‘Well, there’s nothing broke about this place.’ I kicked off my shoes and threw myself onto the enormous corner settee. ‘I’m surprised you can ever tear yourself away from all this to go on tour.’ I sat up and looked at him. ‘Er – what are the arrangements – where do I sleep?’
He laughed. ‘Don’t tempt me. Seriously, there are two bedrooms so you can take your pick. They both have their own en suite so we won’t bump into each other in the nude first thing in the morning.’ He grinned impishly. ‘More’s the pity!’
‘In your dreams!’ I said, laughing as I got up and followed him to the spare bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was luxurious but I hazarded a guess that I wouldn’t be staying in it for long.
I made spag bol for supper – the only dish I can actually cook from scratch – and we sat and ate it at the kitchen table. I’d hastily unpacked all the frozen Christmas fare I’d stocked up with at the supermarket and hidden them in Mark’s massive freezer when he wasn’t looking. The turkey was already defrosted (at least I know that much) and I slipped it onto a large serving dish and put it in the fridge. Luckily there was plenty of room. All it contained was a pint of milk and some cans of beer. Obviously Mark was no Gordon Ramsay and I guessed that he existed mainly on takeaways.
After clearing his plate, Mark leaned back in his chair and took a sip of the wine he had produced from a well-stocked wine rack. At least he didn’t stint himself on that. ‘That was delicious,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘This is really great. How long can you stay?’
‘I think you could have timed that question a little more tactfully,’ I told him.
He laughed. ‘You know what I mean. Who would have thought a week ago that I’d be sitting here, looking forward to spending Christmas with the love of my life I’d given up hope of ever seeing again.’ He drained his glass and refilled it, holding the bottle enquiringly towards my empty glass.
‘Yes, please.’ I took an appreciative sip. ‘You’re right. We never know what’s round the corner, do we?’
‘So – how long can you stay?’
Quickly, I calculated. Di was away till the day after Boxing Day. I’d give her a day to feel flat and miss me. ‘Four days,’ I said. ‘That is if you can put up with me for that long.’
‘I can put up with you for as long as you like,’ he said.
‘You might not be saying that a few days from now,’ I warned him. ‘You’re still wearing those rose-coloured glasses you wore twenty years ago.’
‘And very comfy they are too,’ he said, holding up his glass. ‘Here’s to our meeting again and to our renewed acquaintance.’
‘And to the new show.’ I touched my glass to his. ‘To it being a hit!’
Suddenly Mark was serious. ‘About the show,’ he said, putting his glass down. ‘Isn’t it usual for a show like this – heading for a West End theatre – to be backed by a consortium of people; you know, impresarios?’
‘It will be,’ I told him. ‘Paul said that borrowing money from us to get off the ground is only temporary. He’d got someone lined up. And it’s only been difficult because he hasn’t booked a star attraction for the lead role.’
‘OK, but where’s the director?’
‘He’s been searching for the right person,’ I explained. ‘He has a really big-name guy interested.’
‘Oh, yes – who?’
‘He didn’t tell me.’
‘Well, I hope you’re right.’
‘I’m sure everything is in place,’ I assured him. ‘Harry Clay, my agent, is in on the whole thing. I’ve been with him for years and I trust him.’
Mark took a reflective drink of his wine. ‘I was invited up to his flat to audition me for the part,’ he said. ‘My agent was as surprised as me. He – Paul – showed me the sketches for the sets; very impressive. He said they were already being built up in Yorkshire somewhere. After that we had tea and cakes and he asked me for money.’
‘It was similar for me,’ I told him. ‘Although he’d already seen me in a show, I was in back in the summer. At his flat he played some of the songs for me and I sang one or two.’
‘Then you had tea and he asked you for money?’
‘Well – yes.’
‘Are you with me in wondering if it’s all completely kosher?’
‘No. I told you; Harry, my agent, is in on it too. He’s very shrewd. He’d never risk his money if he had any doubts and he certainly wouldn’t let me be taken for a ride.’
Mark was shaking his head. ‘It’s all a bit odd,’ he said. ‘I mean, who’s ever heard of Paul Fortune anyway – or any of those weirdos we met at the read-through the other day?’
