Got You Back (40 page)
‘One leg,’ Stephanie said, ‘and an eye missing. Then you have a deal.’
Stephanie had plans to make. Michael was supposed to be moving in next week and she still hadn't broached the subject with Finn, let alone cleared out cupboard space and thrown away anything embarrassing that Michael might stumble across, like haemorrhoid cream or support tights. She hadn't seen him for a few days as he'd been away photographing some band or other for a magazine.
She hadn't told him about her jaunt up to Lincoln with James or their encounter with Katie. She had a feeling he wouldn't understand. Natasha on the other hand would, if only they were speaking to each other, but Stephanie had made such a point of avoiding her friend lately that Natasha had cottoned on and had stopped trying to call her. They were still communicating by text messages and notes left around the office. Stephanie knew that, as the person who had created this whole situation, she was the one who would have to make the first move.
‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,’ she said, as soon as Natasha answered the phone.
‘I take it you're sorry,’ Natasha said, and Stephanie could hear there was a smile in her voice.
‘I should never have taken it out on you. I asked for your advice but because I didn't like what you said I got all defensive. It was stupid of me. And disloyal…’
‘And childish.’
‘… and childish, yes, thanks.’
‘And ungrateful.’
‘OK, you can stop now. I'm trying to be sincere for once. The point is that I fucked up and I'm sorry and I want to be friends again.’
‘Accepted, obviously. How's Michael?’
‘Fine. Moving in next week.’
‘Great,’ Natasha said, sounding as if she was trying to mean it.
‘Is it?’ Stephanie said. ‘I'm not sure any more.’
‘Well, don't expect me to give you any advice. Ever again. You're on your own in that department.’
In retrospect, Stephanie thought later, it would have been better to wait until after dinner to tell Michael her news. That way they wouldn't have had to sit there for twenty minutes chewing through their pasta and trying to think what to say to each other.
Michael had been very calm and reasonable, as she had known he would be: histrionics were not his style. He had been shocked, there was no doubt about it. He was telling her about a book he'd been reading about Afghanistan or Azerbaijan, she couldn't remember which because she hadn't been concentrating, so fixated was she on trying to work out how to steer the conversation round to their relationship. Finally she hadn't been able to wait any longer and as soon as he had paused to take a breath she'd heard herself say, ‘I need to talk to you about something.’
He'd realized immediately that something was wrong, of course. Everyone knew that a sentence like that one was never the prelude to good news. He had put down his fork and wiped his mouth, waiting for the axe to fall.
Stephanie had gone over and over in her mind what she was intending to say. She'd even tried it out loud with Natasha, but Natasha had refused to take it seriously and had kept on acting Michael collapsing in hysterics, clutching his chest and shouting, ‘Why? Why?’ Eventually Stephanie had given up.
‘Well, if it all goes wrong,’ she'd said, laughing, ‘it'll be your fault. I hope you'll be satisfied.’
Now she'd forgotten her well-practised words and could only think of platitudes, like ‘It's not you, it's me,’ and ‘We should just be friends,’ both of which she had
the good sense not to say. So she'd settled for the blunt but straightforward, ‘I think we should stop seeing each other,’ then sat back and waited to see what he would say in response.
‘OK,’ he said quietly. ‘Is there a reason?’ ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I think maybe I rushed into it.’ This, she remembered, was the angle she had decided to take, part truth but leaving out the stuff about how she knew they'd never last because he didn't have much of a sense of humour. ‘I should have dealt with everything that was going on with James before I let myself get involved with someone else. It was just that I met you and you were really nice and I was really flattered and before I knew it we were getting serious and I, well… I'm so sorry.’
She waited for him to accuse her of messing him around, of playing with his feelings, using him but, of course, being Michael, he just nodded sadly and said, ‘Well, if that's your decision I have to accept it. I wish you'd change your mind, though.’
