A Very Accidental Love Story

by Claudia Carroll

On and on Helen happily chats, idly wondering if she should call Darren first this evening, or wait till he calls her, then act all surprised to hear from him, in the perpetual game of ‘who’ll blink first’ she seems to play with him. Meanwhile, I fish through my overstuffed bag and produce some of Lily’s high-factor sunscreen which I lash onto my face (more than likely rash red by now).

  ‘Lily? Will you come over here pet, so I can put more cream on you?’ I discreetly change the subject, calling over to where the child is having the best laugh with another adorably cute little girl, with a mop of springy jet black jack-in-the-box curls that stretch all the way down to her bum.

  ‘NO Mama! Me and Hannah are playing teddies picnic!! Hannah’s my fwiend now!’

  Now, normally Lily is a terrible little attention seeker whenever there are grown-ups around: ‘Mama look at ME!’ every two seconds, that kind of thing, but today she’s so utterly absorbed in bonding with her new buddy, she’s barely looking twice at me or Helen. And I smile, absolutely loving this newfound independence she’s developing.

  ‘Isn’t this just the life, Eloise?’ Helen eventually says, lying back down and stretching out on the rug again.

  ‘The sun? Oh yeah, just bliss …’

  ‘No, you eejit, I mean you and me. Being able to sit here and talk boys. Do you realise this is the first time I think we’ve ever done this?’

  I smile at her and lie back on the rug again, luxuriating in the heat, happy to see Helen if not happy and in love then at least reasonably contented with her lot – for the moment at least – and Lily so elated, playing away with her new little pal.

  God’s in his Heaven, I think contentedly, all’s right with the world.

  This warm, blissed-out feeling lasts for approximately another two minutes … and that’s when I see them.

  Relaxed as you like, strolling through the Green, deep in chat.

  Jake. But he’s not alone. He’s with a youngish woman, tall, tall, tall, so tall that when I look at her, all I see is long, suntanned legs all the way up to her earlobes, wearing skinny tight, tight, tight jeans that really only an eighteen-year-old can carry off. Looking like she’s on her way to do a promotional gig for a sports car. Long, dark, swishy hair, bracelets that jangle with her as she walks and teeth so pearly white they’d nearly dazzle you. For some reason, just looking at her makes the song The Girl from Ipanema randomly drift through my head.

  In a second, I’m sitting bolt upright and rooting though my bag for my sunglasses, which thank God are the approximate size of two dinner plates and effectively cover up most of my face.

  He hasn’t seen me, there’s every chance he hasn’t seem me, or Helen or …

  Oh for f*ck’s sake … Lily …

  I scan around to check on her, but know right well that if I even try to drag her away from her new pal and all the fun she’s having, she’ll immediately scream the whole Green down, thereby attracting even more attention to us.

  Best to leave her be and hope he just keeps on walking … Please, for the love of God, don’t let him look over this way …

  But it’s too late. There’s a fork in the path Jake and The Girl from Ipanema were on and of course, life being what it is, they take the path closest to us.

  It’s okay, I think, my vision dimming as a dull, sickening panic starts to set in. All is not lost. If I can just keep my head and quietly sneak out of here right now, all may yet be well.

  He won’t even know Helen or Lily, so as long as he doesn’t see me, I may just come out of this and live to tell the tale …

  Next thing, I’m surreptitiously glancing around for either a tree or some bushes that I can make a run for, like an extra in a Vietnam War movie diving for cover, when Helen suddenly sits bolt upright, seeming to sense the tense, nervous agitation practically pinging off me.

  ‘You OK, love?’ she asks me, all concerned.

  ‘Got to go,’ I hiss at her brusquely. ‘I’ll tell you why later. Gotta run, right now. Explain to Lily for me and I’ll call you when I’m back at the …’

  ‘Eloise? Is that you? Jeez, thought I was seeing things there for a minute.’

  Shit and double shit.

  Too late. He saw me, it’s him. As ever, towering over me, eyes crinkling at the sides as his warm, trusting face breaks into a big, delighted smile.

  ‘Oh … emm, … Jake! Hi!’ I say, over-brightly, standing up and brushing some of the grass off my work skirt. ‘Great to see you! I was, emm, just leaving! Now!’

