It Was You Page 2

  I smiled sadly and sat back down, as Abs and Connie echoed my disappointment. Miriam, however, remained silent and bit her lower lip. We all looked at her.

  ‘What?’ I asked, my face falling. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, looking at each of us in turn. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought you’d realised.’ She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘It was their wedding anniversary today.’

  Chapter 2

  Miriam was the last to leave and it was almost eleven by the time she rose to her feet and hugged me goodnight. Connie and Abs had left half an hour earlier, each citing an early start the next morning as a reason to get home and to bed.

  ‘Craig’ll think I’ve got lost,’ said Miriam, retrieving her grey cloche hat from one of the pegs by the front door in my small hallway. ‘Not that he’d care. But anyway,’ she pulled the hat down over her short, curly mop of dark hair and reached up to give me a second hug, ‘are you ok? I’m so sorry about not mentioning the wedding anniversary sooner.’

  ‘I just can’t believe I forgot,’ I said quietly, as a renewed sense of guilt and sadness swept over me. ‘We were bridesmaids, for goodness sake. What kind of friend does that make me?’

  ‘Oh, don’t be so silly,’ she said, smiling up at me, her voice breaking slightly. ‘Stop punishing yourself, Alice. We all have an awful lot going on. I only remembered yesterday. It’s my fault; I should have called you.’ She rubbed my arm. ‘I suppose I just assumed he’d have mentioned it to you.’

  I shook my head sadly. ‘I’d been wondering whether something was up, actually.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her tone a mixture of concern and surprise.

  ‘He’s just been so quiet lately. I haven’t been able to drag him out for a drink in almost three weeks. He’s turned me down twice – said it was work. But that doesn’t usually stop him.’ I looked at her miserably. ‘I was beginning to think I might have upset him in some way.’

  ‘What rubbish,’ she tutted, before adding more gently, ‘But how about I ask Craig to call him? And maybe the four of us can go for a drink. Or five of us.’

  ‘Five?’

  ‘Romy’s planning to visit soon. I’m sure she’d love a chance to catch-up with you and Jon.’

  Despite my mood, I managed a smile. Rosemary – or Romy, as she was known to all – was Miriam’s younger sister, of whom she was ferociously protective and justifiably proud. She was a woman men adored and women treated with caution; before being won over by her gentle personality and the fact that she was more embarrassed, than flattered, by her hordes of male admirers. Romy and Jon got on very well, and I knew he’d enjoy seeing her as much as I would.

  ‘That’d be nice,’ I said.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, smiling. ‘Don’t worry about it. He’s fine. He’s got through two other wedding anniversaries and he’ll get through this one too.’

  I nodded again. ‘I know. I just feel dreadful for forgetting.’

  ‘Well don’t. You’re a wonderful friend to him – the best he’s got. And the best one I’ve got too, for that matter.’ She kissed my cheek, turned up her coat collar and became suddenly brisk. ‘Now, remember to email everyone about the next meeting. Did Abs give you her book choice?’

  I nodded. ‘Ethan Frome. I’ll email now, before I forget.’

  ‘Ethan Frome…’ She looked thoughtful for a moment before smiling brightly. ‘Don’t think I know that one. But I’ll let you go and get on with sorting that out. Night, Alice,’ she said. And with that, she turned and walked away up the steps and out of sight.

  I closed the door behind her and then, still feeling undeniably flat, I fetched my laptop from the kitchen table, returned to the living room, flopped down on the sofa and clicked on my emails. I was surprised to see one from Abs, sent just ten minutes earlier, and I opened it with interest.

  From: a.walker@brisecollege.bristol.gov.uk

  To: a.waites@mooredesign.co.uk

  Subject: Re: This evening

  Alice!

  You’ll never guess what! Got home and had to send out rehearsal schedules for the school play. Hope you can come to that, by the way. All going incredibly, brilliantly well, except that Fagin broke his leg in three places falling off his bicycle last week. Poor sausage. It needed an op to pin it and chances are he’ll now have to wear flares, which aren’t very Victorian – but hey ho, never mind.

  But anyway, was on the computer and thought, I know! I’ll email Hugh about Alice! So I did and he replied within five minutes! He’s free either next Saturday pm for coffee or next tue or wed after work for a drink. Just let me know which suits best!

