Croissants and Jam

by Lynda Renham

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jack arrives. He screeches to a halt in a blue MG convertible and honks the horn several times. Discreetly, I ignore him and spray myself with Jo Malone’s Grapefruit, while I wait for him to knock at the door. I am just grabbing a pashmina when he does so. I open it and reel back from the overwhelming smell of his aftershave.

  ‘Hi,’ he says wafting in.

  I sneeze uncontrollably and feel my eyes water.

  ‘Oh dear, here you are.’ He offers me a tissue which I accept gratefully.

  ‘Your aftershave,’ I explain, feeling like all I do these days is comment on people’s fragrances, or the overwhelming aspect of them. Thankfully he does not tell me it is Avon.

  ‘You look very nice,’ he says giving my dress an approving look.

  I hadn’t gone to much trouble really and was wearing a simple black dress, but I had dressed it up a bit with some pearl earrings and a matching necklace. I am about to respond when my Blackberry rings. I shrug helplessly, and he smiles. I don’t even glance at the screen and stupidly presume it is Kaz again.

  ‘Kaz, I am just going out.’

  ‘Bels, hi, how are you? It’s Christian.’

  I feel my legs give way and grab the back of the couch for support. Christian? How can that be possible?

  ‘But I just saw you on television,’ I say stupidly and immediately want to kick myself.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt Bels, is the toilet through there?’ asks Jack quite loudly.

  ‘Oh yes, help yourself.’

  Help yourself? Shit, what the hell am I saying? How dare he phone me right out of the blue like this? Get a grip Bels for God’s sake. He is a cheating liar, don’t forget.

  ‘And what did you think?’ Christian asks, and I wonder if he heard Jack.

  ‘Oh I haven’t watched it all yet,’ I say, sitting down, feeling sure if I don’t, I will fall down. God, my heart is beating so fast I feel sure it will burst right out of my chest.

  ‘Ah, well I hope I’m not a disappointment.’

  I don’t know what to say in response and cringe when I hear the loo being flushed. Jack strolls out of the bathroom and pointedly looks at his watch. There is silence at the other end of the phone and I wait a few seconds.

  ‘So, how are you?’ he repeats finally.

  I take a deep breath and stand up.

  ‘I’m on my way out actually,’ I say attempting a cool voice. I find myself willing Jack not to speak, but he does.

  ‘Actually, we really should go Bels; the table is booked for seven.’

  There is a silence and I feel my head spin. Why now? Why does he phone me now? If only Jack wasn’t here. I could have asked him why he is being such a bastard to his dad and Simon.

  ‘Oh, right, okay…’ He seems to hesitate but gives no indication he has heard Jack. I wait and then think I hear a door squeak open.

  ‘Perhaps if you’re around tomorrow, I could call you. Or you can call me if you like?’

  He gives his number and I frantically look around for a pen. Jack kindly hands me one along with a scrap of paper. What am I doing? This is crazy. I jot it down and then hear Claudine’s Texan voice call out in the background.

  ‘What are you ordering honey?’

  Oh the bastard doesn’t change.

  ‘I’d better go,’ I say coldly.

  ‘I’ll phone tomorrow,’ he says quickly. We both say bye and I hang up feeling more confused about him than ever. Jack is holding open the door and I follow him out making a firm decision to forget Christian for the rest of the evening. Jack is wearing a blue open neck shirt and I glimpse far too much of his, oh my God, very grey hairs and thick, chunky gold necklace. He opens the car door for me and patiently waits while I climb inside. By now, the overpowering smell of his aftershave is beginning to make me quite heady and I attempt to open the window.

  ‘I’ll put the top down,’ he says cheerfully and pushes a button.

  The top slides back noiselessly and memories of the Lemon’s tatty sunroof come back to me and I feel an urge to cry. The wind whips at my hair and I struggle with the pashmina to keep myself warm. There is barely any room for me to stretch my legs. I am so cramped, that I feel certain I will have curvature of the spine by the time we arrive.

  ‘You will love the restaurant,’ he shouts. ‘It is the best in St John’s Wood.’

