by Carmen Reid
'So, sir,' Andrei began in Ed's direction, 'are you dressing up for the Halloween disco again this year?'
By way of reply, Ed threw his head back and gave his best horrible, hollow, ghost-train laugh. This set everyone around the table giggling again, including Owen, to Annie's relief.
'You'd make a very dapper Dracula,' Ed advised Andrei: 'you're tall, with dark hair, you just need a bit of talc on the face, some fake teeth – and Lana could be your victim! Put on a long dress, add a bite mark or two on your neck . . .' Ed was tempted, so tempted, to add, 'unless they're already there of course,' but he swallowed the comment back down.
As Andrei groaned at this suggestion, Ed turned to Annie, who was looking straight at him. She gave him a wink. He wondered if that meant she knew about the neck comment he hadn't made. He suspected that it did. Sometimes he felt as if his entire, complicated inner life and private thoughts were nothing but an open book to Annie.
And looking at her there, sitting bolt upright, her hair piled up on her head, mug of hot chocolate in her hand, winking at him with her eyebrow cocked, he thought . . . he thought that that was just fine. She could leaf through his open book any time. Any time at all.
Further chat about the Halloween disco established that the decorations last year were rubbish and desperately needed an overhaul, then Owen, under intense questioning, broke down and revealed that he was going to go as Beethoven. But finally the mugs were empty, Andrei's taxi honked at the front door for him and Ed showed him out.
'I'll lock up behind you,' he said. 'No, don't take that to mean I'm locking you out – but I am!' He winked at Lana.
Planting one final kiss on Lana's face, Andrei thanked them all for a lovely evening and disappeared out of the kitchen with Ed.
Which left Annie facing her sleepy but none the less curious children.
'Is he staying the night?' came Lana's whisper first.
'Is Ed moving back in?' Owen asked, before Annie had a chance to reply.
'We're just talking,' she told them, 'we're trying to sort out some of the things that were making us so upset with each other. OK? But . . . you do both want Ed to come back, don't you?' she added quickly.
'As long as that's what you want, Mum,' came Lana's reply.
'How about you, Owen?'
Owen gave a non-committal shrug. 'I'd like to go to bed.'
Ed's head appeared round the kitchen door and he said, a little uncertainly, 'I was thinking about going upstairs . . . to bed . . . if that's OK?' When the three serious faces turned in his direction, suddenly he wasn't sure if this was OK at all; he wondered if he should maybe be getting into a taxi just like Andrei.
'Yes . . . yes, that's fine,' Annie said, but now she felt slightly unsure too.
When Annie stepped into the bedroom, only the little flower lights were lit, casting their low pink glow. A fruity jazz saxophone was oozing from the stereo and Ed, still in the black suit, was sitting in the chair with a very thoughtful look on his face.
'Come here?' he asked gently, as she came into the room. As she got closer, he held out his hands to hers and stood up beside her. 'That is some dress,' he said, 'you look amazing.'
'Oh, it's the chicken fillets,' she said and he had no idea what she was talking about.
'Well, whatever they are . . . they're working,' he said.
He put his arm round her and with her right hand in his, he began to dance with her very slowly in a small circle round the room.
'Are you OK?' he asked and his hair brushed against her ear.
'I think so,' she said.
'I've missed you.' Ed's voice sounded a little ragged.
'You should have said . . . because I had no idea what you were thinking,' Annie told him.
'I'm sorry.' Ed leaned over to land a kiss on her shoulder. And then came another, which lasted until she felt a shiver, a shudder travelling up and down her neck. She leaned into him, closing her eyes and hearing only the melting notes of the saxophone solo.
But.
Why did she feel so frightened?
He was here, wasn't he?
He had his arms around her.
She thought of Owen's silence and Owen's noncommittal shrug and now she understood it. Owen didn't know if he wanted Ed back because what if Ed went away again? Annie and her children had already lost far too much once before.
With a knot of fear in her stomach, she held onto Ed very tightly, because this was going to hurt. This was going to really hurt.
She let the saxophone play on to the end of the song and then she began to speak slowly and carefully. 'Ed . . . you can't be in my life. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I don't think you can know how sorry I am. But you can't be one of us.
'I have this little family . . .' she stumbled on, starting to cry now, 'me and Owen and Lana . . . and I just can't let you in.'
As Ed tried to pull back from her grip, to look her in the face, she clung to him more tightly and kept her chin firmly on his shoulder. She didn't want to look him in the eye as she said this, it was hard enough.
