The One I Love (27 page)

“I shouldn’t,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s getting late.”

“Okay,” she said. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

They stood, rooted to the spot.

“We’ll do it again soon,” he said.

“Great.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Tom bit his lip and Jane exhaled, and in that moment they were so close to kissing, yet so far from it. They heard knocking and turned to see Rose tapping at her window. When she had their attention she pointed at Tom and gave him the finger. Jane and Tom laughed at the crazy drunk and, thankfully, the moment passed.

Elle knocked on Dominic’s front door. He opened it and grinned. She walked inside and he grabbed her by the arse. She slapped his hand, then ran to his bedroom with him hot on her heels. He gave chase around the bed, which she jumped over. She ran down the hall into the spare room and around the chair. He tried to grab her but she bobbed and wove and ran to the box-room, where he cornered her. They were both breathing heavily and Dominic pinned her to the wall. “We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said.

“That’s why it feels so good,” she said. He kissed her and pulled at her panties and she jumped on his hips, and if it hadn’t been for his bad back they would have finished up there, but instead he was lying flat on the floor. Afterwards when she’d returned from her shower and he was still lying there, she wondered if he’d be okay.

“Fine,” he said, trying to make light of it.

“Good,” she said. “Get up.”

He sighed and she helped him to his feet. He rubbed his back and took two painkillers with water. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said.

“That’s nothing to what Jane would do to you if she found out.”

“But she won’t,” he said, with alarm. “You won’t tell her.”

“No. I have as much to lose as you, if not more.”

Elle sat down at Dominic’s kitchen table and poured salt on it.

“So why are we doing this?” he asked. “And don’t say fun.”

“Because I’m impulsive and you’d get up on the crack of dawn.”

Afterwards when she’d gone and he was cleaning salt from his table with one hand and rubbing the small of his back with the other, he promised himself faithfully that he would not sleep with Elle again.

Leslie came out of the nursing-home on a Tuesday. Jim had the summer off from lecturing so he offered to drive her home. Her spirits had picked up a little and she was looking forward to seeing her cat.

Deborah was in Leslie’s apartment cleaning out the kitty-litter tray when she followed Jim inside.

“Welcome home,” Deborah said. She seemed genuinely glad to see her but then again she had been feeding and cleaning up after a cat for weeks and she hated cats the way some people hated iguanas.

“Thanks,” Leslie said, and sat on her sofa because getting out of the car, walking to the lift, standing in it and walking from it to her door had felt like a ten-mile hike. The cat jumped up on the sofa and rubbed herself against Leslie, purring. Leslie stroked her head and looked around. It was good to be home.

Deborah finished cleaning the tray and made her excuses to leave. “It’s good to have you back,” she said.

“It’s good to be back.”

When she’d gone Leslie lay on the sofa and Jim made tea. “Will you come out with me on Sunday?” he asked.

“Where?”

“Surprise.”

“I hate surprises.”

“Indulge me.”

“Why should I indulge you? I’m the one who’s just been mutilated.”

“Will you stop saying that?”

“It’s true.”

He wasn’t getting anywhere so he decided to start again. “Will you come out with me on Sunday?”

“Where?”

“Leslie!”

“Tell me where.”

“It’s a garden centre.”

She sat up slowly because even though she’d spent several weeks lying in bed it still hurt to move. “A garden centre?”

“Yes.”

“I may be in menopause but I’m not in my seventies.”

“It has a really good restaurant and the forecast is positive for once. The gardens are beautiful.”

“I’d rather just stay in.”

“Please.”

“Oh,” she sighed heavily, “fine, we’ll go to your poxy gardens.”

“Great. And, Leslie?”

“What?”

“You’re going to love it.” He grinned and winked at her.

She made a face. “I’ll be the one to decide that, short-arse!” She laughed a little. She loved calling Jim names and he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

Sunday arrived and Jim picked her up at midday. She got into the car and he was listening to the radio. Jack Lukeman was talking to a DJ about his upcoming shows. “Oh, shit,” she said, “I forgot to post them on the web.”

