29
“You know what this sounds like?” Julia has heard Sam's voice like this before. Not for many years, but she knows Sam better than anyone, remembers how Sam always fell for the unobtainable. Julia was there when the latest love of her life turned out to be the greatest shit of her life. “This sounds like Paolo all over again.”
Paolo had been Sam's gym instructor. Everyone in the class had drooled over the six-foot Italian, who had loved every second of it, but none had fallen quite so heavily or seriously as Sam.
Sam turned up at every class, made sure she was in the front, had soon progressed to clear favorite. Paolo would tell the others to watch Sam, would nod his approval at her, wink and smile, and have whispered conversations after the class.
Sam was a woman obsessed. A woman possessed.
The only benefit, she had later joked, was that she'd never been so thin in her life.
All her time was spent at the gym. Soon she was suggesting coffees, then drinks after the class. Sam was astonished Paolo said yes, but Julia kept warning her to be careful, that he was a man who needed women to fancy him, who would encourage Sam to feed his own ego, but who wasn't really interested.
One night she ended up seducing him. The sex was terrible. Neither particularly interested. Paolo dressed and left immediately afterward, and she lay in bed relieved he was no longer there, and wondering where it had all gone so horribly wrong.
She couldn't see it immediately, but in time she realized Julia was right. He was a natural flirt, a man addicted to women's attention, who would take it as far as he could to ensure those women still fancied him, disregarding any emotions that might arise along the way.
It didn't surprise her when she later discovered he had a long-term girlfriend and two children.
It does surprise her, however, to hear his name right now, on the phone with Julia, when she has finally cracked and told Julia everything. She knew Julia would disapprove, knew she wouldn't fully understand, but she wasn't expecting this.
“Paolo? He's nothing like Paolo! How can you say that when you haven't even met him?”
“You've just told me that Dan is, to all intents and purposes, happily married—”
“I didn't say happily,” Sam interrupts fiercely.
“No, but he's still with his wife and he seems to get on with her—he is, after all, commissioning you to do a picture for her birthday so it's unlikely they're heading for the divorce courts next week.”
“So? It doesn't mean they're happy.”
“No, but they're together. Anyway, he's married, happily or unhappily, and yet he's sending you clear signals that he wants to get involved with you. He's flirting with you in front of his wife and your husband. I'm really sorry to say this, Sam, but I just don't believe decent people do that sort of thing.”
Sam snorts in disbelief. “Decent people? You're being ridiculous. What if I'm right? What if he knows he married the wrong person, just like me, and he can't help it when I'm around?”
“Sam,” Julia says gently, “if that were the case, if he really did think he'd married the wrong person and was trapped by a child, he still wouldn't make those leading comments to you, encourage you the way he's doing. The whole thing smacks of Paolo. It smacks of a deeply insecure man who's married and reasonably happy, but is either constantly having affairs because he's addicted to sex and tries to justify it by saying he loves his wife and child and the affairs are just satisfying a physical urge, or a deeply insecure man who's never going to cheat on his wife but likes to know that he still could if he chose, and encourages any woman who shows him the slightest bit of attention.
“Either way I can't see how this is going to result in a happy outcome. If you really want to know what I think, it's that you've got another Paolo-league crush, and he has no intention of doing anything about it other than bask in your adoration.”
“I knew I shouldn't have told you,” Sam says belligerently. “I knew you wouldn't understand.”
“I'll tell you what I don't understand, Sam. I don't understand how you can even think that Chris is the wrong man for you when you've been together six years and he's wonderful to you, and you love him, despite what you're saying now. The only reason you're feeling so unfulfilled is because, I think, you've been suffering from some kind of postpartum depression, and you're miserable and looking for something, or someone, to blame, and Chris is closest to you so Chris gets the blame.”
Sam considers putting the phone down, slamming it in anger, but then decides she has a few choice words of her own for Julia, and tries to interrupt instead.
“I haven't finished,” Julia says. “If you walk out on Chris now, you're going to regret it for the rest of your life. I thought you were getting better. I thought these last few weeks you'd sounded more like the old Sam, had got some of your energy back, and I thought you were pulling yourself out of it, and now I realize it's just because of some dodgy bloke. Sam, you're married now. You have a child.
“When are you going to take responsibility for your life?”
Sam doesn't even wait for the dramatic pause. She slams down the phone and bursts into tears.
Chris phones five minutes later.
“What's the matter?”
“Nothing,” she sniffs, unable to tell him the truth. “I'm just feeling a bit hormonal.”
Chris doesn't need to ask anything further, well versed in sudden outbreaks of tears due to hormones. “Poor love. Can I bring you home anything?”
