by Rosie Blake
‘Lottie,’ he said and I could picture him now in the coffee shop mid-spiel, scooping up his mobile, a smile still on his lips from whatever story Storm was telling. Probably something about her five-a-side naked volleyball team or her part-time job as a contortionist. I hoped next time she straightened her hair a little bit of fringe burnt off.
‘Are you all right?’ He had forgotten to be frosty with me and for a second it was like any other phone call we had ever exchanged.
‘I’m fine, I . . . ’ What could I say? I’m in Pimlico and I was standing in a smelly doorway staring at you with your new girlfriend, and who is going to get the chairs if we split? You arsehole, you no-good lying piece of—
‘Lottie, sorry, I can’t take long.’ His voice became more guarded.
‘Right, well, I wondered . . . I just . . . hoped we could meet, to talk,’ I said, the words stilted.
A fraction of a pause, someone dropped a spoon near him. Stupid, spoon-dropping Storm with her tiny hands that can’t even hold cutlery right.
‘I’m just busy working on something right now actually, Lottie. Is it OK if we catch up later?’
The lie threw me. Working? So supping a cappuccino and sharing a carrot cake qualified as work, did it? My grip on the phone tightened. I found I didn’t have the words. I could hear the gurgle and steam from a coffee machine. Oh, so they do macchiatos in the office now, Luke, do they? Do they? Nothing came out of my mouth, though. My brain dried up. Even my usual curses had left me. A hole was opening beneath me: black and impossible.
‘I’ll be back tonight,’ he said, a stiffness to his voice.
‘Great,’ I whispered, not knowing what else to say, ending the call with a muffled, ‘Have to go.’
He would be back tonight, but then what?
Darling Cora,
I think I’ve got myself in a bit of a pickle. Lottie was here today. She arrived earlier in the afternoon, having got out of court unexpectedly. She turned up with the usual leather bag stuffed with paper and despite the mountain of paperwork seemed distracted. Even under the glamorous outfit, all dots and flame-red lips, she looked pale, eyes red-rimmed, and for a horrible moment I thought she was going to start crying. She fiddled with the collar of her shirt, clearly needing to talk. She was hesitant at first.
‘Grandad?’
‘Yes.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Nothing.’
She sat at the kitchen table and I loitered and tried to seem uninterested, pretending to rearrange the fruit bowl. There was one apple and two bananas in it so there was only so much rearranging one could do. I was about to move on to checking the cutlery drawer, as if somehow the cutlery might be missing, when she piped up again. ‘Do you think, did you know . . . ’
Lottie, who is normally so eloquent, able to turn a fine phrase since she was a young girl, seemed to be tying herself in knots to get something out. I remember listening to you two, conversation flowing freely, from my spot in the living room. I desperately tried to think of a way to make things easier for her. ‘Anything on your mind?’
My direct approach seemed to do the trick. Lottie took a breath and began.
‘I was wondering, in the early days with you and Grandma, whether you knew.’
She stopped then and I realised I would have to say something but this was a little subtle for me and I wasn’t absolutely sure what she was getting at. Christ, this is hard. I have attempted more emotional conversations in the last few months than I have done in twenty years. I do sometimes resent you for not training me harder in this area. ‘What do you mean “knew”?’
‘Did you know Grandma was right for you? That you were meant to be together?’
The question took my breath away. How to sum up what I thought about you? Did I tell her that I knew from that first evening we met? That when you looked at me at that summer barn dance with that candid expression, your skin flushed pink from the heat of the day, your eyes glittering, that I was sure I wanted to spend the rest of my life looking into that face?
‘I desperately wanted her to be because I felt lost when I was with her,’ I said slowly. ‘Tongue-tied, hopeless, short of breath.’
Lottie looked a little taken aback. Certainly as I reviewed my words in my head I realised it was rather more Heathcliff than she perhaps thought I was capable of. She did break into a thin smile. ‘You sound so romantic.’ For a moment she seemed happier but then the same troubled expression crossed her face and she shuffled papers in front of her as if summoning up courage to go on. ‘Did you trust her?’
