It Was You Page 6

  ‘You are joking,’ I protested.

  Abs shook her head. ‘You’re being modest. You and Hugh are far too clever for me. So many things just go completely over my head. Remember when you said he had the personality of one of his corpses,’ I shifted uncomfortably on my beanbag, ‘and I just couldn’t quite tell whether you were joking or not.’

  All eyes turned towards me and I felt myself redden. I opened my mouth with the intention of acknowledging my poor delivery, and reassuring Abs regarding her intelligence levels, but Miriam beat me to it.

  ‘For goodness sake, Abs,’ she said. ‘How can you say that? You’re the brightest and most academic amongst us.’ She pointed at herself. ‘Look at me: intellect stagnating, weight increasing. I’m turning into a full-time frump in a frock. I put this dress on to come out,’ she pulled at the neckline of her wrap-around dress, ‘and I said to Craig, “I look like a poorly-constructed sausage in this.” And he laughed and said, “Yes, you do, actually”.’ She smiled in an uncertain way and, to my horror, I realised that she was on the verge of tears. There was a general chorus of compliments around the room regarding her appearance and I reached up and squeezed her arm.

  ‘Stop fishing,’ I said. ‘You know you’re fabulous.’

  ‘Oh, it’s fine.’ She cleared her throat and patted my hand. ‘I’m well aware that I’m past my prime. If I ever had one,‘ she added quietly.

  There followed a moment’s uneasy silence, which was suddenly, and to my enormous relief, broken by the sound of a duck quacking loudly from Abs’ end of the sofa.

  ‘Ooh, sorry,’ she said, shuffling forward and reaching into the back pocket of her jeans. ‘It’s a text. Thought I’d put it on vibrate.’ Grateful for the opportunity to focus on someone other than Miriam, we all watched as she extricated her phone and looked at the screen, her eyes widening in excitement. ‘Ooh, you’ll never guess what!’ she exclaimed, looking round the room, before fixing her gaze on me.

  A trickle of dread ran down my spine. I wasn’t entirely sure what was coming, but I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn’t going to like it.

  ‘Hugh…’ began Abs, providing immediate confirmation that my early sense of foreboding was well-placed. ‘Hugh is back and Alice…’ She paused teasingly once again, before delivering a spectacular coup de grace to any lingering hope I may have had that her news might be uplifting, ‘…he’s planning something brilliant for you.’

  Four years ago

  ‘Oh, don’t look like that,’ said Lydia, smiling at me from across the table. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds.’

  I nodded, avoiding further eye contact by looking around the small, cool basement of the Clifton wine bar, which we currently had all to ourselves. ‘I’m just thinking it through,’ I said, attempting a smile, whilst feeling stunned; her words having forced a recollection of my mother’s cancer diagnosis five years earlier. I glanced across at Miriam. She was smiling, but her expression had taken on a glazed quality.

  ‘Patient recovery statistics for this kind of lymphoma are really good,’ continued Lydia steadily. ‘And treatment is going to start immediately. Everybody’s very optimistic.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Miriam. ‘You’re twenty-eight, young and fit and they’re not wasting any time, which is great.’ She looked at me.

  ‘When is your first session?’ I asked, fighting the onset of tears with a practical enquiry.

  ‘Next Thursday.’ Lydia smiled. ‘And I’m honestly fine about it. I just want to get on with things now.’ She paused and her smile fell a little. ‘It’s Jon I’m worried about,’ she said. ‘I reassure him that I’m OK and he tries to look reassured but…’ Her breath came in a little gasp and suddenly, the possibility of tears from her, stifled my own selfish ones.

  ‘We’ll reassure him too,’ I said, reaching out and taking her hand.

  ‘Definitely,’ said Miriam. ‘You mustn’t worry.’

  ‘Miriam is right,’ I said. ‘Please don’t worry, because Jon would really worry if he thought that you were worrying about him being worried.’

  Miriam turned and looked at me blankly. ‘What?’

  I smiled. ‘I got on a wheel of worry and just couldn’t get off.’

  Lydia laughed. ‘I love you both so much,’ she said. And as Miriam and I echoed the sentiment and the three of us enveloped each other in a mutual hug, I maintained my smile, remaining determinedly within the moment, and refusing to think about what may be to come.

