The Next Best Thing Page 9

  ‘Just for one hour,’ she pleaded. ‘How bad can it be?’

  As they stood to leave, the Italian watched Lydia’s legs unfold with undisguised lust. Rupert pulled his sweater back on, a sweater better suited to a hearty stroll on the moors than an afternoon mincing round Designers Guild and William Yeoward. A fine weekend this had been. Saturday night listening to fashionable people talking about how your bag shouldn’t match your shoes any more as that was too obvious, and Sunday afternoon being patronised by designer shop staff. Then back to the office on Monday to a job he had come to hate, though he couldn’t admit that to anyone, least of all to Lydia.

  It seemed to him that the week ahead held just one ray of hope, and that was the near certainty that he would see Jane again at the Friday afternoon screening of Au Revoir Les Enfants. He held that knowledge secretly inside him, like a tiny unseen torch, too fragile to be exposed to risk of extinction.

  Later that afternoon Jane was hurriedly clearing away the lunch things while trying to explain to Will about Liberty’s homework.

  ‘Where is she supposed to write it?’ he said irritably. ‘Where? I can’t see.’

  ‘It’s not exactly rocket science,’ she said, ‘just there, on the facing page. She knows, anyway, don’t you, Liberty?’

  Liberty shrugged. She was offended that Jane was deserting her on a Sunday evening, but not as offended as Will was.

  ‘I do think you could have done this earlier,’ he said. ‘You’ve had all weekend to do it, but oh no, you have to wait until the eleventh hour so muggins here has to step into the breach.’

  You would have thought she was asking him to write a fifty-page thesis instead of oversee six elementary sums. Pressed for time, Jane decided to resort to flattery.

  ‘Come on, Will, you know you’re so much better at it than me. liberty takes notice of you when you put your foot down. Don’t you, Liberty?’

  The child shrugged again. It seemed they were both determined to stay in a huff.

  There goes the doorbell,’ said Jane, relieved to know she’d soon be out of it.

  Lydia swept into the kitchen in killer heels and a cloud of perfume. ‘I’m parked at the end of the road,’ she announced, ‘let’s hope no-one nicks my car. You are so brave to live round here, it would scare me shitless. Hallo, Will.’ She kissed him on both checks, then stepped back so he could give her the once-over.

  He dropped the exercise book on the table; he had to admit she looked pretty damn hot. ‘I hear it’s Chelsea for you these days,’ he said. ‘Fat chance of witnessing a crime there, unless you count living off a trust fund as a crime against humanity.’

  ‘I’m not living there yet,’ she said, ‘but let’s just say the wheels are in motion. How are you anyway, good weekend?’

  ‘Not really,’ he replied. ‘Look at me, left here holding the baby.’

  ‘I’m not a baby!’ Liberty scowled up at him.

  He patted her shoulder. ‘I know, sweetheart, it’s a figure of speech. No, Lydia, it’s been a crap weekend to be honest. We had dinner last night with these vegetarian friends of Jane’s who served wine with plastic corks and let their four-year-old crawl round our feet all evening, wearing a cloth nappy.’

  ‘I don’t know, all you young families saving the planet,’ said Lydia. ‘You make me feel so decadent. All I’ve got to worry about is my own pleasure.’

  Will scowled at her, remembering when her pleasure used to be his pleasure.

  ‘We’d better go,’ said Jane.

  ‘He’s still quite prickly, isn’t he?’ said Lydia as they drove off. ‘I mean that as a good thing. He hasn’t gone all boring and domestic like most men do once they’ve got a kid. Mind you, he’s been there before.’

  ‘Yes,’ Jane looked out the window, ‘though I do sometimes wonder, seeing the way he treats Liberty. You feel he’s never spoken to a child before, let alone brought up two sons.’

  Lydia I was surprised to hear Jane admit that Will might be a less than perfect father. She would usually never hear a word against him, always insisting he was an all-round wonderful person. That was partly why Lydia had decided to seduce him all those years ago, just for the satisfaction of proving her wrong.

  ‘So what do you think?’ she said. ‘Via the Mile End Road or Islington, what’s the best way to get there? It’s been so long, I really can’t remember.’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Jane, holding up her fingers and thumbs in the shape of a W, the way Liberty did, ‘you’re the driver.’

