Still Thinking of You

by Adele Parks

  ‘Well, not seriously,’ she smiled.

  He’d thought telling Kate would be his final undoing, the ultimate humiliation, but she stunned him. Throughout the night she asked all sorts of questions and gently probed to establish the severity of their situation. She suggested they consider suing for unfair dismissal, but he told her he had already talked to their lawyer and that they had no case. She did not allow the disappointment that she felt to flicker across her face. She suggested names of friends and acquaintances in the City – perhaps they could help to find him something new. He gently explained how he’d called all those people. If his calls had been returned at all, the news was never good. Often, his calls were ignored.

  ‘It’s a tough market at the moment. I’m sure people would like to help if they could,’ he said because he wanted to believe this was the case. Kate mentally crossed these names off her Christmas card list.

  She insisted that they’d manage. That they’d make economies, that they’d take out loans, sell the house, do anything and everything to make it all OK. At first Ted pitied Kate. He vaguely remembered when he had been optimistic about their situation, when he’d believed there was a solution. Now he was numb with fear because there wasn’t. However, as Kate continued to repeatedly reassure him throughout the night, he allowed some of her hopefulness to seep into his consciousness. Slowly he was drenched in her love and doused with her confidence. Perhaps, together, they could deal with this. Ted bathed in her sensible, composed attitude. It felt like peace.

  They talked until the sun came up, then Kate insisted that they should try to sleep.

  ‘Things always look better in the morning, and we can’t do anything right now, anyway,’ she yawned. ‘I’ll be happy to see the back of the boat. I never really took to sailing, and not having the party this New Year’s Eve was actually a relief,’ muttered Kate, who was weary with weeping and thinking. ‘We don’t have to go to the opera every month. We can watch My Fair Lady on DVD.’

  Ted looked doubtful, as any thirty-three-year-old man would.

  ‘It’s a wonderful film,’ insisted Kate. ‘I’ve always preferred musicals to opera. I must have seen it at least fifteen times. I used to watch it when I did the ironing. Not that I do the ironing any more, not now that we have Mrs Walker coming in every weekday.’ Kate paused. ‘We won’t be having Mrs Walker any more, will we?’

  ‘No,’ said Ted, ‘and don’t try to tell me that you are looking forward to doing the ironing.’

  ‘No, you can do that,’ she’d smiled, and then she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Wednesday

  51. What Kate Did Next

  Ted felt three stones lighter.

  He’d woken early and crept out of their room to go to the Mini-Mart to buy croissants and yoghurt. He couldn’t face meeting the others at breakfast, and room service was out of the question. Now that his credit had been severed, they’d be struggling to find a means to pay for the room without running the debt any higher. Even knowing this, Ted felt more relaxed, more confident and hopeful than he had in five months.

  He dropped a plastic bag on to the bed, and Kate stirred.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before?’ she asked again, before she even thought to say good morning, before her eyes were entirely open. She noticed that the yoghurt and the croissants had been purchased at the Mini-Mart, and appreciated the small economy. She sat up in bed and accepted the plastic spoon Ted proffered.

  ‘I was scared that you’d leave me.’

  ‘Why would I leave you?’ she asked, as she peeled back the tinfoil lid. She was ravenous. Unfortunately, stress made her hungry. She wasn’t one of those women who could comfort themselves that at least, during the bad times, they’d drop a dress size. Kate knew the opposite was likely to be true.

  ‘I have so little to offer now. I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve ruined our lives.’

  ‘Everyone makes mistakes,’ said Kate matter-of-factly, as though she were excusing him for buying the wrong toothpaste brand.

  ‘I have no salary. I’ve spent our savings.’

  She stopped spooning yoghurt into her mouth and said carefully, ‘Ted, it’s never been about the money.’

  Ted wondered how this could be. When he had sat lonely and directionless on benches in London parks, he’d found himself whiling away the hours by calculating how much his lifestyle cost. Lifestyle, rather than life, because sat on a park bench in the drizzle, with nothing but an enormous shameful secret to keep him company, it seemed that he had no life.

