Too Late... I Love You

by Archer, Kiki

  Too Late… I Love You

  Kiki Archer

  Editors: Jayne Fereday and Diana Simmonds

  Cover: Fereday Design

  Smashwords Edition - Copyright 2015 Kiki Archer

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  For Jayne and Diana.

  Thank you x

  Chapter One

  ‘If love is light why does it blind us? If love is free why does it shackle us? If love is honour why does it cheat us? If love is strength why does it break us? If love is fearless tell me why I’m so scared?’

  Ryan dropped the manuscript on the table. “You did not write this.”

  Connie nodded. “I did.”

  “But you only got a Desmond from De Montfort.”

  “A what?”

  “A 2:2 and it was in management studies or something random like that, wasn’t it?”

  Connie stood from the small kitchen table in her tiny London terrace and smiled. “Business entrepreneurship and innovation, actually. Tea?”

  “Exactly, so where’s this coming from? Mint please, I’m detoxing.”

  “I just thought I’d try.”

  “Why?”

  The young woman lifted herself onto her tiptoes and reached over the array of baby beakers to the mugs at the back of the cupboard. “Noah’s sleeping better in the evenings and I’ve finally got a bit more time to myself.”

  “Well get yourself out then! Come clubbing with me. See your friends. You’re twenty-five, Connie. Get out there and get your life back. You’re not some old writer like Enid Blyton.”

  “I think she’s dead.”

  “Exactly.”

  Lifting her shoulders into a shrug Connie signalled to her surroundings. “This is my life, Ryan.”

  “No.” He ran his finger down the manuscript and started to read. “This is your life.”

  ‘Have you ever asked yourself why people fall in love? Falling hurts. Why not jump? Jump in love. You can control how high, how far. When you fall there’s no control, you just end up down, defenceless. Love isn’t the medicine, love causes the wound.’

  He paused and looked up. “It’s hardly chick-lit, is it?”

  Connie dropped the fragrant teabag into the mug of boiling water. “It’s fiction.”

  “Ha! I read somewhere that a writer’s first work is always autobiographical.”

  “Well that’s just a story.”

  “About a woman who’s not in love.”

  “You’ve only read the first page,” she said, handing over the steaming drink.

  He inhaled the minty aroma. “Thanks. Oh I really need this. I’m looking frazzled, aren’t I?”

  Connie studied her friend. He had never looked frazzled. Not once. In the twenty years she’d known him, since their first day at school, he’d been the absolute epitome of put-together. Well dressed, well styled, great hair. Connie smiled to herself. Unfortunately the hair had started to thin so he’d taken the plunge and gone for the buzz cut, and when that had failed to disguise the receding he’d shaved it all off.

  Ryan self-consciously lifted his hand to his head. “I’m shining, aren’t I?”

  “No, I’m just admiring your style.”

  “I was thinking of upping my facial stubble. It might have a counter-balance type effect.”

  Connie sat down opposite him, adding a plate of biscuits to the table. “Don’t. Didn’t you see that article that said the average male beard harbours more poo than a toilet?”

  “Miss Parker! You’ve been spending far too much time around nappies and small children. Such a word should not be used in polite conversation.”

  “Oh sod off, you bugger.”

  “But maybe I should keep it as it is.” He ran his fingers across his smooth chin and up over his perfectly bald head, narrowing his eyes as if posing for some invisible audience. “I think the two diamond earrings give me an early 2000 David Beckham type look.”

  Connie nodded at his bald head. “It’s shining.”

  “Ooo you bitch,” he said, laughing out loud.

  “Oh Ryan, you’re perfectly preened, as always.”

  “And you’re…” He paused, eyeing his friend carefully. “Your hair’s got really long. You look liked a wild-maned unicorn.”

  Connie fingered her thick mass of blonde layers. “It’s on the list, along with the shopping, the cleaning, the cooking, the washing, the losing of weight and the growing of inches.”

  “No, you’re perfectly pint-sized.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Says Mr Perfectly Perfect.”

  “Could you please go and tell that to the elusive Mr Right?” He took a sip of his drink, gasping dramatically in appreciation. “Oh this is good!” He paused. “Talking of Mr Right, tell me about Mr Wrong. How’s Karl? He’s not read this, has he?”

  “Read what?”

  “Your autobiography.” Putting on his best stern voice Ryan spoke with meaning. “I don’t believe in love.” He waggled his finger. “I’ve never felt the magic.” He threw the back of his hand against his forehead, finishing in a dramatic climax. “Where’s my soul mate – if soul mates even exist?”

  “It doesn’t even say that and it’s certainly not my autobiography.” Connie looked down and kicked her feet against the leg of the table. “And I do believe in love. Karl can read it if he wants to.”

  “He shouldn’t.”

  She lifted her eyes to Ryan’s clear gaze. “Why not?”

  Ryan picked up the manuscript and cleared his throat, finding the stern voice once more.

