The Man You Meet in Heaven: An absolutely feel-good romantic comedy
Page 9
God featured on almost a daily basis in these fantasies, not least because I found myself praying so fervently to Him and making the most ridiculous bargains.
I’ll give up my seat on the train to anyone and everyone, if you grant me Nick Green.
In the office I became Miss Helper Extraordinaire.
I’ll help everybody with their workload when I’ve finished this bit of typing, if you let me have Nick Green.
Once home again in the evenings I would practically hustle my mother out of her own kitchen as I took over with the dinner. On other occasions I’d shoo her away from the ironing board.
I’ll never let my mother lift a finger again if you’d just be so kind as to give me Nick Green.
It was the same with my father.
I’ll never again let my dad do all the gardening without assistance, but only if you promise me Nick Green.
Charities were another bargaining point with God.
The next time I see a tin being rattled outside Sainsbury’s, I promise to donate all my change. Okay, delete that last word. Cash. In exchange for Nick Green.
A tiny part of my brain knew that even though I wasn’t physically cheating on Martin, mentally it was another story. And wasn’t that meant to be just as bad? My conscience kept trying to vocalise this, but I’d squash it into silence, insisting it was perfectly acceptable and simply harmless daydreaming. After all, nothing had actually happened between Nick and myself. And anyway, what woman hadn’t fantasised at some point in a stale relationship? There couldn’t be a female on the planet who, as her pot-bellied partner peeled off his socks and turned out the light, hadn’t pretended it was Poldark lying next to her in order to make the sparks fly. Was that cheating? Of course not!
Meanwhile I continued bargaining with God. At one point I nearly bankrupted myself donating to ten different charities in one month. The last straw came when I pounced on my mobile phone following a televised appeal to house abandoned animals. As soulful eyes in a mournful face filled the TV screen, the camera panning to canine ribs jutting like a xylophone, I hurriedly texted away the last of my salary, all the while fervently praying to Him Upstairs. You see? You see what I’m doing, God? This is how much I want Nick Green. I’ll do anything. Anything at all. Even impoverish myself. I was subsequently hounded by the charity’s marketing team to head over to their online probate solicitor and bequeath all my worldly goods to their cause. It was at this point that Martin stepped in and asked what the hell had gotten into me. He had good reason, because lately it hadn’t been him.
My final prayer of the day was last thing at night. I’d fall into bed, exhausted from so much mental bargaining, and meditate to calm the mind. Except it wasn’t long before the meditation would feature Nick Green. As I listened to softly playing pan pipes on my iPod, suddenly Nick became the flautist. I’d be sitting at his feet, cross-legged, hands together as if in prayer, the two of us engulfed in a soft violet haze, when suddenly he’d cast aside the syrinx and sit down opposite me, leaning in to gently brush my lips with his mouth. Obsessed? You bet I was.
But one day, one gloriously fantastic day, God was listening and answered my prayers. My request was granted. But sometimes you need to be careful what you wish for.
Twenty-One
I’ll never forget that day. Nick arrived at the office but, instead of flying past my desk in a whirl of energy, he’d walked by without his habitual sunny greeting. His eyes had been blank, his expression bearing all the hallmarks of a person in deep shock. Wordlessly, I’d stood up and headed off to the kitchen to make our usual morning coffee. Minutes later I’d gone into his office minus the notepad – having sensed this wouldn’t be required right now – and shut the door after me.
‘Hattie,’ he’d said, as if coming out of a trance.
‘Are you all right, Nick?’ I’d asked.
‘I think so. Actually, no. I’m not sure I’ll ever be all right again.’
I’d set the coffees down on his desk, and lightly touched his forearm. He still had his coat on.
‘Let me hang this up for you. Sit down, Nick. Here,’ I’d said, as he obediently slid out of his coat, ‘have this coffee. I’ve put in an extra sugar. It’s good for shock, and you look like you’ve had one.’
‘Yes,’ he nodded, ‘yes, I have. Something very unexpected has happened.’
I’d put the coat on a hanger. The fabric was still warm from his body, and I’d let the garment half envelop me, for a split second kidding myself that it was Nick hugging me. It had taken all my willpower not to wrap the coat right around me. Looping the hanger over the peg on the back of the door, I’d then sat down on the sofa opposite his desk to await hearing whatever catastrophe had befallen him. To my surprise he’d not collapsed on his leather executive chair behind the vast mahogany expanse, instead opting to sink down next to me on the sofa. Our legs had never been so close. If I’d moved my thigh just a couple of millimetres, it would have touched his. I’d felt the heat coming from him, and been almost dizzy with longing. There was also a sensation of warmth near my neck, and I’d experienced a frisson of delight upon realising he’d flung one hand carelessly along the back of the sofa, just an inch or so from my hair.
‘I won’t beat about the bush, Hattie.’
There was something about his tone that had fingers of cold dread coiling around my heart. Oh no. Caitlin was coming back. A nanny had been employed and Nick’s regular secretary couldn’t wait to roll up her sleeves and get back to the grindstone, meaning Yours Truly wasn’t just out of a job but would never see Nick Green again. No. It couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it happen.
