by Lucy Diamond
Apart from you. Well, at least she’d entered into his considerations, even if it was as an afterthought. Small mercies. She took his hand, feeling as if they were skirting around something big and scary here, neither of them quite able to look the other in the eye. What did he want? Not this, clearly. And what did she want? She didn’t want this either – the two of them tense and scratchy, unable to be themselves, be honest. Oh, she was tired of not being honest, all of a sudden. Ever since she’d followed him down to Brighton, she seemed to have been hiding all sorts of truths from him, her so-called beloved. It didn’t make her feel like a good person. Maybe she should just sling her hook along with his, hop in the car, make some half-arsed apologies to Viv about the magazine, and then slip back into Stonefield life as if she’d never been away.
Her eye drifted to the photos she’d stuck on the bedroom wall: holiday and Christmas snaps, Jade’s hen do, the village barbecue last summer . . . It would be so easy to pack up and go, wouldn’t it? Admit defeat, scuttle back north, settle into the well-worn grooves of home. The delights of Brighton would come to feel like a strange dream whenever she looked back, a brief, glittering sequin-embellished detour from routine. And yet something was stopping her. Although a month ago she might have jumped for joy that Simon wanted to leave, there was a stubborn part of Georgie that hated to give up on anything. She liked it here now! She had her new friends, and work! And given the choice, she wanted to see the six months through, experience the city fully, rather than trot meekly along behind her boyfriend yet again, just because he happened to be in a hurry to get out of there. Why should she have to go along with whatever he wanted all the time?
‘Simon . . . What’s your dream scenario in, say, a year from now?’ she asked, stroking the backs of his fingers. He had such nice hands, she’d always thought so – broad and strong, and just starting to tan now after the recent weeks of sunshine – but today it was like touching a stranger. ‘I mean – magic wand, make a wish, what would be your perfect life? What do you hope happens next?’
He looked taken aback at the question as if he’d never considered such a thing. (Georgie, by contrast, would have been able to give you detailed one-year, five-year and ten-year dream scenarios at the drop of a hat ever since she was about fourteen.) ‘Well . . . Living in Stonefield, great new job . . .’ He scratched his chin while he paused to think. ‘I’d love to build a house one day, buy a plot of land, you know, proper Grand Designs stuff. That’s the dream, I guess. Why?’
And that, right there, was the difference between them, she thought glumly. His dream was about him, work, some stupid house he wanted to build, whereas her dreams had always been about the two of them, getting married, choosing their first rescue dog, starting a family, all that sort of happy-ever-after stuff. Was she even part of his dream scenario? Or was there just some shadowy generic ‘girlfriend’ slot, the details of whom bothered him less than the dimensions of his amazing house? Maybe she’d been kidding herself this whole time, she thought, a new tightness at the back of her throat. Maybe coming down here with him had been the worst sort of clingy-girlfriend behaviour.
She looked at him now, hunched over his phone, not even really waiting for her reply. Did he care about her dream scenario? She swallowed down a lump in her throat, remembering how happy Charlotte had looked the evening before, how her face had glowed when she talked about Ned and their romantic dinner, interrupted as it had been by his two cute daughters. When had she and Simon last looked at each other lovingly over a romantic dinner? When had they stopped having fun and feeling glow-y?
She sighed and poked her feet out of the duvet where they’d become too hot. He’d be fine without her, wouldn’t he, in the rest of his life? He’d said so himself – she didn’t even really factor into his dream scenario, for goodness’ sake!
Well, then, she thought. Here goes nothing. ‘I’ve got something to tell you,’ she said. ‘Actually, there are a few things.’
Once she had started, she couldn’t stop. It was weirdly liberating, releasing one terrible secret after another, prising off their lids and setting them free into the room while he said nothing, just edged away from her on the bed with each new revelation, looking more and more aghast. And so out came the story about going to interview the women at the refuge and her part in his lost job (‘It was you?’), and, yes, out came the confession about her speed dating experience too.