  Mwa,

  Abs

  X

  I smiled, unsurprised by the fact that she had wasted no time in contacting Hugh. And I would have loved to share in her excitement and enthusiasm, but at that moment found myself unable to summon up anything more than a sense of affectionate amusement at the thought of her making Fagin wear bell-bottoms.

  I sighed and decided that maybe bed was the best option right now. I would just send a quick email about the next book group meeting and then call it a day.

  I opened a new email and began to type.

  From: a.waites@mooredesign.co.uk

  To: mims@familymarshall.plus.com, jon.durham@SynergySolutions.co.uk, c.golding@skyblue.co.uk, s.carter@mooredesign.co.uk, a.walker@brisecollege.bristol.gov.uk

  Subject: Book Group

  Hi everybody,

  It was lovely to see Abs, Connie and Miriam this evening. Sophie and Jon, it was very quiet (Sophie) and unintellectual (Jon) without you. You were missed.

  I stopped typing, leaving the cursor flashing mid-sentence, and stared fixedly at the screen, feeling not only low about the forgotten wedding anniversary, but now also conscious of a vague, but growing, sense of emptiness – of something lacking. Worse still, I had no idea what lay behind it.

  I thought back to Abs’ email about Hugh, and to the conversation about relationships earlier in the evening, wondering if that was what was troubling me. But I found myself genuinely unbothered by the prospect of either dating or not dating. I didn’t feel any pressing need to go looking for a boyfriend, but at the same time I didn’t mind if Abs and the others wanted to introduce me to their friends; I was happy enough to show willing and see where things led. On top of that I was, I reasoned, fit, healthy and enjoying life. I had a fun job, great friends, a father I adored, and day-to-day I felt busy, fulfilled and relaxed.

  So what, I thought, frowning at the screen, was the problem?

  I sighed wearily and rubbed my eyes, before deciding not to dwell on feelings I had no hope of resolving as midnight rapidly approached. Instead, I told myself, I would, as my mother always used to recommend, focus on positive positives – happy things of which I was absolutely certain – including the fact that I had a caring, well-intentioned group of friends, for whom I was very grateful.

  I resumed typing.

  Off to bed now, but I’d just like to add that I feel very lucky to have you as friends and I love you very much. I appreciate everything you do for me, including all offers to help me find my Mr Right! Thank you and I faithfully promise not to stand-up any recommended gentlemen.

  Alice

  X

  Then feeling, I thought, a little better, I hit send and headed to bed.

  Chapter 3

  Sophie tutted and picked up the phone. ‘Hello, David Moore Interior Design. Sophie Carter speaking. How can I help?’

  I looked at her enquiringly, as she rolled her eyes and stuck two fingers up at the receiver. She had returned to work that morning, following her two-week holiday in Mauritius, looking toned, tanned and, I thought, considerably younger than me, despite being the same age. My mood sank a little at the recollection that the only break I had so far booked was an overnight stay with Dad in The Cotswolds in June. I was looking forward to it, and I knew I would enjoy it, but it was hardly two weeks in Mauritius.

  I wa
tched as Sophie, with some effort, arranged her features into a smile. ‘Oh hello, Eleanor,’ she said brightly. ‘No. Delivery of the curtains is tomorrow. You’ll remember that I did ask you whether you wanted—’ She suddenly stopped talking and stared at the phone. ‘And a very good day to you too, Ms Black,’ she said, replacing the phone in its holder with an angry click. ‘God that woman is so bloody rude. She makes me want to scream.’ She paused, took a deep breath, picked up her coffee and leaned back in the green velvet armchair in which she was currently lounging. ‘It’s just a good job we work in such calming surroundings,’ she said more quietly.

  I smiled and looked around me. She was right. I loved the domestic feel of our small Clifton offices; the cosy-chic lamps, rugs and armchairs chosen by David, reflected not only the warmth and friendliness of his personality, but also the day-to-day working atmosphere.

  ‘We’re very lucky,’ I said.

  ‘We are,’ she agreed. ‘But, come on.’ She glanced at the art deco clock which took centre-stage on the fireplace to her right, whilst sucking desperately on a small white tube, a nicotine inhaler, which she held in her tanned left hand. ‘We’ve got thirty minutes of lunchtime left before David gets back. Dish.’

