I took a biscuit. Kate’s proposal was sounding increasingly attractive. But wary of getting my hopes up regarding a potential solution to my problem, I began mentally listing all the possible impediments to the plan.
‘He probably already lives in Australia,’ I murmured. ‘Or is away that weekend. A month is very short notice. Maybe he has a wife… or a husband… and two small children.’
Kate shrugged. ‘Location and prior commitments could definitely be a problem, but a partner shouldn’t be. It’s only one day – or just part of a day, actually. I wouldn’t have a problem with Fred doing it to help out.’
‘But what about people at the wedding asking awkward questions?’ I said, my thoughts leaping anxiously ahead to the event itself.
‘Like who? Like what?’ she asked. ‘People don’t dive in right away with questions about a person’s dating history when they meet someone new at a wedding. No one is going to ask anything personal. It’ll be: Where do you live? What do you do? Isn’t the weather great? And your mother,’ she continued, as if reading my mind, ‘will be far too busy to grill him in any depth there and then. And if it gets tricky, the pair of you can just reminisce. How long did you say you were friends for?’
‘About ten years.’
‘There you go then. You’ve got loads to say about each other if pushed.’ She opened her mouth to take another bite of her digestive, before suddenly pausing, her hand in mid-air, the biscuit just centimetres from her face. Then, without turning her head towards me, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye. ‘Did you ever go out with him? Sleep with him?’ she asked, her expression now serious.
I frowned at her sudden change of tack and tone. ‘With Felix?’
‘No, with the Pope.’ She didn’t smile.
I shook my head emphatically at the suggestion that I had dated Felix. We had enjoyed each other’s company very much, and it was undoubtedly a close friendship, but that was all. In my pre-teens, and with my bedroom walls plastered with posters of Chesney Hawkes, I had sighed over anyone lanky with a mole. Later, I had transferred my affections to Ronan Keating, Robbie Williams and finally Liam Gallagher before, at the age of fifteen, primarily in an attempt to annoy my mother, tearing down my posters and going out with school ne’er-do-well Sean Dowse. He was the only boy in the school with a tattoo; one which he had created himself, on his left forearm, over a three-month period, using a safety pin and indelible markers stolen from the art block. It was supposed to be a panther arched over a dagger, and, although it actually looked more like a guinea pig hurdling a melanoma, it made my mother’s lip curl. And at fifteen, that was enough for me.
As for Felix, his affections had been altogether more cerebral. He had spent most of our secondary-school years hankering after beautiful minds, in particular that of Caitlin Bruce, undoubtedly our year group’s most intelligent female, before discovering in lower sixth that she was gay and making the bold decision to save himself for university.
‘No, we never went out,’ I said to Kate. ‘He was really sciencey and mathsy and those were the girls he used to go on about.’
Kate’s expression brightened. ‘That’s OK then,’ she said.
‘Why?’
‘Because, thinking about it, I wouldn’t want Fred going without me to a party with anyone he had fancied, snogged or slept with, even fifteen years ago.’
‘I’d feel the same way,’ I agreed. ‘But there was nothing like that, and besides,’ I adjusted my grey pencil skirt and white blouse, both of which currently felt at least half a size too small, and tugged at my shoulder-length hair, which was in desperate need of a cut, ‘there’s not a lot for anyone to be jealous of here these days, is there?’
‘Oh for God’s sake stop fishing,’ said Kate impatiently. ‘You know you scrub up well when you bother, so don’t pretend you don’t.’
‘Hmm.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, once again looking at me over the top of her glasses, ‘I should get back to work.’ She checked her watch. ‘But why don’t you take twenty minutes to start scouring the internet for him? Your meeting with the restaurant isn’t till two and you’ve prepared to the nth for that, haven’t you?’
‘I have, but I want to go over things one more time.’
Kate sighed. ‘Ah, if only you were as focused and forward-thinking in your personal life as you are professionally.’
I didn’t reply, and she reached out and pushed my coffee towards me. ‘Actually,’ she said gently, ‘you’d probably be a right bitch and I wouldn’t love you half so much.’
