A Walk In The Park

by Jill Mansell

  Jo had been watching her intently. ‘If you’re asking me if he was really your father, the answer is I don’t know.’

  ‘Right.’ Lara was sitting with her arms wrapped around her knees. She was squeezing so hard her knuckles had turned white. Damn.

  ‘But I do know there was a . . . friendship. With another man.’

  Yes! Yes yes yes! Tears of joy sprang without warning into Lara’s eyes. It had to be that, it explained everything. Her father had hated her because he knew he wasn’t her father. It made perfect sense. Thank you, God.

  ‘Who was he? Did you know him?’ Go on, say yes, tell me all about my mother’s secret lover . . . no, stop it, don’t shake your head . . .

  But Jo said with regret, ‘Sorry, no I didn’t. It was before I met your mum. She told me about him, though. I’ll tell you as much as I know. His name was James.’

  James. That was a nice name, a good name for a father to have. James? Are you my father? God, I really hope so.

  ‘James who?’ said Lara but Jo was already shaking her head again. Life was never that simple, was it?

  ‘No idea. Your mum never mentioned his surname. Or showed me a photograph. She met him a couple of years before you were born.’ Jo paused for a moment to gently bat away a hovering dragonfly. ‘He was married.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And he’d been married and divorced before that.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Well, quite. Back in those days that was a pretty racy history. He was wealthy too. Some kind of successful businessman, but don’t ask me what kind of business – I haven’t a clue. The marriage wasn’t a happy one, apparently. He was in love with your mother. Well, he told her he loved her.’

  ‘What does that mean? She didn’t believe him?’

  ‘She wanted to. But from what she said, she didn’t know if she could completely trust him. He’d been married, divorced, married again . . . I got the impression your mum was afraid he might be the type who just got bored easily.’

  Lara’s fingers were cramping. She unclenched her knuckles and gazed out over Bath, with its curving streets of higgledy-piggledy biscuit-shaded houses. There, just down there to the right, was her own home. Had James paid for it? If he had, surely that must mean he was her father?

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She nodded at Jo. ‘I’m fine. This is all good news. Frustrating, but good. Anything that means my father might not be my father is brilliant. Look, I know you don’t know, but do you think it could have been James?’

  ‘Oh, darling, who can say? Your mum never said he was. It wasn’t the kind of question I felt I could ask. This may sound unbelievably old-fashioned, but we didn’t talk about sex so much in those days. It really wasn’t the hot topic it is now. Maybe if we’d been friends since childhood I might have done, but we weren’t, we just got to know each other because I worked in the café near your school and we hit it off from there. That was when you were nine or ten. Your mum used to come in for a cup of tea. She’d hear me moaning about my useless husband. Then when I had to take our dog for a walk after work, she’d join me. Maybe it was that neither of us had happy marriages. It can be a bonding thing, you know? Nice to have someone else going through a miserable time. Your father sounded like the domineering type.’

  Jo glanced at her for confirmation and Lara nodded. ‘Yes, he was.’

  ‘I only went to your house once. He made it clear I wasn’t welcome.’

  ‘He hated visitors.’ Theirs had been a silent home, singularly lacking in laughter whenever the three of them had been in it together. Lara felt sickened by the memory of it. Back then, she hadn’t realised the extent of her father’s controlling behaviour, simply because she’d had nothing to compare it with. Nowadays it made her shudder. And how proud she’d been when Gigi, without any prompting from her, had recognised the wrongness of her last boyfriend’s attitude towards her. Good-looking he might have been, but as soon as he’d started criticising her choice of clothes and tried to stop her seeing her friends, Gigi had called him a loser and calmly ended the relationship.

  Why couldn’t her mum have done the same? Lara’s jaw tightened. It was a question that had haunted her for years.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ said Jo.

  ‘Just wondering why she didn’t leave him. Our lives could have been so different.’

  ‘Your mum knew that. The problem was, she was worried it might turn out to be the wrong thing to do. Your lives could have turned out better, but what if they’d turned out worse?’

