One Day, Someday

by Lynne Barrett-Lee

  ‘About what happened. About what didn’t happen. Joe, it’s just that - well, I’m sorry, that’s all.’

  He has stopped stirring his coffee. I start to stir mine. Energetically. Paying particular attention to the little brown vortex I’m creating. I wish it would suck me in.

  He takes a sip from his. ‘Sorry?’ he says. ‘What for exactly?’

  ‘Sorry I didn’t, you know, stay after all.’

  His brows knit a little. ‘Ri-ight. Got that bit, I think. And?’

  ‘And - and that’s it.’ I put my stirrer down. ‘Only I think I might have given you the impression that I wasn’t - and, well, given you the impression overall, so to speak, that I wasn’t, you know—’

  He grins. ‘I’m lost.’

  Oh dear. I pick it up again and roll it between my fingers. ‘Joe, interested. That I haven’t been, in general, you know, interested. Um. In you.’

  There is a tiny but perceptible change in his expression. Then he says, ‘Yes. That’s true. You have. You most definitely have.’

  I look hard at him. ‘So you do understand what I’m saying?’

  He looks back. Even harder. ‘Kind of,’ he says. ‘Tell you what. Run it by me again, why don’t you?’

  I pick up my coffee and sip it. It’s scalding. Oh, this is too, too excruciating. I don’t have to do this now. I could wait till we get to Blois. I could drink an obscene quantity of wine and just let happenstance take over. Let it just happen by itself. It’s way too sunny out here. Way too bright and penetrating and difficult. I could just wait and see what happens, couldn’t I? I’ve been waiting all my life. I’m very good at waiting.

  But he is waiting now, head cocked to one side, smile enquiring.

  ‘Joe, you’re not making this very easy for me.’

  ‘I know I’m not.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So you do know what I’m saying?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You’re saying you wish you’d stayed after all. You just said so.’

  ‘Um. Right. Yes. Right.’

  ‘But you didn’t.’

  ‘Right.’

  He puts both hands, palms up, on the table. And then exhales. ‘So why didn’t you, Lu?’

  ‘Because, because - well, for lots of reasons. Because - because you didn’t - well, when you could have done, when you had the chance to, you - well, you didn’t make a move. You didn’t kiss me, did you?’

  He looks slightly offended. Like a schoolboy who’s been charged with someone else’s crime. Indignant, almost. ‘I nearly did,’ he responds. ‘I most probably would have done, if you’d given me half a chance. But you didn’t, did you? You shot off.’

  This conversation isn’t going quite how it ought to. ‘I didn’t “shoot off’, as you put it,’ I retort. ‘I just changed my mind about staying.’

  He looks at me in a way that suggests my mind-changing tendency is getting more than a little unfathomable for him. He folds his arms. ‘And?’

  ‘All right,’ I say eventually. ‘I went because I thought - I mean I wasn’t sure if you—’ Oh, sod it. Might just as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. ‘Joe,’ I say finally, ‘who is Jeannine?’

  25

  ‘Jeannine?’ he asked, wide-eyed. ‘Jeannine Carver? Now I am confused. What on earth’s she got to do with this?’

  ‘That’s just it. I don’t know, Joe.’

  He looked faintly uncomfortable. No. Not uncomfortable, exactly. Just slightly disconcerted. Just that. And bemused. Oh, God. This was becoming more difficult by the minute.

  ‘Well, that makes two of us,’ he said, raising his eyebrows. ‘Because neither do I.’

  ‘It’s just that …’ I took a breath ‘… well, you’re seeing her, aren’t you? And if you’re seeing her, well …’

  I stopped. I couldn’t even begin to elucidate. So much for all my gung-ho resolutions. I could feel my confidence draining away like yesterday’s dishwater. There was only so much humiliation a girl could stomach. He put down his coffee and studied me carefully. And the look of bemusement that had been playing on his face was replaced by one of enlightenment. Then a smile. A wide smile, getting wider by the moment.

  ‘Oh, seeing her,’ he repeated slowly. ‘I see. And funnily enough, Lu, you’re right. I am.’

  He pushed his hand into the back pocket of his trousers and pulled out his wallet, then flipped it open in front of him. I continued to sip my coffee, cringing. An early wasp footled among the sugar sticks and milk pots. A woman walked past us. A child swung on the swing.

  And then he shook his head, chuckled, and said, ‘Of course,’ to himself.

  He started riffling through the various pockets in his wallet. To the left there was a photo of Angharad. To the right, a black American Express card. Behind which, more plastic. A wodge of receipts. And some business cards, one of which he eventually extracted, which he then wordlessly handed to me.

  It was a simple white card. No logo. Plain typeface. An address in the corner. Cedar Folly, obviously. And some more words. Jeannine. And then, of course, Carver. Then some letters; PhD, DHP, MNRHP.

  And then another word. Heavily embossed. In italics. I read it. Looked back at Joe. Read it again.

