Back After the Break

by Anita Notaro

  Suddenly there were speeches and Tom Watts – who was making good progress – sent them all champagne. Jonathan presented her with flowers and she was forced to say a few words, but she almost ran back to Colin, who kept his arm around her for ages after.

  She was coming back from the loo when Chris appeared out of nowhere. ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I tried to talk to you weeks ago, remember, but you couldn’t spare the time. Now I don’t think there’s anything left to say.’ She was still smarting from seeing her replacement.

  ‘Stop playing games with me, let’s just—’

  ‘Hi, I wondered where you’d got to . . .’ His new girlfriend suddenly appeared at his side and Lindsay gave him the dirtiest look she could manage and made her escape, feeling sick all over again.

  She stuck like glue to Colin for the next half-hour and then they sneaked away as soon as they could, narrowly avoiding Penelope and Chris’s mother.

  ‘Did you get to meet our own Penelope Cruz?’

  ‘Yep, good-looking girl. Who is she?’

  ‘Chris’s girlfriend.’

  Colin whistled. ‘He certainly didn’t give that impression when she stopped at our table. Anyway, she won’t be around for long, I’m afraid. Girls like her are two a penny, lovely to look at but nothing to say. He’ll be bored stiff in a week.’

  ‘Liar.’

  ‘Honest, I know these things, I’m a man. Trust me.’

  He came back to her house, had a beer and she made hot chocolate, then they curled up on the couch and chatted for ages, until she felt her eyes going.

  ‘Can I stay?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to?’

  ‘I think you need someone to snuggle up to and I’ve been lonely without you.’ He kissed her then, a long, slow, gentle kiss. He borrowed her toothbrush, she cleaned her face and they snuggled down in her comfy old bed. She was asleep within seconds, despite herself.

  Next morning she woke to the doorbell ringing and for a second she was startled to find someone in her bed, so she jumped up too quickly and had to lie back down again.

  ‘Want me to get it?’

  ‘Are you joking? It’s the girls, do you want to give them a heart attack?’

  She struggled to let them in, then legged it to the bathroom. When she came downstairs she found the three of them making breakfast as if it was all quite normal.

  ‘You know each other then?’ she asked, and they all stopped what they were doing.

  ‘God you look awful, here, sit down.’ Debbie was over like a flash.

  ‘I’m OK, better now.’ She cursed herself for not making any effort, assuming that Colin would have stayed in bed. He was padding around in his bare feet and looked completely at ease.

  ‘Back in a minute.’ She had to run again and this time she dressed, brushed her hair and applied a bit of stick foundation and blusher, so that she looked half human.

  They sat around for hours, eating, talking and reading all the papers and watching bits of the show again, until Colin left at five to see his folks and then meet some friends. He promised to call her next morning and they arranged to spend the day together.

  The girls loved him, just as she knew they would, and they wanted to hear all about the party. There was a stony silence when she mentioned ‘Penelope Cruz’ but otherwise they asked lots of questions, especially about Colin and Chris talking for so long.

  ‘What was it about?’ Debbie demanded.

  ‘I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I don’t care,’ Lindsay said simply and they knew she was lying.

  Next day, on her way to meet Colin at his hotel, she got a text from Chris.

  WE NEED 2 TALK. R U FREE 2DAY?

  She selected erase and continued on her journey, wishing she could erase him from her mind as easily.

  They headed off for a walk in Stephen’s Green. Colin looked relaxed in faded denim jeans and an old sweater. They took in an afternoon movie, then had an early dinner in a great new Thai place. No one bothered them at all, in fact few seemed to recognize him and they both relaxed and talked for Ireland.

  ‘So, tell me what’s next?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got a couple of weeks to clear up the programme, which I can do in my own time, then I go off to the West of Ireland, to a tiny little village to learn how to cook for three months.’

  ‘What for? You told me yourself you’re a good cook.’

  ‘This is different, it will give me a professional qualification so that, if I ever had to change my job I have something to fall back on. Besides, it’s something I’ve always wanted to do for myself.’