  He wore shirts that cost 150 quid a throw and cashmere suits, made to measure, anything over a grand, swathed his body. His ties were Hermès and cost £150. If one included socks and underwear, it cost him nearly £1,500 just to get dressed in the morning. His watch, Dunhill, cost a couple of grand. His cufflinks averaged £300 a pair. His wallet another two. In his briefcase he carried a Nokia with built-in camera (Kate had one of her own) and a colour iPAQ (Kate had one of those, too, so that they could synchronize their diaries). His laptop was a top-of-the-range Sony Viao. He certainly didn’t care about such things; he’d always thought he was dressing for Kate.

  Since the first day of their married life, every morning as he left the house, Kate would kiss him goodbye and say, ‘Make a million, darling. We’re depending on you.’

  By ‘we’, she didn’t just mean herself and the children. Some mornings he left the house as Sally, the florist, was arriving. She visited once every two weeks to tend to the house plants and fresh cut flowers (she didn’t touch the garden, they had a horticulturalist to deal with that). Besides Sally and the horticulturalist, other staff that visited (more frequently than their families) included Mrs Walker, the housekeeper; Jill (or was it Jackie? – he couldn’t remember), the girl who did the jobs that Mrs Walker felt were beneath her; the seamstress (who seemed to be forever at Kate’s beck and call, letting this out, taking that up); the window cleaner; the man who cleaned their aquarium; the teenage boy who walked the guard dog; and Kate’s masseur and beautician. Ted had always believed they were all depending on him. It was this huge responsibility that, in the old days, had spurred him on so that on occasion he did make a million. More recently, it was this awful overwhelming thought that caused him to sit on the park bench, carefully place his case down next to him, then hold his head in his hands as he despaired.

  But now Kate was telling him that it had never been about the money.

  ‘Really?’ he asked. It seemed too good to be true.

  ‘I love you,’ said Kate carefully. ‘I’m horrified that you thought I loved your bank balance more than you or, worse, instead of you.’ Kate paused. If she had been a more hysterical woman she would have felt insulted. As it was she simply felt sorry that poor Ted had got it so wrong.

  ‘Money comes and goes, but it doesn’t make any difference.’ Ted raised his eyebrows to express his disbelief. Kate wanted to be as clear and straightforward as possible.

  She reconsidered what she’d just said and added, ‘Well, it does, a bit. It makes our lives easier, but we had so much money it had started to turn full circle and make our lives harder.’

  Kate put her hand on top of Ted’s and squeezed hard. It was vital that he believed her. They only had a chance if he listened to her very, very closely and accepted what she was saying. Their marriage would not work if he thought she resented him or pitied him. She wanted him to understand what she was trying to say and the tiniest part of her dared to hope that he agreed with her, too.

  ‘I felt I was this Edwardian lady running a home with staff and charities and such like. There are expectations that come with money, such as which schools to send the children to and which shoes to buy and which hairdresser to visit.’

  ‘You did everything so beautifully, though, like a swan gliding.’

  ‘Swan’s glide along the surface, but paddle like fury under the water.’

  ‘You loved all that, Kate,’ said Ted. He was staring intently at
a picture on the wall just behind Kate’s left ear. He couldn’t say what it depicted, although he’d looked at nothing else for a good ten minutes.

  ‘At first I loved it. I liked being a good Edwardian lady, but only in the same way as I like being good at anything I turn my hand to. Being the spender was my new job. But, recently, I’ve found it a little overwhelming. I don’t need it, Ted. I need you. I need the father of my children.’

  ‘We’re not even going to be comfortable. We’re going to be uncomfortable.’ Ted wanted to be clear that Kate knew what she was getting into.

  ‘For a while, but we’ll find balance again. I can get a job. We can move out of London. We can go to that house we’ve just bought Mum in the Cotswolds and live there.’

  ‘Actually, we can’t. We don’t own it. We have to give the keys back. I can’t afford the mortgage repayments.’

  ‘Oh.’

