by Jo Lovett
‘It can be done. If you can’t work part-time, you can still manage as long as you’re lucky enough to have family help or be able to afford childcare. You just have to forget about non-essential things like sleep, you know.’ He really did have a very nice smile. His upper front teeth were perfect, but the ones further back and his lower teeth were slightly uneven, the kind of imperfection that Americans didn’t usually put up with, unlike their crooked-toothed English counterparts. It was actually more attractive than fake-looking total perfection.
‘So does your wife work?’ Was it a bit weird to ask about her? Hopefully not. It was the obvious follow-on to what he’d been saying.
Sam’s smile dropped a little. ‘She. No. She didn’t.’ The hairs on the back of Izzy’s neck prickled. It was immediately obvious that this was not a good line of conversation to have brought up. Something very bad had happened. She could tell. Maybe they were divorced. Sam’s smile had vanished and he was looking down at the table instead of at Izzy. ‘We lost her nearly a year ago.’
‘Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry. That’s awful. What happened? If it’s okay for me to ask?’ She wished she knew him well enough to give him a huge hug to say how sorry she was. The laughter had gone from his eyes and he suddenly looked very tired.
‘Cancer. Breast. Metastasised.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Shit, Izzy felt really tearful, and it was so inappropriate to cry on behalf of someone who you barely knew and when they were being completely stoical.
‘Yeah. But you know. I’m lucky. I have the children. Liv and Barney.’ His smile was back, but not a real one that reached his eyes; it was like a mask. ‘And they have each other and me. So, you know. We’re good. Could be worse.’
‘But could be better,’ Izzy said.
‘Yeah. But we’re doing okay.’ Sam took a long sip of his coffee, like he didn’t want to make eye contact.
‘Here you go.’ Delia put a laden tray down on the table between them. Izzy gave her eyes a quick wipe while Delia was hiding her from Sam.
‘Thank you so much.’ She smiled at Delia.
‘So you like onions in your grilled cheese?’ Sam looked like a man who really wanted to move the conversation on. Understandably.
‘Yes, I do. It’s the only way. I love caramelised onions.’ Izzy picked her knife and fork up and then moved her knees apart so that the baby could squish down between her legs so that she could lean in. She had a serious point to make. ‘I do not, however, like cheese and onion crisps. I actually hate them.’
‘Now that is interesting. I, by contrast, like ham in my grilled cheese sandwich, essentially a croque monsieur, and I like bacon chips. Sorry, crisps. I think it’s all wrong if your crisp tastes don’t follow your sandwich tastes.’ Sam’s smile was reaching his eyes again now.
‘But bacon is not cheese and ham. Would you like bacon and cheese crisps?’
‘I think I would. I think anyone would. But I don’t think they exist. We might have hit on a business idea here.’
Izzy nodded, pleased. ‘Yes, I think that’s got to be a winning flavour combo. Something for me to research while I’m wallowing on a sofa until the baby comes.’
‘How much maternity leave are you planning to take afterwards?’
‘I think in total the full year that I’m allowed. And then I’ll maybe just go back two or three days a week to start off with, see how it goes. Work have been fantastic about being flexible and my husband’s been cool too, so, yeah, I’m going to take full advantage. Try to have my cake and eat it.’ Why did it feel weird mentioning Dominic to Sam? Izzy took a big bite of her toastie. Munching was a good cover for awkwardness.
‘Sounds perfect. What does your husband do?’
‘He works in banking. You know, finance.’ Izzy loaded a token bit of side salad onto her fork. ‘I don’t really know, actually. Bonds. Fixed income. Trading. Those are the words I hear but if I’m honest I’m not really sure what they mean.’ This did not feel right. Telling the man you’d spent nearly a year thinking of as The One that you had no real idea what your husband’s job was. It felt a bit disloyal. ‘But he enjoys it, which is cool. And his colleagues are nice.’ They’d been fine on the few occasions she’d met them. Maybe a little bit keen to talk only about work-related stories, maybe a bit keen on flashing their large amounts of salary around, maybe too keen to be extremely patronising about her career, but fine, really fine.
