Second Chance

by Jane Green

  ‘Come on, then. I’ll be the builder and you can be my second-in-command. Sound good?’ He extended a hand to Oliver, who immediately slipped his hand into it and nodded as he walked out to the garden, Peter stopping in the doorway and turning around to wink at Holly.

  She watches Oliver chat away to Peter nineteen to the dozen, and echo Peter’s pose, hands on his hips as he surveys his work, in a bid to be just like him.

  ‘He’s lovely with kids, isn’t he?’ Maggie slides up next to Holly and smiles as she looks at them. ‘He misses Dustin and Violet so very much. We both do. Nothing like the relationship between a grandchild and a grandparent, and so difficult when they live so far away.’

  ‘Have you spoken to them? How are they? How’s Sarah?’

  Maggie lets out a long sigh. ‘Mostly distraught. I expected her to be fabulously stoic, to get on with her life and keep her grief contained, but it seems grief gets us in unexpected ways. Her sister is living with her for a while, helping out enormously with the kids. We offered to have the kids for Christmas, give her a break, time to grieve properly, but of course she rightly pointed out that the kids are the only thing keeping her going at the moment.’

  ‘And the kids?’

  ‘I think a lot of it is over their heads, particularly Dustin, the little one. Violet is struggling with it. She understands that her daddy isn’t coming back and just misses him hugely. She draws him pictures every day…’ Maggie’s voice tails off and she wipes her eyes, biting her lip to suppress the tears, willing them to go away.

  Holly puts her arm around Maggie, and Maggie rests her head on Holly’s shoulder. Together they stand at the window until Daisy, sitting at the kitchen table making doll’s houses out of cereal boxes, demands some help with the tissue ‘sheets’.

  At one fifteen, there’s still no sign of Will. The roast lamb is ‘relaxing’ on the counter, the fresh garden mint has been chopped into a sauce with vinegar and sugar, the vegetables are steaming, and the potatoes are crisping in the oven.

  Holly has been surreptitiously looking at her watch for the last hour. She is dying to ask when he is coming – whether he is, in fact, coming – but she does not want to give Maggie any indication of what she might be feeling.

  Hell, she doesn’t even know herself what she might be feeling.

  She does know that she got home last night on a high that continued this morning when she woke up knowing that she had something to look forward to today. Marcus phoned after breakfast and even he commented on how happy she sounded.

  ‘I just woke up on the right side of the bed,’ she said.

  ‘How was last night?’ he asked, miraculously, for most of the time he never asked her anything about her days.

  ‘It was great. Great band. Lovely evening.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ he said distractedly, and didn’t ask anything else. He would be due home late afternoon. What plans did she have? She told him lunch at Peter and Maggie’s and that she’d see him at home later.

  She didn’t tell him that she’d spent the last hour trying on clothes to come up with the perfect combination for Saturday lunch. Not to look as if she tried too hard, not too mumsy, but comfortably casual. She’d settled on skin-tight cords, a long-sleeved stripy T-shirt and baseball shoes, another recent purchase.

  But with every minute that passes, the high is starting to leave, and at one fifteen Holly is moments away from sinking into a depression. Stop it, she tries to tell herself. You are here with your children, here for Peter and Maggie, not here to see Will. So what if he doesn’t come, you’ll still have a lovely time. You’re having a lovely time.

  But she knows it’s not true.

  Maggie calls everyone to the table, and Holly promises herself she will not ask about the empty setting at one end.

  She doesn’t have to.

  ‘Where’s Will?’ Peter says.

  Maggie shrugs. ‘You know our Will. Saying he’ll come at twelve means he could come any time between ten in the morning and ten at night, if he comes at all.’

  Peter shakes his head. ‘Sometimes that boy is so infuriating.’

  ‘We’ve learnt not to rely on Will very much. Although…’ she shoots a cautious look at Daisy and Oliver, both engaged in teasing Pippa with a green dental chew that has to taste better than it looks, given Pippa’s overexcited reaction ‘… he has been fantastic through all… this. I never thought we could rely on Will the way we have, but he’s come through.’

  ‘Yes, he has.’ Peter nods sombrely. ‘And now I suppose it’s back to business.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,’ Maggie says, even though she has eaten almost nothing since the day she heard about Tom and has dropped over a stone, which, at her age, makes her look haggard and old. ‘Let me serve the kiddies first.’

  Holly clears up the dishes, then excuses herself to go to the loo. She feels like crying. From the heights of exhilaration to the depths of depression in the space of an hour. Grow up, she hisses at her reflection in the mirror. You are a married woman, she tells herself. Stop behaving like a teenager.

  But that is exactly how she feels. Like a teenager who has no control over her emotions. Whose emotions and mood can be changed in a heartbeat by external influences.

  She still has no idea where this is leading, still thinks of herself as someone who would never have an affair; and the truth is she hasn’t contemplated anything happening between her and Will, hasn’t thought about what the end result of all this… friendship… might be.

  She knows she is attracted to him, but he’s gorgeous, how could anyone not be attracted to him? She is still waiting, wishing, hoping that at some point in the fore seeable future, the attraction will wane and they will have a true friendship.