  Lara exhaled. ‘How could it have been worse?’

  ‘In her eyes it was possible. She used to say, “At least he doesn’t hit me, he’s never hit me.” And she was filled with guilt about James. I think she felt she deserved to be punished for that. Almost as if Charles was entitled to make her life miserable. Oh, who can say what it was like for her? Bullies undermine their partners’ confidence. Who knows what he might have threatened her with?’

  ‘I know.’ Lara had been over it all in her head a million times. ‘She did what she thought was best.’

  ‘For the two of you.’

  ‘Oh God, I want to find James.’ She threw herself back on the grass and watched the tiny clouds scudding across the sky.

  ‘I don’t know how you can,’ said Jo.

  ‘I found you. Well, Flynn did. There must be a way.’

  ‘Did she have any other friends you can ask?’

  ‘No, I wondered if you’d know anyone.’

  Jo shook her head. ‘I don’t, darling. I’m sorry.’

  Lara gazed up at the vapour trails criss-crossing overhead. Where were those planes headed? Who were the passengers flying in them? They could contain anyone, be going anywhere. One of those passengers might know James. Or be him.

  That was the thing, you just never knew.

  ‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ said Jo. ‘You’re living a good life. Your mum would be so proud if she could see you now.’

  ‘Thanks.’ It was lovely of Jo to say it and Lara was grateful to her. But she was only hearing half the story and it was no longer enough.

  The thing to do was to keep telling yourself it wasn’t a real date.

  Evie waited outside Brown’s and realised without enthusiasm that she was going to have to insist on paying half the bill. Since it wasn’t a proper date she couldn’t land Ethan with the whole thing; it wouldn’t be fair. Plus, add in a couple of decent bottles of wine and it might well come to more than he earned in a week.

  OK, and relax. For the next couple of hours she and Ethan were going to chat together like two normal people who weren’t out on a date. And as soon as the meal was over she could leave.

  There wasn’t going to be a goodbye kiss either.

  Oh look at the people sitting at the tables outside, they were all so glamorous and stylishly dressed. Please don’t let Ethan turn up in his manky old khaki combats and that faded T-shirt with the holes in it.

  He didn’t have her phone number but when her mobile began to ring, Evie experienced a rush of hope that it could somehow be Ethan calling to tell her he couldn’t make it after all. Right now she’d positively welcome being stood up.

  But the name flashing on the screen was an altogether more familiar one. Unable to ignore it, she answered and said evenly, ‘Hello, Joel.’

  ‘Mum just called. She told me you’re out with some bloke tonight.’

  Thanks a lot, Bonnie.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So who is he?’

  Evie checked her watch; if he wasn’t going to do the decent thing and stand her up, Ethan would be here any minute now. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter who he is.’

  ‘It matters to me.’ Joel sounded hurt.

  ‘We’re having dinner, that’s all.’ It was secretly gratifying to hear his concern. ‘I’m allowed to do that.’

  ‘What’s he like?’

  Oh yes, another mini-frisson of power. Evie said, ‘If he wasn’t nice, I wouldn’t be m
eeting him.’

  Joel said, ‘Where are you?

  Like she was going to tell him that. ‘I have to go now,’ said Evie. ‘He’s here. Bye.’

  And she ended the call.

  Yay, just like Madonna.

  Best of all, she wasn’t even lying. Ethan was making his way down the road towards her. Sadly still scruffily dressed though less so than before. He was wearing crumpled navy chinos and an olive-green shirt worn unbuttoned over a faded purply-grey T-shirt. Oh well, these could be the best clothes he owned. Maybe he didn’t possess an iron.

  And he had made an effort, she noted as he reached her. His hair might be overlong and unstyled but it was freshly washed. He was wearing aftershave too; whatever it was, it smelled nice. Maybe his mum or sister had bought it for him for Christmas.

  ‘Hey, you’re here.’ He didn’t, thank goodness, attempt any form of hug or air-kiss by way of greeting. ‘Thanks for turning up. I’m not late, am I? Have you been waiting long?’