‘I told you, there are no big names.’
‘Mmm.’ He stroked his chin. ‘You have to admit, Lou, it’s one hell of a risk.’
‘Well, that’s up to Paul, isn’t it? It’s his risk and he seems confident enough.’
‘I hope you’re right.’ He took a deep breath and smiled. ‘Let’s not be pessimistic. It’s Christmas, you’re here with me and tomorrow I’m going to have the first home-cooked Christmas dinner I’ve had in years with my first love cooking it for me.’ He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to us!’
I clinked my glass to his. ‘To us! And to being optimistic about the show.’
‘Absolutely!’ Mark said. ‘What do I know anyway?’
Later, as I lay in bed – surprisingly alone – I couldn’t help thinking about Mark’s words. He was wrong, of course he was; he had to be. Paul had promised to make me a star. Your face will be on the cover of all the magazines, he’d said. He had to be on the level. I couldn’t bear it if he wasn’t. This was my very last chance.
Christmas dinner was a success – as much to my surprise as anyone else’s. Though you have to be a complete loser to mess up a frozen, pre-cooked meal. Mark was delighted. If he suspected that it wasn’t exactly home-cooked he didn’t mention it. His pessimistic mood from the previous night had gone and instead he was on form in the style of the old Mark I remembered so well. After lunch, we watched TV and dozed in front of the realistic living-flame electric fire. After a couple of bottles of champagne, Mark grew amorous and we ended the day in bed together. He’d always been a good lover and he certainly hadn’t lost his skills, making me ever so slightly curious about whom he’d been practising on in my absence.
Chapter Ten
Karen was up early on Christmas morning. Peter had wakened them at six, bouncing on the bed and dragging a pillowcase full of presents.
‘Open, Mummy!’ he demanded.
Simon groaned and turned over, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as Karen switched on the bedside lamp. ‘Take him back to bed, for God’s sake. It’s the middle of the night.’
Karen slipped out of bed and put on her dressing gown. ‘Come downstairs with Mummy, darling,’ she said, taking Peter’s hand and picking up the pillowcase. ‘We’ll leave grumpy old Daddy to sleep.’
When all the presents were opened, she left Peter playing with his new toys in the living room and went into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Adrey was already up, having risen early to make what she called kerststol, which turned out to be some kind of fruit loaf traditionally eaten at Christmas for breakfast.
‘Peter loves his new teddy,’ Karen told her. ‘It looks expensive. You really shouldn’t have.’
Adrey turned with a smile. ‘He’s such a good little boy. I wanted to give him something nice for Sinterklaas.’ She reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and produced a small, brightly wrapped parcel. ‘I get this for you too. You and Simon have been so kind and welcoming.’
Karen was surprised. Opening the package, she found a tiny brooch in the shape of a Dutch clog, encrusted with crystals. ‘Oh, Adrey, how sweet,’ she said. ‘It’ll look great on my black dress. Thank you so much. There’s a little something from Simon and me under the tree. We’ll be opening those later.’
Putting the kettle on, she thought how pretty Adrey was. In her
red dressing gown and with her fresh complexion and her long blonde hair hanging down her back in a thick plait, she looked like a Christmas angel. Karen turned and gave her a quick hug. ‘I know you must be missing your family today,’ she said. ‘And you must feel free to telephone them.’
‘Thank you, Karen. I would like to do that very much.’
The kitchen door opened to admit Simon in his old navy dressing gown. His hair tousled and his jaw dark with stubble, he still looked grumpy. Glancing at the two women he enquired, ‘Any tea going?’
‘I’m just making it,’ Karen said, reaching for the teapot.
Adrey touched Karen’s arm. ‘I go now to make the telephone call to my family, if it is permitted?’
‘Of course, help yourself – and take as long as you like,’ Karen added.
‘Thank you. Then I take Peter upstairs to wash and dress.’
Simon slumped at the table. ‘Her family does live in Holland, you know,’ he growled.
‘I am aware of that.’