  That doesn’t mean she’s going to act upon the attraction, doesn’t mean anything’s going to happen. And yes, so there have been a couple of times when she has closed her eyes while having sex with Marcus and has pictured Will there, but only out of curiosity, only to spice up their sex life a bit, and God knows it worked.

  What is clear to her is how much she has missed having a man in her life who is a friend. Marcus has never been her friend, she realizes now. Has never been her partner. She would tell people in the beginning that Marcus was her best friend, but she knows now that was to make up for never feeling physically attracted to him, as if somehow being her best friend would be enough.

  Where Marcus puts her down – subtly, always so subtly – Will will listen. Their emails are still fun, still funny, but now Holly finds she is revealing more about herself, letting him in to how she really feels.

  The one subject they haven’t discussed, not in any great depth, is her marriage, and why she feels the need to seek out a male confidant, someone to offer her a man’s point of view, someone to make her feel beautiful again, when she has a perfectly good husband sitting at home.

  Or not. As the case may be.

  The front door slams shut and Holly tenses as she hears the familiar jangling of keys. She can picture exactly what Marcus is doing. He is fishing his BlackBerry out of his pocket, scrolling down quickly to see if any emails have come in during the last ten seconds that absolutely must be taken care of now. He’s putting his keys in the ashtray and emptying the coins from his pocket into the same ashtray before taking his briefcase into his office on the ground floor and unpacking it quickly.

  While unpacking his briefcase, he will pick up the post that arrived yesterday and skim through just to check there’s nothing that cannot wait, and at the same time he will listen to the messages on his office answer-phone. Inevitably there will be issues that cannot wait, and he will spend the next hour tapping out emails, making calls, and hissing at any family members who appear in the doorway desperate to see their dad because they’ve missed him.

  As usual, Holly gets a perfunctory kiss on the way to his office, and the kids get a perfunctory ruffle of the hair.

  ‘Off Daddy now,’
he says sternly to Daisy, who has entwined herself around his legs. ‘Daddy needs to work.’ He looks up at Holly, gesturing impatiently at his daughter, and Holly gets up and attempts to disentangle Daisy, who immediately starts crying. ‘Will you keep them away from the office while I just check messages?’ he says. ‘I’ll be out in a sec.’

  ‘Fine,’ Holly says, carrying a now – screaming Daisy into the kitchen and shutting the door behind her, slightly harder than she had planned. She sits down at the kitchen counter and sinks her head in her hands. ‘Jesus Christ,’ she whispers, ‘is this all there is?’

  *

  An hour later Marcus is still locked in his office, the kids are bathed and happily playing with Play-Doh in the playroom. Marcus would have a fit if he saw them playing with Play-Doh after their baths, but frankly it was a toss – up between that and TV, and Holly figured that in Marcus’s mind Play – Doh would be the lesser of the two evils.

  She runs up to her studio and clicks on her inbox. Just to see. If he loves me, he’ll have sent me a message, she finds herself thinking, reprimanding herself sharply. Grow up, she thinks, but she can’t help the flutter when she sees the email waiting for her.

  In another room, a few miles away, Olivia is also checking her email. Stupid, stupid me, she thinks, battling the hope that there will be an email from Fred. Stupid, stupid me for jumping into bed with him, for allowing myself to feel that this might be something special, that he would have got back home to America and thought that he missed me. That perhaps there was enough here for us both to want to work at it.

  But the truth is, Olivia doesn’t really want to work at it. Deep in her heart she knows that Fred was, exactly as Tom had said, just a fling. A lovely, sweet, gorgeous boy, but nowhere near settling down and having a relationship.

  Olivia doesn’t want a walk down the aisle, but she is old enough and wise enough to acknowledge that her time for mere flings is over; and if she were to get involved with someone, it would be with a view to a long-term commitment.

  For a couple of days there, as she and Fred had the most blissful time, she allowed herself to think, what if… But even then she knew that what ifs were unrealistic. And it wasn’t so much that she wanted Fred, it was more that she wanted him to want her, that even though their goodbye was mutual, her ego wanted him to have got back to America and found that he had fallen madly in love with her.

  She even planned the conversation she would have with him. ‘Fred, darling,’ she would say in her best Katharine Hepburn voice, ‘you’re the most delicious boy, but you need to play the field. I know you think you’re in love with me, but it’s really not real. Go and enjoy yourself, get on with your life, and we’ll always have London.’

  And yet, every night before she goes to bed, she checks her email to see if he’s written. There were a couple of exchanges when he first got back, a thank you for the most wonderful time in London, for being such a special friend, and wishes of luck and happiness in the future.

  She wished him the same and was then astonished when all email correspondence stopped. Was that it? She let the grey start poking its roots back into her hair, sadly relegated her black dress to the back of the wardrobe. It had been, she decided, a lovely holiday, but not one to be repeated. The confusion and uncertainty of a relationship or fling, or whatever it was you called it, was something that Olivia was quite certain she could do without.

  So when Sophie told her that a sexy, single man had come in asking about one of the dogs, and she passed his number onto Olivia, telling her she had to call him, Olivia shook her head. ‘Not this time,’ she said. ‘I’m done with men,’ and she handed the phone number back to Sophie.

