Chapter 25
‘I still can’t believe it,’ I said, propped against the arm of The Dad’s squishy linen sofa with my legs scissored between his, newspapers spread around us. He’d earned serious points for remembering that Faith’s front page article came out today. He had to go to a couple of newsagents to find it (it wasn’t exactly a national paper). How thoughtful was that?
‘The video has had more than eight hundred thousand views now. It’s gone viral, which makes me sound infectious. But Fred says that’s a good thing.’
He reached over, held my face and tenderly kissed me. He was such a stellar kisser. ‘Incredible. You are incredible, B., and not just because you sing. So what happens now?’
‘Well, Mum says they’re talking about re-releasing her CD because of all the interest. That’s great, isn’t it? Not that she’s past her sell-by date, but it’s got to be a wonderful feeling to see your music appreciated by a whole new generation. I guess that’s what makes a classic. People like to use that word so much that it doesn’t really mean anything. Like genius. Everyone gets touted as a genius, but we won’t know for years, decades, whether someone’s work will stand the test of time. Everybody’s a genius in their own mind.’
‘You included?’
‘Oh, absolutely. I’ve got delusions of grandeur you can’t even imagine. I give Grammy speeches at my bathroom mirror, have fantasies that an A&R man shows up at a gig and offers me a recording deal. It’s crazy, but I guarantee we all do it. If we didn’t have such stupidly optimistic hope, there’s no way we’d keep writing songs that nobody listens to. I think that’s the real trick to making a success of an art form. It’s not talent, though that’s obviously important. It’s an overinflated belief that you’ll be the one who gets discovered. And we hear about the Justin Biebers of the world, The X Factor winners, and it just spurs on that blind optimism. Honestly, we’re a deluded bunch.’
‘Maybe not so deluded. You’re good, B. Why shouldn’t you be the one who makes it?’
‘But that’s the point. A lot of us are good. Hundreds, thousands in London alone. Everyone is trying as hard as they can, being as good as they can. It’s not just about talent. That’s what I’m saying. There’s a lot of luck involved, being in the right place at the right time.’
‘Not just luck, though. You make a lot of your own chances. If you’re writing exceptional music but not showing it to anyone, then you’re not going to get far. It’s the ones who make a big noise who have the best chance of getting noticed. Like your YouTube video.’
‘That was Frederick’s doing. And that’s a lucky break. Let’s be honest, if it hadn’t been for X Factor picking my mum’s song, that video would have exactly as many hits as I have friends. Maybe fewer.’
‘I’m just glad you didn’t have to work this weekend. This has been so nice.’
It was. Our sofa Sunday was just the icing on an entirely romantic weekend. When he suggested the beach on Saturday I’d been reluctant. Not for any bikini-shy reasons, but because I wasn’t much of a beach person. I needn’t have fretted, though, because it turned out it wasn’t much of a beach. To watch everyone frolicking in the freezing September sea, eating ice cream in gale-force winds, you’d have thought they were in the Seychelles. All I got out of the experience was windburn and gooseflesh that lasted into the evening. The Dad wasn’t a natural beach person himself. He was just ever-so eager to show me the nice side of Essex. It wasn’t all hair extensions, footballers’ nightclubs and spray tans.
I levered myself off the too-soft cushions to kiss him, feeling like a woolly mammoth escaping a tar pit as I did so. To cover my embarrassment, I said, ‘I loved dinner last night, thanks again. You know, it’s not too bad out here.’
He laughed. ‘My heart belongs to Essex.’
‘That sounds like a reality TV show. Are you here for evermore, then?’
‘Definitely, especially with Libby and the children here.’
My skin prickled. It was odd to refer to one’s ex-wife as a reason to stay in a place. Of course he wanted to stay near the children; that was perfectly understandable. But why mention Elizabeth? A tiny alarm bell rang in my head. It wasn’t a blaring fire alarm next door, but definitely a car a few streets away. ‘So your ex-wife is here to stay too?’
‘Oh yes, she was born here. It’s home. That’s why we relocated in the first place, to be close to her parents. My in-laws, ex-in-laws, live just over in the next road.’
Now the alarm was in the next road. ‘I see. Isn’t it nice to stay so close to your ex-family.’
‘Oh, it is,’ he said. Clearly he didn’t expect irony from a North American. ‘Would you like another coffee? I’m just going to make another pot.’
‘Yes, please.’ I’d developed a caffeine habit with The Dad. I liked that he didn’t reach for a bottle whenever we were together. Not that I drove men to drink. But a decade of friendship with Faith taught me that the English did like a tipple or two. That was fine with me, though my ambition and ability were out of alignment. At my age a large glass of wine gave me a hangover before I’d finished it. On the plus side, my boobs had started to sag and I no longer made it through the night without needing to wee. Yeah, nearing forty just got better and better.
