A Hopeless Romantic (5 page)

“How dare you say that,” Laura said, her voice rising. “How dare you! That’s bullshit. He’s not like that, it’s not like that. It’s just…complicated. He can’t just dump her, I don’t want him to do that. We have to wait before we can be together…we…oh.”

She slumped down into a chair, tears in her eyes. “It sounds so fucking clichéd,” she whispered. “I’m so stupid.”

“You’re really not, darling,” Yorky said, patting her hand across the table. “You’re just mad about him, and what’s wrong with that? Eh? You’ve got to…you’ve got to sort it out, that’s all. You know what you’re like.”

Laura stood up again and went over to make the tea. “I have to, I know,” she said. “It’s just…it’s just—I can’t think of anyone I’m ever going to like more than I like him.” Hot tears ran down her cheeks and she rubbed her eyes, feeling like a little girl on the playground at school.

It was true, that was the awful thing. She knew all this; she thought she was a sensible girl. But some kind of love had taken hold of her and refused to let her go, and it wasn’t a happy, easy, joyful thing; it had her in a viselike grip.

She looked up at Yorky and smiled, trying to be brave. His face contorted with sympathy, and he walked over and gave her a big hug. “Do something about it, darling,” he said, his voice muffled against Laura’s shoulder. “Give him an ultimatum. Or give yourself an ultimatum. Get pregnant. No”—he stood back and shook her—“forget I said that. Really, don’t get pregnant.”

“I won’t,” Laura said, touched, for Yorky really did look alarmed. “Don’t be stupid.” She picked up the mugs. “I’ll do something about it, honestly.”

“Deadline. You need a deadline,” Yorky said, sitting back down and picking up the newspaper that was lying on the table. “Ooh, travel. Book a holiday.” He threw the travel section at her. It flapped through the air and Laura caught it, scrunching it in her hand and wedging it under her arm. “Book a holiday to somewhere fantastic, and then you have to go,” Yorky said. “You know, in a few months’ time, when everything’s sorted out. God, I’m brilliant. As you were, young woman. Go off and shag that worthless young man in there. I’ll make your excuses to Jo, but she’s not going to be happy. You know she’s not—you blew her off last week.”

It was true. Laura had arranged to go to the cinema with Jo, but something else had come up—a Dan-shaped something else.

“It’s her birthday in a couple of weeks. I’ll make it up to her then,” Laura said gratefully.

“Honestly. The things I do,” Yorky said.

“Thanks, Yorky.” Laura paused, as if she might say something else, gazing at the back of his head as Yorky picked up his tea and turned a page of the newspaper. “Thanks a lot. I…well.”

A watery ray of pale sunshine was shining weakly through the window. Laura turned and left, with the fresh pot of tea, her head bowed in thought.

“I’ve canceled lunch,” she said as she came back into her room.

Dan sat up in bed and spread his arms wide. “Great, great news, my gorgeous darling girl,” he said. His hands slid inside her ratty old dressing gown and slipped open the tie, and he pulled her toward him. Laura laughed.

“Let me put the pot down,” she said as he started kissing her. She crouched to put the paper and the teapot on the floor, then stood up again and said, as Dan flung the duvet to one side, “So, what do you want to do today?”

“You,” Dan said, jumping on her with the kind of alacrity usually shown by sailors on shore leave. “God, I could be with you all day, you are so fucking gorgeous. Mmm.”

“No,” Laura said, laughing as he pulled off her dressing gown. “I mean later. I’ve canceled lunch. We could go out, you know. Maybe…er, Kenwood House for…er, hot chocolate.”

Dan didn’t answer, but carried on doing what he was doing. Laura sighed and pushed him away. “Dan, listen.”

“Yes, yes,” Dan said. “Hot chocolate.”

“No,” she said. “I mean, we go out to get hot chocolate, at Kenwood.”

“What are you talking about?” Dan said, looking down at her. “Why do you want to go and get hot chocolate at Kenwood? Is there a festival there or something?”

“No, I mean—what shall we do today, then? We should do something. Go out, you know, make the most of it. The sun’s just come out.”

Dan cupped her breast in his hand and bent over to kiss her again. “I can’t, darling,” he said. “We can’t. Someone might see us. Imagine if they did.” He looked up, his expression anguished. “I’m sorry.”

