Women of a Dangerous Age (10 page)

‘Looks OK. Smells a bit.'

‘Honestly, Jamie. Don't go overboard. You might die from the enthusiasm.'

‘It's hard to get really worked up over a shop, Mum.' He opened the door into the back yard and stepped back as a torrent of water sluiced out of a broken gutter. ‘Are you absolutely sure this is what you want to do with your money? You could lose the lot.'

‘I could. But if I don't do this, then I won't know. You know what they say: Better to have tried and all that.' She wanted him to understand but he only mustered a half-hearted ‘Yeah, yeah' as he paused in front of a mirror fixed to the wall. Jeans straight – check. Shoes, trendily unpolished – check. Jumper just skimming the belt so a band of branded pants elastic could be seen – check. Navy single-breasted wool coat, collar up – check. Hair waxed, just so – check. Looking cool.

How world-weary the young could be, when everything was still at their feet. Unlike Jamie, she knew how fast life and its possibilities could slip away. The thought was followed by a prickle of excitement.

‘Look, this is a real ambition of mine that I've never had the time or opportunity for. So you know what? I'm going to go for it. And you never know, I might just succeed.' She let the words, or I'll die trying, remain unsaid.

‘Right, Mum! You gotta do what you gotta do.' He turned back to her with a broad smile that touched her heart.

‘You really think so?' She still wanted his reassurance.

‘Yeah. I really do. What are you going to call it?'

As he put his arm around her, she sank back against him. Not so long ago, she had been the one who comforted, consoled and supported the children. She couldn't have told him how much pleasure she gained from this unexpected reversal of roles.

She'd had the answer to his question at her fingertips for years now. ‘“Puttin' on the Ritz”.'

As she said it, he squeezed her shoulder. ‘That's cool. I like it.'

At that moment, the young sharp-suited lettings agent walked through the door, having been arguing the toss with a traffic warden since he'd let them in. His flushed complexion suggested their discussion had not gone the way he would have liked, but he had a job to do, a commission to earn. ‘What do you think?'

‘It's terrific. Just what I was looking for. Now what do we do?' She held out her hand for him to shake.

‘Whoa! Mum! Don't you think we should go home and
double-check the finances first?' Jamie looked anxious as she propelled herself headfirst into an agreement, probably worried about the flak he'd get from his brother and sister for not keeping their wayward mother in check.

‘Don't worry. I won't blame you if it's the wrong decision. But this place feels so right. And it's not as if I haven't done enough research on the area. Imagine that wall a smoky pink, dark grey curtains in front of the cubicles, bleached floorboards, off-white shelving …' She could see that she'd lost him as he responded to the chirrup of his mobile.

‘Mm. Still think you shouldn't make a decision on the spot. Shouldn't you think it all through one last time?' he insisted as he turned his attention to texting someone.

‘He's probably right,' added the agent. As he fingered his tie, loosening the knot and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, she noticed the acne scars along his jawline. ‘You don't want to make a mistake. Perhaps talk to your husband first?'

That did it. Jumped-up little git.

‘I've been through everything with my financial advisor [Fiona] and my guarantor [Fiona]. I know the area, I know what I want, what I want it for and what I can afford. This is it. End of. And, for your information, I don't have a husband.'

The young man looked nervously at Jamie who tore his attention from the tiny screen for a moment to shrug his shoulders. ‘I'd agree if I were you, mate.'

‘Do we have a deal, then?' asked Lou, hand outstretched, already envisaging herself behind the counter, sewing her latest orders while customers browsed through the stock.
She refused to entertain the idea of failure. She would introduce a range of vintage and modern accessories … and then a brainwave struck her – she would ask Ali if she'd be interested in creating a range of jewellery unique to the shop, or if she knew someone who might. She had loved hearing Ali's enthusiasm for her own business and had admired the pieces of jewellery she had with her on holiday. When she'd got home, she'd visited Ali's website to see more. The idea of them collaborating was genius.

‘I'll get the paperwork ready for you then,' said the agent as he shook her hand.

Out on the street, Lou kissed Jamie goodbye, and agreed to turn up at the lettings office the next day to complete the necessary forms. Left alone, she turned to look at her shop, imagining the name ‘Puttin' on the Ritz' in black on a deep pink fascia. Or should that be green? She crossed the road and stood on the other side of the street, gazing at her future, relishing her nervous excitement and resisting the temptation to do a triumphant jig. This really was the start to a new chapter. She was not going to be at home, invisible any more. She dug into her mock-croc bag for her mobile. The number calling wasn't one she recognised, but the caller's voice was.