‘But nothing happened!’ she said quickly, seeing his face turn puce. ‘In fact, I kept ringing you, trying to get you to come with me, but this woman answered your phone and was rude to me—’
‘Oh, right, so you thought, sod it, I’ll go on my own, I’ll go speed dating—’
‘No! Well, yes – but it wasn’t like that. It was only a stupid work thing, it didn’t mean anything. Just like you being in a pub with some woman after work didn’t mean anything!’
‘That was different. There were loads of us. And we weren’t all flirting and trying to get off with each other either.’
His voice was so cold, she felt herself crumple. His jaw was set hard and furious; he wasn’t even looking at her any more. ‘Yeah, but . . . You’ve been out loads with them, haven’t you? And that woman who answered your phone was really rude to me, and . . .’
Simon’s jaw dropped. ‘Wait a minute, how has this suddenly turned around to be about me? I’m not the one who went speed dating, George.’
‘But it is about you too, it’s about both of us.’ She could hear her own voice getting higher and higher. Shrill, even; on the defensive. ‘You never took my job seriously—’
‘Where’s all this coming from?’
‘And you’ve been taking me for granted, ever since we moved down here—’
‘Oh, for crying out loud!’ Now he looked angry. ‘No, I haven’t.’
Georgie could feel the argument slipping away from her. ‘Anyway, I went home early from the stupid dating thing because it was awful,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Really.’ She could tell he didn’t believe her.
‘Yes, really. After I came off the phone to you, I went home and watched Silent Witness in my pyjamas and put a face pack on. Really.’ Thank God Charlotte was out at work and wouldn’t be able to hear her through the wall, she thought, wincing at her own rising volume. ‘Look, I’m sorry, all right?’ she went on, more humbly. He hated shrieking even more than clinging. ‘I’m sorry things have been weird, I’m sorry we’ve not been totally honest with each other . . .’
‘We? Don’t bring me into this again, Georgie. I’m not the one who’s been off bloody speed dating, am I?’
‘No, but you’ve done things wrong too, you haven’t exactly been a saint,’ she retorted, unable to refrain from pointing this out. There were only so many times you could apologize, after all. ‘You’ve kept me at arm’s length the whole time we’ve been down here, it’s all been about you and your stupid hotel. And even now, it’s about you and your stupid “future house”.’ She made quotation marks with her fingers just in case he hadn’t realized exactly how much she despised that wretched future house of his. ‘Where do I come into the picture, then, eh? Am I even in your sodding picture?’
He stood up stiffly, not looking at her. ‘I’m going,’ he said, the door slamming behind him with an unmistakable finality.
She blinked very hard to stop herself from crying. ‘I’ll take that as a no, then,’ she mumbled to the empty room.
Chapter Twenty-Three
SeaView House Noticeboard:
POLITE REMINDER
To All Residents
PLEASE put your rubbish in the communal dustbins outside. Do NOT leave rubbish bags tied to the front railings. It is unsightly and a health hazard.
Angela Morrison-Hulme
Property Manager
‘So basically he was really really angry – I’ve never seen him so angry – and he was like, I’m going, and then he just l-l-left. He drove away without another word. And I’ve not heard fro
m him since!’
Rosa had been on an early shift that day, finishing at three, and had been looking forward to vegging out with her feet up for the rest of the afternoon, fine-tuning the shopping list for her next dinner party – or rather her inaugural supper club as she supposed she should start thinking of it. As she was walking up the road, though, she’d spotted Georgie in the lawned square outside the flats, and had gone over to say hello, only to have her upstairs neighbour burst into tears on her and pour out a litany of Simon-related woes, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
‘Oh no,’ she said sympathetically. ‘That doesn’t sound good.’
‘He was looking at me like he h-h-hated me.’ Georgie scrubbed her wet pink eyes with a fist and hiccupped. She had no make-up on, which made her seem very little-girl-ish, and she was wearing a plain grey T-shirt and denim shorts, a far cry from her usual brightly coloured outfits. ‘I can’t believe it’s o-o-over. Just like that. We’ve been together since we were kids. He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had!’
