Chapter 31
Sadly, the weekend switch to Fruit Shoots did absolutely nothing to quell the emotional waves by which Kate was being overwhelmed; a fact I discovered upon arriving at the office two days later and being greeted by the sound of raucous laughter, immediately followed by low-volume seriousness.
I smiled to myself, hung up my coat in the lobby and headed for my desk, waving to her as I did so.
‘I’ll definitely do that, and yes, they’re absolutely beautiful,’ she said into the phone whilst smiling at me and pointing at a large bouquet of flowers on the conference table.
‘Wow,’ I mouthed, walking over to the flowers and picking them up in search of a card. Unable to find one, I turned back to Kate. ‘Who?’ I whispered, but she had chosen that moment to bend down and extract a Fruit Shoot from her bag.
‘Thank you,’ she said, straightening up and smiling broadly. ‘And you and Don must come for dinner next time you’re visiting Dot.’
I had just sat down at my desk and now swivelled in my chair to face her. ‘My mother?’ I whispered, frowning questioningly.
She nodded briefly, covering the mouthpiece of the phone. ‘Bless her,’ she said quietly.
I smiled and shook my head. ‘Be careful,’ I murmured. ‘She’s trying to adopt you.’
‘Oh, OK,’ said Kate, the conversation clearly drawing to a close. ‘Yes, yes, I will. And thanks so much again, Helen. You and Don really have made my day. Bye now.’ She replaced the handset on the desk and looked up at me. ‘They were delivered about ten minutes ago,’ she said. ‘How thoughtful is your mum?’
‘Very,’ I agreed.
‘Such a lovely surprise,’ said Kate, getting up and walking over to the flowers.
‘And, of course, the other surprise is that you got off the phone to her in under ten minutes.’
‘You’re awful,’ she tutted. ‘I think she would have chatted for longer, but your dad was calling her.’
‘Yes, he’s good like that. He rescues me regularly,’ I smiled. ‘Where are you going to put those?’ I asked, as she picked up the bouquet.
‘The sink, for now,’ she said, walking towards the loo. ‘I don’t think we’ve got a vase in the office, have we?’
‘No, I don’t think—’ I began before being cut short by the ringing of the telephone on my desk. I hesitated before picking it up. ‘Three guesses who this is,’ I called to Kate. ‘Did you tell her I wasn’t in yet?’
The only reply was the sound of a tap running, and after another brief hesitation, I resigned myself to my fate and picked up the phone.
‘Eat Fruit Design. How can I help?’ I asked, resisting an urge to add the word ‘Mum’ to the enquiry and desperately trying to sound like someone extremely pushed for time.
‘Hi, Dot. It’s Felix. Are you free to talk? You sound like you might be busy.’
Feeling as if I’d been caught on the hop, I didn’t reply immediately. I had spent Sunday intermittently thinking through what I would say when I called him, whilst not once factoring in the possibility that he might call me first.
‘Dot?’
‘Yes, hi. Sorry, I’m just not quite with it yet. Monday morning and all that.’ I tried to sound casual, whilst wondering whether I would be able to bend the conversation round to the fact that I wanted to see him.
‘Is now not a good time?’
‘No. I mean yes, it’s fine. I haven’t got into anything yet, so yes …’ I paused, holding the phone at arm’s length and taking a deep breath, ‘it’s a good time,’ I concluded, returning it to my ear. ‘How are you? How was your weekend? I’ve forgotten what you said you were up to.’ I congratulated myself on managing a sneaky enquiry, despite feeling flustered.
‘Oh, nothing much,’ he said brightly. ‘I caught up on some gardening and house stuff and went out last-minute for dinner on Saturday night.’
‘Lovely,’ I said, immediately crushed to discover that he had turned down my invitation to visit for nothing much and a last-minute thing. My own fault, I decided, for being sneaky.
‘How about you?’ he asked.
‘Dinner at Kate’s,’ I said. ‘She’s hitting the Ribena pretty hard and it’s playing havoc with her emotional well-being.’
