Love Letters (23 page)

Dermot didn’t refuse to attend a literary dinner at Somerby held in his honour, he just didn’t mention it. After three emails asking him, Laura stopped bothering. She even said he could contact her by mobile if he preferred but to no avail.

Two weeks later, Laura parked in the university car park. It was late afternoon. In spite of their long chats on the telephone, she was nervous about actually seeing Dermot in person, especially since she hadn’t heard from him for a while. However many times she reminded herself how well they’d got on before, she was sure that this time she would bore him and he would find some other young woman to go for walks with, to talk about and teach about writing, books, films and music. He’d have several to choose from, and four days to take his pick.

But despite her imagination throwing him into the arms of every woman on the course, she was determined to be more proactive herself about Dermot. She thought about Monica, going after Seamus all those months ago in Ireland. She knew she hugely admired Dermot, she liked him, and she fancied him desperately: she would make a move on him. She just hoped it wouldn’t take a personality transplant to do it.

As she gathered her bags and made her way to the main entrance she asked herself why she had let so many attractive young women on to the course. Knowing his fondness for the female sex she could have arranged things a bit differently without compromising her position as an editor. The whole question of writing courses was fraught with controversy anyway. Many writers thought they were a complete waste of time, declaring that you could only learn to write by writing. Because of this, Laura didn’t feel guilty about some of the young men who didn’t get places on the course. She was confident they were well on their way already.

But the real reason she’d picked so many writers of women’s fiction, women themselves, was because she felt this sort of fiction needed support in the literary world. Also, these writers were the most promising; they had given her the most fun while she was reading. And in a perverse way she wanted to test Dermot. If he succumbed to these women she’d know she shouldn’t pursue him in a Monica-like way. No point in making a complete fool of herself, after all, or in allowing herself to fall in love with him – if she hadn’t already – only to have her heart broken by his wandering eye.

Of course the photographs they’d sent in could all have been produced with a good dollop of Photoshop but Laura doubted it. Until you could apply Photoshop in those booths in the post office for taking passport photos, you got what you paid for. She was fairly sure in a couple of hours she and Dermot would be meeting someone her father would have referred to as ‘crumpet’. And Laura had brought it on herself.

She had actually confessed all this to Monica, on the phone the previous evening. Her friend had been very brisk.

‘For goodness’ sake, Laura! You’re mad! You don’t believe he fancies you so you surround him with gorgeous women so he can prove you right. What sort of skewed thinking is that? Anyway, he does fancy you. He took one look at you and asked you to come to bed.’

‘It wasn’t quite like that and anyway, he was drunk. Probably.’ This incident was still a matter of huge shame and even huger regret that she hadn’t slept with him when all her normal defences were down. She’d rerun it in her head so many times she didn’t trust her memory of it.

‘You were drunk; I don’t think he was.’

‘Must have been, but even if he wasn’t, he’s probably one of those men who’d go to bed with anything with a pulse.’

‘I think to be fair, any female thing with a pulse, in his case.’

Laura laughed reluctantly. ‘Well, whatever. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think he particularly fancied me, he just fancied sex, and I was there throwing myself at him.’

‘No you weren’t, you just said yes when you should have said no. He didn’t ask me to sleep with him, after all, and I’m considered quite attractive in some circles.’

‘No, I think if he’d really fancied me he’d have woken me up. He’s not known for holding back. It could only mean “he’s not that into me” to quote
Sex and the City.
’

Monica made a noise that indicated shock and awe. ‘I didn’t know you watched television, Laura! I thought you spent all your time reading improving books.’

‘Oh shut up, Mon,’ Laura whimpered. ‘I’m just nervous.’

‘Well, just go for it, that’s my advice.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Laura sounded pathetic, even to her.

‘Writers’ course? Ah, now, well, is your case very heavy?’ The man on reception was friendly and loquacious.

‘No, it’s on wheels,’ said Laura.

The man looked over his desk as if to check this was true. ‘Good. Your course is right at the corner of the campus. You could fetch your car and park it over there if you want to?’

‘No, I’ll be fine.’ Laura continued to smile, trusting her key and directions to the building would transpire eventually. She felt she was less likely to get lost if she was on foot.

‘That section is going to be demolished to make way for the new science block,’ went on her informant.

‘Ah!’ said Laura. ‘That’s why the university offered to host the course during termtime. They had spare accommodation. I did wonder.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t know about that,’ said the porter. He produced a bit of paper with a map on it. ‘You need to go along here, round the corner here, and there’s the accommodation. The lecture halls – there are only a couple of them – are here.’

‘Right.’ Laura studied the map, hoping she wouldn’t find it all as complicated as it looked. ‘Has Dermot Flynn turned up yet?’

The porter looked down his list of names. ‘Oh, him. He’s in a staff flat, to keep him safe from all you students.’

Laura’s smile was a little chilly, but she didn’t explain she wasn’t a student. ‘But is he here yet?’ They were going to meet up that evening and run through the course, find somewhere to eat and generally settle in before the students arrived.

The porter checked his register. ‘No. Now, is there anything else you need to know?’

‘I don’t think so, thank you.’

Or at least, nothing you’re likely to be able to help me with, such as: should I put on my sexiest dress (which wasn’t, very) or should I wait until later on in the course to make my move on him? The thought of her making a move on anyone was so funny, so unlikely, she couldn’t help smiling as she set off.