‘A lot of jobs are remarkably difficult to define,’ Sam said. ‘Like my own. I’m a corporate lawyer. My own mother would struggle to tell you more than that, and she bores all her friends with constant stories about me. I’m the only son out of four siblings – something of a novelty. She can recite pretty much every one of my achievements – including winning my first-grade field day sack race – and she’d still be doing all my laundry and cooking if she had her way. She’s one of those great, adoring mothers, but any time I’ve ever tried to tell her what I do, she just glazes right over.’
‘You know what she needs to do? She needs to watch Ally McBeal. I used to love that in my teens and as a result I know exactly what corporate lawyers do.’ Izzy pointed her fork for emphasis. ‘They wear pencil skirts and amazing heels, and cry in the loos a lot.’
‘Totally right. You’re literally the only person I’ve ever met who knows exactly what I do at work. This is where I’ve been going wrong. I should have pointed my mother in the direction of Netflix instead of trying to use my own words to explain.’
‘Exactly.’ Izzy smiled at Sam and took another mouthful.
‘Just going to get us a couple glasses of tap water.’ Sam stood up and ambled back over to the counter. Izzy thought about him as she chewed. And about herself. All that time when she’d imagined seeing him, meeting him. And now she had met him, and they were chatting, and it was lovely. And he was widowed with twins and she was married to Dominic, who she really did love, and about to give birth to Dominic’s baby. So when they’d finished their coffee, she’d go home and forget about Sam. And that was that.
Four
Sam
Sam watched Izzy lug herself out of the room towards the restroom. Small-to-medium-sized woman, gigantic baby bump. Bigger than Lana’s had been, with twins, but Lana had been supermodel tall, close to six foot, so she’d had a lot more space to accommodate her bump, and the twins had been tiny at birth, probably no greater weight in total than a single baby.
Izzy’s red hair clashed beautifully with her orange dress. Sam was pleased that she was wearing orange. He’d had a sense that she’d wear bright colours when not forced to be an elf and it was satisfying to be right. He realised that he couldn’t remember anything about what she’d been wearing when he saw her on the King’s Road outside the town hall, when he’d been going into the library; all he could remember from then was her face. And his own shock. And guilt.
He took another slurp of his second cappuccino and looked around. This was a lovely coffee shop. Cosy. Classic, tasteful décor. Very British. Was it odd that he was here with Izzy? Maybe. He’d thought, known, when they met in that excruciating way on his wedding day that they’d get on well, given a chance. And he’d been right. He pulled his cuff up to check his watch. Woah. That had been a long lunch break. They’d been talking for just over two hours. The time had flown if he was honest.
He drained the rest of his coffee and held the cup with both hands in front of him, staring into it. Now Izzy wasn’t here to distract him, he realised that he should probably get going.
Had Lana lived, he would never have cheated on her. The guilt he’d felt when he saw Izzy that morning outside the library had been horrendous. And, as he was reflecting on how easy their conversation had been today, the same guilt was creeping over him.
He hadn’t felt guilty when Izzy asked him out. Maybe because he hadn’t been pretending anything to anyone at that point, or certainly not to himself, anyway. He had felt helpless, and pretty pissed to be honest. It had definitely been a bit
of a body blow to discover, on the day that he was marrying the fairly new girlfriend he’d drunk-proposed to because she’d got pregnant, that the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing existed. Obviously, it didn’t really. Obviously, he’d known nothing at all about Izzy then. But if he’d been single, he’d have ditched any plans he had for that evening in a heartbeat and gone out with her. And they’d have had a fantastic time. He’d been pretty sure of that at the time, and now he knew. She was warm, sarcastic, very funny, clever, nice. Not to mention pretty fricking gorgeous. And managing to make eight-month-pregnant crabbiness very cool. What wasn’t to like?
