Something Like Love

by Catherine Dunne

  He stopped. Rose willed him to go on.

  ‘I tried to tell you again that time we were in the Espresso Bar, but just at the crucial moment, your daughter rang you on your mobile.’ He grinned. ‘I’m beginning to hate phones – when I think of the number of opportunities they’ve scuppered on me.’

  Tell me what? thought Rose. What is it he wants to tell me?

  He reached over and took her hand. ‘I can see you’re speechless – just stay that way for a minute. I don’t know what it is about timing and me. As if the rest of it wasn’t bad enough, now your ex-husband’s back, and this is probably the worst possible moment to even think about being with another man.

  ‘But I’ve had it with waiting, Rose. I’m nearly fifty – far too old to postpone the important any longer. If you say no, that you don’t . . . that you couldn’t . . . feel anything for me, Dónal will do all the financial advising you need. I can’t be with you as the solid, suited money-man, dispensing advice and objectivity. I just can’t do it any longer.’ He took a large sip of his wine.

  ‘That’s what you wanted to say the last time I was in your office, isn’t it?’ she asked softly. ‘When you snapped at the receptionist, and I thought I was taking up too much of your time?’

  He nodded. ‘And the time before that, and the time before that again.’ He threw both hands up into the air. ‘Even last Christmas, for Christ’s sake, when you agreed to come for a drink with Dónal and myself – I thought “Great, perfect timing.”’ He turned to her again. ‘And what happened on that occasion?’

  She smiled at his unsteady grin, remembering, wanting to make it easier. ‘My delivery man let me down. There were thirty Christmas cakes and thirty dozen mince pies sitting back at the Bonne Bouche. I’d to rush off and do it myself.’

  ‘See what I mean?’ he asked, halfway between exasperation and affection.

  She smiled. ‘I thought I’d offended you. I was upset over that, but there was nothing I could do.’

  He took her hands in his again. ‘I know that – I’m not blaming you. I’m just . . . trying to explain how I feel about you.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t just have a professional relationship, Rose. Can’t do it. What I feel for you is far deeper than that, far more important.’

  Rose watched him, saw him breathe a long sigh of relief as he took another sip of wine. She wondered if he could have any idea of how she felt, listening to him speak. Any idea at all.

  He seemed to examine his own hands now as he spoke, very carefully not looking at her. ‘I’m sorry if this makes things even more difficult for you. I know that this is a particularly sensitive time. Dónal knows you might be calling on him again. He’ll steer you safely through everything, I promise. I trust his judgement even more than I trust my own.’

  Now he looked up and met her gaze. ‘I know it’s all out of the blue, and I don’t expect you to have an answer. All I ask is that you think about it, and call me if there’s even a chance that you—’

  Rose interrupted him. ‘I don’t need to think about it, Sam. I don’t need to think about it at all.’

  His face lit up at her tone. His eyes began to search hers.

  ‘In fact, just a few minutes ago, I was going to ask if you’d have dinner with me, sometime soon. Like tonight. But you interrupted me.’ She smiled at him, teasing. ‘You might have saved yourself that long confession.’

  He began to sit up straighter.

  ‘Somehow, even with all that’s been happening to me over the last couple of weeks, I’ve realized that I’ve been thinking about you for months without knowing it.’

  Okay, Sarah, Claire, Katie: you win, you all win. I’m off the fence.

  She paused, conscious of the dramatic effect her words were having, enjoying every second of it. ‘The answer is yes.’

  He looked at her, startled, his hands holding hers ever more tightly. It seemed to Rose that he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, seeing. ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, with a conviction that felt good. ‘I do. I may not have been the brightest at picking up the signals along the way, but I have the wavelength now.’ She lowered her voice, conscious that the two young students were looking over, curiously, at their corner of the almost empty pub.

  They probably think we’re having an illicit affair, she thought suddenly. The idea cheered her immensely.

  Slowly, she retrieved one of her hands, although Sam let it go reluctantly. She stroked his face then, leaned towards him and whispered, ‘And I’m very happy at what I’m hearing.’