  ‘But I thought you loved TV?’

  ‘I do, but with a baby, who knows . . . I couldn’t have done this show with a child, endless late nights, all day Saturday—’

  ‘Lindsay, I still think you need to let Chris in on this . . .’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Look, the other night, talking to him, well . . . he’s a really nice guy – no ego, very grounded. I think he’d want to be part of this baby and it’s his child too.’

  ‘No. Look, he dumped me without even allowing me an explanation. He had another woman within a week, he couldn’t even spare me ten minutes to talk to him when I told him it was important . . . and just in case I missed all that, he brought a different girl along on Saturday night. I am not giving him the chance to hurt me ever again. Why can no one understand that?’

  ‘I do, I really do.’ He could see she was upset. ‘It’s just that, I think somewhere you’ve got your wires crossed and you need to sort things out, at some point. He asked me a lot about you, about us, the other night. He didn’t act like someone who didn’t care, he was way too interested in where you and I were at. All this in spite of the fact that he thinks you cheated on him first.’

  ‘I did not cheat on him. For fuck’s sake, Colin, whose side are you on? Saturday night was his last opportunity to talk to me and what did he do? He brought along his latest squeeze.’

  ‘She wasn’t important.’

  ‘He goes away tomorrow and by the time he comes back I’ll be gone.’ She wanted to howl at the sheer frustration of it all. ‘Look, it’s over as far as I’m concerned and I’m not going for a sympathy vote just because I was foolish enough to get pregnant. I don’t want him under those circumstances.’

  They talked for ages and he dropped her home and didn’t offer to come in. She was a bit sad because she hoped they’d make love again, but felt too moany and bloated and insecure to suggest it.

  They met for brunch next day but things were still a bit strained, and he left to catch his flight after promising to call and holding her tight.

  She went for a walk on her own and when she arrived home at four o’clock her neighbour had taken a delivery of flowers for her – a big, fat bunch of the most amazing scented stocks, in lavender and purple and creamy white and surrounded by a mass of delicate green fronds. The card said simply ‘We really do need to talk. Call me if you get this before 3 p.m. Otherwise, I’ll be in touch as soon as I get back.’ She tore it up.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  A FEW WEEKS later, on a bright Sunday afternoon, Lindsay and Charlie arrived at Inisfree Farm Cookery School, in a tiny little village in the West of Ireland. She’d left home that morning, waved off by her sister and her two best friends and it had all been a bit emotional, even though she was only going less than two hundred miles away and would probably be on the phone to each one of them every single day.

  The girl at reception showed Lindsay to her home for the next three months and handed over a thick file with all the course information.

  ‘Here we are. You’re in Rose Cottage, it’s tiny but it’s the only one that you can have to yourself, which you asked for specifically.’ She smiled. All the cottages were within a half-mile radius of the school, Lindsay was told, and all had been given the names of shrubs and flowers. ‘The one closest to you is Hawthorn Cottage,’ she added, pointing to a sunny yellow, higgledy-piggledy lit
tle house, ‘and that’s Fuschia Lodge through the trees.’ Lindsay could see a charming thatched cottage that looked like a mansion. ‘It sleeps ten, so it’s very big whereas you have a tiny kitchen, a living room and a bedroom and bathroom in the attic, but at least it’s all yours.’

  The young girl turned the key in the front door. Lindsay hoped her bump would be able to negotiate the narrow, winding staircase in the corner of the pretty, country-style living room. It was very basic but charming, with floral curtains and a big bowl of peony roses on the scrubbed pine table. It had a huge open fire with a basket of logs beside it and French doors leading to a tiny cottage garden. There was even a cosy little corner for Charlie.

  ‘It’s perfect, thank you.’

