Love Letters (32 page)

‘It’s not all about making money. And I expect so! Monica still hasn’t managed to hear them. She’s getting a bit anxious about it.’

‘Fantastic! A mediocre band plays while Rupert puts on a fake accent and reads out bits of
Ulysses
. I can’t wait.’

Fenella laughed. ‘You don’t have to choose
Ulysses
. You can have funny pieces and Rupert will do it in his own voice. As for the band, why don’t you go and hear them? Monica would be thrilled. She rang last night, by the way, wanting to hear how you got on in Ireland. I said you’d gone to bed, exhausted. She seemed to find that quite funny. Anyway, she mentioned Seamus having a gig she can get to at last. She and Grant are going. Give her a ring and arrange to go too.’

‘OK, I’ll do that. I’m glad that Monica and Grant have become such good friends. I knew they’d get on. Maybe when the festival is over I’ll become a matchmaker.’

‘Hm. If Monica and Grant are the sort of relationship you had in mind . . .’

‘OK, I take your point. So . . .’ She made another note. ‘All we have to do now is think up some way of filling that big Sunday night spot when Dermot was going to do an interview.’ She paused. ‘Who was going to interview him? Didn’t you have someone in mind?’

Fenella made a rueful face. ‘Sorry. I couldn’t get anyone that anyone had heard of without being able to say for sure if Dermot would actually be there.’

‘Fair enough, I suppose.’

‘So I thought you could do it.’

‘Me!’ Laura squeaked.

‘Well, why not? You know more about his books than anyone on the planet and you know him – what?’

‘It’s just . . . oh, Fenella, you know how shy I am!’

‘I know how shy you
used
to be. Besides, as they always say to worried people, “it may never happen”.’

Laura had to laugh now. ‘Well, that’s true. In fact, it probably won’t. So what shall we do to fill the space? If people have bought tickets, or even if they haven’t yet, we can’t have nothing on the Saturday night.’

There was silence as the two women thought hard. ‘I know!’ said Laura. ‘A panel! We’ll get a selection of the authors who are coming to talk about their writing practice. It’ll be brilliant! Far better than me trying to interview Dermot!’ Even the thought of it made her feel weak.

‘Fab. I’ll email all the authors and ask them. How many do we need?’

‘Ask everyone and see how many we’re left with.’ Laura gave a huge yawn.

‘Gracious,’ said Fenella. ‘You’re still tired, in spite of your early night. I didn’t realise Ireland involved a change of time zone.’

Laura nodded sagely. ‘Oh it does, it definitely does . . .’

Laura had pondered the question about losing one’s virginity showing from the outside for some time. A couple of days later, when Monica picked her up in her car, to take her to Bristol, she had her answer. It did.

‘So, what was it like?’ Monica said the moment they were at the bottom of the Somerby drive. They were on their way to Seamus’s gig. Laura was checking the band out to see if it was remotely suitable for a potentially raucous evening with free beer and Rupert, with or without an Irish accent, or as the more cultural backing for Dermot reading some of his work.

‘What was what like?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! Don’t mess me around! Sex with Dermot!’

‘Ssh. Keep your voice down!’

‘It’s all right. We’re in a car. No one is going to hear. So tell me!’

Only for a second did Laura consider pretending nothing had happened, but she knew Monica would see straight through her. ‘OK. Well. It was amazing,’ Laura said quietly, half hoping this would satisfy Monica, and half hoping she’d have an opportunity to talk.

‘I don’t believe you.’ Monica banged her hand on the steering wheel to emphasise her incredulity. ‘First times are never amazing, let alone the first time ever. You’ve spent too much of your life reading romantic novels. Sex is one of those things you have to learn how to do.’

‘I accept that. And I know I probably have spent far more of my life reading about sex rather than having it than most normal people, but I’m telling you, it was amazing.’

Monica considered for a moment. ‘Well, stripe me pink!’

Laura laughed. ‘I think someone already did that.’ She indicated the wide pink stripe in Monica’s hair. She obviously enjoyed wearing her pink wig so much she’d decided to add a bit of colour to her own hair.

‘Laura! I’m trying to have a serious conversation, to help you live through the ramifications of what’s happened to you, and you just make stupid jokes.’