  He seems to sense the rising hysteria in my voice, and is straight onto me, the way he’s always onto everything in a nanosecond flat.

  ‘You OK?’ he asks, face screwed up with concern.

  ‘Oh, yes! Just great! I really do have to get going now though, right NOW. So we’ll talk soon, byeeeee!’

  ‘Sure you’re alright?’

  He and The Girl from Ipanema are looking uneasily at each other now, wondering why in hell I’m being quite this rude and anxious to get away from them. Meanwhile I’m furiously semaphoring to Helen to keep her mouth shut and at all costs not to mention Lily …

  Lily. Happily playing just a few feet away from me, like a ticking time bomb.

  ‘Eloise, this is Monique,’ Jake eventually says, introducing her in that relaxed, easy way he has, while Monique smiles her perfect smile and says, ‘’Allo,’ very sexily in what I can only describe as a smokily throaty voice, if ever I heard one. Her face is totally untroubled either by worry or experience, I notice, which irritates me for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Like it’s somehow her fault for only looking about twenty-one, tops.

  ‘Monique is a student at the school,’ Jake casually chats on. ‘She’s from Catalonia, but doing great at the aul’ English, aren’t you Monique? Improving in leaps and bounds.’

  ‘Every day, me Engleeesh get better a leetle bit,’ she says huskily, as Jake nudges her playfully and I catch a tiny, adoring glance as she grins back up at him.

  And even in the throes of my panic, even though it’s just the tiniest gesture, I feel I’m witnessing a burgeoning intimacy between them. Again, which shouldn’t bother me, but does. Your English is improving? I think cattily. Yeah, right. You sound like you’ve just been translated by Google.

  And now Jake is looking expectantly from me to Helen, patiently waiting to be introduced.

  F**k. Which means it’s my turn. And there’s no getting out of this now.

  ‘Emm … Well, this is Jake,’ I say to Helen, hoping she’ll correctly interpret the hot red panic in my eyes. That fraught, urgent look that I hope says, nod, smile, shut up and let’s get us – and more importantly Lily – out of here.

  ‘… And this is Helen,’ I tack on, ‘my sister.’

  Helen’s eyes light up with recognition as she shakes hands with him and Monique while Jake beams even wider, suddenly realising just who she is.

  ‘Well, I think I owe you a massive thank you,’ he tells her kindly, the big eyes twinkling warmly down at her, ‘did you know that I’m lucky enough to be staying in that lovely flat of yours?’

  A quick, panicky look from me, but there’s absolutely no need. Helen doesn’t let me down and chats away easily about how happy she is that he’s settling in, stressing that if he ever has any trouble with the stopcock in the loo or the water pump under the sink, to call her immediately. Not for the first time, I find myself offering up a silent prayer of thanks at Helen’s easy, natural way of bonding with total strangers over the tiniest thing, in this case immersion heaters and the lagging jacket on the boiler. On and on they chat about the flat, Jake filling her in on all the improvements he’s done and is doing, while I surreptitiously swivel round to check on Lily.

  It’s okay. So far, I think I’m just about okay. She’s playing happily away with her new little pal about six feet behind me, her back to us, totally oblivious, not noticing anything and not running over to me yelling, ‘look at me, Mama!’ every two seconds, like she normally would.

 
Which is good. Which is great. Which means I might just get out of this alive, look back and if not laugh, then at least be able to breathe normally again, oooh, in about a decade’s time or so.

  A moment later, I’m aware that all small talk has quietly petered out and everyone’s looking at me, so I pre-empt yet another bowel-clenchingly awkward silence by starting to pack up my bag.

  ‘Well, sorry about this everyone,’ I laugh hysterically, my voice getting higher and higher in direct proportion to how anxious I am, ‘but I’ve really, really got to get …’

  ‘Back to the office, let me take a wild guess,’ Jake smiles and I totally overreact by guffawing like a nutter.

  ‘No worries at all,’ he says, looking at me so keenly it makes me wonder just how he’s interpreting my uneasiness. ‘Monique and I have a class anyway, so we’d better make a move too.’

  ‘Sure! Well, have a great class, don’t let me keep you!’