  She settled back to enjoy the ride and moved her thoughts away from her family to focus on the night ahead. ‘I’m looking forward to this, in a grotesque way,’ she said.

  It was good to break the routine, do something different. She and Lydia ran through all their friends from school, wondering who might be there tonight. They agreed it was bound to be the more dreary ones who turned up.

  ‘It is a bit tragic, after all,’ said Jane. ‘I’m only going because you made me. I’d hate anyone to think I really wanted to go.’

  ‘That’s typical of you,’ said Lydia. ‘You always worry what people will think. I don’t, I just do what I want.’

  The lights were glittering on the London Eye as they drove along the Embankment, and a ghostly blue light showed off the new footbridge. London was spectacular these days, like a drab woman who had put on a party dress. Jane looked across the river at the Festival Hall and the National Film Theatre beside it. Only five more days, she thought, and she’d be off to the cinema again. He was bound to be there. She folded her arms and thought about him, how little she knew about him. What was he doing now? Was he sitting alone in a darkened room, thinking about her? Out at a pub with his friends? Or watching television with his children — he could be married, for all she knew. But then again it was none of her business, really.

  The school hall looked smaller than Jane recalled, and the walls were still hung with portraits of the great composers. Jane remembered staring at them during morning assembly, whiling away the tedious minutes, lime dragged endlessly when you were young, you spent hours feeling bored, waiting for something to happen. Then suddenly you were grown up and there weren’t enough hours in the day.

  At the far end of the hall a small group of middle-aged people were standing in front of a trestle table, holding paper cups of wine. Jane’s first instinct was to turn around and walk straight out.

  ‘Let’s go now,’ Jane whispered to Lydia, ‘pretend we’ve left something in the car, quick.’

  ‘Don’t be absurd.’

  And Lydia made her entrance, heading for an apologetic-looking man who was passing round a howl of Twiglets.

  Jane ducked in behind her.

  ‘Peter Griggs!’ said Lydia. ‘I’d know you anywhere, you’ve still got the same glasses!’

  They exchanged life stories, though Peter’s didn’t take too long. Solicitor, stayed local, two kids. By comparison, Lydia presented hers as a richly embroidered tapestry, albeit with one or two embellishments that Jane knew were not entirely true.

  ‘Gosh, you make me sound really boring!’ he said.

  ‘No!’ said Lydia unconvincingly, looking round For an escape route. ‘You remember Jane, don’t you? Oh my God, there’s Steven May!’

  She slipped away to talk to a thick-set man who was still handsome, though grown jowly. Steven May, Jane thought with a jolt, my very first boyfriend. The love of her life, or so she had thought, until that Christmas party when Lydia had slow-danced with him to Careless Whisper. She looked away over Peter’s other shoulder and saw two women who looked familiar, class swots who had now fulfilled their early promise of dowdiness. In spite of her reservations, it was comforting to be with people you hadn’t seen for twenty years. It was like an old film, comically rewound to show the figures running backwards to their starting positions.

  Peter Criggs seemed delighted by the whole affair. ‘I’m surprised I haven’t seen you at one of these before,’ he said. ‘This is my tenth, it�
�s always a marvellous evening.’

  Thank goodness I got away, thought Jane. The thought of living round the corner, never missing a reunion, was enough to provoke a panic attack of claustrophobia. Life was a journey, after all, you had to move on or you’d end up stagnating in the corner of the school hall with the likes of Peter Criggs.

  ‘You’re not married then?’ he was saying, nodding at her empty ring linger.

  ‘No, well, I live with someone. Same difference really. What about you?’

  ‘Fifteen years. We had a weekend to Rome to celebrate, it was wonderful, we got our flights for forty-eight pounds, and stayed in a marvellous hotel . . .’

  Jane listened to him detailing the itinerary and thanked her lucky stars for Will. At least she didn’t need to come out to functions like this to brag about her life. Peter was going on about his children now, how well they were doing. As if I care, thought Jane. Next thing he’d be bringing out their school reports to show her.

  ‘Will you excuse me?’ she said. ‘I must just go and say hallo to Toni Vincent.’