  Chapter 8

  I was feeling much better about all things Hugh by the time I arrived at Moore Interior Design the morning after the book group meeting at Connie’s. I still wasn’t exactly looking forward to seeing him again, or to whatever he might have planned for the pair of us, but Sophie, I had decided, was right. It would be completely wrong of me to dismiss him after just one, very brief, encounter and I was determined to stick to the promises I had made to my friends and to Dad, to remain open to all new possibilities and, more specifically, not to stand anybody up. Consequently, I was in relatively positive mood as I keyed in the security code, leaned heavily against the stubborn, red front door of the small Victorian terrace house in which our offices were located, and entered.

  My sense of well-being, however, was to prove very short-lived.

  ‘Unbelievable! Absolutely un… bloody… believable!’ Sophie’s voice rang out and reached me immediately, as it did most workday mornings. Usually, however, it was the sound of her raucous laughter, or a high-volume, highly-efficient, first-thing call to a client which greeted me on arrival. Anger was rare.

  I walked along the narrow hallway, past Lewis Twinney Legal, the law firm which occupied the ground floor, and up the stairs. I paused and peered in through the partially-open office door, deciding it best to try and discover the nature of the disturbance, or disagreement, before entering.

  ‘Honestly, David!’ I could see Sophie, standing by her desk and in full flow. ‘What do I have to do? Tell me. What do I have to do? I had warned her off. You were safe. All you had to do was say, “Yes, that’s right. I’m gay.” But, no.’ She threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘You’re thirty-seven, David. Thirty-seven! And yet still not enough of a man to say you’re gay.’

  At this point, I heard a brief, low mumbling; not dissimilar to the kind of noise a dog makes when dreaming. I assumed it to be David, attempting to put forward a case. But whatever kind of defence he offered, Sophie was unimpressed. ‘Oh don’t give me that! That’s bollocks. Utter, utter bollocks. You are not drawn to her. I saw you when you were with her. You did everything but pat yourself down for a piece of garlic and a silver stake. The woman is a bloody nightmare. You know it and I know it.’

  At this point, she stepped out of my line of sight and I took a deep breath and entered.

  David was seated at Sophie’s desk and now leaning back in her chair at a precarious angle. She, meanwhile, was bending menacingly over him, her face just a few inches from his. At around 6ft tall, he usually towered above her, even though she habitually wore heels. She always, therefore, made him sit down for a telling-off. Both turned to look at me as I walked in; Sophie wore an expression of enraged despair, whilst David looked like a man in need of a new pair of trousers.

  ‘Thank God, you’re here, Alice,’ said Sophie, straightening up.

  ‘Yes, thank God,’ said David, adjusting the jacket of his impeccably-tailored light brown suit.

  ‘Will you try talking some sense into him?’ Sophie pointed at David. ‘Because, you know, I’m really on the verge of washing my hands of him.’ She whirled round, stomped over to the hat-stand and unhooked her jacket. ‘I need a coffee. A proper one. I’ll be back in five.’ And, with that, she swept from the office, slamming the door noisily behind her.

  I turned to David. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on Sophie’s desk and resting his head in his hands.

  ‘Well?’ I said.

  He looked up at me sadly and opened his mouth to speak, only to be inter
rupted by Sophie’s sudden return.

  ‘Can I get either of you two something?’ she asked quietly, poking her head round the door. ‘Cappuccino and a croissant, Alice?’

  I smiled and nodded. ‘That’d be great, thanks.’

  She looked at David. ‘I’ll get you an Americano, David.’ She withdrew her head. ‘And one of those iced flapjacks you like,’ she added, before closing the door once again, this time with a quiet click.

  I hung up my coat, placed my bag on the floor by my desk and sat down. David’s position and expression were unchanged.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘Or do you not want to talk about it?’