I couldn’t help answering immediately, without a second thought. ‘Oh, absolutely. She was loyal, she was the finest caretaker of my heart I could imagine.’ I never once doubted you. In fact, I remember early in our courtship overhearing your mother cast a doubt on my suitability, and the certainty with which you told her, ‘Teddy is the best man and will make an excellent husband.’ I’d overheard it. How my chest had puffed and I returned to the room with renewed swagger, unable to resist planting a kiss on your cheek, much to your mother’s distress.
Lottie was quiet again, nodding to herself, and I knew this wasn’t just idle curiosity, this wasn’t about us. I might not be as adept at these conversations as you, but something must have rubbed off because even I’m not a complete idiot.
‘Are you worried about Luke?’ I couldn’t keep the surprise from my voice. She had always been so sure about Luke, telling us in those early weeks that she’d found someone special. We were so excited for her, and it had been clear from early on that she was absolutely right.
She didn’t answer and I felt the start of a small fear grip my heart. I always hated to see her unhappy.
‘I think he’s lying to me.’
I was surprised at this statement. Luke didn’t seem like the furtive type. He was a straightforward fellow. You’d always said he had an open, friendly face and I knew what you meant.
‘There’s someone who works for him. She’s young, pretty and, well, I think he was with her earlier.’
Did ‘with her’ mean anything more these days? I wasn’t at all sure of the latest lingo and started to panic. ‘With her?’ I needed clarification.
‘Yes, with her, in a coffee shop by his office.’
Breath left my body as I realised ‘with her’ still just meant ‘with her’ in the normal way. Not like when Howard told me something was ‘sick’ and that meant it was good.
‘And she often answers his phone, and she’s around him a lot. I’ve seen her at his desk and she even told me once that she fancied him . . . ’
The last bit came out in a one long gush and I frowned. It wasn’t like Lottie to doubt him, and Luke wasn’t the sort to stray.
‘I’m sure it was nothing. Luke is always friendly, always nice to people. It’s probably completely innocent. You should ask him.’
Lottie was quiet again, folding a paper napkin in her hands, then shredding it bit by bit. ‘He sees her every day. And you always read about affairs happening in the workplace, don’t you? And they work together.’
‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,’ I protested, pulling up a chair opposite her.
‘She’s pretty. All red hair, big eyes and an amazing figure.’
I started to feel a creeping sense of dread. This sounded suspiciously like the girl Luke was working with on Arjun’s secret project. Is that why they were meeting outside work? I wanted to say something but I had promised Arjun and you know how I loathe breaking a promise. You never really forgave me for not telling you that Geoffrey had bought that lemon drizzle cake for the fête competition from M&S. Lottie looked so sad, though. My eyes roved the room as she continued.
‘I’m too scared to ask him. I’ve been such a grumpy cow recently, always sniping at him.’
I opened my mouth to protest but even I had seen Lottie snapping at him lately, rolling her eyes at the smallest thing, tired and impatient and taking it out on him. ‘We all behave badly sometimes,’ I comp
romised.
She looked at me weakly and nodded, aware that I hadn’t exactly batted her statement away. Her eyes had started to swim then and I cursed you, Cora. Why weren’t you here? I am sure this conversation would have gone a hundred times better. ‘But Luke is a trustworthy man and I have every confidence that there is a simple explanation for what you’ve seen.’
Lottie swallowed once, twice, trying to compose herself. I covered her hand with mine. ‘Have some faith in him.’
She pressed her lips together and nodded, slowly sweeping away the shredded napkin into one hand.
‘Thanks, Grandad.’
I felt a warm glow at that, perhaps a glimpse into what it had been like for you, always on the end of the phone ready to listen or advise.
‘Any time. I want you to be happy, Lottie.’ I had more I wanted to say then, things I had been thinking recently, but I knew this probably wasn’t the time. She looked drained and I switched the subject to Tipping Point. I had about 35 recorded!
After a while I offered to order a Chinese and she glanced at the clock above me. ‘Thanks but I better go.’ She indicated the packed briefcase.