In fact, if he’d been single and they’d gone out that day, maybe she’d be pregnant now with his baby.
Except then he wouldn’t have the twins, and they were everything. Plus, really, love at first sight? Instant, easy happy endings? Doubtful.
And Izzy was probably very happy with her husband.
Yeah, she had a husband. And Sam had his honour and, if he was honest, he’d enjoyed her company way too much while they’d been talking. He put his cup down on the table and stood up. It was definitely time to leave. He should wait here, standing, so that when she got back into the room she’d know that he meant to leave so that she a) didn’t waste energy getting down onto the sofa and back up again, and more importantly b) didn’t feel embarrassed in demonstrating that she might want or expect the coffee to go on for longer than he did. She’d be able to take her cue from him. He really didn’t want to cause the same, very nice, woman to feel humiliated or silly twice.
How long was she going to spend in the restroom? Probably a long time. It was probably very difficult to go pretty much anywhere quickly when you were that heavily pregnant. He turned his attention to the fire. The flickering flames were making patterns against the green vertical stripes of the wallpaper. You could happily stare into a fire for a long time.
‘I love a fire.’ Izzy had come back into the room surprisingly quietly. The door must be well-oiled. ‘I can watch them for hours.’
‘Yeah, me too.’ Sam picked his jacket up from the chair, fast, so that she’d get the signal that he was leaving. ‘It’s been great to see you. Wish I could stay longer but work calls.’
‘Yes, it’s been really nice. I’m going to get going too.’ Izzy reached for her coat and then looked at her shopping. ‘Actually, I’m going to call a cab.’
‘How far do you live from here?’
‘Three roads away. But I have a lot of shopping. As you know. And normally I would never be a princess in a taxi with all my shopping bags, honest, but I’m a little out of bag-carrying condition at the moment.’ She lived three roads away. Extraordinary that they’d been living so close to each other in the Earl’s Court area for so long. They could have bumped into each other any time.
‘It isn’t really worth waiting for a taxi to travel three roads away when I could carry your bags for you. My good deed for the day. I have time.’ He could catch up on his work this evening, when the twins were in bed.
‘No, I couldn’t. And surely you’re good-deeded-out on the carrying bags front today.’
‘Seriously, not a problem. I don’t want to pressure you to walk if you don’t feel like it but if you do, without the bags, I’m absolutely happy to carry them. Little bit of fresh air.’ Izzy studied him for a long moment. Sam realised that he actually did want to carry the bags for her. It felt too abrupt to say goodbye right now. And if he was carrying her bags, there was nothing to feel guilty about, right? No, wrong. The guilt was still there. He smiled at her, just in case she could read his mind, to try to assure her that he did really mean it. She smiled back.
‘Okay, well, thank you very much. It’s very kind.’
* * *
‘Oh my goodness, it’s freezing,’ Izzy yelped as they emerged into what was now a very grey and icily drizzly afternoon. ‘I’m going to get actual frostbite on my toes.’ Sam looked down at her flip-flopped, scarlet-toenailed feet.
‘Would it be rude to ask what the rationale was behind your choice of summer footwear on this beautiful, sleety day?’
‘My feet are too fat for any of my other shoes.’
Sam looked more closely. She had to have painted her nails, and quite a lot of her toes, herself. A huge tummy in the way had to be the only explanation for them looking as though they’d been done by someone blindfolded. He turned his head away, worried that he was going to laugh.
‘Are you smirking about my badly painted nails?’
‘No, I am not,’ Sam lied.
‘Hmm. Men are so lucky not to have to be pregnant.’
‘That’s very true.’
‘And you get to wee standing up.’
‘Yup, the world’s a very unfair place.’ It really was. If it was a fair place, he’d have been free to go on that date with Izzy, all those years ago. Immediately, he felt more guilt, as though he’d just wished away Lana’s existence, which he would never do.
It was easy, walking along with Izzy. Companionable. They actually didn’t need to talk that much. Although, equally, they seemed to have a lot to talk about, like they could make a conversation out of anything.
