‘Why are you frightened of love?’
‘Who says that I’m frightened?’ Leo could feel his hands trembling.
‘If you’re in love you should be happy to share your life with that person.’
‘Now you’re talking about marriage,’ he said. ‘And that’s an entirely different kettle of fish.’
Isobel waited for him to continue.
Leo could feel a cold sweat breaking out under his arms which was deeply unpleasant. ‘Marriage is essentially about taking two great people and turning them into one boring fart.’
‘Is that why you never married Emma?’
Even trying to think of an answer to that question made Leo’s head whirl.
‘Are you scared to love fully in case that person leaves you?’
It was fair to say that Leo had never wanted to suffer the bitter agonies of a divorce. He watched his parents go through it and couldn’t bear to go through that himself. Or to put anyone else through it. ‘Not at all,’ he stated instead, showing that he was truly comfortable with expressing his feelings. The only thing Leo liked to express was his right to be too drunk to stand up. ‘But that’s what happens here. No one stays together any more. Splitting up is the new getting married. We’re all jaded cynics who don’t believe in happy ever after. That’s the way of our world.’
‘It doesn’t have to be like that.’ Isobel shook her head. ‘People still can be together for ever. All they need is a little bit of help, some good luck and perhaps a smattering of magic.’
‘And you’d contribute that part?’
She gave him an unfathomable look. Leo hated that. He even struggled with her fathomable looks. ‘I could do,’ she said. ‘But there are times when it’s better if people make their own magic.’
‘Ah.’ He spotted a fatal flaw in her argument. ‘That’s the part we have a bit of trouble with.’
‘Sometimes you have to throw caution to the wind and jump in with both feet otherwise some of the best experiences of your life could pass you by.’
Leo couldn’t take this in. He needed more time – and more beer – to recover from this shock.
‘Men are much more sensitive than women, or fairies,’ he said. ‘You only have to see how much more we suffer when we catch a common cold. We need to be eased gently into these things. Over many, many years.’
‘Then let’s not discuss it any more tonight,’ Isobel wisely suggested. She could probably tell from the pale colour of his face that this was too much for Leo to absorb.
‘No,’ he said. ‘Let’s not. That’s a very good idea.’
She kissed him on the nose. ‘What do you want for dinner?’ she said brightly.
‘Dinner?’ Leo couldn’t even concentrate on the mundane. ‘You have completely and utterly ruined my appetite with all that talk of the little folk.’
‘Don’t you like babies?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but I couldn’t eat a whole one.’
She laughed and wrapped her arms round him. ‘You always say the funniest things.’
Leo felt everything inside him dissolve. His will was no longer his own. And it frightened him that he could agree to anything this woman . . . fairy . . . required of him.
‘Tonight is traditionally my curry night,’ he admitted. ‘I usually go out with the boys.’ A rather lame male-bonding ritual, Leo knew, but one he enjoyed and rarely remembered afterwards.
Isobel pouted at him with lips that he was sure must have formed the concept of strawberries. ‘You don’t mind staying at home instead?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’ll make you glad that you did,’ she said, running the tips of her fingers down his neck.
Leo shivered. ‘Oh really?’
‘Where do you normally go for your curry?’
‘The Bombay Plaza.’ Not terribly salubrious, but it was cheap and the manager didn’t mind the singing which they invariably indulged in. Leo’s rendition of ‘Walking on Sunshine’ enjoyed a degree of renown in certain local eateries.
There was a sudden and blinding flash in the kitchen. Leo was catapulted from his chair and Isobel, instead of falling to the floor with a hefty bump as she should, simply floated away. ‘Flip!’
In times of crisis Leo’s extensive vocabulary usually deserted him. All his hair was standing on end and he felt as if his face had been scorched. On the table was a wonderful Indian feast, comprising all of his favourite dishes. Isobel, it seemed, was also telepathic when it came to curry-house menus. Indian music was playing – some sort of Ravi Shankar plinky-plonky stuff involving a sitar – and there was a very bemused waiter standing at the head of the table with a white cloth over his arm.
