by Woolf, Emma
“I’ve just signed for flowers!” she announced, smiling up at Lily and waving at Stella.
“Lovely,” Lily said. “Who are they from?”
“They’re for you, so I didn’t look at the card. But I’d say it’s someone with taste—it’s a beautiful selection of roses, lilies, and carnations, all red and orange and autumnal colours. Do you want them now or shall I bring them up in a minute when you’ve got Stella settled?”
Lily’s face was transformed, from rain-drenched and hassled to shining and hopeful. She ran through the possibilities in her mind: the flowers could be from her father and Marie, or from one of her authors to say thank you for the editing, or . . . could it be? How she hoped it was him.
She was still standing on the stairs holding Stella and the shopping bags, although suddenly they weighed nothing at all. “How intriguing. Please do bring them up. In fact, give me a minute and come and have coffee, you haven’t been round all week.”
When Susan arrived with the flowers, Lily was unable to play it cool. She tore open the cream card tucked inside and let out an audible sigh. Happy autumn, Lily. Just back from a work trip to Singapore. Would love to meet for that coffee—all three of us? Julien.
Oh, it was perfect, perfect. Throwing caution to the wind, Lily showed Susan the card and described him in detail while twirling Stella around the room. Once Susan had been brought up to date, they analysed the note and discussed the significance of his precise words. They agreed it couldn’t have been more gentlemanly—he was polite enough to include the baby in the invitation, but he sent flowers for Lily which made it romantic too.
“Oh, Susan, I’ve been longing to hear from him!” Saying it out loud made her realise how much she was looking forward to their meeting. Even Stella seemed to have forgotten her aching gums and was smiling up at her mother. “But now what?” Lily looked anxious all of a sudden. “Does he have my number? We didn’t even swap emails. Look, he doesn’t mention when we should meet. How is he going to get hold of me?”
Susan shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lily! He’s just sent you the most glorious bouquet, so he’s managed to find your home address—probably from your father—do you really think he can’t track down your phone number? And you’re online, aren’t you? Just remember how much you wanted to hear from him and enjoy this moment. Let’s find a vase for these flowers”—she went into the kitchen—“and then let’s work out what you’re going to wear when you see this chap.”
Lily burst out laughing—it was exactly what her mother would have said. Susan was right about enjoying the moment. It was wonderful to be sitting here with flowers from Julien. The shopping bags didn’t matter, the rain didn’t matter; with a thrill of excitement she realised she was going to see him again.
The filthy weather continued all week but Lily barely noticed. And by the time she was getting ready to meet him that weekend, the rain had stopped and the sun had come out. By yet another miracle, Stella had slept through the night, so they were both relatively rested on Saturday morning.
Cassie, to whom Lily had confessed everything after Julien’s flowers arrived, took Stella swimming. “You’ve been saying for ages you need to go to the hairdresser, so now’s your chance.” Lily’s hair was still nicely streaked blonde from the summer, but it badly needed a cut—she hadn’t been to the hairdresser since before Stella’s birth and she was starting to feel like a shaggy dog. While she was at the hair salon, she had her eyebrows and nails done too.
It was amazing what a difference a little TLC made, Lily thought, flicking through a magazine while her hair was being blow-dried. It wasn’t a huge extravagance—she had friends who spent hundreds of pounds a month on beauty treatments, handbags, and shoes—and it was worth every penny. Walking back up England’s Lane, feeling like a new woman, she resolved to make more time for herself, for simple things like haircuts and the occasional manicure or pedicure.
“Look at you!” Cassie said, barging back into the flat with her arms full of Stella and their swimming bags. “You look gorgeous! I’ve bought sandwiches, do you have time for lunch?”
“Of course,” Lily said. “We’re not meeting Julien until four. Thanks for taking Stella, I needed that pampering time. I’ll put her down for her nap and then let’s eat.”
After settling Stella in her cot, Lily glanced in the full-length mirror in the hallway. “Gorgeous” was an exaggeration, but the haircut was a definite improvement. She was wearing dove-grey jeans which fitted like a glove, and a black silk top which Cassie had lent her. She had considered buying a new outfit but she didn’t want to overdo it. It was just an afternoon coffee; maybe it wasn’t even a date. Julien had mentioned that Le Pain Quotidien was very busy at weekends and he suggested instead a new café which had recently opened in Belsize Park.
