‘You know, I was dreading this.’ Michael leant close to me, his fingers walking across the tablecloth on a mission to pinch my after dinner mint.
‘And now?’ I asked, swiping the mint from his reach, before unwrapping it and popping it in my mouth.
He grinned as I did so. ‘It’s been good. Apart from Heath being a dick to you.’
I laughed. ‘Oh, don’t worry. I don’t think I’m the exclusive recipient of his rapier wit. And I think he rather skewered himself in that instant, anyway.’
‘His face was quite the picture, that’s for sure.’ Michael moved his hand from where it was lying on the tablecloth and covered mine. ‘I hated that he said that to you though. I can’t lie.’
‘I know. But believe me, growing up like I did was good training. I’ve heard a lot worse.’ His face was serious and without thinking, I laid my hand on his cheek. ‘Really. I’m tougher than I look.’
‘I don’t think you’re that tough.’
I frowned and let my hand drop. He caught it quickly.
‘Shit. Why is it I can chat up a random girl in the pub no problem, but every time I try to give you a compliment it comes out all wrong?’
‘Probably because you’ve had a lot of practice at the former.’
He heard the tease in my voice and that heart-stopping smile slowly spread onto his face.
‘Maybe I just need a bit more practice at the latter then?’
‘Oh, you definitely need more practice at that, if your efforts so far are anything to go by. Although, in the interest of fairness, you did say I looked nice earlier, so you’re not entirely failing.’
I looked up as he stood.
‘Actually, I seem to remember I said you looked stunning and that you were the most beautiful woman in the room. Which you then questioned. Of course.’ He pulled a face. ‘But having entered said room, I was immediately proved right. Of course. And now, if she would agree to it, I’d love to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room too.’
He held out his hand. I hesitated a moment, wondering what line, if any, we were crossing here. But the fact was, in front of me stood the most good-looking man I’d ever seen and he was asking me to dance. Maybe it wasn’t the most logical thing, maybe it wasn’t what sensible, risk averse Kate would do, but right now, I didn’t care. I didn’t want to be her. I wanted to be the woman in Michael O’Farrell’s arms.
‘I’d love to.’
‘I was really hoping you’d say that.’ He grinned, a flash of insecurity momentarily showing on his face. I loved that. Not that I’d caused it, but that, contrary to what he’d initially shown me, he wasn’t cocky enough to believe that no woman could say no to him.
Michael took my hand and held it firmly as we wound our way through the throngs of people and dinner tables onto the dance floor. Once there, he retained it, his other coming to rest at my waist, gentle enough to feel relaxed but firm enough for me to feel its warmth through the silk of my dress.
‘Are you having a good time?’ Michael asked, pulling me a little closer so that I could hear him over the music and general chatter.
‘I am,’ I replied. ‘Thank you for inviting me.’
He laughed. ‘Thank you for giving me a second chance.’
I shook my head. ‘You need to forget about that. We’re past it all now…aren’t we?’ I looked up at him, finding his eyes already on me.
‘Way past.’ He smiled that smile again and moved the hand at my waist, splaying his fingers, brushing my spine with the tips of them, sending sparks of heat up and down my entire body. ‘Katie, I – ’
‘Mike?’
He shifted his gaze from mine to where the voice had come from and a look of surprise replaced whatever it was he’d been looking at me with. That part I hadn’t quite figured out yet. I turned my head to see what had caused the change.
I recognised her immediately: Glamorous, elegant and stunningly, classically beautiful, Michael’s ex-wife was even more striking in the flesh than she was in the photographs.
‘Angeline.’ His voice didn’t hide the surprise, but none of us missed the cold edge of his tone. I glanced back at him. The softness had gone and in its place were the hard lines I’d been greeted with at our first meeting.
‘How are you?’ she asked him. Her eyes flicked to me and then focused fully back on him. ‘You look great.’
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. We’d stepped apart a little but his hand was still at my waist.