“No. I'll be fine.”
“Listen, Jill just phoned saying we should all get together, and I thought maybe, given the baby-sitter situation, we should have them over for dinner. Say thank you for them having us for tea. What do you think?”
“Yes,” Sam says immediately. “Great idea. It's her birthday next Friday, so what about next Sunday? Nothing fancy,” she says, already planning a gourmet feast with which to impress Dan still further. “Just a casual supper.”
“Great! I'll ring her back and suggest it. You know, it's so nice to hear the old Sam again. I'm so happy that you want to go out again, that we're starting to see people.”
“Only Jill and Dan.”
“But it's a start. And I really think this Maeve is good for you. I'm only beginning to realize how hard it must have been for you with Julia going away. You've been a different person since you met her.”
“Have I?” She laughs inwardly at the irony, for of course it is Dan that is making the difference, but how convenient that Maeve has entered her life at roughly the same time.
“Yes. Actually, that's an idea. What about inviting Maeve and Mark too? I know Mark would get on with Jill and Dan, but obviously I don't know Maeve. Do you think it would work? Or,” he hesitates, “would it be too weird for you, seeing Maeve and Mark together as a couple?”
“I think that's a brilliant idea! Maeve was here the other day when Dan popped in and they seemed to get on.” She knows that's not exactly the truth, and that Maeve didn't seem to take to Dan all that well, but surely that will be diffused when all six of them are together.
Maybe before her phone call with Julia today she would have felt awkward about seeing Maeve and Mark together, would have felt it was something of a betrayal to Julia, but not now.
Now she's covering up the hurt with bravado, and deciding that Maeve is going to replace Julia in every possible way.
Thank God it's Sunday.
Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday morning she finished the painting of Dan and Jill's house. Wednesday afternoon she joined Maeve at the One O'Clock Club on the Heath, then spent the rest of the day sitting on the floor of Maeve's living room while Poppy and George respectively lay and crawled about.
Sam thought she was going to feel strange, walking into Julia's house, knowing that Julia no longer lived there, but, after the initial shock, she could see that Maeve was far more comfortable in the house than Julia had ever been. Maeve had filled each room with books, and paintings, and flowers, had turned the bare bones of a house into a proper home.
The house had come alive since Maeve had moved in, and for the first time Sam understood what Julia had meant when she said she had never felt comfortable there, had always felt overwhelmed by the size. The house was imposing, but Maeve had made it feel cozy, had made it hers.
The strangeness that Sam had expected to feel lasted about five minutes. Five minutes of walking through the rooms, silently reminiscing about the good old days, wondering why it felt so very long ago.
She had invited them for Sunday evening, had said that she knew Maeve hadn't taken to Dan but that Jill was lovely and anyway, she'd like Maeve to meet them both properly, she was sure she'd change her mind about Dan.
Plus she wanted Maeve to meet Chris. Then surely Maeve would see why Sam was so sure their marriage wasn't working. And if Maeve is to be her new best friend, she needs to support Sam unequivocally when the shit hits the fan.
Maeve had been delighted and had phoned Mark at work on the spot. He insisted on talking to Sam, who had almost cried at the familiarity and warmth in his voice, had put the receiver down softly feeling safe and loved.
Jill had phoned to ask if she needed anything, if Sam wanted her to make pudding, or a starter, and had then offered bread-and-butter pudding, laughing as she confirmed what Dan had said: It was the only pudding she could make but she did it fantastically.
Sam felt momentarily saddened after Jill phoned. Were she not planning on stealing her husband, she would almost certainly have been Jill's friend. Sam is warm toward Jill, but not too warm. Responsive without being gushing. Sam has to keep her distance or she knows she'll never be able to run off with her husband.
Now, tonight, there are fifteen minutes to go before everyone starts to arrive. The salmon is marinating on the worktop, the vegetables are sliced and diced in preparation, the olive ciabatta sits waiting to be warmed up in the oven.
Chris carefully stacks the bottles of wine in the fridge, and checks his stock of mixers. Tonic? Check. Soda? Check. Orange juice? Check. Lemonade? Check. He's looking forward to this, had forgotten how much he enjoyed socializing, how often Sam and he had done this BG.
He smiles in appreciation as Sam walks into the kitchen. Ghost has done her proud tonight, a dark green beaded top hiding her rapidly shrinking hips, a floor-length bias-cut skirt swishing sexily as she moves.
“You look lovely.” He kisses her on the cheek, turns to embrace her, and she smiles as she moves away, out of his reach, pretending to check the salmon marinade. She has not bought the outfit for Chris's benefit, naturally, but it's nevertheless important that he approves; makes her feel even sexier than when she had first checked herself in the mirror this evening.
