Ice and a Slice (5 page)

“Good idea,” SJ replied absently, reminded of her gin and tonic mission. “Why don’t you come over for dinner and I’ll get Tom to cook for us? It’s a bit soon to organise it for this Saturday.” She’d need a lot more than four days to think up a good enough excuse to miss the ruby wedding party. “How about the one after that? We can have a good chinwag then.”

“That sounds lovely - if you’re sure you don’t mind. All right, we’ll see you then. We’ll bring a nice bottle of wine.”

SJ put down the phone with a sigh of relief. Saturday week was certainly far enough away not to have to worry about it. Right – back to the business in hand. It was still too early to start on the wine, but a gin and tonic would fill the gap nicely.

Having extricated a double from the optic she could see there wasn’t enough for another whole measure so she added what was left and reached for the tonic. There wasn’t any room for the lemon – oh well. She was mid-pour when the front door banged and she heard the double thump of Tom’s laptop and briefcase on the solid wood floor of the hall.

“Hi, darling,” she called, torn between relief and, for some reason, guilt. “Had a good day?”

By the sound of his answering grunt he hadn’t, and he didn’t come into the lounge but went straight upstairs.

He’d probably cheer up after a beer. SJ hooked one out of a stack behind the bar. She was halfway through the gin and tonic, enjoying the glorious taste of juniper berries – people said gin didn’t taste, but it did – when she remembered she was supposed to fill in her form about how she felt before she had her first drink. Damn.

She knew how she felt now – pretty relaxed. How had she felt before? Thirsty probably; what else were you going to be just prior to pouring yourself a drink? She had a sneaking suspicion Kit might not find that as amusing as she did so she decided to think about it tomorrow and put something sensible like ‘needed to relax’.

Having got this sorted she stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up: “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, Tom. Are you having a shower first?”

“Uh huh. Won’t be a tick.”

She slipped her empty G&T glass into the dishwasher just before he reappeared. Well, there was no point in keeping it out as she wasn’t having any more.

“Hi, sweetie. That smells nice. What is it?”

“Salmon in white wine sauce,” she said, glancing at the packet. Bloody hell – more wine. She hadn’t noticed that. Blimey, it was going to be difficult to cut down if manufacturers were putting the stuff in food. How irresponsible. She turned to smile at him. “Mum phoned. I invited them for dinner Saturday week, is that okay?”

“Sure. Are we having wine now? Or is that a silly question?”

What on earth was he on about? They didn’t have wine every night. SJ frowned. Actually, yes, they did.

“I think there’s some Chardonnay left over. I might as well finish that off.”

“Okay, I’ll get it.” He raked a hand through his rumpled dark hair, which looked damp from his shower. “If we’re having fish, SJ, I might join you. I fancy a glass of white with fish.”

This throwaway line caused her to drop the serving spoon in alarm. “I don’t think there’s much left,” she called after his retreating back. There certainly wasn’t enough for him – not if she was going to have her three quarters of a bottle. Not that it would matter if she had a glass less, of course, but she’d psyched herself up for the full three quarters. She was allowed it – she was entitled to it. Kit had said so – she had it in black and white on her form.

“Don’t panic, I can always open another one,” Tom called over his shoulder. “You’re not going to miss out.”

That was an even worse idea. If he opened another bottle she might be tempted to exceed her limit. SJ gave herself a little shake – for goodness’ sake – get a grip. It’s not like you need to drink a certain amount. You could skip it altogether if you wanted and then the problem of when to stop wouldn’t arise.

Then she remembered the glass she’d had at lunchtime. Thinking about it, that probably counted towards the three quarters – so technically it’d be better if Tom did have a glass. Having finally got that sorted out, she relaxed.

Then Tom ruined everything by coming back with a bottle of Moet in his hand. “I thought we’d open this as well, as it’s a special occasion.”

His whole face was a smile and she smiled back cautiously, pleased he was pleased, and wondering if she’d forgotten something. Anniversary? Birthday? Nothing sprang to mind; surely her memory hadn’t got that bad.

“Don’t look so worried.” He waved the bottle in the air. She hadn’t seen him so animated for ages. “I wasn’t expecting to hear so soon, but I got the nod from old Wilson today. I got the promotion.” He put on a silly voice. “Hey, babe – you are looking at Barton Aerospace’s new regional sales manager. How cool is that?”

SJ smiled, delighted for him. Despite the fact he was a very good salesman he was touchingly modest about his own success. He’d always been like that. It was one of the things she really liked about him. “That’s brilliant news, congratulations. Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you got in?”

“I only got in twenty minutes ago. Do I get a hug?”

“Course you do.” She felt torn in two as she went into his arms. She was thrilled for him; he’d worked hard for this – he deserved it. It would mean more money too, which would be helpful as they had a humungous mortgage. It would also mean he’d spend more nights away and she tended to get herself in trouble when he was away. The time she’d told Tanya about hadn’t been the first.

