A Hopeless Romantic (48 page)

It ruined her mood. She ate the cake; she shuffled around the flat; she sat on the sofa wrapped in her duvet watching
Countryfile
and the
Coronation Street
omnibus, and ate a whole packet of ginger nuts, dipped in tea. When one of the ginger nuts fell into the tea almost whole, she cried. Yorky and Becky retreated downstairs to Becky’s flat, leaving Laura alone in her self-inflicted misery. If Yorky was bad, she was worse. She felt like she was in a boxing ring, being bounced from side to side by a much tougher opponent. Bounce. Bounce. She couldn’t decide, couldn’t decide if she was going mad or if she’d already got there.

Thankfully, someone else made the decision for her.

When Laura got to work on Monday morning, she was later than usual—which, since her time of the New Leaf, was virtually unheard-of—and Rachel and Nasrin were both there, poring over an Excel spreadsheet, which Laura knew very well had all the figures for the year on it—because they spent most days poring over a version of it, totting things up, taking other things away, desperately trying to save their program, pull more money from a hat like the proverbial rabbit. Her heart sank even further, from somewhere around her stomach right into her pumps. This was it. She squared her shoulders.

“Hey, Laura! I hear Shana’s party was good,” said Rachel.

“What?” said Laura, looking around her, distracted. “Oh! Yes, yes. Yes. Brill party. Brill-eee-ant. Loved it.
Loved it.
”

“I said it was good,” said Nasrin. “I didn’t say it was brilliant.”

“Right,” said Laura. “You’re right. Yes. Hey, Rachel. Lovely top.”

“Oh, thanks,” said Rachel, looking down at her chest as Laura sat down at her desk with a clatter, and switched on her computer. “It’s really old, actually. Thanks! So, Laura—”

“Did anyone see the golf?” Laura said loudly, desperately.

“The golf?” said Nasrin. “Why would I see the golf? Why would you, for that matter?”

“It was brill,” said Laura. “Brill-eee-a—oh shut up,” she muttered to herself under her breath.

Rachel walked toward her with a smile on her face. “So,” she said. “So, Laura…” She gestured for Nasrin to join her. Nasrin followed her. “Hey!” Rachel caught sight of Shana in the doorway, just arriving. “Come over here, listen to Laura, she’s got some good news for us!”

Laura wanted to curl up and die, quite literally just stop existing.

“Is this about the money?” said Shana. “I kept meaning to ask you, but I hardly saw you on Saturday. Go on! What is it?”

“Yeah,” said Nasrin. “Come on, Laura!”

Laura looked up at their hopeful faces. She had never felt more wormlike. “Um,” she began. “Look, Rachel. I know I said the money was in the bag—”

“What?” said Shana.

“—but,” Laura continued, keeping her voice steady, “Friday was a bit of a disappointment….”

“How so?” said Nasrin.

Tim appeared in the doorway. “Hi, you lot!” he called. “Cool! Is this about Laura’s windfall? Our ticket out of the doghouse?”

“Hi! Hi!” Rachel said, gesturing to him. “It’s great. Get over here!”

Laura wanted to shoot her for being so dense, for making this so very, very much harder than it needed to be. “Oh, God,” she said flatly, as Tim stuck his head between Nasrin and Rachel, putting his arms around them, like they were an England football squad singing the national anthem. “Look…” She bit her lip. “It’s bad news, I’m afraid.”

“What?” said Rachel.

“He said we could whistle for it. The money. Marcus did,” Laura said incoherently.

“He said what?” said Rachel.

“The money. He’s not giving us anything. He said we could whistle for it.”

“Whistle for it?” Rachel repeated, like she was new to the English language.

“Yes,” said Laura patiently.

“That’s really weird,” said Rachel.

“Why?” said Laura.

“His assistant rang just before you got in. Said the check was on its way.”

“What?” Laura said in disbelief. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” said Rachel. She smiled. “Actually, it’s not a check, it’s a bank transfer—but, you know, it’s still cold, hard cash. Thirty thousand pounds! Laura, you’re a genius.” She bent and kissed Laura on the cheek. “He’s not in this week, your friend Marcus. He’s on holiday for two weeks.”

“Oh,” said Laura.

“It was his assistant I spoke to. Marcus rang from the airport to ask them to do it. Isn’t that nice of him?”

“Well done, Laura,” said Nasrin, nudging her.

