Before We Met: What Happens When You Fall For The Same Man Twice But Don't Even Know It

by Madeleine Cardell

  Suddenly Vera snapped out of her reverie. Emma had said that they were going away, so she’d better reply right now. She decided to spend the next hour writing to her friend instead of working, so she opened a blank Word document and started typing.

  By the time the clock struck 5.00pm, Vera’s hangover was almost completely gone. She’d typed a letter to Emma, and had finally finished writing about the pasties. After she finished, she made a silent promise to herself that she’d never drink again if she was being paid to write about food! She knew she wouldn’t be able to get through another hangover while at the same time covering some culinary event.

  Suddenly the phone rang on the desk next to her; the caller had withheld their number.

  ‘Hello?’ She picked it up with a pounding in her chest.

  ‘Vera, it’s mum!’

  ‘Mum, why have you called me from withheld number?’ Vera was slightly annoyed – she thought it could be Tony and got all excited for nothing – again.

  ‘Well, Dad got me this new smartphone, and to be honest I don’t really know how to use it yet, but anyway - you’re my first call!’ she said excitedly. ‘Dad says that it’s quite a simple device, darling,’ she continued, ‘and that I’ll learn everything quickly. But how are you anyway, sweetheart? Have you managed to mend that broken heart yet?’

  Vera instantly felt the familiar dread that came with talking to people about Tony.

  ‘No, Mum, I haven’t, and what’s more, I don’t intend to. Tony and I are getting back together.’

  ‘That’s great news, darling - as long as you’re happy!’

  With that comment Vera was instantly reminded that her mother was an all-round cheerleader for love, but she’d got it wrong this time and now Vera had to explain.

  ‘Mum, I didn’t mean we are getting back together now. I meant we will in the future …’ She was certain that it was only a matter of time before they did, but felt no one, apart from Emma, understood her or took her seriously anymore.

  ‘Oh … I thought that when you said you were getting –‘

  ‘Mum, I know what you thought,’ she butted in, knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. ‘Listen, can I call you back? I see that I’ve just gotten an email from my agent, Suzy, and I have to get back to her ASAP,’ she lied. And giving her mother barely any chance to answer, she hung up. She then went upstairs to her en suite bathroom to run herself a bath.

  Sitting in the bath, surrounded by soapy bubbles, her mind went back to the French banker, his wife and his mistress. She’d never written a book before. Her writing assignments included reports, essays and occasional interviews, but never fiction. But now she found herself wondering if she could indeed write a novel, and started putting the story together. She remembered the French exchange student that she once met at university - his name was Arnaud - so she called her banker Arnaud, and his young English mistress, Meredith - which was Emma’s middle name. She imagined Arnaud’s mansion in an affluent neighborhood of Richmond, South London. She imagined that it was tastefully furnished with a massive and beautifully landscaped garden. She pictured the expensive cars parked outside. Then Vera thought some more about Meredith. What could her personality be like? she wondered, what were her motivations, and did she have true feelings for her lover? As she left the bath some time later, she headed straight to bed, where she sat comfortably with her back against the headboard, opened her laptop, and started to work on her story.

  CHAPTER 4

  The next morning, while still in bed, Vera pulled her phone under the duvet and read the emails and messages that had come in overnight; there was still nothing from Tony. However, her agent had emailed reminding her about the submission date for her latest job - website content for a company producing double-glazed windows. Vera had already spent her advance on the Sophia Webster’s, but so far had produced no work, because since last night, she could only think about writing one thing - her book. She reached for her laptop and re-read one of the paragraphs from last night.

  “It was a Friday afternoon and Meredith was upset. Her pretty lips were pouting and her eyes watered. Her long elegant arms were crossed in front of her. The twitching of the biceps reveled her tension. Arnaud was leaving for France. The helicopter waiting for him at the roof of the NatWest tower was ready to go. It would take him to London City airport, where his private jet was about to take off for his routine weekend journey back to Paris - but he wasn’t taking her with him. It would certainly take some explaining if he introduced her to his children, and even more so to his wife, so Meredith had to stay in London. It didn’t matter that only a couple of hours ago they’d shared an intimate lunch in the best Oriental restaurant in town. It didn’t even matter that during the meal he presented her with a silk Hermes scarf. After dessert, they’d left the restaurant arm in arm, joking and kissing on London Wall. And now he was leaving her for his Rottweiler wife!”

