by June Hopkins
I met Tom the following year at Phillip's 21st birthday. Phillip was having a party in a marquee on our parents’ lawn. He and Ben were studying Law at Cambridge and Phillip was bringing twenty friends home for the party.
I should really pull myself together and stop raking this up but I have buried it for so long that the thoughts just will not subside. They're rushing around in my head making me feel dizzy and my stomach lurches with butterflies. I need to sit down. I cross the road to the park and make my way over to the swings where it's nice and quiet with just a few mums out with their toddlers. I'll sit here on the bench for a bit, let the memories come and then I'm off to the pub to drown them.
I start the film again.
Lissa and I were hysterically excited in my room for hours before the guests arrived: Lissa because she hadn't seen Ben for weeks, and me, well, I was just excited about lots of eligible men coming to my home. Ah come on, what self respecting 17 year old single girl wouldn't be? Lissa had taken ages getting ready; she'd arrived with a suitcase of clothes (a suitcase?). She only lived five minutes away! Six outfits, three makeup changes, two complete hairstyles not to mention nails, hands and feet. Eventually she was ready. I was stunned by the performance.
I had bought one new black dress and a new pair of admittedly high heeled black shoes. I literally managed one hair style and a quick bit of makeup, as I had spent the rest of the time styling Lissa. Even back then I hadn't been one for dressing up, being happy in jeans and t-shirts. I remember when at last I'd had some time to get myself up together, and was half way through my makeup when mum had stuck her head round the door and told us to “Get a move on” as Phillip was due in fifteen minutes.
Lissa freaked, "Oh God, fifteen minutes? I haven't finished my make up yet!" She'd hobbled over to the dressing table, her toes still wet with varnish and shrieked at me, "Come on Annie, hurry up. I need the mirror."
I'd boggled at her; she had some neck , "Jesus Lissa just wait. This is the first time I've got near the mirror all afternoon and you've been faffing about with your toenails for the last ten minutes. I can't see the point. Who's going to see your toes anyway?"
"Oh don't be ridiculous Annie. You have to make the best of yourself. I’ll know they look nice and that's all that matters. It's the same as wearing nice underwear. Only you know when you’re wearing it, but it makes you feel good."
I remember snorting at her and not getting the point at all. However I do remember when the two minibuses pulled up on the drive carrying the precious load of twenty men, I'd been glad for once that I'd at least made some effort.
Lissa was jumping up and down like a demented kangaroo and hissing in my ear, "Men, men. Lots of men." (We didn't get to see that many in the village. Well, not single, handsome ones anyway.)
"What about Ben?" I'd hissed back, a tad pissed off that she was never bloody satisfied. She hadn't got the chance to respond as Ben had suddenly appeared and swept her up in a bear hug that made me green with envy. Although I did feel slightly better when I saw her eying up some of the other talent over his shoulder and they were pretty much all mine tonight as she was well and truly taken. I have to admit to being rather smug at the thought.
By the time the "Hello’s” had been dealt with and an awful lot of other people had arrived, we had the beginnings of an excellent party in the huge marquee on the back lawn. The weather had played fair, and I was having a great time drinking and flirting when I'd looked around for Phillip and that was when I first saw him. Tom Landsbury. Tall, dark and gorgeously handsome. There he had stood in his black suit right by the makeshift bar (which was handy, as I'd happened to have a raging thirst on at that particular moment). I remember tottering over, trying to appear seductive in my new dress and too high shoes which I could hardly stay upright in, although that may have had something to do with the large bottle of Champagne that Lissa and I had earlier absconded with down to the bottom of the garden in a commando style operation.
"Hi." I'd said in what I had hoped was a seductive voice, as I tried unsuccessfully to flutter my eyelashes.
"Hi yourself," he'd replied, with a raised eyebrow and beautiful smile.
Of course now I think about it, the smile and the raised eyebrow were probably caused by my eyelashes, or should I say eyelids, moving rapidly up and down, and even years later I still haven't figured out how the beautiful people manage this feat.
