Having a Ball (13 page)

"All of those are Dads. These are Mums." He pointed out economics and
politics text books and academic discourses. "These," he said pointing to a slim
volume and a fat binder, "are Dan's. He writes mainly papers, but he's co-authored
some texts."

So his family wrote a lot of books. "And?"

"And I'm the only Blackwood who isn't an expert on something." Tom sat
down on the floor, his back against a bookcase, his legs stretching out in front of
him. "When I was young, my parents said they didn't mind what I did, so long as I
did it well." He sighed. "I've been trying to live up to that."

"I'm sure they didn't mean--"

"Yes, they did. They were both brilliant in their fields. Even after they
supposedly retired, were still asked to give talks and lectures. Or chair seminars,
like Mum's doing next week. Dan's pretty much the same. To them, being good
means being the best."

He rubbed his palms over his eyes. "I don't think I'm cut out to be the
best. I'm damned good at what I do, but I'm not the best." He looked up, not really
seeing her. "Not yet."

For a moment Stevie didn't know what to say. A dozen responses went
through her head, most of them involving pointing out that he was just being
pig-headed and self-centred. None of them seemed the sort of thing that would give
him comfort.

"Perhaps," she said, while feeling her way to the end of the sentence,
"you're judging yourself too harshly." She eyed the assorted books. "You say you're
good at what you do. You've still got years to climb the corporate ladder. You're still
relatively young."

"Relatively?" There was a trace of something in his voice. Was it
amusement? She risked a glance at him. He was staring at her.

"You're the same age as my brother. Thirty isn't that old."

"No," he said quietly, "I suppose not."

Stevie shifted position so that she was kneeling more comfortably on the
floor. "Besides, your mother loves you. I'm sure your parents didn't think their
request that you be good at what you do would make you drive yourself to the
point of a nervous breakdown."

"Who said anything about a nervous breakdown?" The sharpness of his
reply made her look at him again. Something akin to fear crossed his face before he
got his expression under control.

Oh dear. That meant that something had happened. Something he hadn't
told Evelyn about. Come to think of it, it was very unlikely that someone so driven
as Tom would suddenly decide to take a two week holiday with no plans
whatsoever as to what to do with that time.

"Tom," she said gently. "Why do you really have two weeks off?"

"I was owed the time and it seemed a shame to waste it--"

She continued to stare at him, not believing a word.

His mouth became a firm line. He looked like a petulant child. "You look
as though you don't believe me."

"I don't." She smiled. "I know a stressed person when I see one. You've
got persistent headaches, your hands shake periodically. You look like you haven't
slept in weeks. If I were to make a guess as to why you were taking time off..." She
wondered if she'd gone too far.

His mouth was still pressed into a line and he was glowering. He
indicated she should go on.

"I'd say you'd been signed off for stress."

He opened his mouth as though to protest, and then shut it again. He gave
a huge sigh and something in him seemed to deflate. He stared at his feet.

For a moment Stevie forgot that Tom was annoying, or even that he was a
sexy man she was trying her best not to be attracted to, and wondered whether she
should give him a hug. He seemed lost and sad and in need of comfort. For some
reason, her argument with Marsh popped into her head. She looked away. With the
remnants of her nightmare still fresh in her mind, it was hard to be angry with
Marsh. She wondered what he would say if he could see her now.

"Don't tell Mum," Tom said, suddenly.

"Of course I won't." She resisted the urge to pat his hand. "Although, you
might find she's more helpful than you think."

Tom shook his head. "No, I don't want her to think I'm a failure."

"Why would she think that? So you're stressed. People get stressed.
Especially in high pressure jobs like yours. Evelyn might be able to help you relax.
Maybe even help you get over this rod you seem to have made for your own
back."

Tom gave a snort. "You've only just met my mother. You don't know her
like I do. She's always seen me as the inferior one. Dan was always the one who
won prizes at school and got top grades for his exams. I was always the other one,
who did okay, but nothing special. It was always..." He sighed again. "Oh, you
wouldn't understand."

"Wouldn't I? I've got Marsh for a brother. He does everything and does it
well. He did his finals, bought a house and fought to be my guardian, all in the same
year our parents died. If he were a woman, they'd call him SuperMum of the
Year."

Tom's gaze moved over her face, as though he were seeing her properly
for the first time. "Yes," he said slowly. "I see what you mean." He looked down at
his hands. "You think I'm being childish."

Well, yes, she did, but she couldn't very well say that without hurting his
feelings further. "No, I think you've chosen to take your parents' comments in a
very negative light. You think they wanted you to outshine everyone, when they
probably just wanted give you the freedom to do whatever you wanted."

He considered it for a while. When he looked at her again, he seemed less
annoyed.

"You know," he said, and gave her a small smile, "for someone so young,
you actually talk a lot of sense."

She smiled back. "I do my best." They stared at each other for a long
moment.

When he wasn't scowling, Tom's face was remarkably open and
attractive. His eyes, which were so blue in the daytime, were dark as midnight ink
in the lamplight. His hair was tumbling over his forehead, making her want to push
it back.

Suddenly, Stevie was very much aware that she was wearing very little
underneath her dressing gown and that she sitting on the floor of her client's house,
having a fairly intimate conversation with her client's son. She was supposed to be
proving she could be professional.

She tore her gaze away from him and back to the books. The brilliance of
the Blackwoods took up a whole shelf in front of her. The father, the mother, the
son. She remembered the photo in Evelyn's office of a family--two parents, two
grown up sons.

