’

  ‘Have you?’ I said, my eyes widening. ‘That’s impressive.’

  ‘Yes,’ he smiled again. ‘We read it together. There was no way she was going to let me off the hook.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘And I’ve actually read the next book.’ I looked up at Jon as he lifted the heavy silver knocker on Eleanor Black’s front door and banged it down twice.

  ‘That’s quite a departure for you,’ he said. ‘Is that the first one you’ve finished this year?’

  ‘Technically, no. Because I did read Ethan Frome.’ He looked at me, frowning sceptically. ‘Eventually. After the meeting at Connie and Greg’s,’ I clarified.

  He nodded and turned back to the door. ‘And has Greg introduced you to the Morgan yet?’

  ‘To the what?’

  ‘To his friend with the car.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Our journey to the party had largely been spent catching Jon up on my weekend with Hugh – although, as it turned out, most of the more gruesome details had already been recounted to him by Sophie. For my part, I hadn’t quite recovered from the surprise of Miriam’s gossip and would have much preferred to spend the drive grilling him about his date at Hotel du Vin. But it seemed an impossible subject to raise and I had therefore decided that, however desperate I was to find out exactly what was going on, I must bide my time, bite my tongue and wait for Jon to mention it.

  ‘Well, Greg helpfully emailed me loads of photos of the car the other day – but not a single one of its driver.’ I sighed. ‘But no doubt I’ll get to meet him at some point.’ I nudged Jon and pointed up at the unanswered door. ‘Sophie always comments on the size of that knocker.’

  He looked at me questioningly.

  ‘Mrs Melons.’ I explained, lowering my voice and making a cupping gesture in front of my chest with my hands. ‘Big boobs. Large knocker.’

  He smiled. ‘I can’t deny that I’m rather intrigued to meet them – I mean her.’ He turned to me and his smile broadened. ‘No, you’re right, I mean them.’ He gestured at the door. ‘I’ll have another go.’

  He brought the knocker down sharply three times and the heavy piece of door furniture was still in his hand as the door itself began to open. Eleanor Black greeted me with what appeared to be a forced and, I suspected, heavily botoxed smile. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said. ‘I was passing, so I answered myself. God knows where the staff are.’ She opened the door further and realised that I was not alone. ‘My goodness, I’m so sorry.’ Her smile widened, her voice softened and her right hand began to toy with the heavy gold necklace, resembling intertwined earthworms, which sat awkwardly upon her ample cleavage. She was wearing a black and red floral, low cut dress, which looked suspiciously like it had been altered to place as much boob as possible on display, whilst just about allowing her to be able to claim that she was fully-clothed. She looked Jon up and down appreciatively. ‘I didn’t realise you were with a…’ she hesitated, ‘…a friend?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, sliding past her into the hall, ‘this is my friend, Jon. Jon, this is Eleanor. We’ve redesigned her kitchen, dining and living spaces for her. The project was an absolute pleasure from beginning to end.’

  ‘Hello,’ Jon smiled and stepped inside.

  I noticed that Eleanor somehow mistimed the closing of the door, so that she brushed chest-to-chest against him as he entered. ‘Sorry, Jon,’ she breathed, patting the back of her heavily lacquered, heavily bleached chignon. ‘I don’t think I gave you quite enough room there, did I? I nearly crushed you.’

  ‘Not a problem, Eleanor,’ he said. ‘I’m very resilient.’

  She inhaled deeply at this response, swelling her bosom and testing the stitching on her dress to the point of destruction.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, threading my arm through Jon’s and leaning my head against him, ‘you’re quite hardy, aren’t you, Jon?’

  Eleanor Black’s smile remained in place but her breasts subsided and her eyes hardened.

  ‘Ms Black.’

  Our hostess turned her head, as a small, middle-aged woman, wearing a long black apron, ascended the stairs from the lower ground floor. She was accompanied by a tall, good-looking man, whom I guessed to be in his early twenties. The latter was carrying a tray of canapés. ‘Are you happy for Damario and Rebecca to start a second sweep, or do you want us to hold back? The bites are going down well.’

  A flash of annoyance crossed Eleanor’s face. ‘I’ll come down now,’ she said, turning back to face us. ‘Caterers,’ she breathed quietly to Jon, her smile now back in place. ‘But you,’ she tapped a hand casually on his chest, ‘go on through and get yourself a drink. There’s quite a crowd but there’s plenty to go round. I shall look forward to catching you later.’

