Second Chance

by Jane Green

And so it goes on… As the evening wears on, inhibitions are loosened, and connections are being made again. Whatever it was that kept them from one another all these years has now disappeared without a trace.

  Olivia, so nervous about seeing these people compared with whom she always felt so inadequate, doesn’t feel inadequate any more, is surprised and moved to find that she no longer feels Saffron is prettier or that Holly is cleverer and, although it may still be true, it doesn’t bother her now, doesn’t provide a yardstick against which she constantly has to measure herself and find herself falling short.

  Saffron is calmer, more measured somehow. The Saffron of old was a shrieker, but the Saffron sitting here today seems, even through her sadness, to be at peace. The drama queen of old has settled down, she is comfortable in her skin and far more beautiful today because of it.

  Paul is the same. He hasn’t changed at all, despite Holly dragging out the copy of Vogue (she’d gone out and bought it immediately). Tom was right, Holly thinks back with pain, remembering her conversation with Tom when she first saw Paul in Vogue. He is still a scruff, just one with the ability to scrub up incredibly well.

  And Holly? Holly is the one you might perhaps worry about the most. She is the one who seems lost. Even here, among people who have known her longer than anyone else, although she appears comfortable, her feet tucked under her at one end of the long, squishy sofa, even here she looks lost.

  ‘Tom was probably the most consistent thing in my life.’ Olivia reaches over to the coffee table and pours herself more wine as she sighs. ‘Whatever else was going on, whoever else might have left me, or however crappy my job might have been, Tom was always there. Not that I saw him that often, but he was so fiercely loyal in his friendships, he’d always be there for you. God, I tried to get rid of him in my twenties, but he just wouldn’t bloody disappear…’

  The others laugh.

  ‘You know what I loved best about Tom? That he didn’t change. That he was never impressed by people or things. He knew me for so long that he refused to be impressed by my acting or the films I was in. Used to piss me off enormously,’ Saffron admitted with a shrug. ‘After I was in that film with Dennis Quaid, I thought he’d finally treat me with a bit more respect, but he didn’t give a damn. Actually I think he even told me to get off my high horse once upon a time.’

  ‘Did you?’ Paul looks at her with an amused grin.

  ‘What do you think?’ She raises an eyebrow as she turns her head slowly to look at him.

  ‘Thought not.’

  ‘I know this sounds terrible,’ Holly says quietly, ‘but don’t they always say you never appreciate what you have until it’s gone? I spent years falling in and out of love with Tom, and then I met Marcus, and then obviously Tom and I were just friends, but I wish I’d spoken to him more, wish I’d shown him how much I loved him. I mean, how can you know something like this is going to happen?’

  ‘Of course you can’t,’ Saffron says, ‘and he would have known. He knew how much we all loved him. That’s why he insisted on staying in all our lives.’

  ‘Let’s toast,’ says Olivia. ‘To Tom,’ she raises her eyes upwards, ‘wherever you are.’

  ‘To Tom,’ they all echo. ‘We wish you were here.’

  ‘More coffee?’ Holly sighs as she pulls her legs out from under her and hoists herself up from the sofa, knowing that there was a difference in her relationship with Tom but not wanting to share it with the others. Not yet.

  ‘I think more wine,’ Paul says, as he drains the dregs of his fourth glass.

  It was not long after the dinner in Bayswater. Before her trip to Australia where Marcus had swept Holly off her feet, before a time when she would look at Tom and see nothing more than a best friend.

  Another dinner. This time in Holland Park. Not for any reason other than to catch up with each other. Holly had been to the huge Ghost warehouse sale that morning – had pushed her way through hundreds of desperate west London women to grab anything that looked vaguely her size, had thought nothing of stripping down to bra and knickers to try on her pickings in the middle of a room filled with clothes racks.

  She had found a beautiful diaphanous lilac coat. Sheer, flowing, it wafted out behind her as she walked. It was tied around the neck with a delicate beaded string, and worn with sheer flared lilac pants and a camisole vest.