‘I came with a friend. I…had no idea you’d be here.’
I studied her under my lashes in as surreptitious manner as I could employ, and I wasn’t buying that last bit at all. My eyes shifted to Michael and it was obvious immediately: He completely believed her.
‘I think I’m going to go and sit down,’ I said, pulling away.
His fingers skimmed my back and dropped away as I moved. ‘I’ll come with you.’
‘Mike.’ Angeline caught his hand, stopping him. ‘I know you have every reason to turn your back on me and I don’t blame you. I know I hurt you.’ Her fingers caressed his hand, whilst he looked back at her, not encouraging, but not moving away either. ‘Please, can we have one dance? For old times’ sake?’
Michael flicked his gaze to me. I could see he was caught. He wasn’t the only one who’d seen the interested glances being thrown at the little vignette being played out here, and he wasn’t about to make a scene.
‘Go ahead. I’ll see you in a bit.’ I gave him a smile and walked away, back towards the table. A waiter passed me with a tray of champagne. I swiftly lifted one and took a sip, keeping my expression light. After all, I had no reason to be put out. The evening hadn’t started out as a date. We were just two friends having a pleasant evening. Yes, he’d been charming and for a moment out there, there’d been the hint that maybe…
I lifted the glass to my lips as my gaze found the two of them on the dancefloor. They really did make the most beautiful pair. I watched as she whispered something, and he smiled, shaking his head slowly. She responded with her own widening smile, her hands moving up his shoulders until they rested at the back of his neck. She bent her forehead against his and…
Goodness, was that the time?
Of course there wasn’t a taxi in sight as I left the hotel. The doorman and I waited, looking in vain for an available cab as he valiantly struggled against the wind and sleet with an umbrella until it finally gave up and flipped itself completely inside out, bending the spokes into something worthy of display in the Tate Modern.
‘Sorry, Miss.’ The doorman looked at me apologetically. Rain dripped from the brim of his top hat and I, dressed completely inappropriately for the weather, was now soaked completely.
‘Not to worry. I’m sure I shan’t dissolve.’ I smiled at him, even though it was really the last thing I felt like doing right now.
A taxi came into sight, its light signalling its availability. The doorman let out a two fingered, piercing whistle that cut through the whipping wind and, thankfully, caught the driver’s attention. He began signalling and pulled in front of the building, whereupon the doorman quickly opened the door for me.
‘You go home and get warm now, Miss.’
I thanked him and promised that I would, then clambered into the cab as elegantly as I could with a dress that was now completely sodden and clinging to my skin. Using my wrap to casually disguise anything that might be a little X-rated in such a state, I gave the driver my address and sat back on the seat, watching as the water dripped off my skin and dress and collected on the floor around my feet.
As we made turns, rivulets scooted off, making little puddle tributaries. I watched as they did. Concentrating on them so that I didn’t have to concentrate on anything else. But I knew I couldn’t avoid those thoughts for ever. I pulled out my phone and noticed two missed calls from Michael, and a text that just said ‘Where are you?!’
Outside the cab, London still thronged with people. There were few
things that stopped this city, and rain certainly wasn’t one of them. As we sat waiting at a red light, I studied the reflections of the Christmas lights in the shiny wet pavements, the colours merging as the downpour increased in strength and droplets bounced up off the pavement. Pedestrians increased their pace, some dashing into doorways to take cover until the weather abated enough to move on.
Inside the cab, I drew my finger down the window glass, creating a line in the condensation that had begun to build on it as I steamed like dim sum in my favourite Chinatown restaurant. I looked back at my phone and opened Michael’s text again. I pressed reply.
Hi. Really tired and have an early client so needed to leave. Sorry not to say bye but didn’t like to interrupt. Hope the evening was successful for you and have my fingers crossed for you re the contract. As house is now finished, I just want to take this opportunity to say I wish you all success in the hosting of your first Christmas, and for the New Year. Merry Christmas!