I heard The Dad talking to someone. Not on the phone. I hoped it was just a Jehovah’s Witness come to talk to us about Jesus for a few hours. I feared it was worse than that.
A smiling woman followed The Dad back into the living room. ‘B., this is Elizabeth. Libby, would you like some coffee? I’ve just made a pot.’
‘Sure, thanks. Hi, B., it’s nice to meet you.’ She towered over me, trapped, prone and bra-less on the sofa.
‘Hi, nice to meet you too.’
‘Libby just came over to pick up Amanda’s gym kit. She’s in a peculiar phase at the moment. If she doesn’t wear her ohmygodalltimefavourite T-shirt, she’ll just die, Daddy!’ He rolled his eyes. ‘It’s in the dryer, I’ll just get it.’ He disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving me to breathe coffee breath all over his ex-wife. I’d barely left the sofa since we woke this morning. I was a vision. ‘So, er, you live close by, don’t you? That’s nice.’
‘Mmm, it’s convenient.’
She wasn’t very pretty and I wasn’t just saying that because The Dad had made babies with her. Her face was too short, for one thing. She had bottle blonde hair and a suspicious tan that aged her. And she had fat ankles. All right, I couldn’t see her ankles. It didn’t matter. He obviously worshipped her, short orange face, cankles and all. ‘Have you had a nice weekend?’ I couldn’t think of anything else to ask her, and our staring contest was getting old.
‘Quiet, thanks. Did you?’
Was this where I told her I’d probably been wined and dined at her favourite restaurant or spent the weekend giving her ex-husband an erection? Probably not. ‘Yes, we went to the beach on Saturday which was nice, though a bit windy.’
‘Here you go.’ The Dad offered Elizabeth a steaming mug.
‘Soya milk?’
‘Of course.’ He smiled, settling on the other end of the sofa facing Elizabeth. ‘What’d you do this weekend?’
She perked up considerably at the question. ‘Mum and I went to that exhibit on Friday night that I told you about. It was good but the wine was dire. And curly-edged cheese, just the way I like it, yeuck! There was one painting I’d think about, but it’s overpriced. Honestly, everyone thinks their paintings should start at a thousand quid. It’s not like the old days. Remember when we found the Paolinos in that little gallery?’
‘That was different, Libby. It was a random village in Tuscany. I keep telling you that you need to look in East London. That’s where you’ll find bargains.’
‘Maybe so, but East London isn’t nearly as charming as Tuscany!’ They laughed together over their happy holiday memories. ‘I might be able to bargain him down a bit if it doesn’t sell. The exhibit ends today, so I’ll call tomorrow. I didn’t do much yesterday.’
‘Is the boiler still playing up?’
‘No, I got Harry to come round to fix it. Speaking of coming round, are you free on Friday? Kate and Gilles are staying at the house next weekend and they’d love to see you.’
‘Sure, I’m free, it’ll be nice to see them. How’s his mother?’
‘The same. They don’t think she’ll recover further. Is that your phone?’ Elizabeth interrupted their cosy tête-à-tête to ask me.
‘Nope, my phone’s not working. I left it at home.’
‘It’s mine,’ said The Dad, checking the caller and turning it off.
‘You’ve changed your ring tone.’ She sounded offended.
‘I was just fooling around with it. I’ll change it back.’
I don’t know why that was the last straw for me. Not the unannounced visit, not their romantic weekend reminiscences, not the domestic chatter and not their upcoming date on Friday. It was that simple observation, and the way she said it. As if she didn’t expect anything in his life to change. More than that, it was his response. As if he didn’t expect anything in his life to change either.
At least she had the good grace to leave once she’d finished her coffee, accepting my faked hospitality and leaving The Dad and me to awkwardly resume our Sunday. But the shine had well and truly come off the penny.
Was I overreacting? What was bothering me so? Well, for one thing she shouldn’t have stopped by unannounced, on a Sunday. On the other hand their daughter needed her gym kit and if she was ‘going through a phase’ it was better to face your ex than to listen to a pre-teen whine. Fine. It wasn’t unusual for her to have come by. But he invited her to stay when clearly I was there, and not at my best looking. What about considering how I might feel about that? On the other hand, they were friends, and I had been asking a lot of questions, and she was clearly unsurprised to see me here so he definitely told her about me. So maybe it was his way of showing me he had no secrets.
But they sounded as if they were still married.
There. That was the crux of the issue. He acted as though she was still his wife. I felt sick but I had to know. ‘Don’t you find it unusual to stay close to your ex?’
He looked up from the sports pages. ‘I stay close to the children.’
There was just the tiniest edge to his voice.