  She looked beautiful that night. The afternoon had been a hot one. She’d met a group of girlfriends on Primrose Hill. One had brought an oversized blanket, another baguettes, another cheese. Holly had brought wine, and they’d all taken off their T-shirts, rolled up their peasant skirts as far as they dared, and basked in the sun as Frisbees and balls whizzed over their heads, dogs running up and trying to pinch some of their food.

  Holly had the kind of skin that looked at the sun and bronzed. That night she tipped her head upside down and shook her hair out to achieve that slightly wild, sexy look, swept Ultraglow on her cheeks, and popped silver hoops into her ears. She wasn’t doing it for Tom but for herself, although she knew Tom would appreciate it.

  He pulled up outside the flat at seven, beeped the horn, and Holly ran down the stairs and tumbled into his car.

  ‘You look gorgeous!’ he said in surprise as she leant over and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘I know!’ she said. ‘Ghost sale. Dirt cheap. Isn’t it fantastic?’

  ‘Yes, and how come you’re so brown?’

  ‘Mixture of Primrose Hill and make-up. You like?’

  ‘You look the very picture of health. Come on. I’ve booked Julie’s.’

  ‘Oh I say,’ Holly settled back in the car seat. ‘How romantic’

  ‘I know. I was hoping I might get lucky.’

  Holly raised an eyebrow. ‘Play your cards right and you just never know.’

  They had a quiet, candlelit table in the corner of the room. For anyone other than Holly and Tom it would have been absurdly romantic, but instead of murmuring sweet nothings across the table, they chatted nineteen to the dozen and kept bursting into splutters of laughter over shared jokes.

  They fought over the crème brûlée, clashing forks like swords as they each battled to get more, and when Tom pulled up outside Holly’s flat, he did as he usually did, walking up the stairs with her for one last coffee.

  It was a perfect evening. Neither one had fallen in love with the other, both of them just enjoying each other’s company, no false expectations leading to disappointment.

  Holly sank into the sofa next to Tom and threw her legs over his.

  ‘Careful,’ Tom said with a grin. ‘You wouldn’t be leading me on, would you?’

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ she said, sipping her coffee. ‘I’ve learnt my lesson too many times before, thank you very much.’

  ‘I’ve often wondered…’ Tom said, not looking at Holly but focusing on her lilac Ghost-clad legs instead ‘… what it would be like to kiss you.’

  ‘Oh stop it.’ Holly burst out laughing. ‘Don’t tell me tonight you’re actually going to make a pass at me?’

  Tom shrugged and grinned. ‘I was thinking about it.’

  ‘Go on, then.’ She raised an eyebrow, knowing this wasn’t going to happen – there was no sexual tension, no heat, no admissions of sexual attraction. ‘I dare you.’

  For a few seconds neither of them moved, Holly about to burst into laughter again with an I knew you were just faking, and then slowly Tom put down his coffee and turned back to face her, and all of a sudden she wasn’t laughing any more.

  It was the slowest, most tentative, most thrilling kiss she had ever had. Even as his lips first met hers she didn’t think it was happening, was still sitting there with a smile, not expecting Tom to really go through with it.

  Soft, gentle, just the feeling of his lips on hers, and her smile disappeared. Then again, the kisses on her upper lip, her lower, until she dared lick his upper lip, ever so gently, and there they were. Kissing. Arms reaching up to stroke a face, trace a cheek, finger
s running smoothly down the nape of a neck.

  ‘Holly.’ A whispered sigh from Tom.

  ‘Sssh.’ Holly dissolved into him, then pulled back to look at him. Tom. Her Tom. Gazing up at her through half-closed eyes glazed with lust. She didn’t say anything, didn’t want to spoil the moment, and leant down again to kiss him more, quick clever fingers swiftly undoing the buttons on his shirt.

  ‘Tom.’ A whispered sigh from Holly as she planted kisses on his chest, moved back up to reach his lips.

  So familiar. So safe.

  So this is what it’s like.

  Like coming home.

  Tom left before morning. What felt so right and so natural under the cover of darkness started to feel increasingly unnatural as daylight approached.