The doorbell rings and Chris walks out to answer it, followed by Sam, her heart already pounding in anticipation, her breathing already shallow with nerves.
Jill makes a face, starts apologizing as soon as the door opens.
“We didn't know what to do,” she says, bread-and-butter pudding in hand as she gestures to a sleepy pajama-clad Lily, arms wrapped around her daddy's neck as she struggles to stay awake. “The bloody baby-sitter phoned just as she was supposed to turn up, saying she had a headache and couldn't make it. We didn't know what to do, so we brought the travel cot. We'll have to put her down here. I'm so, so sorry.”
“Don't worry about that.” Sam gestures them in. “But will she be okay to go home again?”
“Unlikely.” Jill makes a face. “But what can we do? It's always a bit of a nightmare when her routine's broken, but hopefully she'll sleep in the car on the way home and we'll be able to lift her straight out and into bed. I'm so sorry about this. Where can we put her?”
Jill, Dan, and Sam tiptoe quietly upstairs, and unfold the travel cot outside George's room.
“I won't put her in George's room,” Jill whispers. “I don't want to wake him, but it's nice and dark out here.”
“What about the monitor?”
“Don't worry. We don't use one anymore. We'll hear her.”
“Okay, but let me open George's door a fraction, just in case.”
“Really, you don't have to.”
“I'd feel better about it.” Sam quietly pushes George's door ajar.
Jill stays to put Lily down. Dan follows Sam down the darkened stairway, putting his hand on her shoulder halfway down. They both stop, a wave of nausea washing over her as she knows this is it. The moment she's been waiting for. The answer to her dreams.
She turns as if in a dream, everything happening in slow motion. Dan's head moves slowly to hers, and she stays still, eyes closing, head tilting slightly to one side. A soft kiss lands just at the side of her mouth. Her head still tilted, she waits for more, only opening her eyes when she feels the shadow of his head move away.
“I just wanted to say thank you,” he whispers. “For the picture. It's beautiful.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Her voice is a whisper, and she waits for more, for a continuation of the kiss.
“No, really. I mean it. You're incredibly talented.”
“Flattery,” she says, a smile playing on her lips, “will get you everywhere.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he teases softly.
And here it is. The invitation. The one she can't resist. Not anymore.
“No,” she whispers, looking deeply into his eyes. “Only you.”
“Is everything okay?” Jill whispers behind them, coming down the stairs, even her whisper managing to be cheerful. Sam is furious and embarrassed in equal measure. What if she heard? What if she saw? No. Impossible. She would not be so cheerful in the face of an adulterous husband.
“Fine, darling,” Dan says. “I was just telling Sam how incredibly talented she is.”
Jill's hand flies to her mouth. “I can't believe I didn't say anything. Sam! I love it, I love it, I love it! You're amazing! It's the best birthday present I've ever had and I can't believe you painted it! Thank you!” She flings her arms around Sam, who reluctantly pats her back lightly, waiting for her to disengage.
“You can see it was a hit,” Dan says, smiling, and Sam smiles back at him over Jill's shoulder as the doorbell rings again, forcing them all to disengage and go downstairs.
“God, it's good to see you.” Sam smiles up at Mark and rubs his back with affection. “We've missed you.”
Mark shrugs, a twinkle in his eye. “So? You didn't call . . . you didn't write . . . what was I supposed to think?”
“I do feel guilty,” she says, realizing with a start that she does.
“Don't,” he admonishes gently. “I know how it is when relationships end. I know you're not supposed to take sides, but it's difficult not to. And besides, you were always Julia's best friend. You had to take her side even if”—he nudges her playfully—“I was the one you wanted to stay friends with.”
“Come inside,” she says, linking her arm through his. “Come and meet our friends,” and they follow Maeve and Chris into the living room.
The women lead the small talk. Jill's baby-sitter nightmare leads to further stories of child-care horrors, and the men listen with amusement, punctuating the stories only with the sounds of Pringles and peanuts being munched, and glasses being refilled.
And then the men switch places, group together to find common ground, start with the match of the day, move to the horrors of having wives obsessed with babies, gradually reveal their softer sides as they compare notes and eulogize the joys of fatherhood.
Maeve and Jill are instantly at ease. Sam does her best to relax and join in, but all the while she is sitting chatting with them she is aware of Dan directly opposite her. She isn't consciously trying to catch his eye, but she keeps pretending to glance at Chris, her eyes sweeping over Dan on the return journey, hoping to catch his, to swap a secret smile.
