‘Hello,’ I replied, struggling to make my voice a little louder than hers.
Gabby couldn’t look me in the eye. She was definitely hiding under that flicky, five-varying-shades-of-caramel fringe. Her blue eyes were darting, nervous. She looked shocked to see me, somehow, although of course she knew I’d be there. It’s weird when you haven’t seen someone for such a long time; you marry what you see now with what you remember. It hadn’t been that long, but she did look slightly different – slightly more hollow around the eyes, less firm at the jaw, more gaunt in the face, somehow. Well, age was catching up with us all, slowly and surely and she was probably up all night, shagging Jeff… She was good at sex, she’d always told me so. We used to laugh about it. She had quite the moves, she’d told me, and they were really good ones. Now Jeff was getting all her expertise. Well, good luck to them. Let them get their rocks off night after night; I didn’t care any more.
I suddenly felt brave again. I was the wronged party; I wasn’t the perpetrator. I wasn’t going to cower away.
‘How are you?’ A little stilted, granted. But I asked the question.
‘Good, thanks. How are you?’ Also very stilted and uncomfortable, but she sounded more stilted and looked more uncomfortable than me, which was something.
‘I’m really well,’ I said. What else could I say? That I’d cried for three months into leftover lasagne and two-for-the-price-of-one gin? That at one time I’d wanted to kill both of them? That I was now – despite myself – back on the dating scene, but it was going really, really badly? Let me see, I’d embarrassed myself with my next door neighbour; I’d had a date with some kind of man-boy around town who wasn’t a very good kisser; and I’d been propositioned by a sleaze in a car park after mistakenly flirting with him all night. Oh, my old friend, it was all going swimmingly. Really, really well.
It was actually quite funny, in a black comedy-esque warped way, and once upon a time Gabby would have known all of this anyway, in the days when we told each other everything. If Jeff had gone off with someone else, and not her, and I was single and dating, the events of this week would have been discussed for hours, especially what had happened with Will. We would have sat in her conservatory, or mine, scoffing biscuits and drinking cups of coffee or glasses of wine, and going over every single minute detail again and again. Now, she knew nothing about me.
I realised I was shaking, slightly. I hoped she couldn’t tell. But I’d told Freya I was going to make her proud so I was going to have to continue to woman up. I spoke again, louder and more confidently this time.
‘I’m actually really well,’ I said, in a clear, loud voice. ‘Better than I’ve ever been, actually.’ There, that told her. Jeff’s ears pricked up, too, and Freya squeezed my arm again, encouragingly.
‘Great,’ said Gabby and she turned to Jeff with an icy smile and with a look on her face that seemed to be willing him to say something, anything. She can’t handle it, can she? I thought. She can’t handle that I’m here, right in front of her, telling her I’m doing very okay, actually, and reminding her what a bloody awful person she is. She may think she got away unscathed, with her new man and her new life and her hunky-dory existence – all flicky hair and dinner parties and lunches at the golf club, no doubt – but I was here to remind her she was one of the worst people in the world; a woman who thought it was okay to steal her best friend’s husband.
‘Very busy, isn’t it?’ said Jeff, catching her silent drift and making very obvious small talk. ‘Quite a crowd, darling,’ he added, to Gabby, and I nearly snorted with derision. ‘Darling!’ He used to call me ‘darling.’ It was an endearment that meant absolutely nothing.
‘Oh, here’s Hannah,’ said Freya. Hannah’s parents arrived under an umbrella even bigger than Jeff’s, but looked considerably wetter. Hannah’s dad was a balding man with a slight stoop; her mum a stunning woman in her late thirties, who looked like she could pass for a Hollywood movie star. Hannah emerged from between them.
‘Hannah!’ shrieked Freya. Hannah was shorter than Freya, and very pretty, with long brown hair, and Freya squeezed her tight the way teenage girls do, like they’re going to crush all the air out of them. Jeff and Gabby stepped forward, in readiness for hand-shaking and air kissing and Freya started introducing everyone. ‘… And these are my parents, Jeff and Daryl,’ she said, when she got to that point, ‘And this is Gabby… erm… Dad’s girlfriend? Partner?’