  Tom left Holly sleeping. He stood next to the bed and watched her as she slept, just before he crept out of the door, and he felt an enormous sadness. He’d never truly thought this would happen with Holly. He loved her more than he’d ever loved anyone and however attracted he was to her, you can’t sleep with your best friend and then expect everything to be normal.

  You can’t sleep with your best friend and then start dating, going out for dinner, sharing your stories, seeing how it goes.

  You can’t sleep with your best friend and be anything other than an immediate ‘couple’. There is no halfway measure. You sleep with your best friend and you have one of two consequences. Either way the friendship is over.

  Tom loved Holly, but he didn’t plan this, wasn’t ready for this. He was only twenty-five, not nearly ready to settle down with anyone. Not even Holly. He still had wild oats to sow. Jesus. He shook his head viciously. What on earth was he thinking? But Holly, so lovely in her lilac, so much lovelier later in bed, how could he not? How could any man resist?

  And what was he to do now?

  *

  Holly called Tom the next afternoon. Got him on the phone whereupon they had an awkward, stilted conversation. The most awkward conversation Holly had ever had with anyone, but a conversation she was not unfamiliar with. These are the conversations you have with men who feel you are putting pressure on them, she realized. These are the conversations you have when you are about to be dumped, when you are clearly feeling so much more than they.

  But how could this be? This wasn’t just anyone. This was Tom. Tom!

  They said goodbye and Tom put down the phone and sank his head in his hands. He hated this. The last person in the world he wanted to hurt was Holly, but what choice did he have? He knew he couldn’t be her boyfriend, and how could they go back to being just friends after last night?

  He’d take some space, he decided. Not phone her for a little while. Not abandon her, never abandon her, but they would both take a little space until they could pick up the friendship where they left off. Prior to last night, that is.

  For several weeks Holly was devastated. She had had enough relationships over the years to know, with pain and shock, that Tom was no different from any of the others, that their years of friendship stood for nothing, and that things would never be the same between them.

  Leafing through the back of Time Out one afternoon, she saw an ad for a three-month expedition in Australia. Life in England had never been bleaker, and the constant entreaties from friends to just get out and get on with life fell on deaf ears. She needed a change, needed to get away from the memories, needed to replace the videotape in her head with something other than that one night with Tom. That whispered ‘Holly’ that she thought meant he loved her, would never leave her.

  Tom finally tried to get in touch when Holly was in Australia. He missed her. Had thought of many other things, but ultimately all roads led to Holly, all other girls were not what Holly was, and mostly he remembered the longing, the feeling of having come home.

  ‘Tom? It’s Holly!’

  ‘Holly? Where are you? Where’ve you been? I’ve missed you, where the hell have you been?’

  Holly laughed. ‘Australia. I was meant to go for three months but ended up staying for six. I’ve had the greatest time of my life, and I’ve met someone! Can you believe it? This is it, Tom, this is the man I’m going to marry. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

  Sweet Tom, Holly thought, having made a date for him to meet Marcus. How I’ve missed him, she thought. And she was too caught up in the rebound to hear Tom’s confusion, to think that she might have broken Tom’s heart in much the same way he had broken hers a few months earlier.

  *

  ‘I loved him,’ she wants to shout, to tell Paul and Olivia and Saffron, but she doesn’t because she knows what they will say.

  That they loved him too.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Christ, there are a lot of people,’ Marcus mutters, turning the wheel hard as he circles the block for the third time.

  ‘I imagine there’s probably quite a contingent from America,’ Holly says, scouring the people walking up towards the church to try to find someone she knows. ‘Oh look!’ she says. ‘There’s Saffron. Saff! Saffron!’ She sticks her head out of the window as Saffron turns and waves, hurrying gratefully over to the car.

  ‘Oh thank God,’ she says breathily. ‘I didn’t want to go in on my own.’

  ‘Can I get out and go with Saffron?’ Holly turns to Marcus, only to see he is completely star-struck, and she suppresses a giggle. ‘You two haven’t met, have you? Saffron, this is my husband, Marcus. Marcus, this is Saffron.’

  ‘How lovely to meet you.’ Saffron shines her most luminous smile on him, and Holly uses the opportunity to hop out of the car.

