A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger (37 page)

I gasped. It was only a bloody family talent! Not sure if I was about to start laughing or crying, I made a strange noise. It was almost too good to be true. My grandfather had been in the same line of business as me! I dug back into the box, keener than ever to see a photo of him.

I was rewarded soon after. In an envelope entitled ‘HELEN/JACK WEDDING' there were photographs of the two happiest people I'd ever seen. Mesmerized, I stared at my grandfather. Granny Helen's handsome soldier obviously loved his young wife more than anything in the world. There was no 1930s reserve here: Granddad Jack had his arm clasped tightly round his bride and was kissing the side of her face in almost all of the photographs. Granny Helen had been unable to disguise her
own delight; her smile seemed to infect all of the smartly turned-out people around them.

‘Hello,' I whispered to them, a tear sliding silently down on to Dad's old jumper. I turned back to the letter with a large lump in my throat.

Why am I so good at writing, you might wonder. What sort of a veterinary surgeon writes verse, eh?

The answer, my dear girl, is that I can write like I do because of you. It's you who's turned me into this lily-livered slop bucket. It's you who's turned my clumsy ramblings into poetry. Because I love you, my girl. You consume me! It's not very convenient to love you, I can't deny it. If I were to dream up my perfect girl she probably wouldn't be you. She'd be a bit more bloody respectful for a start! But it doesn't matter, my Helen. You're the only girl for me. And, my darling, leave starts the day after tomorrow! I'm coming to find you!

Tears now flowing freely down my face, I turned the paper back over to see the date: 13 December 1941. Granddad Jack had been killed the next day. He'd been flying over the Mediterranean shortly after nightfall, looking for aircraft in need of help and – during this act of goodwill – he'd been shot down himself.

I tried to comprehend the extent of this tragedy, knowing now how deeply in love they'd been with each other. No wonder Granny Helen had never remarried. No wonder she had become such a cantankerous old bugger.

‘I'm so sorry, Granny Helen,' I whispered. ‘You poor, poor thing.'

Next in the pile was a letter from Squadron Leader Tommy Derbyshire, explaining what had happened and
enclosing Granny Helen's letters to her husband. He said Granddad Jack had been a brave pilot who had made the ultimate sacrifice for his country. Then he added, in a more personal tone, that Jack had been popular among the boys in 238 Squadron for his help with their love letters. She had many reasons to be proud of him.

I put the letters down to save them from my tears and sobbed. I couldn't bear the tragedy, the timing, the loss. My poor Granny Helen, six months pregnant and madly in love, had never got her handsome young man back. She'd let down her defences and given herself over to Jack Lambert – only to lose him in a flash of light that disappeared into nothingness above the dark Mediterranean. A whole person gone, just like that.

Malcolm gazed at me uneasily as I wept.

I looked back at the wedding photos, at her infectious smile. ‘Thank God you knew how much he cared about you,' I whispered. There was some relief in that.

My tears were interrupted by the sound of a text message arriving in my phone. Mopping my face on the sleeve of my jumper with one hand, I opened it with the other.

It was Sam. I sniffed, trying to concentrate:
Just wanted to reiterate how sad I am that you're not coming tonight. You'd love the play, I look like a knob throughout most of it. Speaking of knobs, you're a knob for not coming. I miss you.
XXX

‘Leave me alone,' I said aloud miserably. ‘Throwing me crumbs from your nice big designer table where you eat stupid Londony breakfasts with Katia stupid Slagface.'

I plunged my hand into the box of photographs, desperate to take my mind off the situation, just as my phone exploded into life once again.

‘PISS OFF,' I cried at it. ‘I'M IN HIDING!' Then, of course, I picked it up to check it wasn't Sam.

It was Hailey.

I wasn't convinced I wanted to talk to her. She and Ness had gone down to London yesterday morning to do some Christmas shopping before putting on their glad rags for Sam's opening night and I rather feared she was calling to tell me about Sam's new girlfriend.

But, just in case she had some more welcome news, I answered. ‘Tits?'

‘Hello!' she yelled excitedly. I could hear a busker's interpretation of ‘Winter Wonderland' on the street near her and the sound of Londoners being noisily festive. My parents' empty sitting room suddenly felt somewhat remote.

‘Um, how's it going down there? You two having a nice time?'

Hailey ignored me. ‘Chas,' she said. ‘I'm calling because I'm very cross with you. You should bloody well be here! It's really exciting! And Sam's gutted you're not coming!'

I stiffened. The crap excuse I'd given Sam was not the same one I'd given Hailey and Ness. I hoped they hadn't compared notes.

