All the Single Ladies

by Jane Costello

  I glance up and it strikes me that Jamie has surpassed himself today. Except, as I open the envelope, I realize they’re not from Jamie.

  A small token of my appreciation, luv . . . and don’t forget to give me a ring when you get a min! Lorelei xxx

  Obviously, I forget to give Lorelei a ring. The only ring I can focus on all day as the clock inches closer to 11.45 a.m. tomorrow is Jamie’s ring.

  All I’ve got to do is leap up from this desk, jump in my car and drive to Luke’s house for that ring – and the man I’ve spent most of my adult life adoring – to be mine.

  Yet a weird force of gravity keeps my backside firmly on my seat. I can’t move. I can’t do anything. As the office buzzes with Christmas cheer and discussions about the most effective form of nail glue, all I can do is sit here tinkering with paperclips, opening emails and not reading them . . . and logging on to Ben’s Facebook page to read those words over and over again: Ben Moran is single.

  I tell myself that they change nothing. That I can’t let a status update alter the course of my entire future happiness.

  The clock ticks on, hour by hour, and I consider phoning people for advice. Even if Mum and Dad hadn’t left this morning for a Warner Leisure break, this isn’t something I feel able to discuss with them. Julia is in London and while Jen would have some views, I’m sure, I don’t really want them, for some reason. The only person I could even consider talking to about this is Ellie and when I phone her mobile it goes straight to her voicemail.

  At three o’clock my phone rings and I examine the number flashing on the screen. It’s Jamie. But as my finger hovers over the keypad, I can’t bring myself to answer it. The phone rings off and he leaves a message, his voice sounding urgent and wobbly.

  ‘It’s me. Sam . . . can you phone me? Sam, I don’t know what else to say. I’m all ready to go but I’m torn in two here because all I want is to come home and be with you. I want you to walk through this door and tell me you want to get married to me and that you’ll forgive me. I know I don’t deserve it, but for all the reasons you tried to persuade me to change my mind . . . think about changing yours too. Please.’

  It’s not the only voicemail I get. About an hour later, Luke phones and leaves a message.

  ‘Two things, Sam. First, Jamie really loves you. Really. I know he’s been a prat but the guy’s paying for it, I swear. The other thing I wanted to tell you is that I’m back with Gemma. I dressed up as Richard Gere in An Officer and a Gentleman this morning and marched into her office. I shoved my hat on her head and picked her up in my arms. Then I told her – in front of everyone – that I was in love with her. She told me I was a knobhead. Then she told me that she loves me too,’ he laughs. ‘I can’t believe it, Sam. She gave me a second chance. I honestly, truly think you should consider doing that with Jamie too.’

  My mobile rings repeatedly over the course of the next couple of hours – all calls from Jamie. But I can’t bring myself to answer. I can’t bring myself to do anything but work, or at least pretend to.

  By six o’clock I find myself in the centre of an open-plan room, with only the cleaners for company.

  ‘Working late again, love?’ asks one, as I stand and move my chair for her to vacuum underneath it – a task she approaches with such vigour she must have biceps like Mr Incredible under that apron.

  ‘Afraid so,’ I reply.

  She has candyfloss hair in a strange shade of peach and when she smiles she reveals two missing teeth on the bottom row. ‘You work as late as it takes, sweetheart. Take my advice: keep your head buried in that t’internet.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be long,’ I tell her.

  She pauses and switches off her vacuum cleaner. ‘Me, I put getting married and having kids before trying to get a career.’

  ‘That’s not such a bad thing,’ I offer.

  She rolls her eyes and snorts. ‘Look where it’s got me, girly. Oh don’t get me wrong: I love my kids. But if I had my time again, I’d do things differently.’

  I smile. ‘How?’

  ‘Put myself before any bloke,’ she laughs. ‘What a cynic, eh!’

  As she heads off to vacuum up half the contents of Deana’s desk – including two packs of eyelashes – my phone rings again. This time I know I’ve got to face Jamie. I want to face Jamie. Not least because I’ve got one hell of a lot to say.

  ‘Is that Miss Brooks?’

  I’m jolted by a clipped voice that I don’t recognize. ‘Yes?’