  The severe reality of their situation was slowly boxing Kate in and pinning her down, but to her surprise she wasn’t scared. Maybe she was. Maybe she was so terrified that she was in shock. Maybe, but she honestly didn’t think so. At that moment she didn’t care if she had to grow her own vegetables to eat. All she wanted was for them to be together.

  ‘So what are we going to do?’ asked Ted.

  It was a ridiculous question. He knew there were no quick fixes, no easy answers. If there were, he’d have exploited those months ago. But Ted believed in Kate, and he thought that somehow things could be better now, now that he knew she was on his side.

  ‘We should leave here. Go back and deal with things at home, draw up lists of our debts and assets. We need to establish exactly where we stand.’

  ‘I’ll go and let Rich and Tash know, and you could start to pack,’ said Ted.

  He slowly moved towards the door. Kate knew that he must be smarting with the humiliation of telling their friends about the change in their fortunes. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the lips. It was a closed-mouth kiss, as was their habit, but they pushed their lips into one another’s for an age until her lips parted and his tongue probed. They kissed like lovers, and when they broke apart Kate reassured him once more.

  ‘We’ll be OK, you know. I believe in you, Ted.’

  Ted straightened his shoulders and left the room.

  52. Big Breakfast

  Breakfasts were hearty in des Dromonts. The literature the hotel provided politely suggested that hearty breakfasts were necessary for an energetic day on the slopes, which was true. But a hearty breakfast was also essential for soaking up the enormous hangovers, of which there always seemed to be an abundance.

  Tash shivered as she lifted the stainless-steel lid off the dish. The meats were practically still bleating, grunting and mooing, and the cheeses were so pungent her nose itched. She searched around for something a little more English. She gratefully grabbed a box of cereal, not caring if the milk tasted weird. She also piled her plate with pastries.

  She really had drunk too much last night. Why else would she have become so disgruntled that Rich had called her stupid? Of course he didn’t mean that he really thought she was stupid. And how had she got it into her head that there was something going on between him and Mia? She had no evidence. No reason to suspect him of anything untoward. And, if Mia did have the hots for him, it was hardly his fault. It was possible that he was oblivious. She was embarrassed that she’d stormed out of the bar like that. She wished she hadn’t said so much to Lloyd. It was disloyal. Although chances were he wouldn’t remember. He’d drunk more than she had. And even if he did remember, Tash was pretty sure she could trust him to be a confidant.

  She’d hoped that Rich would follow her. How drama queen was that? She’d behaved like a stroppy teenager walking out of a school-hall disco in a huff, expecting her puppy-dog boyfriend to hurry after her. Of course it wasn’t like that at their ages. If you walked out on someone, they respected your right to do so. They believed that you could judge your own need to be alone, and they would not come chasing after you.

  More is the pity.

  Bugger. She felt foolish.

  Rich had stumbled into their room at about 3 a.m. She’d pretended to be asleep because she didn’t want to –

  What?

  Argue with him?

  Or talk to him?

  That was so daft. They’d apologized to one another this morning. They both admitted that they didn’t know where the row had come from. They’d both agreed that they’d probably had too much to drink and that they should probably have a night off the booze tonight. There hadn’t been time to make love, which Tash would have found reassuring, as Rich spent ages in the bathroom. Probably very hung over, he’d let the shower run and run for ever.

  Rich had declined breakfast, saying that he’d meet her later to board. Tash felt edgy. Of course, it was unrealistic, childish even, to expect to have a relationship where there were never any rows. Still, a little bit of her had daydreamed that, when she met her soul mate (and Rich was definitely that), she would have a relationship where there were no rows. Tash didn’t believe that they had truly made up. She believed that they had settled into a wary, grudging truce. It was inadequate.

  She needed more food. This hangover was ravenous. Tash eased the lid off another enormous stainless-steel cauldron, only to immediately drop it again in her hurry to block out the smell of scrambled egg. Instead she picked up a yoghurt and a bunch of grapes.

