by Jade Beer
‘The itinerary is all planned. The flights are booked and two days’ worth of meetings are scheduled. I just need to check that you are still happy to go, Betsy?’
Someone took their efficiency pill this morning. She’d thought an impenetrably cold businesslike approach to each other would be for the best, but now she’s on the receiving end of it from Dylan it’s hurtful. How can he stand there, firing worky things at her and not be thinking about where his hands have been and how his hot breath on her neck made her melt into him outside the hotel room that night?
‘I am, yes. But only if I go alone.’ Well, two can most definitely play it cool. But as Betsy’s saying the words, she can feel the imprint of his strong hands on her thighs and she hopes to God her face isn’t giving away the surge of longing she’s feeling to have them right back there.
‘Oh. OK. Why is that?’ He’s standing now, facing her full-on, giving every indication that he wants to get to the bottom of this.
But does he really need to ask? ‘I think it’s probably for the best, don’t you?’ The stronger the physical pull towards Dylan, the colder Betsy’s responses are becoming and she can see he’s startled by this. He looks frustrated, slightly angry with her even, maybe with himself for messing up his chance with her. His arms briefly move towards her, like he just wants to grab hold of her, but then he thinks better of it, perhaps remembering that this conversation is actually happening in front of an audience.
There is a fleeting moment when she could say sod it, and make the move herself, but Betsy lets it pass. Surely there has to be a limit to how much messing about any one person can take and Betsy is pushed right up against hers. It’s hard to be this blunt with him, it really is. Especially when he’s now sitting on the edge of his desk, his hands either side of him, making his arm muscles tense under his shirt, leaving himself completely open for her approach. But he blew her out, left her standing there in the corridor with that beautiful new dress hitched up over her hips. He made her feel stupid. Does he really think they can just pretend it never happened? She can’t.
‘Is that really what you would prefer?’ His question feels loaded, like what he’s really asking is, do you want me or not?
And of course she does. But what does he expect her to say? Yeah, let’s go to New York together and you can humiliate me all over again there. And while we’re at it, let’s not forget who started this whole thing with all the whispering in her ear that night.
She can see she’s wounded him. He looks like he has so much more to say but she’s yet to take a seat herself and is now edging backwards towards the door, not brave enough to risk any more rejections and fire up the office rumour mill to critical levels.
‘If you could just send me the schedule and hotel details and I’ll take it from there.’
‘OK. Would you prefer it if I—’
Betsy is already on her way out the door and heading back to her desk, feeling like she’s wrongly drawn a line under the one thing she might actually really want, trying hard not to think about how it won’t be the two of them boarding the plane together now for a few days of who knows what.
She’s got to refocus on her workload, no choice really. There’s plenty to do and she’s going to put in a late one tonight, clear everything, so that next week she can hit the ground running and enjoy that immense sense of satisfaction that comes from being on top of it all.
It’s gratifying to notice that Dylan achieves very little with the rest of his afternoon. Pretending to be looking at the clock on the wall above his office, she watches him pacing back and forth, picking up a newspaper and putting it back again unread, fidgeting in his chair, then spending ages gazing off into the distance while she deflects nosy enquiries from the team about what’s wrong with him.
By six o’clock everyone’s legged it, except the two of them. Dylan is on the phone in his office, has been for about an hour, and Betsy is finally getting to the bottom of a very long To-do list. Maybe another hour and she’ll be done.
Dylan hangs up and sticks his head out of the office.
‘I’m ordering a pizza. D’you fancy some?’ He looks nervous, like he’s not sure what sort of reaction he might get from a simple offer of food.
She’s starving and could murder a slice or two. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’ Such a pointless snub, but still.
By the time it arrives, forty minutes later, the smell wafting tantalisingly across the room to her, she’s ravenous and starts to pack up her things. Maybe she’ll pick up something nice for her and Jacob on the way home.