I smiled and picked up my coffee. ‘I’ll google him tonight.’
‘Fabulous!’ She clapped her hands, suddenly brisk again. ‘I know it’s a delaying tactic, highly deceitful and something I wouldn’t usually approve of,’ she said, causing my shoulders to sag slightly, ‘but in the circumstances, I think it’s your best bet.’ She stuffed the remainder of her biscuit into her mouth and stood up. ‘But do make sure you crack on with finding Phil… ix this evening. This is one thing you really can’t afford to put off, Dot,’ she mumbled, spitting crumbs and wagging a finger at me.
I rolled my eyes. ‘For God’s sake, Kate, what’s your problem with his name? It’s two syllables: Fe-lix.’
She stopped chewing and peered down at me. ‘I’ve never associated that name with a human being before, that’s all, only a cat. So it feels odd to say it. And besides, his name is Felix only because that was the first one to roll off your tongue at the time. I hardly think you can be precious about it, Dorothy Riley.’
I slumped in my chair. ‘I know. Sorry.’
She smiled, bent down and patted my knee. ‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I know you’re stressed. But don’t be. I have every confidence in your ability to steer this situation to a happy outcome.’
‘You do?’ I looked up at her.
‘Do you want me to answer that question with a lie?’ she asked matter-of-factly. ‘Or would you rather I buy into your despair?’
I didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ll take the lie.’
‘OK, well in that case, yes, I do,’ she said, and then, offering me what I supposed was intended to be an encouraging wink, she headed back to her desk.
Chapter 3
‘I’m going to have to let it out… again,’ said Eileen, running a hand through her short grey hair and sounding unmistakably peeved. As well as being a very talented dressmaker, she was also a part-time teacher at the primary school of which my sister was deputy head, and, at that moment, she was making me feel like a naughty five-year-old.
To be fair to Eileen, I deserved the telling-off. It would be the second time that she’d had to alter my bridesmaid’s dress due to weight gain since my first fitting two months earlier. And the need for alteration hadn’t come as a complete surprise to me. I had decided to weigh myself before setting off for Becca’s that morning and had been horrified to discover as I stood on the scales, that I had put on two kilograms. And that was on top of the two I had gained before my last fitting.
‘Sorry, Eileen,’ I said shamefacedly. ‘But look, why don’t you hold off making any more adjustments and I’ll make sure I lose those extra pounds by the time Becca walks down the aisle.’
Eileen looked uncertainly first at myself, then at Becca. My sister shrugged amiably. ‘If you’d rather do that, Dot,’ she smiled.
‘I would,’ I said determinedly. ‘It’ll give me something to aim for.’
‘Well I don’t mind what you do. I’ll just edge those sleeves and leave the rest. But Rebecca,’ continued Eileen, turning towards her, ‘if she’s bursting out of that dress on the big day, I want you to tell everyone that it’s her fondness for doughnuts and not my ability to sew that’s at fault.’ She gestured wordlessly for me to step out of the dress and then bent down and began picking up her pins, ribbons and tape measure from the floor of Becca’s bedroom. Becca widened her eyes at me and I pretended to nibble my nails in fear before beginning to undress.
‘And don’t think I don’t know you’re pulling faces, Dorothy,’ said Eileen. ‘I haven’t been a school teacher for thirty years without the ability to know what’s going on behind my back.’
‘Sorry, Eileen,’ I said quietly. ‘Again.’
She looked up and laughed. ‘Lose the pounds if you want to, but you’ll look beautiful at any weight. So if you decide to keep the curves and have any last-minute panics, just give me a call.’
I smiled and gave her a hug. ‘You’re a gem.’
‘And you’re in your bra and panties,’ she said. ‘Get dressed.’
Becca laughed, passing me my shirt and jeans before helping Eileen to gather the remainder of her things and heading downstairs with her to the front door.
By the time she returned, I was dressed and examining myself critically in the full-length mirror inside her wardrobe door.