‘Hi.’ Leo gave him a tentative wave.
Recovering his composure remarkably quickly, the waiter just sort of assumed that he was supposed to be here in the middle of Leo’s kitchen, in his flat, and gave him a formal nod. ‘Good evening, sir.’
‘You can serve dinner now,’ Isobel said. The apron had gone and she was wearing some sort of silky, Indian pyjama thing. Very nice. Very themed.
The waiter stepped forward. Leo was so shocked that even the previous shock Isobel had given him did recede into the background somewhat.
‘Isobel. Remind me never to ask you for shark’s fin soup for dinner.’ Leo shuffled his chair into place at the table. And he had to say this looked like a damn fine curry.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Grant takes me to a small Italian restaurant in Soho, well away from any of our usual haunts. Not that I’ve mixed with Grant very often and certainly not alone on any previous occasion. If Leo can be unbearable on his own, he’s normally twice as bad when let loose with Grant and Lard. They all regress fifteen years. Yet, so far this evening, Grant has been charm personified. If he normally chooses to keep this side of himself hidden, I wonder why.
It’s a cosy restaurant, with red gingham cloths on tables that are all squashed together, and there’s a mist of condensation on the windows. This is the sort of place that people come to for a pre-theatre meal and it’s quiet now that everyone else has rushed off to see Mamma Mia! or Chicago or whatever else ‘must-see’ show is playing these days. It’s years since I’ve been to the theatre, mainly because Leo finds it impossible to sit still for three hours. Actually, he finds it impossible to sit still for ten minutes. My appreciation of the arts is lost on him. Leo’s favourite film is Alien versus Predator – which speaks volumes.
I’m on my fourth or fifth glass of house plonk – I’ve stopped counting – and I’m feeling a great warmth in my toes. I never drink like this, not on a work night. Not even at the weekend. The ladette culture of binge-drinking has firmly passed me by. Although I do seem to be making up for lost time now. Well, one of us had to stay sober and I was normally looking after Leo to make sure he didn’t make a fool of himself – without much success, usually.
Tonight I’m feeling mellow and chatty. Grant has proved to be good company and a very good listener. ‘And you’ll never guess what he did next. Never.’ I prod Grant. ‘Never! Never in a million, trillion years.’
Grant stifles a yawn. ‘He was sick in the potted plant.’
I shriek. ‘He was sick in the . . .’ I stop abruptly. ‘How did you know that?’
My dinner companion sighs. ‘I have heard, several times, every Leo story known to man. And you have mentioned “that bastard” approximately two hundred and ten times in the last hour.’
I feel myself deflate. ‘Oh. Have I?’
Grant nods.
I pick at the melted candle wax congealed in colourful stalagmites coming down from the top of the wine bottle in the middle of the table. I thought that I’d hardly mentioned Leo at all. I thought we were having fun, not talking about Leo. It seems that I’m wrong. ‘I’ve talked non-stop about him?’
Grant nods again.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Grant sounds a lot more sober than I do.
S
ighing out loud, I say, ‘How is he then?’
‘He’s fine,’ Grant tells me.
‘I’d rather he was suicidal and missing me.’
Grant shrugs. ‘You know Leo.’
‘Only too well.’ I slug down my wine and pour out some more. ‘Have you met my rival for his affections?’
‘Yes.’
‘What does she have that I don’t?’
‘Apart from Leo, you mean?’
‘Point taken,’ I say. Toying with a breadstick, I avoid looking at my companion. ‘Leo thinks she’s the sun and stars all wrapped up together.’
‘Well,’ Grant pauses over his wine. ‘She’s certainly . . . different.’
‘Different?’
‘Different.’
Clearly Grant isn’t going to be drawn into comparing me to Leo’s new woman. It’s probably a good decision to choose the safe, neutral ground. ‘Did he ever feel like that about me, Grant? Did he used to talk about me the way he talks about her?’
‘Yes.’ Grant puffs out loud. ‘He did. All the time.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I didn’t know that.’ My eyes start to prick with tears.
