Miracle on Regent Street (34 page)

I open my bedroom door and call down the stairs, ‘DELILAH?’ But there’s no answer. ‘LI-LA!’ I shout again. Still nothing.

‘Lola,’ I grab her as she streaks past me, ‘I have a very important job for you that only big girls can do.’

Lola tilts her head and stares at me with a very serious expression on her face. Then she puts her hands on her hips and says, ‘Hit me with it, Teevee.’

I stifle a laugh. Where on earth has she got that expression from? I suck in my cheeks so she can’t see me smiling.

‘Can you get your pyjamas on for Auntie Teevee nicely, and then help Raffy with his, please?’ I beckon Raffy over and he obediently lays on the floor so I can put his nappy on. Then
I hand the pyjamas to her and she grabs them.

‘Come ON, Raffy, time for PJs,’ she says bossily, pulling a top over his head roughly, clearly relishing having her very own real-life doll to dress.

I step out of my bedroom, shutting the door behind me and hoping that they won’t do too much destruction to my room while I’m gone. I head down two flights of stairs. Delilah’s
clearly gone straight down to the kitchen as she’s not in her bedroom, or the lounge, study or dining room. I am about to descend to the basement when I hear a man’s hushed voice.
Will.

‘I can’t talk for long.’ Pause. ‘Don’t be unreasonable. You know my situation, Helen.’

I sit down on the stairs and lean against the banisters, my heart racing as I strain to hear what he’s saying.

‘I’ve told you what I want,’ he softens his voice, ‘so what are you going to do about it?’ Another pause. ‘You know that’s not possible. Delilah
can’t find out. It would destroy her. I love her, which is why I want to somehow make this work without her finding out. Surely you can understand that?’ He lowers his voice and I lean
further to try to catch what he’s saying. ‘Listen, can we meet soon? You know how much I want to . . .’

I hear the back door open and close again. I can’t hear any more but I don’t need to. I’ve heard enough.

Delilah’s husband is having an affair. Now I just need to work out what the hell to do about it.

I’
m sitting on the bus staring out of the steamed-up windows into the darkness beyond, watching as raindrops pound against the side of the
window and then run down the glass as quickly and freely as I imagine Delilah’s tears would if I were to tell her what I’ve just overheard. Outside, the lights from the buildings and
streets pulsate like a heartbeat and I hear the steady
swoosh swoosh swoosh
of the passing cars driving through puddles, their drivers gazing blankly out of their windscreens as if
they’ve been hypnotized by their long week of hard work. Suddenly the city seems to me to be a living, breathing nocturnal animal and its dwellers are just little amoebas that live on it.

Speaking of amoebas, I can’t stop thinking about Will-the-Cheating-Bastard.

After I accidentally overheard him on the phone I crept back upstairs quickly, to find Raffy, still naked, jumping up and down on my bed.

‘I tried, Teevee,’ Lola sighed ruefully from her sitting position on the floor where she was looking at her little brother with despair. ‘But he is very very VERY
naughty.’

Just like his daddy, I thought, and bundled a squealing, wriggling Raffy into my arms and into his dinosaur pyjamas, and then took them both downstairs to get their beakers of milk.

I descended the stairs trying to make as much noise as possible to ensure Will would know we were coming, which isn’t exactly hard when flanked by two stampeding toddlers. I didn’t
want to hear any more of his conversation and I certainly didn’t want the kids to either. Will was sitting on one of the bar stools in front of the enormous, brushed-granite island unit as we
came into the kitchen. His iPhone and a large glass of red wine were in front of him.

That’s right, drink away the guilt,
I thought as he took a large glug and avoided eye contact with me
.