‘Your BMI is just fine,’ she said, walking over and poking me in the side.
‘I know. But I have gone up a dress size since Alistair, and I don’t want it to be the start of a slippery slope. I’ll lose some of it before the wedding.’ I turned to look at her and was surprised to find her expression anxious. ‘Is everything OK?’ I asked. ‘Everything going to plan?’
She sat down on the bed. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘What’s Mum done now?’ I asked.
She looked up at me and smiled. ‘She’s very excited and looking forward to everything.’
‘And demanding constant reassurance that everything is in hand?’
Becca nodded wearily. ‘I had two phone calls late last night: the first about the photographer and the second about the cake. And then this morning she asked for a floor plan showing the number and location of the toilets in the reception venue, because Sheila is fretting over Colin’s IBS.’
I wanted to laugh but fought the urge as she was clearly stressed. It was something I had rarely seen, as she was, without doubt, the most laid-back person I knew. I regularly blew a fuse with Mum, but for Becca to be even mildly irritated was practically unheard of. Mind you, if anyone could wind a person up it was our mother, and I could see how the organisation of her daughter’s wedding might create the perfect storm of all her anxieties and expectations.
I sat down next to Becca and placed an arm around her shoulders. ‘Deep breaths and don’t let it spoil things,’ I said. ‘And if it carries on, just stop picking up the phone. Do you want me to talk to her?’
She shook her head, and, as I felt her sigh, it occurred to me that I was currently far more likely to be part of the problem than the solution. ‘She’s hassling you about Felix, isn’t she?’
Becca looked at me sadly. ‘Not hassling exactly. But he’s on her list.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘She didn’t mention him to me until a couple of days ago, but I should have realised the issue hadn’t gone away.’
‘It’s OK,’ she sighed. ‘It’s barely registered amongst all the other stuff.’
I gave her a squeeze. ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to call Mum the minute I get home and tell her that I’m now handling all wedding-related enquiries.’
‘But you don’t know any of the details,’ she said.
I shrugged. ‘I’ll make it up, and then the actual arrangements can be a wonderful surprise for her on the big day.’
She smiled and leaned her head on my shoulder. ‘Thanks, Dot.’
She said nothing more, and after a moment I said, ‘You’re so restrained.’
‘About what?’
‘Well if it was me, I’d be rattling you to tell me what you were going to do about Felix. We’re so different.’
She sat up. ‘I know you’ll sort it out,’ she said, looking up at me. ‘I have confidence in you.’
The statement, which I believed to be both sincere and one hundred per cent misplaced, caused me to bite my lip. ‘Thank you,’ I said quietly, before clearing my throat and adding, ‘I do have a plan, actually. But it’s a bit mad and I don’t want to worry you.’
She said nothing but looked at me questioningly.
‘I’m going to try and find him and bring him along,’ I said, now feeling a lot less confident about the proposal than when Kate had put it to me so matter-of-factly just twenty-four hours earlier. ‘I started looking for him last night, but he doesn’t seem to be on any social media and none of the Felix Davises I found on Google were the right age. But I’ve only spent an hour or so on it so far, so fingers crossed.’
She smiled.
‘You think it’s an insane plan, don’t you?’ I asked.
She didn’t reply, but instead turned and opened the top drawer of her bedside cabinet, taking out a small brown envelope.
‘He’s an accountant and living in Cheltenham,’ she said, handing me the envelope. ‘In there are his business address and phone number.’
I stared at the envelope. ‘How…?’
‘Mark looked him up,’ she said. ‘You know, just in case,’ she added, nudging me mischievously.
‘And how long have you had this?’ I asked.
‘Oh, a while.’
I nodded. She was so calm, considered and forward-thinking. I wondered, not for the first time, whether one of us was adopted. ‘Right, well, I’d better get on with it, hadn’t I?’ I said, attempting to mask fear with feigned practicality.
‘You had.’
I opened the envelope and removed a white A5 card. On it was scrawled in Mark’s handwriting: Felix Arthur Davis, DOB: 26.01.81, Bailey and Davis Chartered Accountants. Underneath was a Cheltenham address and phone number.