‘Lou? It's Sanjeev. Sanjeev Gupta. Remember me? We met on the plane from Delhi.'

‘Of course I remember you. I'm not
that
senile!'

The sound of his laughter reminded her how much she had enjoyed his company.

‘I'm in London for a few more days and wondered if you might like to meet for dinner. Are you free at all?'

And now it looked as though she might enjoy it again. She didn't have to think about her reply. ‘Yes, I'd love to.'

‘That's good. I'd like to introduce you to my favourite London curry house. On Thursday, perhaps?'

‘Actually I'm meeting Ali then. You remember my friend from the plane? Why don't you come along?' Good idea. Safety in numbers. After last night, she wasn't sure how much she trusted herself any more – even with a stranger. She and Ali could talk business over the phone before then.

‘No, that wouldn't be right at all. I don't want to spoil your evening together. I'm leaving for Birmingham the next day. But the IT company I work for is keeping me over here for some time. I'll be back in London in a couple of weeks. So what about the Friday or Saturday then instead?'

Lou was about to insist that he joined them, then realised that perhaps his invitation wasn't intended for two. And so what if she didn't trust herself? He wasn't her ex-husband and she did like him. That frisson, the one that she'd almost forgotten about, was definitely there. Instead she said, ‘Friday would be perfect.'

‘Good. Could you get to Burma Street, just off the London Road, for eight o'clock? A little restaurant called Indian Spice.'

‘I'll be there.' As she hung up and turned down the street, she gave a little skip. A day that had begun so badly had turned out so well. How much she would have to talk to Ali about when they met. How little did Lou know.

The Tube was jammed. People pressed up against one another, the smell of wet clothes filling what little air there was in the carriage, jabbing umbrellas and bags, windows misted with condensation. As the train came to a standstill in a tunnel, Ali shut her eyes. She preferred travelling by bus whenever she could, but when the weather was as wet and windy as it was today, with traffic snarled up in every street, the Tube was the only way to get anywhere fast.

She became aware of a foot crushing hers. Her eyes snapped open and she glared at the middle-aged man in front of her whose hand was much nearer than necessary to hers on the handrail. He murmured an apology and moved it a few inches along, moving the offending foot at the same time. Ali returned to her thoughts, taking her mind off however many minutes the train was likely to be stationary.

For the last few nights, she hadn't had much sleep as her thoughts propelled themselves round her brain at an ever more confusing speed: mother; father; Ian; Don; mistress; marriage; work. So many of the assumptions that had kept
her grounded for so long had been put in doubt and now an email from Don was sitting unanswered in her in-box. She knew the words off by heart.

She had done nothing about replying. She had enough on her mind, trying to reconcile herself with all that had happened to her since she had returned from India. As the shock of Ian's rejection wore off, she had been left feeling utterly empty, wondering if she was fated to be left by everyone she loved. Each morning, she'd wake late, exhausted, her eyes sore, her head aching and nothing resolved. She didn't want to talk to anyone, preferring to remain alone until she was ready. Even the studio didn't provide its usual consolation. She had found it easier to avoid Rick by going in late, when she knew that he would have left for the evening.

When the coast was clear, she'd stay long into the night attempting a new collection inspired by some of the Mughal floral and leaf motifs she'd seen in India but in need of some clever contemporary twist that she had yet to find. Distracted by her problems, she'd return home in the small
hours, exhausted and frustrated by having achieved so little. She knew she couldn't continue like this if she was to keep her customers satisfied. Or keep her customers at all.

On the one hand, she was bruised and devastated by Ian. She blamed herself for having been so stupid as to believe that a man like him would change. Once a lover, always a lover. And now she was the older jilted woman. Yet, strangely, as long as she went over what had happened, she couldn't stop a tiny splinter of relief working its way into her heart. She had begun to realise that she wasn't grieving the loss of Ian so much as the loss of the dreams that she had pinned on him. As the days went by, anger began to take over from grief. For three days now, she had been in a continuing conversation with herself as she attempted to clear her head, to give her space to think about how to react to the news both about her mother and Don.

A younger woman was tapping her arm, offering Ali her seat. She shook her head, managed a smile and mouthed, ‘No, it's all right, thanks,' and shut her eyes again, thinking, I'm only forty-fucking-five not sixty! I must look truly awful. Note to self: step up the concealer.