  Not a word out of Monique, just a curt nod and a toothy smile, so I’m guessing she’s badly in need of a few English phrases to get her by. Mind you, I think cattily, to the Moniques of this world who go around the place looking like Brazilian underwear models, I’m guessing your body language does most of the talking for you, particularly around guys.

  ‘Well lovely to meet you, goodbye now!’ I call out gaily, bag in hand, all ready to rock and roll.

  ‘I’ll give you a call, Eloise,’ Jake smiles kindly at me. ‘Hey, maybe we can meet up this weekend? Have a drink or a bite to eat, if you’d like? Knowing you, you’ll only eat a packet of birdseed and a banana to do you till Monday morning otherwise.’

  ‘Emm, well … You see …’

  Can’t think straight, can’t answer him, can’t do a shagging thing.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he grins easily, ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Then he turns to Helen and warmly says how lovely it was to finally meet her. ‘Heard a lot about you.’

  Oh for Christ’s sake, enough with the bloody social niceties, just go, for the love of God, GO …

  ‘Likewise,’ Helen smiles back, shooting a discreet, ‘you don’t know the half of it’ look to me.

  They’ve almost gone, almost, I’m nearly out of the woods, when next thing, out of nowhere – disaster.

  Lily, seeing me with my bag strapped to me, immediately cops on that I’m leaving and runs over to me as fast as her pudgy little legs will carry her.

  No, no, no, no, no, no, noooooooooooo …

  ‘Don’t go … PLEASE!’ she yells at me, while I bend down to her, hysterically trying to signal to a toddler not to call me Mama, please not now, just not now, just this one time, just not for the next two minutes, just till they’re gone.

  ‘I have a new fwiend!’ she grins toothlessly up at me, ‘AN … you have to say hello! Her name is Hannah.’

  ‘Well goodbye then!’ I say to Jake and The Girl from Ipanema, wishing, willing them to get the hell out of here. Just for the love of God, LEAVE. PLEASE. NOW.

  But I’m out of luck.

  Next thing, Jake is kneeling down to talk to Lily, so he’s on a level with her.

  ‘Well hello there, little lady,’ he grins at her while she looks up at him, mesmerised. ‘What’s your name?’

  And suddenly it’s as though no air moves.

  All I can do is look on, utterly helpless and dumbstruck, imagining that I see a flicker of something in his face … recognition?

  Oh Christ, now my knees are physically starting to buckle.

  ‘Lily though weally it’s Lily Lilibet Emily,’ she tells him seriously, looking at him, totally fascinated.

  Jesus, the resemblance between them is so strong it would almost knock your breath away.

  Same eyes, skin, hair colour, build … It’s astonishing.

  Helen has copped it too; I know by the gobsmacked, shell-shocked look on her face.

  Jake MUST notice it, he can’t not. It’s not possible that he doesn’t see how alike they are …

  Meanwhile I’m rooted to the spot, lantern-jawed, horrified, unable to say or do anything except stand there mutely, wishing I had a paper bag handy to hyperventilate into. For once in Lily’s life, I’m cursing the fact that she’s not a bit shy around strangers.

  Helen clocks my thunderstruck expression, seems to realise that I’m paralysed and useless, totally unable to stop this and calmly rescues me, scooping Lily up into her arms and taking total control of the situation.

  ‘Come on pet, who’d like another ice cream? And maybe your new friend Hannah would like one too? You know, I think I heard an ice-cream van nearby, how about we go and find it?’

  Oh thank Christ for you Helen, thank Christ at least one of us was able to think clearly, to act normally.

  ‘Yay! Tank you!’ Lily squeals delightedly, her little pink face lighting up. ‘I wanna chocolate one with pink spwinkles on the top!’

  ‘Come on then, let’s go,’ says Helen calmly, as Lily kicks to be let down again so she can waddle off and grab her pal.

  ‘She’s such a beautiful kid, a real little princess,’ Jake says simply, looking fondly after her as she waddles off happily.

  ‘Is she yours?’ he asks Helen simply.

  A half beat.

  ‘I’m babysitting her,’ Helen says.

  ‘And she’s how old? I’m guessing about three?’

  ‘In a few weeks’ time, yeah. How did you guess?’

  ‘I’ve a nephew exactly that age. Not as much of a cutie as little Lily though.’

