by Jane Green
At school together? But I thought Richard went to . . .
“Didn’t you go to Stowe?” I look at Richard, bemused.
“Most certainly did.” He nods. “Both of us.”
“You never told me you went to Stowe,” I say to Nick, and he shrugs.
“You never asked.”
“What a small world,” says Jules, obviously delighted that her guests are getting on so well, and then the doorbell rings again.
More couples file in, some I know, but all well-spoken, well dressed, and very much at home standing around drinking Kir Royales and making small talk.
And there I was worrying about Nick, I think, watching him and Richard roar with laughter as they reminisce about what they used to get up to at school.
And I’m so impressed that Nick went to Stowe I completely forget about my surprise, and then the doorbell rings, and a familiar face appears in the doorway, and I’m so excited I practically spill my drink, and Jules grins as I shriek, “Olly!” and my darling brother rushes in and scoops me up in his arms, giving me a massive hug.
“I wanted to surprise you,” he says, and I’m so happy he’s here, this is so unexpected.
“What are you doing here?” I say, breathless with excitement.
“I rang him,” said Jules, “because no party of ours would be quite the same if Olly wasn’t here.”
“For God’s sake, don’t tell Mum,” he says. “She’d kill me if she knew I was down and wasn’t staying there.”
“Where are you staying? Will you stay with me?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m staying with Carolyn,” and then I notice the tall, tanned girl standing in the doorway.
“Carolyn.” He beckons her over. “This is my sister, Libby.”
I shake her hand and approve immediately of her warm smile, the fact that she’s so naturally pretty without makeup, her adoring look at Olly, which tells me that she is definitely not just a good friend.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” she says. “Olly talks about you all the time.”
“Do you work together?”
She nods. “I’m a researcher. That’s how we met.”
I look at Olly and, without Carolyn noticing, I give him an almost imperceptible nod that tells him I approve, and he grins at me.
“Oh God,” I say. “Where’s Nick?” I look around, but he’s suddenly disappeared.
“Nick?” says Olly. “Who’s Nick, then? Your latest squeeze?”
And then I see Nick walk in from the kitchen and I call him over to introduce him and it turns out—another amazing fact I didn’t know—that Nick’s as big a Man United fan as Olly, and within minutes the pair of them are talking animatedly as if they’ve known each other for years.
Jules introduces Carolyn to Ginny, and then sweeps me into the kitchen to help her get the food ready.
“Everyone seems to be getting on, don’t they?” she says, and I know that she was nervous, that she’s always nervous before bringing together new people, but that she’s such a good hostess her evenings always turn out to be fine, apart from the coupley ones I don’t go to, and that’s not to say they’re not fine, that’s just to say that I wouldn’t know.
“I can’t believe how Nick’s fitting in.”
“Can’t you?” says Jules, opening the oven and pulling out something that smells delicious. “Why ever not?”
“God, Jules, if you’d have met his friends the other night, you would have known why not. His crowd is so completely different to ours.”
“But he’s fitting in perfectly,” she says. “He seems very comfortable.”
And it’s true, he does, and I don’t know why this should surprise me so much, but if anything I’d say that Nick feels even more comfortable here than I do, and these are my best friends, for God’s sake. But don’t get me wrong, I like it. In fact, I’d say I more than like it. I love it.
“I don’t know why you keep saying there’s no future in it,” says Jules, opening a cupboard door. “I think you’re perfect together.”
“But that’s just your first impression, Jules. You don’t know him.”
“So what do I need to know? He’s handsome, obviously bright, and you seem to get on really well. What’s the problem?”
How can I explain what the problem is? How can I tell her that I couldn’t marry Nick because how would we live? I’d never be able to give up work, and our children would have to go to the local comprehensive, where they’d probably get in with the wrong crowd and end up taking drugs and hanging out in gangs. How can I tell her that my idea of hell would be to end up a harassed mother who had to try and be the breadwinner as well as bringing up the kids? That I’d always look a complete mess because I wouldn’t have the time or the money to make an effort. That designer clothes would be something I’d only wear if someone like Jules took pity on me and gave me some hand-me-downs. That I’d have to say goodbye to the designer restaurants and bars I love so much, and on the rare occasions we went out for dinner it would have to be somewhere cheap and cheerful.
Actually, a lot of it doesn’t sound so bad, but I know I’m talking myself into believing it’s not so bad because I’m growing to like Nick more and more, and I’m trying to compromise, to change my lifestyle to fit into his because I have no other choice.
In fact, I haven’t even been to a bloody designer restaurant or bar since before I met Nick, and okay, it’s true, I don’t miss them that much, but I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life knowing that I couldn’t go to them because I couldn’t afford it. I may not be going now, but that’s through choice.
How can I explain this to Jules when I know she wouldn’t understand, particularly given that she’s met Nick on her territory, when he’s dressed up in clothes he never normally wears to fit in, and yes, he does fit in, but if she saw him on his territory, with his friends, doing what he likes to do, I’m sure she’d take my point. She’d have to. Wouldn’t she?
“It’s too long to go into,” I say. “But I’m telling you, it’s just a fling.”