‘It was you who said “stripe me pink”.’ Laura pretended to be apologetic. ‘But I don’t think there are any ramifications.’ She sighed. Except a feeling of being used and Bridget, of course, although she wasn’t a ramification – she was the bitch from hell but she wasn’t going to think about her if she could help it; she had already spoilt something that had been really lovely.

‘There will be, I promise you.’

‘Well, I hope not.’

Monica hesitated before asking incredulously. ‘Are you sure you’re not lying about it being fantastic?’

‘Yes! I’m not saying that the second and third time weren’t even more—’

‘Three times!’

Actually, there’d been more than that, but she didn’t want to shock her friend. ‘Over quite a long period. A whole night.’

‘But he’s quite old!’

‘Thirty-five is not old!’

‘I suppose not. So now what? Are you together?’

This was the bad news. She had to keep it cheery, not give too much away – she couldn’t face Monica’s sympathy. ‘I had to go really early the next day to get my flight.’ She wasn’t going to say that leaving him that morning was the saddest thing she had ever done in her entire life. She knew that it was worth it for the happiness she’d experienced – or it would be once she’d got over the whole Bridget incident – but she wasn’t going to mention that either. ‘We didn’t have much time to talk. But he wanted you to know that he used condoms, every time.’

Monica chuckled, possibly sensing that Laura was trying to make light of the situation. ‘You must congratulate him when you next see him.’ She paused, glancing briefly at her friend. ‘When are you seeing him again?’ She wasn’t going to let Laura off that easily.

Laura bit her lip. ‘I’m not sure. We didn’t actually get round to talking about the festival. I don’t know if he’s coming or not. After all the publicity erupted he said the festival could take a flying jump.’

‘Bugger the festival! What about you and him?’

‘We didn’t talk about when we might see each other again.’

‘What?’ Monica gave her a quick look. ‘Not at all? You just got in the taxi and went to the airport? How often has he been in touch since?’

‘He rang me when I was at the airport. Just to see if I’d got there safely.’ He’d sounded strange on the phone but that may have been because she’d been very cool with him. She hadn’t really wanted to speak to him again, not until she’d got her feelings in order.

‘And since?’ Monica was sniffing out the bad bits of Laura’s story like a truffle-hound.

‘Nothing since. Marion – the woman who ran the bed and breakfast we stayed at – emailed me to say he’s gone to ground again. But no one’s worried this time.’

‘But what about you?’ Monica was hardly audible, empathy seemed to have affected her vocal cords. ‘Isn’t your heart breaking? You’ve done all that with him, given him your virginity, and you don’t know when you’ll see him again?’

Laura longed to say yes, her heart was breaking, but she couldn’t. She thought carefully, trying to express herself in a way that was truthful, but that wouldn’t have Monica sending her off for some sort of therapy involving bars, vodka and male strippers, which she would do if she told her everything. No suitable phrases sprang to mind.

‘Well?’ Monica pressed. She was obviously getting worried.

Laura decided she might as well tell Monica the truth. At least her friend cared. She just wouldn’t tell her how
much
it was hurting.

‘To be honest, yes, my heart is breaking,’ she said. ‘But I don’t mind, not really. It’s hard to explain, but that time with Dermot was so – special, though in some ways, it was just sex.’ Although she was the one who’d said them, the words were almost physically painful. ‘It was sex with someone I’d admired for years, and years,’ she went on as breezily as she could, ‘since I was at university. If he wanted – me’ – she baulked at referring to her virginity, although Monica had – ‘I was more than happy for him – to give myself – oh, I don’t know how to put it. I’m just trying to say, I knew what I was doing. I knew nothing would come of it and I did it anyway. No regrets.’ She hadn’t known quite so well that nothing would come of it until later, but still, the principle was the same.

‘What, no regrets at all? Come on, Laura, this is me you’re talking to,’ Monica pushed.

‘I wouldn’t have done anything different. I knew what he was like. I didn’t expect anything different. And what I had was so fantastic! He took such pains to make me – enjoy it. Really, Monica, I know I’m going to feel a bit sad for a while, but I’m also happy.’

Monica sighed. ‘I suppose I do understand. He will have spoilt you for anyone else, you know that.’