  He sighed, leaned back in Sophie’s chair and addressed the ceiling. ‘Eleanor Black phoned me at home on Friday night…’

  ‘Oh, David…’

  He didn’t pause but instead continued in the manner of an unhappy participant in a school play, desperate to recite his lines, and get it all over with, as quickly as possible. ‘She said she was planning a house party for the first weekend in May, when the redesign is complete, and thought I might like to come along and network. I said thank you for the invitation and that I would check my diary. She said: “I didn’t realise you were gay.” I said: “Neither did I.” She said: “Your colleague said you were gay.” I said: “There must be some misunderstanding. I am not homosexual.” She said: “I have some concerns regarding the Aga. There’s a new restaurant on Chandos Road, I’d like to go there. Why don’t we kill two birds with one stone?” And, well…’ He ground to a halt, concluding his speech with a forlorn shrug.

  ‘Well, maybe it’s not too late to get out of it. I could…’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You’ve already been?’

  ‘Yes. We went on Saturday night. Sophie knows because she just took a call from Eleanor confirming that she’s free tonight.’

  ‘And had you asked Eleanor if she was free tonight?’

  He shook his head again.

  ‘Oh,’ I switched on the Mac, ‘well, obviously Sophie has already had a go at you – so I’m not going to add to that.’ I looked at him. ‘But I really don’t know why you do it to yourself, David. You’re not pretending to be attracted to the woman, are you? Because I’ve met her and, as far as I can see, she’s a cross between a moneyed Bet Lynch and…’ I hesitated, before adding in an undertone, ‘a viper.’

  ‘I didn’t quite catch that,’ David transferred his gaze from the ceiling to me, ‘fortunately.’

  I smiled. ‘Look, it’s your life but I’m just not certain why you keep going out with women who are… like that. Especially when you could do so much better.’

  ‘Could I?’ he sighed.

  ‘Oh, please. You know you could,’ I said. ‘So, anyway, are you going out with Ms Black tonight?’

  He groaned. ‘I’m not sure. I’ve got to phone her now. Sophie’s told her that I’m attending a Zumba class…’ He paused and looked across at me mournfully. ‘…with several men friends.’

  I laughed and he joined in. ‘You know she does it because she loves you.’

  He stood up from Sophie’s chair and walked towards his office. ‘Yes. Tough love, they call it, don’t they?’ he murmured, before offering me a tired smile, entering his office and pulling the door to behind him.

  I returned my attention to my screen but was delighted to be distracted from the task of dealing with emails, within just ten minutes, by the ring of the telephone. I picked it up gratefully. ‘Hello, Moore Interior Design. Alice Waites speaking.’

  ‘Hi, Alice. How are you?’

  ‘Hello!’ I said, adopting my best delighted-to-hear-from-you-despite-being-clueless-as-to-your-identity tone. ‘I’m just fine, thank you. How can I help?’

  ‘Well, er…’ The caller hesitated and laughed; a laugh which immediately transformed my smile into a frozen, horrified grimace. ‘It’s great to hear you sounding on such good form,’ he continued. ‘I know it’s been a while but…’ he laughed again, ‘I was wondering if you’d be up for a drink. I’m coming to Bristol.’

  It was at this point that Sophie returned. She entered the office, having clearly begun an inaudible conversation with me halfway up the stairs. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just that he winds me up. It would have been so easy to say, “Yes, I’m gay.” It was on a plate for…’ She paused and looked at me; her face a mixture of concern and puzzlement. I sat motionless and in silence, the phone pressed against my ear. ‘What is it?’ she mouthed, placing a tray of drinks and a brown paper bag on my desk. ‘Who’s on the phone?’

  I said nothing, staring at her dumbly, whilst she gently relieved me of the phone. ‘Hello,’ she said, ‘this is Sophie Carter. I’m afraid Alice has a problem with her line, so she’s transferred the call. How can I help?’ There was a pause as she listened to the voice on the other end of the line and I watched her expression harden. ‘Right,’ she said tonelessly, picking up a pen from my desk and beginning to write, ‘well, I’ll pass that on. No, she can’t, I’m afraid. A client has arrived and she’s dealing with them now. As I said, I’ll pass all that on. Bye.’ She hung up the phone, before adding, ‘You lowlife bastard.’ She walked to my side of the desk, crouched down, took my hand and looked up at me. ‘You OK, Alice?’ she asked gently. I nodded and she placed the Post-it note, with its scribbled numbers, in front of me. ‘That’s Eddie’s new mobile number and that one is his landline. He’s in Bristol the week after next.’ She squeezed my hand. ‘Are you sure you’re OK? I’d be more convinced if you said something. Or blinked, maybe.’ She smiled. ‘Just a blink?’

