You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) (11 page)

“Half
ten,” Jonathan said. “You were out like a light, I thought I’d leave you to
it.”

“God.
I had no idea it was so late. I’d better get in the shower. Come on, Monster,
you go downstairs with Daddy while I get ready. And wash those hands.”

Owen
and Jonathan went downstairs, and I heard Darcey’s voice saying plaintively,
“Just one more, Daddy, please?”

I
pushed the duvet reluctantly aside and went to the bathroom, wincing as I
caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were hollow, ringed with
black shadows. My skin looked sallow and dull, I had a spot erupting on my chin
and my hair was a bird’s-nest tangle. That’s what Felix would have seen last
night, I thought. This middle-aged woman. Most of the time I thought I looked
okay for thirty-five. Just a normal mum, with a sensible layered haircut that I
could tie up when I didn’t have time to blow-dry it, and highlights to mostly
hide the grey roots that were appearing in depressing numbers. A slim woman,
not particularly tall or short, with good posture and good teeth and okay skin,
when I wasn’t too tired.

But
the last time he saw me – I hadn’t been ordinary then. I’d been beautiful, and
now I wasn’t. And all the things about Felix that I’d managed to convince
myself were true – that he was too short, that he was a disappointed, lonely
man living in a single room in rented digs wherever he could get work, that
he’d have aged worse than I had – simply didn’t matter. He hadn’t aged badly,
not a bit. In those few moments last night when I’d been face to face with him,
he’d been as vital and desirable as the first time I’d seen him. And my
feelings seemed to have lost none of their power, either.

I
turned the shower on to its hottest setting, waited until steam obscured my
reflection, and stepped under the needles of scalding water. It was all over.
I’d seen him, but it was bound to have happened eventually. It wouldn’t happen
again, or if it did, if I bumped into him in Sainsbury’s when another fourteen
years had passed, I’d deal with it, as I must deal with it now. He was in my
past, and there he must stay.

By
the time I’d dried my hair, dressed and put on a bit of make-up, I was able to
face my reflection with equanimity again. In my skinny jeans and pink cashmere
polo-neck, I looked healthy and pretty. Just another woman taking her family to
the park on a Sunday in the yummy mummy capital of Britain.

“You’ll
never see him again,” I told my reflection, and my reflection nodded back at
me. “Smile,” I commanded, and it did.

“Who
are you talking to, Mummy?” said Darcey from the doorway, snapping me out of my
thoughts.

“Nobody,
Pickle,” I said. “Shall we go to the park? You can go on the slide.”

“Okay.”
Darcey looked down at her trainered feet. “Only first, Daddy said I can go on
YouTube for a bit longer.”

“I
bet he didn’t,” I said. “Come on, get your coat and let’s go. I’ll show you the
place where Mummy was last night, where the play happened.”

“What
play?”

“You
know, that I went to last night. It was outside, in the park.”

“How
do you do a play outside?”

Glad
to have her attention, I explained as we bundled both kids into their coats and
walked down the road.

“It’s
called
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
,” I said. “It’s about some fairies who
live in a forest, and there are two men and two women who are in love, except
they’re not in love with the people they’re supposed to be in love with. And
the fairies cast loads of spells, and turn one man into a donkey, and the Fairy
Queen falls in love with him.”

“Is
that meant to be funny?” Darcey asked.

“Yes,
I suppose it is,” I said. “Because he’s not really a donkey, he’s just got a
donkey’s head stuck on over his, and after a bit the fairies magic it off again,
and the Fairy Queen falls back in love with her husband.”

“But
what about the poor man who was a donkey?” Darcey said. “Who’s he in love
with?”

I
glanced at Jonathan for help.

“No
one,” he said. “I expect he’s got a wife at home, and children, and is quite
glad to go back home afterwards, and get a telling-off from his wife for being
out in the forest all night. But the story doesn’t say, so you have to imagine
what happened to him next.”