‘Yes, but there will be someone else. I’m not going to cling to my moment of happiness and not look for more. Obviously, I’m not up for going on the pull any time soon’ – she said this so Monica wouldn’t suggest the bars and male-stripper cure – ‘but I will “love again”.’ She smiled to highlight her irony and then added, ‘After the festival and about ten years have passed.’

Monica sighed. ‘If you’re sure . . .’ And then she snapped out of her romantic reverie. ‘OK, that’s enough about you. Could you have a look at the map? Are we on the right road? I seem to have got a bit lost.’

They found it eventually. Grant and the rest of Monica’s band were already there. It was in the basement of a small club in Bristol. As they fought their way down the narrow stairs, Laura realised that Monica really was nervous. She was very keen on Seamus and they’d spent a lot of time talking about him as they drove along. But his band was a bit suspect. It was, according to Monica, because of the other members not wanting to play traditional music and not being great at anything else.

‘Laura!’ Grant hugged Laura long and hard. ‘How great to see you! You look amazing! What have you done to yourself? New hairdo? No, you still haven’t discovered straighteners. Lost weight? Gained weight? No, you’re still fairly skinny. Must be a new moisturiser. Your skin looks brilliant.’

Laura avoided looking at Monica who was laughing in a vulgar way. ‘Shall we get some drinks? Grant? You others?’

She went to the bar hoping she’d remember what everyone wanted. Monica had ordered a double vodka to calm her nerves. It was nearly time for Seamus’s set.

She got the tray of drinks back to the table without accidents and squashed on to a corner of the banquette. ‘I’m glad I got back before Seamus started,’ she said. She picked up her glass. ‘Cheers!’

Seamus and his band didn’t seem quite ready so the audience started talking again.

‘Would you want the whole band, or just Seamus, do you think?’ Monica asked Laura. ‘It might be better . . . oh, I don’t know. What would Dermot like?’

‘Who knows!’ said Laura. ‘I didn’t ask him. I mean, I think it would work well. Originally we thought of having him reading his poetry but there’s a scene in one of Dermot’s books with Irish music in the background. It would be perfect. But he’s so – I don’t know . . .’

‘Uncommunicative?’

‘Yes. I don’t know if he’d love the idea or hate it. Actually, I do know. He’ll hate it. But he might just do it.’

‘For you?’

‘No. I don’t think he’d do anything particular for me.’ Although as she said this she knew it wasn’t strictly true. She remembered some of the things he’d done for her in Ireland and felt a stab of pleasure. ‘Oh, I think they’re starting!’ she said, to stop Monica asking any more questions.

The band did start a little later and after the first few bars, Grant and Laura exchanged looks. The first number was a lament that should have had tears of sadness pouring down cheeks; it had the opposite effect. By the end even Laura, whose recent Irish experiences should have meant the words and the music was particularly poignant, wanted to giggle with embarrassment.

Monica sighed, drained her glass. ‘Anyone else for another drink?’

‘I’ll help you carry them,’ said Laura, struggling out from behind the table.

‘They’re crap, aren’t they?’ said Monica once they were at the bar.

‘Well, maybe they just need time . . .’

‘Don’t beat about the bush, say it like it is! They’re rubbish! Bugger! Back to the drawing board!’

‘It’s OK,’ said Laura. ‘We’ll find a CD with the right sort of harpy-fiddly-drummy-Celtic stuff on it. It might be easier in some ways. Rupert could practise.’

‘Don’t quite know when he’s going to have time to do that,’ said Monica. She looked at her friend as her turn to be served came up. ‘Do you mind driving home? I think I need another vodka.’

‘Do you mind coming home with me? Don’t you want to stay with Seamus?’

‘I really don’t want to talk to him about how it’s gone tonight. I’ll have to think very carefully what to say.’

While they were being served, Laura said, ‘But surely you’ve heard them play lots of times. You must have known that they weren’t all that good.’

Monica explained the reason she hadn’t heard them yet was because she’d been on tour, he’d been very busy and what with organising the music festival practically single-handed now Johnny Animal had disappeared off on ‘important business’ there just hadn’t been time.

‘Would it be wrong of me to dump Seamus because he doesn’t know which way up to hold a fiddle?’ Monica asked now.

Laura, her sense of the ridiculous finely honed, giggled. ‘Yes it would! Besides, you said he was lovely. Can you manage those bottles? I’ll take the tray.’