It sounds weird, I know, but we had a tiny honeymoon in that horrible, sterile corporate flat. And when we surfaced a couple of hours later, the sheets sweaty and tangled around us, I felt that we’d changed the place, as well as ourselves.
“I should drop the keys off downstairs,” Jonathan said. “It’s time to go home.”
I said, “We’re already here. Anywhere you are is home.”
Chapter 25
“Zé Campbell’s looking awfully pleased with herself lately, isn’t she?” Amanda said, as we dropped off Darcey and Delphine, who were bundled up in their winter coats, scarves, woolly hats and the mittens that constantly seemed to be getting lost.
“Isn’t she?” I said. “It’s wonderful that she’s so happy.”
I’d realised that the way to deal with Amanda’s attempts to drive a wedge between Zé and me was simply to pretend that she wasn’t. I knew full well, though, that in her view I’d backed the wrong horse – picked the wrong friend. In Amanda’s world, a woman like Zé, a woman who’d recently divorced her husband, sold her house, moved into a two-bedroom flat and been reduced to buying her groceries at Tesco, ought to be looking devastated and ashamed, if she dared show her face at the school gate at all.
But Zé hadn’t obliged. She turned up looking as gorgeous as always, thanks to the fact that her blog was garnering more free clothes than ever (even if she did have to flog them on eBay after a couple of wears). A new warmth and energy had replaced the brittle languor she’d had before. She glowed with contentment. And Juniper, too, seemed utterly unfazed by their changed circumstances.
Just the other night, when I was kissing Darcey goodnight, she’d said to me, “Mummy, Juniper says being poor is the best fun. Will we ever be poor?”
“Juniper isn’t a bit poor, Pickle!” I said, horrified, and embarked on a lengthy lecture about food banks and child labour and what poverty actually was, and how Juniper and her mother’s perfectly comfortable life bore no relation to it at all. I was still going strong when I realised my daughter had fallen asleep.
I must have been smiling at the memory, because Amanda said, “And you’re looking very cheerful yourself, Laura. We’ve missed you at book club, so it’s nice to see you doing the school run for a change, instead of your hubby. Has he – I mean, is he back in work again?”
“He’s at a meeting this morning,” I said. “A new client. It’s amazing how much demand there is for advice on ethical management. He’s having to turn work away, because he likes being around at home for the children. And the kitten, of course. She’s much harder work than they are.”
Amanda sniffed. “Well. I’m delighted it’s working for you… I know how difficult it is when men find themselves suddenly cast in a caring role. It’s so emasculating for them.”
“Is it?” I said, unable to suppress another smile at the memory of Jonathan and me last night, on the sitting room floor, when I’d got home slightly pissed after meeting Zé in the pub. The meal he’d made for us had ended up burnt to fuck, but we didn’t care. “I’m not sure whether Jonathan feels emasculated. I’ll have to ask him.”
“Yes, do,” Amanda said. “It’s so important to keep the channels of communication open in a marriage.”
She was preaching to the choir there, I thought. Over the past few months, Jonathan and I had talked and talked until it felt as if we had no words left, and then we’d cried, and after that we’d talked some more. We’d endured a few sessions with a relationship counsellor, complete with more talking and more tears.
It had all made me understand a lot of things a lot better. I understood why Zé and Juniper were so much happier without Rick, even though when he was there he mostly hadn’t been. I understood why, in spite of his flaws, Juniper went off eagerly for her weekends with her father (although Zé had promised to tear him limb from limb if he so much as looked in the window of Ladbroke’s on those weekends).
I understood the full scale of the decision Mel had made all those years ago to marry a man she didn’t – she couldn’t possibly – have a proper, loving future with, in order to further her career. I remembered how I used to envy what she had: the fame, the curtain calls, the body that could withstand the demands she placed on it. Now I realised the price she had paid for it. I wondered whether she thought it was worth it, but I knew I’d never find out.
And most of all, I understood how close I’d come to losing the thing that mattered most in the world to me: the life Jonathan and I had built together, the days and weeks and years stacking up into something that was strong and full of joy – or had been, until it wasn’t any more.
It’s not like I woke up, the way the fairy queen did in the play, and went, “OMG, I dreamed I was in love with a donkey!” But I did realise that, even though Felix still had a place in my heart and always would, I loved him in a completely different way: as a part of my past – a part that helped make me the person I am now. As a memory of who I used to be before I grew up and made a life I can live until its end. And some day, perhaps, as a friend.
Amanda interrupted my reverie by pressing an envelope into my hand. “I do hope you’ll be able to join us for our pre-Christmas drinks party on the twenty-second,” she said. “It’s become a bit of a tradition. Mulled wine and champers and nibbles for a few of our closest friends – there’ll be about a hundred and twenty people there. Thank God I managed to snap up that nice Carmen when Zélide had to let her go. The woman’s a wonder with the children, and in the kitchen too.”
“We’d love to come,” I said, quailing slightly at the prospect, but recognising it as the offer of a truce of sorts. “I’ll check with Jonathan. I’m sure we can make it, although we’re leaving the next day to spend Christmas with my sister.” Where, no doubt, Darcey would be spending every waking moment sitting on the back of a horse – which was better than lying in a heap on the ground next to one, I supposed.
“And do you have any plans for New Year?” Amanda asked.
“Actually, we’re going to Dublin for an old friend’s wedding,” I said. “Just Jonathan and me.”
As part of my new-found urge to make peace with my past, I’d sent Roddy a friend request on Facebook. He would have been quite entitled to ignore it, or block me – but he didn’t. He accepted straight away, and we spent many hours catching up with all that had happened in the years since we last saw each other. Roddy’s life had turned out to be far more exciting than mine. He’d worked all over the world, happily moving on when he got a better offer or itchy feet. It was in Australia, he told me, that he’d met Fintan and fallen in love. The two of them had moved back to Dublin together to be closer to Fintan’s family, and Roddy was working at the National Ballet of Ireland, planning to retire and move into teaching in a year or two.