‘Girlfriend,’ said Gabby, stepping forward and proffering her hand to each of Hannah’s parents. ‘Partner sounds deathly dull and business-like, doesn’t it? Or something people who hate each other call themselves.’ She risked a quick glance at me. She’d made this joke before, many a time. For the first time in our lives I didn’t laugh.
‘My wife and I came from the Tube,’ said Brian, Hannah’s dad. ‘It’s chucking it down out there.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ agreed Jeff. ‘Stair rods.’ Oh, how the English liked to talk about the weather; I’d made a career on it.
They nodded sagely at each other, like two old duffers. Brian was not a very attractive man, though he seemed nice enough, and Jeff was less and less attractive to me each time I saw him, which wasn’t a lot, these days. Will was better than both of them put together. Will! Why was I thinking about Will? I had to forget about Will. And fast. It was tricky though, now I had that kiss in my brain forevermore, like a tattoo that could never be lasered off. Oh god. I really, really liked him. I wished I didn’t but I did. Could anything be salvaged? Should I pop over, tomorrow sometime perhaps, and have a chat with him? Clear the air. Or should I just leave things as they were: a big barrel of neighbourly awkwardness and eternal cringing?
‘We’re going in,’ said Freya.
I pulled myself together and looked around me. The lobby was slowly emptying out and people were shuffling through a door at one end.
‘Fantastic.’ Tears of pride were already pricking at my eyes.
‘Mum!’
‘I’ll behave myself, I promise.’
We filed in through the door and I almost exclaimed out loud when I saw how beautiful it was inside the main body of the cathedral. The end we arrived in had not been touched by Hitler’s bombs and was in its original, stone glory. High cavernous, vaulted ceiling. Ornate wooden pews. Magnificent stained glass windows with glinting panes of every colour. But at the top, where Freya would be seated, the stonework fell away, to be replaced by a steel and glass atrium with floor to ceiling windows that glinted in the soft lighting. It really was incredible.
‘See you later, Mum.’
Freya left us and walked with Hannah to her seat, located in one of two blocks either side of a wooden lectern, currently un-manned.
We funnelled into the rows of seats for spectators. Somehow, as we trooped through the cathedral, our heels echoing on the stone floor, I ended up walking behind Gabby and Jeff, and I had to reluctantly take the chair next to hers. As we sat down, she immediately took Jeff’s hand and turned to talk to him. Okay, so that was how it was going to be – she was going to pretty much ignore me. Well, fine with me; I certainly didn’t want to make idle chitchat and share tissues with her as my daughter received her degree. To my left was a lovely-looking elderly lady with a bag on her lap who offered me an extra-strong mint. I took one gratefully and smiled at her.
‘You here on your own?’ she ventured.
‘Pretty much.’
‘Single mum?’ she asked, in the blunt way lovely old ladies sometimes do.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Single mum.’
‘You must be very proud.’
Yes, I am.’ I wondered if she meant of Freya, or of me. I decided she meant both.
The room – a bustle of chatter and flapping of coats and crossing of legs and fidgeting and hair smoothing and toothy grinning and the rustle of orders of service – fell to a hush as the Dean approached the lectern. He waffled on a bit about Smith College and its fine tradition and its fine
and upstanding students – I was a little distracted by his hair, which looked like a bird had tried to make off with it just before he took to the lectern – then the ceremony started. Boy, it was long. Me and my new friend polished off the whole packet of mints and moved onto Fruit Polos. Our hands were worn out with clapping – well, mine were. Remember at school, when they made you tap your palm with two fingers, so it would be quieter? I wished I could have done that; my hands were getting quite chapped. All the time, Gabby had her body turned towards Jeff.
At last, Hannah was called; Brian and Movie Star clapped enthusiastically. And then, finally, Freya’s name was read out. Freya Williams – my baby girl. She was grinning from ear to ear when she received her scroll and shook hands with the Dean. And I was absolutely bursting with pride. I knew my eyes would be shining with tears, but I managed to contain them so they didn’t spill down my cheeks, and as Freya looked out across the audience on the way back to her seat, she caught my eye and I gave her an excited thumbs up. She’d done it. She had graduated and at this very moment all other thoughts flew away – Jeff, Gabby …Will, no don’t go, there, please… and I was completely and utterly happy. My girl.
My elderly friend handed me a tissue.