  She made a break for it and cornered Toni, feeling the need to talk to someone who didn’t think that life began and ended off the North Circular.

  ‘Hi, Toni, do you remember me?’

  Toni frowned slightly.

  ‘I was goal defence to your goalkeeper in the netball team.’ She’d never thought she’d be using that line, but at least it put her on the map for Toni.

  ‘Of course, how are you? What are you up to now?’

  ‘I’m a translator.’

  ‘That’s right, I remember you being good at languages. Hang on, though, didn’t you use to write for one of our magazines?’

  For a bit, but I went over to translating. Only room for one writer in a relationship. I think you know my partner, actually. Will Thacker, he does stuff for you occasionally’

  Toni’s eyes widened in respect. ‘Oh, gosh, so you’re Mrs Thacker.’

  ‘We’re not actually married.’

  ‘Well, rather you than me. I must say he’s a brilliant writer but he must be hell to live with, I’d have thought.’

  Jane felt herself colouring. ‘Not really, no, he’s terribly easy . . .’ she groped for words ‘. . . I mean, obviously he can be quite demanding . . .’

  ‘Demanding is putting it mildly, I’d have thought. Still, you look good on it.’ Toni cast her hand round the room. ‘Isn’t this hilarious? We’re doing a piece on school reunions so I thought I’d put in a little research.’ She smiled at Jane. ‘Let’s have lunch,’ she said. ‘Maybe I could lure you back to do something for us. Don’t bring Will, though, otherwise we won’t get a word in edgeways.’

  ‘All right, great,’ said Jane, still a bit put out by her remarks about Will, but flattered by the suggestion.

  ‘You and Will have got kids, haven’t you?’ Toni asked.

  ‘One daughter.’

  ‘I’ve got two, just gone off to boarding school. Fantastic arrangement, they love it, come home at weekends, means I can work late all week without feeling bad, you should think about it.’

  For a brief moment, Jane thought it did sound like a very good idea. The tantalising carrot of all those free evenings, release from the bedtime routine. Then she remembered she didn’t approve of boarding school. ‘I couldn’t do that,’ she said, ‘I’d feel terrible. I’ve always thought that having a child away from home would be like adopting an animal in London Zoo.’

  Toni snorted. ‘Like a chimpanzee, you mean? It’s not that bad, you still see them at the weekends. And you shouldn’t exaggerate the mother thing. She’ll grow up before you know it, and you’ve got to think where that’ll leave you.’

  ‘That’s exactly why you have to make the most of it,’ said Jane. ‘I’d hate to think I hadn’t made her childhood as happy as it could be.’

  Toni shrugged. ‘I do think it’s a bit of a trap, this business of putting the children first all the time. You aren’t necessarily doing them a favour by making them feel they’re the centre of the universe. They think that anyway.’

  It’s all right for you to say that, thought Jane. She remembered going to Toni’s birthday party, in her large and messy house, surrounded by brothers and sisters, her parents happily sitting hack and letting them run riot. How she had envied her that casual freedom, a normal family with two parents.

  Jane was ten when her parents divorced. Nobody spoke of single-parent families then, they were still a rarity. When her father walked out, her mother had taken to her bed for several weeks. Jane remembered making breakfast for her one morning, setting out the tea and toast then carrying the tray carefully up the stairs until she tripped and sent the lot flying. Normally her mother would have been straight there, cleaning it up and telling her it didn’t matter, but this time she just stayed in bed. So Jane had fetched a bowl of water herself, scrubbing at the stair carpet, hot tears running down her checks. The next time her father came to visit, she lay down in the road in front of his car so he couldn’t drive away. He didn’t come again after that.

  This was why she was so adamant that she and Will should always stay together. She would do anything to shield Liberty from that kind of pain.

  Lydia appeared between them. ‘Oh my God, isn’t this just a riot? Steven May, can you believe I ever went out with him, although of course he used to be considered quite a catch, his dad owned that garage.’ She frowned at Jane, trying to remember. ‘Didn’t you have a thing with him at some point?’

  Jane stared at her in disbelief. Could her memory really be that selective? ‘I went out with him for three years until you stole him off me,’ she said indignantly, ‘I’m still not over it, you know!’

