It Was You Page 7

  Chapter 9

  ‘OK, so you called Eddie back and he said…?’ Sophie glanced towards the long bar of The Albion, where David was buying our drinks. We hadn’t had an opportunity to discuss Eddie earlier in the day, thanks to the inconvenient scheduling of meetings out of the office, so Sophie had proposed drinks after work. It had been a determined invitation that I hadn’t even attempted to refuse, feeling reluctant to go home to an empty flat and dwell on the very brief, and yet supremely depressing, telephone conversation I had snatched with Eddie that afternoon. I had also agreed to her suggestion that we invite David along, confident that he would provide a steadying voice of reason, and prevent either Sophie or myself from becoming over emotional in our analysis of the situation. Nevertheless, despite agreeing to come out, I couldn’t claim to be looking forward to the conversation.

  ‘…and he said?’ Sophie repeated, looking at me expectantly and then back at David. ‘Actually, we’d better wait until David sits down, or he’ll just be forever asking annoying catch-up questions. I’ll go and hurry him along.’ She stood up and went to help him. I couldn’t hear their conversation but he shook his head in a faux despairing manner and laughed. In spite of my mood, I found myself smiling at the fascinating and, at times, ridiculous nature of their relationship. He was eminently shockable and she was frighteningly frank. He was both terrified and fond of her in equal measure and she, despite being five years his junior, scolded and protected him as a mother would, whilst at the same time respecting him utterly professionally, and working her socks off for him on a daily basis, as did I. Despite an only partially-suppressed conviction that my job was too much fun to be “proper”, I did work hard for David. And our joint efforts as a threesome seemed to pay off; we regularly had to decline offers of work, putting us in the commercially enviable position of being able to cherry-pick our clients.

  David and Sophie now returned to the table. He sat down, still laughing, while she handed me a large glass of white wine. ‘Here,’ she said, sitting down and nudging me amiably with her elbow, ‘get that down you and tell us all.’ She leaned eagerly towards me and rubbed her hands. But, despite the flippancy of her body language, I knew she was worried. I tried to sound reassuringly unconcerned.

  ‘Well, as you know, Eddie is in Bristol in a couple of weeks’ time. He’s here on business, and staying for two nights in that boutique hotel on Welsh Back. He wants to meet up there for a drink.’ I shrugged. ‘That’s it, really.’ I picked up my glass and took a large gulp.

  ‘And, er…’ began David, ‘are you going to go?’

  They both looked at me questioningly. ‘Well, I think I will. I mean,’ I took another large draught of wine, ‘there’s enough water under the bridge. I don’t really see a problem.’ They exchanged glances in a rapid, anxious manner. ‘What?’ I asked. ‘Why are you looking at each other like that? It would be churlish not to go, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I just think I’d want to know whether he had anything particular in mind to discuss first,’ said Sophie.

  ‘Like what? We’ve got no matters outstanding,’ I said, feeling defensive, but not entirely sure of what. ‘Maybe he just wants to apologise.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, if he does, it’d be about bloody time.’

  ‘And how is that kind of comment supposed to help, exactly?’ I asked, now feeling irritated. ‘He suggested a drink and I felt I had to say yes, to avoid looking twisted and bitter. That’s the situation.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Sophie, placing a calming hand on mine. ‘It’s just that I really, really hate the bastard.’

  ‘And whilst I might not quite have put it quite in those terms,’ said David, shifting in his seat and looking uncomfortable, as he always did whenever Sophie used what he called coarse or man language, ‘I do have to agree with Sophie’s sentiment there, Alice. I would be wary of his purpose.’

  I sighed. ‘He’s not exactly my favourite person in the world either, you know,’ I said. ‘But I don’t want to…’ I hesitated, uncertain of my feelings, ‘I guess I just don’t want to live in fear of him. I’d like to be able to shrug him off… to not go into shock when he calls. I think I need closure.’

  ‘And if he turns up and says: Darling, I don’t know what came over me. But now I know it’s you I want. Let’s try again?’ Sophie avoided eye contact as she spoke, focusing instead on her vodka and tonic.

  I shook my head. ‘He’s not going to say that, Sophie.’

