A Hopeless Romantic (39 page)

“He wasn’t dead!” Laura exclaimed impatiently.

“Well, obviously,” said Yorky.

“You know what I mean! He just couldn’t be frigging bothered to drop his own parents an e-mail saying, ‘Hello, I’m still alive’! He’s a lazy bastard!”

“You don’t know that,” said Yorky. “Your poor mum.” He coughed self-consciously and increased his stride, looking bashfully down at the bunch of tulips he was clutching.

“You are such a suck,” said Laura, reverting to the behavior of her teenage years. She’d been so grown-up lately. Simon brought out the childish side in her, she knew.

“Laura! Hello, dear!” cried her mother, flinging open the door. “And James! So wonderful that you could come, we’re all so pleased. Darling,” she said, hugging her daughter. “How
are you
?” She emphasized the question delicately.

“Great, thanks,” said Laura, thrusting a bottle of wine at her mother. She gave her a kiss. “Where is he, then?”

Simon appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, and Laura had to stop herself from running toward him. She smiled. “All right?”

“Yeah,” said Simon, leaning against the cellar door. “You all right, sis?”

“Yeah,” said Laura, coming forward and giving him a big hug. “’S nice to see you.”

“You too.” Simon squeezed her tight, and punched her on the arm.

Laura kissed him. “Where’s Dad? I’ll go and say hi. Back in a min.”

Simon was hugging Yorky, patting him on the back. “Out the back. Hey, man.”

Laura wandered into the kitchen, which was, as always, immaculate. The white surfaces spotless, the plants in little tiled bowls on the windowsill, the childish nursery drawings by her and Simon in clip frames. The National Trust calendar by the fridge, annotated neatly by both George and Angela. She looked at it. September had a picture of a beautiful garden at a stately home in Shropshire. She grimaced.

“SIMON BACK!” it said on the Friday, covered with stars and underlined. Then, the following weekend: “
The Real Inspector Hound,
Harrow Am Dram Soc, 7:30 p.m.” “Dentist, 1 p.m.”

From the door out to the little conservatory at the back, George Foster emerged, wearing his gardening gloves. He looked up and saw his daughter, and smiled. “Oh, hello, love,” he said. “How are you?”

“Fine, Dad,” said Laura, watching him. He took his gloves off gingerly, hung them carefully on the pot by the conservatory door, then neatly wiped his weekend loafers on the doormat and shook out his dark blue corduroy trousers.

“All okay with you, love?” he asked.

Laura wondered what her poor dad must have made of her over the past couple of months, lurching from one crisis to another. She nodded emphatically. “Yeah. Really good. Thanks, Dad.”

“Good, good, ha-ha, good,” said George, visibly relieved he didn’t have to say anything more. He rubbed his hands together. “Well, hello, James.” He advanced into the room and shook Yorky’s hand. “I’ll get the drinks,” he said, smiling with pleasure as he went over to the fridge. “Nice to have everyone here, isn’t it.”

Laura nodded happily, and sat on the seat watching her dad take a new lemon from the bowl.

“Slice this for me, love, will you?” he said.

In the corridor, Simon was saying earnestly to Yorky, “I
am
well, mate. Peru—it changed my life. I can’t wait to tell you all about it, you know.”

“Lunch in five minutes, darling,” her mother said, bustling into the kitchen as George picked up the drinks tray and headed for the sitting room. “How’s work, Laura?”

“Fine, Mum. Great, actually.”

“Oh…” said Angela, pleased. “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad. And you—you’re…About that chap, you know. The marquis—I haven’t liked to ask, but…”

“Oh, it’s absolutely fine,” said Laura. “Good grief, I’ve totally forgotten about it, Mum, really.”

“Your granny said that—” Angela began.

“Gran likes to gossip,” said Laura furiously. Her mother looked hurt. “Sorry, Mum, but I promise you, I’m fine.”

Angela didn’t say anything. She just looked rather quashed. “Oh, love. I know you like talking to Granny about it, but you know I’m here if you ever want—” she began timidly.

“Yes, of course,” said Laura, feeling guilty, and guilt making her even angrier. “Come on, Mum, let’s go.” She grabbed her drink and went into the sitting room, Angela following slowly. As they entered, her brother looked up.

“Now she’s here. Hurrah. My favorite sister. And my darling mum. I just want to make a toast. To being back home again, with all of you.” Simon raised his glass in one hand, and took his mother’s hand in the other. “I’ve felt very far away from here the last few months, you know. But this is where I come from. It’s home. And it’s just great to be here. Cheers. Thanks, Mum and Dad. Cheers.”

