All the Single Ladies (42 page)

‘Er . . . it’s okay,’ I mumble, shaking my hands at the driver, before shoving them in my pockets and walking away as fast as possible.

‘Sam! It’s me.’

I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. My knight in shining armour. Except in this case it’s a knight in an Audi A4. And I’ve never felt as happy to see another human
being as I am to see Ben right now.

I’ve no idea what Margaret Finnegan thinks when I turn up at the nursery looking as if I’ve been through an assault course, although it can’t be any worse
than what she thinks of the fact that Sophie’s mother has failed to pick her up.

‘Ellie finally got hold of me from a land line,’ I lie. ‘She’d got stuck in traffic on the motorway on the way home from a conference in Cheshire, and her phone ran out
of juice. She asked me to apologize sincerely. She’s mortified.’

‘These things happen,’ smiles Margaret Finnegan, though I get the distinct impression from the look on her face that they don’t happen often.

Sophie is pleased to see me, at least. Although when she asks, ‘Where’s Mummy?’ I’m at a bit of a loss about what to say, except to reassure her that she’ll see her
mother soon.

I strap her into the car seat the nursery let us borrow. This is a procedure that takes twenty minutes, and I’m convinced a NASA scientist would struggle to master it.

‘Thanks again for this, Ben,’ I say, as we head to my place. He turns to look at me, and when he smiles I feel a rush of longing.

‘Not a problem. I was on my way home from work. In fact, I wasn’t far away.’

I turn back to Sophie, and look at her playing contentedly with a teddy bear. ‘I don’t think I’ve got much for you to eat at home, Sophie. We’ll have to rustle something
up, won’t we?’

‘I want a lollipop,’ she grins.

‘Er . . . I haven’t even got one of those.’

‘Do you need me to stop somewhere?’ Ben offers.

‘Hmm . . . I guess so. Do you like beans on toast, Sophie?’

‘No. Lollipops.’

‘Well, okay . . . maybe after dinner. Do you like cheese on toast?’

‘Only lollipops.’

I’m starting to get the feeling that we might be having lollipops on toast. I frown. ‘How about . . . carrots?’

‘Lollipops.’

‘Chips?’

‘No – lollipops.’

‘Oh Lord!’ I’m about to suggest pasta – which I’ve seen her mother cook for her countless times – when my phone rings. It’s Ellie.

With a racing heart I press answer. Ellie’s voice is muffled and strange-sounding, and I can barely hear her over the background noise.

‘I got your message,’ she says, her voice awash with emotion. ‘Have you got her? Have you got my Sophie?’

‘Yes, I’ve got her. We’re on our way back to my place. She’s fine. But where the hell are you?’

‘Take her . . . home – my home, I mean. I’m coming now . . . I’ll meetsh you there.’

She rings off and I look anxiously at Ben.

‘Everything all right?’ he asks.

I bite my lip. ‘Not really.’

We sit in the car outside Ellie’s with the engine running so that the heaters keep us warm. Sophie is giggling in the back as Ben pulls funny faces, and I’m smiling
almost as much as she is. Part of me doesn’t know how I can smile, except that, if I dwell on it, the hideousness of the situation is overwhelming.

My head is swollen with thoughts – of Ellie, of Jamie, of me – yet I find myself watching Ben, as his playful eyes and impossibly handsome face make this little girl happy. He turns
to look at me at one point and I glance away, embarrassed. If he catches me looking at him too long he’ll guess some of the thoughts behind the mist in my eyes.

‘Can I ask you something, Ben?’

He pauses from playing with Sophie and looks up. ‘Of course.’

‘Your Facebook page – it said you were in a relationship.’

He takes a deep breath. ‘A brief one,’ he laughs. ‘It was with my neighbour, Mildred.’

I grin. ‘I’d assumed she was in her seventies and the recipient of Meals on Wheels.’

‘Oh . . . Mildred?’ he smiles. ‘No, she’s a bit younger than that.’

‘And a lot more attractive,’ I point out.

‘She’s pretty,’ he concedes. ‘But my heart wasn’t in it. I don’t know why I even changed my status on Facebook. I think I was trying to convince myself about
the whole thing.’

‘Why?’

He looks at me awkwardly, then holds my gaze. ‘Diversionary tactics.’

A taxi door slams, accompanied by a crunch of gravel, and I look up to witness Ellie taking unsteady steps towards us, trying desperately to look sober. Ben and I glance at each other, before I
open the car door and get out.