“Look,”
I said, as we arrived at the bandstand. “They had a bar set up here, and
there’s the bit where you go through to get on to the set. It’s all closed off
now. I wonder if there’s a performance tonight.”

I
felt a sudden wild urge to text Zé, see if she could pull strings with her
well-connected friend and get us tickets for another performance. I longed to
be back inside the forest, in the darkness, exploring deeper, seeing things I’d
missed last night. Feeling the adrenaline and wine coursing through my body and
turning me, briefly, into someone else, someone without responsibilities, with
nowhere to go but deeper into the dream. Seeing Felix again, watching him in
costume and in character, knowing, this time, who the man was behind the mask.
But that way madness lay.

“You’re
still thinking about it, aren’t you?” Jonathan said, once Darcey had run off to
play on the swings.

“About
what?”

“The
play, Laura. I can see you’ve got something on your mind.”

“I…
yes, I suppose I am, a bit. It was pretty amazing. You saw the reviews.”

“We
can do more of that sort of thing, you know, now we’re in London. It would be a
shame not to.” He lifted Owen up on to the slide. “Down you go, Mummy will
catch you at the bottom. We can organise babysitters, book a few Saturday
nights out. God knows I could do with a bit of culture.”

“Yes,
good idea,” I said, passing Owen back for another go. I imagined going to see a
West End show, having dinner afterwards, being tourists for a night. A few
months ago the idea would have seemed like fun; now it seemed dull and
stifling. 

I
looked at Jonathan, laughing with our son as he hoisted him up on to his
shoulders. The past ten years had added a few grey strands to his dark hair. He
bought thirty-four inch waist jeans now, not thirty-two as he used to. But he
was still as handsome as he’d been when I met him. You are extremely bloody
lucky, Laura, I told myself firmly.

“I’m
starving,” Jonathan said. “What are we doing for lunch?”

“There’s
a chicken in the fridge,” I said. “I can bung it in the oven with some
potatoes. Make a salad.”

Jonathan
looked at me, sensing disinterest. “Fuck it, let’s go to the pub,” he said.

“Daddy
said a rude word,” Darcey said.

The
next week, things returned to their normal chaos, and I had no chance to think
about Felix or, indeed, very much else at all. Whether it was a virus or dodgy
chicken nuggets I don’t know, but both the children were horribly ill, and I
spent my days slumped in front of CBeebies with a limp, forlorn little figure
on either side of me, and my nights cleaning up sick. It was awful, it went on
for three days, and by the end of it I felt like a limp rag, and probably
smelled like one too.

When
at last Darcey and Owen were well enough to keep down toast and Marmite and
watered-down apple juice, I packed them off back to school and nursery with an
overwhelming sense of relief. Once I’d handed Darcey over to Mrs Odewayu,
assuring her that it had been forty-eight hours since she was last sick,
whatever had caused it was now in the past and she wasn’t going to infect the
entire classroom, I crossed the road and knocked on Zé’s door. I felt horribly
aware that I hadn’t washed my hair since Sunday and had worn the same jeans for
more days than I liked to remember, but I was also desperately in need of adult
company and a conversation that didn’t revolve around how people’s tummies were
feeling and whether we were going to watch
The Clangers
or
Postman
Pat
next.

“Hey,”
she said, opening it, looking like a creature from another world in her cream
leather skirt, over-the-knee boots and linen jumper. “Where have you been? I
thought you’d left the country.”

“Home,”
I said. “Battening down the hatches with two poorly kids. It’s been grim.”

“God,
you poor thing,” she said. “Coffee?”

I
accepted gratefully and entered the serene haven of her immaculate house.

“I’m
so bloody glad to have Carmen back, I can’t tell you,” Zé said, firing up the
espresso machine. “Juniper’s going through a Phase. She’s acting eight going on
sixteen, bursting into tears at the slightest thing and slamming doors and
generally being a little madam.  It makes me want to cry and slam doors right
back, but Carmen seems to be able to manage her.”

“Do
you think she could be unhappy at school?”

