When You Walked Back Into My Life (9 page)

This passion had begun when their father had gone to work in Saudi on a lucrative engineering contract. He’d wanted them all to join him, apparently, but her mother had refused – she didn’t like the restrictive society there, particularly for a woman – and her parents eventually drifted apart. Flora was eight when her father began working abroad. He would come back at first, with exotic presents such as camel-skin pouffes, silver bracelets and elaborately embroidered scarves. Flora and Prue would be wound up with intense excitement for days before his arrival, their enthusiasm slowly dwindling as the visit progressed: Frank Bancroft, career-driven and introverted, wasn’t much interested in children, not even his own.

The time between his visits grew longer, and eventually they stopped altogether. Her parents never divorced, never settled with other partners, just lived apart – Frank eventually in Dubai – until they both died, her mum from bowel cancer when Flora was seventeen, her father not until much later. But she hadn’t seen him in the ten years before his death. Prue, on the rare occasions when they talked about their father, made clear that she despised Frank for his lack of parental concern. Flora wasn’t sure what she felt. Perhaps nothing much.

25 September

As Flora hurried home on Tuesday night, she knew she should have changed at Dorothea’s flat, but she hated doing that. It meant deciding what to wear in the morning, which might feel completely wrong when she put it on in the evening, then lugging it all to work with her, often forgetting a vital bit of kit – shoes, for instance, or mascara. And Jake, with his smooth outfits, made her more self-conscious about her appearance. Not that she had a great selection in the wardrobe. Shopping for clothes had always been low on her priority list, and the dip in her wage packet since leaving hospital didn’t help.

She jumped into the shower as soon as she got home and rushed to get dressed. She knew she was going to be late,
but was leaving it till the last moment to tell Jake, sort of hoping some miracle would occur to slow time. Tonight it was black jeans again, a thin pearl-grey jumper with buttons on the sleeves, and the black pumps.

She put her hair up in a loose knot and applied some mascara and lip gloss. Not very thrilling, she thought, as she peered dispiritedly in the bathroom mirror – the only one in her flat and quite inadequate for the purpose. She looked tired. It’ll have to do, she told herself, gathering her keys, her purse, her Oyster card, her lip gloss into her black bag.

Slinging her leather jacket on and wrapping a patterned pink scarf around her neck to alleviate the gloomy black, she hurried out of the flat. And almost screamed in fright.

Coming down the area steps was Fin McCrea.

‘Fuck, you scared me!’

Fin stopped in his tracks and grinned broadly. ‘Nice way to greet an old friend.’

‘What are you doing here? Why didn’t you ring?’ Her voice sounded tinny and thin, her breath caught in her throat.

‘Oh, the usual … me being a total idiot. I went to wash my hands at the hospital and I was being careful of your number, but it was one of those lever taps that gushes out and sprays all over the place and the last three numbers ran
so I couldn’t read them. I tried every combination but all I did was irritate all the poor sods with the wrong combos.’

He was at the bottom of the steps now, his broad shoulders and height looming in the darkness and the damp, cramped space.

‘You’re going out?’

‘Well, yes. Obviously,’ she retorted. His presence was so unsettling.

‘Can’t you cancel, Flo? I really, really want to talk to you.’

‘No! Of course I can’t. Why would I?’

Fin pulled a face.

‘It’s a bit bloody late to drop in on someone unannounced, anyway.’

He looked upwards towards the rest of the house. ‘I thought it best to come under cover of night.’ His voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. ‘I … wasn’t so sure I wanted to be spotted by your sister … yet. I’m sure she hates me.’

Flora gave a short laugh. ‘No, I can see why you wouldn’t.’

There was silence.

‘Listen, I’m late already, I’ve really got to go.’ She moved towards the steps.

‘Will you be long? I could come back.’

Flora just looked at him. ‘Fin, I am going on a date. I have no idea if I’ll be back at all tonight.’

It was as if she had slapped him.

‘I see.’

Exasperated, she said, ‘Did you think I was just sitting at home these last three years, waiting on the off-chance for you to drop by?’ She had been, in fact, but that was beside the point.

He shook his head. ‘No, no, sorry, of course not. Look, I know I fucked up with the number thing, Flo, but I swear I went to Waitrose every morning that week I bumped into you, in the hope you might show up again. I’m desperate to see you. Can I come round tomorrow? Or can we meet somewhere else? I don’t mind what we do as long as we can talk.’