Then Will turned and beamed as his kids ran towards him squealing with delight, and I tried not to let the disgust I felt show in my face. Will and I have never been really close, but I’d
say we tolerate each other. He finds me too underachieving and I just find him so bloody smug. There’s never been anything major to dislike about him – until now. Just that he’s
annoyingly public-school handsome, rich and clever, and yes, he works really hard in his job, and yes, I’ve always thought he looks after my sister well and is a good dad. But Delilah is
amazing, he’s bloody lucky to have her, and sometimes I feel that he just takes that for granted. Well, judging by the call I’ve just overheard that’s an understatement.

I am furious with him but the worst thing about it is that I just don’t know what to do. Although I have to say I am happy that my dislike of him has been verified. Mum has always
insinuated that I don’t like him simply because he comes between me and my sister. But that’s ridiculous. As if a man could ever do that. I feel a stab of guilt as I think of how I
didn’t really believe Delilah the other evening when she was upset about Will. I’ve always told myself I don’t want to get involved with Delilah’s marriage, but at what
point do I make exceptions to that rule? Do I tell her and risk breaking up their family? Because there’s also Lola and Raffy to consider. Maybe I should just keep quiet for their sake. Oh
God, I just don’t know.

I bite my lip feeling suddenly horribly weighed down by my knowledge. Stupid Will flapping his stupid willy around the first woman that showed any interest.

If it is the first,
I think suddenly. For all I know he could’ve been having affairs for years. I’ve read articles about blokes who went to their lover’s bed straight
after their wife had given birth. What if Will is one of those? The thought utterly reviles me. I may not have always thought Will was good enough for my sister, but I certainly never imagined him
to be a complete bastard. I feel like I don’t know him at all any more. I’m so angry with him for gambling his marriage and Lola and Raffy’s blissful childhoods. But I’m
also angry at him for putting me in this position. Do I tell Delilah? Or do I let her find out for herself? The dilemma occupies me for the entire bus journey into town.

Thank God I have something to take my mind off it all, I think as I push open the pub doors and immediately get enveloped by the warmth and noise. I’ve chosen a typically
old-fashioned pub for our little get-together. The Lamb is somewhere I thought Lily and Felix would feel comfortable, and it’s always been one of my favourite drinking holes. Not that I
really have a ‘drinking hole’ per se, but if I did, this is where I’d come all the time. It’s a classic Victorian pub just near Russell Square, with dark wood, leather
sofas, chocolate-brown walls with sepia photographs dotted around, as well as lots of period artefacts, such as the old jukebox that’s tucked away in a corner. The exterior has beautiful
original Victorian green tiles and a wrought-iron streetlamp hanging above the entrance. And it’s the perfect place for a secret rendezvous, as the pub also still has the original snob
screens – small panels of etched glass positioned at head height to conceal a drinker’s identity. You can just imagine all the secret love affairs that have gone on here. This makes me
wonder if perhaps I should bring Joel here, too. And then I think of Will again and my heart sinks.

I spot Felix in the corner, sitting on a banquette in the middle of two round tables. I wave at him and push through the crowd as he looks up and smiles at me brightly. He has clearly dressed up
for the occasion in a slightly too-tight-for-his-stomach striped shirt tucked into his jeans, a lightly checked blazer over the top, the look finished with a jaunty paisley scarf tied round his
neck and tucked into the open collar of his shirt. I realize I have never seen him wear anything other than his dark blue security uniform before and that, if I had, I’d have known
immediately that he was a widower. No wife would have let him out of the house looking like this, but I’m not going to say a word. He looks so pleased with himself.

‘Hello, love!’ he says, his face crinkling like crepe paper into a warm smile. ‘I thought it’d be busy so I decided to come a bit early to bag us a table. Can I get you a
drink?’

‘Don’t be silly, Felix. I’ll get it,’ I say, waving him back into his seat from which he is now trying to get up from.

He frowns at me as he tries to extricate himself from behind the table. ‘You bloody well won’t, Evie. Let me buy you a drink to make up for all those early morning Americanos
you’ve brought me!’

‘Well, when you put it like that . . . I’ll have a glass of white wine, please.’ I smile as Felix heaves himself around the table and makes his way towards the bar.

