by Cate Woods
He shrugs. ‘Nowhere else to go, darling . . . Are you leaving?’
I tell him about my night, about Riva’s lies and the shock of Tomo’s transformation, and he just nods, unsurprised.
‘They’re like the Lost Boys – you know, from Peter Pan? I don’t think they’ll ever grow up. They’ll always be frozen in time, back when they were twenty-five and at peak fabulous. Riva may have another few years left in her, but Tomo – well, it’s all over for him, he just can’t see it. That lot have had their moment in the sun and younger, cooler kids are rushing in to take their place, but they’ll never admit it to themselves. It happened to me too, of course, but at least I have the self-awareness to realise I’m now a relic.’ He smiles at me. ‘You’re very lucky that you got out when you did, darling. You’ll always have the memories of that time, but you’ve moved on – and quite rightly so. You’re building a life with meaning . . .’ He takes a final drag of his cigarette and stamps out the stub.
‘Are you going back into the club? I can come with you, if you like.’ I feel like I should offer; he suddenly seems so miserable.
But Edgar shakes his head. ‘Please, darling, go home to your family. Because that’s where I would be if I had one.’
When Edgar has disappeared back inside, I take out my phone to order an Uber. When it comes to entering the destination, I’m about to put in Jess’ address when I pause – what was it Edgar had said? Go home to your family. Without a second thought, I type in Luke’s address.
I call his mobile from the car, but there’s no answer – which I guess is unsurprising, seeing as it’s nearly 1 a.m. I know that he’ll be home, though, as he has Dot with him tonight. When we’re about halfway to Clapham I get a moment’s doubt, and nearly tell the driver to take me to Streatham instead, but after tonight’s events I have an intense, almost primal urge to see my daughter – and besides, if Luke and I are going to give our relationship another go then I’m sure he won’t mind me turning up unannounced. He might even be pleased.
As we pull up outside his flat, I’m relieved to see that the light in his bedroom is still on. I press the buzzer and a few moments later he answers the intercom. ‘Hello?’
‘Oh hi, Luke, sorry, it’s me.’
‘Annie?’ He sounds shocked – but I guess it is late. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Long story . . . Can I, um, come up?’
There’s a pause; a pause that goes on for longer than I’d expect in the circumstance. ‘I was just getting into bed.’
‘I know, I’m really sorry, but I’d love to pop up and see Dottie.’
‘She’s asleep.’
‘Of course, but I won’t wake her up. I just want to see her.’ Stuck out here on the doorstep, I’m beginning to feel a bit stupid; so much for thinking Luke might be pleased to see me – he sounds anything but. Clearly, I should have listened to my gut and waited until morning. ‘I’m sorry, Luke, but I’ll be really quick.’
‘It’s not a great time right now, Annie,’ he persists.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m just tired, okay?’ There’s an edge to his voice.
‘Please, just five minutes?’
A heavy sigh, then a pause. ‘Fine, but make it quick.’
There’s a buzz and click as the lock finally opens.
36
Luke takes a little while to come to the door; when he finally does, he’s wearing an old t-shirt and a pair of boxers, and to my relief doesn’t look nearly as cross as he sounded on the intercom.
He drops a kiss on my cheek. ‘Sorry about that, I was half-asleep and you took me by surprise.’
‘I know, and I am so sorry for turning up like this, but you won’t believe the night I’ve had . . .’
Luke rubs his hand across his face, looking uncomfortable. ‘Listen, it really is lovely to see you, but I meant what I said – I am tired. It’s been a hellish week at work.’
‘Of course, I’ll just go up and see Dottie then go back to Streatham and leave you in peace.’
He smiles. ‘Well, hopefully this will be your home again soon, so you won’t have to go anywhere.’
I return his smile, but his words leave me oddly unsettled. Until now, I hadn’t really given any thought to moving back to Luke’s flat – Dot and I have become perfectly content in Jess’ attic – and the prospect knocks me off-kilter. Shouldn’t I be feeling happy about it? Well, I guess the idea of Luke and I getting back together is still fairly new; we’ll just take it one step at a time . . .
