Too Late... I Love You

by Archer, Kiki

  “Okay, Salvador.”

  “I’m Italian, not Spanish.”

  “No, like the artist. Salvador Dali.”

  “Really? He’s one of my favourites. I love art and paintings and I’ve got a special thing at the moment for sketches.”

  “The décor in Mariano’s is amazing. I’ve often just sat for ages looking at the walls while Noah’s playing.” She smiled gently. “Anyway, I’d call you Salvador because what you see isn’t quite what you get. You’re curious, like his paintings.”

  Maria maintained their gaze. “And what do you see?”

  Connie studied the refined woman sitting next to her. “I see an achiever. Someone who’s got it all figured out.”

  “How? Why?”

  “Your clothes, your hair. You’re preened, you’re together.” She self-consciously fingered her messy blonde layers. “You look after yourself. You take care of your appearance. You have a three-year-old. How’s that even possible?”

  Maria laughed. “Trust me, this is a new occurrence. I’ve spent the last few years in pyjamas.”

  “See, that’s hard to believe. You’re Salvador because the whole concept of you, talking to me, is bizarre. I thought women like you preferred the company of men. You know the sort: powerful, intelligent—”

  “I’ll stop you right there. I have told you I’m a lesbian, haven’t I?”

  Connie couldn’t stifle her laughter. “Yes, a number of times. But maybe I mean women like you don’t usually talk to women like me. But you are talking to me, and you’re friendly and fun, and we’re getting on … I think. Are we?”

  “You shouldn’t be so unsure of yourself.”

  “I’m just not particularly social, that’s all.”

  “Should I go and talk to Loose-Titty-Tie-Dye instead?” Maria pointed to the arts and crafts tables where Earth Mother was now breast feeding her son on full display like a life model for the budding artists. “What do you call her friend? The one that’s always with her? Is she called Jumpy?”

  Connie followed the stare to the little boy in a bumper helmet who was being scooped up and away from the scissors. “That’s Crusty.”

  “Oh no, now that’s cruel. Jittery, or Skittish, maybe. But Crusty?”

  “It’s the flakes of skin. They’re falling off her all the time and if you’re sitting next to her at snack time your biscuits get an extra frosting.”

  Maria couldn’t maintain a straight face. “You and Ryan are cruel. I’m not sure I want to be part of your mean-girl gang. Maybe I should go and join them over there. They seem to have a nice little group going on.”

  Connie looked at Top Dog and her gang of tattooed tag-ons. “They wouldn’t let you in.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your hair’s not greasy enough.”

  “Ooo, you are a bitch, aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m joking.”

  Maria laughed. “So am I! I do have a tattoo though.”

  “Really?”

  “No.”

  Connie couldn’t help get drawn into the giggles, smiling with warmth at the enchanting woman’s energy. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you did have a tattoo, maybe tucked away somewhere private. I’m far too squeamish but I did have my belly button pierced once.”

  “Is that the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

  “Probably.”

  Maria leaned over and shook Connie’s knees. “I do like you, Connie. You really are good fun.”

  “Honestly, I’m not.”

  Maria laughed loudly. “See what I mean?”

  Chapter Eight

  ‘You’ve captured my interest. You’ve occupied my mind. Your words penetrate my every thought. Your insights resound with such meaning. It’s like you know me better than I know myself. How can this be when we’ve only just met?

  Some say a door slightly ajar is more intriguing than one fully open, but you’re fully open and I’m fully intrigued. You chose me. You talked to me. You wanted to know more. Why?

  Stop questioning, Bonnie; just go with the flow.

  Mark smiles with sincerity. “This date has been lovely. May I see you again?”’

  The mobile phone vibrated gently next to Connie’s keyboard and she stopped typing. Number unknown. She left the phone where it was and looked back at her screen, re-reading the last sentence. She paused, glancing down at the caller and wondering if it might be…

  She lifted the phone and answered quickly. “Hello?”

  “Hey, Con!”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “Sorry, were you expecting someone better?”

  She pushed herself away from her work desk and swivelled round on her chair. “No. It’s good to hear from you. How’s the conference?”

  “Hot!”

  “In what way?”

  “All ways. Temperature. Masseurs. How was the playgroup?”

  Connie laughed. “Ryan, you’re phoning me from Malta to ask about playgroup?”

  “Yes. It’s the highlight of my week. I’ve missed it more than I imagined.”

  “It was normal.”

  “Oh, Connie, you have to give me more than that! Was hotty with a botty there?”

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, young lady. Amal Clooney. Miss Mariano! I’ve been dying for an update.”

  She closed her eyes and smiled to herself. “She might have been.”

  “She was, wasn’t she!? And you two spent the whole time gossiping, didn’t you!”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is she as fabulous as first thought?”

  “She’s intriguing.”

  “Oh Connie, steady on love. She’ll only break your heart.”

  “Stop it, Ryan. She’s intriguing because she’s interested in me. She must have such an amazing life full of amazing people—”

  “You’re a bit of blonde fluff. She’s a lesbian. Of course she’s playing all pally. It’s the first step before she pounces. Plus it’s pretty slim pickings at that playgroup. I’d talk to you over Top Dog and Crusty.”