  ‘I was just hoping for an “I’ll say no” from you, actually,’ she said, looking up at me.

  I tutted. ‘OK, then. I’ll say no.’

  She smiled, squeezed my hand and then turned her attention to David. ‘And you could practise saying that a bit too, you know. It’s not that hard. It’s just a “nuh” sound, followed by an “o”. Very easy.’

  ‘Oh for goodness sake,’ said David, sounding as close as he ever did to exasperated. ‘I went for dinner with Eleanor once. And I said “nuh”, followed by an “o” to early drinks with her this evening, didn’t I?’

  Sophie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean, you said no to early drinks?’ She flopped back in her chair and shook her head despairingly. ‘My God. You’re meeting her after this, aren’t you?’

  ‘And so what if I am?’ said David, attempting defiance. He leaned towards Sophie and I found myself suddenly quite impressed. Sophie too, seemed slightly taken aback. ‘It would,’ he continued, ‘have been extremely rude to say no. And, who knows, her dress sense might improve and her bullish nature might wane and I might, in the future, come to find her attractive.’ I groaned internally and stopped being impressed. There was a moment’s silence, during which Sophie sat up and eyed David in the manner of a lioness spotting a three-legged baby zebra at just around teatime. I spoke rapidly to prevent a kill.

  ‘Look,’ I said, holding up a hand to indicate that no interruptions would be tolerated, ‘David has agreed to a less than perfect drinks date, as have I. There’s nothing to be done about that now. We just have to try to make the best of the situations we find ourselves in.’

  Sophie opened her mouth to raise, I assumed, some sort of objection, but then clearly thought better of it which, to be fair, she often did. ‘Yes, well, actually,’ she said after a moment, ‘I have a plan which might help you with Eleanor, David.’

  He looked up from his drink. ‘Does it involve me claiming to be gay?’ he asked quickly.

  ‘No, it does not,’ she said.

  ‘And does it involve me…’ he seemed to be searching for words, ‘behaving in a manner with another man which might make somebody assume that I was gay?’

  ‘No, it does not,’ said Sophie, so calmly that I wondered whether that idea had indeed crossed her mind.

  ‘OK,’ said David, appearing to relax slightly, ‘tell me your plan.’

  ‘Well,’ Sophie beamed, ‘how about we all come to Mrs Melons’ reveal party?’ She folded her arms and sat back in her chair.

  There was a pause, during which David’s perpetually puzzled expression deepened. I too was struggling to spot a plan.

  I gave up. ‘Is that the plan?’ I queried. ‘The entire plan?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she tutted. ‘I could bring Graham and maybe you could bring Jon.’

  ‘OK, and is that the entire plan?’ I pressed.

  ‘Pretty much,’ Sophie shrugged. ‘I really think we could be a big help to David.’

  David and I looked at each other. He spoke for us both. ‘You want to go to a party with free food and alcohol, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Sophie.

  ‘And so, really, it’s not a plan to help me at all, is it?’ he said.

  ‘It’s a help everybody kind of plan,’ she said brightly. ‘Alice and I can protect you from Mrs Melons and drop further hints about you being gay and…’

  ‘I don’t like this plan,’ said David. ‘I’d rather you had a different plan.’

  She sighed. ‘Well, h
ow about we just come along and make it a more relaxed, enjoyable evening for you?’

  ‘Without the gay element?’

  ‘Yes, without the gay element.’ She emphasised the last word, swapping her usual Essex twang for David’s boarding school drawl.

  David smiled. ‘That sounds rather nice. I’ll put it to Mrs Mel… to Eleanor.’ He looked at me. ‘What do you think, Alice?’

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘Actually, maybe I’ll bring Hugh. Dilute our next meeting a bit.’

  Sophie frowned. ‘But I thought Abs said he already had something brilliant planned.’

  ‘I missed a call from him yesterday,’ I said wearily. ‘He left a message but didn’t mention any big plan, so maybe I could suggest this. I’d really prefer to see him in a group.’

  ‘But the thing is,’ said Sophie, ‘I was talking to Jon on the phone the other day and he said he wanted to get out a bit more, now that work has eased up.’