  ‘This is Margaret Finnegan from Little Stars Nursery.’

  I frown. That’s where Sophie goes when Ellie’s at work.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you but . . . well, nobody has come to pick up Sophie.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The nursery closes at five forty-five and we’ve tried over and over again to get in touch with her parents but we can’t reach either of them.’

  ‘Alistair’s in Germany,’ I reply.

  ‘It was Ms Sanders who dropped her off this morning. We’ve phoned repeatedly but there’s no answer. There is only one other person with authorization to pick her up, and that’s you.’

  A chill runs down my spine. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes,’ I reply, instantly free of the inaction that’s gripped me all day.

  Chapter 86

  Margaret Finnegan politely told me to take my time. By that, she presumably meant twenty minutes would be reasonable. What she probably didn’t count on was the chain of events that subsequently unfolds; I sure as hell didn’t.

  I race out of the building, across to the car park on the other side of the road and into my driver’s seat, where I proceed to start up the car and rocket to the exit. I turn onto the road that will take me across the city centre, repeatedly trying to reach Ellie on my hands-free while my mind whirrs with macabre visions of Sophie, destitute and alone on the steps of the nursery, like a Dickensian orphan.

  I can tell there’s something wrong with the car before I even get to Smithdown Road, but purposefully ignore the judders and cranks and the fact that – even though my accelerator foot is on the floor – my vehicle is no longer inclined to go faster than twenty miles an hour.

  By the time I’ve turned down Ullet Road and am crawling past Princes Park, it becomes all too apparent that my automotive problems are haunting me again. With the beeps of rankled drivers ringing in my ears, the car moves in a stop-start fashion, until the stop-start becomes . . . a stop.

  ‘Oh shit! Oh buggery flipping hell,’ I cry, slamming my hands on the steering wheel.

  I leap out of the car and attempt to push it to the kerb, managing to move it about an inch. Then I pick up my mobile . . . but who the hell do I phone? My immediate family are all miles away. Jamie’s sold his car and Jen’s at work – although, admittedly, she occasionally has her phone on. I ring her and it goes straight to voicemail. So does Luke’s. Could I phone Ben? Should I? I decide that Sophie’s needs are greater than my romantic torment, and dial his number. It goes to messages.

  ‘Oh GODDDDDD!’ Then I realize it’s recording. ‘Sorry. Ben, I need your help. I’m on Princes Road and I’ve broken down and I need to pick up Sophie, quickly. If you happen to get this can you give me a ring? I might manage to get a taxi, of course, but . . . oh . . . it’s just – it’d be great if you could phone.’

  I frantically ring the nursery and leave an apologetic message on their answer machine then, with traffic whizzing past, I step into the road and stick out my hand for what I think is a taxi; but it turns out to be a road gritter.

  ‘Oh God . . . what am I going to do?’ I whine, trudging along the road and turning back to look for taxis. After five minutes I realize that drastic measures are required. I take a deep breath and stick out my thumb, thinking of how Sophie is relying on me.

  About ten seconds later, a white van with one flickering headlight slows to a crawl. I lean in and am poised to ask the driver if he can take me to Woolton, when I get a good look at his face. It takes me a s
econd to recognize him; when I do, both our eyes widen. It’s ‘Cunninglinguist’ from the dating website. He grins and winks at me.

  ‘Oh . . . it’s okay,’ I insist, stumbling backwards as I shake my head. He shrugs and speeds off, leaving my wool-blend trousers caked in more mud than the Dead Sea. I break into a run; the nursery is miles away but by now I’m convinced running is the only option. Every so often, I look back but the thumb I’ve got stuck out is resulting in no offers whatsoever.

  My veins flood with panic when I realize another car has slowed down.

  I’m already regretting this whole idea: anyone who stops to pick up a lone female in the dark has got to be dodgy in the very best case – and an axe murderer in the worst. And I’m not going to be much good to Sophie if I’ve been chopped up into little pieces and hidden in bin bags across the city.

  ‘Er . . . it’s okay,’ I mumble, shaking my hands at the driver, before shoving them in my pockets and walking away as fast as possible.

