Tempting Fate

by Jane Green

  She doesn’t touch anything for that would be too much of a trespass, but tiptoes up the stairs, peeking into Elliott’s bedroom. The bedspread and sheets are new. Crisp white, with a matelassé cover and matching pillow cases. Two small armchairs by the fireplace, chocolate-brown velour. Gorgeous. She can’t help but walk in, noticing the medical journals on Elliott’s nightstand, his spare reading glasses. Her eyes flick over to the other side of the bed, her side of the bed, and she inhales sharply.

  On the left nightstand are two glossy magazines, an eye mask, and a novel with a pink cover. The girls are wrong. Trish does sleep here after all. Gabby suddenly wants to get out as quickly as possible, her nosy exploration bringing her nothing but pain.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Her mother told her she looked beautiful. Matt told her she looked beautiful. Why is she feeling so … wrong?

  Gabby is well aware of the uniform of the newly single, middle-aged woman. She is well aware she should have found the time, like Josephine, to run down to Main Street to buy the requisite diaphanous top, or brightly coloured little dress, the chunky jewellery, the platform heels, but she is too depressed by the memory of the nightstand on the left – it just won’t leave her mind. Besides, it’s not like anyone would be the slightest bit interested in a woman who has a new baby and a post-pregnancy paunch that doesn’t seem to want to go away – not that she’s the slightest bit interested in anyone anyway. Gabby has to admit that the last thing she wants to be doing is flirting and having fun. She’d much rather be curled up in her bathrobe, watching Apple TV, eating popcorn.

  The outfit she is wearing was chosen deliberately for its lack of sex appeal. No hint of cleavage, no flash of thigh. Nothing that would make anyone think she might possibly be trying to pick up a man. She is – thank you, God – finally able to get into her ‘fat’ jeans. She may have a substantial roll over the top, and it is entirely possible that she will not be breathing by the end of the evening, but she got them on and got them done up, and frankly that is all that matters. The substantial roll is covered by a thin grey sweater that is simple and, to her mind, elegant. She is wearing the chunky necklace she bought, once upon a time, to impress Matt, and she is wearing the high-heeled boots she bought, once upon a time, to impress Matt, but both choices are largely to prove to Josephine that she is not the dowdy housewife she appears, and can scrub up rather well when forced.

  She couldn’t be bothered to blow out her hair. It feels like years since she visited the hairdresser, and her hair is now well past her shoulders. She isn’t sure how appropriate it is for a forty-three-year-old mother of three – three! She still can’t get over that it’s now three! – to have a tumbling mane of long, curly tresses, which is why she usually clips it back, but tonight she did as she used to do when she was a teenager: scrunch mousse into the curls, tip her head upside down to dry it, then flip her head back to produce a cloud.

  A touch of make-up, a clutch purse that Elliott bought her – again, once upon a time – and her look is complete. But walking through this place, with its crowds of people all busily chatting away, their eyes scouring the room to check out each new person that enters, makes her seize up with anxiety, makes her feel out of place, wrong. She resists the urge to grab Josephine and run; instead she follows Josephine to the bar, her eyes cast down to the floor, terrified to make eye contact lest anyone thinks she might be available.

  They are there less than five minutes before they are surrounded – and, oh Lord, how lascivious these men seem to her, with their flashing smiles and appreciate looks. We must give off the scent of fresh meat, thinks Gabby, smiling politely but coldly, while Josephine giggles prettily and tells the men what they will be drinking.

  ‘I haven’t seen you ladies here before,’ one of them says, a handsome man, but a drinker, Gabby deduces, staring at the broken veins on his nose.

  ‘We’re fresh meat,’ Gabby says with a bold grin.

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘English fresh meat!’ He seems delighted. ‘Does it taste different over there?’

  Gabby gives him a withering look as he laughs and throws up his hands with a boyish shrug, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he’s a naughty boy. Oh God, she thinks. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come.

  She glances at Josephine, who is already in an animated discussion with one of the other men. It is hard to tell whether she is genuinely interested, or whether she is just enjoying the attention. Either way, her body language is open and flirtatious; the pair of them are both laughing. Gabby sighs, wondering if she might be able to call a cab and leave early.