I knew not to push it, gave her a quick hug and she left me with my thoughts and half a portion of egg fried rice that I will eat for lunch tomorrow.
I love you, Cora.
Teddy x
Chapter 23
Love is like chicken pox: we all catch it in the end
STANLEY, 82
I was late, dishevelled, head pounding, make-up long gone. I just wanted to be alone, to curl up under the duvet, close my eyes and try to forget the day. I had barely slept after getting back from Grandad’s the night before, Luke already asleep (or pretending to be) beside me. The day in court had zapped any remaining energy. The work wasn’t complicated but I had travelled to Winchester for a hearing, loitered outside the court to be heard and then headed back on delayed trains, trying to juggle the work I had lined up and focus rather than replay the images I had seen in that Pimlico café. He had lied. I knew that. Why had he lied?
And now I was off to another evening being wooed by a boyfriend who I was fairly sure might dump me at any moment. What a joke! How could we get through the evening when we were barely on speaking terms?
Geoffrey’s house was compact and impossibly tidy. Shoes lined the polished corridor, coats hung in a regimented line, a small side table was bare but for a glasses case and a pair of golf gloves.
Geoffrey welcomed me with a shy kiss on the cheek. ‘It’s good to see you, Lottie.’
‘You too,’ I croaked, not wanting to give away the fact that I had been trying not to weep on public transport for much of the afternoon.
He showed me into an equally neat living room, a large sofa pushed back against the wall, on which sat Grandad, Howard and Arjun. Against the opposite wall a mahogany table was covered in wine glasses, all filled with varying degrees of liquid. I could definitely do with the drink and headed straight for the table.
Reaching out a hand (I believe Geoffrey had somewhat over-catered, there must have been eight times the number of glasses that we needed), I was stopped in my tracks by all four of the men shouting, ‘No!’
‘What? What is it?’ I cried, leaping backwards, one hand flying to my chest.
Geoffrey started forward. ‘They’re not for drinking. Let me get you something from the kitchen. Those are part of the evening’s entertainment.’
I frowned, unsure. Were we going to play drinking games?
My mind boggled as I took a seat on a stiff-backed wooden chair, the older men now taking their seats. I felt a surge of relief to see their kindly faces and wondered guiltily if Luke might refuse to come.
Geoffrey returned with a glass, two ice cubes fast melting. ‘It’s flavoured with warmed coriander,’ he said, handing it to me.
‘Disgusting,’ Howard said. ‘I threw mine away, Lottie. Try the wine.’
‘I’m all right,’ I said, simply grateful to be sitting down with a drink.
‘Any interesting cases?’ Arjun asked, leaning forward a little and bringing his hands together in a steeple as he looked at me. It struck me then that he looked different, his cheeks a little hollower, his normally glossy dark hair flecked with more grey. I frowned, wondering if it was the lighting or just my imagination.
‘Nothing too gripping. My guy broke another guy’s nose but my guy says that it was self-defence and he’s been stitched up because that guy fancies his wife. It got pretty ugly during questioning.’
‘High drama.’ Arjun lifted his eyebrows. Did I imagine him pausing to take a breath between those two words?
Just then the doorbell went and Geoffrey disappeared. I sat up in my chair, placing my glass on the floor to fiddle with my hair, straighten my top. I felt nerves flutter in my stomach. I could hear Luke’s voice in the corridor, footsteps getting closer. Grandad looked across at me, an inscrutable expression on his face. I swallowed, picked up my glass again and tried to look as casual as I could in the world’s most uncomfortable wooden chair when he appeared in the doorway.
He looked tired, his normally smooth face lined, bags under his eyes. He glanced across at me and then away. I felt my body droop, bit my lip to stop myself from reacting any more. I wouldn’t have a meltdown in Geoffrey’s living room. I remembered the words I had spat at him during our last row. Why did I always have to be so vicious to the one person who always supported me? I seemed to possess a self-destructive streak, tempting my relationship to implode. No wonder he was seeking solace in Red-Haired Cow Face.