"I haven't seen you before," I'd simpered.
"That's because I haven't been here before," he'd answered.
"Oh really?"
"Really," he'd said.
My powers of seduction back then were not that hot. Still aren't, come to think of it.
"So how do you know Phillip?"
"We’re at Cambridge together. I came down on the minibus from London."
"Oh, I didn't see you earlier, did I?" I was confused and couldn't believe I'd missed him in the line up when the guests arrived.
He smiled a lovely smile again and on closer inspection of his face, which could have been misconstrued by him as leering, he had the most startlingly beautiful dark blue eyes.
"No you didn't see me earlier. I snuck past while you were being thrown around by your obviously adoring big brother." He smiled again.
I remember blushing furiously at the memory of the rather childish, exuberant greeting between myself and Phillip.
"Oh," was all I could say.
"Would you like a drink?" He'd asked.
I couldn't believe he'd offered to get me a drink any more than the fact that he'd noticed me in the first place, even if it had been in rather embarrassing circumstances. I'd had more than enough Champagne and had searched my inexperienced brain for a suitably sophisticated drink, opting for the first one that had popped into my head, "Pernod and black please."
There it was again, the raised eyebrow, but he'd said nothing and ordered it for me.
Considering that I was already doing a very good impression of being on a ship, it was probably not the best idea I'd ever had but at the time I was out to impress.
I couldn't believe it when he'd asked if I would like to sit down with him and we found an empty table at the edge of the dance floor. I was in seventh heaven until Lissa appeared with Ben and quickly made themselves comfortable at our table. I'd tried to kick Lissa under the table and shoot her dirty 'piss off' looks but she was oblivious or completely ignoring me and immediately turned her baby blues on Tom as well as Ben. It wasn't long before both men were smitten with her and although they were not rude to me, it was obvious where their attention was centred. Bitch!
It wasn't that I wasn't used to Lissa's behaviour. The girl, after all, was beautiful in a sickly Barbie doll way, with her perfectly formed little figure, long blonde hair and baby blue eyes.
I remember escaping to the house at one point to use the toilet and Ben had accompanied me. He spoke of nothing else the entire way there, it was obvious then that he had fallen in love with her, but I'd been happy for them. As far as I was concerned, there was not another man on the planet from the moment I met Tom.
When we returned to the table Tom seemed to redirect his radar back to me, which had been bliss and the next couple of hours were great. Ben and Tom had us in hysterics with their tales from Cambridge and we had all got incredibly pissed.
Unfortunately not so pissed that I still can't remember, with crystal clear clarity, what happened next.
Eventually the slow dances came on and Ben asked Lissa to dance, I'd felt awkward watching them as Tom and I sat together. I would have given anything for him to ask me and then, possibly out of embarrassment, he did. I'd rapidly departed to cloud nine. I remembered standing up gracefully, drink in hand, and told him I would love to with a stupid mooning grin on my face. I'd swayed backwards, steadied myself and my heel sank into the grass. I'd fallen forward and promptly emptied the contents of my (possibly 8th) Pernod and black all down the front of Tom's pristine white shirt. Oh horror, the absolute shame! It hadn't ende
d there. Tom jumped up sending his chair flying. I'd tried to step backwards and right myself, and the heel that had stuck in the grass snapped off, which in turn sent me to the ground on my ass at his feet, my skirt somewhere around my neck. It was, most definitely, a "You've Been Framed" moment. Of course it's typical, whenever you want the floor to open up and swallow you it just won't oblige. Because of the slow music, a lot of Phillip's friends had been huddled around the bar and had a bird’s eye view of me making a complete moron out of myself. They, of course, thought it was hugely amusing and guffawed for all they were worth.