  A tense moment, made worse by my mutely standing on the side lines, powerless to say or do anything in case I make this worse. That’s Lily’s cousin he’s talking about, is all I can think. Lily that never stops harping on about how much she wishes she had little cousins to play with. And the tragedy is that she does, she just doesn’t know it.

  But thank you God; the torture, it seems, is finally over. Next thing, Jake nods and smiles, wishes us a lovely afternoon and a second later, he and The Girl from Ipanema have swished past us and on their way.

  I slump exhaustedly back onto the rug again and knock back the dregs of not only the Pimms I was drinking, but Helen’s as well. If I smoked, I’d be pulling on them two at a time right now.

  ‘Oh my God, he is only bloody divine looking … You never said!’ says Helen, still staring starry-eyed after him.

  ‘I don’t know about you,’ is all I can mutter back, still shell-shocked and with beads of sweat slowly seeping their way from my armpits all the way down my ribcage. ‘But I’ve just had about two years knocked off my life. Now, will you excuse me while I go and have a coronary?’

  I’m running late by almost a full hour when I finally do get back to the office, with a sunburnt red nose and blades of grass stuck all over my black skirt, but for once in my career, I don’t give a shite.

  Can’t. I’m too shaken and trembly and still not the better of what just happened. Maybe in about five years I’ll have recovered, maybe, after some fairly intensive therapy and years spent lying on a psychiatrist’s couch, at a cost of several hundred euro an hour, but sure as hell not now.

  Helen is right. I’ll have to confess all to Jake, I think, mind racing, as I step into the lift on the ground floor going up. I cannot and will not ever go through anything like what just happened. No chickening out of it or putting it on the long finger because I’m so busy having a lovely time with him, I’m just going to grab the bull by the horns and bloody well do it. No more arsing around or dithering; next time I see him, I’m telling him straight out. He said we’d chat this weekend, so when we do, I’ll suggest meeting up and I’ll just come out with it once and for all. Obviously, this will involve getting several large glasses of Pinot Grigiot into me to get up the courage, but hey, there you go.

  And then suddenly I notice that the lift hasn’t stopped on the fourth floor, where my office is. Instead, it’s overshot and is now whizzing right the way up to the top floor. Where the executive suite, or the T. Rexes’ den as I li
ke to call it, is.

  Shit. I wallop the button for my own floor again, still desperately trying to calm down, and try to just concentrate on breathing; in and out, out and in, all while checking my breath for a boozy smell and picking blades of grass off my bum. One massive slug of Rescue Remedy later and I’m starting to feel a little bit more like myself. By which I mean my hands have at least stopped shaking involuntarily and the dizziness is slowly but surely beginning to pass.

  Next time you see him, I tell myself sternly. Get it over with. For better or for worse. Cannot risk a repeat performance of this afternoon or else I’ll end up on a double dosage of Xanax every day of my life until Lily turns eighteen. It’s okay, I try to calm myself. I’m at the office now. It’s all over. I can breathe easy again.

  Just like Tiffany’s in New York, nothing bad can happen to me here.

  Abruptly, the lift stops at the T. Rexes’ floor. Another tiny panic, but I force myself to calm down a bit more. After all, it’s a Saturday afternoon, and the chances of any of the directors hanging round the office when they could be on a golf course are slim to none, aren’t they?

  But then suddenly, with a heart-walloping thump, the doors glide slowly open and in gets … Oh sweet Jesus, no …

  Yes. In steps none other than Sir Gavin Hume, our esteemed chairman, a sixty-something, portly, red-faced, slightly swollen about the gills figure: the Gorbachev of the print world as he’s known, liked and trusted by all. Distinguished looking, which as we all know means ugly, with money. With a reputation for being what was once politely referred to as a ‘bit of a ladies man’. In fact, you might say his default adjective is ‘flirt’, but to his credit, he’s always treated me fairly and I know for a fact he has taken my side on numerous heaves against me in the past.

  Out of the whole mighty pack of T. Rexes though, this is the one who trusts me and respects me and has stood by me, and now here I am, half trembling like I was just in a car crash, with straw practically coming out of my hair, grass all over my arse, an open half-drunk bottle of Rescue Remedy in one hand and more than likely looking like a candidate for care in the community.