It Was You Page 8

  ‘I see her,’ I said, tipping a fresh supply of raisins into my hand. ‘Now remember, I throw and then we chat. Do not check the target.’

  ‘Agreed,’ she laughed. ‘Oh no, wait!’ She grabbed my arm.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I see an even better one!’ Her eyes widened to near-perfect circles.

  ‘Really?’ I asked, amused as much by her enthusiasm for the project, as by the project itself.

  She turned and placed her hand dramatically on my shoulder. ‘Cleavage,’ she said solemnly.

  ‘Genius,’ I responded, in an equally sombre tone. ‘But is it accessible?’

  ‘Oh God, yes.’ She returned her gaze to the audience below and beckoned me to look over the side of the box. ‘Her boobs look like they’re on a tray.’

  I leaned forward. ‘Where?’

  ‘Immediately below us. Blonde, black blouse with far too many buttons undone. Very little throwing required. You could drop it really. Or pop it on the edge and just nudge it over.’

  I leaned forward a little farther. ‘I don’t see her.’

  ‘She’s right there. Look, I’ll move along one.’ Miriam shifted to the seat on her left and I in turn moved along.

  ‘See her now?’ She gestured downwards. ‘See? She’s sitting next to a man who looks… who looks…’ Her voice trailed away into a whisper, so that the concluding words of her sentence, ‘just like Eddie’, were barely audible. In fact, maybe they weren’t audible. Maybe Miriam didn’t actually utter them at all. Maybe I just concluded the sentence for myself, in my own head. Because I had already spotted the blonde. And soon after spotting her, I spotted the man who turned, brushed his hand against her cheek and then kissed her with unmistakeable affection. I spotted Eddie.

  After that, things seemed to happen either very quickly, or in slow motion. I’m not sure which. I became aware of someone, with impressive projection, standing up and shouting, ‘Bastard! Bastard!’ repeatedly and very loudly, and of a hush descending upon the assembling audience. I then realised that the person shouting was me.

  I remember the momentary look of amusement on Eddie’s face, as he tilted his head back to look, along with everybody else, towards the insane woman in the box, before he recognised the nutter as his girlfriend. His blonde companion grinned in scandalised mirth, before turning to Eddie to share her enjoyment of the moment and realising, with one glance at his horrified expression, exactly what was going on. And I remember exiting the box and brushing past a middle-aged couple; the man standing anxiously unmoving, as if made of marble, his hand extended in greeting. He seemed to reawaken as I ran past him, down the corridor towards the stairs, and I heard him calling after me, ‘Hello, I’m Paul!’ in a manner so inappropriately cheery that I can only assume he was either in shock, or on the spectrum.

  A heavily-puffing Miriam managed to catch up with me before I made it to the stalls and somehow convinced me that, actually, the best thing to do would not be to beat Eddie to a pulp with my bare hands but to sit in the now deserted bar and wait until she had gone in search of him. A very lovely, incredibly young, male theatre employee was tasked to sit with me and keep me from both the glassware and the alcohol behind the bar. The poor boy, who looked about sixteen, tried to engage me in a number of topics of conversation, including the musicals of Rogers and Hammerstein. But he gave that up as a bad job, and took to sitting silently with his head in his hands, when I burst into tears during a sudden, unhinged attempt to sing ‘Doe a Deer.’

  By the time Miriam returned, without Eddie, I had entered the shuddering, dribbling, hiccoughing stage of despair and my chaperone had poured himself a large Scotch.

  She sat down next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. ‘He’s gone, Alice,’ she said, kissing my cheek.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I saw him before he left.’

  ‘You spoke to him? Are they…? Is she…?’ I attempted to order my thoughts. ‘Was it how it seemed?’

  I looked at Miriam and realised she was crying. She nodded. ‘I think we should just head back to Bristol.’ She rubbed my back. ‘You must stay with us tonight.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Miriam,’ I mumbled.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly.’ She smiled sadly. ‘There’s nothing whatsoever for you to be sorry about.’ She threaded her arm through mine, pushed her chair back and got to her feet, pulling me up with her. ‘Come on, Alice. We’re going home.’