My embarrassment knew no bounds. I was mortified and so did what any 17 year old embarrassed girl would do. I got up off the grass with Tom's help, pulled my skirt down with as much dignity as I could muster and then got rid of my ruined shoes by taking them off and throwing them with a pretty damn good aim straight into the middle of the yobs from hell, knocking a few pints out of sticky, sweaty hands. At that moment apart from myself, I had never hated anyone more. I'd then ran to the house and Linford Christie would have had a job to catch me. I'd locked myself in my bedroom where I'd cried and cried and cried all night. Well, for half an hour at least, until I'd fallen unconscious and I remember the last conscious thought I'd had was I'd wished I'd worn nice underwear and painted my toenails.
Ben and Lissa's relationship blossomed and on her nineteenth birthday, Ben asked her to be his date for a Christmas Ball which was being held in Oxford, something to do with Tom's father. I smile as I remember how ecstatic I had felt when two days later I received a phone call from Tom asking me to partner him. I'd known he was just being kind in not wanting to leave me out, as we'd become close friends since the party, but that hadn't dulled my excitement. I gave myself a stiff talking to and reminded myself not to overreact, then totally ignored my own advice. I became completely hysterical for nearly two months. As I explained to Lissa, if I couldn't have him for forever, at least I could have one night. One glorious, fantastic night with my very own God. As it turned out, the Ball had been everything I could have wished for. My mother had bought me the most stunning emerald green evening gown and Tom had been a gallant partner and had made me feel like a princess all evening. We had all drunk ridiculous amounts until 3.00 am. The night was perfect. At around that time Tom had disappeared. I'd searched the hotel and grounds with no success and eventually decided to go on up to my room with the possibility of knocking on his door on the way. I stole a full bottle of Champagne from an oblivious table full of raucous guests. I'd used the lift to the 3rd floor and made my way along the corridor to his room and there, on a sofa half way down the corridor, was Tom, elbows on knees and head in his hands. I'd sat down next to him, "Hey you, there you are. I've been looking for you." I'd said softly.
Tom had looked round at me and sat up rubbing his hands through his hair, "Sorry Annie, I just needed a little time to think."
I'd touched his shoulder "Are you ok? You look awful."
"Oh thanks," he'd smiled at me making my heart flip over.
"My pleasure, so come on what's up? Do you want to talk about it? I will even let you share this," I'd said as I held up the loot.
Tom smiled again, "Oh go on then you've twisted my arm. Why not? Your place or mine?"
I remember the wave of triumph. "Yours. Lissa and Ben are in mine and have been for the last hour and a half. I was just about to kick them out."
"Come on then princess," he said as he rose and held out his hand to me.
We'd swayed along the rest of the corridor and Tom had fumbled about finding his key and then trying to put it in the lock. Eventually, after a lot of snorting, giggling and shushing we'd entered the room and a whole new phase in my 19 year old life.
The first hour had been a counselling session, during which Tom had spilled the beans about the love of his life, tilting my life on its axis and pulling out from under me any possible hopes of happy ever after I'd harboured. As the bottle of Champagne emptied I'd discovered that the love of my life might as well have been a thousand miles away. Melanie was her name, they had met at university two years ago, and she had also studied law but was a year above. Melanie had been in New York in a very prominent law firm for the last ten months completing her pupillage year. They had been writing and telephoning each other ever since and Tom now had a massive decision to make. His uncle (his father's brother) had offered him a position in his law firm in New York but Tom’s father wanted him to stay in England to complete his pupillage year within his own distinguished, well established business and eventually take up a tenancy within the firm.
His uncle's firm consisted of several full partners, a couple of junior partners and employed somewhere around 200 staff. They held the entire 20th floor of a skyscraper in the middle of New York's financial district. The training package came with a promise of promotion to junior partner within three years (if Tom proved himself), an amazing training experience as well as an eye popping salary and a company apartment.
Tom had never had any doubt that he would go to work with his father, a man he loved and respected. The offer from his uncle, although very tempting, was not on its own enough to dissuade him from his intended course. However, Melanie was now in the mix and this greatly tipped the balance in favour of New York. Melanie it seemed had absolutely no intention of coming home. She was going places. She liked the lifestyle, especially the money, and her focused approach to her career left Tom in no doubt that she was a rising star in the making. If Tom wanted Melanie, he was going to have to break his father's heart.