  What are we like? she asked herself, smiling. Two middle-aged people about to kiss in public – well, half-a-dozen or so people didn’t count as much of an audience, but still – in the middle of a late spring afternoon.

  She leaned towards Sam and took his face in both her hands. Then she kissed him, lingeringly, for as long as she dared, and then a little longer.

  When they pulled apart, the two students at the bar whooped and the barman growled: ‘Enough of that, or I’ll have to bar the two of you young ones.’

  Everyone laughed, and Rose felt giddy with happiness, a delightful fizzing of hope and expectation. This time, she thought, it really could be different.

  ‘Walk with me?’ Sam asked.

  She nodded.

  Sam picked up his leather folder and handed her her jacket. They headed out of the pub hand in hand, crossed the street at the lights, grinning at each other like demented teenagers, and made their way to Stephen’s Green.

  Afterwards, Rose couldn’t remember what they’d talked about, what they’d seen, what they’d planned. All she could recall was bright sunlight, shimmering water, and Sam’s mouth on hers. His large, warm hand on her back felt like the most erotic embrace she’d ever had. There was a sense of vast, rolling freedom all around her. She didn’t care that it all might feel much more sober, much more restrained in the morning.

  ‘I love you,’ he said simply. ‘I don’t care whether you think this is all too quick, or how bizarre the whole situation is, I don’t want to – won’t – wait any longer. I think I’ve been in love with you since the first day you walked into Dónal’s office.’ He hugged her. ‘Do you think all of my clients get this sort of treatment?’

  ‘I should hope not,’ she teased him. ‘Or we’d have things to discuss.’

  She felt almost limp with expectation and desire, felt that his arm around her was the only thing keeping her on the ground. ‘I feel like a dizzy teenager – do you know that? And I’m a mature, middle-aged woman. What have you done to me?’

  ‘Nothing to what I’m intending to do.’ He pulled her closer to him. ‘Come home with me? Time’s too precious. I don’t want to waste any more of it.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I’ll come home with you.’

  She kept being reminded again of the first day they’d met: the way his arm had scooped her along after him, drawing her across the blue carpet into the ordered interior of his office. It had made her think of a farmer, flocks of woolly white sheep following in his wake.

  Well, she thought, he had her now, lamb to the slaughter.

  ‘You okay?’ Sam kissed her gently.

  She smiled over at him. ‘Never better.’

  ‘You took me by surprise, you know. I thought I’d have a much harder fight on my hands.’

  She adjusted the pillow under her, brought her face closer to his. ‘You said something earlier, about not postponing the important any longer. Remember?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah. And I meant it.’

  ‘I know. It just reminded me of everything I’ve been feeling since Ben came back. I think I’ve spent most of my life dealing with the urgent.’ She stroked Sam’s greying hair, smiling at its unruliness. ‘It makes you lose sight of the important. Being with you reminds me of what that is. Today, earlier, when you rang, I was already thinking about you, about the end of my old life, about how things never stand still.’

  He groaned. ‘You mean I
could have saved myself at least two sleepless nights, worrying over what I was going to say to you?’

  She smiled and shook her head. ‘No. I’d never want to be without those words.’ She pulled him towards her, sank again into his warmth.

  He spoke softly into her hair. ‘I was terrified of what you were going to say. I was afraid of pushing it, particularly now that Ben’s back. But I just couldn’t wait any longer.’

  She kissed him. ‘I’m glad you didn’t. Your timing was perfect.’

  He held onto her even more tightly. ‘I suppose it’s absolutely out of the question for you to stay tonight?’

  She smiled at him. ‘Not all night. I’ll have to do a Cinderella. I’ve to leave at midnight, or else I’ll turn into a pumpkin.’

  He threw back the sheets. ‘Right. It’s only eight o’clock. I happen to have a bottle of very good champagne on ice. Don’t move: you’re not getting out of that bed, not yet.’

  He stopped. ‘I’ve just realized we haven’t eaten.’ He grinned at her. ‘Can you live on love, or would you like some strawberries with your champagne?’

  She stretched luxuriously. ‘Can’t I have both?’

  ‘You can have anything you want. Just don’t go away.’

