The Lingerie Designer

by Siobhán McKenna

  “I’ve apologised, like, a thousand times,” she said, managing not to add – get over it already. Instead, she said, “When will you be home?”

  “I got the last seat on the morning flight, but, Amy, I’ll be honest with you: I’m taking the job in LA.”

  “Don’t leave me, Jack! I can’t lose you again!” There was panic in Amy’s voice.

  “Why did you throw it all away then?” Jack knew he shouldn’t start this conversation, but since Amy’s infidelity he’d gone over and over how he’d missed the signals. Was he a crap lover? Boring? He thought he gave her everything.

  What if his best wasn’t good enough for any woman?

  “I made a stupid mistake,” Amy sobbed. “We were together so long, I don’t know, I guess I took you for granted – the grass was greener on the other side. I am so sorry, Jack.”

  And for the first time, Amy sounded like she meant it.

  Chapter 65

  Rob kissed Helen’s head and slowly moved to nibble her ear.

  “Stop, you know what that does to me,” she giggled.

  “Exactly,” Rob droned, in his Barry White voice. This made Helen laugh more.

  “You’re the first, the last, my everything,” he continued his mime, as he playfully bit her neck and gyrated his hips.

  Helen laughed and made a weak attempt to break free.

  He moved his lips to meet hers. Expertly he unclasped her bra with one hand.

  The sudden release of her breasts brought her back to reality. “Rob, I’m not going back there.” She pulled away.

  “Come on, you said it yourself, it feels right.” He rubbed his groin, mimicking a seventies’ porn-star.

  There was no doubt, Rob was a funny guy.

  “You really fancy yourself, don’t you?” Helen straightened up as she looked at him.

  “I fancy you – naked.” He pulled her back down, moving on to his Austin Powers impersonation.

  “Rob, be serious. The only part of this that works is sex, and that’s not enough for me any more. We’ve been through all of this. There’s no point rehashing it.” She tried to close her bra.

  “It’s different now though, we’ve got a son.”

  To her amazement, he closed the bra for her.

  “Just hear me out, Helen. I’m a changed man. You’re right, I’m a jerk but you were never really the commitment type yourself.”

  It was true, and the reason why their non-relationship relationship had suited them both.

  Rob persisted. “I don’t know if it was turning forty –”

  “That was years ago!”

  “Not that long ago and you’ll see what it’s like yourself before you know it!” He paused. “And Daniel turning up like this, Helen: he’s our son.”

  “Rob, Daniel’s a young man with two parents in England that he already calls Mum and Dad.”

  “I know, but we did something right, didn’t we?” he said, with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen often.

  She resisted the urge to clear the rose-tinted glasses he was wearing, by reminding him he’d walked away and gone to Vegas.

  Rob let out a heavy sigh. “I know it’s too late to play happy families and buy him a train-set, but it’s not too late for you and me. And Daniel, well, if he continues wanting to get to know us, I don’t know . . .”

  “What are you trying to say, Rob?”

  “On the level? The thoughts of being a parent always filled me with horror. Now that it’s happened, albeit late, being someone’s dad has given me a new perspective. It’s what life’s about, isn’t it – relationships? You can have a new-reg car, the most successful company, but without someone special to share it with – what does it mean? Nothing, Helen.” He took her hand and looked into her eyes.

  “Sounds like you have grown up, Rob,” she said softly.

  “You’re my some-day girl, Helen, you always have been – it just took Daniel showing up to make me realise that,” he said with honesty. Although it was Jack showing up that made him realise that some day was today.

  “Some-day girl?” she eventually asked.

  “The girl you want to grow old with,” he smiled. “As the saying goes, I’m HD ready!” He tickled her, chuckling at their private joke.

  Helen tried to defend herself. “Helen Devine ready – but I don’t know if I am.”

  Rob detected doubt in her voice, an opening, at last. “You don’t have to make a decision right now. I tell you what, come round to my place tomorrow – I’ll cook dinner for you, something from that Gordon Ramsay fellow you fancy. No sex, just dinner.” He nodded, subtly getting her to agree.