  ‘I don’t dislike love, I just don’t believe. The whole concept’s a ruse. A lie. Swelled by emotions that fade. Desire, lust, intrigue. They’re all temporary.’

  Connie reddened. “That’s not me. That’s Bonnie Blythe.”

  “Bonnie, Connie, oh come on!”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have shown you.”

  “Oh darling I’m joking. It’s amazing. I think I’m just shocked.”

  “At what?”

  “The fact you’re telling the truth.”

  “It’s fiction. Of course I believe in love.” She signalled towards the baby monitor that was resting quietly on the kitchen counter. “Noah’s my life.”

  “And Karl?”

  “We love each other.”

  “Are you in love?”

  “Of course we are. We’ve got Noah. We’re making this work.”

  “Look at me, lady. In the words of a great writer….” He tapped the pages and spoke with meaning.

  ‘Love shouldn’t be this hard.’

  Chapter Two

  The small work station was nestled neatly between the collapsed ironing board and the folded down clothes horse in Connie’s snug yet sufficient under-stair cupboard. She liked to squeeze onto the chair and pretend she was Harry Potter, creating magic in the confines of the metre-wide space. That’s what it felt like. Her special nook where her secret life raised sparks of emotion and pangs of self-doubt, driven on by the desire for knowledge and insight. What would Bonnie do? What would Bonnie say? What path would she take?

  Connie opened up the Word document and felt that familiar
surge of adrenaline. Her fingers took over, tapping away, as she watched the words appearing on the screen, reading them for the first time and wondering whose they were and what they meant. This wasn’t her life. These weren’t her words. They were Bonnie’s. Bonnie Blythe’s.

  ‘There are two types of women in this world: the ones who return their trolleys at the supermarket and the ones who don’t. I’m sitting in my car studying one of the don’ts, wondering if I can be her. Just for one day. Free from the shackles of the social restraints that make me walk through wind, rain and reversing cars to put my trolley back. Free from the chains of social etiquette that see me clear my table at the fast food chain, no matter how full-up the bin. Free from the small voice in my head that keeps me chewing until I can safely dispose of my gum.

  I study the woman. Her single bag of shopping already safe in her sports car. Her trolley discarded by the bollard. She’s fast. She’s smart. She’s gone. I watch with envy as her car roars away. Why can’t I be like her? Sashaying with purpose. Moving through life with priorities at hand. Get in, get out, move on. I pull down the interior mirror and try to replicate her hair flick. It doesn’t work with my short brown bob. Maybe I should dye it blonde, grow it long, wear it big.’

  “You’ve already got big blonde hair, and no one wants to read about trolleys.”

  Connie spun around, knocking her knees against the cupboard wall, trying to cover the screen with her hand. “Don’t Karl, it’s not finished yet.”

  “I thought it was romance?”

  “I don’t know what it is, but the lady’s not me.”

  The smart-suited businessman bent down and kissed his girlfriend on the cheek. “It’s okay, I’m not looking. How’s Noah?”

  Connie leaned back and glanced past him into the kitchen at the baby monitor. It was still sitting quietly on the counter. “Sleeping. He went down at seven and I’ve not heard a peep since.”

  “You’re getting good at this.” Karl loosened his tie and reached for the blue bean bag in the lounge, dropping it against the wall and slumping onto it.

  “He’s three, and we’re sitting in a cupboard after not seeing each other for however long. I think it’s called getting through it.”

  “I’m in the hall. You’re the one in the cupboard.” He ran his fingers through his short dark hair and smiled. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re getting good at getting through it.”

  Connie studied his tired eyes. “Long day?”

  “It’s always a long day. Tell me about the brunette with the trolley fetish.”

  “I’m just filling the time.” She reached back around and turned off the screen.

  “You must be enjoying it though? You’re always in there.”

  “Where else am I meant to be?”

  Karl lifted his hands in defence.

  “I’m sorry.” She squeezed past the chair and sat down on the floor in front of the bean bag, taking hold of her boyfriend’s hands. “It’s just something to do.”

  “Why don’t you go back to work?”

  “And pay someone else to look after Noah? That’s not happening.” She tilted her head, causing her mass of blonde hair to fall over one shoulder. “He’s my world. Why would I trust a stranger with him?” She stared carefully at Karl. “You wouldn’t trust a stranger with him, would you?”

  “Your mum’s always offering to do more, and so is my mum. Or there are nurseries run by childcare professionals.”

  “No way!”

  Karl rubbed his eyes. “So we do this. We spend my salary while you fill your time with trolleys.”

  “It’s not just about trolleys.”

  “So tell me what it’s about then.”

  Connie shook her head. “No.”

  “Please? I’m interested.”

  “No. You’ll just think it’s silly.”

  Karl smiled. “Are you blushing, Connie Parker? I promise I won’t pass comment. You’ve been working on this for weeks now. Tell me about that brunette with the bobbed hair.”