‘That’s not unusual. It’s good parenting.’ He set down the paper. ‘B., what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?’
‘No, not really. I was just surprised to see your ex-wife here, that’s all. I guess I wanted to have some warning before meeting her. I look awful.’
‘You do not look awful. You’re beautiful. I’m sorry, I didn’t know she was coming today or of course I would have told you. When she arrived I thought, well, you’ll meet eventually anyway so it may as well be now. I can see now that that was wrong. I’m sorry.’
He looked properly contrite. ‘That’s okay. You’re right, now it’s over so everyone can relax. I think I was a little surprised by how friendly you actually are.’ I just couldn’t leave well enough alone. Had to pick at that scab. ‘If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t know you were divorced. It took me by surprise, that’s all.’
Suddenly he looked angry. ‘I wish everyone would stop saying that! It’s not like we’re going to get back together. Is that what you’re worried about? Because I can tell you that isn’t going to happen. Libby has no intention of letting me back into her life in that way.’
I had trouble hearing him over the blaring fire alarm in my head. ‘Do you want to be back in her life?’ I whispered.
‘It doesn’t matter. She’s not taking me back so I may as well move on.’
That wasn’t the behaviour of a woman who wanted her ex to move on. She may not have wanted him, but she wasn’t about to let anyone else have him either. She was giving him just enough hope, keeping him just close enough, to f*ck it up for the rest of us.
He looked like he realised he’d let the cat out of the bag. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m hung up on my ex-wife, because I’m not. We share a special bond, that’s all, one that won’t go away. Sure, I was devastated when she left me and yes, I probably harboured hope that she’d take me back when she tired of the other man, but I know now that that isn’t likely to happen. I’ve accepted it. I’m trying to move on.’
He was ‘trying’? That made me sound like a nicotine patch for relationships. ‘But you haven’t yet,’ I pointed out.
‘But I’d like to try, with you.’
He looked sad. He looked like I felt. We didn’t talk much after that. There wasn’t much to say.
I knew in my heart that it wasn’t going to work out. I didn’t want to be a failed attempt to forget another woman. The realization accounted for me sniffling like your worst nightmare seating companion on the packed train back to London. At one point the lady next to me proffered a Pret a Manger napkin in a vain attempt to curb the unsightliness. Her kindness just sent me off again.
There was so much good about The Dad. So much that I liked – his wit and humour, gentleness and gentlemanliness, his devotion to his kids and the way he made me feel. From our first meeting, no, earlier, from our email exchanges, I got my hopes up. I wasn’t saying I had a future with him, but a future seemed like a possibility. After Mattias, The Dad seemed so normal. Perhaps I was crying over lost possibilities more than a lost relationship. It still hurt.
I was exhausted, wrung out by emotion, but resolved when I got home. I’d call The Dad and arrange to see him in the week. Just thinking about that conversation made me want to crawl straight under the duvet and shut out the world. For once I was glad that Faith practically lived at Frederick’s. Judging by the answering machine she hadn’t been home all weekend.
Beep. Hi, B., are you there? It was my manager, Gemma. I tried your mobile but it’s turned off. Give me a call when you get the message.
I did tell her that my mobile wasn’t working.
Beep. B., where are you? Gemma again. Are you away for the weekend? Call me when you get back. It doesn’t matter what time it is. You’ve got my mobile, right?
My heart lodged in my throat. That sounded serious. I probably lost the gig. Otherwise why would she need me to call her on a Sunday? Fresh tears threatened.
I tried to sound breezy when I called her back. ‘Hi, it’s B., what’s up?’ I sounded exactly like I felt. Panicked.
‘Hi, B., were you away for the weekend?’
‘Erm, yes, just to Essex.’
‘Oh, oh, great, hope it was fun! I was there, in Billericay, for a wedding last year. It’s really lovely around there. B….’ She paused for about three days. Was she trying to torture me? ‘I’ve got some news.’ Dramatic sigh. ‘It’s about your future. When I signed you I sent your demo to some of my contacts. Standard operating procedure. We have lunch or drinks occasionally, keep up with each other’s news, that sort of thing. I didn’t hear anything back about yours. Also standard operating procedure. It’s always a long shot. They’re inundated with demos, everybody thinks they’ve got the next big thing. Ninety-nine per cent of the time we’re wrong, we’re just swayed by the personal relationship to mistake personality for talent.’
‘Are you dropping me?’
‘Pardon? No, no! I just wanted you to know how unusual this is. A label came back to me on Friday. About you, B. They’ve seen the YouTube buzz. They listened to your demo again. They’re interested. Are you free to meet with their A&R man tomorrow? I know it’s short notice, that’s why I’ve been trying to get hold of you. He’ll take you to lunch. Can you do it?’
Could I do it?!?!