With a great hard knot in her throat she went on, 'I can't do it again. I can't go through it again. Because I've tried to be in love with you and I just can't go there. I can't lose it all again. I just want to look after my children, work hard and keep us all safe and happy. I can't have this unknown quantity in my life, someone who might choose to walk away when it suits him. I can't bear that. When you moved to your sister's, you didn't even think for a moment about how the children would feel.'
'Annie,' Ed began urgently, 'I'm sorry. I am really, really sorry. I misunderstood . . . everything. I will never let anything like this happen again. This is all so new to me. Annie, please?'
'But you should have talked to me. You should have come to me, not walked away from me.'
She was looking into his face now and could see the extreme anxiety there. But none of this mattered any more. All she could focus on clearly was that Ed didn't belong with them. She and Lana and Owen were inextricably linked. They were family. Ed was like a guest who had visited them for a year. He just couldn't be permanent. He couldn't replace Roddy. He couldn't be her husband or their father. She'd rather grow into an old lady alone, with her children and her grandchildren to love and care for and to love her back, than risk any love on someone who could let them down. She could not face losing someone she was in love with all over again.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed with Ed, she held him in her arms and told him this in every way she could, until he understood that she really, really meant it. She was telling him the truth.
The jazz CD had reached an end and there was nothing but a deep, painful silence hanging in the air between them.
After looking at her very closely and very carefully, Ed finally turned away, murmuring only 'I have to go now,' before leaving the house.
Chapter Thirty-two
The mysterious dark-haired lady:
Long red, black, olive and orange knit dress (House of
Fraser own brand)
Long black crotcheted cardigan (same)
Black maternity tights (Mothercare)
Low black boots (Russell & Bromley)
Total est. cost: £320
'Oh! You're Annie Valentine, aren't you?'
A decade of dressing women in The Store, in their homes, even in random London changing rooms when she just couldn't keep her advice to herself, had taught Annie many, many valuable lessons.
But the number one, the Annie Valentine Golden Rule, was that you never, ever Let Yourself Go.
Yes, it was tempting. When everything around you was turning to rubbish, when you were going through break-up hell, your house was about to be put up for sale – even if it was for a fortune – and you were about to begin the hassle of looking for somewhere new, packing up and moving.
It was tempting to reach for the beaten-up jeans, the drab old jumper, not wash your hair and put it in a scrunchie . . . get up too late to wash your face and put o
n your make-up. She knew just how tempting it was.
For six mornings in a row, she had woken up with a start, stared at the ceiling, let the full memory of what was happening come flooding back into her mind and she had wanted to roll over, pull the duvet back up over her head and stay there. Forget about it. Block it out.
But Annie knew that staying in bed was the beginning of the end. If she let the slightest thing slip now, where would it lead? Before she knew it, she'd be turning up at The Store in a fleece . . . a fleece! And maybe even clumpy shoes – and then she'd lose her job and no one would buy Timi Woos from her website either and she wouldn't be able to buy a new home of her own . . . far less afford the school fees and . . . . just the horror of these thoughts would get her out of bed on time. Force her to the bathroom, where the rigorous application of cleanser, toner, moisturizer and make-up would begin.
Annie had decided she had to go in the opposite direction. If other women let their appearance slide when things were going appallingly, she had to smarten up, over-groom . . . gleam and radiate. It was the only way to maintain morale.
She hadn't looked this good since the second year after the death of her husband, the worst and most grinding days of her life.
Her lipstick was now brighter, her eyeshadow more colourful: iridescent greens and purples had replaced the usual smoky brown. Hell, she even painted her nails; well she had time now, of an evening. Amazing how much more time there was, once you were properly single again.
There were strategies for maintaining morale against the odds. She didn't know how many times she'd sat frazzled women down in The Store and explained the strategies to them. Number one was to keep it simple. Develop a uniform which could be put on in the morning without too much thought. But not a jeans and sweatshirt uniform; a pressed trousers, pressed shirt and natty jacket uniform or a skirt and flattering blouse uniform, or in Annie's case, a great day dress with boots or shoes, with a jacket or matching coat, depending on the weather.
Number two was not to forget the details: necklace or earrings for sparkle, beautiful rings or watches for uplift. Hair had to be not just brushed, but curled with a hot air brush and no matter how bad the day ahead was looking, there was never, never any excuse not to wash face, apply tinted moisturizer, lipstick and even perfume, yes perfume. Your favourite. Not your ex-husband's, or your ex-boyfriend's or the one your aunty gave you for Christmas, but your very own favourite perfume. That had no associations. That you could carry about in a little bottle and revive yourself with during the day.