‘Oh, love,’ Rosa said, her arms still around Georgie’s narrow shoulders. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘And it’s all my f-f-fault,’ Georgie wailed. ‘I brought this about.’ She blew her nose with a loud honk. ‘He deserves better than me. A better girlfriend to live in his beautiful bloody house. We both came to that conclusion, basically.’ Fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she wiped them away with the damp bit of tissue.
‘Don’t say that. You’re lovely,’ Rosa told her loyally. ‘And it’s not like he’s been all sunshine and joy lately himself, has he? You said the other night he was grumpy and obsessed with work. So maybe it’s you who deserves someone better than him.’
Georgie gave a wan smile but you could tell she wasn’t buying it. Not quite ready for the Yeah! Sisterhood! part of breaking up with someone. Fair enough. It had taken Rosa long enough to get there herself after all.
‘So what happens now?’ Rosa asked. It was such a warm, sunny day, the sea a brilliant twinkly blue, it seemed doubly cruel to be unhappy somehow, when all around them were groups of students stretched out on the grass, children scampering about barefoot, dogs lolloping joyfully after tennis balls.
‘He’s probably back home in Yorkshire by now,’ Georgie sighed. ‘Oh God, his mum is going to love this, you know. She’s always looked down her nose at me, like I’m not good enough for her precious man-child. He’ll be waited on hand and foot, she’ll be fussing over him and ripping me to shreds, I bet.’ She drew her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arm around them. ‘After that . . . he might give the tenants in our house notice so that he can move back in there, I guess. To our home.’ She sniffled at the thought. ‘Maybe he’ll want to . . .’ She swallowed. ‘Sell the house. Our little house!’ Her voice rose to a wail. ‘Oh, this is so awful. I can’t believe it’s happening, Rosa. Me and Si . . . I thought we’d be together forever!’
She collapsed into sobs again and Rosa rubbed her back. ‘See how things are when you’ve both cooled off,’ she said comfortingly. ‘This doesn’t have to be the end. Maybe you both just need some thinking time apart, a chance to get to grips with whatever it is you each want. It’ll be all right. Look at you – you’re so vibrant and clever and sparkly – this is just a temporary setback, okay? With him or without him, you’re still the same Georgie, just remember that.’ And here she was, she thought, parroting all the things her friends had told her six months earlier, when she’d been the one devastated and feeling as if her life had juddered to an abrupt end. There was the circle of break-ups for you.
Nodding, Georgie blew her nose once more and pushed her hair off her face. ‘Thanks,’ she said in a small voice, twiddling a long blade of grass around her fingers. ‘And I’m sorry for weeping all over you. I couldn’t bear to be in that flat without him, the walls were closing in. I thought I’d come out and get some work done but I’ve just been crying and feeling shit the whole time.’
‘Why don’t we go back to mine?’ Rosa said, getting up and holding out a hand. ‘Change of scenery. I have coffee and flapjacks and loads of tissues . . .’ They both looked at the very damp, very tatty, now totally useless piece of tissue that Georgie had been using, and Georgie did actually splutter a little laugh.
‘Come on,’ she urged, hauling Georgie up to her feet. ‘Remind me to tell you some other time about my disastrous love life – that’s sure to make you feel better about your own. But in the meantime . . . just hang out with me if you don’t want to be alone. I was meaning to sort out my menu for Friday night, you can tell me what you think.’
‘Friday . . . ? Oh, your supper club.’ Georgie’s face crumpled once more as they walked towards the house. ‘I guess you’d better cross Simon off the guest-list. I’ll have to sit on my own.’
‘No, you will not,’ Rosa said, seeing that Georgie looked as if she was about to start crying all over again. ‘You can sit with my three oldest friends who are coming down from London for the occasion. And believe me, those girls are exactly who you want on your side when you’re going through a break-up. If nothing else, they’ll get you pissed and tell you all their dirty secrets. Or you can sit with Jo, if you’d rather? She’s back home now, did you know? She’s booked in, along with Bea and her ex, Gareth, Bea’s dad, so . . .’ Georgie was starting to look overwhelmed. ‘Look, just see how you feel tomorrow anyway,’ Rosa advised. They’d reached the front door and she unlocked it and held it open while Georgie trudged in. ‘In the meantime, I’m going to force you to listen to my menu ideas, like it or not. You can make yourself useful and tell me what you think.’
