The Minute I Saw You

by Paige Toon

  Poor guy. He seems so despondent. On impulse I reach over and squeeze his arm. He glances at my hand.

  ‘Sorry you’re down at the moment,’ I say sympathetically, letting him go. ‘You seemed so up on Friday night. Is it only Rochelle and the kids or . . .?’

  He sighs heavily and picks up his coffee cup.

  ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,’ I add as he’s taking a sip.

  He returns his cup to the table. ‘It’s going to sound wanky.’

  ‘I grew up with Charles,’ I remind him. ‘I’ve heard all the therapy mumbo jumbo there is to hear.’

  His lips lift up into a half-smile and he throws me a sideways look. He makes very little eye contact when he’s low, I’ve noticed, so when it does come, it sparks a small jolt inside my ribcage.

  ‘My life isn’t very meaning ful at the moment,’ he says sardonically.

  I wait for him to go on.

  ‘My work . . . My relationships . . .’ His voice drips with sarcasm at that last word. ‘Everything about my life right now . . . No, everything about my life for years . . . It’s felt meaningless.’

  I regard him patiently and my expression must compel him to continue.

  ‘I used to love taking photographs,’ he confides. ‘But fashion photography . . . It makes me feel so empty. It’s been making me feel like that for a long time.’ He exhales heavily and reclines in his chair, casting me a look. ‘I’ve got to go to Amsterdam in a couple of weeks for a job. It’s the last thing I want to do, but I committed to it months ago and I can’t get out of it. I don’t feel at all ready to go back there again.’

  ‘Have you been home since Easter?’ I ask.

  ‘No. I feel so guilty that I didn’t go to Scott’s funeral.’

  ‘Is he your friend who passed away?’

  He nods. ‘I just couldn’t. I couldn’t even get out of bed.’

  ‘Oh, Sonny,’ I murmur. ‘Were you very close?’

  ‘That’s the thing. We weren’t. We were mainly social friends.’ He sighs heavily. ‘But I could see myself in him. When he died, it hit me, all at once, that I was headed the same way.’

  Jesus.

  ‘I had a choice,’ he continues as my mind races. ‘Stay on a downward spiral like Scott or make some changes.’

  I reach across and squeeze his arm again. ‘And you are making changes. You haven’t given up. You’re still here, trying to create something meaningful by spending more time with your daughters. It will get better. I really believe that.’

  He nods. I don’t think he’s able to speak.

  ‘And this job in Amsterdam . . .’ I add. ‘Maybe it’ll be good for you to go home for a bit, see what you’re capable of. Test this vow you’ve made to yourself.’

  He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. That last sentence was impossible to say completely seriously.

  ‘You were starting to give Evelyn a run for her money until you said that.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’

  He chuckles and I can’t help following suit as he knocks back the last of his coffee.

  Chapter 11

  We’re back in the car, pulling out onto the main road, when Sonny’s phone rings.

  ‘Rochelle,’ he notes aloud, sounding taken aback. He gives me the universal ‘pipe down’ gesture with his flattened hand before pressing a button to answer the call. ‘Hi,’ he says.

  ‘Where are you?’ she demands.

  Her snappy tone instantly puts me on edge.

  ‘In the car. Why?’

  ‘Where in the car? Are you far from mine?’

  She sounds very impatient.

  ‘I’m about ten, fifteen minutes away. Why?’ he asks again.

  ‘Can you pick up the kids from school and take them home for an hour or so until I can leave work? The childminder has come down with a stomach bug and my mum’s at the gym.’

  ‘Sure! But I’ve got a friend with—’

  ‘Male or female?’

  ‘Female.’

  ‘I don’t want you introducing my girls to any of your hussies!’

  ‘She’s not a . . .’ He sounds exasperated. ‘She’s just a friend,’ he states firmly, flashing me a look of apology as I slide down in my seat in a useless attempt to escape the onslaught.

  ‘Well, excuse me for remembering you’ve slept with half of Cambridgeshire,’ she snipes.

  ‘Rochelle, you’re on speakerphone,’ he says calmly, while I give him a look of absolute ‘are-you-kidding-me?’ astonishment. Is he trying to wind her up?

  ‘Forget it!’ she barks. ‘I’ll call a friend.’