  Chapter 11

  As I sat in the chic bar of the hotel on Welsh Back, waiting for Eddie to turn up, it struck me that this would be the first time I had seen him in almost two years, our last meeting having taken place three days after my theatre performance. We had, by then, spoken at length on the telephone, a conversation during which he had explained that the blonde had been a good friend for four years and a very good friend, for almost two. When I had requested clarification of these friendship categories, it had become apparent that a good friend is one in whom you confide, whilst a very good friend is one whom you shag senseless at every possible opportunity. It was also explained to me that Eddie’s very good friend, Philippa Hunter, ‘Pip’, lived a convenient twenty-minute drive from Great Aunty Mo and was aware of his relationship with me but was, as he put it, extremely secure in herself and not at all jealous. He also advised that the last thing either of them wanted was to hurt me.

  By way of a retort, I had advised him that anything I chose not to set alight would be in bin bags, ready for him to collect, the following day.

  He came. He collected. He went. I later learned from mutual friends that he had relocated, alone, to Manchester, from which I deduced that his attachment to both Great Aunty Mo, and to his very good friend, Pip, had waned. But, other than a few subsequent, perfunctory telephone conversations to discuss the various financial and practical issues arising from a broken relationship, I had no further contact with Edward Hall.

  Almost two years on then, from this most acrimonious of splits and I had just bought a drink and was sending Sophie a reassuring text, confirming my state of mind as “sound”, when Eddie walked into the large, but still relatively empty, hotel bar. I saw him before he saw me and so had the advantage of a few moments to take in his longer mousy hair, his more casual, but undoubtedly more expensive, attire and to note, with some satisfaction, body language which suggested he was not entirely at ease. I felt myself relax a little and raised a hand to attract his attention. He saw me and, after just a flicker of hesitation, smiled and came to join me.

  ‘Alice,’ he said, as he reached the table, ‘it’s so good to see you. You look great.’ He inclined slightly towards me, as if for a hug. I didn’t budge.

  ‘Hi, Eddie,’ I said. ‘How are you?’

  He straightened up, somewhat awkwardly, pushing his now foppish, locks from his eyes. ‘I’m good, I’m good. Right,’ he rubbed his hands together and then gestured towards my spritzer, ‘well, I can see you’re all sorted for a drink – unless you’d like one in waiting?’

  I tapped my glass. ‘I’m fine with this, thanks,’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ he looked towards the bar, ‘so I’ll, er, just get myself one and then we can catch up.’

  I smiled. ‘Sounds good.’

  As he headed for the bar, I finished typing, and quickly reread, my text to Sophie.

  STOP WORRYING. Am fine – just trying not to fall off ridiculously high stool. Bar not busy yet – just a few couples and one sad guy reading a copy of Heat. Might ask to borrow it if E’s late. Got a spritzer. E’s just arrived. Looks nervy. Lost weight and his hair is all Hugh Grant. Will text/call later x

  I pressed ‘send’, just as Eddie returned to the table.

  ‘So,’ he said, sitting down with, I noted, recovered composure, ‘how are things with you?’

  ‘Good. And you?’

  His reply was lost on me as I continued to take in his sartorial upgrade and the expensive watch, revealed as he removed his jacket and turned back his shirt cuffs, in a relaxe
d, man-of the-people manner.

  ‘…which was just great,’ he concluded, picking up his drink.

  ‘That’s nice,’ I said, whilst at the same time realising that for me, today, small talk was not going to work. I took a deep breath. ‘Eddie, you have never explained or expressed any regret over what you did,’ I began, ‘and if it’s OK I’d like to just cut to the chase and tell you that I’m here only because I thought I should give you a chance to put that right – to say something which might make me feel better about you.’ I attempted a smile. ‘I’m sorry, but I think that’s something we really need to get out of the way.’

  ‘Oh, Alice,’ he said gently, leaning towards me. ‘Ongoing recrimination and regret isn’t helpful.’ He placed his hand on mine and offered me a pitying smile. ‘I really hoped you’d moved on.’

  I looked at his hand and then into his eyes. I searched for the man I had fallen in love with and quickly came to the conclusion that he had never actually existed. He had, I decided, been my own construct. I had been drawn to the journalist, to the author, to the ambition, to the self-confidence and not least to the undeniable ability to charm when required. But the total lack of empathy and, it seemed, of conscience, which was so immediately obvious this evening, had, I decided, always been a problem – I simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it as such.