  ‘Good Lord,’ I exclaimed. ‘She’s a hypnotherapist?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, she’s a hypnotherapist,’ he said wryly. ‘And as you rightly said, I am seeing her, Lu. But professionally. Professionally.’ He leant back. ‘Have been, on and off now, for a while.’ He grinned at me and did a little smoking mime with his fingers. ‘Over nine weeks without a single cigarette now. Almost three months this time. My best effort so far.’

  I looked at the card again. My mind was now teeming, not with questions, but answers. All dashing around like headless chickens. Falling over each other and jockeying for position and fitting themselves, shrieking and whooping and cheering, into the boxes of questions I’d stockpiled for so long. Oh, my. Oh, my!

  ‘Oh, Joe,’ I said, ‘why didn’t you say?’

  He narrowed his eyes and looked at me through his lashes. ‘It’s not something I’m generally given to talking about, Lu.’

  ‘But why ever not?’

  His answering smile was so sweet and childlike that I wanted to scoop him up and kiss him all over. ‘Oh, come on,’ he answered ruefully. ‘Would you?’

  Oh, happy day. I passed him the card back. ‘But all sorts of people get help with things like that these days. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’

  ‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘So Jeannine always tells me. But even so, I am.’ He slipped the card back into his wallet, and the wallet back into his pocket. I thought of Joe and his unreconstructed world of combustion and boilers and ducting and flanges and, well, blokedom, basically. I wondered if hypnotherapy would sit quite so well there.

  ‘Which is not to say that I wouldn’t recommend her,’ he went on. ‘She’s very good at what she does, and she’s also a very good friend. I’ve known her for a long time. Her husband’s been a mate of mine since school.’ He picked up his coffee again and tipped his head back to finish it. ‘Anyway, there you have it. My guilty secret is out.’

  So many stupid misconceptions. So much time wasted. So much almost lost. ‘Oh, God, I feel so stupid, Joe. I thought you and she were - well, what with everything, I just put two and two together. I just assumed—’

  ‘Ah! Busy making assumptions, were you?’ He laughed. ‘Well, you’re very good at that, so it certainly figures. As does,’ he added, linking his hands on the table in front of him, ‘pretty much everything else all of a sudden. So,’ he said briskly, ‘where were we, Ms Fisher? In my hotel room last Thursday, wasn’t it? At the point, let me see now … when you, as I recall, were waiting for me to do something. Ah, yes. That’s it. You were waiting for me to kiss you. That was it, wasn’t it?’ He raised a finger and grinned at me. ‘Hang on a tick.’

  He stretched out his hand and scooped up all the debris; the coffee cups, stirrers, o
ur four little milk pots, the sugar, the tray, a stray remnant of foil. He put them on the tray and pushed the tray to one side. The wasp buzzed away. The sun winked off his watch strap.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘Come on, then. Lean a little closer.’

  ‘Closer?’

  ‘Of course, Lu. Let’s get this thing done.’

  ‘Get what done?’

  His eyes glittered. ‘That kiss, of course, stupid.’

  ‘What, here? What, now?’

  ‘Of course now,’ he said.

  Oh, happy, happy day. ‘Oh, Joe,’ I said, finally. ‘I’m so stupid. So monumentally stupid. You must think I’m such an idiot.’

  He shook his head and traced the back of his hand gently over the side of my face. ‘I think nothing of the sort. I think you’re lovely. Just lovely. But much as I’d like to sit here and gaze at you, we’d better get going. It’s almost ten.’

  I had quite forgotten the time. I had quite forgotten the day.

  ‘Oh, gosh, you’re right,’ I said, flustered, reaching for my bag. ‘Or we’ll be late. If the traffic on the M25 is anything like it was last time it’ll be way past eleven before we reach the M20. And if they’ve still got all those roadworks going on outside Folkestone …’

  He stood up. ‘Oh, don’t worry about those,’ he said, standing up. ‘We’re not going to Folkestone.’

  ‘We’re not?’

  He took my hand and we started heading back to the car. ‘No.’

  ‘But why ever not? What about your meeting?’

  He beamed. ‘I lied. There’s no meeting, Lu.’

  I gaped. ‘No meeting?’

  ‘No meeting. I’m taking you to lunch.’

  ‘Lunch? Lunch where?’

  ‘Er, Paris, as it happens.’

  I stopped dead in my tracks. ‘Paris?’

  He pulled at my hand. ‘So we’d better get a move on, hadn’t we? On second thoughts, give me the keys. I’ll take over.’

  We had reached the Jag by now. ‘What? But I thought you couldn’t drive.’

  ‘Oops!’ he said, holding his hand out to take them. ‘Naughty old me. Lied again, I’m afraid.’

  I handed him the keys and followed him round to the passenger door, which he held open while I, speechless now, clambered in. It was strange to be sitting on that side of the car. Strange and exciting and absolutely perfect. He slipped into the driver’s side and manoeuvred the seat back into its regular position.

  ‘You’re kidding,’ I told him, as the car shuddered gently into life. ‘You mean we’re driving all the way to Paris for lunch? But it’ll take hours.’