The corner of her mouth still burns where he kissed it. She tries to focus on Jill and Maeve, pretending to concentrate, to listen to their experiences at Gymboree, but all the while she is going over their kiss, wondering what would have happened had Jill not interrupted, wondering how far they would have gone on that darkened stairway had they not nearly been caught.
“Darling? Shall we sit down?” Chris is blossoming in his role as benevolent host, and leads the way to the dining table, assigning seats to their guests.
If Dan loves me, he'll smile at me before he sits down.
“Mark, why don't you sit on the left of Jill, and Dan, you sit on the right next to Sam.”
Dan looks at Sam and smiles.
Thank you, God. I promise I'll go to church soon.
The evening is a great success. Maeve is still unsure of Dan, is not unaware of Sam's eyes following him around the room, of Sam's attention being focused almost exclusively on Dan.
Maeve drops her napkin at one point, convinced she will see Dan's hand fondling Sam's leg under the table, but a quick crawl in their direction proves her wrong.
She's surprised. More so having met Chris. Sam's flirtation with Dan, her desire to take it further was so obvious, Maeve had assumed there had to be something intrinsically wrong with her husband. He would surely have had to be arrogant. Dislikable. Charmless.
She had not expected Chris, had not expected the quintessential boy-next-door, and does not miss his constant glances at Sam, glances filled with love, hope, and confusion.
She can see he so clearly still loves his wife, is so clearly hurt by her lack of interest in him, despite not having cottoned on to her deepening crush on Dan. Maeve tests the waters, tries to find out what he knows, whether he suspects. She waits until Jill is deep in conversation with Mark, and Sam deep in adoration with Dan, before turning to Chris.
“So Jill and Dan. How long have you known them?”
“Jill I've known for ages through work. But we've only become friendly as a couple very recently.”
“Hmmm. Jill's lovely.”
“Isn't she? I'm glad you've hit it off.”
“And Dan. Tell me about him.”
“Lovely guy,” he says, his face a picture of innocence. “The pair of them are salt of the earth.”
She doesn't push it any further.
“Who's for pudding? Jill's made bread-and-butter pudding,” Chris says gratefully when the salmon has been finished and the conversation has drifted to a natural halt.
The table murmurs its approval, and Maeve gathers some plates, following Sam into the kitchen.
“Do you mind if we just dash upstairs and check on Lily?” Jill pops her head round the door.
“Of course!” Sam forces a smile as Jill and Dan disappear upstairs.
Mark and Chris clear away the last of the plates and follow the girls into the kitchen.
“It's good to see you, mate,” Chris says. “I've missed you. I've got some old port I've been saving for a special occasion, and I think tonight may just be the night. It's a Fonseca 1987. What do you think?”
“I think tonight is definitely the night,” Mark says. “Down in your wine cellar, is it?” They both laugh at the old standing joke between them. Chris has always referred to his dingy damp basement with a rickety old Habitat wine rack in one corner as his wine cellar. Mark's professional wine cellar, housing hundreds of rare and important wines, is referred to between them as the crappy wine rack.
“Are you coming?” Chris opens the door and starts walking down.
“Be there in a sec.” Mark takes his plates over to the sink and leans over to plant a kiss on Maeve's neck.
Sam sees the kiss and smiles. She never saw Mark and Julia like this. Never saw displays of affection between them, and it is reassuring, life-affirming, to see that two people can be this happy, this loving.
This is what she will have with Dan. This is what her future holds.
“You're terrible.” A tinny voice drifts across the kitchen and all three of them jump, laughing as they see the monitor perched on a shelf. Sam moves over to turn it off. After all, it's hardly fair to eavesdrop.
She is not even halfway there when Jill's voice continues. “That poor Sam has got the hugest crush on you and you're encouraging it, you naughty thing.”
All three of them freeze in horror.
“I know.” Dan's voice emerges, laughter and pity intertwined. “The poor cow's having multiple orgasms whenever she looks at me.”
“Oh, don't be mean. I think it's rather sweet.”
“Only because of what she looks like. If she were five foot nine and gorgeous you wouldn't think it so sweet.” They both laugh softly as Sam prepares to throw up. She wants to switch it off, to pretend this isn't happening, but she can't move.
“True. But be nice. And do stop leading her on. I know it's your favorite game, but those puppy-dog looks are getting too much even for me.”
“I know, it is rather pathetic, isn't it? You're just jealous,” Dan says softly. “Come here.”
The sound of them kissing jerks Sam out of her inertia, and she flicks the monitor off, turning to catch the shocked expression on Maeve's and Mark's faces.
“Excuse me,” she whispers, as she turns to flee from the room. “I think I'm going to be sick.”