Alex treated her to an old-fashioned disapproving look.
‘Just be careful that you don’t decide to be all logical and practical at exactly the wrong time, that’s all I’m saying. I know you and Will live far apart, and that you are all mental and impulsive and he’s all handsome and rugged. I agree it seems unlikely that he’d fall for you, but you never know. And it’s only three hours on the train into London from here. Every other weekend, you could swap who visits who,’ Alex said.
‘Stop it!’ Lydia told her. ‘Stop making it seem possible. We’ve decided, I’ve decided – this is how it’s going to be. I feel down about it now, sure I do. But I’ll be fine in a week or two, and I’ll probably be obsessing fruitlessly over someone else.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Alex said.
‘Anyway, I’ve come to see you and all I’ve done is whinge about me – how are you, how’s motherhood?’
‘I’m extremely good, not a stitch in sight, and motherhood is the most amazingly wonderful thing that I have ever done.’ Alex beamed. ‘I don’t think I could be happier if I tried.
‘That’s brilliant, Alex,’ Lydia said, looking at her friend cradling her baby. ‘You do seem to be a natural.’
‘Please stay a bit longer,’ Alex said, as Lydia began to pull on her coat. ‘David will be back with my double cheeseburger and super-size fries in a minute. He so wants to thank you for what you did for Carole and for us.’
‘I was pretty magnificent, it’s true.’ Lydia grinned. ‘Although I suppose you had something to do with it. But I’ve really got to go, or I’ll miss my train.’
‘But you’ll be at Joanna’s party, won’t you? New Year’s Eve?’
‘Will you?’ Lydia looked sceptical.
‘Yes, we’re going home tomorrow, doctor says we’re fighting fit, so I thought I’d pop Carole in a sling and we’ll all be there, top of the Oxo Tower, brilliant!’
‘Well, it’s either that or sitting in watching TV, so yes, I might as well force myself into a party dress and fabulous heels and get drunk at Joanna’s expense.’ Lydia reached over and kissed her friend goodbye. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’
Lydia took a few steps and then stopped. It was no good; she couldn’t leave without saying what was really on her mind.
‘It’s not too late, you know,’ she said.
‘What isn’t?’ Alex asked her.
‘To change your mind about calling the baby Carole.’
Joanna’s flat was cold, empty and smelled faintly of bins, when a travel weary Lydia finally let herself in. Switching on the lights, and turning up the central heating, she paused at the answer phone, which was blinking insistently, and pressed play.
‘Lyds, darling, thought I’d leave you a welcome home message. Sorry I’m not there, but put it this way, the trip back with Jack went better than imagined, and so we’ve checked into a Ramada for a … Well, anyway, we both agreed to just have fun, and enjoy ourselves, no strings, no secrets and no engagement rings. I hope that’s okay with you, darling? Course it is, mwah!’
Lydia listened to the message, expecting to feel jealous, cross, regretful or resentful, even. But there was nothing, not one single remnant of what she had thought she felt for Jackson. She was only glad that she hadn’t completely managed to sabotage Joanna’s relationship with him, and although she seriously doubted that Joanna would be able to keep engagement rings out of the picture for very long, she was glad that she sounded happy. As for Jackson, any secret feelings or hopes she had been harbouring for him were entirely gone.
‘And that is what it will be like with Will too, probably,’ Lydia said out loud, taking out her phone and deciding that their agreement not to swap phone numbers was a good idea, because if she had Will’s phone number, she’d be calling him now, telling him she missed him. And later, after she’d drunk a bottle of claret that she found in Joanna’s kitchen, she’d be phoning him, playing ‘I’ve Had the Time of My Life’ down the phone to him, while she sobbed pathetically in the background.
Right now, she might feel like she’d just left the love of her life in his birthday suit in Cumbria, but that’s how she’d once felt about Jackson, and now her best friend was in bed with him and she didn’t mind at all. And although the thought pained her, she had to admit that probably, some time between now and next Christmas, Will would stop thinking about her and start noticing one of the other of the many women who kept throwing themselves in his direction.
