by Fiona Harper
‘And he’s going to St Saviour’s. You know, the private school? Same money for not as many hours.’
‘And you’re OK with this?’ I say, searching her face. I try to work out if she’s just being brave, but she grins back at me.
‘God, yes. I mean, you only get one life to live, right? And if you can’t go after your dreams when you’re young and stupid, when can you?’
I shake my head gently and then realise I should be nodding. ‘Dan doesn’t mind you being the breadwinner?’
She laughs. ‘Are you kidding? He thinks I’m a goddess!’ And then she gets more serious. ‘He’s happy, Mags … and I like to see him happy. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but after you left him he wasn’t happy for a very long time.’
Becca’s words are a like a cold dash of water. I can’t have my cake and eat it, can I? And if I deserve the dream life I want with Jude, why should I begrudge Dan his? I should be happy for him.
When we part, we hug outside the coffee shop. ‘You’ll think it over, won’t you?’ she asks as she pulls away. ‘The maid-of-honour thing?’
‘I just need to know it’s the right thing. For all of us.’
She nods.
‘My treat next time,’ I say. Becca insisted stumping up for the lattes – and the inevitable brownies that followed. ‘I insist.’ And then an idea floats across my brain. ‘In fact … Jude and I are throwing a dinner party in a fortnight, a kind of housewarming thing now the house is finally finished. Why don’t you and Dan come?’
I can see the hesitation in Becca’s eyes, but the fact I’ve been so understanding about her and Dan has kind of painted her into a corner. ‘That sounds lovely. I’ll just check with Dan that he’s free …’
I hug her again. ‘I’ll ring you with the details.’
As I watch her walk away, I’m not sure whether my bright idea is a great way to put the past behind us, or the most stupid thing I’ve ever done.
‘I’ve got a confession to make.’
Jude rolls over in bed and looks at me. It’s Sunday morning, two days after I met up with Becca. I haven’t told him about it yet. I don’t know why. ‘Have you been naughty?’ he says, with a definite Sunday morning glint in his eye.
‘Only a little,’ I reply as I laugh and slap away the hand that’s travelling up my thigh under the sheet. ‘You know that dinner party for six we’ve been planning?’
‘Yup?’
‘Well, it might be for eight now. I kind of bumped into some old friends and invited them.’
Jude raises his eyebrows. ‘Anyone I know?’
I swallow. ‘Yes, actually … you remember my roommate from uni, Becca? I invited her and her fiancé.’
Jude flops back on his pillow and stares at the ceiling. ‘That woman thinks I’m the devil incarnate.’
I snuggle up to him, press a soft kiss to the side of his neck. He makes a grudging moan deep in his throat. ‘I know … but it’s been a long time since Oaklands. And she didn’t mime being sick or make gagging noises when I mentioned your name, so that has to be an improvement.’
He turns to look at me. ‘You really want her to come?’
‘Yes.’
He sighs. ‘OK … And she’s found someone who wants to marry that mouth, has she? He must be either the biggest loser in the universe or a total saint.’
I look down at my fingers, which are gently stroking his chest. ‘Well, that’s the thing … you know him too. He was at uni with us.’ I can hear Jude waiting. I carry on but I don’t look at him. ‘It’s Dan, you know, my – ’
‘Your jilted bridegroom? Bloody hell, Meg!’
I look at him from under my lashes. ‘I can’t help who she’s ended up with, can I? I certainly wouldn’t have invited him on his own, but they kind of come as a package deal. Besides, it’s you I chose.’ I look him in the eye, even though he doesn’t know the multi-layered meaning in my words I say them anyway. ‘It’s you I will always choose.’
That does the trick. He leans in and kisses me. ‘OK,’ he murmurs, ‘they can come, but here’s the deal …’
I laugh. With Jude, there’s always a deal. I should have known.
‘… I get to invite a couple of people I choose too. Let’s make this a real party!’
‘OK,’ I say, ‘but if we’re feeding ten, I don’t think my famous roast chicken is going to go far enough. If you really want to do this, I might need help. Like, cooking help.’