“Do it later.”

“No, I can’t.” She opened the door. “Wait here – it will only take five minutes.”

“Leslie, I don’t want to be late.”

“Trust me, the garden centre will go on without us.”

Fifteen minutes later Jim appeared in the doorway and he was not happy. “Move,” he said.

“Two seconds,” she said.

“One, two …” he said, and shut her laptop.

“Ah, come on!”

“Get to the car!” he shouted, and pointed.

“Right. Fine. Keep your high heels on.”

They were twenty minutes late. Jim was having a nightmare trying to find a parking space and he kept swearing, which was unlike him, and Leslie was beginning to wonder what the hell he was rushing for. When they finally found a bay he practically ran into the restaurant with Leslie following slowly, mumbling that he was a pain in the arse under her breath.

She saw John first. Beside him his daughter Sarah was eating a burger and opposite them was a woman Leslie didn’t recognize. John glanced up and saw Leslie, then
stood up, pushing his chair back. Sarah looked up at her father and followed his eye-line to where Leslie stood.

John was completely grey and his face was so lined it made Gordon Ramsay’s look Botoxed, and even though Sarah was sitting, Leslie could tell she was tall, like her mother, Nora. She had her dark complexion too.

Jim grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the table.

John put his hand out to shake hers and she took it. “It’s lovely to see you, Leslie,” he said.

“Good to see you, John.”

“And you know Sarah,” he said, “although the last time you saw her she was only five.”

“Hi, Leslie,” the teenager said.

“Hi, Sarah.”

“This is my wife, Claire.”

Claire offered her hand and Leslie shook it. “It’s great to finally meet you,” Claire said.

Jim pushed a speechless Leslie onto a chair.

“I hope you don’t mind,” John said. “We were starving so we went ahead and ordered.”

“No,” Leslie said, “not at all.”

Jim went off to get them some food and she was left with Nora’s husband, her daughter and his wife, and she hadn’t a clue what to say.

“I didn’t know that Jim had kept in touch with you,” she said, after a while.

“Yeah,” John said. “Together in the trenches and all that.”

“I suppose,” she said.

“Jim told us about your operation,” Claire said. “Very brave.”

“Thank you.”

“If you think I’m doing what she’s done you’re mad,” Sarah said to her father.

“Sarah!” he warned.

“You’ve been tested?” Leslie asked her niece.

“Not yet,” Sarah said. “Don’t want to know.”

“That’s crazy,” Claire said.

“We keep telling her it’s for her own good,” John said.

“I understand how she feels.” Leslie smiled at her sister’s child, who was a stranger to her.

Sarah smiled back, glad that someone at least had uttered those exact words.

Jim returned with food and Leslie nibbled it and listened to Sarah talk about her life, her hopes and dreams. “Law, definitely law,” she said. “Dad says I could win an argument with Bono on the topic of his choice.”

“Like Nora,” Leslie said.

“Very like Nora,” John agreed.

“If I don’t get law I’m going to repeat until I do get it,” Sarah said.

“Good for you,” Leslie said.

“What do you do?” Sarah asked.

“I’m a webmaster.”

“Cool. What kind of websites?”

“All kinds.”

“Would I know any?”

“A few gyms, a radio station –”

“Which one?”

“It’s a country one that specializes in folk.”

“Oh.”

“Jack Lukeman.”

“The singer?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, I love him!”

“Really?” Leslie said. “I could take you to a gig if you’d like.”

“Backstage?”

“I’m sure I could arrange something.”

“Can I take my pal?”

“Absolutely.”

“Cool.”

“Is that okay, John?” Leslie asked.

“It’s great,” he said, and he smiled at Jim who was sitting with a big smug grin on his face.

“Hey, Leslie?” Sarah said.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know U2, do you?”

“No.”

“Okay, worth a try.”

On the way home Jim was still wearing his smug expression.

“I don’t know what you’re so smug about – that little surprise of yours could have gone very wrong.”

“But it didn’t.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“That’s what family’s for.”