“My boy and girl, under one roof,” Angela said, with a catch in her throat. “Oh, it’s so nice.” She caught sight of Yorky, looking rather left out. “Oh, James. And you, too.”

“Chocolate, James? Go on,” said Angela. She waved a plate under Yorky’s chin, so it loomed in his face and his eyes squinted to focus.

“Oh, thank you, Angela,” said Yorky. It always sounded awkward, Laura thought, when he called her mother by her first name.

Angela spun brightly round. “Well,” she said, rubbing her hands. “Everyone having a good time? You all right, Simon dear?”

“Yes, Mum,” said Simon patiently, for the fourth time. “I’m fine. Sit down.”

Looking at him, Laura realized Simon was indeed transformed. He didn’t look like her younger brother. He looked huge, tall, imposing. It was as if Aragorn had suddenly turned up in the lounge in Harrow and was drinking a glass of Waitrose best pinot noir on the sofa next to Angela and George after a nice lunch of roast chicken. The conversation over lunch had been chitchat, Simon telling them a few stories here and there but never really going into detail; but Laura could feel he was gearing up for it, for something.

“So!” said George.

“We want to hear
all
about it!” said Angela.

“Yes,” said Yorky, more noncommittally.

“So,” Laura said weakly. “Tell us all about it then….” She loved her brother, and she really did want to know how he’d got on, but Laura was generally bored rigid by tales of other people’s holidays, especially of the four-month traveling variety.

“Try to contain your indifference a bit more successfully, sis,” Simon said, leaning back in the sofa and sighing a deep sigh of pleasure. “Well, it was great. But it’s really nice to be back now, I must say. I really wanted to see you all. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”

“Oh, great,” Laura said. “Highlights?”

Yorky nudged her. Simon smiled. “Highlights. Okay. Being attacked by a wolf. Nearly getting shot during a drug raid. Um—the mountains early in the morning. And dancing round a campfire with the girl of my dreams.”

“Oh!” said Angela. “How lovely!”

“Eh?” said Yorky. “Who’s that, mate?” He looked curious.

“Jorgia,” Simon said, an expression of great serenity creeping across his tanned face. He turned to his parents and opened his arms wide. “I’m in love, Mum and Dad. She’s the most wonderful girl, and I can’t wait to bring her home to meet you.”

“Are you being serious?” said Angela, whipping her head round. “Who is she, Simon darling?”

“Oh, Mum,” said Simon, taking his mother’s hand again. “She’s just amazing. She’s from a tiny village, high up in the mountains near Machu Picchu. She—she—well, I want you to meet her.”

“Right!” said Angela, smiling slightly mechanically. “My goodness. Ha! She sounds wonderful.” She winked significantly at her husband. “Doesn’t she, George?”

“Er…” said George, twirling his wineglass in his hand. “Great. Really great. So, what does she do?”

“She lives with her parents at the moment,” Simon said, smiling broadly at them. “Her father’s a doctor, in the village! Simeon Questodora. Jorgia is his only daughter, he has two sons. He’s a good man, a wise man. He has welcomed me into their family.” Simon nodded, half bowing, as if Dr. Questodora might be watching him via a secret camera hidden in the vase of dried flowers on the mantelpiece. “Anyway,” he went on, “I’m going back there, Mum and Dad. I want to live there.” He coughed as his parents gawped at him. “I want to marry her. Not now—I know it’s all very sudden. I want to see if we can have a future together, the two of us, and how we can make it work.”

“Eh?” said Yorky.

“It may not work,” said Simon. “I’m fully aware of that.” He cleared his throat again and said quietly, “But I’ve never been happier. You know me. I didn’t used to believe in fairy tales. Well, now I do.”

Sitting on the sofa, Laura could barely believe her ears. Yes, of course, this was happy news; but Simon was the man who had shagged identical twins at university (Yorky had told her this), who had had an affair with his boss for a year and managed not to get fired, but promoted. Simon was kind, he was charming, always honest—but he had never wanted a serious relationship. This was incredible!

Besides which, setting aside Simon’s historic aversion to falling in love, she thought, surely if you claim you’re about to marry some random Peruvian villager you’ve known for three minutes, you must have gone mad. You shouldn’t be talking about it in a mature, balanced way. She could see that this was affecting their parents deeply, and that instead of saying, “My God, have you gone completely mad,” they were instead likely to—yes, there it was—

“Congratulations, son,” said George, striding across the room, clutching Simon’s hand. “That sounds—er, wonderful.”