She was halfway up the steps, thinking of Jake sitting waiting for her in Soho. ‘OK. Let’s meet at Gloucester Road station at eight-thirty tomorrow. We can have a drink somewhere round there.’ She was no more keen than he was to have Prue on their case.

Fin perked up at the prospect. Following her up the steps, he repeated, ‘Eight-thirty tomorrow at Gloucester Road station.’

‘Don’t write it on your hand this time,’ she said, before running off towards Ladbroke Grove.

*

The rest of the evening was a blur. She couldn’t concentrate. Jake was sitting at a table with some friends – two women and another man – so at least the pressure wasn’t on for
her to engage on a one-to-one basis. And the music was loud, the basement space small; no one was able to talk much. Jake’s friend was the singer in the band. Tiny, and beautiful in a boyish way, she had a pure, distinctive voice that gave the soft jazz songs an appealing edge. The packed audience loved her.

‘She’s good, eh?’ Jake grinned at Flora during a break in the music.

She nodded. ‘Love her voice.’

‘Glad you could make it,’ he said, but after a hello kiss, he had made no move to hold her hand or be physically close to her, for which she was grateful. Watching him as he talked and laughed with his friends, she realised that she hardly knew him – not least when she compared his face to the intensely familiar lines and contours of Fin’s.

One thought vibrated in her head: seeing Fin.

There was a move afoot to go on to a club. The singer had joined them at the table, clearly on a high from her performance and wanting to party.

‘You’ll come, won’t you?’ Jake took Flora’s hand for the first time as they got up to go. ‘It’s just over in Greek Street.’

‘I’d love to, but I think I’d better get off. I have to be on at eight and I’m a bloody lightweight. Going to work almost killed me after our night last week.’

He laughed. ‘Yeah, know what you mean, but we were in
thrall to Margarita last week. Come for a bit? Go on, it’ll be fun.’ He pulled her up the stairs behind him. The others were already waiting on the pavement and began moving off down the street when they saw Jake.

Flora just wanted to be home. She wanted to think about what Fin had said: ‘I went to Waitrose every morning …’

She held Jake back. ‘Sorry, Jake. Listen, you go. I’m afraid I’m being a party pooper, but thanks for a great evening. Your friend was brilliant.’

Jake grinned good-naturedly. ‘OK, if you’re sure I can’t persuade you.’

They kissed each other goodnight, chaste and on each cheek, as if the intimacy of the other night had never existed.

‘You’re going to Tottenham Court Road?’

Flora nodded.

‘Let’s talk later in the week,’ he said, ‘maybe do something at the weekend?’

She knew from the way he looked at her what he had in mind, and she felt her face freeze in a noncommittal smile.

‘’Night, Jake,’ she said.

*

The day dragged by, Flora making every effort to contain her expectations. We are just meeting for a drink, she kept
telling herself. He wants to apologise, nothing more. But her heart told her different.

‘Are you meeting your young man?’ Dorothea asked her when she went to say goodnight. Flora had changed as soon as Mary arrived. She deliberately didn’t dress up, just wore her jeans and a jumper, kept her hair down and put on a bit of make-up. She didn’t want to be seen to be trying.

‘Umm … he’s not really my young man.’ Flora found she was blushing, not missed by Dorothea.

‘Perhaps you’d like him to be?’ Her eyes sparkled with interest.

‘It’s complicated, I’m afraid.’

‘It can be. I had … a few boyfriends in my time.’ She paused, her head turned on her pillow towards the wall. ‘But only one that mattered.’ She didn’t go on.

‘It didn’t work out?’ Flora had never liked to ask the old lady why she hadn’t married.

‘He died.’ The old lady’s voice was soft.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Was it in the war?’

Dorothea turned back to look at Flora, her expression still veiled by the past. ‘No … no, not the war. It … was an accident, they said.’

Puzzled, Flora didn’t like to ask what this meant. But Dorothea wanted to speak.

‘He was an artist. A very talented man. But he had … he
had times when he couldn’t cope. And one time … one time he … well, he fell.’ Her eyes filled with tears. Flora had never seen such emotion from the old lady before. ‘He fell from the bridge … so they said.’