‘Wh-What is it?’ I stammered.
He’d sighed deeply before replying. ‘My wife’s left me.’
For a moment I’d simply stared at him, not quite believing what I’d just heard. So… nothing to do with Caitlin then. Not yet, anyway. I’d been granted a reprieve on that score. Meanwhile… meanwhile, oh my goodness! My eyes rounded as his words properly registered. Mrs Green had upped and left Nick. He was still married, but now separated. Which meant, as far as I was concerned, he was now available and definitely up for grabs. It was simply down to me to do the rest. I was overjoyed. Delirious.
‘Your wife’s left you?’ I gasped, hoping that I looked stunned and not ecstatic.
‘Yes,’ he said, his expression bleak, eyes momentarily flitting away from me to stare at his trousers, as if the navy pinstripe might yield answers to his predicament.
‘Oh my God!’ I exclaimed, not sure whether I was talking directly to the great man himself, or speaking to Nick.
‘You see, I fell in love with someone,’ he murmured. ‘Someone who wasn’t my wife.’ He tore his eyes away from the Savile Row tailoring and looked directly at me. ‘I fell in love with someone I shouldn’t have. Someone who was out of bounds. In this office,’ he added, his voice now so low his last sentence was only just audible. But those three whispered words had a momentous impact upon me.
My heart began to pound like a bongo drum, chasing away all the months of despair, weeks and weeks of angst, its steady beat now a throbbing pulse that put my whole body on red alert for the words that were surely about to tumble from his lips. It was more than I’d ever dared hope for. He was going to confess he’d fallen in love with me. I was suddenly very aware of his hand so close to my neck, the fact that the office door was shut, that it was just the two of us, here on this sofa, sitting side by side, our bodies so thrillingly close. I nodded at him encouragingly, knowing that it was important I remain seated and calm, not leap up and punch the air, or whoop like an extra in a film full of cowboys and Red Indians. Instead I arranged my features into a hopeful mix of sympathy and compassion, and gazed back at him, waiting for those magic words. And still he stared.
‘Who?’ I eventually croaked, unable to bear it any longer. ‘Who, in the office, have you fallen in love with?’
Twenty-Two
Waiting for Nick’s response was a
gony. It could only have been seconds before he replied, but sitting there, on that sofa, so close to him, it felt like centuries. I waited, heart thudding, hardly daring to breathe, for his response. But when he finally answered, the breath whooshed out of me for all the wrong reasons.
‘Erin,’ he said.
I’d stared at him stupidly. ‘Erin?’ I repeated, not understanding.
‘Yes, I’ve been seeing Erin. In Accounts.’
‘B-but, Erin’s married.’
‘Yes, Hattie. I know she’s married. Just like me.’
‘So… so you’ve been having an affair with Erin.’ Nothing like stating the obvious.
‘Yes. For the last three months.’
‘Three months?’ I’d gasped. I’d been at Shepherd, Green & Parsons for four months. If he’d wanted an affair, well, not to put too fine a point on it, why not with me? You cow, Hattie! Fancy even thinking such a thing. Shame on you for even daring to voice that you’d be willing to be ‘the other woman’. A mistress, no less. That’s not your style. Apart from anything else, what about Martin? He’s your boyfriend. Remember him? I know you don’t see much of him these days, but you haven’t officially ended it, have you!
But the truth was, back at this point in my life, whilst my conscience had sent off klaxon-like warnings to my brain, which had sensibly nodded in agreement, those cautions weren’t being heeded by my heart which was defiantly sticking two fingers up to both the conscience and the brain.
‘Right, so let me get this straight,’ I said, frantically trying to collect my fragmented thoughts and kick away my own peculiar feelings of betrayal, ‘you and Erin are an item.’
‘Nooo, Hattie,’ Nick sighed wearily. ‘We were never an item. It started out as a bit of fun, then got out of hand. She has a husband who works away from home a lot. Consequently, Erin has felt lonely and neglected.’
Well, stroll on down! And what about me? Sitting here day after day, stuck in a world of dreams that nobody else could access? Erin was lonely? She didn’t know the meaning of it! She had a hubby. A lovely one at that. I’d met him a couple of times at after-work gatherings, and he’d been such a sweetie. She didn’t need another man when she already had one! The fact that I had a sort-of man too, of course, was neither here nor there.
‘Well,’ I said, scratching my head in bewilderment, ‘are you and Erin going to become an item?’
‘Definitely not.’ Nick shook his head again.
‘But I thought you said you loved her?’
‘Yes. I do. Well… did.’
‘Did?’
‘In hindsight I think I muddled love with lust.’
Understandable. Erin was nearly six feet tall, a doppelgänger for Lisa Snowdon and had a voice like Jessica Rabbit.
‘So what’s happening now? Is she not leaving her husband for you?’