  ‘Did he?’ I asked, feeling surprised. I’d heard little from Jon recently and had assumed his work schedule to be as high-pressure as ever.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sophie, leaning forwards and looking suddenly anxious. ‘But for God’s sake don’t say I mentioned anything.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘But I’ll invite him to the party and then you can still bring Graham.’

  ‘Brill,’ she said, relaxing back into her chair. ‘Cos Graham says he’s very keen to come.’

  ‘And when did he say that?’ asked David.

  ‘This afternoon on the phone.’

  ‘But you’ve only just suggested the idea,’ said David, looking confused. ‘I haven’t discussed it with Eleanor yet.’

  Sophie blinked. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t understand your point, David.’

  He sighed and reached for his drink. ‘Never mind. I’m sure it’ll all be fine.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’ said Sophie, beaming at us both. ‘It’s a marvellous plan.’

  Chapter 10

  Edward Hall was, when I met him, a twenty-eight year-old reporter with the Bristol Evening Post, covering everything from local fêtes to local murders. In addition, he was the restaurant critic for a free magazine, had just completed his first novel and, on the evening we first met, he was very excited to have had his fourth piece accepted for a national glossy men’s mag. I, meanwhile, was twenty-seven, the opposite of driven and clueless as to my preferred career direction.

  I had been working at Moore Interior Design for about a week when Sophie’s short-lived predecessor, Carrie, suggested a pub crawl, followed by clubbing. I had accepted her invitation reluctantly, having noticed the look of fear in my new boss’s eye when she proposed the outing – and this was despite the fact that he hadn’t even been asked to join us. However, reluctant to appear boring and anti-social from the off, I had agreed to go along.

  So it was that I had found myself, six hours later, sitting alone, and largely sober, in a slightly dodgy nightclub I hadn’t visited since my student days. And as midnight approached, I smiled bravely, swayed and waved an arm, in an attempt to show willing, whilst Carrie and her friend, Tara, gyrated on the dance floor and wiped their noses on the backs of their hands in an excited, energetic manner, which suggested they weren’t actually suffering from colds.

  Just when I had decided to fake an emergency call from Dad in order to engineer an exit, Eddie had flopped down next to me, said, ‘I’m not on the pull. I’m just knackered,’ and that, as they say, was that.

  We were a couple for almost three years, living together in the garden flat I had bought with Dad’s help, for two of those. For the first eighteen months of our relationship, I thought Eddie was perfect. For the next eighteen months, I was increasingly doubtful of that fact and, for the final twelve hours of our co-habitation, I recognised him for the complete and utter shit he really was. And not just a momentary shit. An ongoing, long-term shit.

  During our relationship, Eddie was away from home on a regular basis – at least three or four times a month. I suppose if I had been of a more suspicious nature, I might have thought this was unusual for someone with such a local and laptop-based occupation. But he was never away for more than a night or two at a time, and his reasons for absence were always highly plausible and even, as in the case of his regular visits to his last remaining relative, an elderly great aunt in Bournemouth, rather sweet. I had met Great Aunty Mo on a number of occasions and also spoken to her on the phone. She was a lovely, if slightly vague, woman in her seventies. And she was totally besotted with her adoring great nephew, who lavished so much time and attention upon her.

  Trips to see Great Aunty Mo aside, Eddie was partial to the odd lads’ weekend away and he also wangled and accepted as many invitations to book launches and literary gatherings as he could; the latter with the sole purpose of meeting agents and publishers to whom he could push his novel. As it turned out, it was a tactic which paid off, when he eventually landed a small, but significant, publishing deal for his first book and an advance for a second novel, which, by the time our relationship entered its third year, was already close to completion. He was delighted and I was delighted for him. His work for the national glossies continued to increase steadily, thanks, in part at least, to his determined networking and this in turn enabled him to swap his reporting job for a weekly column. All was rosy – professionally, at least.