  “No, we get on well, that’s all.”

  “I bet you do. Have you found out how old she is?”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Nice. Experienced.”

  “It was fun. We swapped numbers.”

  “YOU DID WHAT?”

  “Ryan! Noah’s asleep!”

  “He can’t hear me! You swapped numbers?! The woman who hates making friends, hates even talking to new people, swapped numbers? Wait a minute, you thought it was her on the phone! You did, didn’t you? When you answered?”

  “I did not.”

  “You did! I could tell by the tone of your voice.”

  Connie leaned back in her chair and glanced along the hall towards the baby monitor in the kitchen. “I need to go. Noah might wake.”

  “No he won’t. Talk to me. I’m not back until Sunday. What else is happening?”

  “Bonnie’s met someone.”

  “Who?”

  She pulled herself back towards her computer. “Mark.”

  “No, who’s Bonnie? And who’s Mark? I go away for a week and you transform your friendship circle! What’s got into you?”

  “Bonnie from my book.”

  “Oh sorry, I thought we were talking reality?”

  “It is real for me.” She smiled. “Bonnie met him in the supermarket. He’s tall, dark, handsome, well-to-do.”

  “Like Maria.”

  “No! He’s a man and they’ve gone out on a date. They got chatting down the wine aisle and clicked straight away.”

  “Is Bonnie intrigued by him?”

  “Yes, she’s…” Connie paused. “I can hear you smirking. I know you think my book’s nonsense.”

  “No, darling, it’s not that. It’s… Never mind, tell me more.”

  She turned herself back towards her screen. “The problem is, Bonnie isn’t quite being herself and she starts to worry that Mark won’t like the real version of her.”

 
; “Are you being yourself with Maria?”

  “What’s this got to do with Maria?”

  “It’s just a question.”

  “Of course I am. When am I ever anything other than myself?”

  “When you’re with Karl. How is that knobsack by the way?”

  “Still at work.” She lowered her voice. “We had a horrible date the other night. He arranged for his mum to come and babysit, which was horrific enough in itself, but then I had to meet him at the Flag and Lamb and when I arrived I caught him on his phone. I’m sure he was talking to Louise.”

  “That bitch?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. But anyway, his phone rang again later on and it was definitely her.”

  “Did he answer?”

  “No.”

  “You need to check that phone.”

  Connie shook her head. “I tried but now that’s made me the person he always accuses me of being. Insecure. Needy. Infantile.”

  “Oh darling, you need to get out.”

  “No.” She sighed. “He’s a good guy. We’re making this work.”

  “Saying things over and over won’t make them real.”

  “I know, but I love him and I love Noah, and…” She stopped. “Why are we talking about this when you’re millions of miles away?”

  “Because I’m all you’ve got.”

  “Nope,” she smiled into the phone, “I’ve got Maria now.”

  “Ooo you little vixen. Go on then, call her up. Bore her with all of your whining.”

  “Will do, speak soon.”

  “Wait, wait, wait! Seriously, Connie, you have her number?”

  “Yes, she put it in my phone today.”

  “WHAT? She actually physically took your phone and input her number?”

  “Yes.”

  “She wants you.”

  “Oh stop it, Ryan.”

  “She does. It’s powerful. It’s confident. It’s her way of saying I’m here, I’m ready, let’s go. You should text her.”

  “No, I’m busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Writing.”

  “And tomorrow?”

  “I’m off to Bounce-a-rama.”

  “Invite her. That’s perfect. You can roll around together on the inflatables.”

  “I’m not a lesbian!”

  “Ooo how prejudiced. You can be friends with a lesbian you know.”

  “I know.”

  “So invite her.”

  “I might.”

  “Just type: Bounce-a-rama tomorrow at ten a.m. Les be friends.”

  “I’m going. I’ll speak to you soon.”

  “Okay, but before you go, repeat after me: Karl’s a cocksucker.”

  “No.”

  “Do it, or I’ll keep teasing you about the Connie, Bonnie, Maria, Mark love quadrangle. Karl’s a cocksucker. Say it, Connie.”

  Connie laughed. “Karl’s a cocksucker.”

  “Again.”

  “Karl’s a cocksucker.” She froze, feeling the firm hand tightening on her shoulder.

  “Give me that fucking phone.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I said, give me that fucking phone.”

  Connie pressed the receiver into her lips and spoke quickly. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Karl grabbed the mobile from Connie’s grip and snarled into the mouthpiece. “Who the fuck is this?”

  “Karl, leave it.” She watched as her boyfriend’s forehead flared with anger. “I was messing around. Please, let’s not wake Noah.”

  Karl ignored her, listening to the caller’s response instead. “Ryan? You fucker. I should have known it was you. Fact is you’re the actual cocksucker, mate, not me. Now piss off and leave us both alone.” He hit the red button and stared down at the wide eyes in front of him. “What the hell are you doing, Connie?”

  “He’s in Malta. You know what he’s like, he’s always messing around.”

  “You told him I was a cocksucker.”

  “He made me say it.”

  Karl shook his head in disbelief. “What?”