  ‘Wait!’ he shouts. ‘Don’t! I’ll be there in ten. Don’t call anyone else,’ he adds hastily. ‘I want to be there. I’ll be there,’ he insists.

  ‘Fine,’ she snaps, ending the call.

  He hangs up and looks at me. ‘Sorry. Do you mind?’

  Still squirming, I tell him, not entirely truthfully, that I don’t.

  *

  Rochelle lives with Sonny’s children in Hauxton, a small village south of Cambridge. We drive along winding roads that take us past thatched cottages and seventies developments alike before arriving at our destination.

  ‘I hope she called ahead,’ Sonny says as he pulls up outside the village school. ‘The only other time I’ve picked them up, their teacher wouldn’t release them to me because she didn’t know who I was.’

  ‘Good luck,’ I say feebly as he gets out of the car.

  His life – this entire situation, in fact – sounds complicated.

  It occurs to me far too belatedly that I should’ve asked him to drop me somewhere. I could’ve caught a taxi home, or even waited inside that nice delicatessen that we passed. But it’s too late now.

  It’s a good five minutes before children start to emerge from the school gates and another five before Sonny appears. For a moment or two I’m confused. His daughters look identical: they’re the same height, wearing the same school uniform and their light-blond hair is tied up into matching high ponytails. And then it hits me that they are identical. They’re twins.

  I feel as though someone has upended a bucket of ice water all over me.

  Matilda made some comment about remembering what it was like to be nine and I assumed she was referring to the age of only one of his daughters. She also told me that Sonny was a perpetual one-night-stand man, and Sonny himself revealed that he hadn’t been with Rochelle for long. I assumed he meant a couple of years, but knowing what I now know about him, I realise it was probably days, if that. I feel stupid for not questioning all of this sooner.

  All around me, car doors are opening, with Sonny climbing into the front and his daughters piling into the back.

  I force myself to turn around and smile.

  Sonny twists in his seat. ‘Girls, this is Hannah. Hannah, this is Imogen and Natalie.’

  ‘Hello, Natalie!’ I chirp, my insides clenching as I wave at the child Sonny indicated was Imogen. ‘Hello, Imogen!’

  ‘No, I’m Natalie,’ Natalie says.

  ‘No, you’re Imogen. Wait, no, you’re Imogen.’ I point and pretend to be confused and stupid and they begin to giggle.

  The sound of their identical laughter causes my heart to contract.

  They have their father’s eyes: bright, almost violet, blue, and there’s something about their smiles that reminds me of him too.

  ‘Everyone got seat belts on?’ Sonny asks.

  Two yeses come from the back seat.

  ‘Hannah?’ he asks me in a stern-sounding voice.

  ‘Yes, Dad!’ I yell, and they giggle again.

  We go to the playground in the village, which is set within a large, green, well-kept space. I push Natalie on the swing while Sonny, next to me, pushes Imogen. Higher and higher they go until their squeals of delight verge on squeals of fear and then we slow down until they complain and we’re forced to go through it all again.

  Eventually Imogen says she’s hungry, w
hich sets Natalie off, and Sonny, who didn’t have time to pick up any after-school snacks, says we’ll have to head home. I’m not at all comfortable about the idea of entering Rochelle’s territory, but it would seem very odd to the girls if I stayed in the car. Who knows how much longer their mum is going to be.

  Rochelle and her daughters live in a square-fronted eighties detached house on a road full of other square-fronted eighties detached houses. The front garden is neat, but characterless: a patch of recently mown grass with a pot of pink geraniums under one of the windows.

  The spare key is in a key safe by the front door and the girls know the code so we let ourselves in, Sonny and I freezing comically when the alarm begins to go off.

  Natalie calmly steps up to the keypad and punches in four digits and the house falls silent.

  ‘Phew,’ Sonny murmurs, giving me a look of what seems to be terror, and it’s only then that I realise he’s as on edge as I am.

  ‘You haven’t done this before?’ I ask as the girls run on ahead to the kitchen.

  He shakes his head with trepidation. ‘Last time, Rochelle told me to wait at the playground until she got there.’

  ‘It’s a good sign!’ I whisper. ‘She’s trusting you.’

  ‘Mm,’ he replies shortly.

  There’s a lot weighing on this. I can’t say I’m not feeling the pressure.