  The professional singles have, it seems, claimed the bar. As long as she perches on a stool by the bar she will have men like this chatting her up all night. Would it be worse, though, if men like this didn’t chat her up? Would she feel inadequate? Less than? She looks around at the women, at their high, high heels, their mid-winter tans, their straightened hair and heavy make-up. It isn’t about being less than, she realizes. It is about being entirely different. She isn’t one of these women, nor does she want to be. She should have trusted her instincts and not agreed to come. As wise as her mother has been of late, she is not always right. This was not a good idea.

  A couple gets up from a table in the bar area, and Gabby swoops in. She will sit there and lose herself in her iPhone until it is time to go, or until she feels she is able to make her escape. Her Kindle app is on the phone, and even though she doesn’t find it particularly easy to read on such a small screen, it’s better than being the fresh meat at the bar.

  She orders a cup of tea from a passing waiter, ignoring his surprise at the unusual request in the bar that is famous for its singles night on this particular day of the week, then gets stuck into the novel she has been meaning to read for weeks.

  ‘Is this seat taken?’

  She isn’t sure she heard properly as she looks up. Oh God. She should have got rid of the other chair. Why didn’t she anticipate this was going to happen? She hesitates, looking at the man standing by the table, not wanting to be rude; but if she says it’s taken he will soon see there is no one to join her, and if she says it’s free she will have to fend off yet another awful man.

  He doesn’t look awful. He is wearing a Barbour, and how could she not warm to a man in the coat that always reminds her of home? He is rugged, and has kind eyes. How is she supposed to be so rude as to say it’s taken?

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Is this seat taken? May I sit here?’

  ‘You’re English!’

  He smiles. ‘So are you.’

  Gabby puts her phone back in her bag. ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘London.’

  She looks at him. Since coming to live here she has met a lot of people who are English and say they are from London. ‘Where?’ she used to ask excitedly, always hoping they would be from her ‘village’; hoping they might say Belsize Park, or Primrose Hill, or Camden Town.

  Invariably they’d say, ‘Guildford.’ She has no idea why, but it seemed everyone she met who said they came from London, ended up coming from Guildford. ‘Right,’ she’d say, covering her disappointment. ‘Surrey.’

  ‘Where in London?’ she asks dubiously, awaiting the Guildford reply.

  ‘Maida Vale.’

  ‘No!’ She is delighted. ‘I’m from Belsize Park!’

  He grins from ear to ear before doing what all good Londoners do when far from home and connecting with someone from their village: declare their school. ‘City of London.’

  ‘South Hampstead!’

  ‘Oh my God!’ He laughs. ‘Don’t tell me – nineteen seventy-nine to eighty-six?’

  ‘Not quite. I’d have been in the year below you.’

  ‘I think I went out with the whole of your year.’

  ‘Who? Who?’ It is an unspoken connection, an immediate familiarity, as Gabby leans across the table towards him.

  ‘Sarah Diamond.’

  ‘She was in the
year above me!’

  ‘Emma Montgomery.’

  ‘My year!’

  ‘Daisy Luckwell.’

  ‘My God, you were busy!’

  ‘What can I say? I was very charming when I was at school. Didn’t you know City boys?’

  ‘Not really.’ She shakes her head. ‘I was too busy falling in love with the boys at UCS.’

  ‘Oh please!’ He waves a hand dismissively. ‘How could you possibly have fallen in love with boys from that school? Maroon-and-black-striped blazers! What little taste you must have had. You should have looked further afield to us, where the real men were. We played rugby. And tennis. Very manly.’

  ‘Oh yes. And cricket. Very manly.’

  ‘What’s the matter with cricket?’ He feigns hurt. ‘I’ll have you know I’m an excellent bowler.’

  ‘You’re certainly bowling me over,’ she says, and grins, before her hands fly up to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. I didn’t mean that. I was just making a double entendre. I didn’t mean that to sound like a come-on.’

  He laughs. ‘First of all, I’m just thrilled to hear someone pronounce “doobl ontond” correctly, and secondly I haven’t had such a nice come-on in years. Even if it wasn’t one. What are you drinking? Sorry, I can see you’re drinking tea but that’s completely ridiculous. You can’t sit in a bar on this ghastly singles night and drink tea and think that’s okay. You need something far stronger to give you the fortitude to get through this evening.’