Nick had laughed mirthlessly. ‘No, Erin has made it quite plain that she’s now out of bounds. Her husband knows nothing of the affair, and she isn’t about to confess all. Erin told me that whatever we’d had, it’s over. Apparently, her husband has been posted to a different office closer to home, so will hardly ever have to go away on business and she will no longer be lonely. Everything is now hunky-dory for her. It’s just my marriage that has hit the rocks and smashed to smithereens. I’m sorry, Hattie. You’re my secretary. I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’
‘Of course you can confide in me,’ I said stoutly. ‘We work together, so can’t avoid each other, and it was so plainly obvious from the moment you walked through the door that something was very wrong… and rest assured, you can trust me not to repeat this to anyone.’
‘Thanks,’ he said gratefully.
‘But,’ I said, shaking my head and still not understanding, ‘you said your wife has left you. I take it she found out?’
‘Oh she suspected I was having a fling, all right. She just didn’t know who with. She won’t go after Erin though. Apart from anything else…’ he trailed off uncomfortably.
‘What?’
‘She’s not bothered about knowing who it was.’
I stared at him incredulously. What woman didn’t want all the details of her love rival? If it had been me I’d have been out there, tail up, nose down, sniffing out clues and wanting every bit of minutiae, right down to her shoe size. Which was enormous in Erin’s case. Her feet were so big she practically skied down the corridor. I tried not to gnash my teeth together or hyperventilate.
‘Why doesn’t your wife want to find out who you were seeing?’ I asked, my breath now coming in quick snatches.
Nick shrugged, his expression somewhat sheepish. ‘I suppose she’s seen it all before. She can no longer be bothered to know the particulars.’
‘All before?’ I echoed incredulously. ‘What… you mean… Erin hasn’t been your first infidelity?’
‘Nope. Not the first. Not by a long shot.’
I gaped at my boss – the man I loved. Oh yes, despite hearing that Nick had a propensity to being unable to keep his todger in his trousers, my body was taking no notice at all and still sending out cartoon hearts in his direction.
‘If you,’ I gulped, unsure whether to ask such a blunt question, ‘if you are a serial adulterer, why bother getting married in the first place?’
Nick gave a wry smile. ‘Why indeed, eh? I believe that is what’s known as a sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, Hattie.’ He looked briefly upwards, contemplating the ceiling. ‘I like being married,’ he said simply. ‘It’s nice to have someone who is meant to be the summer to your winter… the missing piece of a jigsaw… the one who makes you feel whole.’
I caught my breath at his audacity and suddenly felt inflamed with anger.
‘Then why on earth would you cheat on your wife if she is all those things?’ I demanded.
‘Because,’ he said, bringing his eyes back to me and smiling disarmingly, ‘I guess she wasn’t those things after all. I suspect you have the same thoughts about marriage as me, Hattie. That it is to be treasured. Nurtured. It’s a wonderful union – for those who get it right. But if it’s not perfect on every level, flaws show up. Cracks appear. Some couples row. Gin bottles at dawn, and all that. Or else they cohabit in silent resentment. Which we did. And that’s when the marriage becomes incredibly vulnerable to some extra-curricular activity, if you see what I mean.’
‘Right,’ I nodded, trying to make sense of what he was saying. In which case, if he was right, then one could point the finger at Mrs Green and say, somewhat conveniently, that she was to blame for Nick’s wandering eye. My heart leapt at this thought, even though my brain was shaking its head in despair. ‘Okay, I get it,’ I nodded, ‘you’re saying your wife was never the right woman for you in the first place, and that had she been, none of your affairs would ever have happened?’
‘Correct,’ said Nick.
The cynics would have rolled their eyes and said Nick’s explanation was simply moulding the truth for his own purpose – that what he really meant by ‘a good marriage’ was having an unpaid housekeeper providing hot dinners, washing his underpants, darning his socks, and efficiently running the marital home. He wasn’t bothered about whether wifey was too tired to later pull off her pinny and morph into a sexy little minx who swung her bra around her head like a football rattle, because he could get the naughty side of things elsewhere. But I wasn’t one of those cynics. Put simply, I was me – young, inexperienced, hopelessly blinded by love, and willing to overlook any flaws in both his explanation and his character. Mrs Green had gone, that was all that mattered.
It was only much later I found out that the second Mrs Green had once been ‘the other woman’ and that the first Mrs Green had been divorced to make way for the second Mrs Green. And even if I’d known that right at the start, would it have stopped me? I doubt it. Because apart from being madly in love, I had a new goal… aim… ambition. Call it what you will. And that was to become the third Mrs Green.
Twenty-Three
Without warning, Mrs Green II had unceremoniously chucked Nick out of the marital home. Having done her own detective work and arrived at the foregone conclusion that her husband was, yet again, having a fling, she’d bided her time to neatly exact revenge. Without Nick suspecting anything was up, she’d secretly removed the house key from his key fob, waved him off to work, then rung in sick to her own place of employment. She’d then methodically set about divesting all the wardrobes and drawers of Nick’s belongings, packing them up in several suitcases. A reservation at a local hotel had been made in her husband’s name, and a taxi had been called to deposit all the luggage at the hotel. She’d then opened a new bank account in her own name and transferred the entire contents of the joint account across. Finally, she’d messaged Nick, timing the communication to ping his mobile whilst on the evening drive home. Nick had illegally picked the text up whilst behind the wheel of his car, and nearly ploughed into the vehicle in front of him.