  My hair is blowing into my mouth and I struggle to keep it back. He pushes another button, which I hope is the one that puts the top back down, but sadly it isn’t. Pink Floyd blares out at me from the speakers.

  ‘It sounds lovely,’ I shout back and fight with the pashmina. By the time I have my hair and the pashmina under control we have pulled up outside the restaurant. I watch in horror as he parks, with a screech, into a disabled parking space directly outside the restaurant.

  ‘Here we are,’ he announces.

  ‘But you can’t park here,’ I protest.

  He opens my door.

  ‘I park here all the time.’

  He leans towards me and offers his hand. A large gold Saint Christopher swings dangerously towards me. I duck.

  ‘But it’s for disabled people,’ I say looking up at him and my teeth collide with the medallion. For one awful moment I think we are going to get tangled in his necklace but he pulls away carefully and smiles.

  ‘I don’t think a disabled person will be coming here for dinner. I mean, let’s face it, their allowance wouldn’t even pay for the starter,’ he guffaws.

  I force a smile and wait for my teeth to stop throbbing. Bloody hell, what am I doing? The waiter acknowledges us and shakes Jack’s hand.

  ‘Lovely to see you again Mr Russell, your usual table is it?’

  Jack smiles proudly at me. I struggle to tidy my hair and follow the waiter to the table. Much to my relief it is in a corner. I accept the menu and try to relax. I let my mind wander back to Christian and the TV programme and feel a warm glow travel through my body. Oh please God, don’t let him marry Claudine.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ Jack asks as he carefully places his phone and wallet side by side on the table.

  ‘A champagne cocktail, please,’ I reply, feeling a strong need for something alcoholic.

  He looks at me for a second and then beckons to the waiter.

  ‘We’d like a bottle of your best champagne please.’

  A bottle! I open my mouth to say a champagne cocktail would be fine but close it again when he says,

  ‘So, your fiancé Simon, dumped you at the altar then?’

  I feel my mouth open and then close again. Finally forcing a smile I say,

  ‘Actually, no, I jilted him.’

  For a second he looks confused but quickly composes himself and absently checks his phone. I struggle to think of something to say.

  ‘Are you interested in fashion?’ I ask sweetly.

  ‘Ah, yes I am. All my clothes are designer. I won’t spend less than sixty quid on a shirt.’

  I attempt to look dead impressed and sigh with relief when the waiter approaches with the champagne. I knock back the first glass. Good Lord, was I out of my mind agreeing to a date with him? He is not my type at all. In fact, even I am not sure what my bloody type is anymore. Simon was my type I suppose. I guess if that is anything to go by then in theory Jack should be close to my type. Oh what the hell, does it matter? The fact is, there is only one type for me and that is the Christian type. In fact, to be more correct, Christian is my type, Christian and only Christian. Time to face it Bels, Christian is the one you love and the truth is he does not love you. I hold my glass out for more champagne feeling more miserable than I thought possible. Jack is talking about the menu and I attempt my best smile.

  ‘Of course, the lamb is wonderful too but if you want a really good dinner I would recommend the steak. You’re not a vegetarian are you, or God forbid, one of those vegan people?’

  I shake my head. I must make an effort. Mother is right, I can’t be on the she
lf for goodness sake. I must not forget that I am thirty and men are in short supply. Oh God, what a thought. I allow Jack to fill my glass and ignore the swimming in my head. After all, when was the last time I let myself go? Memories of my arrival at the hotel in Rome swarm into my head and I quickly shake it to get rid of them.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Jack asks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I asked if you wanted a starter but you shook your head.’

  ‘Oh no, I mean yes, I would like a starter, and sorry I was miles away.’

  I look at the menu and blink several times to see the print.

  ‘I am having the smoked salmon, I can recommend it.’

  Considering I cannot see what the starters are, I agree to the smoked salmon too and a crab salad for the main meal. A waiter rushes towards us as I close my menu.

  ‘Two smoked salmon starters. One sirloin steak and I will have chips with that. The lady will have the crab salad and could you bring a bottle of your best red wine. You do like red don’t you?’ says Jack looking up at me.

  I swallow the last of my champagne.

  ‘Well, with the fish I should probably have white…’ I say hesitantly.

  He waves a hand dismissively.