‘I got you a pepperoni and olive.’ Dylan is standing in the doorway to his office, holding the square cardboard box aloft, looking like he might not be able to cope with any more rebuttals today.
She just wants to go home but is it churlish to say no and leave? Will it just create more awkwardness between them if she does? Probably. She can’t avoid him forever, she has to be able to get on with her boss or she’ll be adding job hunting to the list of things to stress about. At least there are no prying eyes at this time – and her belly is screaming for food.
‘OK, thank you.’
Dylan disappears to grab the last remaining beer from the office supply and splits the contents of the bottle between two plastic cups, handing her one.
She’s spread the pizzas out on the small meeting table in his office and grabbed some paper napkins from her desk. She starts to dig in, as he takes a seat opposite her, determined she won’t be the first to diffuse the air floating sourly around them. She gets most of the way through one whole slice, wishing she could dynamite herself out of there, before finally he speaks.
‘Did you ever ask yourself why I invited myself along to your family drinks that night?’
OK, here we go. ‘Not really. I just assumed there was some air to clear. Or you wanted to flatter yourself, by watching me make a fool of myself again.’ Her tone is so much more poisonous than she intends, all the weeks of embarrassment pouring out in one accusing sentence.
‘Wrong. I wanted to meet him.’
‘Nick?’
‘Jacob.’
‘You wanted to meet Jacob? Why?’
‘I wanted to see if he was worth it, Betsy. To see if he deserved the absolute home run he didn’t even know he’d scored. If the answer was yes, that would have been fine, I might have been able to step away.’ Dylan isn’t touching his pizza, too focused on her, his eyes never leaving her face.
‘And what did you conclude?’ No! This was supposed to be a quick bite to eat, humour him, then home, why is she letting herself get drawn in again?
‘Christ, you were there! Your mum’s boyfriend had to lend him his jacket. And I noticed the way you looked at him. It wasn’t love I saw in your eyes that night.’
What he’s saying is flattering and she knows he intends it to be, but in putting Jacob down like this, Dylan’s also saying what lousy judgement she has. And who the hell is he to decide that?
‘Why don’t you have a girlfriend?’ Let’s turn that judgement on him for a second.
He chuckles slightly at her directness and pushes the pizza box away from him, knowing he has to comply with an answer, having delivered his critique.
‘I never wanted one. Until now. I was always too busy setting up the business. It consumed me for years and I didn’t want a love affair diverting me away from that.’ He slows his speech now, choosing his words very carefully. ‘Maybe it just took the right person to come along. Someone who would make me want to meet her mother, to be liked by all her friends, to put someone else first. But…’
‘But what?’ Betsy stiffens in her seat and he senses it, reaching a hand out across the table to her.
‘But in a colossal bit of mismanagement, I seem to have chosen someone who’s engaged to someone else.’ Betsy can’t help it, she lets her fingers find his, while acknowledging to herself how pathetic her resolve is.
Something her mum said to her years ago is forcing itself back into Be
tsy’s head. Infidelity is the only commandment that is mentioned twice in the Bible: once for doing it and once for thinking about it. In which case she’s certainly at least halfway to being a double sinner. And how did she get to this place? The girl who worked hard, was honest and decent and knew where the line was drawn, and never, until now, stepped over it. If Dylan could so easily see her disgust at Jacob that night at the family dinner, then couldn’t everyone else, Jacob included? If their relationship has soured so much, why hasn’t she had the guts to just call it off? She knows why. She’s a good girl, she doesn’t do this sort of thing. It’s wrong. She doesn’t run around hotels in the middle of the night, letting a man who isn’t her fiancé see, touch and taste parts of her that should be for Jacob alone. But if someone else instigated it, made all the play, forced the difficult conversations on her, then that would be different, wouldn’t it? She could become that woman then, couldn’t she? One who allowed her life to be filled with passion and didn’t settle for the empty husk of a relationship that was once good but is now bland and unfulfilling – right at the point when it should be making her heart soar. Dylan’s directness is giving her all the confidence she now needs.