At last she was able to push herself through the crush of bodies and out onto the platform at Green Park. She emerged into the ticket area, careful not to slip on the grimy rainwater washing across the floor. As she walked down the wet street, head bent against the sheeting rain, poorly protected by her red spotted umbrella, she wished she had postponed their first get-together since India until she felt livelier, more interesting. Originally, she had been going to meet Lou in the evening but she had suggested tea instead.
Feeling as she did, she wanted to keep the meeting short, so she could go on to the studio from there. Lou had sounded surprised – ‘afternoon tea' didn't seem to be a familiar concept – but had agreed to switch her day around and sew in the evening. She had said she had something to ask Ali, but wouldn't hint at what it was.

Ali jumped back as a bus swished through a huge puddle, sluicing water across the pavement, then she turned the corner towards the Regis. She'd picked the hotel because she occasionally met clients there, more convenient for them than having to traipse out to the studio. Sitting in hushed five-star luxury added a bit of pizzazz to a meeting, and an aura of success to her. She made her way through the lobby to the lounge where she sat herself at a low table, protected by a pillar but with a good view of who was entering and leaving the hotel. Arranged around the room, low tables were placed at a discreet distance from one another, surrounded by taupe and beige faux-suede bucket chairs. She looked around the couple of murmured business meetings, an elderly mother being entertained, what must be an illicit afternoon liaison, a couple keeping their small daughter in check. No sign of Lou.

Sitting by the marble fireplace, her back to the oak-panelled wall, Ali got out her BlackBerry and began to answer one of her recently ignored emails, then clicked it off. She reckoned she could squeeze in a couple more days of self-pity before having to knuckle down to her usual routine. She was about halfway through her in-tray when a clock chiming made her look up and she spotted Lou. She barely recognised the woman who stepped in from the
lobby. A tailored maroon coat and a pair of wet mauve suede ankle boots had replaced the loose gaudy linen and walking sandals; the hair was as uncontrolled as before but discreetly applied make-up made her look younger. As Ali waved, Lou's face lit up in recognition and she came over. She unwound her richly coloured paisley pashmina. Worn in India it shrieked tourist, but here it said expensive, elegant and warm. Removing her coat and hanging it over the back of the chair, she sat down, pulling her skirt straight as she did so.

‘Great coat.'

‘Do you think so? Thanks. I made it.' She turned to hand it to the waiter.

‘You did? I'm impressed.' Ali could see that the quality of the workmanship was not far short of couture standard. And although the overall look was too incoherent, too gaudy for Ali's own taste, somehow Lou carried it off with panache. Ali glanced down at her own neat black trouser suit and white shirt.

‘Well, be even more impressed.' Lou was obviously bursting with her news. ‘Since we got back I've found the shop that is going to be the making of me – and you too, maybe.' She took the menu from the diminutive brown-uniformed waiter who was hovering over them. ‘My Lord! Forty-six pounds for a champagne tea's a bit steep, isn't it? I'd thought we were just going to have a cuppa and a biscuit.'

‘Let's share one then and have another glass of champagne.' Ali placed their order. ‘Now tell me. What's happened?' She was surprised to find that just being in Lou's company was making her feel better already.

While they waited for their tea, Lou began to explain, her excitement infectious as she described the premises and her plans for them.

‘So,' Lou concluded, ‘I want the shop to have a touch of class, an added something. I thought a unique range of jewellery would do it and, of course, I thought of you. I'm going to add vintage and modern bags and accessories as well. Destination shopping. What do you think?'

Ali fingered her necklace as she noticed Lou looking at it. She doubted Lou's customers would run to quite such expense, but perhaps this was an unlooked-for opportunity, and with what superlative timing. ‘You want me to design a range for the shop?' she asked, tentatively. She had often considered designing some more modest lines, using semi-precious stones that would stretch her in a new and more commercial direction, but had never found the impetus to get anything under way. A new challenge and a new source of revenue were exactly what she needed.

Lou nodded. ‘Why not? We'd discuss ideas but you'd have completely free rein otherwise. I've looked at your website and I love your designs.'

Ali felt instantly enthused. ‘Tell you what. Why don't I come and see the shop and why don't you come to the studio where we can look through my ideas? If we both think it will work, then we'll find a way to go forward. But in principle, I love the idea.'

‘Deal,' said Lou, holding out her hand to be shaken. Ali took it, already confident the two of them would make a sound working partnership.

As they let go, the waiter returned with two silver pots of
Earl Grey, fine bone china cups and saucers, two flutes of pink champagne and a cake stand carrying minute sandwiches, two tiny scones each and some minuscule fancy cakes on top.