  Gabby cannot stop smiling at the banter. ‘Why? Are you that bad?’

  ‘Oh I’m much worse.’ He grins. ‘Let me guess. Cosmopolitan.’

  She grimaces. ‘Do I really strike you as a Cosmopolitan kind of girl?’

  ‘Good point. Pint of Scrumpy?’

  ‘If I knew you better I’d tell you where to go.’

  ‘Vodka and tonic, lots of lime?’

  ‘Perfect.’ She watches him as he heads over to the bar, knowing this isn’t going to be such a bad night after all.

  ‘Excuse me?’ She looks up into the face of a leering, perma-tanned man. ‘Is anyone sitting here?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, and smiles at him. ‘I’m afraid there is.’

  ‘I’m Julian.’ He extends his arm over the table and they shake hands formally.

  ‘Gabby.’

  ‘I hate to ask the obvious question, but do you come here often? Know that if you say yes I may have to get up and leave, but no pressure.’

  Gabby laughs. ‘I have been here before, but for dinner. This is the first time I’ve been to the singles scene, and it is, as you said earlier, ghastly, as I knew it would be, and the only reason I’m here is because my girlfriend has been begging me for weeks to accompany her, and in the end I ran out of excuses. I also thought: it’s one night – how bad can it be?’

  ‘Worse,’ Julian says.

  ‘Clearly.’ They chink glasses in a silent toast.

  ‘So what brings you here, in your Barbour and brogues? Are you looking for a glamorous divorcee to tuck you up at night?’

  His face grows serious as he studies his glass, before looking up at her again. ‘Actually, I’m here in much the same way you are. I’m newly separated and my mates at work have been trying to get me out for a night’s drinking for weeks. I kept trying to put them off, but in the end I also ran out of excuses and thought I’d just get pissed and get it over with.’

  ‘Pissed as in English pissed?’

  ‘Yes. Drunk. Not angry.’

  ‘God, it’s nice to meet someone who speaks the same language,’ Gabby says. ‘I’ve been here for ever – I’m an American citizen – and I love this country more than I could ever imagine, but when I’m with someone English I just feel I’ve come home.’

  ‘I have that effect on all women,’ Julian says. ‘Seriously, it isn’t meeting someone English, though. At least, I don’t think so. It’s meeting someone from your “village”. We probably went to the same parties. I’m sure if we tried we’d come up with a ton of people in common. Were you hanging out at the Dome?’

  ‘Yes!’ she says in delight. ‘The Mud Club?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Hang on –’ she peers at him – ‘didn’t I snog you on New Year’s Eve in nineteen eighty-five?’

  ‘Oh my God! That was you? I’ve been looking for you for ever!’ They both laugh. ‘So what’s your story, Gabby? Husband? Kids? What brought you here …’

  ‘I had a husband,’ Gabby starts, leaning forward so he can hear.

  ‘What?’ The music has just been turned up and he cups his ear. ‘Can you speak up?’

  She leans even further forward and speaks loudly. ‘Not really!’

  ‘Have you eaten? This place is too damn noisy for me. Do you want to leave and grab something to eat?’ he asks, his lips up against her ear.

  She beams up at him. ‘That would be lovely!’

  Josephine turns to see Julian, before gaping at Gabby. ‘What? How is it that you’ve met a cute guy already?’

  ‘He’s not a romantic prospect,’ Gabby assures her. ‘He’s from the same place as me. We have friends in common. To be honest, it’s getting a bit loud in here. Would you mind terribly if I left?’

  ‘You’re going to get in a car with him? A stranger?’

  ‘No! We’re just going across the street. I’ll be back.’

  ‘Oh. Okay.’

  ‘You’re sure? Because I won’t go if you’re not okay with it.’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Josephine leans forward. ‘This guy Rich is really nice. I’m more than fine.’ And she winks.

  ‘Be back later,’ Gabby says, giving Josephine a kiss on the cheek.