  ‘Sam! It’s me.’

  I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. My knight in shining armour. Except in this case it’s a knight in an Audi A4. And I’ve never felt as happy to see another human being as I am to see Ben right now.

  Chapter 87

  I’ve no idea what Margaret Finnegan thinks when I turn up at the nursery looking as if I’ve been through an assault course, although it can’t be any worse than what she thinks of the fact that Sophie’s mother has failed to pick her up.

  ‘Ellie finally got hold of me from a land line,’ I lie. ‘She’d got stuck in traffic on the motorway on the way home from a conference in Cheshire, and her phone ran out of juice. She asked me to apologize sincerely. She’s mortified.’

  ‘These things happen,’ smiles Margaret Finnegan, though I get the distinct impression from the look on her face that they don’t happen often.

  Sophie is pleased to see me, at least. Although when she asks, ‘Where’s Mummy?’ I’m at a bit of a loss about what to say, except to reassure her that she’ll see her mother soon.

  I strap her into the car seat the nursery let us borrow. This is a procedure that takes twenty minutes, and I’m convinced a NASA scientist would struggle to master it.

  ‘Thanks again for this, Ben,’ I say, as we head to my place. He turns to look at me, and when he smiles I feel a rush of longing.

  ‘Not a problem. I was on my way home from work. In fact, I wasn’t far away.’

  I turn back to Sophie, and look at her playing contentedly with a teddy bear. ‘I don’t think I’ve got much for you to eat at home, Sophie. We’ll have to rustle something up, won’t we?’

  ‘I want a lollipop,’ she grins.

  ‘Er . . . I haven’t even got one of those.’

  ‘Do you need me to stop somewhere?’ Ben offers.

  ‘Hmm . . . I guess so. Do you like beans on toast, Sophie?’

  ‘No. Lollipops.’

  ‘Well, okay . . . maybe after dinner. Do you like cheese on toast?’

  ‘Only lollipops.’

  I’m starting to get the feeling that we might be having lollipops on toast. I frown. ‘How about . . . carrots?’

  ‘Lollipops.’

  ‘Chips?’

  ‘No – lollipops.’

  ‘Oh Lord!’ I’m about to suggest pasta – which I’ve seen her mother cook for her countless times – when my phone rings. It’s Ellie.

  With a racing heart I press answer. Ellie’s voice is muffled and strange-sounding, and I can barely hear her over the background noise.

  ‘I got your message,’ she says, her voice awash with emotion. ‘Have you got her? Have you got my Sophie?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got her. We’re on our way back to my place. She’s fine. But where the hell are you?’

  ‘Take her . . . home – my home, I mean. I’m coming now . . . I’ll meetsh you there.’

  She rings off and I look anxiously at Ben.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asks.

  I bite my lip. ‘Not really.’

  Chapter 88

  We sit in the car outside Ellie’s with the engine running so that the heaters keep us warm. Sophie is giggling in the back as Ben pulls funny faces, and I’m smiling almost as much as she is. Part of me doesn’t know how I can smile, except that, if I dwell on it, the hideousness of the situation is overwhelming.

  My head is swollen with thoughts – of Ellie, of Jamie, of me – yet I find myself watching Ben, as his playful eyes and impossibly handsome face make this little girl happy. He turns to look at me at one point and I glance away, embarrassed. If he catches me looking at him too long he’ll guess some of the thoughts behind the mist in my eyes.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Ben?’

  He pauses from playing with Sophie and looks up. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Your Facebook page – it said you were in a relationship.’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘A brief one,’ he laughs. ‘It was with my neighbour, Mildred.’

  I grin. ‘I’d assumed she was in her seventies and the recipient of Meals on Wheels.’

  ‘Oh . . . Mildred?’ he smiles. ‘No, she’s a bit younger than that.’

  ‘And a lot more attractive,’ I point out.

  ‘She’s pretty,’ he concedes. ‘But my heart wasn’t in it. I don’t know why I even changed my status on Facebook. I think I was trying to convince myself about the whole thing.’

  ‘Why?’

  He looks at me awkwardly, then holds my gaze. ‘Diversionary tactics.’