  “He was just teasing me.”

  “He told you to call me a cocksucker so you did it?”

  She stood up and tried to reach out for her boyfriend. “He’s just an idiot.”

  Karl stepped backwards. “I think I’m the idiot here. Seriously, how old are you?”

  “I’m old enough to know better. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t bat your eyes at me, Connie. That doesn’t work anymore. Just grow up and get a life.”

  “Where are you going?” She watched as he made his way towards the front door. “Please, Karl, I’ve made us a curry. I want to make up for this morning. I shouldn’t have brought up that Louise thing again. I really am sorry.”

  “I’ll eat out.” He threw the mobile onto the sofa and stalked out of the house.

  “Don’t slam…” Connie shuddered as the door slammed. She stood still and waited for the inevitable holler.

  “Muuuuuuuuuuuuuumeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”

  “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s just the door. Mummy’s here.” She stayed quiet and hoped for the best, relieved with the silence that followed. Waiting for a further minute she finally dared creep towards the sofa. Sitting down slowly and clenching her fists she let out a long silent scream. What was she doing? Why was she getting things so wrong? How could he tell her to get a life when this was her life and she was trying her best to lead it? To own it. She shook her head. To want it. She lifted her phone and started to type.

  I’m so sorry. I’m an idiot. I’m immature and can get carried away being silly. Forgive me?

  ****

  Karl loosened his tie in the warm evening sun. The start of the summer had been typically British with wind, rain and sleet the dominant weather for most of May and June, but as July had finally come into focus the sun had shone and London’s propensity for high-collared black trench coats was slowly being replaced by a sea of tan-coloured macs. Karl took his off and threw it over his arm, walking as fast as he could with no intention of stopping no matter how many times his phone beeped. How dare she betray him like that? How dare she indulge that wanker’s behaviour? He crossed the road and ducked into Hoxton tube station, making his way down to the platform. It was late but he’d head back into work. He’d eat at his desk. He might even stay there all night. Checking the overhead announcements board he saw that the next tube was due in three minutes. He sat down on the cold metal bench and stared up at the white arched ceiling, sighing in confusion. What was he doing wrong? How else could he please her? Wasn’t it enough that he was there? Present. He’d stood by her. What more did she want? What more did she need? Karl closed his eyes. What did he want? What did he need? His message tone beeped twice more as his phone connected to the underground’s Wi-Fi. Taking it out of his pocket he ignored the texts and dialled a contact instead.

  “Hey. Are you still at work?” He waited for the response. “Great, I’m coming back in.” He paused, biting on the inside of his lip. “And you’re right.” He spoke with a smile. “We want the same thing.”

  ****

  Connie checked the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. She reached behind the sofa and found the fleece blanket that had once served as Noah’s first play mat. Pulling it over herself she typed out one final message.

  Please, if you don’t want to sort this out, if you don’t want to make this work, then let me know and we can stop wasting each other’s time.

  She reread her words, desperate to press send, but unable to touch the green button. Instead she deleted the message and started again.

  I know I don’t deserve you. I know I don’t deserve us. You’ve given me everything. A house, a home, a family. I appreciate it all. But I want you … and I want you to want me too.

  She tapped the green button and watched the message fly away, hoping it would bring him home soon.

  ****

  “Surely you’re going home soon?�
�� asked the woman sitting upright on the high-backed chair.

  Karl pushed the box of takeaway noodles across the desk that was the main feature in his large centre room office and dropped his head onto his outstretched arms. “What does it say again?”

  “Sit up, you’re not drunk.”

  He tilted his head to the left and then the right, looking out of his tinted panoramic windows at the clusters of empty workstations that surrounded them. “I think I am.”

  “Then you’re a lightweight. You’ve only had one bottle.”

  Karl stayed where he was, dropping his face onto the expensive suede desk pad. The lights in the office were low but still he chose to shield his eyes from their glare. “Read it again?”

  The female voice spoke more firmly. “No. You heard it the first time. She says she’s sorry, she appreciates you and she wants you. All of the things that you should be saying to her. All of the things that matter. She’s the mother of your child, Karl, and she wants you. She wants you home.”

  He dragged himself up onto his elbows. “What if I want you, Louise?”

  “Right, that’s it. I’m calling you a cab.”

  The sorrowful speech continued. “We had it, didn’t we? That thing? That spark?”

  Louise Killshaw stood from her seat and straightened her skirt, pulling her jacket from the back of the chair and taking out her Collis & Killshaw security pass which she looped round her neck. “Go home, it’s late.” She tightened her long dark ponytail and combed her fingers through her blunt fringe.

  Karl watched her. “We did, didn’t we? We had fun?”

  “No.” The upscale businesswoman pushed the mobile phone back across the desk to its owner, who left it stranded, not interested in reading the message for himself. “At some point you need to grow up and take responsibility,” she said.

  “How shit’s that?”

  “That’s life.”

  “What if I don’t want that life?”

  “Oh Karl, why do you have these ridiculous self-doubting self-pitying breakdowns? You did it when we secured these new offices, remember? Worrying that we’d be over-stretched. And then when Noah was born, claiming he’d be better off without you.”