“Do I look OK?” Lily said, rejoining Cassie in the kitchen. “Is this top kind of low cut?”
Her sister smiled. “Don’t be silly! It shows a hint of arms and cleavage but not too much. You still have a great tan from France. And the jeans are perfect—no one would believe you had a baby a few months ago.”
“Thanks, Cass,” she said. “God, I’m starting to get nervous, my appetite’s gone completely.”
“You need to eat something, I bet you haven’t had breakfast. Here, I got us sandwiches from Black Truffle Deli; they do amazing goat’s cheese, rocket, and sundried tomato. Don’t worry, I avoided egg, hummus, and garlic—no stinky breath!”
“Honestly, Cass, he’s probably not interested in that way. And I’m taking Stella with me, so we’re hardly going to kiss. Anyway, I’m sure he has evening plans. I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s a quick coffee and we’re home by five p.m.”
It was after eight o’clock by the time Julien walked them home. The time had disappeared: had they really spent four hours just talking? For all Lily’s apprehension, the date went beautifully. Cassie had dropped them outside the café in Belsize Park. It had only opened in the summer so Lily hadn’t been there yet. There were several large sofas, a play area for children, and low coffee tables with magazines and board games scattered around. The place wasn’t packed, but there was a lively hum of conversation: several families, a few people working on their laptops, and an elderly couple reading the newspapers in the afternoon sunshine. Lily forgot her nerves as soon as she saw Julien, who was sitting on one of the large sofas by the window. He smiled and came over to help her off with Stella’s papoose.
“Lily, so lovely to see you. It feels like ages, non?” He kissed her lightly on both cheeks and drew back to look at her. “You’re looking ravissante—both of you.” He stroked Stella’s tuft of blonde hair. “I swear she’s grown since France. How long has it been?” Lily could have told him exactly how long it had been, but instead she murmured something about time flying. The waitress arrived and Julien ordered for them both: a large pot of Earl Grey tea and some lemon drizzle cake. Lily settled Stella on the play mat beside the sofa, smiling as Julien discussed the merits of different cake with the waitress.
Stella obliged by finding the soft toys fascinating. She lay there practising her first attempts at crawling, batting at toys, occasionally gurgling up at them. Lily poured out tea, and she and Julien caught up on the past few weeks. “I wanted to apologise for not being in touch sooner,” he began. “I meant to email or ring you, but just after you left there was an emergency with work. I was in Paris, then back here for a few days, then in Singapore for a fortnight. The summer came to an abrupt end—I don’t think Vincent is very happy with me; I left everything unfinished with him and went rushing off. Anyway, I kept meaning to get in touch.”
“Not at all,” Lily said. “I’ve been busy with a couple of big work projects. And I’ve been looking at nurseries for Stella, which is more time-consuming than it sounds. It was lovely to get your flowers, a real surprise. So, tell me about your travels.”
It was only when Julien pointed out the sunset over the L
ondon rooftops—a glorious sky shot through with pink and orange—that they realised the time. People began arriving for early suppers, and Stella too needed food. “Are you rushing off or can we get something for her here?” Julien hesitated. He wasn’t sure whether Lily was still breast-feeding.
“Actually, she’s on to solid food now. I’ve got stuff for her, puréed carrots, bananas, you know, my usual cordon bleu.” Lily’s limited culinary skills had become a family joke in France. “But here, let me pay for the tea and cake.”
“Don’t be silly.” Julien pulled out his wallet and waved away Lily’s money. “You get started on feeding her and I’ll get the bill. But I wondered”—he hesitated—“if you like, we could walk on the Heath? The leaves are just turning and it’s beautiful up there. If we go soon we’ll catch the last of the light . . . unless you’re busy this evening?”
Lily felt a rush of pleasure. She hadn’t wanted the afternoon to end there. “I’d love that.”
