The Love of Her Life (21 page)

July 2004

‘Steve’s got a day off today, you know,’ said Zoe, sitting with her feet up on another chair outside a café in Smithfield. ‘He said he might go round to yours, see Sean.’

‘What?’ said Kate, startled. She put down her menu, blinking at Zoe in the sunshine.

‘Do you know where Sean is?’ Kate’s face was blank, and Zoe said patiently, ‘The bathroom tiles in your flat. He’s doing them today, isn’t he? Steve’s helping him.’

Kate stared at Zoe. It went into her head, this nugget, another little piece of information. Kate wished she could connect them all in some way; but her brain didn’t seem to be working, lately.

They weren’t doing the bathroom tiles for another couple of weeks, Kate knew. The tiles were delayed, some problem with the manufacturers in Italy, due to Sean’s incredibly precise tile requirements, which had driven Kate practically up the bathroom wall itself. Plain white from IKEA was absolutely no good, no, they had to be from some tiny artisan shop near Modena, cut to the same dimensions as some
Japanese designer from the Sixties. Kate just couldn’t have cared less. Having grown up with parents who barely knew one end of a hoover from another, Kate had learnt to be practical to survive, and it surprised her to realize just how good she was at organizing their finances, sorting out their tax returns, organizing the wedding, though actually, that didn’t interest her as much as other things did. Sean laughed at her, he thought it was funny he was marrying a girl who was more interested in tax returns than bathroom tiles or fonts for wedding invitations. He quite liked all of that, he told her.

He did, too. It surprised her, to realize what a homebody Sean was, to see how subtly both of them were changing. He wanted to be an old man with his pipe and slippers, sitting by the fireside. Kate couldn’t see big, strong Sean in slippers, at all – he was always doing something, always up before her, out getting supplies from somewhere, and yet more and more he wanted to stay in. He was out so often during the day for work, going to other offices, in meetings all over town, so when he was off he wanted to be with her and he liked her to be there with him, though these days, Kate’s job took up a lot of her time, and it was sometimes a real struggle to get away from the office, from the parties, the launch for a new fragrance, the preview of a new film. As she did better in her job, she became less of a homebody; the opposite of Sean. Sean had enjoyed doing up their flat so much, she found it really quite touching, though his zeal for home life was sometimes a bit overpowering, as if he’d tried on the coat for size and found it was too big but wanted to keep it anyway.

‘We should think about moving out of town in a year or so, though,’ he’d said, a few nights ago, as Kate was sitting on the sofa in her pyjamas, tapping away at her laptop, making some last-minute changes to an article she’d done.

Kate peered at him. ‘What?’ she’d said, not really taking it in.

Sean was squatting on his haunches by the fireplace, a palette knife in his hand. He’d found some antique ceramic tiles which exactly matched the period of the flat, and had removed the dull Seventies grey-green tiles around the fireplace, to replace them with burgundy, floral charming ones. Now she watched him, fondly.

‘I said.’ Sean heaved himself up. ‘We should really think about moving out of London in about a year or so.’ He put the palette knife in his toolbelt; Sean loved his toolbelt.

‘Why?’ said Kate, trying not to sound rattled. ‘We’ve only just moved in here.’

‘We don’t want to raise kids in the city, though, do we?’

‘What kids?’

‘The kids we’re going to have, Kate.’ Sean sat down next to her. ‘Hello?’ He patted her arm. ‘Don’t freak out.’

‘Oh,’ said Kate. ‘Those kids. Yes, but – Sean, I don’t want to move out of town.’

‘I’m not raising kids here in the city,’ said Sean. He sounded affronted. ‘Do you really want to do that? Wouldn’t it be better to be in a house? In a cul-de-sac? They can ride their tricycles, and … and stuff?’ he finished, rather vaguely. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to live in an actual town?’

‘We already live in an actual town,’ said Kate. ‘I thought you liked it here. You’ve never said …’

‘Darling, calm down. This is way in the future,’ he said, putting his arm round her, and pulling her close. She could hear his heart beating, as she rested her head on his chest. ‘We won’t be in this apartment forever, will we? Or are you saying you want us to stay here for the rest of our lives, never move, never change anything, live here for fifty years, just like the Allans upstairs?’

He always did this; got her to agree with him by taking
the piss out of her, driving her arguments into the ground with gentle hilarity. She couldn’t argue with him, never had been able to. He was like Teflon Man, nothing stuck to him, he just got on with it and did his own thing. Usually, she loved that about him.