Dot is lying on her back in her cot, her hands thrown above her head like she’s at a rave, and my heart twinges with happiness as I gaze at her in the soft glow of the night light, drinking in every tiny detail. I lean down to kiss her, revelling in her smell and the buttery-softness of her skin.
‘I am so lucky to be your mum,’ I whisper, stroking her cheek. ‘I promise I am going to make your life as wonderful as it can possibly be.’
Luke comes to stand next to me, sliding his arm around my waist.
‘We made a good baby,’ he says softly.
Our eyes meet and in that moment, standing there over our sleeping daughter, I think, it’s going to be alright after all; then together we creep out of the room and back downstairs.
‘I’m really sorry to throw you out,’ says Luke as we return to the living room. ‘If I wasn’t so knackered I’d definitely be asking you to stay.’
His eyes skim suggestively over my jumpsuit, lingering on the deep V of the neckline.
‘Don’t worry, I get it.’ I smile, reaching for my phone. ‘Right, I’ll just see if I can get an Uber . . . Looks like it’ll be here in seven minutes.’
Luke nods. ‘Can I get you a glass of water while you’re waiting?’
‘That would be great, thank you.’
While he heads into the kitchen, I gaze around the living room; the pile of bills that was sitting above the fireplace has now been moved, but other than that nothing has changed. It still looks exactly like my home – and I’m sure, in time, it will feel that way too.
Most of the furniture in here belongs to Luke, but there are a few items that came from my parents’ home, my favourite being the Turkish rug that is now in front of the fireplace. This rug features prominently in many of my childhood memories: playing Twister on it with friends, lying across it to watch cartoons, listening to my dad tell the story of how he and Mum found it in an antiques shop while on honeymoon and had to haggle down the price. In a surge of nostalgia, I go and sit on it now, enjoying the comforting roughness of the wool against my palms, and get a flashback to a game Tabby and I would play where we’d pretend the rug was a magic flying carpet. At the thought of my little sister, I feel another rush of guilt and a lump forms in my throat; first thing tomorrow I need to call her and apologise for that stupid row over my nose job. Tabby was absolutely right: it’s not my nose that’s been the problem.
Then from my position here on the floor, I notice something sticking out from under the nearby armchair. Intrigued, I lean over and pull it out, and when I see what it is I get a sudden dropping feeling in my belly and a hissing in my ears. It’s a boot – a cool, slouchy, studded boot – that I know won’t fit me, because I clearly remember trying it on before and joking with its owner about the tininess of her feet compared to my own size sevens.
‘You’re so lucky, the Buddha has big feet,’ Sigrid had said, and her tinkling laugh sounded like wind chimes in a summer breeze.
Numbness spreading through me as if I’m being deep-frozen, I reach under the chair and retrieve the other boot, and then a handbag. I look inside: it contains a half-eaten bag of Brazil nuts, a wallet, lip gloss and some vegan condoms. Of all the emotions that are rushing in and jostling to fill the void inside me, the strongest of these is vindication: I bloody knew I was right not to trust Luke! Quickly followed by confusion: can vegan condoms only be used by vegans? And what if one of the partners eats bacon . . . ?
‘I am so sor
ry, Annie.’
With a start I look up: Luke is standing in the doorway, my glass of water in hand, just staring at me. His shoulders are slumped, his face etched with regret; he clearly isn’t even going to try and talk his way out of this, which is at least something.
‘Where is she?’ I ask, surprising myself with my calmness.
‘Upstairs. In the bedroom.’
I let out a rush of breath. ‘I want to speak to her.’
He just nods and then turns and heads upstairs. Like me, all the fight has evidently gone out of him. For my part, I’m suddenly dizzy with exhaustion and have to fight the urge to lie down and go to sleep. I check the Uber app: only four minutes until I can get out of this mess.
I listen as Luke’s feet cross the bedroom floor above me; there’s a muttered conversation – a female voice, slightly raised – and then after a moment the sound of two pairs of feet descending the stairs. Sigrid materialises in the doorway, as ethereally beautiful as ever, her silver-blonde hair hanging down in two plaits like a character out of The Lord of the Rings. She is fully dressed, which is a relief, but her lacy blouse is on inside out.
‘Here we are again,’ I say pleasantly.