  Vera looked at the clock; it was 9.00am and she knew it was time to get up, have a shower and start on her work. But writing this novel was proving too exciting to stop, so she decided to stay in bed and continue writing for another few minutes. There were plenty more hours in the day …

  “‘I don’t want you to go! I don’t want to stay here alone. Not another weekend, no!’ Meredith threw herself at Arnaud.

  ‘Darling,’ he said, in his strong French accent, ‘don’t be a baby! You know that I have to go. Besides, you have a fabulous party to go to tomorrow night, lots of famous people to meet and lots of champagne to get through! What else could a girl want?’

  ‘I want you Arnaud!’ She lifted her head from his shoulder and cried. ‘I want you to leave your wife and be with me, here, in London. Forever! Your job is here. Your mansion is here. I’m here!’

  ‘Darling, we’ve discussed this before. In fact, we discussed it last Friday in the exact same situation. Now be a good girl, and let me go. The helicopter is waiting. If I don’t leave now, I’ll miss my departure slot at the airport.’

  He gently but firmly pushed her away. As he turned to leave, he said - ‘I’ll bring you back perfume … Chanel, Guerlain and Dior!’

  ‘I already have them, all of them,’ she shouted back.

  ‘I’ll get you more!’

  As the door closed, Meredith fell to the floor. She cried loud and hard, like a spoilt child who had been refused a toy.”

  Vera got so carried away with writing her book, that when afternoon arrived she was still in bed, and she still hadn’t started on her website text. Yet she felt compelled to continue. The next time she looked at her phone she was shocked to discover that it was 4.00pm. Suddenly she remembered that she had an appointment at Muse Hairdressing at 5.00pm. That morning Shane had messaged her with a reminder to wash and dry her hair before she went in. He insisted that when one uses celebrity-haunt hairdressers, they couldn’t just appear in the door with greasy hair - even if their hair was going to be washed again within the next few minutes. It was all about first impressions. The people who rocked the beauty jobs were ruthless, and they would only try their hardest with the customers who they felt gave a damn about themselves. He also instructed her to wear carefully applied make-up, and have freshly manicured nails. But it was already ten past four and there was little chance of that happening now!

  Vera jumped out of bed and decided she had to take a shower. She didn’t have time to blow-dry her hair, but thought that at least it would be clean and smell fresh. An hour later she emerged from the tube at Bond Street Station. She ran down the busy road. She was wearing her old loafers, black chinos and a grey sweatshirt with her vintage Burberry trench coat thrown over her shoulders. Having left the house in a hurry, she’d forgotten to put on any jewelry or accessories – she wasn’t even wearing her watch. She felt disappointed in herself. She was running late, but fortunately not very late. When she finally found herself outside the salon, she composed herself and walked in.

  The décor was impressive. The concrete floor
s were separated by inserts of expensive looking terracotta, and the minimalistic furniture was off-set by vintage mirrors with heavy, gold-colored frames. It had a very eighties-feel waiting area - the style was somewhere in between Andy Warhol and early Madonna. A super skinny young woman with peroxide hair, fake eyelashes and an equally artificial smile, greeted her.

  ‘You must be Vera?’ she said.

  ‘That’s me,’ she confirmed, and the woman showed her to the waiting area.

  Vera sat down and looked around; this place was definitely not for standard folk. Clients who were sitting in the hairdressing chairs all wore latest trends. They were sipping wine, and laughed and talked loudly - to be heard over the noise of the hairdryers. Vera suddenly felt very self-conscious about what she was wearing, and thought she looked too plain to be here. But suddenly a man appeared in front of her.