‘Well, then, if we’re going to do this thing, we might as well do it right. Really celebrate in style! I’m talking caterers, plenty of champagne, even someone to man a bar. All you will have to do is turn up and look beautiful. Deal?’
That’s the best deal I could ever have imagined so I almost cut his last word off by kissing him. ‘Who are you going to invite?’ I ask when I pull back.
‘I was thinking maybe Andrew, you know that architect I’ve been working with a lot recently, and we might as well make the other one a girl … how about Jasmine?’
‘Jasmine?’ I say, propping myself up on one elbow so I can look at him better. ‘She’s a client. We haven’t really seen her since I finished the decoration of her house.’
‘I know,’ Jude says, and he finds that spot on the ceiling to stare at again. ‘But if you’re going to bring Mr Dull and his soon-to-be Mrs Dull, we might as well add a little colour and flavour into the mix.’ He turns his head to look at me. ‘She’ll be an interesting dinner-party guest, you have to admit that.’
Unfortunately, I do have to admit that. I’m just not sure why it makes me feel so uncomfortable. And I can hardly veto his choice, not when he’s said yes to Becca and Dan.
‘Let’s do it,’ I reply. ‘What the hell could go wrong?’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
I check my make-up one last time and feed my earrings through my ears. Not bad, I think, as I take one last look in the mirror. I’m still a size twelve and I look good in this little black dress. I will miss this waistline when Jude and I finally have kids.
I make my way to the kitchen, where Jude is busy giving everybody orders. I see the chef rolling her eyes, but it makes me smile. It’ll be my job to go and soothe a few ruffled feathers once he’s marched off to micromanage the bar staff, but I don’t mind. This is just Jude. This is how he gets things done, and we’re a team.
The menu is something I’d dream about eating in my other life, let alone having prepared for me in my own home by a team of professionals. We’re having a quail’s-egg salad to start. I’m not that mad on eggs, but Jude wanted it and they’re so tiny I’m sure they’ll slide down easily. It’s filet mignon for the main course and we’re finishing up with lemon tart. While that doesn’t sound impressive for a dessert, the actual tart will end up looking like something from Bake-Off – not that any of my guests know what that is yet – with sugar cages and smears of coulis.
The house is finally finished and fully decorated and I have to pinch myself to believe I actually live here. Jude even got me what he promised me – a balcony of my own to drink my morning coffee on. I painted the house white and I’ve been filling it with beautiful things, sourcing them at auction houses and ‘secret’ little shops dotted across London that all the good decorators know about.
Overall, I hope the effect is elegant but homely. I didn’t want a show home, as many of my obscenely rich clients do. I wanted something beautiful that looks as if it could actually be lived in. We’re going to show the house off to its best tonight, serving drinks and appetisers in the drawing room with its vast marble fireplace and parquet flooring and then leading everyone through to the pièce de résistance, the dining room, which is the one exception to my clean, light style. The room is huge, the chandelier impressive, but it feels warm and intimate because of the rich wood panelling and dark green walls.
Cam and Issie are the first to arrive, bearing champagne. I hug both of them hard. We haven’t seen as much of them since they moved to France. I feel we need reinforc
ements this evening, and we’ve stayed close with this couple since that summer-long holiday on Cam’s dad’s boat, so they definitely fill the role.
Andrew arrives next, the architect who was one of Jude’s wildcard choices. I wonder if he’s chosen him to set him up with Jasmine, but that doesn’t seem very likely. Andrew’s creative and imaginative like Jasmine, but that’s where the similarity ends. He doesn’t travel much outside of Europe because he hates flying and he’s very particular about his appearance. For a man who spends a great deal of time on construction sites he has a rather healthy dislike of mud and dust. He can also waffle on for England about fine wines if you let him.
Hot on his heels are Patrick, who heads up the construction arm of our firm, and Flora, once his very efficient PA but now also his wife. They’re a lovely couple and we seem to socialise with them a lot.
We stand in the drawing room, sipping champagne cocktails out of delicately thin flutes, laughing and talking. I dreamed about moments like this, I realise, as I slide my arm round Jude’s waist and lean into him.