“Oh, Simon,” said Angela, tears in her eyes. “You’re sure? Well, that’s just, just lovely.”

“I am sure,” said Simon, standing up and putting his arm round his mother, as Laura watched in amazement, scowling at both of them. “I’m sure she’s the one for me. I love her. But we have to think about what to do next. Jorgia—she…” He looked down and blushed, then smiled shyly at them. Laura felt slightly nauseated. “She wants to come over to meet you all, as soon as possible, but she is very proud. She won’t let me pay. She is saving up herself for the flight.”

“How long will that take?” said Laura waspishly. Yorky gave her a sharp look.

“A few months at least. She is very proud, like her father, like her family. So—until then”—he ground to a halt, rather uncertainly—“I’ll be here, if that’s okay. You see, you see—I’ve handed in my notice at the charity.”

“Oh,” said Angela and George together. Angela reached out and clutched the enamel box that stood on the mantelpiece for support. “That’s great, dear,” she said faintly, and looked at her husband.

“They wanted me to go to India next month, and I can’t, if she’s coming here. I had to say no, and when I did, well…” He held up his hands, rather helplessly. “I know it’s a bit reckless—but it just seemed like the only thing to do. I couldn’t let her get away, you know.”

Reckless? Laura wanted to shout. I should say so! Jeez Louise, the world has gone mad!

Her father said, “Well. You had worked there for five years, it was probably time for a change, eh?”

“I’m pleased for you,” said Yorky, nodding wildly.

“Yes,” said Angela. “Well! Travel really does broaden the mind, doesn’t it!”

“So, Laura, what do you think?” Simon said, sitting down next to her and putting his hand on her shoulder.

Good grief, thought Laura. The world has gone mad. Here am I being a sensible person, and what reward do I get? Whereas Simon has clearly got some brain disease, causing him to lose all grip on reality. No job! No home! A girlfriend halfway up a mountain on the other side of the world! And this is good news?

Simon was looking at her expectantly, and she found it hard to breathe all of a sudden, though she couldn’t have said why. And she felt a bit sick. Well, she reasoned, it was a lot to take in, for anyone. She gripped his wrist with her hand, and said, “It’s fantastic, Simon. Great. I just hope—you know, it’s a big step.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Laura ranted to Yorky, when they were safely on the Tube heading back. “He’s gone completely
mad
, and I’m the one they think’s the bad guy! Jesus!”

Yorky said nothing. He looked up at the Tube map.

“Seriously!” said Laura, warming to her theme. “The hypocrisy! Bloody Simon! He misses Gran’s birthday, he’s lost his job, he waltzes in after months away and announces he’s shacked up with some Peruvian gypsy from the mountains, and Mum and Dad! God! They just smile and say, ‘Wow, that’s great!’”

“But it
is
great, isn’t it?” said Yorky.

“No!” cried Laura. “Well, yes,” she said, amending herself hurriedly. “Of course, it’s fine, whatever. But really, has he lost his
mind
? He can’t be in love with her, can he?”

Yorky looked at her, then turned away slowly. “Oh, just shut up, will you?”

Laura gaped at him. “What?”

“Yes!” Yorky said, and there was real disdain in his voice, disdain mixed with anger. “Just shut up! What’s happened to you, Laura! I know you’re on this No Romance kick, ever since Dan, and I know you hate men, and I know all of a sudden your job’s the most important thing to you since—since sliced bread, but, God! Sometimes…” He trailed off.

Laura was completely bewildered. “Sometimes what?” she said, trying to make sense of what Yorky was talking about. She’d never seen him quite this cross.

“You’re—you’re just so—so weird about everything these days!” Yorky said. “God, you’ve been like this ever since you came back from Norfolk.”

“What do you mean?” said Laura, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Well!” Yorky threw his hands in the air. “I thought it did you good, but you’ve changed, Laura, you’re just…” He shook his head, bewildered. “You sit there in front of the TV and you don’t concentrate, you’re in a world of your own. You work all the time. You don’t go out anymore. You’re really negative about everything, you don’t want to do anything. You won’t look at another bloke—every time me or Jo mentions some guy you might like, you look as if we’ve just thrown up over you.” Yorky twitched his nose and scratched it. “Look, mate. I know Dan hurt you, but what did he do to make you this fucked up about everything?” he said sadly. “Here’s your brother, okay, yeah, sure, he’s gone a bit mad, and he thinks he’s in love with some girl he met traveling. But you’re his sister! Just support him, okay? Don’t be snide, don’t think you know it all. You don’t.”