‘Goodbye, resolutions,' said Lou, taking an egg-and-cress sandwich. ‘You'd think they'd use something other than sliced bread at that price. Look at it! Still, at least the crusts are off. My God, I almost forgot,' she said suddenly. ‘Another thing to tell you. That guy from the plane, Sanjeev, called me. I'm going for a superior curry with him when he's next in town.'

‘Really?!' This was the last thing Ali would have expected given the way they'd met. Besides, Lou barely knew the man. Ali cut her sandwich into three neat pieces, remembering the tall, distinguished Indian with such impeccable manners.

‘I know.' Lou chortled. ‘But he's an interesting guy and no strings. A delightful change from the man I once called my husband. Who, incidentally, got me drunk and blagged his way into my bed. What was I thinking?' She screwed up her face as she reached for a scone and started slathering it with cream. By the time she'd finished telling the story, Ali was weak with laughing.

‘That's better,' said Lou. ‘When I came in, you looked miserable. Whatever's happened?'

Having been so sure she didn't want to talk to anyone, Ali needed no more encouragement. Perhaps because she hardly knew Lou, perhaps because she felt she was a friend, or perhaps because they knew no one in common to whom Lou could betray her confidence, the words came easily.
Lou sat quietly, intent on what she was hearing, only interrupting with the odd question to clarify, helping herself to a tiny fruit scone as she listened. Out it all came: Don, the string of lovers, Ian, hopes for the future, broken promises, unrealistic and disappointed dreams, the email from Don as yet unanswered. All she left out was what she had recently found out about her mother. That belonged to another conversation altogether and could wait. As she unburdened herself, something she rarely allowed herself to do with anyone, Ali felt an unfamiliar sense of release. Talking to a sympathetic listener who understood without judging her was giving her a new perspective. ‘My God,' she said when she'd finished. ‘You're the first person I've told about all that.'

‘Sounds to me like you've had a tough time but a bloody lucky escape,' was Lou's conclusion. ‘Ian sounds like a Grade A bastard with a midlife crisis. I've no time for those men who are prepared to kill their relationship with a good woman just to prove they're still irresistible to someone younger. And someone from the office too. Pathetic. And what about his wife?' She picked up the teapot, only to have it taken from her hand by the over-attentive waiter who poured for them.

Ali waited until he'd moved to the next table before continuing. ‘You're probably right. It's just that I thought I was happy with things as they were, but since he suggested us living together and I saw another kind of life was possible, I know that I'm not. I don't want to be that person any more.'

‘Be careful what you wish for. Wasn't it Katharine Hepburn who said, “If you want to sacrifice the admiration
of many men for the criticism of one, go ahead, get married”? She had a point, you know.'

‘But you've just come out of your marriage. You're bound to see it like that.' Ali scraped an almost invisible layer of cream onto her scone followed by an equally meagre dab of jam.

‘Of course. But from where I'm standing, life as a mistress sounds pretty good in some ways. All the good bits of a relationship and none of the bad.' Lou spooned empty a shot glass full of raspberry mousse. ‘Mm. I could get used to this.'

‘I know how it sounds. Romantic weekends away, decent meals out, good sex, none of those male issues, a life of your own. But …'

‘But no boredom factor, no irritating habits, no being taken for granted.'

‘And no children, no commitment, no companionship, no love,' added Ali, twisting her mother's rings round her finger. ‘When I thought he was offering that to me, or at least some of it, I was shocked at first. Then I realised those were the things that I wanted, what was missing. And now they've been taken away, I feel awful, bereft. I don't want a future of being alone.'

At that moment, the little girl detached herself from the next table where her two parents were arguing in too-loud whispers. Lou caught the wife's angry ‘You said you'd arrange it' just as their daughter wandered off in the direction of the cake trolley. They didn't see her trip over and fall, hitting her face on a chair leg. A loud wail carried around the room. All the tea drinkers looked up from their
conversations, startled. The mother leaped to her feet, throwing a ‘Why weren't you watching her?' at her partner who called for the bill, then rushed out after them.

‘That's what you want instead?' Lou asked.

‘I know the chances of me having any of that are worse than slim now and the risks huge.' Ali sounded regretful. ‘But yes, I do at least want a partnership, someone to grow old with.'

‘Easy,' said Lou. ‘You're not even fifty. Plenty of time yet. The later you leave it, the more likely it is to last.'