The Story of Us (31 page)

He turned away from his study of the river and looked at me, and there was a sadness in his eyes as he replied, ‘No. That's just geography. What I meant was that
you
… are too late for me… ten years too late, in fact.'

Ten years. That was when his marriage had ended. I could feel the spectre of Sheridan and what she had done rising from the darkened river like a water sprite, killing the moment more effectively than any ghost could have done.

There was nothing left to say, and Jack turned on the car's stereo on the drive back, attempting to fill the gaping chasm that had split open between us. It might not have been very mature of me, but rather than hide behind a façade of meaningless conversation, I pretended to fall asleep, and he pretended to believe me.

The memory of my time with Jack followed me like a stalker in the days that followed. Just when I thought I had shaken it, I would look up from whatever I was doing, and there it was again. Phantom memories I could well do without haunted me, and kept flooding into my mind at inappropriate moments. They materialised on my Saturday afternoon walk through the forest, when the leaves blew in the breeze and suddenly it hadn't been my mother by my side, but Jack, and the forest had fallen away and I was back on the bridge, lost in his arms.

They followed me to work, appearing unbidden and making me falter in mid-conversation, forget what I was doing and stand vacantly in an empty room, running my fingers over my lips, remembering his kiss. Monique dealt with the matter with her usual stylish aplomb.

‘I may sack you this week,' she said conversationally over coffee one morning. I burned my lip trying to swallow down the hot mouthful I had just taken.

‘Pardon?'

‘Nothing personal,' she assured me, giving me a charming smile and a small shrug, ‘but you are now bloody useless at your job.'

It wasn't exactly the best performance appraisal I'd ever received. But it also wasn't entirely inaccurate.

‘Sorry,' I said, to cover the transgressions of the last few days and the ones I felt certain were still to follow. ‘I'll be better soon. In a week or so,' I assured her.

‘What, when he goes back to the States, you think that will fix things? That all these feelings you have for your American author are just going to magically go away when he leaves?' I stared at her with eyes as wide as marbles, for I'd said nothing at all to her about my feelings for Jack. ‘What, you think I am now so old and blind I have forgotten the ways of the heart? I am French,' she announced proudly. ‘I could not possibly forget.'

The evening with Jack had felt so very much like an ending that his call a few days later was totally unexpected. But not as unexpected as his opening comment.

‘Toad in the hole… that can't possibly be a
real
toad, can it?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘It's just been troubling me, that's all. I mean, why would anyone want to eat a toad? For a start I think they're poisonous.'

‘No, Jack, it's not a real one.'

‘Hmm, I thought as much.'

There was a long moment of silence, making me think this bizarre call was at an end. Then his voice returned. ‘So do you know how to make it?'

‘Yes, I do. Would you like me to make it for you before you leave?'

‘Are you free on Saturday afternoon, say around four?'

‘I am.'

He paused. ‘I spent longer trying to invent this ridiculous excuse to call you than I do outlining the plot of an entire thriller.'

I smiled. ‘Well done. It didn't sound contrived at all.'

His chuckling response merged with the purr on the line as he hung up.

‘I'm sorry. You think
what
?'
Caroline's voice was loud enough to make several customers at the nearby tables turn their heads.

I pulled my chair a little closer to hers, lowering my voice. ‘I think that I may be falling… have fallen for Jack.'

‘Ridiculous!' she said, dismissing my declaration in a one-word summation.

‘No, it's not. It's how I feel. How I think I've felt for weeks, only it took me a while to recognise it.'

‘Look,' said Caroline, and I could see she was making a real effort to talk in a calm and measured tone, when I suspected that what she
really
wanted to do was give me a good hard slap across the face. ‘What you think you feel for Jack… well, it's just not possible. He's a good guy, a
great
guy, a really
heroic
guy. But he's not the type of man people like us end up with. He's like a character in a book, he's all glamour and gloss and excitement. But he's not
real
. Not in the way that say Nick is.' She paused, clearly wondering if she should finish that sentence. ‘… Or Richard.'