Once she found her room and was inside, she felt instantly thrown back to her own university days. There was the single bed, the noticeboard with remnants of posters and timetables still showing. There was a desk, witness to much struggle, boredom and despair, and the small shelf for books that meant that when she was at university, Laura’s room had had neat piles of books ranged round the walls. There was a tiny shower room that smelt slightly of drains.

The whole place needed decorating and Laura hoped that their students wouldn’t feel disgruntled by having been put in this run-down block. Still, the teaching would be wonderful and they weren’t actually paying to attend. It would be all right. She realised she was nervous about her part in it all, even if it was mainly administrative. She was to help with scheduling for private tuition, check everyone was happy and generally do anything that Dermot felt was not in his job description. But as she hadn’t seen any of the correspondence regarding the course, she wasn’t sure what this might involve. There was only so much you could cover over the phone.

Making sure her door wouldn’t slam shut behind her, Laura went down the corridor and found the communal kitchen. This at least was clean and the fridge was on. She had better buy some tea bags, coffee and milk, she realised, but she could do that later.

As she went back to her room Laura wondered if she’d be invited to drink red wine out of paper cups and talk until the early hours? Or would she be considered to be a teacher, like Dermot? Worst would be to have governess status – neither one thing nor another.

She filled her kettle and made a cup of peppermint tea. She wasn’t eighteen, leaving her parents for the first time; she was an adult. But actually she’d really loved university, getting away from home. She knew that if it weren’t for her anxieties about Dermot, seeing him again, having to talk him into doing things for the festival that he was going to hate, she’d have loved going back to uni.

She was just wondering what she should do next when her phone rang.

‘Laura? It’s Dermot. What sort of a hole have they put me in?’

A smile spread across Laura’s face, just at hearing his voice. ‘Dermot! You’ve got a special staff flat. Don’t tell me you’re not happy with it?’

‘It smells.’

Just for a second she allowed herself to feel pure joy that the planet contained both her and Dermot, and that very shortly she would see him again.

‘Would you like me to come over and see if I can make you more comfortable?’

‘And how would you be thinking of doing that?’ His voice was teasing and full of laughter.

‘With some lavatory cleaner and a stiff broom,’ she said briskly, laughing too. ‘What else?’

‘If that’s all you’re offering I’d better have a shower instead. What time would you like to eat?’

‘Well, I am quite hungry.’ It had been quite a long drive from Somerby and although she had had a sandwich at lunchtime, it seemed ages ago.

‘So am I. I passed a quite nice-looking pub on my way in. I thought we could have dinner there and discuss what’s going on from tomorrow, check we’re singing off the same hymn sheet.’

‘That’s sounds good.’

‘Why are you laughing?’ he demanded.

‘How can you tell I am?’ Laura had to fight to stop doing it out loud.

‘I can hear it in your voice.’

He was stern now. This didn’t make Laura any less inclined to smile. ‘It’s just the thought of you singing off any hymn sheet is quite funny.’

‘I do have my spiritual side, I’ll have you know,’ he said, obviously trying to sound offended.

‘I’m sure you have. It’s just . . . never mind.’

‘Well, can you find your way to my place and then we can go. In about an hour?’

‘Fine. I’ll find where you are on my map of the campus and come and meet you.’

‘Brilliant.’

Laura held on to the phone for a few moments after he had disconnected. In an hour she was going to see Dermot. Actually see him, not just talk to him on the phone. How lovely was that?

Then her elation faded just a little; what the hell should she wear?

Seeing him again made her smile and smile. He seemed pleased to see her too. Just for a moment, she wondered if there was just more than pleasure at seeing a friend in his look, of if she had imagined it. She had so little experience, and although she felt she knew Dermot quite a lot better now than when she’d last seen him, they had only met three times, and all those times were quite a long time ago.

He kissed her cheek. ‘Well, hello!’

‘Well, hello to you!’ She had, she felt, achieved that hardest of images, the ‘I just happened to be wearing this old thing, but bizarrely, it is one of my most flattering outfits, but no, of course I didn’t put it on specially’. While she was changing for what felt like the ninth time she decided if a designer could create a line that captured this elusive look, they would clean up.

He stood looking down at her and grinning for a few long seconds and then said, ‘Well, shall we find that pub then? It looked good and as we don’t know what on earth the food is going to be like in the cafeteria, it might be the last decent meal we have for a few days.’

Unless we slip out and eat away from the students, Laura thought, and then felt instantly guilty.

‘I feel we should eat with the students as much as possible. A lot of teaching and learning can go on in casual situations. They can feel more able to ask questions one to one, while you’re jostling trays, than in a room full of other people.’

‘You’re displaying a very caring attitude,’ she said as they walked along together, not touching apart from when she bumped into him by mistake from time to time. She felt ambivalent, wanting him to be caring on the one hand, but on the other, hoping he’d be keen to bunk off to the pub with her.

‘You shouldn’t be surprised. You know I go into schools regularly. I admit I prefer students to be under eleven, but I can cope with older ones.’

‘You didn’t seem quite so conscientious when we first started working together.’ She frowned a little as she thought of his dismissive attitude to some of the manuscripts, how she’d had to nudge him into considering them seriously.

‘I’ve turned over a new leaf,’ he said, sounding a little smug. ‘You should be proud of me.’

‘Proud of you – why?’

‘Oh, nothing in particular, just my general virtue. Now,’ he went on, pushing open the pub door, ‘what would you like? A pint of whiskey with a beer chaser?’

‘A white wine spritzer please. We have to work tomorrow!’

Chapter Twelve