  ‘Ah, have red if you like red. Yes, bring your best red plonk and I’ll have an extra portion of chips. Do you want chips Bels?’

  Shaking my head, I cringe in my seat and attempt to smile at the waiter as he pours the last of the champagne.

  ‘Great and I would like my steak very well done as usual. The chef knows how I like it.’

  The menu is removed and I look across the table at Jack. Oh God, I have already had too much to drink. I make a mental note to have one glass of wine only and to make sure it is not topped up. He checks his phone again and then relaxes in his chair. Okay time to make an effort. After all, he is nice enough. So what if he orders a well-done steak and red wine with fish and of course horror of horrors an extra portion of chips with his chips, but generally he seems nice and he is making a big effort to impress.

  ‘Your mother told me you are going on holiday soon.’

  Oh good Lord, he undoes another button on his shirt. How many more of those grey hairs can I stand?

  ‘I haven’t booked anything.’

  The waiter returns with the wine and pours a small amount for Jack who knocks it back in one hit and then lets out a satisfied sigh. I close my eyes and picture Christian at the wine tasting. I can’t help wondering if he thinks about me as much as I do about him. I shake my head again to push out the thoughts.

  ‘Whenever I can get a break, which isn’t very often, I always fly out to my place in Spain.’

  My eyes snap open. Now, this is impressive.

  ‘You have a property in Spain, how nice? How often do you try to go?’ I ask, leaning back slightly so the waiter can place the smoked salmon onto the table.

  ‘Well, I can only use it for two weeks of the year, so…’

  My stomach rumbles and he smiles at the sound.

  ‘It’s a timeshare is it?’ I say trying not to look disappointed.

  He nods and tucks into the food, which I have to admit is delicious.

  ‘I would offer it to you but I have used up my allowance for this year.’

  He looks embarrassed, and I begin to feel a bit sorry for him.

  ‘At least you have a timeshare. That’s more than I have,’ I console him with my best smile.

  We eat in silence for a while. I sip from my glass and try to sneak a look at him over the rim. Why do I have to compare every man I meet to Christian? I shall never find a new man if I go on like this. But no matter how hard I try I cannot find anything appealing about Jack. The waiter removes our plates and I struggle for something to say.

  ‘My mother tells me you’re in scrap metal is that right? I have never met anyone who was in scrap metal before,’ I say stupidly.

  ‘You’ve heard the saying, where there’s muck there’s brass? There was never a truer saying than that one,’ he answers, opening his wallet and removing a small blue card which he proudly hands me.

  ‘I do house clearances, lots of muck in those places and I can tell you, a fair bit of brass too.’

  He breaks his roll in half and cuts a large slab of butter. I suppose he must have dealt in a lot of muck to be able to afford this, I find myself thinking, and dearly hope after dealing in so much muck that he has washed his hands. I take the card hesitantly and pretend to study it. I am relieved to see the waiter approach and am saved from making any comment. I gasp when his steak arrives. It is so well done it is almost charcoaled. I thought he said this was the best restaurant in St John’s Wood. I open my mouth to complain but stop when he nods at the waiter.

  ‘Wonderful. They cook it to perfection here.’ I roll my eyes without thinking and tell myself to stop being such a snob. The waiter leaves us and walks to the door to greet a group of people. I look up and then quickly look away again. Oh no, is that Simon? Surely, it can’t be. I sneak another look and cringe. It is him. Oh no, I really don’t want him to see me with Jack. I slide further down in my seat and see he is coming our way. Bugger it, bugger it.

  ‘Annabel?’

  I pull myself up and run my hands through my hair. I strain to see the people who are with him but they are already heading to the bar.

  ‘Simon,’ I respond. ‘What a surprise.’ And none too pleasant either, but of course, I don’t say that.

  Jack splutters on a chip and grabs his serviette.

  ‘Simon, this is Jack, and Jack, this is Simon,’ I say, feeling myself blush.

  Jack quickly holds out his greasy hand which Simon barely touches.

  ‘Jack Russell’s the name, pleased to meet you Simon.’

  For a second, Simon looks baffled.

  ‘Jack Russell, isn’t that a breed of…’

  ‘Yes Simon,’ I interrupt. I pour myself more wine and see that Simon is now looking at my crab.