  ‘People normally organize their own breakfast, although there’ll be tea and scones each morning when you arrive at the kitchen. I’ve left you bread and milk and eggs and jam for tomorrow. If you need anything else just ask. Lunch is the main meal and is very substantial and you all eat together in the big dining room. When you finish there are always bits and pieces to take home, whatever you’ve cooked in the afternoon or some hot bread or cheese from the main kitchen. There’s also an organic shop where you can buy fresh fruit and vegetables and lots of goodies and a small supermarket in the village, which you probably saw on your way in. Most of the students only go to the village for a drink in the local pub. Some people go home at weekends, but I understand you’ll be staying with us. Feel free to wander around the farm, the private gardens, the orchard, anywhere you like, in fact. If you go through the gate at the end of the garden it will take you down to the beach and you can walk for miles along the edge of the water. Your dog should enjoy himself, I think there are about nine dogs here altogether.’ Lindsay thanked her and walked her to the door. ‘They also might occasionally ask for your help in the main kitchen at weekends, in which case you’ll be paid an hourly rate. It’s good fun, you’ll enjoy it.’

  ‘Thanks, I’m sure I’ll think of lots of questions the minute you’re gone.’

  ‘Well, call over anytime to reception, I’m Imelda, by the way, and I’m there until seven each evening.’

  Lindsay thanked her and unpacked the car and went for a walk with Charlie. It was perfectly still, one of those balmy, early summer evenings and the fragrance in the gardens was almost overpowering. She sat on an old, iron seat for ages while her dog sniffed and explored to his heart’s content. The sun was warm on her shoulders and she felt calm and at peace and very alone, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

  Next morning, Lindsay woke and couldn’t remember where she was for a second. It was so noisy, but not the normal, early morning city sounds she was used to. Instead, there was a ferocious clatter of birds singing and cows mooing and hens clucking and they all seemed to have gathered outside her bedroom window to welcome her to the country.

  She presented herself at reception at five to nine, feeling excited and nervous and conscious of her bulging tummy, which she was still hoping to hide for a bit longer. She was ushered into the demonstration kitchen, which was already home to about twenty other people. Lindsay smiled and sat down and looked around at her classmates.

  There were a lot of cute student types and they all looked like Enrique Iglesias, wearing woollen hats in summer. Judging by their accents not many were Irish and Lindsay noticed a couple of older, obviously retired people grouped together on the opposite side of the room. She couldn’t see anyone even vaguely her own age and there wasn’t a sign of swollen ankles or a big tummy anywhere.

  The school was owned and run by a young couple, Carlo was Italian and Lucy was Irish. They introduced themselves and explained what the course was all about and it was clear within minutes that they were passionate about what they did and committed to using the finest, local ingredients in season. The room that was to be home to them for the next three months was a massive, hi-tech, stainless steel kitchen and classroom all rolled into one. It was flooded with natural light, courtesy of three sets of double doors that led across a pretty courtyard to the bakery, smoking house and organic farm shop. The yard outside was full of tubs and baskets filled with tomatoes, herbs, vegetables and fruit and there were fat cats snoozing on warm window sills, hens clucking around looking for a birthing box and dogs – including Charlie this morning – playing kiss chase.

  Each student was given an old-fashioned desk, the type that still had an inkwell and a lid for keeping books under. They also had a locker for storing their aprons, knives and other equipment that they’d been instructed to bring with them. The course was designed for students who had a basic knowledge of cooking and understood most of the terms and methods used in an everyday kitchen. It ran from nine to five, Monday to Friday, with lectures and visits to local specialists on one or two evenings each week. They were given a detailed timetable and every minute was accounted for. Mondays and Fridays were practical, hands-on days and students were expected to dress appropriately. Tuesdays were taken up with demonstrations, Wednesdays were to be spent in the classroom and Thursdays were for visiting lecturers and specialist demos, such as cheesemaking and wine tasting. There was also a strong business element to the course and a special emphasis on outside catering, which interested Lindsay. The first morning was for settling in and included a tour of the hundred-and-forty-acre farm and a visit to the family-run aromatherapy room, which housed a thriving cottage industry producing essential oils. They had morning coffee on a sunny veranda overlooking the lavender field, and everyone got a chance to meet and greet.