More pressingly, there was the little matter of the champagne. The gold foil glinted tantalisingly. She loved champagne – why, oh why did they have to celebrate just when she’d decided to cut down? Perhaps she could have one glass and then revert to wine. It was probably about the same strength – and made from grapes, so it wouldn’t be counted as ‘mixing your drinks’. But she’d had the gin as well. That was definitely mixing. Actually, she was beginning to feel a little light-headed. She and Tanya never had got round to eating earlier. 

“Let me get dinner served before it burns,” she said, extricating herself from Tom’s arms.

“Just turn the oven off for a minute. I want to open this first.”

SJ did as he said. Of course, she could just tell him she was worried she was drinking too much – she had planned to tell him where she’d been today – but she couldn’t do that now. She couldn’t spoil his moment.

Oh, by the way, Tom, I think I might have a drink problem – nothing to worry about – just need to cut down a tad. I’m not a raging alcoholic – ha ha. Well – not yet.

That was something else Kit had said that had hit home. If she didn’t control her drinking then things would only get worse. SJ had believed him. She knew she drank more now than she had before her marriage. She wasn’t sure why – certainly not because of ‘unresolved issues’ – more likely because she had more opportunity these days, and more money. Or rather, Tom did.

The popping of the champagne cork jolted her back to the present and she watched Tom pour the pale golden fizz into flutes. He handed her one, smiling proudly, the brightness in his eyes rivalling the sparkle of their champagne.

“To future success,” he said, and downed the drink in a few gulps.

“To future success,” she echoed, hoping the bleakness she felt hadn’t found its way into her voice.

And then she followed his example.

Chapter Five

SJ had met Tom at a fortieth birthday party thrown by one of her A-level students. Julie was an older mum who had worked with a travelling theatre company before she’d decided to put her career on hold to concentrate on her IVF twins.

“They’re gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but I miss adult company and I thought English Lit might stop me from ending up completely brain dead,” she’d told SJ with a smile when they’d first met.

Julie was smart and lively with a great sense of humour and SJ had always liked her, although she hadn’t immediately accepted when Julie had invited her to the party.

Although Adult Education wasn’t like teaching children, there was still an unwritten rule about getting too involved with individual students. It could cause conflicts in classes: SJ knew more than one tutor who had lived to regret getting over-friendly.

“Oh, please come,” Julie pressed, sensing her hesitation. “It’ll be fun. I’ve invited the whole cast from Jack and the Beanstalk. They’re doing the Hackney Empire at the moment.”

It had sounded like fun. And it looked like fun, SJ thought, as her cab dropped her off outside the pub annexe that Julie had hired for the party.

It was nerve racking going into a room full of people she didn’t know, but a very nice lady - Julie’s mum, she suspected - met her at the door.

“Actor? Friend from school? Or miscellaneous other?” She greeted SJ with a grin.

“Miscellaneous other,” SJ said, just as Julie spotted her and ran over with a squeal.

“SJ – brilliant. I’m so glad you could come. Mum, this is the tutor I was telling you about. She can make the dullest of literary tomes sound fresh and new.” She kissed SJ on the cheek. “Honestly, Mum, if it wasn’t for SJ I’d have gone stark raving mad …” She broke off as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

SJ was slightly relieved. She’d never been good at receiving compliments and English Literature wasn’t exactly a life changing course. Not like
Hypnotise your way to Happiness
, or
Slim your way to Success
, which were two other courses City College did, and ones she fancied trying herself if she ever had time.

Julie’s mum turned to greet someone else so SJ made her way towards the bar. The oblong-shaped annexe, which looked like it had once been a skittle alley, was already packed and was loud with the thrum of music and chatter. She felt a little intimidated; it was ages since she’d been to a party, and then she hadn’t been on her own. Everyone seemed to know everyone else and the new pink top she was wearing, which had seemed fine in the shop, now felt too tight and revealing. This was mostly thanks to the cab driver, who had both told her breasts the fare and also thanked her breasts for the tip.

Hot as it was, SJ wished she’d worn a jacket. She was still trying to attract the barman’s attention when she heard Julie’s voice behind her.

“Sorry about abandoning you.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” She turned to find Julie clutching the arm of a tall man with a sheepish grin and very blue eyes.

“This is my cousin, Tom. He doesn’t know a soul either. Tom, this is Sarah-Jane, my English tutor. SJ for short.”

“Hello.”

“Can I get you a drink?” They spoke at the same time.

“Gin and tonic, please.”

Tom was managing not to stare down her top, which was a relief. He was obviously a man of subtlety.

“Are you an actor?” she asked.

“No. I sell bits of aeroplanes – not very exciting, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be afraid.” SJ studied his side-view discreetly as he stood at the bar. He was wearing a cobalt-blue shirt, and his dark hair was untouched with grey. He had nice ears: very flat and neat and clean. He looked older than her, maybe late thirties, but he was wearing well.

She liked the way he attracted the barman’s attention without being pushy, and then gestured her ahead of him back through the throng of people.

There weren’t any unoccupied tables and the chairs that were free were festooned with bags and coats. SJ berated herself for arriving so late.