  ‘Just a couple of hours,’ said Evie.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘That’s good. And I’d tell you how nice you’re looking if I thought you wouldn’t mind. But I’m going to err on the side of caution and not say it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ He had a dry sense of humour, she’d give him that much.

  ‘Hi there.’ Ethan caught the attention of a passing waitress. ‘We have a table booked for eight o’clock, name of McEnery. Is it OK if we sit outside?’

  Evie opened her mouth to protest then shut it again. It was a stunning evening, perfect for eating al fresco; if she objected, he’d think she was embarrassed to be seen with him in public.

  ‘Is that all right with you?’ Ethan turned to check with her.

  ‘Fine.’ He was a gardener; it stood to reason he’d like fresh air. She smiled and nodded at him. It didn’t matter if they were seen. They were shown to a table and Ethan pulled out a chair for her. He had nice manners; he’d definitely been well brought up.

  ‘So tell me about working in a fancy dress shop.’ Once the waitress had taken their drinks order and left them, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table between them. ‘What’s the weirdest outfit anyone’s ever asked for?’

  ‘That would be a fleet of lime-green Daleks. Not blue,’ said Evie. ‘Not silver, not pink. They only wanted lime green. Six Daleks. They were unbelievably annoyed when I told them we didn’t have any.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I persuaded them they’d rather be Tellytubbies instead.’

  ‘The mark of a good saleswoman.’ Ethan gave her a nod of approval. ‘I’m really sorry about the modelling thing at the hotel, by the way. Didn’t think it through at all. You were meant to be working in the shop that day, weren’t you, that’s why you couldn’t tell your boss the truth.’

  OK, she was going to have to explain. Evie sat back as the waitress returned with their drinks. If she was honest, being mistaken for a model had been something of an ego boost. She wasn’t deluded about her appearance; on a scale of prettiness she was a notch, possibly two notches, above average. But no more than that. And figure-wise, she was average with a slightly big bum. She didn’t wear make-up or model-type clothes. In her whole life, no one had ever before mistaken her for a model.

  And it secretly felt . . . great.

  ‘Something like that.’ She smiled and dismissed his apology with a shake of the head; what the hell, did it really matter if she skimmed over the truth? ‘Anyway, not a problem. Bonnie was fine about it.’

  Ethan looked relieved. ‘She seems nice.’

  ‘She is.’ Telling fibs, Evie discovered, made her mouth dry. ‘What’s it like working at the Ellison then? Have you always been a gardener?’

  He hesitated. ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Sorry, gardener-handyman.’ Hurriedly she made it sound more important. ‘I bet you have to do all sorts to keep the place together! Always busy with a job like that . . . cutting the grass one minute, mending stuff the next, fixing anything that needs to be fixed . . . they couldn’t manage without you!’ Oh help, did that sound patronising? She hadn’t meant it to come out quite so infant-schoolteacherish.

  Luckily Ethan didn’t appear to have taken offence. He sat back and said easily, ‘That’s true, I bet they couldn’t.’

  ‘And have you always been good with your hands?’ Ergh, no, accidental double entendre . . .

  But once again, thank goodness, he seemed not to notice. ‘I like mending things,’ said Ethan. ‘Fixing stuff.’

  Two girls at an adjacent table had overheard though. One of them stage-whispered, ‘I love it when they’re good with their hands,’ and they dissolved into fits of giggles.

  Thank God for a big menu. Evie hid her burning face and studied it intently. There was a cheese soufflé on the starter list and soufflés were her all-time favourite but it stated that they’d take twenty minutes to arrive so she went for the prawns instead. The sooner this non-date was over, the better.

  Having given their orders they handed the menus back to the waitress. Evie reached for her drink, sat back and almost spilled the lot down her front. There, twenty yards away on the other side of the road, was Joel.

  And he was standing there watching her.

  ‘Whoops!’ The cheery waitress handed her a napkin to dab at the splashes of rose wine on her top. ‘Here you go, lucky it wasn’t red!’