‘He loved you a lot,’ Grant says. ‘Adored you. He might not always have shown it in the way you wanted, but – well, you know Leo.’
I wonder if I did at all.
‘Let’s get you home,’ Grant says, standing up. ‘I can’t cope with any more of playing gooseberry to Lovely Leo.’ He gives a strained laugh. ‘Especially when Leo isn’t even here.’
The taxi pulls up outside my flat. Grant pays and then helps me out as my legs seem to have gone very watery during the journey. He escorts me to my building.
I put my hand on Grant’s arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ve spoiled the evening now and we were having such fun.’ Fumbling in my handbag, I eventually find my key. ‘I don’t normally drink so much.’
‘It doesn’t hurt once in a while,’ Grant assures me as I totter towards the front door.
‘And you’re an expert, are you?’
‘Unfortunately, I am.’
I slump against him, misery and booze making it hard to be upright. ‘How am I going to stop feeling like this? How am I going to get over him, Grant?’
‘You’ll be all right,’ he says, propping me up. ‘It takes time, but you’ll be fine.’
‘And what if I’m not?’ I burp and lurch inside, bashing the automatic light en route which bathes us in the floodlight of a dozen bare bulbs from the overhead spotlights. I wince against the glare. I’ve never noticed the brightness of these lights before. ‘Ooo.’
Grant follows me up the stairs and to my flat.
‘My mother said I should have casual sex with a dangerous stranger,’ I say over my shoulder. My voice catches on the words. Despite being emboldened by drink, I still know what I’m insinuating.
‘Well, that rules me out on both counts,’ Grant says lightly. ‘I’m not dangerous and I’m not a stranger.’
I peer at him with my bleary and probably bloodshot eyes. ‘No.’ But he’s very attractive in a Leo’s friend-ish sort of way. It’s funny that I haven’t noticed that before. He’s tall and dark and rather lovely. Not a bag of bones like Leo, more thickset. Sturdy. Reliable. Well, he looks reliable – but looks, as I know to my cost, can be deceptive. I swing the door open more exuberantly than I intend, and it crashes against the wall. ‘Welcome to my humble abode.’
‘I’m glad you’re home safely and in more or less one piece,’ Grant says. ‘It’s been a really nice evening. We should do it again.’
‘It’s been terrible,’ I say. ‘I whined about Leo all night. Next time I’ll stay sober and won’t moan.’
‘I might hold you to that.’ Grant grins. He has nice teeth. Lots of them. Straight ones. ‘I’d better be going.’
‘Don’t you want to come in?’
Grant shakes his head. ‘It’s probably not wise.’
‘Just for coffee?’
‘I’ve got an early start tomorrow. The cut and thrust of the money markets waits for no one.’
‘I promise not to pounce on you.’
‘Thank you,’ Grant says. ‘I respect your considerable restraint.’
I giggle. Should I pounce on him? Would it be a good way to get Leo out of my system? I’ve hardly had any lovers. Should I be thinking about adding another one to the meagre list?
‘It wouldn’t solve anything.’
‘No. Probably not.’ I smile lopsidedly at him. ‘Sure I can’t tempt you with a chocolate digestive then?’
‘Positive. If it was Lard, that would be a different matter. He’d be putty in your hands.’
‘You’re more resistant to my charms.’
‘No,’ Grant sighs. ‘Not really.’
I lean on the doorpost. ‘You’ve never brought the same girlfriend twice when we’ve been out together as a group.’
‘Ah, well. They say variety is the spice of life.’
‘Has there never been anyone special, Grant?’
‘No.’ He jams his hands into his pockets. ‘I work too hard. I play too hard . . .’ He shrugs.
‘But?’
‘But it would be nice to have someone who loved me as much as you love Leo.’
‘Loved,’ I say, emphasising the past tense. ‘Loved.’
‘You know you don’t mean that.’
I huff. ‘I love him so much and yet most of the time I could kill him. Does that make any sense?’