I sit back and look around, relishing the feeling of being out for the evening. The sad thing is I can’t remember the last time I did something like this. Carly and I go out occasionally,
but it’s only ever me and her, and we tend to go to some swanky new bar that she’s chosen and which I don’t feel remotely comfortable in because they’re always full of
self-satisfied media types waving their hands and expensive handbags around, drinking achingly cool drinks made from fruits I’ve never heard of, served by un believably handsome bartenders
who never seem to notice me waiting at the bar, desperately trying to get served. I end up sitting uncomfortably on some stool that was made for someone two stone lighter and a foot taller than me,
gripping on for dear life and trying not to drink so much that I need to go to the toilet, because the bar would have undoubtedly found some new way of not making it look like a toilet but like a
space-age egg, or there’ll be a two-way mirror on the cubicle door so you can see the people waiting outside whilst you’re trying to pee.

Which is why for tonight’s get-together I’ve tried to choose somewhere that everyone would feel comfortable – including me. I glance over and see Felix patiently waiting to be
served amongst the busy cross-section of customers. There’s the pre-requisite stressed-out suits, a bunch of students, a smattering of couples having pre-dinner drinks, there’s the
local business people, the shop workers, and trendy executives in black-rimmed specs from the media agencies that are dotted around this area.

The table Felix has chosen for us is in a cosy and tucked away corner, which is great, as the place is heaving already. I’m just thinking how much I need a drink, when I spot a familiar
figure sailing through the crowd. Lily beams at me as she approaches, and not for the first time I marvel at the grace and ease with which she appears to move through life. People part for Lily
like she’s Moses moving the Red Sea. She smiles graciously as she passes them, lifting one hand a little like the Queen to thank her subjects for letting her pass.

‘Darling!’ she breathes. ‘Let me look at you!’ I reluctantly stand up as Lily, on the other side of the table, gives me a quick assessment. ‘You look
glorious
, Evie darling. That tea dress is just made for you! And didn’t I tell you that you’re a red lip kind of girl? It suits your colouring so wonderfully! I mean, suddenly
your eyes are bigger and darker, your hair has more lustre, your skin is lumin
escent.
It’s like looking in the mirror of my youth.’ She sighs dramatically and perches on a chair,
popping her handbag on her lap.

I smile shyly at her compliment. But I can’t imagine I’d ever remind Lily of herself when she was young.

‘Well, you look wonderful, too, Lily,’ I say. And it’s true. This evening she’s channelling Jackie Onassis with her usually scraped-back hair floating in soft, dark waves
around her face and wearing a pearl-grey shift dress with a cardigan slung over her shoulders and an expensive-looking silk scarf tied neatly around her neck. And red lips, of course.

‘I thought I’d make the effort for you, my dear. I’m sad to say I don’t get out as often as I’d like these days. It’s the darnedest thing about getting old.
Suddenly you’re up like a lark at six and ready for bed just as the evening is beginning. Besides which, people my age seem to forget they’re still alive. I’m lucky if I can find
someone to go for afternoon tea with me, let alone an alcoholic drink or dinner past 7 p.m. Boring, the lot of them.’ She gesticulates dramatically so that a man in a suit behind her has to
duck out of her way. ‘I still remember the days when I used to stay out all night and not need a jot of sleep.’

She clasps her hands together and smiles at me. ‘Now, I don’t know about you, but I need a beverage. What would you like, darling?’

‘Felix is at the bar getting me a glass of wine,’ I reply, standing up and straining to see where he is. ‘Let me go and get you something.’

‘Oh, you’ll do no such thing. I can go myself. I need to tell them just how to mix my Martini, anyway. None of these young bartenders seem to know how these days. It’s a
tragedy.’

I smile as Lily gets lost in the crowd and, seconds later, I spot her standing at the front of the bar being served ahead of Felix, which makes me chuckle out loud.

‘Feel like sharing the joke?’ a familiar voice says teasingly.