  On the domestic front, things weren’t quite so great. Although I was far from being unhappy, I felt that Eddie was, at times, a little unforthcoming, both emotionally and socially. He seemed to view any enquiries from my friends about his career and friendships as intrusive, rather than interested, and he had a particularly strained relationship with Sophie, despite the fact that, with the exception of the odd encounter at parties, he saw her only when he popped into the office to meet me for lunch. For her part, Sophie rarely mentioned him and it was this striking lack of expressed opinion which made her disapproval so obvious to me. Eddie, on the other hand, was extremely vocal and unequivocal in his dislike of her, his criticisms beginning almost immediately after her appointment, which was just three months after my own. In contrast, I liked her from day one, and what I saw as Eddie’s unreasonable prejudice was one of the few issues over which he and I actually argued. On all other matters, any concerns I had over Eddie were largely internalised and, I later realised, unacknowledged.

  The end then, when it came, was a shock; our relationship being brought to a sudden and explosive conclusion by one of those coincidences people love to recount in the pub.

  The day of the coincidence, Eddie was away. In fact, he had been away for five days, combining a visit to a literary festival in Oxfordshire, with a cycling break with friends. I meanwhile, was treating Miriam to lunch, followed by drinks, for her birthday, which fell the following week. What she didn’t know, until the morning of the treat, was that we were lunching not in Bristol, but in London. The change of location had been made just twenty-four hours earlier, when Craig had phoned me to say that he had been offered two seats in a shared box for The Woman in Black at The Fortune Theatre the next day. I, of course, said he should take Miriam himself but he refused, claiming that it wasn’t really his type of thing. Instead, he wondered if I would mind re-locating our lunch to London, if he sorted out the train tickets. I thought it a lovely idea and immediately set about booking a pre-theatre lunch.

  The next day, Craig dropped Miriam and I at Temple Meads at 10.15am and we were in London by half past twelve and sitting down to eat in Covent Garden by one-thirty. From there, it was just a two minute walk to The Fortune and we took our seats in the otherwise empty box in good time for the start of the matinee at 3pm.

  ‘These are great seats, aren’t they?’ Miriam opened a Twix and leaned forward over the edge of the box. ‘I wonder when the others will get here.’

  I tapped her shoulder. ‘Remind me of Craig’s friends’ names again.’

  ‘Sharon and Paul,’ she said, sitting up. ‘Hope they’
re not stuck in traffic,’ she added absently.

  ‘I’m sure they’ll be here soon,’ I said.

  She turned to me and smiled. ‘I love this. You always get a little more leg room in a box, don’t you? And I’ve got chocolate.’ She gestured towards her Twix. ‘Do you want half?’ she asked.

  ‘No thanks.’ I reached down into my bag and took out a small box of chocolate-covered raisins, ‘I’ve got these.’

  ‘Ooh, lovely,’ she mumbled, her mouth now full of Twix. ‘But don’t they get stuck in your teeth?’

  ‘A bit, but you can pick your teeth while the lights are down.’ I opened the box and nudged her. ‘Hey and you know what else is great about them?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, what?’

  ‘They are brilliant,’ I tapped a couple from the box into my hand, ‘for throwing.’

  ‘Alice!’ She put an appalled hand to her mouth. ‘Don’t you dare!’

  ‘Oh, as if I would.’ I popped the raisins into my mouth.

  Miriam looked at me.

  I looked at Miriam.

  ‘I dare you,’ she mouthed.

  ‘Are you serious?’ She nodded, returning her hand to her mouth, with a mischievous schoolgirl air. ‘OK, but we have to have a plan,’ I said.

  ‘A plan?’

  ‘Yes, a reactions plan,’ I explained. ‘We select the target, I throw and then we look at each other and talk as if we’re mid-conversation. We do not look at the target until a good twenty to thirty seconds has elapsed.’

  ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’ she said.

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I have. But not since I went to see As You Like It with the school.’

  ‘Right.’ Miriam clasped her hands and looked down eagerly into the stalls. There was now a steady stream of people arriving, creating a useful amount of noise and distraction. ‘Let’s find a target. How about you try and get it to land in somebody’s hair. We need a woman with a bouffant do.’

  ‘OK, but once I’ve done it, it’s your turn.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘But I do hope we don’t get caught and asked to leave. Craig might not understand. There!’ she exclaimed suddenly. ‘Look! Purple rinse woman. Just there, to your right. About ten rows back – this end of the row.’