‘It used to do the same thing to me in primary school. But look, I’m phoning because I’m in Bristol on Friday and—’
‘Yes!’ I said, before clamping my hand over my mouth.
‘Yes what? Are you talking to me?’
‘Er … no. Kate was just asking if I wanted her to make me a coffee. Sorry, you carry on. You’re in Bristol on Friday?’
‘Yes, and I wondered if you were free for a drink after work.’
‘I’ll just check,’ I said, delighted not only by the prospect of seeing him but also by the fact that it was at his own suggestion. ‘Yes, I can do that. And if you’re free, why not come round for dinner?’ I added, my eyes screwed shut and my fingers crossed.
‘Thanks, but I’m having dinner with a client. That’s why I’m in Bristol. I thought it might be a good time to explain what I need from you.’
‘What you need from me?’
‘Yes, the information I need so that I can help you with your forward planning. I’m going to put everything on a memory stick and thought I could give it to you on Friday, rather than emailing it. It’ll be quite a large file.’
‘Will it? Oh, right. Thanks. That’s really kind of you.’
‘No problem.’
‘So, what time do you get here?’
‘I’m going to catch the train after work, so I should be able to meet you around seven. My meeting is at eight.’
‘Great,’ I said, and then, unable to help myself, added, ‘You know you’re welcome to stay over.’
There followed an unexpected and excruciating pause, during which it occurred to me that he was probably wondering how to turn down yet another invitation from Dot without hurting her feelings.
‘But I expect you’ll be tired after your meeting and just want to get home,’ I said, offering him a helping hand out of the hole which I had dug for him.
‘Yes, and I have plans for Saturday, so really need to get back,’ he replied.
‘That’s fine,’ I said, trying not to sound deflated. ‘Hope your Saturday plans are pleasure and not business,’ I added, whilst actually hoping that Saturday was part of the least pleasurable business trip ever.
‘Yes, it’s pleasure.’
‘Lovely,’ I said, feeling increasingly miserable. ‘Well you’ll have to tell me all about it when I see you. But I’d better go now as I’ve got a client meeting at nine,’ I lied, reflecting sadly on the fact that, against all expectations, I couldn’t wait to get off the phone.
‘See you Friday, and let’s text details.’
‘Will do. Bye.’
I hastily replaced the phone in its cradle and then rested my head in my hands, only looking up when Kate placed a mug of coffee in front of me.
‘Apparently I asked if you wanted one,’ she smiled.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Want to talk about it?’ she asked lightly, returning to her desk.
I shook my head. ‘No. But thank you.’
‘OK, but I just hope you’re not reading between the lines,’ she said, swigging her Fruit Shoot.
‘I’m reading the writing on the wall.’
‘Dot …’
I held up a hand to stymie the lecture. ‘I will go and meet him on Friday, Kate, but I meant it when I said that I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve got loads to do today and just want to get on with it. Is that OK?’
She looked at me for a moment and then smiled benignly and shrugged. ‘Of course it is.’
‘Really?’ I said in surprise. ‘You’re not going to push it? Even slightly?’
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, still smiling. ‘I’m going to leave it entirely up to you.’
‘Wow,’ I murmured, turning towards my computer and preparing to get
on with the day, ‘I don’t know what they put in Fruit Shoots, but they definitely get my vote over Ribena.’
Chapter 32
Astonishingly, Kate was as good as her word, and did leave the matter entirely up to me, making no mention of Felix whatsoever for the rest of the working week. In fact, I might have assumed that he had been erased from her hormonally overloaded brain altogether, had it not been for her screeched advice to avoid reading between the lines, which she delivered as she exited the office on Friday evening. It was counselling hastily followed by the determined slamming of the outer door, thus depriving me of any opportunity to retort.