‘Your trouble is you are a drama queen,’ Lydia said, uncorking the bottle and pouring a third of it into a mug, which was the only thing she could find clean. ‘You’re not happy unless you’re not happy … Well, not any more, now it’s work, work, work. And perhaps a nunnery; you could be the world’s first barrister nun.’
Switching on the TV, Lydia put her feet up on Joanna’s sofa and supposed that she’d have to arrange a time to go round and pick up her stuff from Stephen’s. But not today, today she was going to sit on Joanna’s sofa, watch Joanna’s TV, drink Joanna’s wine and do her level best not to cyber stalk Will on the internet.
And as for tomorrow, well, Geoff, the head clerk, had a GBH case waiting for her at chambers. It was official, Lydia thought miserably, as Joanna’s hideous, special offer, pink Christmas tree blinked at her. She was firmly back in the real world.
Chapter Twenty
New Year’s Eve
It was cold on the terrace of the Oxo Tower bar, but that was where Lydia preferred to be, leaning on the railing, alternately taking the weight off the balls of each of her feet, as her very high-heeled, crystal-encrusted shoes were as painful as they were beautiful, rendering her more or less crippled within half an hour of going out. With her fourth or fifth glass of champagne in her hand, she braced herself against the sedate chill in the still city air, cold in such a different way than in Cumbria, and looked down the length of the Thames, across the city that sparkled and glowed before her.
Standing at the very top of the tower, Lydia saw the city she loved so passionately looking its very best, as if it had dressed itself up for a party along with all of its inhabitants. Glittering and glamorous, it flaunted its beauty, bristling with dark secrets, illicit adventures, filled to the brim with soul upon soul, destined that very night, the last night of the year, for romance, or intrigue or at the very least a shocking hangover. There were countless lives thriving out there, Lydia thought to herself as she gazed at the voluptuous horizon, already glittering with brazenly early fireworks, pinpointing a thousand other parties.
Each one of those people out there were expectant and hopeful of what the New Year would have in store for them, and normally so was Lydia. Never before had she gotten to eleven forty-five on New Year’s Eve wishing that the next twelve months would evaporate in an instant and she would be sitting in the leaky-roofed boathouse at Heron’s Pike, looking up through the broken skylight at the stars, with Will’s arm around her, the heat of his body warming her, his rough cheek grazing hers.
Lydia’s sigh materialised in the crystal air before her. It was extraordinarily tricky, this being sensible business.
Joanna’s New Year’s Eve party was lovely, full of beautiful people, and Lydia knew she’d be having a much better time if she threw herself into the melee, networking, making contacts in high places. Hiring out the entire bar, at goodness only knew what cost, Joanna had populated it with what seemed like every single person she’d ever met in her life, including four of her five ex fiancés. Even Stephen was in there, talking to some blonde PR girl that Joanna had hired for herself, declaring that this year was going to be the year she broke into to mainstream day-time television. And there was Jackson, of course, permanently attached to Joanna, who was keeping a very firm grip on his arm, like a child holding a balloon on a ribbon, afraid that he might float away should she let go of him.
Katy and Jim hadn’t made it; they were opening up their doors to their first ever paying guests, and since hugging and kissing her friend go
odbye on the steps of Heron’s Pike, Lydia had decided not to phone Katy. She’d only end up asking her in a round about way where she’d been, what she’d done, who’d she’d seen and had any of them been Will? And how did he look and what was he doing and did he have the look of a broken-hearted man, maybe some shadows under his eyes and a slightly haunted, lovelorn look? And then, what if Katy said that no, actually he looked fine, and pretty happy as he was kissing that milkmaid, or whatever sort of country thing girls do in Cumbria? If he was, Lydia didn’t want to know.
Alex and David weren’t there either, declaring after all that they both hoped to be asleep by nine o’clock, and hoping that the New Year would bring them a baby that didn’t like to stay awake twenty hours a day.
Patience, Lydia told herself, tracking the progress of an open-topped bus full of very drunk revellers over London Bridge. It had been less than a week since she’d left Will behind, although that was considerably longer than the time she had actually known him. What a stupid girl she was, Lydia thought, as she finished her glass of champagne and picked up another that had been abandoned on a table. No one falls in proper love after a few days. No one, ever, in real life.