  ‘Thanks.’ Evie dabbed and dabbed. Then she glanced up again. Joel was still there, not looking as if he were planning on going anywhere. She pushed back her chair and said to Ethan, ‘I’ll just get myself cleaned up. Back in a minute.’

  In the Ladies’ she phoned Joel. He answered on the second ring.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Evie hissed. ‘How did you know I was here?’ OK, that was a stupid question.

  ‘I asked Mum.’

  And of course Bonnie had told him, because she wanted him to be jealous.

  ‘Well, you can go now.’

  ‘Who’s that you’re with?’

  ‘Joel, just leave.’

  ‘Why?’ he protested. ‘I’m not doing any harm.’

  ‘You’re stalking me!’

  ‘I just wanted to know what I was up against. If you ask me,’ said Joel, ‘I win, hands down. I’m way better looking than he is.’

  This was so true Evie didn’t even bother arguing the point. She said, ‘Maybe he’s more faithful than you are.’

  ‘You’re doing this to teach me a lesson. That’s the plan, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s really not.’ This was true; it was actually Bonnie’s plan. ‘Just leave me alone, Joel. Please don’t spoil my evening.’

  Emerging from the restaurant, she stood and stared at him across the street. Joel stared back for several seconds. Finally he shrugged, turned away and headed off in the direction of Pulteney Bridge.

  So long as he didn’t throw himself off it, into the churning weir below.

  ‘All better now?’ Ethan smiled as she returned to him.

  ‘Yes, thanks. Sorry to be so long.’ What with talking to Joel then sponging and drying the front of her top under the hand-dryer, she’d been gone a while.

  ‘No problem. I bumped into someone I know. We’ve been chatting.’ He nodded across the terrace and Evie politely followed his gaze. Before she could work out which one was Ethan’s friend, she spotted a familiar face she’d rather not have seen. Oh for heaven’s sake, Emily Morris was here; talk about bad timing. What was this, some kind of cosmic conspiracy?

  The next moment Emily glanced up and saw her. She did a cartoon double-take and clearly mouthed I-don’t-believe-it.

  Seriously, what were the chances? And now she was jumping up, heading towards them, completely overdoing the look of amazement as she insinuated her long legs and narrow hips between the tables.

  Evie braced herself and waited, because subtlety had never been Emily Morris’s strong point.

  Bath might be a beautiful city but sometimes it wasn’t nearly
big enough.

  ‘Oh wow, Evie, I don’t believe it! I heard you were back!’ Emily enveloped her in a hug so showbiz they barely made physical contact. ‘You poor darling, how are you? And you’ve lost weight . . . well, that’s hardly surprising. Oh dear, look at your face, it’s so gaunt.’

  Bitchiness masquerading as sympathy, that was Emily Morris’s strong point.

  ‘Hi, Emily. I lost a few pounds, that’s all.’

  ‘When Ethan said he was having dinner with someone I had no idea it was you!’

  It was Evie’s turn to be stunned. This was the friend Ethan had been talking to? She turned to look at him. ‘I’m surprised too. How do you two know each other?’

  ‘Just through the hotel.’ Ethan gestured casually. ‘How about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ve known Evie for years,’ Emily jumped in. ‘I’m just amazed to see her out and about so soon after what happened . . . I mean, God, jilting someone at the altar’s a pretty major thing . . . when I heard about it I was like, wow. And so gutted I missed it! I’ve never been to one of those weddings where it gets called off at the very last minute. It’s like something out of Sex and the City!’

  Oh well, it was out there now. Good job it hadn’t been a deep dark secret. Ha, and Ethan, bless him, was doing his best not to look shocked. Just as well they weren’t out on a real date. Handily, across the terrace, a waiter was delivering plates to Emily’s table. Evie pointed and said, ‘Your food’s arrived.’

  ‘Ah, shame. Anyway, catch you later . . . we could join you for a drink after dinner! OK, ciao for now . . .’