  She looked over at him wickedly. ‘I’ve no intention of it. It’s not every day I get offered champagne and strawberries.’

  Rose’s taxi pulled up just as Lisa arrived home.

  ‘Where were you?’ said Lisa, looking curiously from the taxi to her mother and back again.

  Rose thought there was a hint of disapproval in her daughter’s expression. ‘What do you mean? I’m the one who’s supposed to ask that.’

  Lisa grinned. ‘Sorry – I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t know you were going to be late.’

  ‘I’m not. I’m home at exactly the same time as you are. You’re always telling me that one in the morning isn’t late for a Saturday.’

  ‘Well, it’s not. But it’s late for you.’

  Rose laughed. ‘Well then, I guess I’m just full of surprises.’

  Lisa looked at her strangely. ‘Were you with Dad?’

  ‘No, I was not. I was visiting a friend. Now, are you going to open the front door or am I going to have to stand out here all night? I’ll start rummaging for my keys if you don’t hurry up.’

  ‘Relax, relax. I have it.’

  Rose hung up her jacket under the stairs. ‘Right, I’m off to bed. Don’t stay up late.’ She kissed Lisa on the forehead.

  ‘Don’t you want tea?’

  Rose shook her head. ‘No, thanks. Not tonight.’ Her mouth was still tingling from champagne and strawberries. And kissing. ‘I had some earlier.’ She couldn’t help smiling. But Lisa had already disappeared into the kitchen. Rose looked around the living room door. Brian and John were sprawled on the sofa, watching television.

  ‘Night, you two,’ she said.

  They both looked up. ‘Night.’

  ‘How did the studying go?’

  They looked at one another. ‘All right,’ they said in unison.

  ‘Bit of a waste of a Saturday night, in my opinion,’ said John, grinning at her.

  ‘I see you haven’t changed,’ said Rose, ‘despite your mature years.’

  He shrugged. ‘What can I say?’

  She laughed. ‘See you both in the morning. Don’t have the telly too loud, Brian, okay?’

  He nodded, looking at the screen. ‘No problem.’

  ‘Night.’

  Rose climbed the stairs to her room. Images of the day she had just spent swirled everywhere, a heady, potent mix of champagne and happiness. She sent Sam a text: ‘Home safely. Talk tomorrow.’

  The reply was instant: ‘Dream well. Call me early.’

  She smiled. She didn’t recognize the woman who looked back at her from the old-fashioned dressing-table mirrors. Was it really only hours since she had sat here, full of anticipation and hesitant, unformed desire? Slowly she removed her makeup, applied eye cream, night cream, hand cream. She grinned at herself. How predictable, she thought. How silly, how ordinary.

  How daft.

  Rose knew that no matter what happened next, nothing would ever matter as much as today. The world had turned full circle. Her new life was everywhere, the old one turned into a pumpkin at midnight.

  She felt the joy of ambush: she’d been felled, scooped along, gathered up willingly by a strength of feeling that might turn out not to be – but for now, felt something very much like love.

  PART THREE

  Chapter Eleven

  ‘MA?’

  Rose looked up from her newspaper, startled. ‘Damien! I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought that was Brian coming in.’

  ‘Are you on your own?’ Damien made his way over to the sofa where Rose was curled, but he didn’t sit down.

  Not any more, thought Rose, with a rush of delight. I’m not on my own any more. ‘No,’ she said innocently. ‘Lisa and Alison and little Katie are upstairs, doing girly things. Why?’

  ‘I just want to talk to you for a minute.’ Damien opened the door into the kitchen. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Rose followed, feeling quite calm. Whatever it was he had to say, she’d be fine; she felt ready for anything. Memories of the previous night were still warm and vivid, and just now, she’d relived them again on the phone with Sam. Nothing could disturb this new and solid sense of equilibrium. She sat down at the kitchen table, quite content to wait.

  ‘I’ve just come from Dad.’

  She nodded. ‘Right.’