‘Hey,’ he said, looking at me again, accepting another glass from Geoffrey and moving across the room to sit on the other side of the sofa next to Howard.
‘I don’t even want to smell it,’ Howard said dramatically, staring at Luke’s glass.
‘Hey,’ I replied a little too loudly, a little too bright. I felt my mouth ache with the false smile I had fixed on my face.
Geoffrey returned from the kitchen, fiddling with his collar as he cleared his throat. I wasn’t used to seeing him in charge, normally so softly spoken and happy for others to take the limelight. Now, though, his voice was direct, louder as he stepped in front of the table filled with glasses, clutching some A4 papers in his hand. For a moment I wondered if he had prepared a speech.
‘Well, we’re all here now and I am excited to introduce you to musical glasses, something extremely popular in the eighteenth century. I have spent the day carefully working out the correct levels of liquid needed in each glass—’
‘Loser,’ Howard heckled, earning a boo from the rest of the sofa.
Geoffrey flushed. ‘—and have printed off sheet music to be distributed amongst you.’ He licked a finger and carefully peeled off the top sheet from the pile in his hands, handing it to me, before doing the same with the others.
There was some muttering as people took in the dots, lines, squiggles and numbers, and then some reaching for glasses cases and general rustling. I looked down at the music in front of me, numbers circled in a careful hand. It had obviously taken him an age. Geoffrey finished handing out the pieces of paper and stepped back to his spot in front of the table.
‘I will be conducting each song, so just follow my directions. I thought we could start simply and go from there. I hope you find it a fulfilling and worthwhile way to spend your evening.’
I wanted to clap this speech, feeling grateful for the effort he had so obviously gone to. Luke, of course, didn’t hold back, calling out, ‘Sounds great,’ so that Geoffrey turned an even deeper red.
‘Well, yes, so let me arrange you in the room and direct you to your glasses.’
He gently guided me over to stand near the mantelpiece, placing five wine glasses on a tray on the seat of the wooden chair in front of me. Then he directed us all to stand in a loose semi-circle facing him, like a choir.
‘Luke, if you could help me shift the sofa, then people can sit down if they want, but don’t forget which tray of dri
nks is yours. I have numbered the glasses to coordinate with the sheet music. Glass One is Song One and so on. It should be very straightforward.’
‘What’s in them?’ Howard asked, lifting one of his glasses off the tray.
‘Just water,’ Geoffrey said, before turning puce as Howard raised it closer to his lips. ‘Don’t drink it! I would have to remeasure your glass,’ he cried in a loud voice, Howard almost spilling the glass in surprise.
‘Calm down, man, I was just taking a closer look.’
‘Ah,’ Geoffrey said, clearing his throat again. ‘Apologies, it’s just things have to be very precise.’
Luke and he rearranged the furniture so that everyone could sit down and rest if standing got too much. Arjun was humming an obscure tune, Grandad was peering at him over his glasses and Howard kept picking up a glass to drink from, huffing, and finding the one with his wine in.
‘Bloody confusing.’
‘Should have stuck with the gin.’ Grandad laughed.
Luke had barely glanced in my direction, actively setting himself up on the other side of the semi-circle. I sneaked a look across at him, his mouth turned down, his eyes duller. Had I done that to him? Or was it guilt? He seemed less buoyant than normal, his tone dull, sentences shorter.
‘Right, let’s see how this goes,’ Geoffrey began, holding up both hands. ‘The circled numbers correspond to the glass you need to play. I have ensured the glass will play the correct note.’
‘How clever,’ Arjun said.
‘Did England win today, by the way?’ Howard interrupted.
‘Win what?’ Grandad asked.
‘The cricket.’
Geoffrey was staring at them. I had that uncomfortable feeling I used to get in the classroom as a teenager when the teacher was staring at a pupil who was completely oblivious.
‘Who were they playing?’
‘Pakistan.’
‘When you have quite finished,’ Geoffrey said in a stern voice.
‘You’re in trouble,’ sing-songed Arjun, nudging Grandad.