Turning her back on her come-hither city, Lydia considered going back into the thick of the party. The trouble was, with two thirds of her friends absent, she didn’t really have anyone she particularly wanted to talk to, and yet she didn’t want to be in the back of a cab or on the tube when Big Ben chimed in the New Year. And most of all, she didn’t want to go back to Joanna’s empty flat on her own.
Earlier, Joanna had arrived back at the flat to get ready with her, with an armful of shopping bags and boxes tied with ribbons, that were sure to contain very tiny and very expensive items of underwear.
‘Darling,’ she’d said as she breezed in, ‘I need to look amazing tonight, knock-out drop-dead gorgeous, and for that I need you and your unflappable false eyelash sticking on skills.’
And Lydia was happy to oblige, the fun of making up Joanna, as they cracked open the evening’s first bottle of champagne, briefly taking her mind off everything else.
‘I’ve missed this,’ Lydia said, as she laced her friend into the Vivienne Westwood corset dress she had gone out and bought that afternoon. ‘You and me; being girly together. Stephen was a nice flatmate. He always loaded the dishwasher and never left the seat up. But he never let me make him up, not once.’
‘Darling, there’s hardly a day goes by that I don’t pop Jack in a pair of lacy undies, and give him a little coat of lip-gloss.’ Lydia snorted, the red lipstick she’d been applying to Joanna shooting across her cheek like a firework.
‘Ooops.’
‘Never mind.’ Joanna took a make-up wipe, and began again. ‘Sorry, was that a little too much information?’
‘No, it’s just … he was never so adventurous with me. I don’t suppose I knew him at all, really. Funny, isn’t it, how you can spend such a lot of time utterly convinced that you are in love with virtual stranger?’
‘Or, on the other hand, that you are not,’ Joanna said, smiling sympathetically. ‘Now, it’s my turn to do you. Sit.’
Joanna had lent her a silver, satin-boned number, with a puffball skirt that sat above her knee. Lydia had been horrified when Joanna had produced it, but after realising she wasn’t going to get any peace until she tried it on, she was surprisingly pleased with how it suited her, nipping in her waist and pushing up her bosom to boost her cleavage rather spectacularly.
‘There, you look stunning,’ Joanna had said, as Lydia twirled for her, putting her hand on her hips and tipping her head to one side. ‘Too stunning, take it off, and put on something frumpy. I don’t want Jackson lurching at you again.’
‘He’s not going to do that,’ Lydia said. ‘You two have become inseparable, this is the first time you’ve been home in days!’
‘It’s true.’ Joanna’s smile faded, just a little. ‘It’s just, I sometimes worry that I’m the consolation prize, that he’s turned to me to get over you. And that didn’t work out so well for Stephen, did it?’
‘Nonsense,’ Lydia said, taking Joanna by the shoulders and standing her in front of her full-length mirror. ‘You and Jackson are so different from me and Stephen. Besides, look at you, you will never be the consolation prize, and Jackson knows that. If there is anyone who can out-play him at his own game, then it’s you, Jo-Jo, and maybe you are exactly the challenge he needs to realise a real relationship is more than just falling in love, time after time. Me and him, we were a blip, a puff of nothing, gone in one summer. But you, you’ve got the brains and the beauty to rein him in, if anyone has.’ She knew she should stop there, but couldn’t resist adding, ‘Just as long as you remember who you’re dealing with, and are careful not to get your fingers burnt again. You are playing it cool, though? Just don’t let him know quite how much you love him yet.’
‘I think it might be a little too late for that.’ Joanna winced. ‘Is it terrible, Lydia? It’s like I don’t care how much he loves me back, as long as he’s there? I suppose that’s what love is all about, though, isn’t it? Taking a chance on a feeling and hoping it works out for the best. Don’t you think?’
Lydia thought for a moment and gazed at her reflection. Joanna had tonged her hair so it fell in fifties film star waves over one shoulder, and she’d painted her lips a deep mulberry, highlighting her pale complexion. Tonight, Lydia felt about as beautiful as she ever had, and yet it didn’t give her half as much pleasure as bird’s nest sex hair and one of Will’s shirts would have. Perhaps Joanna and Alex were right, perhaps she should take a chance again, find a way to contact Will. Except look at where rushing in had got her before, and Lydia wasn’t sure if she could cope with Will, of all people, disappointing her.