  I stopped smiling and bit into my chicken salad sandwich. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’ I mumbled.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Everything, of course. The way Abs tells it, you and Hugh are mad keen – her words – on each other. Oh and Miriam said that even if he doesn’t pan out, Connie has someone for you.’

  I stopped chewing and stared at her. ‘What?’

  ‘Connie has—’

  ‘No, no.’ I interrupted. ‘What did Abs say about Hugh?’

  She shrugged. ‘She said that you had a coffee with Hugh and that you found him really fascinating. I got the impression that he’s planning a date for the pair of you. But apparently he’s on sabbatical, filming a battle re-enactment in the Highlands with the BBC at the moment, so…’

  At this point, I interrupted her flow with a coughing fit, after inhaling a large chunk of chicken salad sandwich in a horrified gasp.

  ‘Christ, are you ok?’ Sophie sat forward in her chair, as if about to get up.

  I nodded, finished coughing and reached for the bottle of water on my desk. ‘I am not mad keen on Hugh and he was not mad keen on me,’ I said, taking a gulp of water. ‘In fact, I got the distinct impression he was there just to get the carpenter’s phone number and couldn’t wait to get away. The pair of us lasted twenty minutes before we made our excuses. The man chops up brains and puts all the little bits in jars. I’m not going to enjoy watching him cut up steak on a dinner date, am I?’ I shuddered at the memory of the gruesome surgical details shared by Hugh over coffee, when I had made the huge mistake of asking him to tell me a little bit about his job.

  ‘Oh, cheer up.’ Sophie pushed back a stray coil of newly sun-lightened, blonde hair from her eyes. ‘It’s not like he actually kills the poor sods who end up on his slab, is it? And I don’t know what you said to Abs but she thought the whole thing went brilliantly.’

  ‘What?’ I looked her in disbelief. ‘All I said was that Hugh seemed nice and that his hobby was very unusual. I asked her if she’d ever been to a battle re-enactment and she said no and I said we must go some time. That was it,’ I emphasised. ‘I did not say anything about wanting to see him again. And it was obvious that he wasn’t at all interested in me.’

  ‘Not according to Abs,’ she smiled. ‘You clearly underestimate your charms. Hey, but I tell you what,’ she leaned forward conspiratorially, ‘he’s bloody good-looking, isn’t he?’

  I narrowed my eyes at her. ‘How do you know what he looks like?’

  ‘Because I asked Abs to text me a picture of him, of course.’ She folded her arms and looked thoughtful. ‘He reminded me of that Sherlock Holmes guy. What’s his name? Benedict Bumbertwitch – only with less squinty eyes.’ She opened her brown eyes to their full extent, giving herself the appearance of a long-lashed owl. ‘I’d have certainly given him the benefit of the doubt for longer than twenty minutes.’

  I stared at her. ‘I can’t believe you actually asked Abs for a photo.’

  ‘Anyway, anyway,’ she waved a hand dismissively, ‘tell me more about that Mr Right email you sent to us all. I loved that. Exactly how pissed were you?’

  ‘I wasn’t remotely pissed,’ I protested. ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘Oh come off it,’ she laughed. ‘Telling everyone you love them in a group email? You’re not telling me you were sober.’

  ‘I had meant to tell everyone what the next book was. But I was actually just extremely tired,’ I muttered, consigning the remainder of my sandwich to the bin, ‘and trying to be positive.’

  She wagged a finger at me. ‘I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: no texting or emailing when you’re knackered or pissed. Remember when you sent Rebecca Warner that gossip about Rebecca Warner’s husband being a cross-dresser?’

  I eyed her coldly. ‘Shut up.’

  ‘I’m just trying to make sure the lesson sinks in this time. But, anyway,’ she took another drag on the tube, ‘what was actually said about meeting Mr Right at book group?’

  ‘It was suggested,’ I sighed, ‘that I might show more enthusiasm for dating if I was meeting friends of friends.’

  She looked doubtful. ‘I suppose you’d be more embarrassed about standing someone up, but more enthusiastic?’