“Bullshit.” She turns to look at me. “You’re my best friend, Libby, and I know you better than anyone else in the world. You may be able to get away with telling other people that you don’t care about him, that it’s just sex, but look at you, for God’s sake. You’re crazy about him.”
“What makes you say that?”
She sighs. “It’s the way you look at him, the way your face lights up every time he says something, the way you hang on his every word. Don’t worry,” she says, seeing the dismay on my face. “I don’t think he knows, but I do.”
“So what do you think he thinks of me?” I can’t help it. My insecurity raises its ugly head.
She shrugs. “It’s much harder to tell with men, but my guess is he probably feels the same way. The only thing that worries me is that he did say at the beginning that he wasn’t looking for a relationship, and I just think you have to remember that, because you’ve definitely fallen for him. He may well have fallen for you too, but, if the timing’s wrong, then you might get hurt.”
Timing. Jules is a big believer in timing. She always says that Jamie and she met at exactly the right time, that had it been any earlier she wouldn’t have been ready for a relationship, not even with the gorgeous Jamie.
She looks at me closely and can see that what she’s said has upset me, and her voice softens as she says, “Look, Libby, I don’t want to see you hurt, and I think he probably does feel the same way about you, but you have to be aware that when men say they’re not ready for a relationship, nine times out of ten it means that they’re not ready for a relationship, and even if you’re the most wonderful woman in the world it’s not going to change their minds.
“But,” she adds, almost to herself, “there are always women who can change their minds, I suppose.”
That’s what I needed to hear, and as soon as she says the words I make a decision. I’m going to be the woman who changes his
mind. Except I don’t share this with Jules, it’s going to be my own little secret.
Jules sighs as the phone starts to ring. “Now who the hell is calling us now?” she says, putting down the bowls and running to pick up the phone.
“Hello? Hello?” There’s a pause. “Hello? Is anyone there?” She puts the phone down and turns to me, annoyed. “That’s the fourth bloody time that’s happened this week. Why do these people keep putting the phone down?”
Jamie comes rushing into the kitchen, looking startled. “Who was that?” he asks breathlessly.
“God knows,” she says. “I told you someone keeps ringing and putting it down when I pick up.”
“Oh,” says Jamie, as Jules picks up the bowls and leaves the room, and if I didn’t know better I could swear he turns a whiter shade of pale. But no. I must be imagining it.
I bring the rest of the food into the living room and carefully put it down on the trestle table covered with a white damask tablecloth that they’ve set up at one end of the room.
“Mmm, this looks delicious,” says Ginny, as Jules laughs.
“This?” she says. “It was nothing,” and I know for Jules it probably was nothing, but to anyone who didn’t know it looks like a Bacchanalian feast: mounds of chicken in a curried cream sauce; a huge, whole salmon, decorated with the thinnest slices of cucumber I’ve ever seen; piles of couscous surrounded by ratatouille; warm potato salad sprinkled with parsley and chives; bowls of mixed leaf salads; dishes of avocado, plum tomatoes and buffalo mozzarella cheese with fresh basil sprinkled over the top.
“Wait till you see what’s for dessert,” she whispers to me, and I groan in anticipation and rub my stomach.
“Don’t tell me—” I say.
“Yup.” She nods. “Your favorite.”
“What’s that?” says Nick, laughing at the expression of rapture on my face.
“Tiramisu.”
We all grab plates and tuck in, piling them high, and then small groups of people seem to gather together without thinking, so within minutes there are little clusters of people dotted around the room, friends naturally gravitating toward friends.
I sit down with Nick, Olly, Carolyn and Jamie. Jules shouts she’ll join us, but she wants to check that everyone’s okay for drinks, and she waves Jamie aside when he says he’ll do it, because Jules likes to be in control.
And I sit and watch Carolyn, and I watch how Nick reacts to Carolyn, because she really is very, very pretty, and I know she’s going out with Olly, but I can’t help that old insecurity that says that maybe Nick will fancy her, and maybe he’ll fancy her more than he fancies me, and I’m waiting for him to start flirting with her, but he doesn’t.
What he does is put an arm round me and rub my back, and I grin and relax, because it’s a territorial thing; he’s making sure everyone knows I’m with him and he’s with me, and other than being polite to Carolyn he hardly seems to notice her.
“So what’s all this about the gourmet vegetarian?” I say to Olly, as Carolyn laughs.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” she says. “Olly can’t cook to save his life and here he is, producing a show about food.”
“Thank you, girls,” says Olly, in mock disgust. “But actually I can cook.”
“Bollocks!” I say.
“I can, Libby. Tell them what I made you the other night.” He looks at Carolyn.
“He made me Chinese,” she says, trying to suppress a smile.
“Really?” Now I’m impressed. “How on earth did you do that?”
Carolyn answers for him, which instantly makes me realize that perhaps she’s not as transient as all of the other women I’ve heard about, that perhaps this has gone on longer than I thought, that perhaps this is serious, or at least serious in Olly terms, because, let’s face it, it’s all a question of relativity.
“I chopped the vegetables,” she says, winking at me, “and Olly opened the packet of oyster sauce.”