  ‘Thank you, Eleanor,’ I said, forcing my way into the exchange. ‘That’s so kind of you.’

  She twitched slightly, as if having forgotten my presence. ‘Oh, not at all. I’ve just seen David and your colleague in the throng near the conservatory.’ And with that, she removed her hand from Jon’s chest, threw him what I guessed was supposed to be a coquettish smile, and followed the caterers down the stairs.

  ‘The woman is a nightmare,’ I muttered, watching her go. ‘She was thirty seconds away from unbuttoning your shirt. Poor David.’ I looked up at Jon.

  ‘I think the danger has passed.’ He nodded his head towards my arm, which was still entwined around his.

  I set him free and removed my jacket. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘What can I tell you? She brings out my protective, maternal instinct.’

  ‘I felt very safe. Thank you.’ He took my jacket from me and hung it on one of the temporary clothes rails positioned in the expansive entrance hall, while I turned and peered towards the rear of the house. It was clear from noise levels, and the groups visible through open doorways, that the party was a large, and possibly over-crowded, affair. I felt some relief at the possibility that Eleanor might actually have some difficulty catching us later.

  I turned to Jon. ‘Shall we go and find David and Sophie?’

  He nodded. ‘Great idea,’ he said.

  We walked down the long hallway and into the kitchen, heading towards the crowd occupying the vast seating and dining area, each collecting a glass of champagne from a central, granite-topped island as we went.

  David, when we eventually found him, was standing chatting to Louise and Ben Battersby, the former clients who had recommended us to Eleanor Black, their near neighbour. I smiled as we approached. I liked Louise; she was what my mother used to call unfussy, and had an entertaining fondness for gossip. She also knew Miriam, their daughters attending the same pre-school. David raised a hand and smiled, as he spotted us heading towards him.

  ‘Alice,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek, ‘and hello, Jon,’ he added, placing a friendly hand on the latter’s shoulder. ‘Alice, you know Louise and Ben, of course.’

  I smiled. ‘How are you both?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Louise. ‘We’re just congratulating David on the magnificent job you’ve done here.’ She gestured at the room.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘it was a fun project.’

  Louise looked doubtful.

  ‘Really?’ asked Ben, audibly echoing her scepticism.
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  ‘Each project presents unique challenges,’ David chipped in. ‘But that’s what makes it fun, isn’t it, Alice?’ he added, turning to me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Whether that be the space, or interpreting and managing the expectations of the client.’

  ‘I think we can all guess the nature of the challenge on this occasion,’ muttered Ben.

  ‘Ben,’ said Louise, her face stern.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Ben.

  David looked momentarily disconcerted, before settling himself with a polite introduction. ‘Oh, Jon,’ he said, ‘I’m so sorry. This is Louise and Ben Battersby. We helped them with their lounge and playroom last year. Louise and Ben, this is Jonathan Durham. Jon runs a human factors consultancy.’

  ‘I think we might know a few of the same people, Jon,’ said Ben. ‘Charles Hardwick? He’s in ergonomics.’

  Jon smiled. ‘Yes, I know Charles,’ he said, and as the commercial small-talk commenced, I turned to Louise and asked after her daughter, Imi.

  ‘She is doing really well,’ said Louise. ‘She and Miriam’s daughter had a play-date yesterday, actually. With another little girl, Emily.’ She paused. ‘Has Miriam mentioned Emily?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think she has.’

  ‘Her father, Eammon, is a stay-at-home dad. Very nice. Phoebe and Emily get on very well together.’ She looked at me and paused again, as she sipped her drink. ‘As do Miriam and Eammon.’

  I looked at Louise and was just about to ask her a little more about Eammon, when she placed a gentle hand on my elbow and, applying near-imperceptible pressure, rotated me away from the men in our group.

  ‘Look,’ she said, lowering her voice. ‘You tell me to stop being nosey if you want to, but…’ she glanced over her shoulder at David, ‘he isn’t really going out with Eleanor, is he?’

  ‘Well,’ I began uncertainly, ‘I’m not exactly…’

  ‘Only it doesn’t seem like what you’d call a natural pairing to me.’ Louise drained her glass. ‘I said to Ben, “That’s not a natural pairing, Ben.” And Ben said, “Why, because David is a very nice person?” And I said, “Well, yes.” And Ben said, “You’re right.”’