  ‘Hi, I’m Alban, a friend of Shane. I’m a senior stylist and I’m all yours for the next two hours,’ he said with a serious expression on his face. He then held out a black gown embroidered with the company logo.

  ‘Thanks, it’s nice to know I’m in good hands.’ She got up and followed him to the chair, noticing how thin he was - she wondered if he was possibly manorexic.

  When Vera sat down in the comfortable swivel chair, Alban started playing with her hair in silence, pushing it side to side, bouncing it up and down, twisting and letting it drop down.

  Finally he asked - ‘So, what would you like us to create today?’ He looked at her in the mirror.

  An instant feeling of panic set in. Her novel had absorbed so much of her time that she hadn’t even thought about the hair appointment, let alone think about how she wanted it styled. She stared vaguely into the mirror, waiting for Alban to rescue her.

  ‘You’ve got a lovely natural tone, Vera, but if I’m honest, I feel that your hair is a bit too dark for your complexion. It would look better if you were tanned. So I feel that ombré would be perfect for you.’ He went on, not waiting for her reply. ‘I can add a few blonde highlights around your face too, like I did with Gisele, and then create soft layers so the colors blend beautifully with the blonde ends. What do you think?’

  ‘I think I agree, I mean …’ she mumbled. ‘I think it would be good, the ombré, and the highlights.’ She tried to conceal her obvious lack of hairdressing terminology.

  Alban nodded his head and then walked away to the basins. Vera wondered if he was indeed talking about the Gisele. Could this be possible? That she had the same hair stylist as the mighty supermodel Gisele Bündchen? But then a trainee assistant came over and asked her to move to the basins to have her hair washed. As Vera sat down and the warm water poured though her hair, she closed her eyes and thought about Tony and wondered what he was up to.

  Three hours, four shades of blonde, and £250 later, Vera left Muse and headed to Leicester Square to meet Shane. As she walked into O’Hara’s, the Irish gastro pub, she saw Shane sitting at the bar reading an airline magazine. When he saw her, he got up and raised his arms in the air in a dramatic gesture.

  ‘Honey, you look amazing!’ he shouted. Then he span her round and examined her new hairstyle from every angle.

  ‘You think so?’ she asked him, almost timidly.

  ‘Of course. Don’t you? Don’t you think you look amazing?’ He examined her face.

  ‘I haven’t really had a chance to look at it properly,’ she said. ‘But if you like it, then I guess it looks good ....’

  ‘Babe, this hair, these colors, they take ten years off you!’ he cried. ‘Not that you needed to look younger or anything …’ he added quickly. ‘But you do.’

  ‘Thank you very much.’ She sat down smiling. ‘I paid £250, so it would have been a bloody travesty if I didn’t look good!’

  ‘Oh yeah, that discount you got was because of me. So the first round is on you!’ he laughed.

  ‘So there was a discount?’ she blurted, but Shane was already flipping through the drinks menu. ‘By the way, I can only afford one round,’ she said, opening another menu. ‘I bought the shoes and paid for this hairstyle, and now I’m broke. I suppose one round is for the best. I really have to crack on with work. The last thing I need is another stinking hangover.’ She rummaged in her bag to find her wallet. The letter to Emma was still sitting in the side pocket, and she vowed to put it in the letterbox as soon as she left. When she finally found the wallet and took it out of her bag, she looked up and realized that Shane was staring right at her with a very mischievous smile.

  ‘Relax. I’m joking! About the discount and the drinks. The drinks are on me!’ he gulped. ‘I’ve been promoted to supervisor!’ His face beamed with pride.

  ‘Congratulations!’ Vera exclaimed, getting off her seat. ‘And you kept that quiet all this time! I don’t know what to say - I’m so happy for you!’ Vera threw her arms around him. She knew Shane had wanted the position for a very long time.

  ‘Thanks, babe.’ He hugged her back. ‘And put that wallet away!’ he urged her. ‘Tonight, we’re celebrating like royalty! And we’re not leaving here sober.’