  A taxi door slams, accompanied by a crunch of gravel, and I look up to witness Ellie taking unsteady steps towards us, trying desperately to look sober. Ben and I glance at each other, before I open the car door and get out.

  ‘Where is she?’ Ellie asks frantically, stumbling to the door at the back.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay, I’ll get her out,’ I tell her, concerned about her capability.

  She looks at me and frowns. ‘I’m f-fine,’ she replies, moving to edge me out of the way.

  ‘Ellie . . . let me,’ I say firmly, putting my hand on the handle. She throws me a tired-eyed look and realizes I’m not going to back down.

  I open the car door and Sophie’s face lights up with happiness. ‘Mummy!’

  ‘Hi, shweeetheart,’ Ellie slurs, her eyes filling with tears.

  I lift Sophie out of the car, but it’s clear that it isn’t my arms she wants: it’s her mother’s. And before I can do anything to stop her, she dives at Ellie, who staggers back, trying to steady herself.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous,’ Ellie whispers, stroking Sophie’s hair and kissing her. ‘I’m here now. Mummy’s here.’

  Ellie puts Sophie down and I follow them as the little girl runs to the front door. Ellie takes an age trying to get the key in the door; the more she fumbles drunkenly, the more impossible the task seems. Eventually, I take it from her and open the door myself.

  Ellie and Sophie enter the house, and as Ben appears at my side, the warmth from inside hits us. In the opaque glow from the hall light I notice that flakes of snow have begun to float from the sky and are falling on to his face.

  Ben touches me on the arm. ‘What are you going to do?’ he whispers. ‘I’m not sure Ellie should be left alone . . . if you know what I mean.’

  I nod and hold his gaze. ‘I’m going to stay with her. I’ll get Sophie to bed and see if I can sober Ellie up.’

  He doesn’t take his eyes from me. ‘Would you like me to stay? How are you going to get home?’

  ‘Taxi. It’ll be fine. Honestly,’ I smile. ‘Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t appeared.’

  He shrugs. ‘I never usually take that route, but there are roadworks on the way I usually go. Must’ve been fate.’

  The snow is suddenly heavier. I watch as whispers of it land on Ben’s skin and turn instantly into droplets. I can see his breath in the cold night air and I find myself drawn to the mouth from which it comes, to his soft, parted lips
.

  ‘I haven’t said congratulations,’ he says.

  ‘About what?’ I ask, hyper-aware of my heartbeat.

  ‘Your engagement.’

  I look up, almost surprised. ‘Oh . . . I’ll be honest, Ben. I don’t know what to do about that.’

  He hesitates. ‘Really?’

  I swallow. ‘I’m a bit confused.’

  ‘What’s the issue?’

  ‘The issue is that . . . I think I have feelings . . . for someone else.’

  I don’t know what I expect his reaction to be. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

  ‘What?’ I say, touching his arm. It’s through about four layers, but I can still feel its muscular curve.

  ‘You’ve met someone else? Another man?’

  Then I realize that I shouldn’t be confessing what I’m about to confess. I realize I could be about make a fool of myself. I also realize that he hasn’t clicked that I’m talking about him. So I still have my get-out-of-jail-free card.

  ‘Yes.’

  He gulps. And when he looks away his face is so confused and hurt it makes my heart twist.

  ‘Sam. Let me tell you something.’ He swallows. ‘I’ve got a job that involves meeting dozens, hundreds of people, all the time. I meet clever people, funny people, entertaining people, good people. But, sometimes . . . a person comes into your life who blows everyone else out of the water.’

  The intensity on his face makes my pulse quicken. ‘I’m talking about a person who makes you laugh, who makes you cry, a person who infuriates and delights you . . . but, above all, someone who brings out the best in you.’

  He swallows, and takes my hand. ‘Of all the people I’ve ever met, Sam, you’re quite simply the best.’ I close my eyes and tears drip from my chin. ‘You’re the best person I know – nothing less. And I know it makes me a bloody idiot to be standing here confessing that I’m in love with you when you’ve just told me you have feelings for not just one but two other men, but . . .’ He looks, consumed with emotion. ‘What an arse I am!’