‘Where is she?’ Ellie asks frantically, stumbling to the door at the back.

‘Hey, it’s okay, I’ll get her out,’ I tell her, concerned about her capability.

She looks at me and frowns. ‘I’m f-fine,’ she replies, moving to edge me out of the way.

‘Ellie . . . let me,’ I say firmly, putting my hand on the handle. She throws me a tired-eyed look and realizes I’m not going to back down.

I open the car door and Sophie’s face lights up with happiness. ‘Mummy!’

‘Hi, shweeetheart,’ Ellie slurs, her eyes filling with tears.

I lift Sophie out of the car, but it’s clear that it isn’t my arms she wants: it’s her mother’s. And before I can do anything to stop her, she dives at Ellie, who
staggers back, trying to steady herself.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ Ellie whispers, stroking Sophie’s hair and kissing her. ‘I’m here now. Mummy’s here.’

Ellie puts Sophie down and I follow them as the little girl runs to the front door. Ellie takes an age trying to get the key in the door; the more she fumbles drunkenly, the more impossible the
task seems. Eventually, I take it from her and open the door myself.

Ellie and Sophie enter the house, and as Ben appears at my side, the warmth from inside hits us. In the opaque glow from the hall light I notice that flakes of snow have begun to float from the
sky and are falling on to his face.

Ben touches me on the arm. ‘What are you going to do?’ he whispers. ‘I’m not sure Ellie should be left alone . . . if you know what I mean.’

I nod and hold his gaze. ‘I’m going to stay with her. I’ll get Sophie to bed and see if I can sober Ellie up.’

He doesn’t take his eyes from me. ‘Would you like me to stay? How are you going to get home?’

‘Taxi. It’ll be fine. Honestly,’ I smile. ‘Thank you for this. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t appeared.’

He shrugs. ‘I never usually take that route, but there are roadworks on the way I usually go. Must’ve been fate.’

The snow is suddenly heavier. I watch as whispers of it land on Ben’s skin and turn instantly into droplets. I can see his breath in the cold night air and I find myself drawn to the mouth
from which it comes, to his soft, parted lips.

‘I haven’t said congratulations,’ he says.

‘About what?’ I ask, hyper-aware of my heartbeat.

‘Your engagement.’

I look up, almost surprised. ‘Oh . . . I’ll be honest, Ben. I don’t know what to do about that.’

He hesitates. ‘Really?’

I swallow. ‘I’m a bit confused.’

‘What’s the issue?’

‘The issue is that . . . I think I have feelings . . . for someone else.’

I don’t know what I expect his reaction to be. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

‘What?’ I say, touching his arm. It’s through about four layers, but I can still feel its muscular curve.

‘You’ve met someone else? Another man?’

Then I realize that I shouldn’t be confessing what I’m about to confess. I realize I could be about make a fool of myself. I also realize that he hasn’t clicked that I’m
talking about him. So I still have my get-out-of-jail-free card.

‘Yes.’

He gulps. And when he looks away his face is so confused and hurt it makes my heart twist.

‘Sam. Let me tell you something.’ He swallows. ‘I’ve got a job that involves meeting dozens, hundreds of people, all the time. I meet clever people, funny people,
entertaining people, good people. But, sometimes . . . a person comes into your life who blows everyone else out of the water.’

The intensity on his face makes my pulse quicken. ‘I’m talking about a person who makes you laugh, who makes you cry, a person who infuriates and delights you . . . but, above all,
someone who brings out the best in you.’

He swallows, and takes my hand. ‘Of all the people I’ve ever met, Sam, you’re quite simply the best.’ I close my eyes and tears drip from my chin. ‘You’re the
best person I know – nothing less. And I know it makes me a bloody idiot to be standing here confessing that I’m in love with you when you’ve just told me you have feelings for
not just one but two other men, but . . .’ He looks, consumed with emotion. ‘What an arse I am!’

I open my mouth to say something, but he beats me to it. ‘There are some things you just need to get off your chest, I suppose.’

I finally feel able to speak. ‘There’s no other man. I mean . . . there’s just Jamie – and you. Plus a whole lot of complicated stuff going on in my head.’

‘What?’ He blinks.‘You mean I’m the person that’s making you think twice about marrying Jamie?’

I nod.