  After drinking way too many tequilas Vera arrived home in a black cab in the early hours of Sunday morning. When she entered her apartment, with her head slightly spinning, she found herself in front of the mirror again, and inspected her hair. It was certainly different from the way she usually had it, but she liked it a lot. She thought about Tony and wished he could see her now. She wondered if he’d like the blonde ends, and imagined that if he was here he would no doubt run his fingers through her hair, take her face in his hands and say -“Very nice, Vee, very unusual” - Tony always called her ‘Vee’.

  Vera sighed at the memory of those times with him, slipped her shoes off, and moved to the living room. It had been almost five weeks since they last spoke, and she missed him so much. Tony must be equally devastated by their breakup - after all, he hadn’t seen it coming. Yes, he must have been gutted when she dumped him, she decided. So why hadn’t he called yet? What was he waiting for?

  Her head was buzzing and the alcohol had clearly made her even more emotional. She felt tears running down her cheeks. She really needed to see him. She had to see him. But she couldn’t. Or could she? Her momentary despair over not being able to be with him was relieved by one thought: she could see him on Facebook, find out what he’d been up to.

  Vera raced to her desk. But when she sat down in front of her laptop, she felt a strange sense of guilt. She’d promised Emma that she wouldn’t. She knew herself it wasn’t a good idea. Surely it was only the alcohol that was making her want to do this? She stared blankly at the computer screen until curiosity finally got the better of her, and with her fingers trembling she logged in to Facebook and typed his name into the keyboard …

  CHAPTER 5

  It was almost 4.00am. For the last half an hour, Vera had been watching the parade of Tony Peters’ life since the end of their relationship. And it didn’t make for easy viewing at all. It seemed like all he’d been doing for the last five weeks was working and partying - like nothing had changed and he was happy to be single. The pictures showed that he’d even been on holiday! Vera recalled with resentment that when they were together he’d never had time for anything other than work, but just like that he’d had time to travel to the south of France with friends and enjoy all the water sports in the sea. It looked like he’d been to the hairdresser’s too - his hair was visibly shorter. Vera kept clicking on his pictures, moving the cursor back and forward. She was acting like a maniac. It was painful to continue, but she couldn’t stop herself from carrying on, and on.

  So it was official - Tony wasn’t devastated at all. Was it possible that Shane was right and he was already seeing someone else? No, it couldn’t be possible, she gulped - it better not be possible! Vera pushed herself away from the desk with intense frustration. She was angry and hurt. How stupid was she to think that he’d be heartbroken? How ridiculous, how embarrassing of her to wonder about him every day
, to wait for his phone call, to hope for their reconciliation … when he was doing all this?

  But there was more to see; she decided to visit his work website. Vera typed the URL, and held her breath. There he was again, at her fingertips. Within seconds, she spotted the new location of his workshop and realized that he’d moved address. Then she navigated to ‘News’ - where she saw him embracing a woman called Lucy, the manager of his studio. Vera always suspected Lucy was after Tony, but when she told him as much he’d said she was just being silly. Now it was clear; everything was clear from this small, single picture. They were together! She had him. And Vera lost him for good.

  She put her head in her hands, and even more tears ran down her face to land on the carpet. How could he even think about going out with someone else already, when she was still so devastated, so vulnerable and so in love with him? And why Lucy? Vera raised her head and looked at the picture again. She had met Lucy on a few occasions. Lucy was tall. She had strawberry blonde hair and brown eyes. Apart from being his studio manager, she was also an arts curator. Her dress style was always sophisticated, yet quirky. She looked like a model. Maybe not like the nineties models, not like Christy, Stephanie or Cindy, but like a girl-next-door model, with a hint of something unique and interesting about her.

  The truth was slowly dawning on her now. She could wait an entire lifetime for Tony’s call, but he didn’t want her; he never really wanted her. He preferred the arty-farty girl. After all, she shared his passion for design and all things weird. She understood his work, appreciated the magic of his fingers, and supported his ambitions. And she was probably the one who booked his appointment at the hairdresser’s …