‘Well done,’ she said, as I was leaning forward to take it from her packet. Jeff leant forward too, and with his eyes glistening, gave me small smile.
Another half an hour later – during which the old lady’s grandson graduated and she actually stood up and cheered – and it was all done. All two hundred and eighty economics students from Smith had graduated. Now all I had to get through was the celebratory dinner at Caspar’s, where I would have to actually talk to my enemies. Small talk, that’s all I could bear. It would have to be the smallest of small talk and I was sure Jeff and Gabby would be happy to oblige; nobody would want to get onto any big topics – far too dangerous.
At least there would be wine.
I could do it, I thought, as we rose from our seats and filed out of the cathedral.
I had to, for Freya’s sake.
Chapter Twenty-One
‘And you’re there, Mum.’
‘Right.’
We had walked to Caspar’s – it was only two hundred yards up the road – umbrellas up and braced against the wind. I walked arm in arm with Freya, as much as my umbrella would allow, and Jeff and Gabby strode in front.
Gabby’s hair swung in front of me – I felt like I knew every strand, and Jeff had had a much more severe haircut in recent weeks – it looked a bit painful at the neck. I realised my feelings for him were completely gone now – kaput! I hadn’t seen him for a while, so there was always the worry that I would have a baulk of regret when I saw him, a pang, a pull on the heart strings. But no, apart from that sudden jolt at seeing him, which I’d probably always get – the almost perpetual and weird surprise of seeing someone you used to love – my heart strings remained un-pulled. I really didn’t find him attractive now. He was beginning to remind me of a weasel. If anything it was the sight of Gabby that unnerved me; it was Gabby that gave my heart a frightful pang. The sudden shock of seeing her and realising I didn’t know her any more was so weird. Gabby was just a stranger to me now… somebody that I used to know – with very familiar hair.
Caspar’s was a fantastic-looking restaurant. It was either embracing Christmas early or acknowledging how much the dark, rain-sodden evening needed illuminating, as a dense curtain of ice-cool fairy lights hung from its huge top-to-toe front window, covering every inch of glass. Inside, it was a cool, white box, with dazzling chrome fittings and huge chandeliers. Our table was in the centre of the restaurant, under a large skylight which had also been festooned with fairy lights – the sky was perfectly pitch black; no stars on show tonight. Our short crocodile of people arrived at the table and began to fan round it.
Fabulous. I groaned inwardly. I was next to Gabby. It wasn’t even boy girl boy girl (I thought of the cookery night and the shame of Dex came back to haunt me. What a fool I’d been; how horrible he’d been). There was a table plan and place cards, unfortunately, so nobody had any choice. And they had spelled my name wrong. Darrell, like a boy, though it was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I had to suffer far greater insults.
We sat down. I shook my napkin into my lap, lined up my cutlery, tried to look busy. Hannah and Freya were all excited and talking nineteen to the dozen in high-pitched voices; Gabby and Jeff were lightly bickering about why the car wouldn’t be ready until Tuesday. When my old best friend saw me flick a quick glance over, she fixed a bright smile on her face. She could at least have the decency to look sorry and ashamed, I thought, but we both knew it wouldn’t suit her.
So, it was the seven of us. Lovely. Two couples, two beautiful teenage girls with their lives in front of them and me: dumped, disappointed Daryl. I was determined not to feel that way, though. I had to rally and not let this situation get me down. Why should I not be Fabulous Daryl, proud mother of one, daring divorced dater (better luck next time, girl!) and sultry wearer of an absolute killer dress…
There was white and red wine on the table, plus bottles of champagne – two at each table – in silver wine coolers filled to the brim with ice and standing to attention behind the table. As soon as we were seated, Jeff reached round behind him and shook one of the bottles from its silver encasement, and I watched as condensation dripped off its bottom and onto the white tablecloth. It was a bit of a theme this week, wasn’t it? Water, water everywhere – when would the sun ever make an appearance? Never, I thought morosely. Rain was hammering on the windows of the restaurant. It was going to rain all winter wasn’t it? My forecasts for the foreseeable were going to be extremely depressing and incredibly boring.
Jeff lined up the first glass – Gabby’s. A stricken waiter, being usurped, tried to take the bottle from him. ‘Let me, sir.’