  I withdrew my hand, picked up my drink and took a sip. ‘How is Manchester?’

  He leaned back and smiled. ‘Ah, Manchester is great. I love it. Working hard on book number three. And it’s a great feeling to have the other two under my belt. One is good, two is always better, you know.’

  Like women? I managed to resist articulating the thought. I replaced my drink on the table and glanced at my watch, setting myself a target of one hour, before making my excuses.

  He was still talking, ‘…I hope you enjoyed it.’

  ‘Sorry?’ I looked up. ‘Enjoyed what?’

  ‘My second novel.’

  ‘I haven’t read it,’ I said simply. He smiled. ‘I haven’t,’ I insisted.

  He held up a placatory hand. ‘I believe you,’ he laughed. ‘Anyway, how are you? Still at that design place?’

  I forced a smile. ‘Yes, I am. I’m still very happy there.’ He looked mildly incredulous and I lost the battle with my tongue. ‘And how is Great Aunty Mo? When did you last see her?’

  To my dismay and undisguisable horror, he didn’t miss a beat. ‘Yesterday morning. She’s great. She loves Manchester as much as Pip and I do. It took me a while to find the right house for us all, but Mo has the ground floor and it works really well.’

  It was a devastating response; one which immediately converted my rising sense of relief at being free from this man, to a feeling of crushing rejection. When it came to Great Aunty Mo, he clearly felt something remarkably akin to loyalty and love. He was capable of that. He just hadn’t felt it for me. And, of course, he was still with bloody Pip.

  I nodded and wanted to cry. ‘Great Aunty Mo was lovely,’ I mumbled.

  ‘She still is. We love having her around. She came to Singapore with us last year. She’s incredible – game for absolutely anything. You should have seen her on the flight.’

  We. Us. The words sliced into me. I stared, without focusing, at the table and suddenly the prospect of sixty minutes with him seemed like a very painful eternity. It simply had not occurred to me that he would be living a life of domestic bliss. I nodded again and some part of my brain wondered whether he had any concept of what he was doing to me. I looked up at him. He was now relaxed and animated. I realised that he looked genuinely, unselfconsciously happy and that realisation was very nearly the final blow. The actual final blow came a second later.

  ‘So, anyway,’ he said, still smiling at the thought of Great Aunty Mo on the plane to Singapore, ‘I’m pleased you mentioned Mo. It’s because of her that I’m here really.’ He paused and his smile broadened. ‘Pip and I are getting married in September and Mo asked if the lovely Alice would be there. And Pip said absolutely you must come, and I think so too.’ He reached for my hand again. ‘What do you say, Alice? It would be the perfect way for you to show everyone that you’ve accepted the situation and moved on, wouldn’t it?’

  I started to get up and had just picked up my wine glass, with the express intention of emptying its contents over his head, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently pressing me back down onto the bar stool, and removing the glass from my grasp.

  ‘There you are,’ said David breathlessly, downing the remaining contents of my glass. ‘Gosh, I needed that. I’m so sorry to interrupt, Alice.’ He turned to Eddie. ‘Hello, Edward, how are you? But,’ he immediately returned his attention to me, ‘my computer has crashed and I have a meeting scheduled with the Harveys in an hour’s time. I’ll need to present from your laptop.’

  I blinked, disorientated by his sudden arrival, the swift change of subject and, not least, by the quite bizarre theft of my drink.

  ‘My laptop? But I—’

  ‘I called you,’ said David, ‘but it went straight to answer phone. I’m so sorry to interrupt.’ He turned again to Eddie. ‘So sorry. But it’s a very, very important pitch for us.’

  Eddie waved an amused hand. ‘Not at all. You carry on, Dave.’

  I reluctantly tore myself away from a delightful, rapidly-forming, mental image of Eddie, lying dead at his own wedding reception, and forced myself to focus on the Harvey pitch. I looked up at David. ‘So you need my laptop?’

  David wrung his hands. ‘I do.’