By the end of the bottle Tom was crying silent, heart wrenching tears and my intended cuddle of genuine sympathy quickly became the most passionate, beautiful two hours of my life.
The following morning when I woke to find the letter on his pillow, something died in my heart but something else was alive deep within me. I hadn't seen Tom again. The letter was more of an apology, thanking me for listening, explaining how sorry he was for taking advantage of me in a moment of weakness and asking me to forgive him. He had made his decision; he was going to New York.
So here I sit in a park, eight years later, remembering that monumental night and that gorgeous man, the gorgeous man who has no idea that he has a son. Maybe some would say that he has a right to know, and that Harry has a right to know his father, but I had made the decision on the day I found out that I was pregnant, nearly three months after Tom had left the country.
I'd fought hard with my conscience but my first thoughts as I watched the two blue lines appear have not wavered. Tom must never know. How could I ruin his life, his career? He had not wanted a child, let alone me. None of it had been his choice. He had been drunk and upset; his letter had said that he had taken advantage of me when really it had been the other way round. I had known that I wasn't on the pill but the thought had never entered my head.
My only thoughts that night were of being with Tom. My entire being had wanted him, and for a few short hours my fantasy had come true. I'd learned to live on those memories, like an oasis in the desert, through the pregnancy and birth and up until Harry's first birthday when I'd decided I had to stop living in a fantasy world. That's when I'd packaged the memories away. I had refused to believe that he could have both his career in New York and his child in England. I'd thought only of him and his well being. I would not, could not do it to him and I'd decided I would never make him choose. I was fine; I had some money from my grandmother, a good strong family and, as much as I knew my father would bluster about the whole thing, he would support me: that much I'd known.
Nothing had changed; I decided as I sat on the bench. I still believed that I had made the right choice back then. So now what? He was coming back and I couldn't avoid him at the wedding without making things more obvious. I wonder if I can get away with attending the wedding without Harry? I quickly dismiss this thought; that simply isn't an option. Dad and mum will be there, as well as Phillip and Jennie and their children. Exactly what sort of excuse wou
ld they accept for either Harry or I not turning up?
Short of a debilitating disease... wait... I wonder... no that's ridiculous, what am I thinking? Although I suppose I could pop into Gloucester Hospital and hang around the serious diseases ward; maybe borrow a nurse’s uniform or something, lurk around in the corridors in the hopes of catching something nasty. Although that's not the best plan in the world, as you can't really choose which disease you catch and this is all about timing. However, a good old dose of gastric flu wouldn't go amiss for a few weeks before the wedding. I mean, at least then if I have to make an appearance and wear a stupid dress I'd be maybe a good stone lighter.
I really do need to get a grip. Thoughts of how to break your leg in one painless easy movement are now popping into my brain, but of course again that's ridiculous. I mean, they'd just stick me in a wheelchair and push me down the aisle; and if I'm going, I at least want to look my best. I give myself a mental shake. I've had enough of this. I need people around me before I decide to start throwing myself down the big slide in the hopes of injury. I'm losing the plot and I'm definitely going to the pub.
I leave the park and head for the White Hart. I am still contemplating my predicament; the wedding, Tom and Harry in the same place, along with all my nearest and dearest. You see, no matter what Lissa says, I am convinced that when the two of them are together there will not be a soul there that could not fail to notice the resemblance. You may well ask why these same people have never made the connection before, and that is a conundrum I am still trying to work out. However, as far as I am aware nobody has, unless of course I've been kidding myself all these years. Maybe they've been humouring me all this time. That thought is a little too disturbing and I quickly dismiss it. I need to discuss this with James; tell him the whole story, and cleanse myself, so to speak. James is probably the most sensible person I know, and he’ll give me some decent unemotional advice, of that I'm sure. This thought perks me up a little as I find myself outside the pub door, which is a tad disconcerting given that I have clearly crossed two relatively busy roads and managed to navigate myself through the normally bustling high street, with no memory of doing so!