“That’s great,” Julien said, and touched her shoulder. He walked across the café. Spooning puréed carrot from a small Tupperware into her hungry daughter’s mouth, she watched him standing at the till. She liked the way he talked easily with the manager, asking about the café opening, how business had been going in the first few months. And his smile, his smell, his hands . . . Lily smiled at Stella, feeding her small chunks of banana, and whispered, “Your mummy needs to get a grip.” If anything, she felt more attracted to him now than she had in France.
They were standing at the highest point of Hampstead Heath, looking down across London spread out below, when the last rays of light finally disappeared from the sky. “That’s my place.” Julien pointed. “Over there. That big red-brick building.” Lily already knew he lived in East Heath Lodge—although she didn’t mention how often she’d walked past it since their return from France.
“Alors?” He turned to look at her. Stella was fast asleep. Julien took Lily’s hands. “It’s really good to see you again.” He reached forward, gently tracing the line of her cheek. “I kept thinking about you, after France and everything. I’m so glad we met.” He leaned forward and kissed her, tentatively, on the lips. They gazed into each other’s eyes. Then he kissed her again, for longer this time.
Lily could feel herself melting. She pulled gently away. “I should probably get this little one back.”
“Of course.” He brushed a few strands of hair away from her face and kissed her again. “Sorry, it must be way past her bedtime. I’ll walk you home.”
As they walked through South End Green, Julien took her hand. “Are you free tomorrow evening? Why don’t you come over, both of you, and I’ll cook. You can feed Stella and put her down, then we can have dinner and watch something on Netflix? I can drive over and collect you with her cot, that way I can drop you back afterwards and she doesn’t need to be woken.”
Lily nodded. “OK. Thank you, I’d love that.”
* * *
So, Robert has invited us to stay at his villa in Spain. Me and the boys, that is. It’s been a lovely few months. I never thought a blind date could work out—it certainly wasn’t love at first sight, and even for the first few meetings I wasn’t convinced. But he’s gradually grown on me and I can actually see him being part of our lives. At first I thought he was too old for me—he’s sixty-four—too settled, too boring even, but over time I’ve come to feel very happy with him.
Poll thinks I should go for it. When I told her he’d invited us to spend the boys’ half-term at the villa in Marbella, she said something interesting: “You know, Pip, this could work. Robert is everything that Harry was not.” I wonder if, in a way, she’s right. Robert is reliable, dependable, a man you can trust. He’d never come home late or drunk, or not come home at all.
Do I sometimes feel he’s a tiny bit dull? Well, truthfully, no. I like the security. I was anxious over Harry for so long—even before he started seeing Lily—and it was really taking its toll. By the time he died, I was a wreck. My deepening depression, which in fact was a symptom of not working, not having any purpose or career and feeling useless, ditto my constant insecurity over my fading looks, I simply don’t feel any of that around Robert. I don’t find myself nagging and sniping the way I did with Harry. I don’t wonder about the other women Robert works with; he wants to be with me all the time. And I feel ridiculously youthful (the benefits of a fifteen-year age gap), and light and girlish.
Is it too soon? Am I a bad widow for not waiting longer? Am I being disrespectful to Harry’s memory? Will it damage the boys? Am I just looking for someone to take care of us? Oh God, who knows . . . who cares? Robert is a kind, funny, and intelligent man and he lifts my spirits. The boys get on brilliantly with him—and his daughters—and beyond that, time will tell. It hasn’t been easy. I still miss Harry dreadfully at times, and I’ll never be “in love” like that again, the raw physical passion we shared when we first met, those blissful early years of our marriage, the intimacy of our babies being born. He’ll always be the love of my life and the father of my boys.
But if his death has taught me one thing it’s that life can be brutal. People get hurt, hearts get broken, and sometimes really terrible things happen. Harry’s suicide ripped a hole in our family, and I need to rebuild something for the boys, for me. We can’t sit in this house forever with this death weighing on us, feeling empty and incomplete.
Julien was as good as his word, driving over to collect them and taking them back to the Heathside flat for dinner. The baby carrier doubled as a car seat and travel cot, so Lily could leave her daughter sleeping in the corner of the living room. Julien had made a delicious tomato and mozzarella salad, followed by stuffed aubergine with Camargue rice. “This reminds me of being in France,” Lily said as they ate. “Your mum’s an amazing cook.”
