You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) (39 page)

I
understood the full scale of the decision Mel had made all those years ago to
marry a man she didn’t – she couldn’t possibly – have a proper, loving future
with, in order to further her career. I remembered how I used to envy what she
had: the fame, the curtain calls, the body that could withstand the demands she
placed on it. Now I realised the price she had paid for it. I wondered whether
she thought it was worth it, but I knew I’d never find out.

And
most of all, I understood how close I’d come to losing the thing that mattered
most in the world to me: the life Jonathan and I had built together, the days
and weeks and years stacking up into something that was strong and full of joy
– or had been, until it wasn’t any more.

It’s
not like I woke up, the way the fairy queen did in the play, and went, “OMG, I
dreamed I was in love with a
donkey
!” But I did realise that, even
though Felix still had a place in my heart and always would, I loved him in a
completely different way: as a part of my past – a part that helped make me the
person I am now. As a memory of who I used to be before I grew up and made a
life I can live until its end. And some day, perhaps, as a friend.

Amanda
interrupted my reverie by pressing an envelope into my hand. “I do hope you’ll
be able to join us for our pre-Christmas drinks party on the twenty-second,”
she said. “It’s become a bit of a tradition. Mulled wine and champers and
nibbles for a few of our closest friends – there’ll be about a hundred and
twenty people there. Thank God I managed to snap up that nice Carmen when
Zélide had to let her go. The woman’s a wonder with the children, and in the
kitchen too.”

“We’d
love to come,” I said, quailing slightly at the prospect, but recognising it as
the offer of a truce of sorts. “I’ll check with Jonathan. I’m sure we can make
it, although we’re leaving the next day to spend Christmas with my sister.”
Where, no doubt, Darcey would be spending every waking moment sitting on the
back of a horse – which was better than lying in a heap on the ground next to
one, I supposed.

“And
do you have any plans for New Year?” Amanda asked.

“Actually,
we’re going to Dublin for an old friend’s wedding,” I said. “Just Jonathan and
me.”

As
part of my new-found urge to make peace with my past, I’d sent Roddy a friend
request on Facebook. He would have been quite entitled to ignore it, or block
me – but he didn’t. He accepted straight away, and we spent many hours catching
up with all that had happened in the years since we last saw each other.
Roddy’s life had turned out to be far more exciting than mine. He’d worked all
over the world, happily moving on when he got a better offer or itchy feet. It
was in Australia, he told me, that he’d met Fintan and fallen in love. The two
of them had moved back to Dublin together to be closer to Fintan’s family, and
Roddy was working at the National Ballet of Ireland, planning to retire and
move into teaching in a year or two.

“As
soon as they changed the law here, I asked Fintan to marry me,” Roddy had
written, “And guess what he said? So you must come to the wedding – it’s going
to be the mother of all parties.”

Knowing
Roddy, I was sure it would be.

He’d
invited Felix too, and told him to bring a partner. To my surprise, I’d found
this out the previous night, not from Felix but from Zé, over a bottle of wine
in the pub.

“So
this wedding you’re going to,” she said. Then she paused and blushed. I’d never
seen her blush before. “Um… Felix has asked me to go with him. We’ve been out
for drinks a couple of times, but I guess this is… I don’t know. Something
more. I haven’t said yes. I wanted to talk to you first, in case you minded.”

I
thought about it for a moment, and realised I didn’t mind at all – all I felt
was excitement that two people I cared about might find happiness together.

“And
how’s your work going?” Amanda said. “You poor thing, it must be awfully hard
being away from the little ones.”

“Actually,
I found it much harder being at home with them,” I said. “And Flight of Fancy
are a great employer – they’re very flexible. I have to be, too, of course,
because of all the late nights doing press launches and stuff. It’s brilliant
being back in a creative environment after so long.”

I
could have carried on forever about work and how amazingly lucky I felt that
Flight of Fancy had been looking for a PR person at the exact time when I’d
speculatively sent Zé’s friend Anton my newly polished CV, but I made myself
shut up. I could tell that my refusal to deliver any bad news wasn’t going down
well with Amanda.

I
could understand her frustration. She wasn’t an unkind person, I knew that. But
she liked the world to conform to the rules she’d laid down in her head, rules
of a game she’d invented, in which she would inevitably emerge victorious.
Unfortunately for her, it seemed I didn’t know how to play. Still, if she could
afford to be magnanimous, so could I.