  Helen wasn’t sure what dinner would resolve, but she agreed – these days she found it hard being alone.

  With renewed energy, Rob said, “We’ll start over, start dating. We’ll go to movies and IKEA, do what normal couples do.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  “Can I stay tonight?” He gave her puppy-dog eyes.

  “What happened to starting over!”

  “No sex, honestly, it’s just I’m probably over the limit and I don’t want to lose my licence.” He cocked his head.

  “Rob, you’re made of Teflon, nothing sticks.”

  “So, I can stay then?” He snuggled into her.

  “No sex?”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it!” He raised both hands up in surrender.

  Helen nodded and hoped her own resolve wouldn’t dissolve.

  “A blowjob doesn’t count as sex, does it?”

  “Rob!” Helen hit him with a cushion and they started to laugh.

  Then there was silence, both of them lost in thought.

  “They sell Daim Bars in IKEA. I’ve fancied one for days now. And I don’t fancy Gordon Ramsay – I just admire his talent, is all.” She yawned.

  Now they knew they were both lying.

  Chapter 66

  Helen woke early. Rob was snoring gently beside her. They were both fully clothed. He’d been true to his word despite the fact she’d felt his arousal through the covers several times during the night. He let her know he was available, yet honoured her wishes. A new Rob.

  She crept out of the bed and went down to make coffee.

  JD lay in his basket and didn’t get up to greet her – instead, she got a steady stare.

  “Mary will never be dead as long as you’re around, JD.” She gave him a rub. The dog continued to stare. “Stop looking at me like that – nothing happened. I sound like Poppy now, hey? Poppy – she’ll have a field day on me when she hears that I’m starting to ‘date’ Rob again.”

  JD said nothing – but that’s what dogs do.

  She thought of Jack and wondered what he might be doing now. She felt guilty, but often when sitting with Mary her mind wandered to him. Once she’d even decided to contact him through his old Dubai office but the nurse had called her back into the ward and after that Sarah had called with another design-room crisis. By the time she rang it was after hours in Dubai – the office closed for the weekend. She thought it was probably for the best. It obviously wasn’t meant to be.

  Deciding to make the coffee strong, she opened the bin to dump the old grinds.

  “Rob just doesn’t get the whole recycling thing, does he, JD?” she said as she lifted Rob’s old sandwich out of the paper section and threw it into the brown composting bin.

  That’s when she saw it, a discarded business card, crumpled, covered in mayonnaise but with the unmistakable words: Jack Taylor – Architect.

  “Oh my God, I was just thinking about him, JD!” She pulled the card out of the bin. She was shaking.

  JD perked his head up as if to say “I told you so”.

  “Where did you get this?” Helen threw the soiled card on top of a sleeping Rob.

  “What?” Rob struggled to focus.

  “No more games, Rob. This business card, what was it doing in my bin, tell me?” she demanded.

  But then it dawned on her: she could have put it there herself.
She’d gone through her papers for the Dubai deal – clearing out the house, getting ready for her move to Hong Kong. Did Jack attach his business card when his office sent through the contracts? Could it have detached itself as she threw the papers in the recycle section of the bin, to end up in the rubbish section? She rubbed her forehead. It could easily happen. The right thing ends up in wrong place all the time. And not just with compartment bins.

  Rob tried to get his brain in gear: climb out of this one.

  “You didn’t put it there, did you? I’m sorry – I’m an emotional fuck-up at the moment. I jumped to a silly conclusion.” Helen sat, continuing to rub her brow.

  “That’s okay,” he stammered, unsure how he’d got away with it. “It’s okay, Hells – you’re under a lot of stress – how about we start again? Good morning!” He pursed his lips for a platonic kiss.

  “Good morning, Robert – how about some coffee?”

  “Airport please.” Jack climbed into the back of a taxi. It was raining heavily, the sky dark. Forty-eight hours in Ireland and it had rained solid for every one of them.