‘I’d like to be like the Allans,’ she said. ‘They’ve got a great life.’

‘No, they’ve got a stupid life,’ said Sean, sitting up. ‘They should have realized the profit on their place years ago. Don’t they realize the market’s going to bottom out and they could have got a great little cottage in the country somewhere?’

‘I’ve never asked them,’ said Kate, moving away from him. ‘But maybe you should run up there
now
and make sure they’re aware of that.’ She poked him gently. ‘Calm down! Last week you wanted us to start going to the local church, now this. Is it the wedding, is that what’s making you freak out and act like Mr Suburban all of a sudden?’ He swung round towards her. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said softly. ‘I don’t need a house in Epsom somewhere to be happy with you. I’m happy here now.’

He frowned, looking annoyed. ‘Kate, that’s not what I mean. You know that.’

‘I don—’

‘Hey.
You’re
the one freaking out about the wedding. Ever since we got engaged, you’ve become Ms Career Girl in the City.’

She inhaled sharply. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’

‘It’s like you with your job these days. It’s like it’s the only thing that matters to you. “Ms Miller? Ms Miller?”’ he said, imitating a receptionist on the phone, a high, silly voice.

‘This is stupid.’

‘That’s what Sue’s assistant called you when she rang about the car to the airport. “Is Ms Miller there?” Since when were you a “Ms”?’

‘I don’t know!’ Kate ran her hand through her hair. ‘You’re being ridiculous! Who cares if I’m Ms or Miss or Mrs or whatever? Why should it matter?’

‘Because you’re marrying me,’ he said. ‘You’re going to be Mrs Lambert.’

‘I know, but –’ Kate sketched something with her hands, a helpless gesture. ‘Sean, don’t be like that –’ She reached forward; he had stood up, and she caught his leg. ‘I can’t wait to be Mrs Lambert, honestly.’

‘Really?’ he said, turning round and looking down at her. She met his gaze, solemnly. ‘It just feels like – it’s your job first with you, then organizing the wedding, then Zoe, then the flat and stuff, and I come about fifth on the list.’

She didn’t know how to reassure him; all of those things were true, because she did them all for him. He had urged her to work that hard, to make them the money that would keep them afloat, that would pay for not just the tiles from Modena, but the honeymoon in the Maldives and, she supposed now, the house in the commuter belt, with a drive to park the car in, and a mantelpiece to put the framed photos of the honeymoon in the Maldives on. They were on a treadmill, and Kate realized they didn’t know how to get off.

‘Sean –’ she said, moving her hands up his body, pulling him towards her. ‘Sit down, darling.’ He sat down. ‘You are first with me, you know that, don’t you? Always first.’

‘Of course I do.’ His face softened. ‘It’s just –’

‘Let me finish,’ she said, holding up her hand. ‘Look, I want to be with
you
, I want a marriage to
you
, not so I can say “my husband’s over there” to people at parties. That’s why we’re doing this, isn’t it? Because we want to be together.’

She said it in a funny voice, like the old Prudential advert, but Texas-raised Sean didn’t get it, and he looked blank for
a moment, before his expression cleared. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Forget about it.’ He leaned in towards her, and kissed her, moving her arms, breaking up her defensive body language position. ‘We are together,’ he said after a moment, his voice muffled in her hair.

Kate sighed. She was so tired, after a long day on the magazine, where there was a new drama every day. She wasn’t sleeping, much, stymied by various things. She hadn’t called the caterers to finalize the menu, nor spoken to Lisa about Danielle’s little dress (Lisa was insisting on Daniel’s new album of Westlife covers being played at the reception and Danielle being a bridesmaid. They’d compromised on the latter). And always, at the back of her mind, was Charly. Steve and Charly. She had absolutely no further evidence, no sign that anything was amiss. Was she going to upset pregnant Zoe over what Sean was convinced was just a misunderstanding? Threaten everything, lose Steve’s friendship – because how could it be otherwise – when she wasn’t really sure?

The trouble was, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Her mind ran in a circle, around and around, always coming back to the same thing: was that why she hadn’t seen Charly for months? Was that why Sean and Steve didn’t play their weekly game of pool any more? Was that why Zoe seemed strange with her now, like she was on her best behaviour? Everything led back to it and it seemed to her, Kate, as if she was the only person who could do something about it, and yet the only person who shouldn’t. She was like a rat, caught in a trap, and she honestly didn’t know how much longer it could go on like this. Her brain wasn’t working properly. She was losing weight, too much weight. People kept saying it was pre-wedding nerves. She knew it wasn’t.