“Yeah,” said Shana, slapping Laura really hard on the back so that she coughed and spluttered. “Job well done.”

“I don’t get it,” Laura muttered, but she could feel a ray of sunshine stealing over her. She wasn’t a screwup. Marcus didn’t hate her. She wished he weren’t away—it was annoying, but she’d just have to make it up to him when he got back. Oh, she’d misjudged him, and no mistake. He wasn’t a slightly overweight drunken lech. He was a misunderstood philanthropist and, in her opinion, a great, understanding man. Who obviously had no memory of what he did when he was drunk.

The office settled down to the Monday routine. Laura could hear Rachel in her office, on the phone to Gareth: “Yes! It’s going straight in, today!…I know! Well, it was absolutely Laura’s doing, we’re so proud of her…. I know…. Yes, of course. I agree. It’s fantastic.”

Laura opened her e-mails, whistling.

Laura,

I’m sorry about the way I was on Friday. I understand you had a bad evening for other reasons as well. We still have unfinished business, you and me. Don’t you agree? I don’t really understand what’s happened, and I think we’re both too proud to admit it. Will you come up to Chartley for the weekend in two weeks’ time? We’re having a belated Harvest Festival dance, a charity thing. I think you’d enjoy it. And the house is beautiful in autumn, you should see it at its best once more.

Let me know by return e-mail. Don’t call me. My phone isn’t working.

Please don’t mention this to anyone else, of course.

Nick

part four

chapter forty-five

G
ran? Granny? Are you there? Can I come in?”

Laura shuffled impatiently in the drafty hallway of Crecy Court and checked her watch: about an hour until the train for King’s Lynn left. She knew her grandmother was in; she’d seen Cedric on his way out and he’d told her she was.

“Gran?”

Eventually, she heard sounds from inside the flat, creaking on the parquet floor. “Granny,” she said again. “It’s me, Laura.”

The door opened about a foot. Mary’s face appeared round it. “Oh,” she said. “It’s you.”

“Gran, hi. I just came to give you the necklace back.”

“Come in, come in,” said her grandmother, opening the door a little wider. Laura looked at her curiously as she went in. She was as immaculately dressed as ever, with a large, sparkling paste brooch on her white shirt. But she looked tired, very tired. Her eyes, usually alive and sparkling, were devoid of emotion. She nodded at Laura, motioned her to sit down.

“I’m sorry I’ve had it so long—” Laura began.

“It’s fine, darling,” Mary said. “Fine.” She walked over to the window and looked out at the sky, darkening in the late afternoon.

The general view amongst the family was that Mary had “gone downhill,” as Aunt Annabel so annoyingly put it, in the last couple of weeks. Something was worrying her, and the result was as if her brain were short-circuiting. She worried endlessly, didn’t know people sometimes when they came to see her. She didn’t want to see people when they arrived, and asked them constantly when they were going. Annabel in particular seemed to incur her ire more than others. Mary could barely stand the sight of her, and Annabel, along with Lulu and Fran, had been ejected from Crecy Court by Mary and Jasper and made to wait outside on the pavement for Robert to come and pick them up. (Laura and Simon couldn’t help smirking a little when they heard that.)

But Laura thought her grandmother looked okay. She wasn’t acting bewildered, or wearing slippers to go to the shops, or shuffling round in her nightie at four-thirty in the afternoon. She just looked tired and not particularly happy, staring out the window, not really looking at anything.

Laura said, “I can’t stay long, Gran. Sorry. I thought I should let you have it back, though.” She took the necklace out of her pocket, feeling the cold stones clustered in her hand.

“Thank you, darling,” said Mary, turning away from the window, shaking her head as if coming alive again. “Very kind of you. Where are you off to?”

“Well,” said Laura. “Actually, I’m off to Norfolk for the night.”

Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “Ye gods and little fishes. Well!” She clapped her hands. “Have a drink.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Just a quick one. I have some wine open, as it happens.”

“What a surprise,” said Laura cheekily.

“Don’t be rude, young lady.” Mary pointed at the cabinet; Laura got out two glasses as Mary fetched the bottle from the kitchen. “So. You’re off to Chartley, are you?”

“Yes,” said Laura, leaning forward and hugging her knees. “Thanks,” she said, taking the glass Mary had filled.

“Where’s your aunt going tonight?” Mary said suddenly.