‘Richard. Oh yes, he's
just
the kind of man every woman dreams of finding. The type who sleeps with your best friend behind your back. He's your perfect partner.'

‘Emma, it was only one fucking time.'

My head shot up in shock. It was rare to hear Caroline swear. Of the three of us it had always been Amy whose colourful language would have given Monique a good run for her money.

Caroline sighed, shook her head and tried another tack. ‘Look, you said yourself that Jack is against marriage?' I nodded. ‘And he hinted there was someone he had to get back to in the States?' I nodded again. ‘And you think he might still be hung up on his ex-wife?' One more nod, much sadder this time.

‘Well,' she said, giving a long drawn-out sigh, ‘I take it all back, the guy's an absolute catch. Go for it!'

I hated it that she was being sarcastic, but when the facts were all laid out as baldly as that, I could see she had a point. I sighed and leant a little closer to the table. It was lunchtime and the coffee shop was crowded. Although we'd managed to get one of the few booths at the rear, I was still aware that we could easily be overheard by those on the surrounding tables.

Caroline took a bite of her sandwich before looking at me with an expression of pure despair. ‘It must have been one hell of a kiss,' she said.

‘It was,' I admitted. ‘But that's not why I feel this way.'

‘Isn't it? Look, Emma, you scarcely even know the guy. You met him less than two months ago. You can't be in love with someone who's little more than a passing acquaintance.'

She sat back in her seat, clearly satisfied she had scored a winning point.

‘I'd known Richard
all my life
and thought I was in love with him. And where did
that
get me?'

Caroline sighed, realising she was losing ground with that argument. ‘So tell me again exactly what Jack said to you after the kiss, when he dropped you back home.'

‘That's just it,' I said, shaking my head, as confused now as I'd been five days ago. ‘He acted as though absolutely nothing had happened. As though the bridge, the kiss, what he said after simply hadn't occurred.'

Caroline pursed her lips, as though trying to decide whether or not to voice the next question. Then she went for it. ‘And you're
absolutely sure
that they really did?' I looked at her scathingly. She cracked first. ‘Okay, okay. Don't look at me like that. I had to ask. You've been through a lot recently and you
did
hit your head in the accident—'

‘That was seven weeks ago, and I most definitely did not dream this up or imagine it. I couldn't have. It was the most mind-blowing kiss I've ever had.'

Two elderly women sharing the table nearest to ours looked up with interest at my last comment, which admittedly had been said a great deal louder than it should have been. I smiled benignly in their direction, and pulled my chair closer to the table.

‘So when are you seeing him again?' she asked. There was a note of helpless resignation in her question.

‘On Saturday. I'm making toad in the hole.' Caroline's head shot up. ‘Don't ask,' I advised. ‘So, do you think I should tell him how I feel, or is that just looking for trouble? Do I bring up what happened the other day? Do I ask him about it? Or just leave things as they are?'

‘That's a lot of questions. Give me a minute.'

I sank back down on the black leather padded seat as I waited for some words of wisdom and guidance. I was out of my depth and needed Caroline's sensible level-headed advice. Caroline with her long-term relationship, solid values and high moral fibre.

‘Okay, I think I've got it. Do you want to know what I
really
think you should do on Saturday?' I leaned expectantly towards her. ‘I think you should sleep with him.'

I'm not sure who was more shocked, me or the two old ladies on the next table. Me, I think.

‘Pardon? What did you just say?' The old dears both set their cups back on their saucers; I guess they wanted to get it straight too.

‘Sleep with Jack. Have sex. Scr—'

I interrupted her before one of the blue-rinse ladies had a heart attack on top of her English muffin. ‘I understand the terminology.' I looked at her in confounded disbelief. ‘Who
are
you? And what have you done with the real Caroline?'

She gave a slightly sheepish look from beneath her fringe. ‘I know it might sound a little unorthodox—'

‘You reckon?'