“Ah,” says Nick. “That’s exactly how I like to do my cooking.”
“Yeah,” agrees Olly. “It’s a guy thing.”
“You’ve never cooked for me,” says Nick. “Can you cook?”
“ ’Course I can cook,” I exclaim. “I’ll make you dinner next week.”
“Damn,” says Olly. “I needed a laugh. What a shame I’ll be back in Manchester.”
I hit him.
“So how do you two know each other?” Olly gestures at Nick and I.
“We met through a friend, Sally,” says Nick.
“You don’t know her,” I add.
“So how long’s this been going on?”
Three months, three weeks and two days, is what I could say, but I don’t, because I’m not supposed to be counting, so I don’t say anything at all and I wait to hear what Nick says.
“A couple of months now?” He looks at me, and I nod.
“Serious, then?” laughs Olly.
Nick blanches slightly.
“Bit of a record for you,” continues Olly, missing the look on Nick’s face.
I stand up. “Time for seconds. Anyone coming?”
We kiss everyone goodbye, and Olly gives me a big hug and whispers, “He’s great. I’ll be back in the office tomorrow afternoon, call me,” and I tell Carolyn it was nice to meet her, which it was, and, as nice a time as I’ve had, it’s even nicer finally to have Nick to myself.
And as we walk out Nick turns to me and says, “They were so nice! I had such a nice time!”
“Well, what did you expect from friends of mine?”
“They’re just so different from the kind of people I mix with.” He looks at me. “I suppose I didn’t need to tell you that, did I?”
“Hardly,” I laugh.
“But even though they’re all obviously successful, they’re really down-to-earth.”
“Success doesn’t mean you have to be pompous,” I say.
Nick walks along in silence for a while, and I can tell he’s thinking about something, and I could annoy the hell out of him by saying something incredibly trite like, what are you thinking or penny for your thoughts, but I don’t.
And after a while he says, “It’s not that I felt out of place, not at all, it’s just sort of made me think about my life, about what I’m doing with it, about what I could be doing with it. Particularly bumping into Richard after all these years.”
I walk next to him wondering whether just to listen or to give practical advice. I mean, I’ve bloody read Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus, but this is the bit I always get confused about. I can’t remember what I’m supposed to do, so I don’t say anything at all, because I don’t want to alienate him by doing the wrong thing.
“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I feel a bit confused at the moment.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” I say.
“I don’t really know what there is to talk about,” he says, and after that he’s very quiet. He’s quiet all the way home, he’s quiet when I make him a coffee, and we get into bed and cuddle before falling asleep. Or maybe I should say, before he falls asleep, because this worries me. Part of me thinks this is good, this is a progression, that it’s not only about sex anymore, that we’re becoming friends, settling in, but the other part thinks, why the hell doesn’t he want to have sex with me, and I can’t help it, despite him being absolutely lovely to me tonight, I’ve got this horrible suspicion that he might be going off me.
“He’s great,” repeats Olly on the phone the next day. “I’m really surprised.”
“Surprised? Why?”
“He’s just so normal and down-to-earth,” Olly says, in a strange echo of what Nick said about everyone last night. “And I think he’s good for you.”
“In what way?”
“You seem really relaxed, much more so than you ever were with that other bloke, what was his name?”
“Jon?”
“Was he the poncey one with the Mazda?”
“He wasn’t poncey.”
“No, he wasn’t.” Why the hell am I defending him? He was awful.
“Okay, he wasn’t awful, but he didn’t treat you well, and Nick seems much better for you.”
“It’s not serious, though.”
“You can never tell whether it’s serious or not,” Olly says mysteriously.
“Oh, so it’s serious with Carolyn, then?”
“Did you like her?”
“I thought she was lovely.”
“Mmm. She is, isn’t she?”
“Really. And Mum would love her.”
“Don’t say anything. It’s still early days.”
“How early?”
“About a month.”
“You go, guy! That’s pretty good for you.”
“I know.”
“So do you think Nick likes me?”
“Of course he likes you. He wouldn’t be with you if he didn’t like you.”
“I’m a little worried because he was a bit funny with me after we left.”
“Funny how?”
“It’s just that every night we’re together we always have, umm”—it feels a bit weird, saying this to Olly, but what the hell, I know he’ll tell me what he really thinks so I may as well be honest—“umm, sex, and last night he was really quiet after we left and we just had cuddles and then he fell asleep, and maybe I’m being really stupid and insecure, but it seems a bit strange.”
“Women kill me,” says Olly. “They really do. All the women I’ve ever met expect all men to be up and ready for sex anytime, anyplace, anyhow.”
“Well, aren’t they?”
“No!” he practically shouts. “Jesus, no. Sometimes we’re tired, sometimes we’re stressed, sometimes we’re not in the mood. Nick was under a hell of a lot of pressure last night, meeting all of us for the first time, and it’s completely understandable that he just wanted to sleep.”
I breathe a sigh of relief for the first time that day. “You don’t think he’s going off me?”
“Don’t be so ridiculous.”
“Okay,” I say happily, “I’m being ridiculous, then?”