‘If I'd met you a few months down the line…’ she said, unable to stop the cliché as it forced its way out of her mouth ‘… things might have been different. But I feel like I need to be on my own for a while, sort myself out. Work out what I really want.’ ‘You're not going back to James?’ ‘No! Why do people keep asking me that?’ Michael ate a forkful of food, clearly weighing up what to say next. Even though he was making it easy for her, she wished that, just for once, he would get angry or even cry. He was so lacking in passion, she thought now, so
strait-jacketed by politeness. It would drive you mad after a few years. She was doing the right thing.
‘Well, obviously I'm upset,’ he said, telling what he most definitely wasn't showing. ‘I thought… Well, I thought we had something special. But I respect your honesty. Maybe in a few months, if you want to, we could try again. I'd like to be friends at least.’
Stephanie thought about the jazz nights and the gallery openings and the art films, and forced herself to say, ‘Yes, I hope we can too.’
They finished their pasta and salad, making stilted but civilized conversation and then Stephanie yawned and said that she didn't think she could manage dessert, she was knackered and she had to get up early in the morning. Outside in the street they hugged and kissed each other on the cheek, and Michael said, ‘I'll leave it up to you to call me. I don't want to push you.’
‘OK, lovely,’ she said, knowing that she probably wouldn't. She had never been any good at staying friends with her exes.
Back at home James was watching TV in the living room. He got up when he heard her come in.
‘I didn't tell the taxi to wait,’ she said. ‘I thought maybe we could have a drink.’
James sat back down again. ‘OK.’ Stephanie looked as if she might have been crying.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked tentatively.
She sat down on the sofa. ‘I've split up with Michael,’ she said.
James's heart skipped a beat but he tried not to show
how happy this news had made him. ‘I'm sorry. He seemed like a nice bloke.’ Oh, yes, easy to be generous now Michael was out of the picture.
‘Don't be. It was my decision.’
There was his heart again, threatening to pound its way out of his chest. Play it cool, he told himself. ‘Right.’
Stephanie looked at him as he held out a glass of wine for her. ‘Don't go getting any ideas. It doesn't mean… you know. I just want to be on my own.’
James's heart screeched to a noisy halt. OK, so this wasn't yet the romantic happy ending he had been fantasizing about. ‘Of course,’ he said, managing to sound calm and mature. ‘So,’ he said, ‘tell me all about it. Did he cry?’
Stephanie smiled, as he had hoped she would. ‘No!’
‘Did he threaten to throw himself off a tall building if you didn't change your mind?’
She laughed. ‘No!’
‘Doesn't sound like he was bothered, then. He was probably fed up with you anyway.’ OK, so that last statement was taking a bit of a gamble. She would either take offence or find it hilarious.
She threw a cushion at him, laughing. ‘Actually, he thought I was going back to you so he was obviously mentally impaired.’
James smiled. This was all he wanted, his old easy relationship with Stephanie back and the chance to prove to her that he could be a worthy husband. Hopefully, one day, even, to win her back. Making her laugh would do for now.
Stephanie waved to James as his taxi sped off, then closed the door. She was completely on her own for the first time in ten years. Well, on her own with Finn, which was fine by her. No husband, no Michael. It felt good. She was in no hurry to get into another relationship. She would spend some time sorting herself out first, making sure about what she really wanted. There was still one more hurdle she and James had to get across: telling Pauline and John that their marriage was over. She was in no rush to do that now either. She was just going to wait and see what happened.
Acknowledgements
With thanks to Louise Moore, Clare Pollock, Kate Cotton, Kate Burke and everyone at Penguin, Jonny Geller, Betsy Robbins, Alice Lutyens, Doug Kean and anyone I've forgotten at Curtis Brown, Charlotte Willow Edwards, for her invaluable research, and all the people who answered her questions, including Louise Riches, for her vet expertise, Jess Wilson, of Jess Wilson Stylists (
www.threeshadesred.com/jesswilson
), Jessica Kelly, Jeffery M. James and Steve Pamphilon.
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