“But,” Laura said, trying to be patient, “who are we going to bump into in the yew trees at Kenwood?”

“The what?” Dan said. Laura watched him intently. “No, we just can’t. We should…we have to stay here. Not for much longer, I promise. But things might be tricky for the next couple of months.”

“Why?” said Laura, not understanding, and reluctantly waving goodbye to her winter-wonderland dream of laughing and joking in a Missoni print cape as she and Dan carelessly drank hot chocolate and held hands amidst the frosty trees.

“I mean,” said Dan, “if I’m going to split up with Amy, you and I won’t be able to see each other for a time while it’s going on. I mean, on our own—not the usual in the pub with everyone else there. Right?”

“Oh, right,” said Laura, not daring to hope he was saying what he was saying. “So…”

“So,” said Dan, bending over her nipple and kissing it gently, “this might be the last time we get to do this for a long time. So—we should—make the most of it….”

“Yes,” gasped Laura suddenly, understanding him, pulling him down. “Yes, I see….”

As Dan moved down her body, Laura closed her eyes, and the last thing she saw was the crumpled cover of the
Guardian
’s travel section.
ROAD TRIP: FLORIDA’S HIDDEN TREASURES
, the front page declaimed. A road trip, she thought, and abandoned herself to something more immediate.

chapter four

L
aura worked for an inner-city London council as a schools and business coordinator. She loved her job, contacting local businesses, trying to get them to support their nearby schools, arranging volunteer reading programs—in which employees would go into the local schools and read with children—or school sponsorships, which arranged for companies or individuals to sponsor a school, donate money, and feel good about themselves. She loved it because she could see how it made a tangible difference, how much disillusioned company secretaries enjoyed reading with a six-year-old once a week, or how much it benefited a school to have a thousand pounds for new computers that some corporation or anonymous donor could easily spare. She had been there for nearly four years now, and the previous year had been put in charge of the council’s new fund-raising scheme and the volunteer reading program, which meant a lot more work, but she loved it. At least, she used to love it. Like everything these days, it seemed to have lost a little of its allure.

If Laura had stepped back from her situation, chances were she would have seen that she was behaving badly. The trouble was, her lack of perspective meant she couldn’t see the main reason why she was in thrall to Dan, would do anything for him, no matter how degrading: He made her feel gorgeous. He made her feel devastatingly attractive, that she was so powerful to him that he had to have her, he couldn’t control it. It made her feel just marvelous, and a little bit dirty, too. It was dangerous, because Dan was like all the others in that Laura had fallen for him hook, line, and sinker, without really stopping to think about it—only this time it was harder and deeper than with anyone before, and she had no control over the situation she’d got herself into, and there was no endgame in sight. It’s a very powerful thing, to know you have that effect on someone—and having always thought of herself in the bottom half of the class in terms of looks, attractiveness, and intelligence, not to mention sporting prowess, Laura still couldn’t quite believe that she affected him this way.

Laura knew she wasn’t working as hard as she should; she knew her boss, Rachel, was on her case about things. She knew she wasn’t being a good friend, or daughter, or sister, since Dan had come along. She forgot birthdays; she was late for work; her mind wandered. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that this was a temporary situation and in a few short months—by the summer—they would have sorted it out and could be together. And then she would make everything all right.

He just needed a little push, that was all. Just a little something to let him know she wasn’t going to wait around forever, that she had deadlines of her own. She had another life apart from him and she was neglecting it, he had to see that. But so did she.

The following Wednesday afternoon, Laura was in the office when the phone rang. It was pelting rain, which rattled on the windows of the shabby, drafty Victorian building where the education authority was housed in Holborn.

Laura looked up wearily from her e-mails and glanced suspiciously at the caller ID panel. A teacher from a primary school nearby, St. Catherine’s, had said she would be calling to discuss a problem with the latest batch of teaching volunteers who’d just started at the school, once a week, helping individual children with their reading. The volunteers were from a firm of financial advisers, pretty big, called Linley Munroe, and it was something of a coup to have them involved—perhaps they might be induced to get involved in other ways. Laura didn’t particularly like Mrs. McGregor, though she could see how devoted she was to the school and the children. She knew from experience that Mrs. McGregor was the kind of person who had her own worldview and couldn’t be persuaded that anyone else’s was admissible. Laura knew why she was ringing—she made the same complaint, along different lines, every year. Laura picked up the phone with a heavy heart.