‘Now you’ve given her carte blanche she’ll probably be on the bloody phone all morning.’
‘No she won’t. She’s not the type to take advantage.’ Karen poured two cups of tea. ‘Cut the poor girl some slack, Simon. This is her first Christmas away from home.’
Simon looked at the loaf, cooling on a wire rack on the worktop. ‘What’s that thing?’
‘It’s called kerststol. Adrey got up early specially to make it. It’s a kind of fruit loaf. They eat it for breakfast in Holland at Christmas.’
Simon sniffed. ‘Do they? Well, it smells OK anyway.’
‘I’m going to put the turkey on in a minute. If you want, you can help with the vegetables.’
He snorted. ‘No way. You know I’m all thumbs when it comes to domestic stuff.’
‘All right, then, if Adrey is going to help me, you can take Peter to the park after breakfast.’
When everyone else was upstairs getting dressed, Karen took the telephone into the kitchen and dialled Susan’s number.
‘Mum – it’s not too late to change your mind,’ she said. ‘There’ll be plenty for all of us – including your friend.’
‘That’s perfectly all right,’ Susan said. ‘I have everything ready here. Ted and I are going to have a lovely day, thank you.’
‘Oh, Mum, you’re not still cross, are you? You know I’m only thinking of you.’
‘I don’t think that’s quite true, Karen, but please don’t worry. Maybe I’ll see you sometime in the New Year.’
‘Please, Mum, don’t be like that,’ Karen begged. ‘Look, why don’t you come round for a drink tomorrow – bring Ted too. I could make a brunch with some of the leftovers.’
‘I’ll eat my own leftovers if it’s all the same to you,’ Susan said. ‘I’m not cross, Karen, just a little disappointed by your attitude. But don’t worry. I’m perfectly all right and looking forward to having someone to cook for again.’
‘But, Mum …’
‘No, I’m not being awkward, I mean it, Karen, I’m fine. Ted and I are going to have a really nice Christmas and I hope you do too. Goodbye, dear. Give my love to Simon and little Peter.’
‘Oh – thank you for the presents, Mum.’
‘I’m glad you liked them. Thank you for yours. The scarf will go beautifully with my new coat. Happy Christmas, dear.’
‘Happy Christmas, Mum.’ Karen said faintly. There was a lump in her throat as she switched the phone off. She hated falling out with her mother. Sometimes lately it seemed that she couldn’t do right for doing wrong.
Chapter Eleven
Ted arrived on the dot of twelve. Susan answered his ring on the entry-phone and pressed the button that released the main door to the flats. Ripping off her apron, she took a quick look in the hall mirror to check that her newly set hair was still in place.
When she opened the door she found him beaming outside, a huge bunch of chrysanthemums in one hand and a carrier bag containing a bottle of sherry and another of champagne in the other. He handed both to her. Susan blushed with pleasure.
‘Oh, Ted, how thoughtful. But you really shouldn’t have.’
‘Not at all, my dear. It’s so good of you to invite me.’ He took off his overcoat and hung it on one of the pegs inside the door. Susan saw that he wore his best dark-grey suit with a pristine white shirt and tasteful blue tie. She thought he looked very handsome.
‘Happy Christmas, Ted,’ she said. ‘Come through and make yourself comfortable. Everything’s almost ready so we can have a drink and relax for half an hour.’
‘Oh, but I thought I was going to help.’
Susan smiled. ‘It’s all right. I haven’t been up since dawn. I did most of the preparation yesterday afternoon.’
Ted followed her through to the living room and looked around appreciatively while Susan fetched glasses and poured the sherry. A cosy fire was burning in the hearth and in the centre of the room, the table was laid with her best glass and cutlery, set off by red napkins and crackers by each place setting. A Christmas tree stood in one corner, its coloured lights twinkling, and holly was draped around the mirror above the fireplace. There were red candles on the mantelpiece, their flickering flames reflected in the mirror.
‘It all looks very festive,’ he said, rubbing his hands and holding them out to the fire. ‘Nice and warm too.’ Susan handed him a glass of sherry.
‘Here’s to a happy Christmas,’ she said.