I want to take a moment to absorb it all, savour it. This is what I was always reaching for, I think to myself, when I was old, sad Maggie, who hated her life, who wished she’d done it differently. I just didn’t know what it looked like until I was here, in this moment.
And in the centre of it all is Jude – the man I love, bold, dashing and clever. I smile up at him as he tells a story about being invited to go on one of his client’s yachts and say a silent prayer of gratitude. I know I’ve made the right choice.
I wait for a feeling inside, maybe a sense of something clicking into place or coming to rest, but it doesn’t come. Maybe it’s because I’m distracted by Dan and Becca’s arrival. They bustle in with a waft of cold air, apologising about trains. Their coats are whisked away and introductions made.
While the other men are wearing suit trousers and nice shirts, open at the neck, all beautifully cut and tailored, Dan has his ‘best’ pair of jeans on — obviously, they’re not the same ones he owned in his life with me, but I know how the man dresses – and a shirt that looks as if it was ironed by someone wearing boxing gloves. Issie, Flora and I are all in shift dresses in various dark colours and styles, but Becca is wearing black trousers and the kind of sparkly top she likes to go clubbing in.
I’m not snobby about it. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest what they wear. I’m just glad they’re here. It’s just that I’d never noticed this kind of difference between my two lives before and now it’s presented to me it’s jarring.
Even more jarring is the sight of Dan stiffly shaking Jude’s hand. Jude is all charm and smiles, but I see him sizing Dan up, like a prize fighter weighing up his opponent. I hug Becca, kiss Dan quickly on the cheek, someone hands them a glass of champagne and we all smile at each other as the conversation stalls.
‘How are you, old boy?’ Jude says, leaning on the fireplace and looking for all the world like Jay Gatsby. ‘Still living in Essex?’
Dan looks steadily back at him. ‘Kent, actually. Swanham.’
‘Oh, too bad!’ Jude says, still smiling. ‘Property prices have crashed a bit there in the last year. You should get out while you can – although Tunbridge Wells isn’t a bad bet if you want to stay in that area.’
Dan smiles tightly. ‘Bit beyond my price range, I’m afraid.’
This leads to a discussion about the best places to live in both Kent and nearby East Sussex. I think it’s meant to be helpful, but Jude and Patrick end up just talking to each other about luxury property, effectively cutting Dan out.
I feel bad. I know what Jude is doing. But he’s just that kind of man who’s very territorial and, if I’m honest, there’s a tiny part of me that loves the fact he’s still territorial about me, even after all these years.
Jasmine is the last to arrive. She also doesn’t fit in, wearing a creased linen skirt and a top that look as if they’ve just been pulled out of a backpack; an ornate Indian silver necklace finishes the look. Somehow, it doesn’t seem to matter. Unlike Becca and Dan, who are trying hard and haven’t quite got it right, Jasmine is wholly ‘other’. She’s like that bright pop of colour in a monochrome decorating scheme. I realise Dan – I mean, Jude – was exactly right to invite her. She’s already entertaining us with a story about almost getting arrested because she wanted to climb the Brooklyn Bridge in order to get just the right shot of the mesmerising pattern made by its suspension wires.
We sit down to dinner and when the servers have made sure our glasses are filled, Cam stands up. ‘Can’t start a good dinner without a toast,’ he says, grinning. ‘So, cheers to Jude and Meg, the most annoyingly stylish couple I know!’ There’s a murmur of hear, hear and everyone downs a sip, but Cam doesn’t sit down, instead he turns and looks down at Issie. ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he says, sneaking a look at Jude and me, ‘but I want to make a toast to this lovely lady too …’
The women at the table go all soppy, apart from Jasmine, who looks on with the same kind of interest one reserves for a riveting documentary.
‘To Issie … who’s finally decided to make an honest man of me!’
Issie blushes and flashes the absolutely massive diamond gracing her left hand. Dinner is delayed while hugs and congratulations are exchanged and when we’re finally back in our seats, Jude lifts his glass and says, ‘If you’re going to find yourself a ball and chain, Issie is certainly one of the sweetest, loveliest ones imaginable.’