‘She might be engaged, but she’s not married yet, is she?’ She doesn’t hide from the words, she looks him straight in the eye as she says them, owning them completely.
‘Do you know what you’re saying, Betsy?’ Dylan’s up, on his feet and pacing back towards his desk before spinning back around to hear her response.
‘I’m saying I don’t want to go into a marriage thinking I can consider it successful if we just don’t get divorced. I want to be seen again.’ She hopes that last bit doesn’t sound too needy, but it’s true and she doesn’t want to hold it back from him.
‘I see you. I love seeing you, I always have. Surely you know that? Didn’t you ever think it was odd, that day you announced your engagement in the office and I bollocked you for going on and on about it with the team?’ A thin smile has returned to his beautiful face at the memory of that day.
‘No, I thought it was probably fair enough, when we should all have been working.’
‘It was because I was jealous, more jealous than I’ve ever been about anything. But I backed off because I assumed he must be incredible, this man who had won you over. Then when I met him, it made no sense to me at all.’
Having this conversation with nothing more than a couple of mouthfuls of beer to bolster her courage is so liberating. There’s no pretence between them tonight and no chance of either of them misconstruing anything. Dylan walks slowly back to the table, this time taking the seat right next to her. He takes hold of both of her hands, pulling her onto his lap, and she doesn’t even care that there is tomato sauce smothering her lips and probably a clump of basil stuck between her teeth.
What happens between them tonight, on the floor of his office with the sound of the cleaner hoovering next door, is so tender and slow and so much more honest than how it might have been a few weeks ago. There’s nothing to prove. Betsy always knew this was going to happen, probably from the very first moment she laid eyes on him. And while she should be full of regret, she’s not. Not yet. She needed to try Dylan on. To completely lose herself in him.
Now she’ll have to tell Jacob. Perhaps if there had been no Dylan, she might have muddled through. But not any more. Dylan or no Dylan in her long-term future, there’s no way she can marry Jacob.
16
Helen
As the end of November draws near, Helen has so much to think about. Betsy, of course, is top of her list. The two have exchanged a few brief texts after she stormed out of the boutique that day, but this is the longest Helen has ever gone without speaking to her beloved daughter. She misses her so much – their chats, the feel of Betsy’s soft hair in her hand, her smile – although it feels like much longer since she’s enjoyed seeing that. And her company. Just having her potter around the shop between clients, admiring some of the new pieces Helen’s brought in.
Months ago, Betsy had arrived one lunchtime, unannounced, to persuade Helen out for a break. While she finished up with her bride, she watched her daughter pick up a new Swarovski crystal and mother-of-pearl crown and place it delicately on her head, its intricately arranged jewels catching every shard of light shining through the perfectly clean glass windows. She saw the smile break across Betsy’s face and the faraway look in her eye. Betsy was standing just a few feet away, but Helen could see she was gone, off to another time and place where she was happy – and that crown was central to everything. Helen had assumed she was daydreaming about her wedding day, thinking about her first step down the aisle, her vows, that first self-conscious kiss in front of all their guests confirming her new status as Jacob’s wife, and then celebrating long into the night. Now she’s not so sure. Something, or someone, was making her smile, but was it Jacob? It all seems so unlikely now. Helen and Nick both saw that same blissful look creep across Betsy’s face that night at the bar with Dylan – when she should have been more concerned with what had happened to Jacob. As Helen pictures them, their legs entwined under the bar stools, she can feel the corners of her mouth dip. She’s not ready to consider what any of this might mean for Betsy.