  I shook my head in puzzlement. ‘But, David, my laptop is at home and I haven’t a clue—’

  ‘Look,’ said Eddie, ‘this is clearly important. It’s fine. You go. We can finish chatting later on the phone. I’ll give you all the wedding details. It’s just really good to have seen you – even briefly. It’s been great, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Great?’ I returned my gaze, and my attention, to Eddie. He was smiling benignly, graciously, at David and myself. I felt my colour rising. ‘Great? It’s been bloody—’

  ‘Marvellous!’ interrupted David, laughing explosively. ‘Bloody marvellous! That’s what it’s been! Bloody marvellous!’ He laughed again.

  I stared at him. He appeared to be bordering on mania. ‘David, are you—’

  ‘I am, yes,’ he said, picking up my handbag and handing it to me with a fixed grin. ‘So please come. Goodbye, Edward. Sorry to rush her away but tempus fugit.’

  Eddie smiled. ‘You’re clearly the lynch pin of the business, Alice,’ he said, as David dragged me across the room. He held his hand to his ear in a telephone gesture. ‘Call me!’

  David speeded me through the hotel foyer, out onto the pavement and had hustled me a good hundred metres or so along the waterfront before I was able to wrestle my arm from him. ‘Hang on,’ I protested, shaking myself free and stopping dead. ‘I refuse to take another step before you tell me what’s going on. Who are the Harveys?’

  He looked at me and then glanced back anxiously in the direction of the hotel. ‘They are fictitious clients whom I created in order to encourage you to come with me,’ he said.

  I threw my hands up. ‘And you did that because…?’

  ‘Because I thought you were about to either assault Edward with your wine glass or…’ he hesitated, gestured towards my eyes and then looked away, ‘…or get upset,’ he concluded quietly.

  I opened my mouth to protest, before opting instead for a heavy sigh. ‘Well, you were right.’ I swallowed hard. ‘And it was probably more of a “both” than an “either”.’

  He smiled. ‘Would you like a drink? Somewhere else?’ he asked gently.

  I shook my head. ‘Thanks, David, but I think I’d rather just go home.’

  ‘I understand,’ he said. ‘My car’s in the NCP. I’ll drop you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘both for the lift and for rescuing me from Eddie.’ My shoulders sagged. ‘And from myself.’

  ‘Come on,’ he sai
d, offering me his arm. ‘You can tell me about it on the way home.’

  I looked at him. ‘You didn’t hear it all?’

  ‘Well, yes, most of it,’ he admitted.

  I smiled sadly. ‘So maybe instead you could tell me exactly how long you were eavesdropping. And also,’ I added, as I linked his arm and we started to walk, ‘how Sophie managed to talk you into doing it.’

  ‘Well, as you know,’ he sighed, holding up the copy of Heat magazine, behind which he had been hiding in the bar, ‘Sophie is that rather distressing combination of being frequently formidable,’ he looked at the magazine and smiled, ‘and invariably right.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘And you’ve definitely ruled out going to the wedding?’ Miriam squinted through the glass into the darkened aye-aye enclosure of Bristol Zoo’s Twilight World.

  ‘You’ve asked me that twice already,’ I replied tonelessly. ‘Once when I got home from seeing Eddie on Thursday evening and you called to see how things had gone. And then again just forty-five minutes ago,’ I emphasised, ‘when you and Phoebe picked me up to bring me here.’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d forgotten.’ She tapped on the glass. ‘You know, I don’t know why we bother with this one. I don’t think there’s even anything in there.’ She tapped again.

  ‘I don’t think you’re supposed to do that, you know. I’m sure I saw a no tapping sign.’ I glanced pointlessly around the darkened room.

  ‘Anyway, so long as you’ve definitely, definitely decided against going to the wedding…’

  ‘Miriam.’

  She looked at me. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re not.’ She hesitated. ‘And that you’ve told Eddie that. You have told him that, haven’t you?’

  ‘For God’s sake. Please stop.’ I lowered my voice to a whispered hiss as a woman next to me turned to listen-in, clearly more interested in our conversation than in the elusive inhabitants of Twilight World. ‘I’m not going. I texted him last night. That’s the end of it. The end of everything. I am no longer remotely attracted to the man, either physically, emotionally or spiritually and he is most definitely not attracted to me. It’s finished.’