She thought of the photo of her own family, hidden behind a postcard of
an archaeologist with a bullwhip. Stevie had never known what her parents
expected from her. They may have told her, but she didn't remember. All her
memories of them were now reduced to a few fractured images, and she was
having trouble separating things she'd actually seen from things Marsh had told
her. Would Tom ever realise how lucky he was to know what his parents wanted
for him, even if he had let it screw him up?

She cast a quick glance at him. He was staring into space. Sitting there in
silence was nice, but she felt somehow it was safer to be talking to each other.

"So, if you could have anything or do anything in the world," she said,
"what would it be?"

"Pardon?"

"If you could do anything you wanted, what would it be?"

He looked surprised, then smiled. "Haven't you psychoanalysed me
enough for one night?"

She turned back to the books, which managed to appear slightly accusing.
"Sorry."

"Actually," he said. "It's rather nice to talk to someone about it."

She was becoming more and more aware of how close he was. It was
making her skin tingle. This wasn't a good thing. She should go back to bed right
now. Alone, she added quickly to her thoughts. Definitely alone.

Tom shifted position slightly. "What about you? What do you want?"

Stevie thought of her nightmare and the tugging loneliness that still
hadn't left her. She thought back to her teenage years, of Marsh trying to be a
parent and her not wanting to be a child. Of well-meaning youth workers who
asked strange questions. Of the new school she'd moved to where she was no
longer the poor girl who lost her parents, but the weird girl who lived with her
brother. Of all the things she missed about having her parents. Of the flat she'd
called home that she'd watched Marsh sell.

When she considered all that, the answer was easy. "I want to have a
normal life. A home, a family, a pet. All that stuff. Just something nice. And
normal."

She took in that he was now marginally closer to her than he had been,
that his hand was halfway into the space between them, paused en route to hers,
that his eyes were wide with surprise and something else she couldn't place. Too
late she realised she'd misunderstood the question.

"I should be going." She scrambled to her feet. "I'm never going to get
back to sleep if I don't even try." She went over to the window and retrieved her
Ovaltine, which was now tepid. When she turned Tom was on his feet, leaning
against the bookcase, his arms crossed. "Goodnight, Tom."

"Goodnight Stevie."

She almost ran from the library. It took a few minutes for her to retrace
her steps back to her room. She drained the Ovaltine and lay on the bed. The
encounter had taken her mind off her dream, but it was going to take a long time
before she got back to sleep.

* * * *

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

Og. I know it's the middle of
the night and I hope that this doesn't wake you. I just have to talk to
someone.
I've just had a weird conversation with Stevie. I told you
how she's very young. Well, she's also had a very hard life. When their
parents died Marsh was pretty cut up, but that was nothing compared
to the impact it had on his sister. Yet here she is, nine years later, a
perfectly normal, functioning human being. And here's me, who's had
nothing but comfort and normality all my life, and all I can do is feel
sorry for myself. She made me feel like a child.
But that's not the
weird part. The weird part is that she asked me what I wanted from my
life and I realised I have no idea where I'm heading. All I can see is the
next promotion, the next bonus, until I retire and then what? I've never
thought beyond that. Life has just been all about work. No wonder it's
been making me ill.
Is that strange to you, Og? You love your job
and you work hard. I know you have a better work life balance than me
with your crazy holidays. Do you know what you want in the
end?
Does everyone? Is it just me who
doesn't?
T

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To: Tom Blackwood

Jesus. That must have been
some conversation to bring this midlife crisis on!
Don't worry
about me, I'm awake. And sober, more's the pity.
I'm not sure what
to say, Tom. Yes, you work too hard. Yes, you've got a weird hang up
about never being good enough to please your parents (you KNOW
what I think about that). As for knowing what you want in the end...
well that rather depends on the way things pan out, doesn't it? If you
meet the right woman, your ideas of what you want from life might
change completely. Unless you've already met her, of course.
;-)

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

What do you want from life?
Have you thought about it?

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To: Tom Blackwood

Of course I've thought about
it you bonehead, everyone thinks about it. I'd like to be swept off my
feet by someone tall, dark, handsome and loaded, please. While I'm
waiting, I intend to have as much fun as possible from my life as it
is.
I work hard enough to keep my job. My job pays for my fun. I'm
going to keep at it for a while, then become a consultant so that I can
work for 6 months of the year and be a ski-bunny for the rest.
Do I
want kids? Not particularly. House with the picket fence, no thanks.
Give me a life of champagne and caviar and I'll grow old a happy
hedonist. Unless said tall, dark, handsome millionaire turns up, of
course.
See. I've thought about it. The dream is within my
grasp.

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

Really? That's it? You just
want life to carry on just like it is now?
Don't all girls have the
whole marriage, home, kids thing programmed into
them.

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To: Tom Blackwood

Is that why you never settle
with one girl for more than a few months? You're afraid they'll want to
marry you?
I hate to break it to you, but you're not that great a
catch. I'll tell you why if you want me to.

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

No spare me the details. I
think my ego has taken enough of a kicking tonight.
I'm not afraid
they'll want to marry me. I just... get bored. Apart from Vienna, none of
my girlfriends have been that interesting. Vienna and I were a disaster
as a couple, but at least she's intelligent and good
company.

##

From: Olivia Gornall

To: Tom Blackwood

That's because you always
go for women who are long on leg and short on brains.
Why has
your ego taken a kicking tonight? Don't tell me you made a pass at the
Stevie girl and she turned you down?

##

From: Tom Blackwood

To: Olivia Gornall

Well...