Cam was looking fit to burst with joy, anyway, but now his smile reaches maximum wattage. ‘Had to really … she’s preggers, you see.’
I hadn’t been expecting that. And while everyone else fusses round Issie, congratulating her gently then slapping Cam heartily on the back, I’m frozen to the spot. Frozen inside. At first I make it look as if I’m hanging back to give her some room, but then I realise I can’t behave like that. I force myself to move and kiss her on the cheek, whisper how happy I am for her.
But then Flora chimes in and says, ‘What a coincidence! I was going to tell everyone tonight that I’m expecting too …’
I find I have an urgent need to leave the room and check on something in the kitchen.
Get a grip of yourself, Maggie, I tell myself as I brace my hands against the counter and take a few deep breaths, aware the catering staff are doing their best not to watch me. I heave what feels like a whole pint of air in through my nostrils and stand up tall.
When I get back to the table, they’re talking about due dates – only five days apart! Isn’t that amazing? – and NCT classes. I slide into my seat, keeping my gaze lowered, and I feel Jude’s eyes on me. He squeezes my hand under the table. ‘OK?’ he asks, only loud enough for me to hear. His expression is questioning, but not the I-know-what’s-up-and-just-checking-you’re-OK sort, more the I-haven’t-got-the-foggiest-what’s-got-into-her variety. I give him a look that says it’ll save for later, then flash him my best smile and turn my attention to my guests.
‘What about you, Jasmine?’ Patrick asks as we dig into our quails’ eggs. ‘Got any children?’
Jasmine looks up, genuinely surprised he has asked her this question, even given that pregnancy and babies has been the sole topic of conversation for the last five minutes. ‘No,’ she says, after cutting into tiny, shiny white egg so the sunflower-yellow yolk bleeds out, ‘never saw the point.’
The pregnant mums in the room stare at her. The men stroke their backs gently, as if the state of not having any babies could be infectious and they need to guard them against it. Jude’s hand stays on his cutlery.
Jasmine’s not stupid. She knows the effect her statement has made, but she seeks to qualify its bluntness. ‘It’s my work, you see? Wouldn’t be fair on the sprogs. I’d want them with me, not tucked away in some ghastly boarding school. Would have been OK when they’re tiny, I suppose, but I visit some pretty desolate places. Not much in the way of healthcare or education.’
Both Flora and Issie relax
visibly. Becca nods her understanding.
‘There you go,’ Cam the joker says, ‘talking about New York again …’
It’s not actually that funny, but everyone jumps on the chance to laugh, to lighten the celebratory atmosphere that Jasmine shot down with her statement. I got the strange impression she rather enjoyed that.
‘Anyway,’ she says, picking up the thread of the conversation again and taking ownership of it, ‘I made a choice. When it came to children or career, I chose career. For me, at least, children would have been a compromise. I needed to follow my passion.’
The logical bit of me and the feminist side of me applaud her honesty and her sacrifice, respect her choice. The side of me that sees Jude nodding along and smiling at her words wants to shout and scream, but this is my fancy dinner party so I do neither.
No one else has anything to say on the subject after that, so they get to the business of finding out more about each other. Andrew gets quizzed on his work and there’s a great deal of interest when he reveals someone has asked him to install a panic room. Most of the rest of them don’t know what this is, but I do. I saw the film with Jodie Foster. Two years in the future.
Jasmine holds court about her precious photography for at least half an hour. Am I being a cow if I say she’s starting to irritate me? There’s something so … entitled … about her. Anyway, she hogs centre stage until the main course is cleared and while she pops to the loo, Patrick turns to Dan.
‘So what do you do?’
Dan isn’t fazed by the question, even though we’ve just been listening to Andrew talk about the celebrity pads he’s built or Jasmine’s tales of trekking through forgotten mountain ranges to meet isolated tribes. ‘I’m an English teacher.’
‘Good for you,’ Patrick says. I don’t know if he’s trying to be patronising but it certainly comes out that way.
Becca bristles. ‘He’s writing a book too,’ she says loudly. ‘He’s very good.’
Jude smiles magnanimously at her. ‘Everybody’s mum and their girlfriend always thinks – ’