‘How awful.’ Flora was shocked.

‘We were engaged to be married.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

The old lady gave her a sad smile. ‘It was a long time ago now. But he was such a man. So beautiful. The brightest of stars. You’ve never seen the like.’

‘You must have loved him very much,’ Flora said.

Dorothea didn’t answer. For a moment there was silence, only the sound of her hands rubbing backwards and forwards on the quilt.

‘Sometimes you have to look beyond the complications,’ she said, almost to herself.

Flora squeezed her hand. ‘Mary’s here. Good night, Dorothea, see you in the morning. I hope you sleep well.’

‘I hope I do too,’ said the old lady, smiling.

‘Another date?’ Mary looked Flora up and down. ‘Two nights running. Must be serious.’

‘This isn’t the same one as last night.’

‘Oooh. Two fellas at once. Go, girl.’

‘No … no. Well, not in the way you think.’

Mary laughed. ‘I’m not saying a word!’

‘Tonight’s just a friend.’ Flora heard the insistence in her voice.

‘Right. Well, you enjoy yourself, whatever he is.’

‘Thanks. See you tomorrow. Nothing happened, it’s all in the report.’

It was blustery outside. The welcome blast of fresh air hit Flora as she left the block. She walked quickly, although it would only take her minutes to reach the station. She felt hollow and cold, anticipation holding her body tense. Please let him be there … she felt unable to wait another minute.

And he was. Standing at the entrance, wearing a navy pea jacket that had seen better days, jeans, and heavy black boots she remembered from when they were together.

‘Flora.’ He moved towards her, then stopped.

‘Hi, Fin.’

They both hovered, unsure.

‘Where shall we go?’

She shook her head. ‘Don’t know. I work in Gloucester Road, but I don’t hang out round here much.’

‘Well, there’s one of those bar chains just along a bit on the left. It’s probably OK.’

‘Fine. Let’s do it.’ She didn’t care where they went.

They walked along the pavement, side by side. Flora was so aware of his body next to her, it was as if they were actually touching. The wine bar was not full, but there was
something depressing about the space. It was over-lit and smelled of toilets and chip fat. They glanced at each other and Fin pulled a face.

‘Not liking this.’

‘Me neither.’

They turned on their heels and found a pub on the other side of the street which felt cosier, choosing a seat against the back wall.

‘Glass of red?’

‘Thanks.’

He hadn’t forgotten. For a second it was as if none of the events of the past three years had happened; she and Fin were just going out for a casual drink as they always had. She shook herself, suddenly frightened by the distance she had travelled from reality. You are
not
together now, she told herself firmly, trying to marshal her thoughts about what she wanted to say to him.

Once he was back, seated, the two glasses of red wine on the wooden table between them, there was another awkward silence.

Fin fixed his eyes on Flora.

‘Can I go first?’ he asked.

She nodded, holding her breath as Fin seemed to be preparing himself for a speech.

‘Listen, I’m so, so sorry, Flora. It was a terrible thing I did,
disappearing like that. I want you to know that I’ve regretted it almost since the day I left.’

‘Why, Fin? Why did you do it? There wasn’t even a note.’

He sucked his lower lip, almost gnawing on it. ‘I just freaked about us agreeing to have a baby – the whole trapped, commitment thing.’

Flora shook her head. ‘Not good enough. I can understand you freaking out, but couldn’t you just have said that to me? Told me you weren’t ready?’

‘But you were in your late thirties, I knew it was then or never.’

‘Yeah, well it turned out to be never, didn’t it?’ Flora made no attempt to keep the bitterness out of her voice. ‘You left me without a single word, Fin. Nothing, nada. Just walked out. That’s a terrible thing to do to anyone, especially someone you said you loved. I had no idea where you were, what was going on. I thought something terrible had happened to you. I rang the hospital, filed a missing persons report … it never entered my head that you’d left me. It was Mick who finally rang me, nearly two weeks later, and mentioned he’d seen you in Tibet.’

Fin’s face was rigid with tension as he listened to her diatribe. ‘I know, I know all that, I asked him to call you. And believe me, I don’t feel good about any of it. But I came back,
Flo, less than a year later, and you were already engaged to someone else. What was I supposed to think?’