*
Facebook update: Ann-Marie Chandler
Delighted to announce that David and I are expecting our third child!!! Had the 13-week scan yesterday and our baby is healthy and beautiful. We are so happy!!!! #blessed #happy #baby #family #love
Rosa closed the laptop and felt herself bristling all over. She had to stop looking at this page. She had to!
‘So I was like, er, excuse me, I think I was here first – I was a bit pissed by this point – and then I did this double-take, like, holy shit, because I realized that the man next to me at the bar, the man I’d just been all hoity-toity to, was –’
‘Oh God, who?’
‘– Only bloody Harrison Ford.’ Alexa threw her hands in the air. ‘Han bloody Solo, my teenage crush! And me, getting all narky with the man. With Harrison frigging Ford! Mortified, I’m telling you. I was absolutely mortified!’
It was Friday evening and Rosa’s practice supper club was underway. So far, so good, she thought, casting an eye around the room as she gathered together the scraped-clean starter plates and topped up a few wine glasses. There were eleven guests plus her, and earlier that day, she’d lugged her sofa and armchair into the bedroom so that there was space to arrange the tables in a long line in the centre of the room. (It was a bit of a squeeze, admittedly, but this only seemed to have led to greater camaraderie rather than any actual discomfort.) A few lamps and lit candles strategically placed around the place lent a soft glow, plus she’d bought some small terracotta pots of flowering thyme and rosemary which she clustered at intervals along the table, adding to the Mediterranean theme of her menu.
Her London friends had arrived just after six o’clock, laden with overnight bags and bunches of flowers and clinking carrier bags that seemed to contain gallons of booze, and the four of them had screamed so loudly on the doorstep that a passer-by had actually turned his head in alarm. She’d known these women for seventeen years now, almost half her life, and even though cutting herself off while she tried to get her life back on track had seemed like the right decision at the time, it was only now that she had them all back around her that she felt properly Rosa-ish again, as if she’d had a missing limb reattached.
Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves at the dinner table, judging from the roars of laughter that greeted Alexa’s latest showbiz tale. Working in PR for the TV and film industry, she always had
a good story or two up her designer sleeve.
‘Harrison Ford? No way!’ cried Jo, who had dyed her hair aubergine for the occasion and actually had a bit of colour in her cheeks again too (perhaps it was the wine). ‘I love that man. Oh, I’d willingly turn back for Harrison in a heartbeat, I’m not even joking.’
‘Mum!’ cried Bea, clapping her hands over her ears in horror. ‘Don’t say things like that in front of me!’
‘Ex-husband klaxon,’ Gareth announced drily, rolling his eyes. ‘Cough. Awkward.’
Alexa, meanwhile, looked thrilled at Jo’s comment and high-fived her across the table. ‘Me too!’ she screeched.
Was that a frisson Rosa detected between the two of them? she wondered in amusement, exchanging a raised eyebrow with Catherine next to her. ‘Well, trust me, he’s still got it anyway,’ Alexa went on confidentially. ‘Got it in spades. And he was really sweet and gracious too, once I’d apologized nine million times and offered to buy him a drink, out of sheer embarrassment.’
‘So did he let you buy him a drink?’ Georgie said, eyes goggling. She’d brought along her boss, Viv, and had been rather quiet up until this point, Rosa had noticed.
‘Sadly not. He waved my offer aside, like this –’ Alexa demonstrated – ‘with his lovely beautiful hands.’
‘Wrinkly old hands, you mean,’ said Meg shuddering. ‘He must be seventy by now, you pervert.’
‘Which is, of course, still young, I would just like to say,’ reprimanded Margot, with a beady glare at her. Rosa stifled a laugh at the mortified expression on Meg’s face. She’d been thrilled that Margot had joined them that evening, arriving in an elegant black dress with her silvery hair coiffed to perfection, bearing champagne once more. (‘Being ill, it is too dull,’ she had declared rather majestically as she made her entrance. ‘I decided – no! I will not miss another evening with my neighbours. Sometimes you just need to put on your dress and enjoy the world, no?’)