I stared at the card. Felix, a chartered accountant? I struggled to imagine him, laughing and wild-haired, squeezed to bursting point into a smart suit and trying to take life seriously.
‘I can’t quite see him as an accountant,’ said Becca.
‘Me neither.’ I returned the card to the envelope and popped it into the back pocket of my jeans, a renewed optimism and curiosity now combining to ease my anxiety. ‘But I can’t wait to see him.’
Chapter 4
As it turned out, I had to wait to see Felix whether I liked it or not. Because when I phoned his office, with Kate standing over me, at 9.05 a.m. two days after Becca had handed me his phone number, I was told by his secretary, Linda, that Mr Davis was out of the office all week and that the earliest available appointment to see him would be the middle of the following week.
I explained to Linda that I was an old school friend, and that the visit was social not professional, but this made no difference. She advised that she did not manage Felix’s social diary, but that I was most welcome to leave my phone number and she would ask him to call me on his return. I did this, but then, concerned that my details might get shoved to the bottom of a post-holiday pile, I asked if I could perhaps have his mobile number or personal email address. Unsurprisingly, this request was refused and I was told, now with more than a hint of impatience, that I should instead email Felix at the office, although I was warned that all emails were automatically forwarded to his business partner, Kevin Bailey, as well as to Linda herself. And so it was, with a sense of defeat and disappointment, that I was forced to accept a 2.30 p.m. appointment to see Felix at his Cheltenham offices on Wednesday 19 July.
But although I had been disappointed by the delay, it was still with an undeniable sense of fear and trepidation that I at last found myself seated in the reception area of the tall white Regency building in which the offices of Bailey and Davis were located, waiting for Felix to come down from the second floor to collect me. Because, despite having left my phone number, I had still had no direct contact with him. I tried to tell myself that his failure to call must be because Linda hadn’t prioritised the matter to him. I was almost certain that had he been directly handed my name and number, he would have been as eager and intrigued to talk to me as I was him. But this argument wasn’t quite enough to settle my nerves entirely, and the situation left me far more uncertain of his reaction to my w
edding proposal than I ideally would have liked before a face-to-face encounter.
Adjusting the beige culottes and sleeveless white shirt I had chosen with great care that morning, I shifted my position on the firm black leather sofa in order to scan the somewhat clinical reception area. I had been waiting for Felix for almost fifteen minutes now, with nothing to distract me but several very dry magazines provided for visitors, and the intermittent phone calls taken by the receptionist, to which she responded in a tone which could be best described as homicidally hormonal.
I was just plucking up the courage to ask her if she could double-check that I hadn’t been forgotten, when the lift doors on the far side of the reception area opened to reveal a tall, and exceptionally round, man. I felt my pulse unexpectedly quicken as he ran a hand through his dark, slightly wavy but thinning hair and adjusted the collar of his open-neck shirt. He then exited the lift and began to walk hurriedly towards the receptionist, before catching my eye, veering towards me and breaking into the broadest of grins. ‘Dorothy Riley,’ he exclaimed, with just a hint of a query in his voice. ‘I am so sorry that you’ve been kept waiting.’
I smiled back at him, using the moments it took him to cross the floor to adjust my eyes to this new, older Felix. So the wild hair had all but gone – that was a bit of a shock – but the easy smile, the dancing blue eyes and the slightly bouncing stride were just the same, and, of course, he was still cuddly.
I felt myself relax and, stepping forward, without thinking enveloped him in a hug. ‘Felix Davis,’ I laughed, ‘I’ve waited over ten years, so another ten minutes doesn’t matter. It’s just so, so lovely to see you again.’
I sensed only the slightest of hesitations before he lifted his arms and returned the hug, adding a pat on the back for good measure. I continued to smile, uplifted by the reconnection and feeling instinctively that our relationship was, despite the intervening years, unchanged. After a moment, I released him and took a step back. ‘Now, let’s have a proper look at you.’
Finding Felix Page 3