I read the text through again. It didn’t go anywhere near saying what I really wanted to, but that was probably a good thing. I’d spilled my heart out to Michael O’Farrell once before. It wasn’t going to happen twice. And especially not now. Pressing send, I waited for it to show it had been delivered then switched off the phone and tucked it back in my bag just as the driver pulled in to the kerb in front of my building. About to hand over the fare, I pulled a face.
‘Sorry. I left a bit of a puddle.’
His eyebrows shot up and he turned in his seat to look at the back of his cab.
‘Oh! No, I mean it’s just the rain! It dripped off me. That’s all, nothing…else.’
Relief showing in his face, he took the cash, to which I’d now added an even more generous tip for giving him a fright that there’d been an accident on the floor of his taxi. He nodded, but I still wasn’t entirely sure he believed me, which was about right for the way that this night had ended up.
For a moment, it had held so much promise. Promise I hadn’t even known I wanted. But now I knew. I was more sure of it than of anything I’d ever known: I’d completely and utterly fallen for a client, something that went against all of my self-imposed rules. But Michael O’Farrell had been a rule-breaker from the start, whether intentionally or not. He was unlike any other man I’d ever met. And I wanted him more than any other man I’d ever met. And just as it began to look like that might actually become a possibility, that he might actually feel the same way, his past had walked back in, and from what I saw, she wasn’t just in his past any more.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Bolting the door behind me, I hoiked up the wet hem of my dress, kicked off my shoes and squelched through to the bathroom. Whacking the shower on full, I stripped off and stepped under the water. Tipping my face to the stream of water, I let it pour down, enabling me to convince myself that it wasn’t tears flowing down my face, just the shower water. Admittedly this charade became harder to keep up when I stepped out, wrapping myself in an oversized fluffy towel, and found that watery tracks continued to trickle down my cheeks. I sat down heavily on the side of the bath.
There was no denying it. After so many years of holding back, of seeing what sort of destruction loving the wrong person could wreak, promising that I would never be a part of anything like that again, never be part of such pain, here I was. My throat hurt, my chest hurt, my head hurt and in amongst it all, there was more pain in my heart than I’d thought possible to feel. I thought I’d protected myself against all this. And I had when I’d been paying attention. But falling for Michael had been gradual. Unplanned. Unexpected. And now unbearable.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and padded into the bedroom. It was freezing. The outdated storage heater was having another of its moments. I stuffed my foot into a trainer, gave the thing a kick and made a mental note to give the landlord a call in the morning. Although, this close to Christmas I had a feeling it might not be the most successful call I’d ever make.
Shivering, I pulled out my fleeciest jammies and then shoved my arms into my cosy dressing gown, wrapping it around me tightly, making myself into a human fleece burrito. Pulling back the covers, I hopped in and quickly yanked them back up over me, leaving just my eyes peeking out. Closing them, I tried to push away all the thoughts of what might have been tonight. It wasn’t like me to be fanciful and imagine what could be. I’d learned from my mother that that sort of thinking only brought heartbreak and disappointment.
Michael was someone else’s. Maybe he always had been. And if he had a chance at making his marriage work again I should be happy for him, shouldn’t I? But inside there was a voice that questioned this new turn of events. It was clear from his behaviour and the way he’d run his life since Angeline had left that he’d been totally in love with her, and that her infidelity, her leaving, had devastated him. But in the past six weeks he’d changed. He’d begun to get back to who he really was beneath all the hurt and anger that he’d been holding onto. Even Janey had said she couldn’t believe the difference in him and that he seemed happier than she’d seen him in years.
I could understand why he would want to let Angeline back into his life – you only had to take one look at her for the most obvious reason. But beyond that, he’d loved her with everything he’d had. And now she clearly wanted another chance. Her request for a dance for ‘old time’s sake’ hadn’t fooled me. The way she looked at him? That request wasn’t anything to do with the past, it was all about the future. And I wanted to wish him well. But I couldn’t help it. Something grabbed at me and just kept screaming that she was the one who broke his heart. She was the one who’d sent him spiralling down until he’d lost all sense of who he really was, and all that he could be, distancing him from the family he adored. And yet, I couldn’t deny him happiness, if that was where he thought it lay. I cared about him too much for that. I loved him. And that was the real problem here. I loved him. And he loved her.