  Lydia had the grace to look slightly guilty. ‘Oh dear, so I did, I’d quite forgotten. How brutal we were then.’

  ‘No, you were brutal, the rest of us just picked up the pieces,’ said Jane. She could laugh about it now, but it wasn’t so funny then. She had spent many happy evenings at his house where his mother cheerfully administered to the needs of her three sons. His father would come in after work and sit benignly in the bosom of his family. He had a bald head with a crown of hair, like the picture on the Daddy’s Sauce bottle. When Steven went off with Lydia, his mother told Jane he’d made a big mistake, didn’t know what he was throwing away.

  He was coming up to talk to her now that Toni and Lydia had drifted off into conversation about magazines. She remembered his walk; it had a cocky lift to it that was still appealing. She’d tried so hard to get him back — it was humiliating to think of it, the tears, the begging, the eventual acceptance of his rejection. She had refused to speak to Lydia for two years, which was childish of her, and difficult, too, with their mothers being so close.

  ‘Hallo stranger,’ he said, ‘fancy seeing you here.’

  She laughed, relieved that he no longer had the same effect on her. ‘Clad to see your pick-up lines haven’t moved on. It’s good to see you, Steven.’

  ‘Likewise’ He smiled at her. His eyes hadn’t lost their twinkle, at least. ‘Brings it all hack, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, though I’m not sure how much of a good thing that is . . . Anyway, how’s business? Did you take over the garage?’

  ‘Certainly did. As you can see, I’m as predictable as ever. You would have got bored with me, you were too clever for me by half.’

  He wanted her forgiveness.

  ‘I’m not sure about that,’ she said, ‘but you’re right, it wouldn’t have worked out.’

  He smiled in relief. ‘You look fantastic,’ he said, then lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘You’ve aged better than Lydia, to be honest.’

  ‘That’s nice of you, but you know it’s not true.’

  ‘I mean it! So tell me, who’s the lucky fellow?’

  ‘He’s a writer, actually . . .’ And she was off down the familiar track, giving a mouth-watering account of her fascinating partner, her gorgeous daughter, the perfect life/work balance she had worked
so hard to achieve. But her version of the ideal life was slightly lost on Steven.

  ‘Shepherds Bush, that’s a bit rough, isn’t it?’ he said in suburban concern. ‘Still, I hope he treats you right. You deserve it.’

  ‘He treats me just fine,’ she said quickly. ‘Shall we get another drink?’

  On the way home Jane thought about Steven May and his life at the garage. He had a wife and four children — he said his wife had always wanted four because everything came in packets of six so five was a stupid number to make a picnic for. Jane imagined them on happy family days out, a giant coolbox in the back of the people carrier, packets of jam tarts being shared out on a blanket on the sand. He was so certain about everything, whereas she seemed to live in a fog of doubt these days, constantly wondering if she might be barking up the wrong tree.

  They were on the Mile End Road now, and Lydia had put on Donna Summer at full volume. ‘I remember driving down this road with Steven May in his Trevor Seven,’ she said, tapping the wheel in time to the music and putting on a sexy pout for the benefit of the car that had drawn up alongside them at the lights. ‘We were on our way to Stringfellow’s. God we thought we were sophisticated, we thought we were just it. Isn’t it funny how you move on. Though thank the lord we do.’

  ‘I wish you’d shut up about Steven May,’ Jane said. ‘He was my boyfriend first, you know. Though he never took me up the West End; his idea of a night out with me was a quiet drink in a pub in Epping Forest.’

  ‘Here we are,’ said Lydia as they drew up outside Jane’s house. ‘Good fun, wasn’t it. Are you glad you came?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jane, I really am. Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘Bit of a boost, isn’t it, seeing all those boys who clearly still fancy us. Good to know that Peter Griggs is always there for me if all else fails.’

  Good old Lydia, she always liked to keep her options open.

  ‘I thought you were spoken for these days?’ Jane commented.

  ‘Indeed, you’ll get to meet him at the party. Did I tell you we’re going to South America for Christmas?’ She smiled her dazzling smile. ‘See you then.’