  I returned the smile and performed an exaggerated blink. ‘I’m OK,’ I said at last. Although, of course, we both knew that I wasn’t.

  Three years ago

  ‘Remember when we first met?’ Lydia closed her eyes and leaned back in one of the pair of deep red armchairs, which Jon had moved from lounge to bedroom the day before.

  I settled myself in the other chair and picked up my mug of coffee from the low, dark wood table which sat between us – another recent arrival from downstairs. ‘Of course I do,’ I said. ‘My first impression was that you were scarily organised.’ I sipped my coffee. ‘And I was right.’

  She opened her eyes and laughed, and for a moment I saw not the frail twenty-nine year-old, exhausted and disfigured by medication, but the smiling eighteen year-old university student, beckoning me into her room.

  ‘I think about it a lot,’ she said. ‘I was so grateful to you that day. It was such a kind, brave thing to do – to knock on my door like that.’

  I smiled. ‘I was lonely and desperate.’

  She laughed again, before starting to cough. I put down my coffee, stood up and walked the few steps to her chair. ‘Here,’ I said, ‘let me move that pillow for you, it’s slipped.’ She leaned forward and I adjusted the pillow.

  ‘Thank you, Alice,’ she said, as I returned to my chair and sat back down. ‘And I don’t just mean for plumping my pillow.’

  I had been reaching for my coffee but now stopped short and looked up at her, hearing a change in her voice which left me afraid of what she might say next. Unable to speak, I simply shook my head.

  ‘We met with the oncologist on Monday,’ she said softly. ‘There hasn’t been the progress they hoped for. And I just want to enjoy the life I have left.’

  I continued to gaze at her; reluctant to accept what I knew she was telling me. I widened my eyes and tilted my head back slightly in a failed attempt to prevent the escape of a tear. I wiped it away, under guise of scratching my cheek.

  ‘But,’ she continued, without hesitation, ‘I have something important I’d like to talk to you about.’

  I found my voice. ‘Like that wasn’t important,’ I said quietly.

  She smiled and took a deep breath. ‘Jon would like to join the book group.’

  I blinked, the shock nature of the proposal providing a fleeting, but welcome, distraction.

  ‘He wants to join
the book group?’ I echoed, unable to keep a note of surprise from my voice.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ve discussed it, and he’d like to join. Not right away but…’ she paused, ‘…maybe in a few months.’

  I fought a renewed urge to cry, determined to be supportive, while feeling devastated at the possibility of being so soon without her.

  ‘He’s promised me he’ll go and,’ she looked down at her hands, ‘if you’re all happy for him to join, I’d love you to encourage him in that if…,’ she added, ‘…if he ever seems reluctant.’ She looked up. ‘I don’t want him to be alone or to feel alone, Alice,’ she said, her expression suddenly and agonisingly anxious. ‘That’s my only worry. My only worry,’ she emphasised.

  I stood up and walked to her for a second time, this time crouching at the side of her chair. ‘We’ll make it work,’ I said. ‘I promise you, Lydia. He won’t be alone.’

  She reached out and stroked my hair; her features softening back into their usual calm. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Again.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered and then lowering my head, unable to be strong any longer, I began to cry. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘But I can’t pretend this is OK. I can’t pretend to myself that you don’t matter to me. Even for a moment. Even to be helpful.’

  I leaned forward and we held each other, neither of us saying anything more. We remained that way for some time, before I eventually forced myself to let her go. Reaching for a box of tissues on the bedside cabinet, I took one and then passed the box to Lydia. She took a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

  ‘So, anyway,’ I said blowing my nose and sitting down on the bed. ‘Have you explained to Jon that the book group is just a cover for getting together and drinking lots of wine?’

  Lydia sighed, closed her eyes and leaned back in the armchair once more. ‘Oh yes,’ she said quietly, now smiling to herself. ‘He’s quite clear about that.’