  All the woollies wanted to know if there was a local disco and what the pubs were like, while the oldies had already organized a bridge evening for the following night in Primrose Cottage. Lindsay got chatting to Mandy, a thirty-something, passionate foodie from New York, who was planning to open her own restaurant with her business-graduate sister. They were joined by a shy forty-year-old from Scotland called Gail, who was a civil servant hoping to change career. Lindsay was in her element.

  Things settled down very quickly after that and life became a not-very-complicated knitting pattern. She tried to walk on the beach each morning with Charlie, who only went along to humour her, she suspected, now that he had his own mates, Rusty and Spank. He was gone all day every day and only appeared when darkness fell. Sometimes she even went to bed before him and left the back door open – it was that type of place – and his beanbag was always empty in the morning when she struggled downstairs, wondering if he’d come home at all from the dog disco or from shagging Twinkle, the local neighbourhood tart.

  About two weeks into the course Lindsay got a text message from Chris.

  BACK N DUB. WUD LIKE 2 MEET. R U AROUND?

  She did nothing for a day or two, nothing that is, except think about him constantly and wish things had worked out differently. But it was miles too late now.

  Eventually, she sent a reply.

  AWAY TIL SEPT/OCT. NOTHING LEFT 2 SAY. HOPE THINGS GO WELL 4 U.

  As soon as she’d pressed the send button she wished she hadn’t. She didn’t get a reply.

  The days were full and Lindsay was kept busy and she relaxed and enjoyed country life, revelling in learning more about something she already loved.

  In the evenings she walked around the massive gardens, got lost frequently and somehow always ended up outside Primrose Cottage, where Jack, the oldest of the course participants, invariably sat drinking his nightly brandy. They chatted for ages most evenings and he told her stories of growing up in the area, moving to London when he married and coming back to settle in the West after the death of his wife Gertie two years ago. He couldn’t boil an egg when she died because she wouldn’t ever let him into the kitchen but now he was a keen cook and his family had given him a present of this course for his seventieth birthday.

  Later in the evenings Lindsay studied or sent e-mails on the communal computer in the library, or tucked herself up in bed with a book and a cup of cocoa. To most it would have been deadly boring but it
was just what she needed at the moment and she almost got lost in her own, private little world. One evening, lying in bed, she felt the baby move for the first time and it was the weirdest feeling, confirmation that a new life was growing inside her, something she was still trying to ignore. She needed someone to talk to and she phoned Colin and amazingly she got him. They kept in touch through e-mails and the occasional phone call. He was just finishing a movie and planning to take the girls to Florida for a holiday.

  ‘I just felt the baby kick.’

  ‘Wow, that’s great, how did it feel?’

  ‘Funny . . . very odd really. It made me feel sad for it, tucked away in there with its mother pretending it doesn’t exist.’

  ‘I don’t think you’re doing that.’

  ‘Yes I am. I’m not normal. I don’t talk to it or sing to it or play it music. When I’m not exhausted or throwing up I just pretend it’s not there.’

  ‘You’re doing OK, don’t worry. Next time I see you I’ll recite Shakespeare to your tummy.’

  As always she felt better for having talked to him and a week later an enormous parcel arrived from him, containing lots of tiny little clothes – fluffy nightwear, bobbly hats, miniature vests and furtrimmed mittens and a pair of blue suede shoes – and she took them out and played with them sometimes as if they were doll’s clothes.

  She’d got to know Mandy and Gail quite well, they sat together drinking coffee in the evenings or wandered down to the local pub occasionally. Mandy was a divorcée from the Bronx, independent and tough minded, and Lindsay liked her a lot. Gail was much more refined, had nursed her elderly mother until she died the previous year, and had inherited a fortune and now felt guilty. She was kind, always trying to help or seeking approval, and the other two encouraged her as much as they could, without ever talking about it.