  His first visit to the Emerald Isle and his last – at least now he knew why it was so green, so not a total waste of time.

  “Are ya comin’ or goin’?” the taxi-driver shouted back at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are ya on holliers, goin’ on holliers or goin’ home?” the cabbie said, as he looked at Jack via the rear-view mirror.

  “I see.” Jack thought for a moment. Am I coming or going? Good question.

  “I’m going. I’m going home, sir.”

  Chapter 67

  Rob was cooking breakfast as Helen sipped on her coffee.

  “I think I’ll give Jack a call,” she said. “It’s so weird his card just turning up in the bin like that.”

  “You can’t,” Rob said, a little too quickly.

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the time difference for a start – it’s five in the morning in New York.”

  “How do you know he’s from New York?”

  Rob returned his attention to the eggs, unable to make eye contact. “What’s this man to you anyway, Helen? Did you sleep with him or something?” He deployed his lawyer deflection tactic of answering a question with a question.

  Now it was Helen who felt defensive. “No! Well, technically yes, but nothing happened.” But something had happened, it just wasn’t sex. Try explaining that one to Rob. “It’s hard to explain – there were all these synchronicities – you know, coincidences. As if the world was just a village – our paths kept crossing.”

  “There’s a word for people like that – stalker. Sunny-side or over?” He waited to flip the eggs.

  “Over.”

  “It’s better to put all that nonsense behind you, Helen. It’s you and me now, kiddo.” He darted from the grill, to the hob, to the fridge: a headless chicken.

  “Why are you acting so weird and what’s with the ‘kiddo’?” she asked, her eyes burning through his back.

  Rob laughed – his nervous reaction when he felt cornered. “Stop being silly and eat your eggs.” He put the plate in front of her before setting down his own. He sat opposite her at the table but didn’t look up, busying himself with eating instead.

  “I don’t care, I’m calling.” Helen picked up the phone.

  Calling Rob’s bluff.

  “Wait.” Rob sighed as he put down his knife and fork. Helen would find out sooner or later, so he might as well admit it – shorten his time in the doghouse.

  “He was here.”

  “When?” She pushed her chair back.

  “Yesterday. He was passing through Dublin, on the way to New York, to meet his girlfriend.” Rob finally looked Helen in the eye. Time for damage limitation. “He was the one who found your father’s ring – he wanted to return it to you.”

  Helen covered her face with her hands, unable to speak.

  “He’s here in Dublin, so much for time difference,” she said at last, looking at Rob with a new-found coldness.

  “No. He’s left already, Helen. Will you just sit down and let me explain before you go flying off the handle. There’s more to this Jack fellow than meets the eye – too many coincidences – it’s not possible in reality. I’m telling you, Helen, he’s not to be trusted – he has some weird agenda.”

  Helen wasn’t listening. Jack picked up on the third ring. She left the kitchen so Rob couldn’t hear the muffled conversation. He followed her out to the hallway where she was pulling on a pair of walking wellies and a large overcoat.

  “Helen, where are you going? You can’t go out in your pyjamas!” he called after her, as she grabbed her car keys off the table.

  Jack had agreed to meet her in a departure-area coffee shop. He didn’t have long but he’d wait until his flight was called. Walking through the crowds, Helen wished she’d taken a few minutes to get dressed. She pulled the overcoat tightly around her, hoping no one would spot her PJs. As she went up the escalator, her heart pounded. There were so many people milling around, she wasn’t sure she’d spot him.

  Jack watched everyone as they stepped off the moving stairway, his hands wrapped tightly around a warm mug of coffee. A group of women chatted and laughed – behind them was a younger couple, arm in arm.

  Then he saw her.

  Just the top of her head at first, then slowly she appeared. She scanned the area, wide-eyed, looking like a lost child – or an orphan maybe.

  He wanted to hold her, tell her everything would be okay. But that was the Helen he’d known in Hanoi. She had her husband or partner here.