  Crossing her legs underneath herself, Connie adjusted her position. “Okay. But you have to promise me you won’t laugh.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Right, she’s called Bonnie Blythe.”

  Karl laughed. “She’s Bonnie, you’re Connie. That’s interesting.”

  “No! Ryan thought it was all about me too, but it’s not.”

  The beanbag suddenly made a sharp rustling noise as Karl shifted his position and sat up, a notable tension appearing in his shoulders. “What’s he been reading it for?”

  “He’s my best friend.”

  “I said this before, Connie, and I’ll say it again. I’m getting seriously concerned about the amount of time that man spends around here. We have to be careful about the wrong stuff rubbing off.”

  Connie threw her hands into the air. “Oh for goodness sake, Karl, I’m not doing this again.”

  “It’s true. Kids are so susceptible at this age.”

  “Well if you’re so worried why don’t you spend more time with him?”

  “With knobgobbler?”

  “No! With Noah! Your son!”

  “I’m busy working so I can provide for my son! We own this house, Connie, and yes it’s small, but we own it, outright, and it’s in London, and it may be our first, but it certainly won’t be our last. Do you have any idea how many other people your age can say that?”

  “Why do you always bring up my age? And I’d rather have a mortgage like most normal people so we could spend our money on holidays and weekends away instead.”

  “Investing in property is the sensible option and all the rest will come in time. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. I was already employing over a hundred people when I was twenty-five and here you are choosing to sit in a cupboard and write about trolleys.”

  “And look after your son.”

  Karl was about to snap back when the monitor in the kitchen flared to life. Both froze, holding their breath as if the wailing would miraculously stop. Suddenly it did, but they stayed still for that extra moment as their eyes locked in the waiting game, softening into apologetic smiles as the silence continued, realising they’d had a lucky escape. “I’m sorry,” said Connie with a whisper. “I don’t want to wake him.”

  Karl kept his voice low. “We agreed this at the start and it’s fine by me. I work and you do the childcare.”

  “I know.”

  “It just frustrates me when you act like this isn’t enough. Like you want more.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just hard. It’s the hardest job I’ve ever done.” She nodded towards the small sofa in the lounge. “Shall we sit down and start again?”

  “Sounds good to me.” Karl took off his now crumpled jacket and followed his girlfriend to the sofa. He lowered himself onto the worn cushions and instantly grimaced as he pulled out a hard toy that had poked into his thigh. “I thought you were cleaning today?”

  “I have cleaned today. He’s three, he never stops playing.”

  “He should learn to tidy as he goes.”

  “Karl, I am trying my best.”

  “Is it me?” The eyebrows were raised and the voice was shocked. “Do I need to do more? My ninety-hour week that pays for absolutely everything, is that not enough?”

  Connie closed her eyes and dropped her head back onto the cushions. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day. I’m blessed that I get to stay at home with Noah, and I’m thankful that you fund it.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  “Noah makes me happy every single minute of every single day.” The smile came, as it always did whenever she thought of her son.

  “And me? Do I make you happy?”

  “Of course you make me happy.” She paused. “Do I make you happy?”

  “Yeah.”

  Connie laughed. “Yeah? Is that all I get?”

  “Oh Connie, we knew how hard this would be. We’re working. It’s working. Let’s just ke
ep moving forward.”

  She softened her voice. “I know this isn’t quite what you wanted, but—”

  “Please, let’s not rehash old ground. This is what I wanted. Yes, slightly earlier than anticipated…”

  “You’re thirty-two!”

  “But we’d only known each other for two months and you’re still so young.”

  “I’m twenty-five!”

  Karl took a deep breath. “Why are we doing this?”

  “Because we have a child together.”

  “No, I’m talking about this. Niggling at each other.”

  Connie laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s me. I’m sorry.”

  “So get yourself out more. Re-join your squash club. We’re doing really well, Connie. The business is good. It’s great even.”

  “And who has Noah? The squash team train every Tuesday. You’re not around every Tuesday. Their matches are at the weekends. You’re never around at weekends.”

  “Collis and Killshaw Insurance is a twenty-four-hour business, you know this. Just get a sitter.”

  She prickled in her seat. “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Like I said earlier, my mum’s always willing—”

  “Especially not your mum.”

  “Your mum then.”

  “I don’t like asking her too often. We need her to cover those client dinners where I get wheeled out to smile and look pretty.”

  “Start the squash. You’ll feel better if you get fitter.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  Connie shrugged. “I’m happy with my writing. That’s keeping me busy.”

  “But you used to be so sporty. What about some walking groups in the day? Or something like yoga where you can take Noah along?”

  “No, those things are always so cliquey and we’re out and about too much anyway. Tomorrow I’m taking him to the library at ten and the soft-play at eleven. Then we’ll go for coffee and cakes at Mariano’s.”