  Sonny walks into the kitchen and claps his hands. ‘Right, what do you usually have as an after-school snack? And don’t tell me it’s ice cream and sweets because I won’t believe you.’

  ‘We do sometimes have ice creams and sweets!’ Imogen protests.

  ‘Yeah, we do!’ Natalie gets in on the act, her little face hopeful and pleading as she stares up at her father.

  ‘Are you trying to get me into trouble with your mum?’ Sonny asks with a frown. ‘What else?’

  ‘Toast?’ Natalie suggests slightly less enthusiastically.

  ‘Toast, I can do.’ He looks around, spies the breadbin and gets out a loaf of supermarket sliced wholemeal. ‘How many slices?’

  ‘Two!’ come the simultaneous replies.

  He puts four slices into the toaster. ‘Drinks?’ he asks, going to the fridge and peering inside. ‘Apple juice?’

  ‘Yes please!’ Again, simultaneous.

  I offer to take over the drinks, needing something to do.

  All four of us are sitting at the table when we hear a key turn in the lock. Sonny gets up, but indicates that I should stay where I am. I listen to him talking to Rochelle in a low voice in the hall and her responding curt replies. She appears in the doorway.

  ‘Hello, my darlings!’ she says sunnily, her eyes darting from her daughters to me and back again.

  She’s not at all how I expected her to look. She’s very petite with curly, almost frizzy, brown hair tied in a low ponytail. Her face is narrow, her jawline sharp, and she’s wearing a light-blue uniform that is not unlike the one I have to wear to work.

  ‘Hi,’ I say, getting up from the table and holding out my hand as she approaches. ‘I’m Hannah.’

  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this ill at ease.

  ‘Hi.’ She shakes my hand briefly, her blue eyes appraising me.

  ‘It’s been lovely meeting your girls. They’re a delight.’

  ‘They’re trouble, is what they are,’ she says in a joke cross voice, her eyes on her daughters.

  Imogen and Natalie look over at us and giggle.

  I grin at them.

  When Rochelle next meets my eyes, her expression has softened slightly. ‘Sorry about the late notice,’ she apologises. ‘But thanks for helping out. I hope I didn’t disrupt your plans.’

  ‘Oh no, not at all. It was a pleasure. I don’t work Mondays so it was nice to have something to do. We’d only gone for a coffee.’ I nod at Sonny, who’s been hanging back behind her, watching this exchange.

  ‘What do you do?’ Rochelle asks me.

  ‘I’m an optician.’ I don’t bother to say the ‘dispensing’ part. Most people don’t differentiate between the different roles in any case. ‘My uniform is very similar to yours, actually. What do you do?’

  ‘I’m a dental nurse.’

  ‘Awesome.’

  She smiles tightly. ‘Well, thanks again.’

  ‘As I say, it’s been a pleasure.’ I get to my feet, sensing the approaching expiry date on our welcome. ‘Great to meet you both. Bye, Natalie! Bye, Imogen!’ I wave in a ridiculously over-the-top fashion and they start to protest that I’ve got them mixed up again. ‘I’m joking,’ I say with a laugh. ‘You’re Natalie and you’re Imogen.’ I’m still jesting with them and they know it now, giggling like a couple of nutcases as I back out of the room, taking my clown act with me.

  ‘Bye,’ I call to Rochelle with a grin.

  ‘Bye,’ she calls, and her smile, at last, seems genuine.

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ I tell Sonny as I pass.

  He gives me a brusque nod in return, but his eyes are full of warmth.

  He exits the house a few minutes later. The car was locked so I’ve been leaning against it with my face turned up to the cloudless sky, trying to still my frazzled heart with a few steady breaths.

  ‘Sorry,’ he apologises, hurriedly unlocking the car.

  ‘No worries,’ I brush him off, pushing off from the side and turning around.

  He flashes me a look of unbridled relief, but doesn’t look my way again until he’s reversed out onto the road and driven out of sight.

  ‘Thank you for that,’ he says, exhaling loudly. ‘She said maybe I can pick them up from school more often, cut down on the hours the childminder does.’

  ‘That would be cool.’

  I’m amazed and slightly awed by how such a tiny person can wield so much control over a man. And I mean Rochelle, not the kids, but them too.