‘Annie, please don’t jump to conclusions. Luke and I have just been talking things over. He reached out to me for help, and I . . .’
‘Oh, give it a rest, Sigrid,’ Luke mutters. ‘Annie’s not stupid.’
Sigrid’s perfectly symmetrical features crumple in irritation, but at least that shuts her up.
I turn to Luke. ‘So what was all that crap you said to me about wanting to be a family again?’
Before he can answer, Sigrid says: ‘It was actually me that suggested the counselling, Annie. Luke was so desperate for Dot to grow up with two parents, in a happy family like he enjoyed in his own childhood, and obviously I wanted to do whatever I could to help him achieve that goal.’
‘What, by fucking him? Yes, I can see exactly how that would help . . .’ I give a heavy sigh, but I’m more pissed off than devastated. ‘And the marriage proposal? That your brilliant idea as well, was it, Sigrid?’
‘No, that was . . .’ Sigrid stops herself, then glances at Luke, as if wondering if she’s said too much; judging by his expression, she clearly has.
All at once, the pieces fall into place. ‘Oh my God,’ I gape. ‘It was your mum, wasn’t it, Luke? Lucia put you up to it!’
He just looks down at his feet, shuffling awkwardly, his silence speaking volumes.
I think back to the conversation Luke and I had in Jess’ kitchen. It hadn’t occurred to me at the time, but I don’t actually remember him telling me he loved me, not even once. It was all about how much he wanted the two of us to get back together so we could be a family again for Dot – exactly as Sigrid has just confirmed. Luke doesn’t want me, he wants a devoted mother to raise his daughter and iron his shirts while he carries on with a mistress, just like his own father probably did before him. And perhaps that arrangement would work for some couples – but definitely not for me.
My phone rings; it’s the Uber driver, asking where I am. I could easily stay here and ask Luke a million more questions, but I’ve already got the only answer I really need.
‘I’ll move the rest of my stuff out of here next week,’ I say wearily. ‘And we’ll have to meet up to discuss how we’re going to work out the co-parenting arrangement.’
‘Of course. I truly am sorry, Annie, I never meant to hurt you.’
‘So you keep saying.’
We look at each other, and for the first time in ages it feels like there’s something close to honesty between us. It turns out my subconscious was holding me back from reconciling with Luke for good reason: deep down, I must have known I was right not to trust him. I start heading for the door, feeling curiously upbeat.
‘Annie, please, wait.’ Luke reaches out to me, as if to stop me leaving, but then seems to think better of it. His arm drops by his side; he looks utterly defeated. ‘God, I’m such an idiot . . .’
Despite everything that’s happened, I actually feel a bit sorry for him. ‘Don’t worry, Luke. It’ll be okay.’
And do you know what? I actually think it will be. When we first got together, in the wake of my parents’ accident, I was broken – I needed him to care for me while I pieced myself back together – but now I know I can cope on my own; I’m stronger than I ever thought possible. And if the last few months have taught me anything, it’s that Luke and I work well as co-parents. He might be an appalling boyfriend, but I’ve got to admit he’s a fantastic father: together, we’ll make sure that Dot has the wonderful life she deserves.
As I open the front door, I hear Sigrid pipe up behind me: ‘Annie, I feel it’s important I share my feelings about where we find ourselves now . . .’
I turn to look at her, taking in the pout and pleading, puppy-dog eyes.
‘And I’m sure Luke would love to hear all about that.’ I smile, and close the door in her face.
37
‘He only went and put a FECKIN’ RING ON IT!’
Fiona is holding her hand right up to my face, fingers spread – although it would be impossible to miss the large diamond glinting in the morning sunshine.
I scream, making the woman sitting at the next table spin around.
‘Ohmigodcongratulations!’ I reach across the table and give Fi a huge hug, nearly toppling our coffees in the process. ‘This is AMAZING! What happened? Right, I need every single tiny detail . . .’
It’s first thing on Monday morning and Fi and I are meeting at our favourite café near Curtis Kinderbey for a pre-work coffee and catch-up.
‘I’m so sorry I didn’t let you know what was going on over the weekend,’ says Fi, her eyes shining as brightly as her new ring, ‘but when we got to Amsterdam on Friday night, Finn confiscated my phone. He said he wasn’t going to have another holiday ruined by me live-texting the entire weekend to my best mate.’