Not that I would have argued. I had spent much of Friday reminding myself not to prejudge either the situation or Felix’s feelings. True, he had now turned down two invitations to stay with me in Bristol, but, on the other hand, drinks had been his suggestion, not mine. He could have posted the memory stick to me if he’d wanted to, and although we wouldn’t have long together, he was still making time to see me. More importantly, he hadn’t directly told me that he still had feelings for his ex, or that he was seeing her again, and I was determined not to infer either to be the case. So as I left the office at 6 p.m. to meet Felix that Friday evening, I did so in good spirits, having done a pretty good job of convincing myself that the situation was a hopeful one.
We had agreed to meet in the Port of Call, a small side-street pub just off Whiteladies Road, and half an hour’s bus ride from the Eat Fruit office. I had, however, decided to allow myself double that travel time because, as when meeting Alistair for drinks, I was determined to be early. This time, however, it was not so that I could steady my nerves with alcohol – far from it; I wanted to be stone-cold sober for this particular conversation. No, this time I was keen to be early because Felix had uncomplainingly tolerated me being late for every single social occasion during the first ten years of our relationship and it was something I didn’t feel he should have to put up with ever again if it could possibly be helped.
So it was with mild frustration at good intentions foiled that I stepped out of the October rain and into the warm and welcomingly lit Port of Call, only to discover Felix already there, sitting at a corner table with a serious look on his face and gazing fixedly at his phone. However, determined to be positive from the off, I reminded myself that I was still running early – he just happened to be earlier – and I refused to entertain even the vague possibility that he was texting Beattie, opting instead for focusing upon the undeniable thrill I experienced at seeing him again. Whatever did or didn’t happen this evening, I would enjoy his company.
He looked up while I was in the middle of this internal pep talk and, after the most minute of hesitations, smiled and raised a hand. I smiled and waved back and then walked towards him, watching him rise to his feet as I approached.
‘Hello,’ he said, his hands in his pockets as he leaned forward for a kiss.
‘Hi.’ I pecked him on the cheek, aware of a strong sense of having missed his company.
‘I got you a drink,’ he said, pointing to a glass of red wine on the table.
‘That’s great, thank you,’ I replied, sitting down and waving an early goodbye to my plan of absolute sobriety.
He sat down too and for a moment we looked at each other in silence across the table. I had no idea what he was thinking, but my own thoughts were fully focused upon the young friend whose company and affection I had enjoyed, and perhaps taken too much for granted, for ten years, and the man whose company and affection I enjoyed now and would never take for granted again.
‘I know it’s a bit dull, but as we haven’t got long, can we just get business out of the way?’ he asked suddenly. ‘My meeting start time has been brought forward to seven thirty.’
‘Oh.’ I couldn’t prevent my face from falling. ‘You should have texted, Felix. I could have left the office earlier.’
He shook his head. ‘The change was last-minute and I didn’t want to put you under any pressure. Anyway,’ he leaned forward, picking up and opening a briefcase, ‘I’ve got this for you.’ He took out a memory stick and placed it on the table in front of me. ‘It sets everything out.’
‘Right,’ I said, staring fixedly at the small red and black oblong of plastic and metal.
‘It’d be great if you could check it’s readable on your Mac tonight or tomorrow,’ he said. ‘And then, if there’s a problem, I can sort it out on Sunday before I’m back in the office.’
‘Do you want to talk about any of it now?’ I asked, looking up.
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s self-explanatory provided it’s readable.’
‘OK. Well, it’s really kind of you to help me when you’re so busy,’ I said quietly, picking up my drink. ‘I’ll definitely look at it tonight when I get home and text you if there’s a problem.’
‘It’ll literally be a question of opening it up,’ he said. ‘But how are you? What’s the latest from the world of Dot?’
‘Well the office is bursting with hormones and my mother is bursting with anticipation of babies.’
‘Plural?’ he queried.
‘She’s almost as excited about Kate as she is about Becca.’
‘And how is Kate coping with that?’
‘Oh, she’s lapping it up,’ I said. ‘It’s quite nice to watch, actually. It gives me a heightened appreciation of Mum, which is a good thing.’
He smiled and picked up his drink. ‘I always thought you were hard on her.’
