Loving Susie (16 page)

‘Are you going to move closer to your folks?’

‘Possibly. It can take for ever getting across town sometimes and I’d quite like to be nearer Mum.’ She doesn’t say it, but she means if anything happens to her father.

‘Of course.’ Mannie is sympathetic, but inside she’s devastated. Myra will be married. She’ll move away. Jen is going to move too. Days ago – heavens, hours ago even – this might have seemed to her the perfect opportunity to float some ideas to Callum. To take on the lease? To discuss the possibility of purchasing a property together?

But now? Where does her future lie now?

A few days later, Jonno calls. Mannie is at work, deep in a dispute about disabled access ramps.

Jonno never calls her at work. ‘Hey,’ she says, alarmed, ‘What’s up?’

‘I’ve been asked for an interview.’

Her anxiety subsides at once. ‘Great. What for?’

‘That job. The one you suggested I apply for. In Stirling?’

Mannie abandons the computer and sits back suddenly.
Brian Henderson has come through for me.
Memories of the hazel eyes and animated smile flood over her like a wall of water breaching sea defences. She is so intensely overcome that she has to cling on for her life. She’s clutching the edge of the desk, her knuckles are already white, pain is shooting up her arm.

‘Still there, Sis?’

‘Sure.’ She clears her throat. ‘That’s great, Jonno. When’s the interview?’

‘Monday. I’m getting nervous.’

‘Don’t be. You’ll get the job.’ She’s absolutely certain of this, but she can’t tell her brother why.

‘There’ll be loads of competition. I’m lucky to be getting an interview even. I mean, now there’s people getting made redundant, people who’ve got loads of experience.’

‘Stop talking yourself out of it, Jonno. They may not want someone with experience. They might want someone they can mould.’

‘Like putty? Meek and malleable? Not sure that’s me.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’ Mannie is struggling to hold on to the conversation. She’s trembling. The thought of Brian is making her feel hot and cold and shaky, all at the same time. ‘They might want someone with new ideas and with no preconceptions, and they’re sure to want someone hungry for the chance. Whatever, you’ve got what it takes, bro. Sock it to ’em. Mum and Dad pleased?’

‘Haven’t told them yet.’

‘That still not good, huh?’

‘Not great.’ He sounds cautious. ‘How’s Cal?’

‘The cricket season has started. I’ve not seen much of him recently.’

‘Right. You okay?’

‘Fine,’ she lies. ‘Let me know how it goes, hey?’

‘Sure. Will do.’ And Jonno has gone, leaving her alone with her emotions.

Mannie sits at her desk for what feels like forever. She’s fighting against her inclinations, because what she wants to do – all she wants to do – is see Brian Henderson.

She’ll call him – she has his card. Or text him? Perhaps a short email might be the best approach.

Or maybe she shouldn’t get in touch at all, because she loves Cal.

She reaches for her handbag, stowed in its hiding place underneath her desk. Opens it. Finds her purse. Feels for the card Brian handed to her. It’s in her hand. She stares at it, even though she has already memorised the telephone number. What she needs is to hold it, because he once held it. It’s her connection to him. She puts it to her nose and sniffs it. The card seems to hold the essence of his particular odour, warm, slightly musky, very male. She puts it to her mouth and brushes the card with her lips.

Above her, on the wall, a clock is ticking. Six minutes have passed since Jonno ended the call.

Chapter Sixteen

Mannie spends a week fighting the impulse to call Brian Henderson. His business card becomes grubby from frequent handling. Finally, she succumbs and dials his number.

‘Is Mr Henderson there please?’

‘May I ask who’s calling?’

‘My name is Margaret-Anne Wallace.’

‘From—?’

The secretary sounds protective. Her job is to shield her boss from nuisance callers and she’s determined to fulfil her duties. Mannie hesitates. ‘It’s personal,’ she says shortly.

‘Hold on please, I’ll see if he’s available.’