  ‘I’ll see you in there,’ she says as Marcus regains his senses, thanks to a car behind them honking, and drives slowly down the road, leaving the two girls standing facing each other, laughing.

  For Marcus can be charming. He can be quite the most charming man you could ever wish to meet. He is known on the court circuit as Jekyll and Hyde. One day he can be delightful and the next he will be so dismissive and curt that he will leave people standing still in shock, racking their brains to think of what they might possibly have done.

  And he is always charming when he is faced by someone he is seeking to impress.

  ‘I thought your husband was supposed to be an arrogant wanker,’ Saffron says.

  Holly should be upset, but she has long suspected that people secretly think this, and so it has ceased to bother her. ‘Most of the time he is but, as you can see, he can also be devastatingly charming.’

  ‘Was it just me or was he a little star-struck?’ Saffron giggles.

  ‘Yes, well. It seems Marcus isn’t quite so cool and collected when faced with genuine celebrity.’ Holly rolls her eyes as she links her arm through Saffron’s. ‘Anyway, who told you he was an arrogant wanker?’

  ‘Am I allowed to drop Tom in it at his own memorial service?’

  ‘Figures.’ Holly snorts, and they join the hordes of people as they start walking up the driveway.

  ‘So did Marcus see Lady Chatterley? He probably fancied me rotten when I played Lady Chatterley.’

  ‘I think everyone fancied you rotten when you played Lady Chatterley.’ Holly laughs. ‘Whoops, careful. Your head seems to be expanding.’

  ‘Oh God. Don’t be silly. It wasn’t me; they all fancied my character. First time I ever did full nudity and I’m still paying the price. I can’t seem to meet a man these days without his tongue hanging out.’

  ‘Sounds good to me. Seriously, though, Saff, if you want Marcus you can have him.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Saff peals with laughter, ‘but my hands are perfectly full dealing with P.’

  ‘Is that what you call your luvver whom you refuse to talk about? P?’

  ‘Easier than his full name, and no one would guess if they overheard anything. I… Oh God. You can keep a secret, can’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘He’s famous. Incredibly famous, so you have to swear not to tell anyone.’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope
to die.’

  Saffron leans forward and whispers a name into Holly’s ear.

  ‘But… Isn’t he married to… ?’

  ‘Exactly. That’s why it’s so secret. Sssh,’ Saffron puts her finger to her lips as they approach the door, ‘I’ll tell you more later.’

  They step into the cool lobby and follow the crowds into the church. Standing room only. The place is packed, several hundred people crowded in.

  ‘Where are his mum and dad?’ Holly whispers, looking towards the front.

  ‘We’ll find them later. I haven’t seen them for years, have you?’

  ‘No. I just keep thinking how awful for them to lose a son.’

  ‘What about his wife? Sarah, isn’t it? Is she here with the kids?’

  ‘She’s got to be here. Excuse me. Excuse me. Sorry.’ They shuffle past huddles of people expressing the same shock and bewilderment, until they can just get a glimpse of the pulpit.

  ‘Let’s stay here,’ Saff says. ‘At least I can breathe. Do you think your husband will be able to find us?’

  ‘I hope not.’ Holly sighs, and Saffron frowns at her.

  ‘Is everything okay with the two of you?’

  Holly’s laugh is hollow. ‘I’m just being silly,’ she says. ‘Ignore me.’

  ‘Holly Macintosh? Saffron? Oh my God!’ Holly and Saffron find themselves looking up at a tear-streaked face, a huge dramatic black hat, a skin-tight fitted suit, and high heels with scarlet soles that immediately give the shoes away as Louboutin.

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ the girl says, sweeping first Holly then Saffron into a giant hug. ‘I haven’t seen you since school, and isn’t it so awful that this is the first time we see one another? Can you believe it? Poor Tom. And poor Sarah. I can’t even think about the children, it’s just too heartbreaking.’

  Holly sneaks a look at Saffron, a look that says, Who the fuck is this? But Saffron seems to know, or, at the very least, is doing a wonderful job of hiding that she doesn’t. ‘I can’t believe how wonderful you look,’ Saffron says. ‘You haven’t changed at all.’