‘—but hear me out, because I think this might actually be the best thing – for you and Richard, that is.'

I was going to have to ask my elderly eavesdroppers for clarification on that one, because I clearly didn't understand
anything
that was being said here.

‘Let me get this straight. You think I should…
make love…
' I deliberately used the one description she had intentionally not included, ‘with Jack, someone I think I'm developing real feelings for, and that doing this is somehow going to sort out my relationship issues with Richard, who – unless you've forgotten – cheated on me?'

‘Precisely,' Caroline said, giving a satisfied nod.

I shook my head, wondering if they'd put something stronger than just beans in today's coffee. ‘Caroline, you are officially crazy. What you're saying is completely ridiculous.'

My old friend pulled a face, as though her solution was so glaringly obvious she couldn't understand why I didn't get it. ‘Look, right now you won't even entertain the idea of getting back with Richard, will you? You're hurt and angry with him. Justifiably so. And the way I see it, nothing is going to change until you can get past what he did, or maybe…
until the scales are balanced.
'

Nothing she was saying justified her outrageous suggestion. ‘Think about it, Emma, if
you
did the same thing… well it would kind of cancel out what Richard did. You couldn't continue to be angry with him, if you'd done the same thing. You'd be back on a level playing field again.'

I looked at her in despair. ‘Caroline, I cannot,
will not
, have sex with Jack to get even with Richard. What kind of a person would that make me? And besides which, you're disregarding my feelings for Jack.'

Caroline sighed again, and conveniently chose to ignore my last remark. ‘All I'm saying is that sleeping with Jack might be exactly what you need right now.' That point I couldn't argue with. ‘Jack is like a hot and intense holiday romance. I admit that you and he clearly have some sort of spark or attraction going on, and I know you think what you're feeling is love, but you have to know that in reality,
it's not
. It's all in your head, it's all make-believe and tied up with him being a hero and saving you. He saved me too, remember – in a way – but you don't see
me
going around thinking I'm in love with him. Well, do you?'

I gave a small sound of disgust, but didn't reply.

‘Emma, really, you have to trust me on this. In the cold light of day these feelings that you think you have for Jack just won't stand up. But you've got yourself so lost in this impossible attraction that you can't see clearly any more.' Her words shredded me like knives, but I wasn't about to let that show. ‘So maybe if you and Jack… do the deed,' she added much more coyly, having only just become aware of our OAP audience, ‘well, it will get him out of your system. Purge him out.'

I pulled a face. She was making it sound as though my feelings for Jack were some sort of unpleasant disease which I needed to eradicate.

‘And then, when it's done, you'll see the difference between having a quick fling with someone you're infatuated with, and a lasting relationship with someone you love.'

I just stared at her.

‘And you get to have sex with a really hot guy,' she added, as though that was sure to be the clincher.

‘Amazing,' I said, and she was so pleased with her idiotic proposal, she didn't even realise I was being sarcastic.

‘I know,' she declared. ‘
You'll
stop obsessing about Jack,
he'll
get a holiday quickie, and you and Richard will be able to find a way to get back together again. It's a win-win-win situation.'

Both the old ladies were nodding their heads wisely as though Caroline was the UK's answer to Doctor Phil.

‘Caroline. You're nuts. That is the worst advice I've ever heard. Stick to selling houses, because you're never going to make it as a relationship counsellor.' She looked crestfallen at my rejection. ‘Plus, you seemed to have overlooked the biggest and most insurmountable problem in your plan.' Caroline waited expectantly for me to finish. ‘Jack doesn't want any sort of involvement or complication, not even a meaningless “quickie”. He's made that perfectly clear.'

I dropped my coat and bag over the banister when I got home that evening and followed the smell of cooking into the kitchen, expecting to see both of my parents pottering around as usual. But the room was in darkness, the only light coming from the glass oven door, where I could see a casserole was cooking. I walked through the kitchen into the adjacent lounge, which was also in shadow.