  ‘I called for him at the hotel, as we’d agreed. I was a bit early, so I just hung around the foyer upstairs, reading a Sunday paper.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I actually heard him before I saw him. That surprised me: I recognized his voice straight away, even before his face. I dunno . . . I just didn’t expect that. He was comin’ up the stairs, talkin’ to someone. I’m not sure why, but it was like I got cold feet, or somethin’. I kinda hid behind the newspaper.’ Damien took the teapot off the shelf. ‘The thing is . . .’ The kettle clicked off, and he turned around, filled the teapot with boiling water.

  Is he doing this deliberately? Rose wondered. Or can he genuinely not fill a teapot and talk at the same time?

  He threw the water down the sink, and reached into the caddy for two teabags. ‘The thing is, he was with another woman. I watched them. They went up to the desk together and asked for their key.’

  For a second, Rose didn’t understand what he was trying to tell her.

  He walked towards her and put the teapot carefully on the kitchen table. ‘Ma?’

  She looked up at him quickly, and was struck by the anguish in his face. God almighty, she thought, with a shock of understanding, he’s actually afraid I might care.

  Rose answered him at once. ‘Was she good looking?’ she asked, archly, smiling at her son.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t look so surprised. I asked you if she was good looking.’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ he said, slowly. ‘She was.’

  ‘Pour my tea, will you, please?’ Rose said, mildly. ‘It’ll get cold if you just keep on standing there with your mouth open.’

  He stared at her, his face finally beginning to clear. ‘You don’t care, do you? You really don’t care?’ He sat down and concentrated on pouring tea.

  Rose nodded at him, smiling. ‘That’s right. I really don’t care. Tell me what she looked like, go on – do.’

  Now Damien began to grin. ‘That’s the really funny thing, and I wasn’t going to tell you this bit – but she looked a lot like you.’

  ‘A lot like me now, or a lot like I used to look?’

  ‘Well,’ he shifted a little on his chair, ‘a lot like you used to look, I suppose – except that her hair was dark.’

  Rose laughed at him. ‘So was mine, fifteen years ago! Do you think I grew these blonde highlights for nothing?’ She pointed at her hair.

 
; He shook his head in disbelief. ‘You can forget fifteen – I’d say there’s more like twenty-five years between them.’

  ‘How original,’ said Rose. ‘How very surprising.’

  ‘You knew already, didn’t you?’ His tone challenged her, but relief was written all over his face.

  ‘No, but it makes perfect sense.’

  Damien held up one hand. ‘Look, hang on. I don’t know what sort of . . . arrangements you two are comin’ to right now, and it’s none of my business. The only reason I’m tellin’ you about this woman is so that you have the full picture, in case it makes a difference to whatever happens between Dad and yourself. And that’s how I feel about it: whatever happens is between you and him. I don’t need to know.’

  ‘Thank you for telling me. It’s another piece of the jigsaw – and I’m really grateful for your concern. But it doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m fine, Damien, truly. I’m fine.’

  He looked at her curiously. ‘You look different today.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘You do. You look great, actually.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She leaned across the table, squeezed his hand. ‘I feel great, and I’ve a strong sense that this will soon be over, and then I can enjoy the next part of my life.’

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So I don’t need to worry about you?’

  ‘Absolutely not,’ she said firmly. ‘Not for a moment.’

  ‘Good. Then I’m glad I told you. And before you ask: Dad and I have just had what is called, I believe, a full and frank exchange of views. He got quite snippy with me, said I wasn’t old enough to judge him.’ He shrugged. ‘I said I wasn’t judging him – just the impact that his irresponsibility had on all of us, the ones who were left behind. There’s more, but you don’t need to hear it.’ He finished his tea, stood up, yawned and stretched. ‘I’m pretty wrecked after it, I must admit. Kev an’ Andy have convinced me to go to the gym with them later on, and we’ve a couple of new computer games to try out tonight. So I’m goin’ straight home. That’s the end of my exciting weekend.’

  ‘Will you meet him again?’

  ‘Dad? I haven’t decided. He wants us to get over the “impasse”, according to himself. Don’t know if that’s possible, myself, but I’ll see. I suppose the first time is the hardest. I told him I’d leave it for a week or so, mull over what we talked about.’