Lunch was a great success. It was some years since Susan had cooked Christmas dinner for a man and she had loved every minute of it. Her reward was seeing him clear his plate with obvious relish.
‘I’d forgotten how good home-cooked food tasted,’ he said, pushing his chair back from the table and sighing. ‘I don’t think I’ll need to eat again for at least a week!’
Susan laughed. ‘I’m sure you will,’ she said. ‘I hope so anyway. I’ve got Christmas cake and mince pies lined up for later on.’
He smiled almost impishly. ‘Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to force them down.’
He insisted on helping her with the washing-up and then they settled down to see the Queen’s speech on TV. When it was over, Ted went out into the hall and came back with a small package which he handed to her.
‘Just a little token of my appreciation,’ he said almost shyly.
Susan blushed. ‘Oh, Ted, you shouldn’t have done this. I haven’t got you anything.’
‘Indeed you have,’ he said stoutly. ‘This is the best Christmas Day I’ve spent for years. All the work and the planning you’ve put into it makes my little offering look meagre. Please open it and see if you like it. If not, please feel free to change it.’
Somewhat flustered, Susan quickly unwrapped the gift. Inside a black velvet box she found a single crystal threaded onto a fine gold chain. In the light it glittered and flashed like a diamond. She took it out of the box and held it up.
‘Oh, Ted. It’s beautiful!’ Standing in front of the mirror she held it out to him. ‘Will you fasten it for me?’
He clipped the chain around her neck and the crystal lay winking in the light at the base of her throat. She looked up at him with shining eyes.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s a long time since anyone gave me anything as nice.’ She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek but his hands cupped her face, turning it gently to kiss her lips.
For a moment his eyes held hers then he said softly, ‘I’m so happy that I found the courage to speak to you that day on the bus, Susan.’
She smiled. ‘So am I, Ted. And this is the nicest Christmas I’ve had for many a day too.’
‘I can’t wait for the next few weeks to pass so that we can start working on the allotments together.’
‘Neither can I.’
They sat down side by side on the settee in front of the fire and Ted’s hand found hers, squeezing it lightly. ‘I can’t remember when I’ve felt so happy,’ he said.
‘Neither can I.’ For a
moment they looked into the firelight together then Susan said, ‘Tell me about your wife, Ted. Meg, wasn’t it?’
His brow clouded. ‘I’m afraid it wasn’t the happiest of marriages,’ he said. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather not talk about it at the moment. Let’s not spoil a perfect day.’ He smiled at her and squeezed her hand. ‘What about you? All I know is that you have two daughters. I take it your marriage was happy.’
She nodded. ‘Frank was a good man. Louise is my stepdaughter. Frank’s wife walked out on them both when Louise was a toddler. When he and I married she was ten and she resented me dreadfully – thought I’d stolen her beloved dad away, which wasn’t the case at all. I tried my best but nothing seemed to work and I’m afraid she still sees me as an outsider.’
‘But you have your own daughter.’
‘Yes. Karen made up for a lot, but she has her own family now and lately even she seems to be drifting away from me.’ She looked at him. ‘I suppose we’ve always been what they call a dysfunctional family.’
‘Sometimes I wonder if there’s any other kind,’ Ted said with a wry smile. ‘Do you know, I think it’s time to open that bottle of champagne. I can’t think of a better occasion.’
Chapter Twelve
We were three days into the New Year when the rehearsal schedule arrived. I rang Mark as soon as I’d opened it and scanned through.
‘It doesn’t look very intensive,’ I said. ‘Only two rehearsals a week – and it seems we’re still in that draughty old hall in Stoke Newington.’
‘So I see,’ Mark replied. ‘Still, at least things are moving. In the enclosed letter, Paul mentions extra sessions for the music and some with a choreographer. How’s your dancing?’
I laughed. ‘I think I can hoof it with the best.’
‘I’m sure you remember my galumphing efforts. Let’s hope Wickham doesn’t have anything too energetic to do.’
‘I see the first one is the day after tomorrow,’ I said, looking at the schedule. ‘How are you getting on with the lines?’
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