“I’d
better rush, or I’ll be late,” I said. “But it’s been lovely chatting to you.
Do bring Delphine round for a playdate some time soon. Let Jonathan know when
would suit you.”

“Before
you go, Laura, there’s just one thing.” This was it, I realised – she was about
to produce her trump card.

“Go
on,” I said.

“It’s
about the school nativity play,” she said.

“Yes?
Darcey’s going to be a donkey, she’s absolutely thrilled about it.”

“Oh,”
Amanda’s face fell a bit, but then she rallied and said triumphantly, “Delphine
has been cast as Mary.”

I
don’t know how I did it, but I managed to keep a straight face until I’d said
goodbye and turned away from her. But then I burst out laughing, and didn’t
stop until I got to work.

The End

Sophie Ranald is
the youngest of five sisters. She was born in Zimbabwe and lived in South
Africa until an acute case of itchy feet brought her to London in her mid-20s.
As an editor for a customer publishing agency, Sophie developed her
fiction-writing skills describing holidays to places she’d never visited. In
2011, she decided to disregard all the good advice given to aspiring novelists
and attempt to write full-time.

It
Would Be Wrong to Steal My Sister’s Boyfriend (Wouldn’t it?)
was
published in August 2013, followed by
A
Groom With a View
and
Who
Wants to Marry a Millionaire?
, originally entitled
The Frog Prince
.

You Can’t Fall
in Love With Your Ex (Can You?)
is Sophie’s fourth
novel, and she also writes for magazines and online about food, fashion and
running. She lives in south-east London with her amazing partner Hopi and
Purrs, their adorable little cat. Follow Sophie on Twitter @SophieRanald, or
like her Facebook page for updates and random wittering about the cuteness of
Purrs (there will be pics! Even videos!).

Readers familiar
with the stunning, large-scale immersive theatre pioneered by Punchdrunk will
recognise their work as the inspiration for Flight of Fancy’s
A Midsummer
Night’s Dream
. Felix Barrett, Maxine Doyle and all the performers who
captured my imagination and stole my heart over the hours (too many to count!)
I spent exploring the worlds of
The Drowned Man
and
Sleep No More
deserve my eternal gratitude. So, too, does my wonderful friend Helen Taylor
for planting the seed of my Punchdrunk obsession, and for being the perfect
travelling companion in New York.

The phenomenally
talented Paul O’Shea was kind enough to meet me and talk with unstinting
honesty about what life as a working actor is really like. Thank you, Paul, for
that and for those unforgettable moments in the Gatekeeper’s office.

Being tone deaf
and cursed with two left feet, it was harder for me to get to grips with the
world of classical ballet. I stumbled and giggled my way through a term of
adult beginner’s classes at Trinity Laban Conservatoire of Music and Dance, and
I’d like to thank my teacher, Chloe Stone, for her patience and good humour. I
also found a wealth of information and inspiration in Darcey Bussell’s
autobiography,
A Life in Dance
, and Toni Bentley’s fascinating memoir,
Winter
Season
.

Having learned so
much and written so much, it felt at times as if I would never finish this
novel. Then I spent a week with my sister and her partner, who live just
outside Johannesburg. Jassy and Dion’s company, the cats and horses, the
beautiful countryside and cauliflower wraps all worked their magic, and the
book was done. Thank you, my most amazing sister and brother-in-law – I love
you both, even if Morris the cat was delighted when I left.

Back at home in
London, Lizzie Coulter shared her knowledge of legal matters to help me come up with high-finance shenanigans that I could never have dreamed up on my own — thanks, Lizzie. The incomparable Peta Nightingale and her colleagues at LAW have
provided me with endless support and advice – I can never thank you enough. Amy
Tipper and Victoria Innell at Amazon have done so much to help my books
succeed, and I’m enormously grateful for all your hard work. Tash Webber has
produced another gorgeous cover, and Catherine Baigent has found and fixed
flaws in my writing to make me look better than I deserve – thank you both.

Finally, and
always, my darling Hopi and my precious Purrs have made me laugh and given me
cuddles when I’ve needed them most. You’re the best.