‘Just one of those things.' I sighed, trying to sound regretful.

‘Oh, you're fucking annoying you are. Remind me why you can't come?'

I changed the subject. ‘How's Sam?' I asked. ‘Nervous?'

‘Oh, bricking it,' Hailey confirmed. ‘We had lunch with him yesterday and he had to run off for a shit about twenty times. Poor thing!'

My heart melted a bit. ‘William and Shelley came to lunch too,' Hailey added. ‘They're a right frigging pair!'

NO! Hailey and Ness had been on the cosy couples' lunch too! Urgh. Shelley and William, Sam and Katia Slagface … all being jolly with my twin sister and best friend. That was disgusting. And too cruel for words.

‘Right,' I said vacantly. ‘How were William and Shelley?'

Hailey sniggered. ‘Fucking weird,' she said. ‘Noisy, confident, bit like a pair of steam-trains although I'd say Shelley's definitely the boss. What a combo! You did well to get them together.'

I started to ask her about Katia and Sam but she interrupted. ‘Shelley kept asking about you,' she said. ‘Does she want to lez you up, do you reckon? She didn't bloody stop!'

‘No, she's just a bit odd and direct.' I braced myself. ‘And, um, how was Katia?'

‘OK,' Hailey said doubtfully, ‘but she's a right fucking doughnut, Chas. Can't imagine how her husband puts up with her.'

The busker in the background switched to ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town' and drowned me out as I yelled, ‘Her WHAT?'

Hailey moved off down the street a little, cursing good-naturedly at the singer. ‘Eh?' she said.

‘Hailey, did you just say that she's married? KATIA SLAGFACE?'

Hailey burst out laughing. ‘Oh, now, there's a good name. Yes, she's married. Somehow.'

‘She's not shagging Sam?'

‘NO!' Hailey cried, genuinely disgusted. ‘What are you on?'

‘There was an article Shelley mentioned,' I faltered. ‘In the
Stage.
About them being the hottest couple in the West End or something.'

‘Oh, yeah, Bowes showed me that. But it was talking about onstage, not off! He'd never shag her. She's an absolute prat, Chas! Even the Bowes has limits!'

‘Right,' I said, dazed.

Hailey continued, ‘In fact, Bowes is having some sort of drought at the moment. He hasn't had sex with
anyone
in three months apparently. I don't know what's wrong with him, he –'

I stopped listening. I'd heard all I needed to hear. Sam was single!
Sam was single!
I ended the call as soon as I could and commenced some serious brooding. Sam was single. Shouldn't I at least
try
to do something? I glanced at my watch, which suggested that I could probably make it to London in time, should I be willing to do a mad dash and pay a huge amount of money for a last-minute plane ticket.

No
, I thought crossly.
I can't!

But why not? I stared at the pile of letters between Granny Helen and Granddad Jack. Granny Helen had lost the love of her life but at least she'd been brave enough to start a relationship with him in the first place. Somewhere along the line she'd decided to take a risk, put herself on the line. Was I so pathetic that I was going to spend the rest of my days wondering how Sam felt?

No
, I insisted.
This is not a Granny Helen and Granddad Jack situation. Sam likes girls he can throw around the bedroom! He'd have a prolapse if he tried to pick me up!

But to my intense irritation I couldn't get Granny Helen out of my mind. I pictured her sitting in this very room seventy years ago, reading a telegram telling her that her husband was dead. And how devastated and furious and alone she must have felt, knowing that the man she loved more than anyone else in the world had been taken from her the day before he was meant to return. It was a tragedy that I could barely even comprehend.

But she knew that he loved her.

Which was why, I saw – with a very sharp stab of fear – I was going to have to go to London and tell Sam I loved him. What if I fell off a cliff today? Or Malcolm ate me? I'd die not knowing!

‘Hello, Charleypops,' Hailey chirped, when I called her back a few seconds later. ‘Have you changed your mind?'

‘YES,' I bellowed. ‘I'M COMING TO LONDON!'

‘Wow, you sound enthusiastic,' she said, obviously taken aback. ‘Everything OK?'

‘NO! I'M IN LOVE WITH SAM AND I'M COMING DOWN TO TELL HIM. I'M SHITTING MYSELF.'

There was a short silence.

‘I'm sorry?' Hailey asked. ‘Did you just –'

‘YES. I'm in love with Bowes. Sorry, Hails. Should have mentioned. But, yes, I have to tell him.'

‘Oh, God,' Hailey said weakly. ‘I think I need to sit down.'

Why the hell shouldn't he love me back?
I asked myself, charging up the stairs to get my handbag.
Look at Mum and Dad. They're each other's worst nightmare! Do they love each other? Damn straight they do! They've been together thirty-five years!