‘I think,’ she’d said carefully, ‘that you have to be ready to take that chance, ready to accept that it might go horribly wrong and that you might spend the rest of your life broken and alone, hopeless, bitter and full of regret. But if you are ready, which you obviously are, then you should go for it.’
‘That’s the thing about you, Lyds,’ Joanna said, putting an arm around her as the two of them admired their reflection. ‘You always know exactly what to say to make a girl feel better.’
The only conversation she’d had with Jackson all evening had been at the bar. He’d been acquiring two more glasses of champagne, attracting the barman’s attention with one hand, the other still firmly gripped in Joanna’s as she chatted to some media industry people Lydia didn’t know.
‘Happy New Year,’ Jackson said to her, nodding. ‘I’d kiss you on the cheek, but I think it might result in my certain death.’
Lydia smiled. ‘You mean a lot her,’ she said. ‘Treat her carefully, Jackson. That woman is one of my dearest friends. Even after that whole debacle in Cumbria, she is still there for me. I won’t let her get hurt. I will track you down and gouge out your eyes with a rusty nail if there is even a hint that you aren’t making her one hundred per cent happy all of the time.’
‘I believe you.’ Jackson nodded. ‘But, listen, you don’t need to worry, you really don’t. This whole thing’s made me think hard about the kind of man I’ve let myself become. I’ve always loved women; I love being in love and the rush and the thrill of those first few weeks with someone new. I’ve chased that thrill for a long time now, playing the game for the fun of it. And I guess I was playing it still with you and Joanna. And then, when I saw what I almost did to you two, how I almost tore you apart … well, I realised I wasn’t the kind of man that would make my dad proud. And that was pretty hard to take.’
Jackson took a deep breath, before taking a long draught of his drink. ‘I have no idea if things will worth out with Joanna the way she wants them to, but it’s quite an amazing thing to realise that someone as special as Joanna will give me a second chance after having so royally screwed up. I won’t make the same mistake again. What sort of fool would that make me?’
‘
A very, very stupid one,’ Lydia said, taking her own glass.
‘And how about you? How are you doing?’ Jackson asked, smiling fondly as he glanced over at Joanna, who was now fluttering her false lashes at a television producer with coquettish abandon.
Lydia sipped her champagne. ‘Honestly? I actually don’t know. A lot’s changed recently. I just need some time to take a breath, take stock, develop my alcoholism.’
‘Good luck with that.’ Jackson gave a quick nod, not really listening, as Joanna dragged him away. ‘I’d better go, it looks like my presence as Trophy Boyfriend is required!’
‘Happy New Year!’ Lydia called, watching him disappear into the crowd, smiling to see how Joanna loved parading him around, as if here was her very own prize bull. She was relieved to note that she just felt amusement rather than regret as he left her.
Alone again, Lydia had wandered about the room, for what seemed like hours, making polite conversation with people she barely knew, who invariably asked her if she’d ever defended anyone she knew was guilty or whether or not she might be able to give them some free advice. One man, more than a little the worse for wear, told her she had the finest cleavage in the room and asked to rest his head there, and another – nice enough and not bad looking – plucked up the courage to ask for her number, which she politely declined. Tiring of smiling in a room full of beautiful people, Lydia finally found her place on the terrace, leaning into the night as she admired the city she loved, intent on seeing in the New Year with herself.
‘I’ve been in worse places, I suppose,’ a voice said behind her. Lydia froze, frowning. Had someone spiked her last drink? They must have, because she was surely hallucinating. ‘I mean, it’s a bit smelly and there are a lot more people here than is natural, but from where I’m standing it looks pretty beautiful.’
Slowly, ever so slowly, Lydia turned around to find Will standing there. As mirages went, it was quite a doozy. He looked as gorgeous as ever, dressed casually in jeans and a white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck under his battered leather jacket, and carrying two glasses of champagne.
The Night Before Christmas Page 26