“Annabel?” Laura replied. “Good grief, no idea. Why?”

“Nothing. She telephoned me earlier, to tell me some rubbish about some old colleague of Xan’s who’s been made a commander of the order of the British Empire—as if I care, I’d completely forgotten he even existed, haven’t seen him for twenty years. Good grief, she is a dreadful social climber,” Mary said blithely, as if she were saying, “Good grief, she is wonderful” or “Good grief, she is the mother of two daughters.” “Well, anyway, she said she was going to Norfolk tonight. I could have sworn it.”

“Help,” said Laura, laughing.

“Well, exactly,” said Mary. “Watch out. Dear girl, but she can be so vexing. I’m quite out of patience with her at the moment, you know.”

“Why?” asked Laura, wanting to know.

“Nothing in particular,” said Mary, brushing her hands together. “So, tell me. Needham. Vivienne’s son. What happened, may I ask?”

“I don’t know,” said Laura. “Actually, I really don’t know. I saw him a couple of weeks ago—when I was on that date.”

Mary nodded. “Hm, yes. The young banker. What was he called?”

“Marcus,” said Laura.

“Yes. What happened with him?”

Laura clapped her hands. “He got drunk, made a pass at me and passed out. And now he’s gone on holiday, and his company’s donated a huge sum to the school sponsorship scheme. It’s very weird, but I don’t care. We’ve got the money.”

“Oh, well done, you,” said Mary. “Darling. They should have had you during the Second World War. You’re rather like one of those Russian spies who’d get the chaps awfully drunk and then get what they wanted out of them.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” said Laura, rather pleased. “I thought I made a bit of a fool of myself. And him. Poor bloke.”

“Oh, no,” said Mary. “Marvelous behavior. You used your powers for good. So you haven’t thanked him yet, then?”

“No, he’s been away,” said Laura. “Back on Monday. I will then. I’m really going to thank him, too.”

Laura had had a flash of realization about Marcus, since the dinner and in his absence: He’d be perfect for Rachel. She just knew it, and she was going to set them up when he got back. A few weeks ago, organizing a setup would have been anathema to her; now she was excited about it. Rachel hadn’t been on a date for ages, and she was so sweet and kind, and just looking for someone who wanted to buy a big house in Balham and fill it with lots of rather stocky, strange children. Enter Marcus. Okay, he was a bit weird; okay, he probably liked being tied up and whipped—Laura’s imagination was running on overtime in this department, obviously—but there was something about him, something lovable; and Rachel herself had a really filthy streak and the dirtiest laugh in South London. Laura rubbed her hands together and smiled at the thought of it.

“So tell me…” said Mary, sitting down in her chair. She blinked rather heavily, and took a few shallow breaths.

“Gran? Are you okay?” said Laura.

“I’m old, Laura,” said Mary. “That’s all.” She took a sip of wine. “That’s better.”

Laura frowned at the bottle. “I’m not sure that’s medically approved, you know, Gran.”

“Rubbish,” said Mary. “I’m strong as an ox. Never felt better.”

She was silent, and Laura was quiet, too. The clock ticked loudly on the wall, and Laura thought about all the times she had sat in this flat with her grandmother, talking about things, anything, life, love, relationships, work, family. All the important things. The funny thing about Mary was, you could get straight down to it, no meandering around. She could talk to her grandmother about anything that was on her mind, or that involved both of them; and sitting there, taking it all in, she realized how lucky she’d been.

“What time’s your train?” said Mary.

“Just under an hour. I had better go, you know.”

“Of course,” said Mary. “Why are you going?”

Laura was flummoxed by the question. “What?”

“Why are you going, tell me?” Mary stretched out a hand and looked at her wedding ring.

Laura thought about it for a moment. She looked directly at her grandmother. “I don’t know,” she said. “I want to see him, I suppose.”

“Darling,” said Mary, and then she stopped.

“What?” said Laura.

“Nothing,” said Mary. “You know your own mind. And so does he. You must trust that.” She cleared her throat. “It’s a formal dinner, is it?”

“Yes,” said Laura. She looked at her watch, knowing she was a bit late, but desperately wanting someone’s advice and approval for what she was doing. She was nervous, and she didn’t want to be; unsure, and she didn’t know why. “Can I show you the dress I bought?”

Mary said with real pleasure, “Of course you can,” as Laura fumbled with the zip of her bag, and pulled the dress from its tissue paper.