Mannie rolls her eyes and tries very hard not to make her tut of impatience audible, but it takes only a few seconds for the call to be put through and once again she hears the voice she’s been imagining in her head for the past eight days.

‘Ms Wallace. Hello. How nice to hear from you again. What can I do for you?’

The formality of his greeting shocks her. What did she expect? In her head she’s been creating a much more intimate scenario and now that she’s on the phone, she realises that she hasn’t thought this through. She doesn’t want to talk about Jonno, that must take its course. In truth, she only wants one thing, which is to see him again, and as soon as possible.

Impulsive to the core, she blurts out, ‘I was wondering ... next time you’re in Edinburgh? I thought we might meet for dinner.’

God, what must he think of me?

She adds hastily, ‘I mean, there’s so much more I can tell you about what we can offer here at the hotel, I’d love to discuss it more informally than I was able to at Confex. Or I could come to Stirling?’

‘Well, I—’

Of course he’s taken aback. How idiotic she is!

Mannie is cringing at her ineptitude and still trying to work out her next line when Brian says, ‘Actually, I see I’m in Edinburgh next week for a meeting that should finish around six. Would Thursday be any use to you? I don’t have any reason to rush home, I dare say we could fit in a quick meal. If you’re free that day, that is?’

She feels her face flush.
Am I free?
‘Thursday’s fine,’ she says neutrally, although inside she’s dancing a jig.

They arrange a venue. After he rings off, she checks her diary and discovers she has a prior engagement, a meeting with an important client. She’ll have to ask Sylvia to deputise. The client won’t be pleased, but needs must – seeing Brian Henderson has to take priority.

The week passes slowly. Work is a chore, she feels weighed down and heavy, drugged, almost. It’s as if she’s lacking some essential element in her life blood. She considers a doctor’s appointment (maybe she’s anaemic?) but decides to wait.

‘Meeting someone nice?’ Myra pokes her head round Mannie’s door and shouts above the noise of Mannie’s hairdryer.

‘Sorry?’ Mannie stops brushing, switches the dryer off and lifts her head.

‘I said, are you meeting someone nice, or just Callum?’ Dimples appearing in her plump cheeks as she roars with laughter. ‘Oops, sorry! I didn’t mean Callum wasn’t nice, I meant—’

‘It’s okay, I’ve got you,’ Mannie smiles. Her hair, almost dry, shines softly in the light streaming in the window and swings, thick and smooth, round her shoulders. ‘I’m meeting a client.’

‘Oh, poor you. You do so much evening work, it’s a shame.’

‘I don’t mind. I’m sure I’ll enjoy the evening.’
Enjoy it? I’m going to cherish every minute.
‘How are your plans coming along? Have you got the dress sorted out? Did you go for the red?’

Myra snorts and giggles. ‘No! Thank heavens. Jen talked me out of it. She was quite right, red would have reflected up onto my face and made me look like a beetroot.  I’ve gone for ivory, with a lace top, just like Kate Middleton’s.’

Mannie feels a pang of guilt. She has been neglecting Myra, while Jen has been spending time with her. She berates herself for selfishness, she hasn’t been a good friend. She smiles warmly. ‘Oh, that sounds lovely!’

‘So this client – what’s his name?’

Again the tiny flutter in her chest. ‘Brian Henderson.’

‘He’s a big business prospect, is he?’

‘I’m going to try to secure a contract,’ she keeps her voice casual.

‘What a shame. Bet you’d rather be looking at Callum across a dinner table, any night.’

She shrugs. ‘Cal’s training anyway. And this guy’s nice.’

Nice. Such a dismissive word. So ordinary. Yet no way is Brian Henderson ordinary, not in her eyes. Put Brian Henderson side by side with Callum and there can be no comparison – no girl in her right mind would choose the older man, pleasant though he is. But what does sense have to do with anything? Brian is essential to life. To her life, at least. And that’s that. She can’t put it more simply. He is the missing element in the structure of her DNA, the gene that is needed to complete her.