  By contrast, Jayne was gliding through her hangover. If all things were equal, she would have a fuzzy tongue and furry teeth. Her breath would smell as bad as the boys’ rooms, but her breath smelt of Listerine, not an old beer keg. Her eyelids did not need to be stapled to the back of her eye sockets to remain open, and she had full control over her hands and feet. Neither her coordination nor her circulation had been drowned or pickled. She felt fully awake and alive. She was always more sparkly, more sensational, in Rich’s company, and this morning she felt particularly bright, exhilarated, vital. Victory was within her grasp. She could almost smell her success.

  They had danced all night.

  Jason and Kiki were there, too, but only in matter, not in spirit. In spirit, Jayne and Rich had danced alone. Initially they had both danced quite conservatively. Jayne, in particular, knew how important it was not to look as though you were having too much fun on the dance floor; it was hardly cool. Instead she swayed gently to all the tracks, irrespective of whether it was a pop ballad or a rough, modern, urban beat playing. She allowed her jutting hip to occasionally bang against Rich. In the beginning it was clear that Rich was uncomfortable. Jayne wondered if he was going to turn out to be a good dancer after all. In all their time together they hadn’t been out to a club, so she didn’t know for sure, but she’d always assumed that he would be good. What type of music did he like to dance to? She knew he liked Nina Simone playing when he was having sex, but she didn’t know that he listened to Linkin Park when he was driving his car and that he always played House of Pain’s ‘Spin around’ as his ‘get-them-on-the-floor’ track at parties. Jayne had never been invited to one of Rich’s many parties.

  The more Rich drank, the more relaxed he became. Jayne noted – with an indulgent sigh – that he was in this way the epitome of an Englishman. By 2 p.m. neither of them was particularly worried about whether they looked cool or not, which was a good thing because they did not. Both had drunk more units than they could count. Quite a feat, as Jayne had a first-class degree in mathematics. The music playing was uninspirational Euro-trash, without distinguishable beat or lyric or melody. The only possible response was to manically thrash their bodies and flay their limbs as they bounced around the floor. The dance floor was heaving. It seemed to sway and sink with the weight of the boisterous partying crowds. Girls climbed on their boyfriends’ shoulders and screamed with fake terror and true excitement as their boyfriends bowed and buckled beneath their weight. It seemed that nobody could stay upright. Countless people bump
ed and banged and knocked into each other. Jayne didn’t really like the sweaty bodies pushed up against hers – who was a fan of strangers’ sweat? But she envied the beads of sweat that slid down Rich’s torso.

  He’d kissed her. Not her kissing him and him half-heartedly responding. Not an uncertain kiss or even a tentative kiss. He’d kissed her with passion, purpose and eagerness. He’d walked her back to her room and he’d lingered outside the door. She opened the door and flashed her eyes from him to her bed and back to him. He’d moaned quietly, then hooked her head in his hand and forcefully pulled her face to his. He kissed her again, with tongues. A sexy, demanding, curious kiss. A kiss about which there was no ambiguity, only longing.

  ‘Are you coming in?’ Her voice was husky with drink, cigarettes and shouting above the noise in the bar.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Rich, shaking his head. ‘Not this time.’ He stumbled back down the corridor towards his and Tash’s room. He put his arm in the air and waved, without turning around. In that moment, Jayne was certain that she was established. She was utterly celebrated, the sweet bits and the bad-girl bits. She felt sexy, complete, victorious and vindicated. Her life of waiting and longing was about to become something more vital, something real.

  She went into her room, closed the door and fell on to the bed without giving a thought to removing her clothes or make-up. Her body was incapable of performing anything so mundane.

  Jason was finding breakfast a strain. Lloyd had barely said a word. It was unlike him not to be able to bounce back from a big session. It was worrying. Jason was aware that the entire gang thought he was the party fiend with alcoholic overtures. He was so firmly entrenched in this stereotype that they had failed to notice that he’d drunk slightly less than everyone, and significantly less than some, throughout this trip. But characteristics bequeathed by old buddies were harder to break than the bad habits themselves. The issue being, no one had noticed just how much Lloyd drank these days. Lloyd was considered staid, almost boring, not a party animal and therefore unlikely to go wild.