“Hello?” she said tentatively.

“Laura? Laura Foster?” came a slightly husky voice down the phone.

“Yes,” said Laura, resigned.

“Oh, Laura, I really must talk to you. I’m afraid this is a very bad situation, very bad indeed. Something’s going to have to be done, it’s a disaster. Catastrophe.”

“Yes, hello, Mrs. McGregor,” said Laura.

“Well, Laura…” And she was off.

“…I’ve told him,” the voice was saying five minutes later, “‘You may think you can come here and think you’re doing something marvelous, helping these kids so you can sleep easy at night in your big banker’s flat. Well, you can’t behave like that and get away with it.’ I’m not putting up with it anymore, really I’m not.”

“I explained the guidelines to him and all his colleagues, back in October,” Laura repeated. “I’m sure this Marcus bloke’s just got his wires crossed. I’ll talk to Clare at Linley Munroe, tell her to have a gentle word with Marcus. But I really don’t think he should be banned, Mrs. McGregor. He’s obviously enjoying it, and—well, let’s face it, all he did was tell this boy to shut it? They call each other the most horrific things on the playground, don’t they?”

Her e-mail alert beeped and her eyes flicked instantly to the screen. She opened the message and read, her heart pounding.

“Do they?” Mrs. McGregor said. “Not in my experience, Laura. Sure, there are rude words, but—”

Laura wanted to reread and reply to this e-mail she’d just got. She said shortly, “Oh, come on, Mrs. McGregor. You know what I mean. Fuck, bum, willy, vag. And…” She paused, realizing what she’d just said. “Er. Well, we used to, anyway. That sort of thing.”

Mrs. McGregor was silent. Then she said, “Well, I must say. Honestly, Laura.”

“It’s an illustration,” said Laura briskly, marshaling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, while her coworkers Nasrin and Shana gaped openmouthed at her and started laughing. Laura flapped her arms at them to shut them up, and said, with what she hoped was an air of finality in her voice, “I’m sure if Marcus Sussman used inappropriate language, he was doing so to try to communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Mrs. McGregor droned on, but Laura didn’t listen, only vaguely registering she had to get rid of her, reply to this e-mail.

“…have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cuff links who thinks he can treat these kids like dirt because he went to university and they didn’t. It’s vile. And I’m surprised at you for not seeing it.”

“Fine,” Laura said, finally losing her patience. “Talk to Rachel, but I’m surprised you’re being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted snob, but I didn’t think you’d let it derail the volunteer program like this.”

“Oh!” Mrs. McGregor inhaled sharply. “Laura Foster. You’ll regret this, I promise you. Yes, you will.” And she slammed the phone down.

“Laura!” said Shana, her eyes sparkling with the unexpected office excitement. “Fuck, bum, willy, vag? What the hell…?”

Laura put her head in her hands and moaned softly to herself.

“It was brilliant,” said Shana joyfully. “Best thing I’ve heard in ages.”

“Oh dear,” said Laura, finally looking up at Nasrin, who put her magazine down and gazed at her. “St. Catherine’s again. Mrs. McGregor. Stupid old bitch, I hate her,” she said defiantly. “I’m going to get in trouble, aren’t I?”

“She always makes a fuss, every year,” Nasrin said placidly, picking up
Pick Me Up
again. “Rachel knows that, don’t worry. She’s just a sad old rebel without a cause.”

Laura turned back to her e-mail. Now that she was free to read it properly, she didn’t want to. Mrs. McGregor had spoiled her afternoon.

A holiday is a great idea. You and me, nothing else. Imagine what we could do all week. Why don’t you start thinking about where to go. July is best for me, by then everything’ll be sorted. We can celebrate properly. I want you.

Dxx

And the rest of the day passed much more pleasantly than she’d expected.

The next day it was still raining, and Mrs. McGregor wrote a letter of complaint about Laura to the local education authority. She faxed it to Laura’s boss, Rachel, who gave her a formal warning. She had no choice, she said, looking firmly at Laura, who still wondered what all the fuss was about. Marcus Sussman was a bit hearty over the phone, but he seemed to be a nice man; all he’d done was tell a kid who called him a fucking cunt to shut the fuck up—well, was that so bad? No, not in her book.