‘I'm going to London,' I told Malcolm. ‘Be good. I'll get the Joneses to come and rescue you.'

But as I sprinted out of the front door, grabbing Mum's old anorak, I suddenly had a brainwave. A brainwave of the truly ingenious variety. ‘Good thinking, Lambert,' I muttered, turning round and running back upstairs where I crammed two very important things into a handbag.

Malcolm watched me go for the second time with his usual kindly smile. ‘Stay off the Christmas tree chocolate,' I told him. I ran out of the door and up to the square to get my car.

‘Fuck!' I shouted. I didn't have a car. (Almost two months on it still hadn't sunk in.) But without hesitation I turned left and ran up to the high street, making a beeline for the town's taxi office, which boasted one very unreliable Austin Maestro.

‘MRS GILBERT,' I yelled, as I ran into the tiny office. ‘I need your help! Can you drive me to Edinburgh airport?'

‘Ye can piss off, Charley,' she began moodily. ‘I need two hours' warning.'

I shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Mrs Gilbert,' I said. ‘I don't think you understand. There's a boy. He picks his nose and eats junk food but I love him. I have to go and tell him before it's too late.'

Mrs Gilbert looked up irritably from her sudoku puzzle and appraised me.

‘He's capering around on a Shakespearean island in six and a half hours,' I cried, as if this would somehow help. ‘I have to be there for him! I have to let him know how I feel!' I stared at her beseechingly.

‘God's sake,' she muttered. She looked back down at
her sudoku puzzle, as if searching for inspiration. After a few seconds, the puzzle apparently delivered. ‘As if anyone from your bloody family would go for someone normal.' She sighed, picking up her car keys from under the counter.

‘ALFIE!' she screamed. ‘TAKE OVER. ANOTHER BLOODY DRAMA AT THE LAMBERTS'!'

I arrived at the Garrick Theatre with less than ten minutes to spare. A small gaggle of paparazzi smoked by the doorway, presumably waiting for the handful of famous actors that Sam had told me were coming. I felt a great surge of pride to think that real-life famous actors were going to watch Sam tonight. My Bowes!

Many people had taken their seats but the bar was still bright and busy with chattering, smiling, well-dressed audience members.

I scanned for Hailey and Ness, who had my ticket, and found a lot of confused faces staring at me.
Oh, fuck,
I thought suddenly.
Oh, triple fuck!
I looked down at myself for the first time in five hours and gasped. I was still wearing my old dog-walking jeans with bright pink socks and muddy walking shoes. Worst of all was Dad's baggy old jumper, which hung down my thighs and looked like half of Malcolm was stuck to it. Mum's winter mac, so grubby and ancient that she'd long since stopped using it herself, completed the picture.

I looked like a farmhand! I began to back out of the door but then heard Hailey shouting my name. I cringed. She was striding towards me on high heels, looking very beautiful in the dress we'd chosen last week. Hailey was still pretty traumatized by her experience with Matty but she did seem to have got over the comfort eating. She looked like Hailey again: curvy, titty and delicious.

‘Oh, Hailey, you look amazing!' I said, standing back to admire her.

‘You look terrible,' she replied, frowning at my outfit. ‘Did you bring a pig and chickens down on your cart?'

‘I don't think I can stay here. Maybe I could try and find something to wear …'

‘Like what? A “Mind the Gap” bikini from Leicester Square? I don't bloody think so.' Hailey took my hand. ‘Now, Chas. Are you … erm … are you
sure
you're in love with Bowes? You're not ill or anything?'

‘Not ill. I just love him. I know it's mad, Hailey, but those emails … sort of changed everything.'

Hailey studied me doubtfully, trying to make sense of what I was saying. For a few seconds she seemed faintly amused but then concern clouded her features. ‘I don't want you getting hurt, Chas,' she said quietly. ‘We both know what Sam's like. And I couldn't stand it if you had to go through what I've gone through with Matty.' Her mask slipped and I got a brief glimpse into a fragile, still-broken heart.

‘I hear you, Hails,' I said. ‘And I know it's a risk. But, honestly, Sam's changed. I think those emails sparked a
massive
change in him. In me too, for that matter.'

Hailey looked unconvinced. ‘Well … Ness did say they were a bit special,' she conceded.

‘They've changed my life,' I said simply. ‘And Sam's! Look how different things are now – for both of us.' A nubile teenager stared at me like I was a piece of mad six-foot shit.

Hailey pondered this for a minute and then shrugged.
‘Yeah. I can't deny it, Chas. The two of you have done a big fat three hundred and sixty degrees recently.'