“Is that what we are?”

“I like to think so,” he said.

“I’m pretty selfish.”

“What makes you think that?”

“I cut out John, Sarah and you because I thought I was doing you all a favour but the truth is I was just protecting myself.”

“How do you work that out?”

“Sarah’s going through what I went through. She faces the same challenges. I should have been there for her.”

“So you’ll be there for her now.”

“Yeah. I will.”

“Nora would be happy,” he said.

“Yes, I think she would,” she said, lying back, “and, Jim, let’s do as you said – let’s get away to the sun in September.”

“Ha ha! That’s the spirit!”

When Leslie went to bed that night she thought about Jane, Elle, Tom, Jim, John, Sarah, Claire and even Deborah. She had so many people in her life who cared and wanted to care. She no longer felt alone.

Chapter 13

Everybody’s Drunk

I’ve been biding my time I ain’t that gone

maybe one or two or three or four or five or six too many

but it eases my mind and loosens my tongue
,

so come on, sister, won’t you take my hand
,

be my Alice I’ll be Wonderland
.

Jack L,
Universe

September 2008

The plane was late, which was typical. Jane paced the airport floor from one end to the other, and as the arrivals area was about half a mile long Elle only spotted her every five minutes or so. Elle sat and read a magazine and drank a wheatgrass shot, hoping it would negate the damage she’d been doing to herself recently. She was on a binge and every other night she’d be found in a nightclub dancing on a table and her top was optional. She was living on a diet of champagne and morning fry-ups, and when Rose questioned her on her late comings and goings she merely replied that life was too short.

Jane appeared, asked the time and then she was gone. Elle flipped the page and there was a shot of Vincent and his bride. He was holding her tummy and she knew the woman was pregnant before she even read the caption
because the bloody pose was so obvious. She wasn’t even showing and had just had her twelve-week scan.
I hope she loses it
. She turned the page. She started to read another article about being kind to feet but the interview with Vincent was calling to her.

Read me
.

No. Go away
.

You want to know what I’m doing and how happy I am
.

I do not. I hope you get knocked down by a bus and dragged for a really long time
.

You want me to confirm that I’m in a perfect happy relationship and that the reason we didn’t work was you and not me. I’m stable and you’re a lunatic. You need to read it. You need to understand that I’m so much better off without you
.

“Fuck you, Vincent!” she screamed, to an airport full of strangers.

The woman beside her with two toddlers picked up three bags, hung them on a double buggy and, with a child holding on to each side of the buggy, scurried to a place far away from the vulgar mental case. Elle put her explosion down to excessive tiredness and promised herself that she would have a bath later and then an early night.

Minutes later Jane returned and flopped down beside her sister. “I think I’ve just walked about ten miles. Where the hell are they?”

They were more than an hour late and after her walk Jane was hungry. She turned to her sister to ask if she’d like to join her for a bit of lunch upstairs, then spied Martha arriving into the area. Martha spotted her immediately, waved wildly and bared that awful sinister Osmonds-on-acid smile.

“Oh, no,” Jane said.

“What?” Elle said.

“That woman, Irene’s mother.”

Elle looked around, saw her approaching and rubbed her hands together. “Oh, yeah, playtime.”

“Elle,” Jane warned, “play nice.”

“Absolutely,” Elle said, shaking her head to suggest she was planning on doing absolutely the opposite.

“Jane,” Martha said, and air-kissed her. “You look so refreshed after a couple of months without a teenager in the house.”

“Martha,” Jane said, refusing to respond to the redundant and annoying air-kiss or the barbed compliment. “This is my sister, Elle.”

Elle grinned and remained in her seat. “I’ve heard so much about you,” she said.

Martha sat in the seat opposite and removed her gloves. “All good, I hope.”

“Nope, all bad, I’m afraid,” Elle said, smiling.

“Well,” Martha said, “aren’t you hilarious?”

“I try,” Elle said. “So, Martha, how are things with the kid you were screwing? Back together yet or has he moved on to Betty White? I hear she’s a real goer.”