I’m hit by a wave of love for her. ‘I am still your best mate then?’
‘Whaaaaat?’ she roars. ‘Of course y’are!’ She grabs my hand and crushes it in hers; Lord knows how someone who takes a Topshop size six (petite) can have a grip like Thor. ‘I feckin’ hate it when we argue.’
‘Me too. And for what it’s worth, you were absolutely right about Riva and that lot.’
‘What happened?’
‘Another time – we’ve got far more important things to discuss now. Starting with exactly how Finn popped the question.’
She breaks into a grin. ‘I tell you, darl, it was so feckin’ romantic I nearly puked . . .’
Half an hour later I have been given a full rundown of every moment of their weekend in Amsterdam, plus a comprehensive preview of Fi’s wedding plans, including her thoughts on the dress, cake, her mum’s hat and the music for the first dance. Fi is in her element: I’d always assumed ‘glowing with happiness’ was just a figure of speech, but she’s lit up like the London Eye on New Year’s Eve.
She’s just taking me through a suggested itinerary for her hen weekend, which I, as chief bridesmaid, will be tasked with arranging (I’m already worrying about where to get 26 ‘sexy leprechaun’ costumes), when the alarm on her phone starts beeping.
‘Feck it, I’ve got to run,’ she says, glancing at the screen. ‘I’m due at a viewing in ten minutes. Can we finish this later? Lunch?’
‘Absolutely.’
Moments later I stroll into our office, still beaming at Fi’s news. I’m almost as elated as if it was me who was tying the knot; actually, no, I’m infinitely more excited about Finn proposing to Fi than I was when Luke popped the question. God, was that really only a week ago? With everything that’s happened since then, it feels like months ago. I should probably tell Fi about it at lunch, but I don’t want to put a downer on today. Not that it’s actually such a downer: in a weird way, I’m beginning to think that discovering Luke and Sigrid together was actually a good thing, and even before hearing Fi�
��s lovely news I woke this morning feeling rather chipper. I think I must have done all my mourning for our relationship the first time Luke betrayed me, and now I’m just more relieved than anything that we can move on with our lives without any more bullshit. And, of course, there’s another upside to Luke’s treachery: now that our relationship is beyond repair, I’m free to see Sam again for lots of lovely guilt-free kissing and more. He messaged me last night and asked if I wanted to meet him for dinner on Friday: a proper date! I’m leaving it twenty-four hours to reply, just so I don’t seem overly keen, but I’ve already booked Jess’ beautician friend Mara for an intensive once-over.
I haven’t even made it to my desk when Karl’s office door flies open with such force it slams against the wall, making everyone in the office look up. He sticks his head out, his hair glinting under the strip lights as if varnished, and jabs a finger in my direction.
‘You – my office – now.’
He sounds mightily pissed off, but I’m so buoyed up by Fi’s engagement that I can certainly cope with a bit of grief from Karl.
‘Shut the door and sit down,’ he barks as I come in. He’s tapping at his keyboard and doesn’t look up, so I do as he says and wait for him to finish. He’s obviously been busy with the fake tan over the weekend; his skin is a shade I’d describe as ‘intense fishfinger’.
Karl finishes whatever he’s doing on the computer and then faces me, folding his teak-tinted hands on the desk.
‘Here’s the thing, Annie,’ he says. ‘You’re fired.’
As my jaw drops, so does my stomach. ‘What?’
‘You’re fired. Gross misconduct.’
Before I can say another word, Karl turns to his computer, hits a few buttons and spins the monitor around so I can see it. On the screen there’s a video still of a bedroom: with a plunging feeling in my guts, I recognise it as the guest suite in the Eliopoulos mansion.
‘Security camera footage,’ snaps Karl, although he really doesn’t need to explain.
He presses another button and the video begins to play. After a moment I appear at the bottom right of the picture carrying my camera. I walk around taking photos of the room from various angles, looking impressively professional, and I’m desperate for Karl to fast forward to the money shot because of course I know what’s going to happen. I sit watching in silence, my cheeks pinking with humiliation.