  He nods. ‘Yes, it would.’

  Bless him, he really does sound utterly blown away.

  Chapter 12

  Sonny’s phone rings again as we’re driving into Grantchester.

  ‘Archie,’ he says aloud, answering on speakerphone. ‘Hey.’

  ‘All right, mate, how’s it going?’ Archie’s deep voice fills the car.

  Inside my bag, my phone begins to vibrate. I pull it out and, smiling, flash the display in front of Sonny before answering it – it’s Matilda.

  ‘Hi, you!’ she says.

  ‘Hello!’

  ‘Quick one as I’m at work, but are you free tonight? It’s supposed to rain tomorrow so Archie and I thought we’d make the most of the weather and have a barbecue.’

  ‘That’s a great idea!’

  ‘Archie’s going to invite Sonny too, if that’s okay.’

  ‘ . . .but she’s vegetarian,’ I hear Sonny say, giving me a side-long look that implies he’s referring to me.

  ‘Pescatarian,’ I correct him.

  ‘Pardon?’ Matilda says in my ear, then, with surprise: ‘Is that Archie I can hear?’

  ‘Yes, he called Sonny. I’m in Sonny’s car.’

  ‘Put me on speakerphone,’ she urges, so I do. ‘Archie! Sonny!’ she shouts.

  ‘Wait, where did you come from?’ Archie’s disembodied voice asks with confusion.

  ‘Hannah’s with Sonny!’ she tells him. ‘Can he come?’

  ‘Yes, but he says Hannah’s a vegetarian.’

  ‘Pescatarian,’ Sonny chips in.

  ‘I’ll bring something for myself!’ I say quickly.

  ‘Would a halloumi burger work?’ Matilda asks. ‘We’ve got some.’

  ‘That sounds perfect.’

  ‘So you can both come?’ Archie asks.

  ‘Yes!’ we reply.

  ‘What can we bring?’ I ask.

  ‘Booze,’ Archie replies while, at the same time, Matilda says, ‘Just yourselves!’

  ‘What time?’ Sonny checks with a grin.

  ‘Six thirty?’ Archie suggests.

  ‘Sounds good! See you later!’ I say, and
then we all shout bye.

  Sonny and I laugh at each other.

  ‘I don’t know why they’re not married already, do you?’ he asks me.

  ‘No. They make a great couple.’

  ‘They do,’ he agrees affectionately.

  Sonny drops me home so I can take Bertie out for a walk while he heads back to his parents’ house to get showered and changed.

  He returns for me an hour or so later. The sound of his jaunty little knock makes me smile as I fight back an eager Bertie to open the door to him.

  He’s wearing a fresh T-shirt – navy this time – and as he greets Bertie and straightens up, I see that he’s also stubble-free, and oh wow . . .

  I close my eyes briefly. ‘Man, you smell good.’

  It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  His lips quirk up in amusement and I laugh. ‘Honestly, I think I’m addicted to your aftershave. I might have to steal some from you.’

  He chuckles. ‘I might’ve overdone it a bit. It was the end of the bottle.’

  ‘You need to get some more.’

  He steps closer to me, tilting his chin up and away to reveal his clean-shaven neck. Without thinking, I stand on tiptoe and press my nose against his neck, just below his jawline, and inhale deeply.

  I’m instantly light-headed. My heels sink back onto the floor and I stare up at him.

  Momentarily he seems alarmed, and then his nostrils flare and his irises are flooded with black.

  His gaze drops to my lips . . .

  And then he snaps out of it, shaking his head and taking a step backwards.

  ‘Yeah, maybe don’t do that again,’ he warns, and even though his mouth is smiling, I know he’s not joking.

  ‘Okay,’ I reply weakly, backing up into the hall and trying to avoid being knocked over by Bertie as I swoop down to pick up my sandals.

  Shit, shit, shit, I’m thinking as I sit on the bottom step and put them on.

  Sonny lets out a laugh and I regard him apprehensively, but then he doubles over. His humour sets me off and soon my hand is clutched to my chest and I’m lost to hysterics as Bertie barks madly at us both.

  ‘Shall we go?’ he asks when the three of us have calmed down. Tears of laughter have caught in his eyes, making them sparkle like sunshine on an ocean.