As Helen circles the boutique, making sure everything is as it should be ahead of her final appointment of the day, she is also thinking about Nat – and how she has somehow replaced Helen as Betsy’s confidante. At least she had before Helen blew Nat’s cover. She’s thinking about the job Nat does, how sad it is that there’s even a need for it, then chastising herself for being so old-fashioned in her thinking. She knows there is a need, she’s read about it several times; she just never really believed it before. Maybe Nat’s providing a vital service? Maybe there are plenty of women who need her? Judging by the number of visits she’s paid to Helen this year, the number of dress orders rushed through for her, that must be true. She just never imagined her Betsy would be one of them. Or that Nat is the sort of woman to provide that service. It’s probably a stop gap, thinks Helen, and Nat’s working her way towards something more, dare she say, credible. Helen has failed her daughter. It’s the only reason she can think of why Betsy would choose Nat over her own loving mother’s advice and guidance.
The thought depresses her as she straightens a run of Vera Wang gowns, ensuring none of the delicate glass beadwork is catching a neighbouring dress. And can Helen really say she is blameless in all of this? Has her daughter’s life been quietly unravelling behind the scenes, while she was… doing what? Going out to lunch with Nick and losing hours to her own private daydreams? Indulging herself with thoughts of sharing a life with him. Reliving that wonderful night at Nick’s apartment, everything he so gently said and did to her, and the way she felt more alive and wanted in those hours than she has in the past five years. How a completely new Helen is emerging, a woman no longer satisfied with just making it through the day, dodging intrusive memories of Phillip. One who wants to be held and loved and desired, and who doesn’t want to feel bad about it. Goodness, how many hours has she lost rereading Nick’s exquisite love notes, thoughtful handwritten ones that arrive unexpectedly to completely throw her off-focus for the rest of the day? Just as the thought of them is now.
Helen pauses near a display of pretty rose gold necklaces and starts to untangle them. But her fingers hesitate as she thinks about the last note that arrived a few days ago, simply saying, There is no room in my head for anyone but you, Nx. It arrived with a promised bundle of CVs for prospective managers for the London boutique that must have taken him days to source and edit. But Helen knows before she even looks at them that none of them will be right. It was lovely of Nick to offer to find them, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so she let him. But this is her business. Only someone Helen finds herself is going to be good enough, although she needs to be quick – the journeys back and forth between London and Gloucestershire, juggling capable but imperfect staff in the Cotswolds can’t go on
for much longer. It’s just all this trouble with Betsy is eating into her thinking time, making it impossible to formulate a proper plan.
Poor Helen’s heart should be so full of happiness, but her head is swamped with guilt. Coming at her thick and fast in the dead of the night, it’s sometimes so strong it actually yanks her free from sleep. Has she taken her eye off the ball at the precise moment Betsy needs her the most? Perhaps this is the price Helen has to pay for all the joy being a mum has brought her over the years. Maybe it’s selfish to expect to experience those intense highs without the all-consuming lows. Maybe she just needs to accept that her daughter must always come first, even now, all these years on.
The guilt is making her stomach turn and without further hesitation, Helen makes a grab for the boutique phone. She so badly wanted Betsy to be the one to call her. For Betsy to want to call her. But she fears that moment is never coming, and she doesn’t want the gulf between them to stretch any wider.
But she’s too late. The doorbell is ringing, and her next bride-to-be is here. Helen needs to refocus, and quickly. She can call Betsy later.
‘Jenny! Come on in. I’m so glad I could fit you in today. You sounded like you badly wanted this appointment.’ She allows herself a small smile as she recalls the slightly panicked email Jenny sent, begging Helen to fit her in tonight. The truth is, there was no free slot, she should be closing now, but something in the tone of Jenny’s words made her decide to see her.
‘Hi Helen. I did, yes.’ Jenny’s panting hard, as though she ran all the way here and is just about ready to cough up an internal organ. ‘As well as wanting to… get myself back… into that incredible dress…’ She’s struggling to make it through the sentence, her lungs grabbing for air. ‘I’m also avoiding my lunatic flatmate. But trust me, Helen… that’s one story you don’t want to hear.’