‘Probably to another woman,’ Grant admits.
‘My last offer of a choccy biccy?’
The timer on the automatic light clicks and then plunges us into darkness, apart from the moon shining through the window in the hall. Could this be considered romantic?
‘I think that’s my cue to leave.’ Grant kisses me on the cheek. ‘Sleep tight.’
‘I’m sorry, Grant.’
Even in the darkness I can see that he looks regretful. ‘Me too,’ he says and then he walks away.
I watch him as he lets himself out of the building. He gives me a wave without looking back at me. Grant is nice. He’s very nice. A genuine guy with an occasionally unleashed wild streak. I thought he was a prat. How could I have read him so wrong? It seems as if I’ve been doing that a lot lately. And now I’m alone. I let myself into the flat. It’s going to be hell getting up in time for work in the morning. I’m so, so tired and all I want to do is sleep for ever with someone’s arms around me. I close my eyes and feel sleep rush in. And, with that, I slither slowly and drunkenly to the floor.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Grant and Lard were sitting on Leo’s desk when he finally arrived in the office, amid the remnants of some rather tasty-looking pastries. Needless to say there had been another lovemaking and glitter frenzy last night after the sumptuous Indian extravaganza, and Leo wasn’t sure how long he’d be able to keep this up. Keep anything up! But that was strictly confidential. Leo didn’t want to ruin his reputation. And Isobel didn’t even complain about his curry breath. There were times, Leo thought, when you could tell that she was definitely not a proper woman.
Isobel was still fast asleep in bed and, for a fairy, she seemed to need a lot of sleep. The difference with Isobel was that she’d waltz in here about eleven o’clock, wave her wand and no one would be any the wiser. It was only some strange sense of loyalty that had made Leo come here under his own steam. He must be mad.
Isobel’s conversation with him last night had left Leo feeling very unsettled. He ‘L’d’ Isobel – he was sure he did. But babies? Marriage? Still scared the poo out of him. Nothing would convince Leo that they weren’t a really bad idea. He couldn’t even make it compute – he could almost hear the separate bits of his brain clicking round trying to find sense in it. To Leo, it was like a Rubik’s Cube and the little coloured squares just wouldn’t line up and slot into place for him no matter how hard he tried.
It was almost a relief to get to work so that he could think about other rubbish
– stocks, shares, blah, blah, blah. No, he hadn’t lost it completely – he did say almost.
‘How does he do it?’ he heard Grant say as he approached his dear friends, hoping to immerse his worries in the slurry of office gossip. ‘He’s got two gorgeous women hopelessly in love with him and I can’t even get one. I’m beginning to dislike him intensely.’
Leo wandered up and snatched the only remaining chocolate croissant.
‘I spat on that,’ Lard said.
‘A bit of bodily fluid shared between brothers doesn’t bother me.’ Leo bit into it regardless. He knew that Lard would never abuse an innocent pastry so. ‘Who do you dislike intensely?’
‘You,’ Grant snapped.
‘Oh. I thought it was someone interesting you were dissing.’
‘You’re not being fair to Emma.’
‘I’m not doing anything to Emma.’
‘That’s why she’s so bloody miserable.’
‘She wanted me out of her life,’ Leo pointed out, perhaps a little too crisply. ‘I’m out. I thought she’d be happy about that.’
Grant rent his hair in frustration and Leo didn’t understand why his friend was getting so het up about his love-life. ‘You know nothing about women.’
‘No.’ Leo would have been the first to admit that. ‘Do you?’
Grant slumped. ‘No.’
Lard covetously moved the last of the pastries out of Leo’s reach and addressed him from beneath his fringe. ‘How would you feel if Emma was seeing someone else?’
‘Emma is wonderful,’ Leo pronounced magnanimously. ‘She deserves to meet someone equally wonderful.’ But perhaps not too much more wonderful than him or that would show Leo up in a very bad light. ‘And I sincerely hope she does meet someone else,’ he continued. ‘One day.’
It’s a Kind of Magic Page 14