‘No, no,’ said Jeff, shooing him away. ‘I’ll take care of this.’ And he made a big show of pouring champagne for everyone at the table. Including Hannah and Freya.
‘To the top please,’ murmured Gabby. Oh, she definitely liked a glass of champers, did old Whatsherface. There was the time she drank a whole bottle of it, in the bath, before we went out one night, and cut her legs to ribbons shaving her legs. We’d stuck bits of toilet roll all over them and had laughed and laughed. It was a good night – the kind of night where we hung onto each other in hysterics on the dancefloor – and it had ended with Gabby being unwell in my mum and dad’s en suite bathroom, while I held her hair back. Once a lightweight, always a lightweight. We’d giggled ourselves silly over it in bed the next morning, with tea and toast and Marmite. At the time, it was one for the memory banks; but that memory bank had been tipped all over the floor, a year ago, and its contents trampled on.
Jeff looked at Gabby indulgently, like she was a princess, and filled her glass with a theatrical flourish. Cow. Bloody, bloody cow. She’d wiped out all that wonderful history between us the first time she’d given my husband the glad eye.
She simpered back at him. I noticed her fiddling with something, near her neck. And then I saw it – the label. I shook my head and smirked to myself. Oh, typical Gabby! She’d bought a dress today, was wearing it tonight and would return it tomorrow. She used to do that all the time. Shame she hadn’t returned my husband – not that I wanted her too, now, of course, but at one time I had.
The glasses filled, Jeff proposed a toast to ‘Freya and Hannah and a fabulous evening’. He stared lovingly at Gabby as their glasses touched in a soft kiss, and I admired my restraint. It was not only the first time I’d seen Gabby since she stole my husband, but the first time I’d seen them together… discounting the times they smoked in my old back garden and plotted their evil deeds, that is. They were lucky I was the sort of person not to create a scene.
I picked up my glass and took a sip. The bubbles went straight up my nose, making it tickle. It was delicious. God, I needed this.
There was a lull
while everyone sipped their champagne and took a look around them. There must have been at least thirty tables in that room, filled with happy people. Mums and dads and daughters and sons. Celebrating. I looked at Freya. She looked luminous, chatting away to Hannah and waving her hands around; I was so bloody proud of her.
There were tiny saucers with rolls of striped butter. And a basket of bread rolls. I took a brown one, broke off a piece and slathered it in butter.
‘How’s the new pad?’ asked Jeff. I looked up from my roll, surprised. Was he talking to me? Oh, I got it, the big man wanted to act all benevolently to his poor, cheated-on ex-wife. Well, I could play along, to an extent, for Freya’s, sake, who was giving me a hopeful ‘be nice’ look from across the table.
‘My new house? Oh, it’s wonderful. Really great. I’m doing it up at the moment.’ I thought of Will methodically painting the walls of my hall, his biceps going up and down… then how he had cleaned and lined up my brushes for me, in the jam jars, and my heart gave a lurch downwards. There he was again. Right in my brain. It was no good – I just couldn’t help thinking about him. Last night, how brilliant it had been, that kiss… oh god that kiss… It gave me butterflies that were instantly chased away by despair. Quick! I thought. Think of all the reasons you shouldn’t like him, again… he’s your neighbour, he’s not ready to move on, he whistles bad songs from the eighties, he’s too good at baking and makes you look bad (gorgeous lemon drizzle, though)… he’s too good looking… This really wasn’t working. I focused on Jeff. He was saying something else to me.
‘Well, that’s great. Glad to hear it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said coolly. I bet you are, I thought. If I’m happy then I’m off your case. I bet Jeff was as relieved as I was that the months of wailing and teeth-gnashing were well and truly over.
The starters arrived, with lots of ‘excuse me’-ing from the silver service waiting staff. It was tomato and red pepper soup and it was really nice. I dipped pieces of my bread roll in it, not caring if it was bad etiquette. The champagne was warming through my body now – it felt good. It always went to my legs first, and made them tingle – it also stopped them from tapping, under the table. I’d be careful not to drink too much though; I really wanted to stay in control. I noticed Gabby was really knocking them back, while Jeff constantly refilled her glass; some things would never change.
Cloudy with a Chance of Love Page 21