A waiter takes us to our table and Simon orders bread and olives and some sparkling water. I sit, happy to be off my trembling legs, and glad the lighting is soft.
‘How did Ava’s last exams go?’ he asks as a waiter hands me a large menu. The words all shimmer on the surface of the card as if they might slide off at any moment.
‘Oh, good – I think.’ I sip some water. My throat is rolled sandpaper. ‘She’s sixteen. Getting a full analysis out of her is never going to happen. But she didn’t slam any doors and she seems happy enough.’
‘Is she going out to celebrate?’
I nod. ‘And it’s the River Festival tomorrow, so I’ll barely see her. She has a good group of friends. I don’t worry too much.’ The lie comes so easily. I worry all the time. All I do is worry. ‘It’s hard to know how much freedom to give her,’ I continue. ‘They’re so grown up at sixteen and yet not grown up at all.’
He glances down at his menu and I realise how dull this must be to him. ‘Sorry, I forget you don’t have children.’
‘No, I don’t. But I like hearing about yours.’
‘Why?’ I try not to sound defensive.
He smiles. ‘Because I like you, Lisa. I want to learn more about you, but you’re hard to get to know.’
‘Oh, there’s really nothing to know. I’m quite dull.’ I try to make it sound fun and flirty but I fall short. Daniel. My heart aches with the weight of him.
‘I don’t believe it for a second. Still waters and all that.’
‘Well, it’s true.’
Thankfully, the waiter returns and I randomly choose the scallops and the sea bream and a glass of Chablis.
‘I’m not much of a drinker,’ I say. ‘So only order a bottle if you’re prepared to drink the rest.’
He laughs. ‘I have to drive to Kent tonight for a meeting at my Grainger House Hotel in the morning. No rest for the wicked. So, a single glass for me too. If I’m honest, I’m not a great fan of getting drunk either. I’m too old and too busy for the hangovers.’ This sends a dual wave of relief through my nerves. He’s not a big drinker, and he won’t be trying to get me into bed tonight. It’s a ridiculous thought anyway, that he would want to have sex with me, but I still fear it. I haven’t been naked with a man for years. I haven’t been anything with a man for years.
‘So,’ he says, and I know from his tone what question is coming. Some variation on Tell me about yourself. ‘You said you’ve been at PKR for about ten years. What was before that?’
‘Ava,’ I say, simply. Oh God, where would I start? There is so much before that. Too much. A universe of existence. How nice it would be to be able to condense my life into a pat paragraph or make the years thus far into a hugely entertaining anecdote. I can do neither.
‘Ah.’ His eyes are full of quiet interrogation. Marriage, divorce, Ava’s dad, other boyfriends – all the information men are interested in. Things that boil down a woman’s relevance in relation to other men, rather than anything in and of themselves. The inside information comes later. Those talks are for the middle of the night, heads on pillows, faces only outlines in the darkness. That’s when people surrender their weapons to each other and hope they don’t end up stabbed in the night by them in the future.
Our wine arrives, and I take a sip. He’s still waiting, expectant. ‘Someone once told me,’ I say, ‘that the human body replaces its cells in their entirety over the course of seven years. So in essence we are all completely different people than we were seven years ago, and that person was different to the one seven years before. This makes me wonder why everyone is always so fascinated by other people’s pasts, because none of us are those people any more.’
He sips his own wine. ‘I’ve never heard that. Do you think it’s true?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know. I should probably Google it, but if it’s made up, I lose the magic. I like to think it’s true.’
‘Me too. It’s a very liberating thought.’ He looks at me then, properly. Two adults rather than a man and woman dancing around each other in the grip of chemistry. ‘I did some things when I was younger that I’m not proud of,’ he says. ‘It’s nice to think maybe I can leave them behind with all those old cells.’
‘I won’t ask about the other yous, if you don’t ask about the other mes. Deal?’
‘Deal.’
Life is a series of deals, that’s what I’ve learned. Most get broken. I just need this one to hold for the next couple of hours. After that, I’ll regain my sanity and we won’t do this again. We clink glasses. Dear God, but he’s sexy. A heartbreaker. What the hell is he doing having dinner with me?
By the time eleven thirty rolls around and we’ve finished I’m almost completely relaxed and my smile is coming naturally. In fact, I’m enjoying myself so much I’m not sure I can stop smiling. We’ve talked about so many things without crossing the border into the past, I’m starting to think maybe it is possible to focus on the present and find it satisfyingly full. We talked about movies and TV shows we both loved or hated, pet peeves, I told him about Ava’s swimming and how bright she is and all the things I hope for her. He talked about the hotels and how his dream was to retire from the UK business in about five years and open a resort in the Caribbean – a small one focusing on diving and water sports and fine local food. The kind of relaxed place he could pretty much leave to run itself and spend his time on the water, or painting. Maybe even write a book. He looked embarrassed saying these things, but I thought they sounded wonderful.
He offers me a lift, but I say I’ll get a taxi. He has a long drive ahead of him as it is. The restaurant orders one for me, and we go outside and wait in the cool summer night.
He stays with me until the cab pulls up. ‘Can we do this again?’
‘Stand outside in the cold?’ I smile. ‘Sure.’
‘Very funny. This. Dinner. Drinks.’
Although the other D word, date, hangs in the air, I find myself nodding. ‘I’d like that.’
He beams and leans forward. I turn my head sideways at the last minute and his lips land on my cheek. They’re soft and warm. ‘Goodnight,’ I say. My heart is all panicked wings, but it feels good. ‘Drive safely.’
‘Have fun with Ava at the River Festival tomorrow.’
‘Ha!’ I get into the car. ‘I doubt I’ll see too much of her.’
‘Well, have fun with Marilyn. I’m sorry I can’t be there.’
The door closes and I sink back against the leather.
‘Good night?’ the driver asks as we turn out on the main road.
‘Yes,’ I answer, as I realise I can’t stop smiling. ‘Yes, it was.’
19
AVA
The River Festival is one of the highlights of the town’s year. Everyone at school always bitches about how lame it is, but we love it really, under the skin. Like us though, it’s changed over the years. Where it used to be a few stalls and games and maybe a canoe race, it now covers the fields on both sides of the river, the two old footbridges serving to connect them, one to go one way, one to come back. There’s a full funfair, several music stages, clowns and fortune tellers, art displays, stalls to buy stuff, a huge cafe marquee run by the WI that only the old people use, several beer tents and loads of vans serving any kind of fast food you could want.