Leith is full of restaurants. Like waterfront areas in many cities, the area is still a mixture of the seedy and run-down and the vibrant and trendy. Mannie has arranged to meet Brian in one of the many eateries that line the small river that runs into the sea at this point.

The evening is unusually still, there’s hardly a breath of air to roughen the surface of the soft-flowing water and as Mannie walks towards the rendezvous, she can see the serried rows of white-painted, crow-step-gabled houses reflected on its surface. By the bridge, a swan paddles lazily upstream, barely hampered by the current. Further down, a small crowd has spilled out of a pub onto the broad pavement and is noisily and happily exchanging gossip, jokes, snatches of song.

Mannie glances at her watch. She has ten minutes to make it to the restaurant. Plenty of time. She slows the ferocious pace she has set herself. It will not look good to be early. Better to let Brian wait a civilised few minutes.

By the bridge she stops and leans on the parapet to stare into the slowly swirling water. It’s dark and unfathomable. The surface acts like a mirror, so that Mannie can see her own face staring back up at her against the blue of the evening sky. It’s disturbingly unfamiliar – dark, shadowed, unreadable. And beneath the surface? Weeds, unchecked and untended; small pockets of rubbish, carelessly and wantonly discarded; a dark secret, perhaps – some rejected ring, or a knife, thrown in haste to avoid discovery. It can be a rough area in the dark of the night.

Sucked into her thoughts, it’s some minutes before Mannie jerks back to Leith on a Thursday evening in early summer and to an encounter that beckons deliciously. She hurries round the corner.

She pauses on the threshold of the restaurant, overtaken by doubt. What if it’s a disaster? What if she has been imagining her feelings? What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if he isn’t even there? Mannie takes a deep breath and pushes open the door. There’s only one way to find out.

He is there, waiting for her, sitting in a dimly lit corner. His head is propped on his hand as he reads the menu. The angle of his head lights a bonfire in her soul.

Ridiculous.

But true.

Her breathing has almost stopped and it feels as if her heartbeat has doubled in pace.

‘Hi!’ He lifts his head, he sees her, he’s looking at her, smiling, waving.

‘Hi!’ The word emerges as a croak, but it doesn’t matter because her voice could not be heard across the hubbub of the restaurant.

She winds her way between the tightly-packed tables towards him. He’s standing now and she thinks for one dizzy moment that he’s going to encircle her with his arms, but instead he extends his hand. She clutches it eagerly, desperate to feel his skin against hers, luxuriating in the feel of his warm fingers, his dry palm.

‘Lovely to see you again.’ He releases her hand and pulls out a chair for her.

Mannie, reeling from his touch, tucks away the memory of it in her soul. ‘And you.’

Then it’s all small talk, menus, decisions about food (two courses or three? meat or fish?) and about water (still or sparkling?). Wine – red or white, Bordeaux or Burgundy? She goes with the flow, reading the new language of his face and eyes, trying not to stare rudely as she drinks in his presence.

‘Thanks for giving Jonno an interview,’ she says as she picks at the glistening pink flesh of the smoked salmon in front of her. She’s starving, but excitement is also making her feel nauseous. She moves the fish around her plate, puts her fork down and reaches for her wine.

‘He’s been asked to come, has he? I didn’t know.’ Brian’s appetite is clearly unaffected by her proximity – he shovels his starter into his mouth with obvious appreciation. ‘I’m glad.’

Mannie experiences a momentary disappointment. Brian has not been involved in the decision. He hasn’t done her a special favour, as she has imagined. Still, she smiles. ‘He’s really excited. And nervous.’

‘I’m sure he’ll do very well. You’ll appreciate I can’t get involved?’