  Helen spotted Jack easily. Apart from his tanned complexion in a sea of pasty faces, he had a presence that she had a homing device for.

  He waved – she waved back.

  “Jack!” She rushed to give him a hug but knocked his coffee over in doing so. “I’m so sorry.” She was flustered.

  “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.” He wiped the table with paper napkins. “Can I get you anything, Helen?”

  He sounded stiff. Formal even.

  “No, I’m fine thanks. Jack, so how are you?” She sat down.

  “All good, thanks. I was sorry to hear about your mother, Helen.” His face was unreadable.

  “Thanks.” Helen twisted the ring, now back on her little finger where it belonged. Jack’s face softened. “I can’t thank you enough for returning my ring – you’ve no idea how much I appreciate it – thank you.”

  “No problem.” He nodded.

  There was an awkward silence. This wasn’t how they imagined it would be.

  Jack wanted to ask why she hadn’t mentioned a son or a husband. But what they had in Vietnam didn’t appear to have followed them to Dublin.

  Instead, he said, “I haven’t got long, maybe ten minutes, max.”

  “Right.” Helen noticed an odd look from a passer-by and pulled her coat around her to cover her nightwear. “Thought I’d do a bit of market research while I’m at the airport – see what people thought of the new Eden sleepwear range.”

  Jack smiled. “And here was I thinking it was a Dublin fashion statement.”

  “It is – for some!”

  They laughed, warmth returned – a glimpse of the people they had known.

  “I hope my showing up didn’t cause any problems.” Jack rubbed an imaginary smudge off his coffee-cup.

  “No, why would you think that? Not at all. How come you’re going home? I thought you were staying in Asia?”

  “Amy showed up.”

  “Amy, as in, love-of-your-life Amy?”

  “Yes.” Jack didn’t correct her – there was no point.

  “Jack, that’s fabulous news,” Helen said with exaggerated enthusiasm. She swallowed hard. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but her heart broke just a little bit more.

  “I’d better get going – I’ve still to clear security.” Jack picked up his carry-on luggage.

  “Sure, I’ll
walk with you to the gate.”

  He wondered would he give her a hug, kiss her on the cheek, or shake her hand? Their short meeting had been stilted and strange.

  “Well, here we are.” He tapped his boarding-pass rapidly against his hand. A friendship-type hug, he decided.

  “What do you think it meant, Jack? All the coincidences between us?” she suddenly asked. Now or never.

  “I don’t know, Helen.” He was confused.

  “Vietnam, it feels like a lifetime ago now, so much has happened,” she said as she looked down at the floor.

  Jack watched her. She had no make-up on – she was wearing some kind of flowery, pink rubber boots and a pyjama collar stuck out from under her coat. He thought she looked as beautiful as the first time he saw her.

  “I don’t know. Maybe, in a different life, who knows what might have been, Helen?”

  A kiss, definitely a kiss.

  The JFK flight announcement drowned out further conversation. People, harried with travel stress, weaved around them.

  “Goodbye, Jack,” Helen said, her words inaudible.

  “Goodbye, Helen.”

  He leant down, kissing her softly on the mouth, before he disappeared through the crowds. This time, forever.

  Chapter 68

  “What do you mean you said goodbye?” Poppy gasped.

  Helen sat in Poppy’s kitchen, telling her the saga of the last forty-eight hours.

  “That’s it – what else is there to say? He lives in America, the love of his life back in his arms, and I’m, well, here, single, unemployed and nearly forty. Why are we drinking tea anyway? Why can’t I drown my sorrows in a pub like normal people?” she said flippantly, though she felt anything but.

  “I don’t buy it. It’s the most romantic story – you’ve got to go after him.”

  Helen rolled her eyes. “And say what exactly? I’m telling you, Poppy, it was different. Whatever we had, or thought we had, in Vietnam, was gone. Have you at least got some chocolate biscuits?” She stood and went over to Poppy’s goodie cupboard.

  “No, you’re getting a fat ass with all this sitting around, moping, and feeling sorry for yourself.”