  ‘And then Miriam asked if I thought Eddie was a problem for me. But I don’t think he is. At least I hope he’s not.’

  ‘Nah,’ she said. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t have blamed you if that shit had put you off men for life but I think…’ She suddenly leaned towards me, before just as rapidly sitting back in the armchair and signalling a change of subject with another wave of her hand. ‘But who cares what I think? It’s probably just bollocks anyway. But hey –’

  I opened my mouth to ask her to tell me what she thought my issue might be, but she didn’t pause for breath.

  ‘– but, hey,’ she sniggered, ‘I bumped into that ripped carpenter again this morning. You know, the one we’re using on the Eleanor Black project.’

  ‘You were at Eleanor’s this morning?’ I asked, deciding that I was happy to let the previous conversation, together with its references to Eddie, slide. ‘I thought David was down for that visit. She usually insists on seeing the boss.’

  ‘I know. But I offered to pop in and tell her he was sick and he didn’t say no. I don’t blame him. You know how she’s got boobs like watermelons?’

  I nodded my acceptance of this description of Eleanor Black’s breasts.

  ‘Well,’ she continued, ‘whenever David goes round, she wears a push-up bra, a low-cut top and leans over him at every opportunity. And then she goes on and on about the trials and tribulations of being an attractive divorcee and how what she needs is a strong man to help her keep all her wolfish admirers at bay. The poor guy’s terrified. She was expecting him today and when I turned up she was actually wearing a negligee, for God’s sake. Gave me some crap about feeling under the weather.’

  ‘Oh no!’ I put a horrified hand to my mouth.

  ‘Oh yes, but don’t worry.’ She took another drag on the tube and then waved a hand in front of her face, as if clearing imaginary smoke. ‘I’ve sorted it for him.’

  I experienced a feeling of mild dread. ‘And how have you done that exactly?’ I asked.

  ‘Easy,’ she shrugged. ‘I just kept going on about the fact that he’s gay.’

  ‘Er…’ I hesitated. ‘Even though that’s not actually a fact and he’s not actually gay?’

  She nodded. ‘Yep.’

  I sighed. ‘And have you told David you did that?’

  ‘Are you insane?’ She looked at me aghast. ‘That kind of thing would really panic him, Alice.’

  ‘Yes, it would.’ I picked up my coffee. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  ‘Anyw
ay, it did the trick,’ she said proudly. ‘Eleanor said she’s happy to deal with you or me in future.’ She saluted me with her cup and grinned. ‘Another Mad Hatter situation averted.’

  Hatty Taylor, or Mad Hatter, as Sophie called her, was David’s most recent, and undoubtedly most unstable, ex-girlfriend. As well as funding her art classes, Pilates classes and a Reiki healing course, he had, during their five-month relationship, completely redesigned and refurbished both her living room and bedroom. Her parasitic relationship with him had continued only until Hatty decided that what she really needed in life was a new bathroom, at which point she had dumped David in favour of the owner of the high-end ‘Tubs ‘n’ Tiles’, in Cotham. Not that David was unhappy with her decision to end the relationship. He had wanted to do that very thing from week two but had been anxious regarding the possibility of hurting Hatty’s feelings. When they did finally break up, he had insisted upon marking the occasion by taking Sophie and me out for champagne. I reflected now upon the fact that, in the four years that I had worked for him, he had dated, without exception, only domineering harpies. For some reason, despite his breeding, money, talent and attractive physical appearance – he was tall, dark and, as Sophie put it, anxiously handsome – David seemed to lack the confidence to ask a woman out, and consequently found himself serially manoeuvred into relationships with highly assertive types, unafraid to take the initiative. Sophie had told him on many occasions that she would be happy to act as his agent and deliver the sad news required to end these invariably miserable liaisons, or to do the dump, as she put it. But he had always declined her offers – hence her recent, more clandestine, approach to managing his personal relationships.

  ‘Anyway, where were we?’ Sophie was looking at me intently, whilst tapping out an impatient rhythm on her desk with her aubergine, manicured nails.

  ‘The ripped carpenter?’

  ‘Ah, yes!’ Her face lit up at the thought. ‘Plays hockey, he was telling me. God, I bet he’s clever with his stick.’