‘I wouldn’t expect it,’ Mannie lies. Every thread of her being is drawn towards him, like tendrils reaching to a branch for support. She yearns to reach out to touch him. In her head she can hear her manager’s voice: ‘Inappropriate behaviour’. But is it? How can it be when it feels so right?

‘Tell me about yourself.’ His eyes are bright, alert, full of humour.

The intimacy of the question thrills her. ‘Oh I’m just—’

What is she? Who is she? Is she the same person today, now, sitting at this table with him, as she was last week, in bed with Callum, telling Callum she loved him?

‘—just me,’ she finishes lamely. ‘I’m the sales director for a hotel chain – well, you know that, of course,’ she adds, flustered. ‘I like walking, sport, talking – I do that quite a lot,’ she grins, beginning to relax more in his company. ‘I live with a couple of girlfriends in a rented flat, which I quite like, because I do like a good gossip. But I’m almost ready for something different,’ she adds hastily, lest he should think her immature.

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Yes. No. Well, sort of.’

How can she betray Callum like that? Mannie hates herself for the words, but can’t help them. She doesn’t want Brian to think there’s any barrier to them being together.

‘Sort of?’ he’s smiling inquiringly, the flirtatious look back in his eyes.

He likes me! This is more than a business dinner after all.

The main course comes and goes. Dessert comes and goes. She barely touches her food. All she can think is,
This man completes me.
Every word, every gesture, each opening and closing of his mouth seems to confirm and reinforce her feelings.

But by eight it’s over. They are finished and Brian is saying, ‘I must go.’

Outside, in the sudden chill of the evening, she says, ‘Thank you for dinner.’

‘My pleasure,’ he smiles, his face friendly as he gazes down towards her.

He takes her hand as though he’s going to shake it, then just as regret is washing over her, he pulls her close to him and bends his head to hers and they’re kissing. The softness of his lips is delightful and her mouth goes slack with pleasure. A breeze, sneaking round the corner of the building behind them, lifts her hair and wraps it round the two of them, a curtain of privacy. As his lips move gently on hers, desire passes through her like a surge of a thousand volts and she arches her body towards him.

It’s over almost as quickly as it began. Brian steps back sharply, his hand gentle but firm on her arm, pushing her away. ‘No need to thank me,’ he says neutrally, turning briskly to walk on. ‘Listen, I’ll drop you home.’

Is it an opening? Will he come in? Is he playing with her? Why has he kissed her? He must feel the same as she does, surely? She says, a little shakily, ‘It’s out of your way.’

‘No trouble.’

For once, Mannie wishes Portobello was further from Leith. A ten-minute drive is not enough. She wants to be in the car with him for hours – for ever. She wants to inhale the musky warmth of him and swim in the rich, dark waters of his voice. ‘Coffee?’ she asks brightly as he pulls his Audi up to the kerb outside her front door.

‘Sorry, I must go. It’s still an hour’s drive home and I’d like to see the kids before they go to bed.’

Kids. Of course. He has kids. He has a wife, he told her so. What is she thinking? What is he thinking, because she didn’t imagine that kiss.

‘You’re a lovely girl, Margaret-Anne Wallace,’ he says softly, reaching across the gear stick and running his hand down her cheek.

Her breathing quickens and she thrills at the touch of his skin.

‘So pretty.’

He takes her hand, runs his fingers across hers, rubs his thumb in her palm. It’s incredibly sensual, deeply arousing.

‘We must meet again.’

 She says, ‘Yes,’ feeling the inevitability of it.

He releases her hand and she lifts it to her head. She can feel the blood pumping at her temple, the force of it threatening a headache. Is he suggesting an affair?

‘Come in,’ she says, pleading.

‘I can’t. Not tonight. Be patient.’

So she has to get out of the car and leave him to go home to his wife and his children. She feels the parting keenly, watches as he speeds round the corner of the street, stares at the vacuum he leaves behind. As the space left by his car expands and fills the sky, Cal’s face comes into her mind and, with it, confusion returns.