  She told Josephine he isn’t a romantic prospect, and the truth is she is enjoying herself too much to even think about whether he is a romantic prospect or not. There is certainly banter, perhaps one might call it chemistry, but Gabby suspects it’s from familiarity, rather than any sexual attraction. He feels like a brother, like someone she has known for ever, for while she does not know him, she has known a million men, boys, like him, and feels completely safe and comfortable in a way she rarely feels with people she has just met.

  They walk across the street, both chattering nineteen to the dozen, and walk into the restaurant there. Julian guides her in through the door, one hand on the small of her back, then helps her off with her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door.

  How lovely it is, Gabby thinks, to be with a man who knows what to do. He pulls the chair out for her before sitting down himself, and shakes out his napkin as soon as he sits down, smiling over the table at his new friend.

  Gabby sighs. ‘This is so much better. Thank you for suggesting this. I felt like my ears were going to pop.’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten you were about to give me your life story,’ Julian says. ‘I think you were at the part where you had a husband.’

  ‘Ah yes. I was.’ Gabby is quiet for a moment, because she is not sure how to edit her story to make it palatable. He may feel like someone she has known for ever, but what will he think if she tells him the truth? Is it necessary to tell anyone the truth? Would it not be better just to say she and her husband split up and she has a baby? But she has tried that before, and everyone gasps in horror at how disgusting her husband is, that he could leave her when pregnant.

  She may be furious with Elliott now, but he is not the bad guy here. He does not deserve to be castigated for something he did not do.

  ‘I had a husband,’ she starts, her eyes flicking to the door, then she stops, abruptly. ‘Oh shit,’ she says. ‘And there he is.’

  She looks at Julian like a rabbit trapped in the glare of headlights.

  ‘Do you need to hide?’ he leans forward and whispers.

  ‘I don’t want to see him,’ she whispers back. ‘Or his ghastly girlfriend.’

  ‘I like it that you like the word “ghastly”.’ He is still whispering. ‘It’s my most favourite word. I’ve made a pact to myself to use it at least five time
s a day.’

  ‘This really is ghastly,’ she says. ‘Seriously. I don’t want to see them.’

  ‘Stop being a baby,’ he commands. ‘I can’t throw my Barbour over your head and pretend to be dining with the incredible shrouded woman.’

  Despite herself, Gabby laughs, just as Elliott spots her, and stops in his tracks.

  ‘Don’t look now,’ Julian says out of the side of his mouth, ‘but the ex has seen you.’

  ‘If you had thrown your Barbour over my head I wouldn’t be able to look now,’ she mutters, wishing she could stop smiling. ‘I wish you had.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ he says gently. ‘If I had then we’d have to cut a hole in it so you could eat, and that wouldn’t be very practical, would it?’

  Gabby bursts out laughing before sinking her head in her hands. ‘Oh God. This is awful. I don’t mind saying hello to Elliott, but the smug ghastly girlfriend? Ghastly!’

  Julian peers over. ‘She does look rather smug. Very American perfect. Not my type at all.’

  ‘Oh no? What’s your type?’ Gabby couldn’t help the question, but Julian says nothing, merely smiles and raises an eyebrow, lifting his water glass in a silent toast.

  ‘Watch out’, he says. ‘Here they come.’

  ‘Elliott!’ Gabby summons every ounce of graciousness she has ever possessed, flashing a charming smile at them both. ‘Trish! What a small world!’

  ‘Lovely to see you,’ Trish replies, without stopping, continuing through the restaurant to their table, shooting a look at Elliott as if he should follow her. Which he doesn’t. ‘Elliott?’ she says.

  ‘Be there in a minute,’ he says, turning to look at Julian. He extends a hand. ‘Hi, I’m Elliott.’

  ‘Julian. How do you do?’

  ‘Oh. You’re English. Are you a friend from home?’

  ‘No,’ Julian says pleasantly, not offering anything else.

  An awkward silence descends.

  ‘How are the girls?’ Elliott asks Gabby eventually.

  ‘Fine. They’re with friends this evening. Hoping to see you sometime this weekend, I think. Oh, and some of the clothes from my house are still at yours,’ she adds. ‘Maybe you could bring them back?’