‘I don’t know what to say,’ he mumbles. ‘I mean . . . I want you, Sam. But you’ve got to do the right thing by yourself. You’ve got to follow your
heart.’

I nod again. ‘But I need you to know this, Ben . . .’

There’s so much I want to tell him that I barely know where to start. And yet it all seems so contradictory. The fact is that I think he’s the kindest, funniest, most admirable and
gorgeous person I know. And he brings out the best in me too. He’s amazing.

Except, while I can think all of these things in my head, I don’t know how to say them without sounding insincere, or shallow, or I don’t know what . . . because of one other crucial
matter: Jamie, and my feelings for him.

‘I need you to know . . .’

‘Sam!’ Little Sophie comes running along the hall and grabs me round the legs. I look down at her. ‘I want a lollipop. And Mummy’s too tired.’

My eyes return to Ben and I see him backing away.

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he murmurs.

I nod once more, taking Sophie’s hand as she pulls me into the house.

I don’t know who’s more difficult to get to bed, Sophie or her mother.

Sophie is determined that the pasta dish I’ve whipped up is a poor substitute for a lollipop. Then she becomes hell-bent on rereading
The Gruffalo
so many times, I’ll be
chanting ‘A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood’ in my sleep tonight.

In Ellie’s case, the issue is that sometime after entering the house with Sophie following her, she fell asleep on the sofa and hasn’t moved since.

I don’t want to leave her in charge of a two-year-old, even after Sophie does get to sleep. Not because I think Ellie would do anything actively wrong, but because I’m worried about
what she wouldn’t do. If Sophie woke in the middle of the night shouting for her mum, I doubt anything short of a sharp slap around the cheeks would rouse my friend.

I gaze at her on the sofa and wonder how I’m going to pick her up. They do it on the movies all the time: a quasi-fireman’s lift manoeuvre that involves an effortless sweep of the
hand round someone’s back and a quick hoist up.

I take a deep breath, grip her round the waist and – grunting like a walrus in the latter stages of a difficult labour – try again to heave her up. Ellie might look petite, but all I
achieve is a red face and possible hernia.

In the end, I decide to simply take off her shoes and cover her with a quilt I bring down from the spare room. I spend the next few hours sitting in front of the television – flicking
through everything from
Ocean’s Eleven
to
Famous and Fearless
– and then my mobile rings. It’s Lorelei’s number.

I take the call and go through to the other room, where I gaze out of the window and watch the floodlit snow dance across the sky and fall onto the grass, creating a perfect blanket.

I barely have anything to say to Lorelei, but as ever she talks and talks. And this time she has something seriously interesting to say. So I listen. And I think. And I wonder . . .

It’s nearly midnight before I switch off the living-room lamp, my head heavy with thoughts as I curl up on the sofa opposite my friend.

I can’t sleep, obviously. I have only hours until Jamie’s plane leaves in the morning and all I can do is let my mind flash with images and words: Jamie’s ring, Ben’s
eyes. And another idea, coming from the left field, that there shouldn’t even be room for in my head.

I manage a fitful sleep, one that’s broken when Ellie’s home phone rings at seven o’clock. I let it go to answer phone, but it wakes Ellie.

‘Hi, honey, I’m home!’ says Alistair. ‘At least, I’ve landed at Manchester, so by the time I’ve collected my baggage I should be back in an hour or so.
Can’t wait to see you both. Bye for now.’

Ellie takes in her surroundings, puzzling over why she’s on the sofa in the living room with me, instead of tucked up in bed. She looks like the worst version of Ellie in the world: she
has flaky grey skin, crusty mascara and lips that are dry and peeling. You can tell it hurts to keep her eyes open; her hangover’s going to be so bad today I can almost hear her head banging
from the other side of the room. Still, at least she’s in one piece.

‘I need to check on Sophie,’ she croaks, getting shakily to her feet. She stands dizzily and makes her way to the door, then creeps up the stairs. She’s gone for five minutes,
reappearing in clean clothes and in the process of removing last night’s makeup with a wipe.

‘She okay?’ I ask.

‘She’s fine – just having a little lie-in. I’m sure she’ll be awake in the next half-hour or so.’

Then her hand drops and she looks at me, her shoulders slumping as her face crumples. She closes her eyes as if the weight of her own self-hatred won’t let her keep them open. I watch
silently as she slides onto the sofa and puts her head in her hands.

I don’t say anything.