When I woke the next day I blearily realised that the room wasn’t quite in the realms of ice hotel temperatures any more. Apparently the emotional impetus behind my trainer clad kick last night had had some impact. Unfortunately, the bathroom mirror confirmed that same emotional impetus had also had another effect and this one wasn’t anywhere near as successful or welcome: My eyes were puffy and although the shower had got rid of some make-up, I hadn’t bothered to finish my cleansing routine yesterday as I usually did. I imagined my pillow was going to need a bit of a soak in some Vanish if the state of my face was anything to go by. Cleaning my teeth, I made a point of not looking in the mirror again. Once done with that, I set about removing all traces of last night’s make-up and starting again. In more ways than one.
***
I checked my watch as I waited for the train to appear through the tunnel, pushing the warm air out in front of it, thawing shivering tourists and commuters alike. The heavy rain of yesterday evening had, at some point during the night, turned to snow and I’d stepped out of the flats this morning to find my neighbourhood draped and muffled beneath a powdery white covering, inches thick. Instead of my heels, I wore a pair of fur-lined riding-style boots that served well as my stylish-but-still-practical option when the weather necessitated.
Two minutes: The display board indicated the arrival time of the next train as more people entered the platform. I shuffled further up and took my phone out of my bag as I waited. I’d switched it on earlier when I was getting ready but hadn’t yet had a chance to check my messages. Again, not like me. Normally I was far more organised and efficient than this in the morning, even after two bottles of wine with Janey (pre-baby-bump, obviously). All I needed now was to have received a message from the client I was rushing out first thing to see to say that they’d changed their mind. But there wasn’t one from my client. At least not that particular client.
There were now, in total, eight missed calls from Michael, as well as voicemail notifications. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily him. But the fact that
one of the six texts he’d sent said that he’d now left three voicemails and would I please call him gave me the idea that it probably was.
I closed the phone as the train pulled in, engine slowing, squeaky brakes protesting as it came to a full stop. Hearing his voice, that hint of gravel that made him sound slightly sleep roughened, even when he wasn’t, all wrapped up in that soft Irish accent was exactly what I wanted. And exactly why I couldn’t listen to them. His texts didn’t say a lot, but they told me enough. Michael might have played the lothario in the last two years but he wasn’t uncaring, as I’d first thought. He’d been hurting, and ashamed of the way his place looked and what he felt that said about him. It wasn’t just the whole wham bam thing. It was detachment masking the pain. The pain caused by the woman he now wanted to try again with.
But he had asked me to that function and I’d left alone, something he apparently wanted to talk about. But what was there to say? It was my choice to leave. And he’d made it clear there was nothing romantic about the invitation anyway – at least initially. It was hard to deny that as we’d sat at the table and then taken to the dance floor together that maybe…
I grabbed for the pole to steady myself as I gathered my concentration in staying upright as the train swayed on the track. I leant my head against it momentarily, just as it shunted on a bend. Thanks to the laws of physics, this resulted in me swiftly head butting the pole. Two people sat on the seats across from me suddenly disappeared behind their copies of Metro, but not before I saw the hint of a snigger on their faces. In another mood, I’d have probably joined in their amusement. But today it just seemed par for the course. I gave my forehead a quick rub, not caring what anyone thought. As I’d hinted to Michael yesterday, I’d spent years hearing much worse things directed my way, thanks to the, let’s say, unusual domestic arrangement of my childhood. At least something good had come from the mess of my younger years: I could nut a pole in a crowded tube train and still walk out with my head held high – even if it did now sport a bit of an egg.
Christmas Project, The Page 27