  ‘You should be drinking white wine with that crab surely?’

  Bloody hell, Simon never changes. I smile at Jack who looks embarrassed. Oh sod this for a game of soldiers. I lift the glass to my lips.

  ‘Jack and I like to break the rules, don’t we Jack?’ I smile, taking another sip of the wine.

  Jack goes to speak but Simon breaks in.

  ‘Well that is true, I can’t argue with that. You always were a rebel.’

  His critical eye travels over Jack’s shirt and finally lands on the well-done steak. He opens his mouth to speak but I stop him with a cough. The last thing I want is Jack to feel more embarrassed. Simon looks at me with a grin.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, I am dining with friends. It was nice seeing you.’

  I watch him walk away and exhale, giving Jack a devilish look.

  ‘I think we rattled his cage.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ he remarks loading more chips onto his plate with his hands.

  I pour more wine into his glass and laugh.

  ‘Actually, it is really rather nice breaking all the rules.’

  Jack looks decidedly uncomfortable and, much to my relief buttons up his shirt.

  ‘Is it difficult seeing him?’

  ‘Good Lord no,’ I say airily and lean across to steal some of his chips. Simon has encouraged me to ‘go where no woman has ever gone before’ which in this case is to eat chips with my crab salad while drinking the forbidden red wine. Jack visibly relaxes and continues telling me about the timeshare in Costa de Sol. I try to look suitably impressed but fail miserably. Finally, dessert comes and with great relief on my part we are drinking our coffee.

  ‘Would you like to go for a drive in the MG?’ asks Jack as he pays the bill.

  I shake my head apologetically.

  ‘Actually, I have an early start in the morning.’

  He nods knowingly and helps me with my pashmina.

  ‘Oh, you’re leaving already.’

  I snap around to see Simon with a group of people from his
law office. Two of his snobby friends are sniggering. I link my arm through Jack’s.

  ‘Actually, we are just about to go on to a casino, aren’t we Jack?’ I say breezily.

  Jack’s mouth opens and just as quickly closes again. I pull him out of the restaurant to the car in the disabled parking space. I cringe with embarrassment and step into the road to allow an elderly gentleman with a walking frame pass along the pavement. I pray he doesn’t speak, but of course he does.

  ‘Well, you sure look disabled,’ he spits at me.

  Jack quickly pulls the parking ticket from the windscreen and climbs in beside me. I watch, deeply ashamed as the man walks slowly into the restaurant.

  ‘No one ever wants to park here normally,’ moans Jack, under his breath.

  We pull away with a screech and I see Simon’s face staring at us from the restaurant window.

  ‘What casino do you want to go to? I usually go to one in the West End. It is good, and they park the car for you,’ says Jack, his face lighting up.

  Buggety bugger.

  ‘Let’s go there then,’ I say sighing heavily. All plans of watching Christian later this evening instantly dashed. I pray that Simon does not follow. I mean, it is just the kind of thing he would do. I stifle a yawn and wrap my pashmina tighter round me as Jack pushes the button that puts the top down.

  ‘What about your early night?’ he shouts.

  I shrug.

  ‘Great car this isn’t it?’ he shouts again.

  It was Simon who had once told me that MG convertibles are hairdresser’s cars.

  ‘Those little sporty numbers are hairdressers cars’ I can hear him saying, ‘especially the ones with soft tops,’ meaning the cars and not the hairdressers I presume. Honestly, Simon is such a snob and to think I was so close to marrying him. I sneak a look at the time on the dashboard and curse myself for needing to get the better of Simon. All my plans of a cosy evening drooling over Christian have now gone, not to mention the precious time I could have spent praying to a God I do not believe in, to ask that Christian will not marry Claudine. Bother, bother, bother. I am now faced with several hours of blackjack, roulette and poker, and I have no idea how to play any of them. It occurs to me that I should tell Jack this is my first visit to a casino. I really don’t know why I let Simon get to me. I should be happy he has moved on, and the truth is I am. I just want him to think I have to. I really do not want him to think that I am like the walking dead, trailing in the shadow of Christian, even if that is the truth.