‘I know you did,’ I tutted. ‘I remember you telling me off on a regular basis about that – as well as a multitude of other things. I can’t help thinking that your relationship with me was primarily lecture-based back then.’
‘I’m surprised you noticed,’ he said, his eyebrows raised. ‘You never gave the impression of actually listening.’
‘I didn’t get the tattoo, did I?’ I argued.
‘I always thought that had more to do with a fear of needles than anything I had to say.’
‘It was fifty-fifty.’
He looked sceptical.
‘Or perhaps sixty-forty.’
‘I’ll accept that on the basis that it’s closer to the truth,’ he said, smiling. ‘But how is life beyond the pregnancies? How are things with Alistair?’ he asked, glancing surreptitiously at his phone. He was, I thought, clearly conscious of the time.
‘Great,’ I said hurriedly, aware that the clock was ticking on our conversation, and determined to talk about Beattie before he had to go.
‘Good to hear,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’ I lowered my gaze to the memory stick, in order to avoid the eye contact which I feared might cause me to lose my nerve. ‘Look, Felix, I think it’s good that we can talk about Alistair, don’t you?’ I began tentatively.
‘I guess so,’ he said.
‘I just mean that you can ask me how things are and you’re not worried about putting your foot in it, which is great,’ I smiled. ‘But the thing is, when it comes to Beattie …’ I looked up to find him frowning at me in a way which I refused to let myself even attempt to interpret; there was to be no inferring or reading between the lines tonight, I reminded myself. ‘When it comes to Beattie, I’m completely in the dark, and I was just wondering,’ I continued lightly, returning my gaze to the memory stick and pressing on, ‘how things stand between the two of you, because it’s a relationship which is obviously very important to you one way or another, and I don’t want to have to tiptoe around the subject, or worry about saying the wrong thing.’
I looked up at him and he shrugged. ‘That’s fine,’ he said, now looking and sounding completely relaxed. ‘You don’t have to justify asking. You were put in an awkward situation at Martin’s party and I should have explained things there and then really. But I suppose I just wanted to forget about it and not let it become part of our weekend. I can see why you’d be curious, though.’
‘I’m not just being nosy,’ I said, with a hint of protest.
‘Oh, right,’ I said, attempting a smile but hugely disappointed by his response. ‘That’s nice.’
‘She wanted to discuss getting back together and so we talked it all through. Obviously it was quite an emotional evening. Thank God neither of us was on the Ribena.’
I looked up and he offered me a small smile.
‘Oh yes,’ I said quietly, forcing a laugh. ‘The Ribena.’ I sipped my wine and then made myself, in the interests of not reading between the lines, ask the obvious question. ‘So you’re back together then?’
‘What? No,’ he said emphatically, shaking his head and clearly surprised by the question.
‘Really? Oh, I thought maybe …’
‘There has never been any possibility of that,’ he said, frowning. ‘I was just sorry that Beattie thought that there was. If I’d recognised that, I would have been clearer with her about exactly what I did and didn’t want. I remember you saying how much better you felt when there was clarity between you and Alistair and how important that was. Beattie and I needed that clarity too. Although obviously the outcome for us was very different.’
I nodded, briefly intrigued by what he meant when he said the outcome had been very different – maybe Beattie had been reluctant to accept what he’d had to say, or maybe she had thrown a plate at his head. But in the end, whatever the difference was, I didn’t really care, because in that moment I felt more optimistic regarding a possible future for Felix and me than I had at any time over the past two weeks. He and Beattie were well and truly over. And he seemed completely at peace about it and it had been entirely his decision. Not only was their relationship dead in the water, it had been chopped into little bits by a motorboat propeller and then consumed by an enormous shark. The situation could not be more final.
‘Yes, clarity is great, isn’t it?’ I said, smiling broadly and resisting an urge to leap up and buy everyone in the pub a celebratory pint. ‘Whatever the outcome.’
‘It is,’ he replied, looking thoughtful and nodding slowly. ‘I’m feeling so much clearer about everything and,’ he added, ‘ready to move on.’ He looked at me and smiled.
Finding Felix Page 23