Which was lucky, because she was slow. Remarkably slow. She had to stop on every corner, plus at least once on each of the few roads they walked along, for a rest, each time putting her hand into her back and leaning back on it, the classic uncomfortable pregnant woman stance.
‘So this is me.’ Izzy had led him to a flat-fronted terraced house.
Suddenly, the moment was awkward. And it was a long moment. Izzy spent minutes fumbling through her ridiculously large bag until she found her house keys while Sam stood next to her, still holding the bags.
She had the keys out and the door open eventually. Sam wasn’t going to offer to carry the shopping right inside, definitely too strange. As he deposited the bags just inside her hall, keeping his feet on the step outside the threshold, Sam got a glimpse of dark wooden floors and tasteful greige walls. Not very Izzy, he’d have thought; must be her banker husband. Maybe it had been his house first, and Izzy had added the flashes of purples and reds he could see in the cushions, curtains and pictures.
‘Thank you so much for helping me with my bags. And for keeping me company.’
Sam smiled at her. He knew that they weren’t going to exchange numbers, or email addresses, or anything. It wouldn’t be normal for a happily married woman who was planning to stay happily married to suggest staying in touch with the man she’d once asked out on his wedding day. And it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to suggest to that happily married woman that they stay in touch. And, really, he didn’t want to.
From the moment he’d purposely sat with his back to her in the greasy spoon, to squash his conviction that he’d just met the woman for him, fighting his desperation to turn round a) to see her again in that ridiculous elf costume, get another look at her face, her eyes sparkling with humour, her smile, and hear her speak again, and b) to see if she was looking at him, he’d known that it was a bad thing that he’d laid eyes on her that morning. He’d struggled not to think about her occasionally over the years. Which had been bad enough before Lana’s illness, and terrible after it.
Yep, he was absolutely not going to suggest exchanging details. This had to be it. This was like the library steps all over again. The longing, the temptation and the knowledge that it would be very much the wrong thing to do. And the guilt that he wanted to do the wrong thing, was even thinking about it. He’d only been at the library because they’d just got Lana’s diagnosis and he wanted to look at physical books instead of typing things like ‘breast cancer prognosis’ into his laptop and leaving a virtual trail that she might find when he was trying to be upbeat for her. And on that terrible day, when he should have been entirely focused on Lana, he’d seen and thought about Izzy. So wrong. Yep, he needed to go now.
‘So goodbye then.’ Maybe he should go in for a kiss on the cheek. Or maybe just an air kiss. No, no kis
s. ‘Good luck with the baby.’ Izzy smiled at him, a wobbly smile. ‘The birth’ll be great. Like shelling peas.’ He couldn’t stop talking, wanting to take one little extra bit of conversation.
‘Yeah, I’ve heard that. It’ll be a walk in the park.’
‘Exactly.’ Right. Really time to go. It felt sad, but it shouldn’t. Izzy was obviously happy now. Married to a nice man. About to have a baby. All good. ‘Okay. Bye then.’
‘Bye.’
It was really hard to keep on walking to the end of the street without looking round.
Part Two
Five
Sam
May, seven years later
Sam loosened his tie, undid his top button and rolled his head and shoulders. Then he stretched his arms. And did another head roll. Nope. It wasn’t helping. Nor was the view out of his fancy floor-to-ceiling windows. All well and good having a thirty-fourth-floor office with a stunning Manhattan skyline backdrop, but if you spent your whole life in that office, the view just reminded you of the life you weren’t out there living. No amount of head rolling and Central Park panoramas were going to make spending yet another evening in this room any more palatable.
Fricking clients. Seriously. So damn unreasonable. And so damn paying his fees, which paid his bills, which meant that he had to pander to their unreasonable damn demands, any time of day and a lot of the night. Unfortunately there was no halfway house with this job. You couldn’t just scale back, work half the hours, for a fraction of the money.