If it got too hard and too stressful to do this in the mornings, Annie recommended laying out clothes the night before, so that some effort and thought could be put into it ahead of the morning gloom. Anyway, it was another morale boost to wake up and see clothes carefully set out, necklace and earrings too. It was like having a ladies' maid, someone to take care of you while you slept.
That's really what this was about anyway, taking care of yourself through the rough times, when no one else was able to. When the natural tendency was to take it out on yourself, punish yourself and beat yourself up.
She would even tell clients with far too much stress and worry on their minds to care about the frivolities of wardrobe, to make a clothing chart.
'I know, I know,' she would insist, 'it sounds so dorky. But I promise you, you'll thank me. Write down four or five good outfits and stick the list on the back of the wardrobe door. Then, when you're standing there like a zombie, hands hovering over the comfy jeans and fleece, you will thank me, you will turn to the good outfit recipe and be able to come out looking like a woman who is surviving instead.'
Having followed her own advice, Annie was now in Operation Visit The School, striding on high patent, black shoes in a beautiful, not to mention brand new, black, white and orange dress, black raincoat and gorgeous, long, drapey burnt orange scarf (the exact colour of her nail varnish, by the way). Her hair was done, her lipstick was on and she was wafting something very spoiling by Diptyque towards her children's hoitytoity private school, St Vincent's.
For once, she was not late. She had arranged evening cover at The Store for the whole week, for ever. It meant she would miss out on hundreds of pounds of commission every month, it meant she could kiss goodbye to her almost guaranteed position of saleswoman with the highest monthly commission bonus. But never mind. She was back to single parenting, and her kids had to come first.
Maybe when she was living with Ed, she'd relied on him too much. She'd let her position slip, she'd delegated just a little bit more than she should have. But now she was making up for all of that.
There was an event on at school tonight, a big showy concert. Owen was playing, Lana was announcing two of the acts and it was a big deal for them both. So Annie was going to be there, beautifully turned out, calm and coping and, above all, their loving and supportive mum.
The chances of bumping into Ed at this thing were horrendously high. He was the head of the school's music department, after all. But she was going to cope with that just fine as well. She was a totally grown-up grown-up for God's sake. She was going to be perfectly civil.
Through the school's main entrance she went; its elaborate Victorian archway with massive wrought-iron gates. She still felt a rush of pride that her children went here, to one of the oldest and best schools in London. And if Timi Woos kept flying out of the boxes like they had been doing, long would her children continue to enjoy the gilded education with guaranteed stellar exam results which St Vincent's provided.
'Annie!' She heard her name being called over the cobbled courtyard. But it was OK, she'd already decided how she was going to answer the questions she could expect from parents she'd known since their children were little together.
'How are you? Looking wonderful, as always.' Suzie Wollstonecroft breezed over to her and kissed her on both cheeks.
'I'm really well, how are you?'
Suzie linked arms with her, filled her in on all the latest family Wollstonecroft news and then turned with the inevitable, 'And the lovely Mr Leon? How is he doing? I've not had the chance to speak to him since parents' night last term. I'm so glad you got him, by the way. He's great and he was definitely going to seed all on his own.'
'He's fine, very well,' Annie began, then as lightly as possible she added, 'but it's kind of run its course Suzie, no big deal. All very amicable . . . but you know how it goes sometimes.'
'Oh no!' Suzie gushed, pulling a face. Annie braced herself. 'No! That's terrible. He's a lovely man. I thought you two made a great couple. What happened?'
'Nothing dramatic,' Annie insisted. 'We've just decided to call it a day.'
Thankfully, they were approaching the entrance to the main hall where the headmaster was standing at the doorway to meet and greet, so Annie was spared from having to give any further details.
Suzie quickly peeled off from her side and Annie understood the move perfectly: she was rushing off to accost all the mothers she could find and relay this sensational new piece of parent/teacher gossip.
Annie settled in a seat beside two sets of parents she knew and although, once the lights were dimmed, she'd sneaked a look around to see if she could spot Ed, she was now going to concentrate very hard on watching Owen and Lana's performances.
After the nerve-racking, maternal pride-riddled minutes of Owen's tune and Lana's announcement, Annie finally felt she could enjoy the rest of the performance and the parent wine and cheese reception afterwards. Oh, why not? Everyone was going to be talking about her anyway, she might as well show up.
Annie tried to keep the conversations focused away from her. Instead, she asked lots of questions: 'How is Greta getting on?' 'What do you think of this year's form teacher?' 'Haven't you guys just moved house, how's that going?'