“As soon as they changed the law here, I asked Fintan to marry me,” Roddy had written, “And guess what he said? So you must come to the wedding – it’s going to be the mother of all parties.”
Knowing Roddy, I was sure it would be.
He’d invited Felix too, and told him to bring a partner. To my surprise, I’d found this out the previous night, not from Felix but from Zé, over a bottle of wine in the pub.
“So this wedding you’re going to,” she said. Then she paused and blushed. I’d never seen her blush before. “Um… Felix has asked me to go with him. We’ve been out for drinks a couple of times, but I guess this is… I don’t know. Something more. I haven’t said yes. I wanted to talk to you first, in case you minded.”
I thought about it for a moment, and realised I didn’t mind at all – all I felt was excitement that two people I cared about might find happiness together.
“And how’s your work going?” Amanda said. “You poor thing, it must be awfully hard being away from the little ones.”
“Actually, I found it much harder being at home with them,” I said. “And Flight of Fancy are a great employer – they’re very flexible. I have to be, too, of course, because of all the
late nights doing press launches and stuff. It’s brilliant being back in a creative environment after so long.”
I could have carried on forever about work and how amazingly lucky I felt that Flight of Fancy had been looking for a PR person at the exact time when I’d speculatively sent Zé’s friend Anton my newly polished CV, but I made myself shut up. I could tell that my refusal to deliver any bad news wasn’t going down well with Amanda.
I could understand her frustration. She wasn’t an unkind person, I knew that. But she liked the world to conform to the rules she’d laid down in her head, rules of a game she’d invented, in which she would inevitably emerge victorious. Unfortunately for her, it seemed I didn’t know how to play. Still, if she could afford to be magnanimous, so could I.
“I’d better rush, or I’ll be late,” I said. “But it’s been lovely chatting to you. Do bring Delphine round for a playdate some time soon. Let Jonathan know when would suit you.”
“Before you go, Laura, there’s just one thing.” This was it, I realised – she was about to produce her trump card.
“Go on,” I said.
“It’s about the school nativity play,” she said.
“Yes? Darcey’s going to be a donkey, she’s absolutely thrilled about it.”
“Oh,” Amanda’s face fell a bit, but then she rallied and said triumphantly, “Delphine has been cast as Mary.”
I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to keep a straight face until I’d said goodbye and turned away from her. But then I burst out laughing, and didn’t stop until I got to work.
The End
About the Author
Sophie Ranald is the youngest of five sisters. She was born in Zimbabwe and lived in South Africa until an acute case of itchy feet brought her to London in her mid-20s. As an editor for a customer publishing agency, Sophie developed her fiction-writing skills describing holidays to places she’d never visited. In 2011, she decided to disregard all the good advice given to aspiring novelists and attempt to write full-time.
It Would Be Wrong to Steal My Sister’s Boyfriend (Wouldn’t it?) was published in August 2013, followed by A Groom With a View and Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire?, originally entitled The Frog Prince.
You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) is Sophie’s fourth novel, and she also writes for magazines and online about food, fashion and running. She lives in south-east London with her amazing partner Hopi and Purrs, their adorable little cat. Follow Sophie on Twitter @SophieRanald, or like her Facebook page for updates and random wittering about the cuteness of Purrs (there will be pics! Even videos!).
Acknowledgements
Readers familiar with the stunning, large-scale immersive theatre pioneered by Punchdrunk will recognise their work as the inspiration for Flight of Fancy’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Felix Barrett, Maxine Doyle and all the performers who captured my imagination and stole my heart over the hours (too many to count!) I spent exploring the worlds of The Drowned Man and Sleep No More deserve my eternal gratitude. So, too, does my wonderful friend Helen Taylor for planting the seed of my Punchdrunk obsession, and for being the perfect travelling companion in New York.
The phenomenally talented Paul O’Shea was kind enough to meet me and talk with unstinting honesty about what life as a working actor is really like. Thank you, Paul, for that and for those unforgettable moments in the Gatekeeper’s office.
Being tone deaf and cursed with two left feet, it was harder for me to get to grips with the world of classical ballet. I stumbled and giggled my way through a term of adult beginner’s classes at Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance, and I’d like to thank my teacher, Chloe Stone, for her patience and good humour. I also found a wealth of information and inspiration in Darcey Bussell’s autobiography, A Life in Dance, and Toni Bentley’s fascinating memoir, Winter Season.
Having learned so much and written so much, it felt at times as if I would never finish this novel. Then I spent a week with my sister and her partner, who live just outside Johannesburg. Jassy and Dion’s company, the cats and horses, the beautiful countryside and cauliflower wraps all worked their magic, and the book was done. Thank you, my most amazing sister and brother-in-law – I love you both, even if Morris the cat was delighted when I left.
Back at home in London, Lizzie Coulter shared her knowledge of legal matters to help me come up with high-finance shenanigans that I could never have dreamed up on my own — thanks, Lizzie. The incomparable Peta Nightingale and her colleagues at LAW have provided me with endless support and advice – I can never thank you enough. Amy Tipper and Victoria Innell at Amazon have done so much to help my books succeed, and I’m enormously grateful for all your hard work. Tash Webber has produced another gorgeous cover, and Catherine Baigent has found and fixed flaws in my writing to make me look better than I deserve – thank you both.
Finally, and always, my darling Hopi and my precious Purrs have made me laugh and given me cuddles when I’ve needed them most. You’re the best.
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