  Chapter Sixteen

  To: Holly

  From: Will

  21/01/06 7:52:32 PM

  Subject: No-shows and Apology

  Holly, Holly, Holly. Am SO very sorry I wasn’t there today. Had far too much to drink last night it seems and was horribly hung-over this morning. Didn’t wake up until lunchtime and just blanked about going to Mum and Dad’s until Mum phoned after you’d gone. I feel awful about letting you down. Not to mention what a treat it would have been to see you twice in two days and meet your kids. (Mum says they’re fantastic, by the way.) Please, please say you’ll forgive me… would like to buy you lunch this week to apologize properly. On another note, fantastic night last night (what I can remember). Do remember you looking rather sexy (am I allowed to say that now that we’re becoming friends?), good music, good people. Hoping you’re not furious with me, Will x

  Holly reads the email five times until Daisy starts screaming at Oliver. She walks down the stairs smiling,every disappointment forgotten, back on the cloud of exhilaration.

  He thinks I’m sexy! He thinks I’m sexy! I’m seeing him this week!

  And floating into the playroom, she dives on the children and covers them with kisses, both of them so shocked they dissolve into uncontrollable giggles.

  To: Will

  From: Holly

  21/01/06 9:11:23 PM

  Subject: Apology

  Hello, my lusty-leg man friend…

  I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just can’t resist calling you that, it makes me laugh so much. Have to say I’m deeply impressed at your ability to unwittingly seduce young girls. I feel like any looks I had were wasted on me when young – I didn’t have the confidence to know what to do with them, and then, of course, getting married at twenty-five I never had to think about it.

  Still, I’m hoping that somewhere down the line I’ll become a MILF (I KNOW you know what that means…). I suspect I’m probably a little young, no? I think you don’t get to attain MILF-hood until you’re forty, but perhaps I’m wrong, in which case I ought to start making a bit more of an effort.

  And thank you for your apology about not turning up at your parents’. We had an amazing time anyway, but it would have been fun if you’d been there. (Tom was right when he talked about how unreliable you are…)

  So, am off to have supper downstairs, kids finally asleep. LOVE getting your emails, especially the long ones. I missed you earlier.

  Me xx

  To: Holly

  From: Will

  23/01/06 11:35:11 PM

  Subject: Re: Apology

  To my favourite MILF,

  How can you even question your status as a MILF? You are, by far, the sexiest mother I know, and infinitely more qualified than most to reign as queen of the MILFs.

  I really am sorry about yesterday. I am trying in so many ways to turn over a new leaf, to be reliable and consistent, and mostly not to forget to do the important things in my life, and then yesterday I blew it royally.

  Yet you’re so forgiving. Is this what you are like with Marcus? I just keep thinking about all the things you’ve told me: that he doesn’t help with the kids, isn’t around much, and I wonder if perhaps you acquiesce too easily? This isn’t a criticism, never a criticism, but you are so sweet and loving and good, and Marcus just seems to take advantage of all of that.

  But, what’s important is that you’re happy, and maybe there’s a way for you to do the things you need to do for you and find yourself again. Anyway, enough gabbling, as you would say. I am just happy this is the start of a new year, and to have you in my life. I look forward to seeing you this week…

  Me2 xx

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Where have you been?’ Olivia sets the box she’s carrying on the kitchen counter and turns to Holly, hands on hips. ‘I’ve left you two messages and haven’t heard back, and now I’ve decided I must have inadvertently done something to upset you so I’ve brought you cakes, figuring that I must owe you an apology for something. Come on, then, what’s been going on?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, Olivia. Life’s just been so busy recently. This project for work, and the kids, and you know how it is.’

  ‘No, not really,’ Olivia harrumphs. ‘I think you’re just being a completely crap friend.’

  ‘Okay, you
’re right. I am being a completely crap friend and I’m sorry, and I cannot believe you brought cakes over… yum!’ She opens the box and licks her lips at the sight of the tiny fruit tartlets and chocolate éclairs. ‘Oh my God, this is the most decadent thing I’ve ever seen – did you get them at that new patisserie on the high street?’

  ‘Yup. It’s amazing. How about you put on the kettle and I’ll get plates?’

  ‘Done.’

  Half an hour, two fruit tarts and two éclairs later, Holly takes a deep breath and looks at Olivia. She doesn’t want to tell her. Doesn’t want to tell anyone. Not that there’s anything to tell. It’s not as if anything has happened, not as if her friendship with Will is anything more than that – a friendship – but the urge to tell someone, to share what is happening in her life with someone, is more than she can bear.

  She has thought about telling Saffron because, given that Saffron is having an affair, she would understand all about temptation, but Holly trusts Olivia more, and trusts that Olivia will be discreet, will perhaps give her the counsel she needs to hear.

  Does she need counsel? She isn’t sure. What she does know is that her feelings are all over the place. All she thinks about from the moment she wakes up in the morning until the moment she goes to bed, is Will. Nothing bothers her about Marcus any more. She finds that she is able to switch off, to float away to a daydream about Will, a memory of something he said, something they did, and the less she focuses on Marcus, the less of a problem he becomes.