“God
knows. I’ve asked her, I’ve had a meeting with her teacher but Juniper won’t
tell me anything and apparently she’s angelic in the classroom. She’s not
naturally academic. She’s like me, I was bottom in everything at school. So
anyway, how did you enjoy Saturday night? We didn’t really have a chance to
talk about it afterwards.”

“It
was fabulous,” I said. “Thanks so much again for the ticket. I got lost in the
forest bit, and I got taken off for a scene with Oberon.”

“Really?
What happened?” she asked.

I
told her about the lifting of the mask, what I could remember about the words,
and about the kisses, feeling my cheeks colouring at the memory. I didn’t tell
her that I knew who the actor was. I don’t know why – part of me was longing to
talk about Felix, but part of me wanted to keep it secret, keep my feelings
buried deep inside me where they belonged.

“It
gets to you, doesn’t it?” Zé said. “I’ve been dreaming about it, you know, and
I never remember my dreams. I won’t tell you what happens in them though,
there’s nothing duller than hearing about other people’s dreams. Anyway, I was
going to ask you – any chance you and your husband are free on Saturday night?
If you can face my company two weeks in a row, that is.”

“Of
course I can. Let me check with Jonathan. As far as I know we haven’t got any
plans…” I took out my phone and checked the diary. Saturday was free. I
immediately put ‘Seeing Zé, L and J’ in the space, so Jonathan would see it and
have no excuse for saying he didn’t know we had anything on, and arranging
post-golf drinks or something. “I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll just need to
sort someone to look after the children.”

“Carmen
will do it,” Zé said. “Juniper’s at a sleepover. Bung her forty quid and she’ll
be only too happy – she’s saving up for a trip to Ibiza with her mates in the
summer, she’s desperate for extra cash.”

“Great,
if you’re sure,” I said.

“I’ll
check with her, but it’ll be fine,” Zé said. “I’ve asked my friend Anton, the
one who sorted out the tickets to the show, out for dinner to say thanks. He’ll
probably bring a boyfriend. And Rick will come, if he knows Jonathan’s there to
talk shop to. So there’ll be six of us. I’ll book Le Bouchon d’Or.”

This
time, I resolved, I wasn’t going to be caught on the hop, looking mumsy and
frumpy in contrast to my new friend’s groomed glamour. I made appointments to
have my hair highlighted and my eyebrows threaded, sent the black dress I’d
worn to Jonathan’s work Christmas party to the dry cleaners and bought a chunky
black and silver necklace to wear with it.

I
realised I’d achieved the desired effect when Jonathan did a double take at me
in my finery and said, “God, you look gorgeous, Laura. We should go out to nice
places more often, so I can show off my glamorous wife.”

“Your
wife’s forgotten how to be glamorous,” I said gloomily. “It feels seriously
weird to be wearing something that doesn’t have egg stains on it.”

“I
can assure you it was worth the effort,” Jonathan said, running his hands over
my hips and kissing me. “In fact, we’ve got fifteen minutes and the children
are in bed…”

He
pulled me close and kissed me again, pulling up the dress and stroking my
thighs.

“Stockings,”
he said. “Is this some kind of special occasion?”

“Just
felt like it,” I said. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Or smell too bad.”

I
ran my lips over his neck, breathing in the freshly showered smell of him,
feeling the smoothness of his newly shaved skin. In my four-inch heels I was
tall enough to kiss him without standing on tiptoes as I usually did. I undid
the top button of his shirt, then the next one down and the next, stroking his
skin with my fingertips.

Then
the doorbell rang.

By
the time we’d let Carmen in, shown her where everything was, given her the
broadband password and checked one last time that the kids were asleep, the
moment had truly passed. Still, as we walked hand in hand to the restaurant, I
felt a gentle, fizzing undercurrent of excitement. I could feel the tops of my
stockings encircling my thighs, and the lace of my new underwear against my
skin, unfamiliar and slightly, pleasantly scratchy. The air was cool on my bare
spine where my dress scooped low over my back.