‘EXACTLY!'

There was a loaded pause. ‘OK,' Hailey said slowly. ‘But, Christ, this is about as weird as it gets.'

‘Tell me about it. Oh buggering hell, I'm scared, Hailey.'

‘Come on,' she said, amused, walking off across the foyer. ‘Shelley paid about ten million pounds to get you a seat at the last minute. She'll kill me if I don't get you there on time.'

‘
Shelley?
'

As we walked up the stairs, Hailey turned round and smiled. She looked rather guilty, which worried me for reasons I couldn't quite put my finger on. ‘Mm, yes, Shelley. We're sitting with her. She's got us a royal box.'

‘Wow!' I said. ‘Although it would be good if you could avoid talking about me and Sam in front of her? I think it'd be a bit weird for a client to know –'

‘OH, HOLY LORD,' Shelley Cartwright roared, as we rounded the corner of the stairs and arrived on the first floor. She was clutching William's arm for support. ‘She's here, William! It's happening!'

‘Charleeee!' Ness cried, hopping over to hug me. She, too, was wearing a lovely dress and heels. I breathed in wafts of her delicate perfume and clean hair and felt part of me die inside. I must smell like a compost heap.

I pulled away from her and looked back at a very excitable-looking Shelley. ‘What do you mean, “It's happening”?' I asked her.

‘I'm so glad you saw sense, Charlotte!' she said,
completely ignoring my question. She was rubbing her hands together with glee.

Then her face fell and she shuddered in horror, as if I were covered with weeping medieval boils. ‘Oh, my God! What … What
is
this, Charlotte?'

‘Hi, William Thomas,' William said, as if it were not completely obvious. He shook my hand very firmly and I smelt old-fashioned cologne.

‘Don't touch her, William!' Shelley hissed. ‘She's filthy! Charlotte, your appearance is a disaster! It could ruin everything.'

‘What do you
mean
?' I was beginning to feel annoyed, more so because Ness was giggling cheekily into her hand and Hailey looked as guilty as Malcolm had when we'd found him in bed with the remains of our Christmas turkey in 2007. Something – involving me – was going on, but I was not party to any information as to what it might be.

The five-minute bell sounded.

‘Please can someone tell me what's going on?' I asked.

‘Ha ha!' Shelley cackled, in a
You've Been Framed
sort of a way.

‘Ha ha!' William guffawed. ‘Played you at your own game! And it worked! You're here, Charlotte! Splendid!'

Half-formed thoughts were flying around my head but I couldn't quite pin them down. Fortunately, Shelley took the matter out of my hands. ‘It was all my idea!' she foghorned. ‘You and Sam! It worked! Took enough bloody time but you got there eventually!'

‘What?' I asked, totally confused. ‘Me and Sam what?'

Shelley trumpeted with laughter. ‘William and I realized
we'd both used First Date Aid as soon as we saw our testimonies online,' she announced gleefully. ‘You put us next to each other on the website! I mean, come on!'

William interrupted. ‘Not all Shelleys spell their name like mine does,' he clarified.

‘Right,' I said, still in the dark.

‘We worked out that you two had been colluding to get us together,' Shelley barked. ‘
The Pearl Fishers
was bloody inspired. And those sympathetic messages when I was in New York … Oh, Charlotte, you bugger! But I'm afraid you didn't cover your tracks perfectly, young lady, and we rumbled you. Ha ha!'

Shelley was not speaking quietly. Theatregoers were staring at us as they made their way into the auditorium.

‘We're grateful you went to such lengths to get us together,' William said. ‘Some sly manoeuvres! But we were both struck by the messages you and Samuel wrote each other initially. Bit batty and over the top but a great big thumping connection going on there!'

I blinked at them. They were the same person.

‘We couldn't believe the two people who wrote the emails weren't an item,' Shelley explained loudly. ‘It was like reading a love story!' The two-minute bell was sounding and an usher hovered, wanting to move us on but clearly terrified of the six-foot power truncheon in his midst. ‘So,' she continued, ‘we decided to return the favour. Do some meddling of our own! Get you and Sam together!'

I blanched. ‘What?'

Shelley roared with excitable laughter. ‘HA HA! HA HA! Investment dinners, my rump!' she yelled. ‘Remember
the first one? In the Balmoral? The RBA event? That stood for Right Back Atcha! We played you at your own game! HA HA!'

‘She's bloody clever, this woman,' William said proudly.