“We could sit outside if you like?” Tom suggested. “There’s a lovely pub garden. And we’ll be able to hear ourselves speak.”

She followed him past blown-up photographs of Julie at various ages, and on through a fire exit, which gave way to a patio area, set up with bench tables and chairs. Silver helium balloons emblazoned with the number 40 floated from several tables that were occupied by clusters of people, deep in conversation.

Tom led her across the lawn – a square of dark velvet in the shadowy dusk – to a table on the edge. Just beyond it was an oak tree and there were rose bushes somewhere. She could smell their sweet scent drifting across the summer air. Tom was right. It was beautiful out here.

They sat on a slightly damp wooden bench and he quizzed her about her work. She found herself relaxing with the help of the wine and telling him all about her love of poetry – she never told anyone about that – and how she’d always fancied starting up a class which made poetry fun and not the dry boring subject many English teachers would have you believe it was.

“Poetry and a pint – I think it could really take off. You know how some poetry gives you this pain here,” she said, touching her left breast to demonstrate and suddenly realising that Tom, who was now obliged to look at her cleavage, still wasn’t gawping. He was going up and up in her estimation.

“Like the sort of pain you get when you listen to sad music or look at a beautiful picture,” he offered, proving that not only was he a good listener, but that he was sensitive and possibly artistic, too.

“Exactly like that.” SJ was warming to her theme. “Well, having a pint in your hand would help, wouldn’t it? It would be a sort of drowning your poetry sorrows. A pint is the perfect accompaniment to a poem. What do you think? ”

Tom nodded thoughtfully and SJ liked him more and more.

“So how about you?” she said, realising she’d been monopolising the conversation. “Tell me about your life. What do you like doing?”

“I like good food and wine; eating out in pubs – the old-fashioned type with flagstones and log fires and preferably Egon Ronay.”

SJ nodded approvingly.

“I like going to antique fairs too – I collect vintage beer bottles.”

“What – full ones?” she asked in fascination.

“Sometimes – but mostly it’s the labels I’m interested in. My granddad used to take me to antique fairs when I was small. He was a great wheeler dealer – he used to collect breweriana – and he left me his entire collection when he died.”

“I’m sorry,” SJ said. “I mean that he died, not that he left you his collection.”

Tom smiled. “It was a long time ago.”

She watched him sip his pint. He had nice hands too: stubby fingers, but neat nails, and a thick gold ring on his middle finger with some kind of crest on it.

“There was a time when I thought I might go into antiques; they’re a bit of a passion. But then I ended up selling aeroplane parts instead. Which is probably better paid.”

“Money isn’t everything.”

“No, I agree. But I love my job. Salesmen are born and not made, some say. But then teaching’s a vocation too, isn’t it? Julie speaks very highly of you. Apparently you’re by far the most inspiring tutor in the place.”

“I do love it,” she said softly. “I love seeing people’s confidence grow as they realise that the classics aren’t as dry and inaccessible as they seem – that all literature is basically about people and their problems, their loves and their heartbreaks. It’s brilliant watching people fall in love with words. I guess that’s why I like poetry too.”

“And how about your loves and heartbreaks?” Tom asked softly. “Have you never wanted to get married, SJ?”

Oh blimey, she’d walked right into that one. “I’m divorced,” she said, wondering if it would put him off. “I got married too young. It didn’t work out.”

“Was it long ago?”

“We’ve been separated for over a year, but the divorce was finalised in March.” She shifted her gaze from his as a group of teenagers spilled into the garden and lit up cigarettes. One of the lads, who had over-long curly hair and a Byronic look about him – definitely an actor – tilted his head and blew smoke rings up into the purple sky.

SJ breathed in appreciatively and Tom looked ever so slightly pained. So that was something they didn’t have in common. Oh well, she planned to give up soon. He was right; it was a horrible habit.

“Do you get on with your ex-husband? Are you still on speaking terms?” He rested his chin on his hands and studied her, his eyes curious.

It seemed a strange question. If she’d got on with him that well, they wouldn’t have split up.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.” For a moment he looked vulnerable.

“It’s okay,” she said. “And no, we don’t speak any more.” Her hands felt sweaty in her lap. Suddenly she longed for a cigarette. Inside the party they were playing a Robbie Williams song,
Let Me Entertain You,
which had always reminded her of Derek.

She swallowed hard, forced her ex-husband’s image out of her mind and concentrated on Tom.

“So how about you? Have you ever been married?

He shook his head. “I work long hours. I don’t have time for a lot of socialising.”

“Workaholic?”

“Julie thinks so. She insisted I came tonight. I’m glad I did.”

“Me too,” she murmured, feeling an unexpected sense of security steal over her. There was something very peaceful about Tom; something solid and steady like the bulky old oak tree behind them. He was nothing like Derek, who’d always fizzed with energy and impatience. He was nothing like her usual type of man at all.

There was no obvious chemistry between them. Yet she did like him. She liked him a lot. Maybe subconsciously she was searching for someone as different to Derek as possible. Someone she could be comfortable with. Someone who wouldn’t let her down.