  ‘No, it won’t,’ he said happily. ‘Because we’re flying.’

  ‘Flying?’

  He nodded. ‘From Heathrow.’

  ‘Flying? We’re flying to Paris for lunch?’

  Under his control the car seemed to float, almost, back on to the motorway. Or perhaps it was just me. I was up with the cirrus. ‘We are indeed,’ he said. ‘People do, you know. But you’re right. It is an awfully long way to go just for a bite to eat, isn’t it?’ He paused to switch lanes, then turned round to glance at me. ‘So we’re stopping on for dinner as well.’

  ‘Dinner?’

  Once in the outside lane, the car, now in its natural habitat, was gliding effortlessly along. I could feel the pull of the acceleration in my chest. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘And breakfast, of course.’

  ‘Breakfast? You mean we’re spending the night in Paris? Oh, Joe, I don’t know what to say. You mean you planned all this? You just fixed this whole thing up on your own without my knowing?’

  ‘Well, not just, exactly. In actual fact, I had already decided I wanted to take you somewhere - do something nice. As a thank-you for all the slog you’ve had to put up with for the past couple of months. And I’d kind of half decided to take you somewhere special - he glanced at me again ‘- somewhere romantic. But then I got the impression - can’t think why, can you? - that I was going to be a bit of a non-starter where you were concerned. That bloody Stefan, for one thing. And then there was all that nonsense with the flowers, and then I thought maybe it wouldn’t be such a good idea after all. And then -‘ he was smiling to himself then I thought, No. Sod her. And I decided - if I’m going to be completely honest about this - that the only reason Lu Fisher had such a downer on chivalry and flowers and romantic gestures per se was that she had some pretty stupid half-baked notions about men generally. And that I could either take note of her prejudices and act accordingly, or prove to her that, in this case, she was wrong.’

  He drew a hand across his jaw then glanced at me again.

  ‘So?’ I said.

  ‘So I decided I would just have to prove you wrong.’ He smiled at me wryly. ‘Thing is, Lu, I’m no better at this than you are. I know you take a dim view of some of the stuff I do—’

  ‘Oh, I don’t, Joe. I don’t.’

  ‘OK, took, then. But that’s me, Lu. I don’t know any other way to be. I’m not even sure I want to. In fact, no. I know I don’t want to. So, though I knew how I felt about you, I didn’t have the first clue how to deal with you. But I don’t give up easily. So, like I said, I thought, Sod her. I’ll take her to Paris, I’ll wine her and dine her, I’ll stroll along the Seine with her. I’ll drag her up the Eiffel Tower. I’ll do all that wet, soppy, romantic stuff that she finds so hard to swallow and, well, here we are.’ He lifted his hand. ‘And my fingers are very much crossed.’

  Junction five came and went. Signs for Gatwick flashed by. Heathrow, straight on. And Paris next stop. Paris! ‘Oh, Joe, I’m so excited, I can’t tell you. I’ve never been up the Eiffel Tower.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I’ve never walked along the Seine, either.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Joe, you don’t realize. I’ve never been to Paris!’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘I haven’t! We never went abroad as children - my mother was an anglophile with a fixation with Cornwall - and, well, I must have fixed up a billion school French trips, but I never went. I had Leo, didn’t I? Oh, I’ve always wanted to see Paris, Joe. The galleries, Montmartre … Oh, this is so exciting! But, God, Joe! I nearly didn’t come! What if I’d refused to come? After all, I’ve given you every reason to think that I—’

  ‘Tell me about it! But don’t worry. I don’t work on odds that long, Lu. I did have an accomplice.’

  ‘An accomplice?’

  He indicated left and we moved across the motorway to the exit lane. ‘Your sister.’

  ‘Del? You mean Del knows about this?’

  ‘Well, I had to tell her, didn’t I? I couldn’t fix all this up without telling her. You might have had something else on. She might have had something else on. So I called her. And she told me two things. One, you’d always wanted to go to Paris and, two, that despite all the evidence to the contrary, she had a small hunch,’ he looked embarrassed, ‘well, that you did like me, Lu.’

  My sister. My sister had known all about it. My sister had known I was going to Paris. My sister had known how Joe felt about me. But my sister, in her wisdom, had decided not to tell me. Had decided, oh, bless her, that I should find out for myself. I recalled our conversation. All that big-sister ranting. The rat. The adorable, wonderful rat. We pulled up at the lights at the roundabout for Heathrow. They had just turned to red.

  I leaned over, wound my arms round his neck, and I kissed him. Kissed him like I really should have kissed him all those weeks back. Like I meant it. No accident. Because mean it I did.

  ‘Boy, Lu!’ he said. ‘She was right about that, then.’

  ‘Del’s right about most things,’ I purred. ‘But not that one.’

  I kissed him again. I could kiss him for ever.

  ‘Like you, indeed!’ I shook my head firmly. ‘No, no. She’s wrong. You can uncross your fingers. Je n’est pas like - je t’adore, Joe Delaney!’ I pointed ahead. ‘The light has gone green, by the way.’

  THE END

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