‘Did you speak to the photographer?’ Sean said softly, running his hands over her shoulders, his lips on her jaw.

‘No,’ said Kate, twisting towards him, hoping to distract him further. ‘I will tomorrow. Forget about that now.’

‘OK.’

‘OK.’

‘So the tiles are going up today, are they?’ Zoe said, sitting up and leaning closer, recalling Kate to the present.

Kate shook her head, as if the thoughts inside it were buzzing loudly, and looked around her. She and Zoe were by Smithfield Market, sitting outside in a café that overlooked the vast wrought-iron building. They could hear the shouts of traders, finishing up for the day, echoing behind them as they sat in the sunshine, smiling politely at each other.

‘I suppose so.’ Kate shook her head again, trying to work out what was bothering her. ‘I thought it was later, but … perhaps they arrived early. That’d be cool.’

‘Nice of Sean to give Steve the key. I wouldn’t trust him with … anything,’ said Zoe happily, as she patted her tummy, and lifted one foot up onto the slatted chair opposite her. ‘Look. Harry does this when he’s hungry.’ She made circular movements on her rounded stomach. ‘God, I’m starving. Shall we order?’

‘Yep,’ said Kate. ‘Let’s. Let’s do that.’ She gazed around, suddenly feeling sick. Sick to her soul, with something that was beyond her control. It couldn’t be true, could it.
Could
it
? Steve wouldn’t … Charly wouldn’t … Kate tried to focus.

‘So,’ Zoe was saying. ‘What have you got left to do?’

‘For the wedding?’

‘
Yes
, for the wedding,’ Zoe said. ‘I know you’re the least bridal bride in the whole world, but you must have
some
things left to do.’

‘Not really,’ said Kate. ‘Dress, fine.’ She would be wearing
a beautiful dress she’d found in Fenwicks. It was pale blue. ‘Registry office booked. Venue booked, band booked.’ Lisa had taken care of the venue, a disused church hall round the corner from their flat, on Shirland Road, and her father had, very kindly, after the CD debacle was cleared up, offered to find a good band for the wedding, coming up trumps with the Frank Walden Band. There was two months to go, anyway – Kate didn’t see what the fuss was about, personally. She kept thinking she should be in a flap, but it was like she was watching it from a long long way away, and she simply couldn’t get worked up into a mountain of stress about it. It’d be a party, she and Sean had decided. A great big fantastic party. Sean was more nervous than her, she thought. His family was coming over, whereas she had virtually no family. And he was more one for the big occasion. When the registrar, attempting small talk, had asked which of them was going to cry, both Kate and Sean had pointed at Sean and said, in unison, ‘Him/Me’. As the registrar simpered, batting her eyelashes at Sean, who was nodding and smiling, he’d added, self-deprecatingly,

‘I’m just a real sucker for the whole thing. I – I can’t wait, you know?’

‘And I’m dead inside,’ Kate said to Zoe. ‘She looked at me like I was a total witch.’

‘Rubbish,’ Zoe said briskly, putting her menu down and squinting at her friend. ‘I can tell you Harry is really, really excited. I think he thinks a wedding’s something to do with the police. He keeps shooting imaginary things when I talk to him about it, I don’t know why.’

‘Hah,’ said Kate, pretending to study her menu.

‘Steve says he’s got an unhealthy interest in weddings for a three-year-old. Well, he says
I’ve
got an unhealthy interest in weddings too, and he’s right, Kate, but oh, I’m just so excited!’

A waiter walked past; a pigeon landed nearby; a car hooted in the background. That was when it suddenly hit Kate, it wasn’t a flash from the skies, a thunderbolt. It was one ordinary moment passing into another, but it changed everything. She put her menu down, staring thoughtfully at Zoe, not caring if she was being odd. This was her best friend in front of her, the girl she had grown up with, who had been more family to Kate than her actual blood relatives, really. She had to know what was going on, had to take control. She realized that, now. No more of little Kate in the shadows, waiting for Sean to sort everything out for her, for them both. He had failed her in that, she had to admit it. It was time for her to do something, though it terrified her.