I stood, dumbfounded, as Shelley crowed about having set up the Balmoral, the Mandarin Oriental and even the bloody
Sunday Times
photo-shoot, all designed to get Sam and me together in romantic situations. ‘Was my idea to have you two all tangled up on that
chaise-longue
in the photo-shoot,' she told me. ‘I had Kaveh all over it! Bloody triumph! And you kissed each other! Twice!'

‘How the hell do you know about that?' I asked, quite shocked. Nobody knew!

‘Sam told me. I grilled him yesterday, with force. Ha ha!'

‘And?' I asked her anxiously. ‘What else did he say?'

Shelley looked uncomfortable for the first time. ‘Well, he wasn't exactly forthcoming. He said it was a scientific experiment. But he must feel the same! How can he not after those bloody emails? I mean, my God!'

William led Shelley to the door of our box as the final bell went. ‘Come on, darling,' he said soothingly. ‘Your plan will work out, I'm sure of it.' I shook my head in disbelief. How was this real?

Shelley dragged me along behind them, her hand clasped round my wrist as if I were an errant toddler. She gloated noisily over how stupid Sam and I were for failing to rumble her. ‘I mean,
really
.' She snorted. ‘What sort of investor just fails to turn up? In fact, what sort of an investor wants to take on a dating company? Ha HA! And as if I'd pay for you to have a room at the Mandarin bloody Oriental if I didn't want you to seduce Samuel!'

William put an affectionate hand on her back as he stepped into our box. ‘She pulled out all the stops, this one,' he said, gazing lovingly at his mad girlfriend.

I was undeniably impressed. Shelley had not only played us but she'd played us very well. And of course she'd sent us to high-end hotels! Of course she'd paid for expensive dinners and champagne! It had Shelley Cartwright written all over it! How could I not have realized?

I felt William looking me up and down. ‘We have to go and watch this silly play,' he said reluctantly. ‘But don't you worry, Charlotte. We've got tonight all taken care of. You'll get your man this evening, mark my words! Although the outfit may be a problem,' he added, disappearing into the box.

‘I'm on the outfit situation,' Shelley told him. ‘I just need to make a quick call …' She followed him inside without so much as a look in my direction, hissing into her BlackBerry.

‘She just sort of attacked me earlier,' Hailey said awkwardly. ‘And I found myself telling her you'd fallen in love with Bowes. It was an error. Um, sorry, Chas.'

‘You will be,' I told her.

I didn't know what Shelley still had in store for me but I was pretty sure I wasn't going to like it.

It took me a while to get into the action. I wasn't a Shakespeare buff but I knew
The Tempest
well, of course: it was the play from which came Sam's infamous chat-up line. Watching him knock that line out to girls in nightclubs and bars while we were at university, I'd become curious about it and asked Sam to lend me his copy. I'd read the play,
failed to understand a word and had had to ask for a tutorial. Sam had talked about it with such enthusiasm that I'd ended up hooked and had read it again and again, declaring it my favourite Shakespeare play. (I skirted round the fact that it was the only one I could understand.)

Sam and I had been to see
The Tempest
a few times over the years and I'd been very disappointed by the crappy, insipid Mirandas I'd seen. ‘But, Chas, it's a shit part,' Sam had argued. ‘Miranda's got all those lines and yet almost no character. Only an
amazing
actress could bring her alive.' Katia Slagface, it seemed, was that amazing actress. There was a delicate sexuality in her, a subtle strength and steeliness, and furthermore she really owned the stage.
Thank God she's married
, I thought. Never mind Sam,
I
fancied her.

And then Sam walked onstage and my stomach appeared in my mouth. He was laughing as he strolled on, chatting to two other men and looking more relaxed and natural than he did even in our sitting room. The director had set the play on an imaginary island off Egypt shortly before the Second World War and Sam was decked out in a beautiful cream safari suit. His hair was Vaselined off to the side and he carried a slim cigarette. A light somewhere above the stage was dappling him in the warm colours of a late afternoon and not even his dodgy moustache could detract from his beauty. I was expecting the Bowes Actor Voice but when he started to speak I barely recognized the soft, lyrical sound that came out.

I started to smile.

A few seconds later I realized the smile was enormous and I looked sideways to check that Shelley hadn't
noticed. But, of course, she had. ‘WELL NOW!' she hissed, giving me an uncharacteristically silly thumbs-up. I shook my head.

By the time the curtain fell two hours later, I was even more in love with Sam than I had been before. The audience went wild and a standing ovation started almost immediately. When the actors came back on for their curtain call they were jubilant, ecstatic, even, and Sam was grinning from ear to ear. When it was his turn to take a bow, he came forward quite bashfully but I could see that every cell in his body was happy. I clapped even harder. ‘Raaaarr!' I yelled, grinning down at him.