“I love Mum’s cooking.” Julien nodded. “She taught me and Vincent how to make this when we were kids.” He refilled their glasses. “The wine’s from Burgundy too.”
After dinner he drove them home and they sat chatting in the car for a few minutes before she got out. She waved as Julien drove off, and closed the front door quietly. She listened for sounds from Susan’s flat, then remembered that she was away for a long weekend shooting in Scotland with friends. She climbed the stairs slowly, Stella still sleeping in her cot. She’d have liked to invite him upstairs for coffee, but she wasn’t entirely sure; for now, it was better to take things slowly.
Before Stella was born, Lily hadn’t thought about dating with a child. How could you have a romantic atmosphere—how could you even go out—with a baby in tow? Now that Stella was here, and she was entirely responsible for this little life, it felt completely natural. OK, she couldn’t be as spontaneous as she was before—a certain amount of planning was required, as well as nappies and sterilised bottles—but motherhood wasn’t as limiting as she’d have assumed. Julien had puréed some veg for Stella’s dinner, and she’d bathed and changed her in his guest bathroom while he finished cooking. It helped that Julien had only ever known her with a baby; there were no awkward explanations about being a single mother. In fact they still hadn’t talked about Stella’s father and why he wasn’t around.
That autumn they quickly fell into a routine. They saw each other several times a week and spent most of the weekends together. He would come to Lily’s flat after work, always with a good bottle of wine and usually with the ingredients of supper. They would cook and talk for hours, late into the evening, curled on the sofa as the room grew dark. It was a great excuse to watch their favourite French films again: À Bout de Souffle, La Boum, and Jules et Jim. At weekends, if Julien wasn’t travelling for work, they visited Celia for lunch, met up with Cassie and Charlie, went to art galleries and for coffees in Hampstead or Chelsea, occasionally for drives in the countryside.
For all that Julien adored Stella, Lily was aware that he wanted time alone with her, properly alone. They still hadn’t spent a whole night together. It
wasn’t that she didn’t want him or didn’t trust him. But a sense of caution, even vulnerability, held her back: she was fragile from the events of the past year. He didn’t rush her; they both knew they had time.
For Lily’s birthday in October, Julien arranged a weekend away. “I’d like to take you to Paris,” he said, arriving one evening after work. “Just the two of us. I spoke to Cassie. She and Charlie will look after Stella from Friday evening to Sunday morning, if that’s OK with you? I’ve booked a beautiful hotel, and I’ll get tickets to the opera. We’ll go to some wonderful restaurants, and you can meet some of my friends.”
Cassie was more than happy to help out. She and Charlie were still trying to conceive and she loved looking after her niece. “I can’t wait, a whole weekend of being parents! Who knows, maybe it will help—they say that being around babies is good for fertility.”
The weekend in Paris was the first time Lily had left Stella in someone else’s care for more than twenty-four hours. “Oh my God, romantico! But are you ready?” her little sister, Olivia, said, when she heard that Julien was whisking Lily away. “Have you been doing your pelvic floor exercises?” Olivia and Cassie found this hysterically funny, and made Lily laugh too.
But it was strange how little that had come to matter. She remembered the mothers in her antenatal and baby yoga groups endlessly discussing their bodies: stretchmarks and Kegel exercises and how soon they could get back to their “pre-pregnancy weight.” Lily hadn’t stood on a pair of bathroom scales since Stella was born—she didn’t have any in the flat. She must have been weighed by the midwives in follow-up appointments, but she couldn’t recall any specific figures. From the fit of her jeans she could tell that her body was back to its “pre-pregnancy weight.” If anything, having a baby had made her stronger and leaner.
Still, she enjoyed her birthday present from her sisters. “We decided to give you this early,” Olivia said, “so you can get ready for Paris.” She waved a large pink gift voucher. “It’s a beauty package for knackered new mums: full body massage, exfoliation, waxing, the works!” Lily wasn’t sure about being labelled a knackered new mother—it reminded her of those yoga mums, endlessly competing over who got the least sleep and discussing how many calories breast-feeding used up. Then again, it was lovely to be pampered, and she felt like a million dollars after her afternoon at the beauty salon.