You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) (31 page)

I
heard the champagne cork pop and Felix handed me a fizzing glass. Then he stood
still for a moment, looking down at me, his face grave – almost sad.

“Laura,”
he said. “I’m only going to say this once, unless you ask me to say it again. I
love you. I never stopped loving you. I regret what happened more than I can
ever say. I’ve spent all this time regretting it, wishing I hadn’t been such a
fucking fool.”

I
looked at the glass in my hand, then put it down carefully on the floor and
wrapped my arms around him. I wanted my embrace to say that I was sorry, too,
that it wasn’t his fault – to comfort and console him. But the feeling of his
body next to mine was too intoxicatingly exciting, and I found myself pressing
hard against him, wanting to imprint the shape of him into my flesh.

Seconds
later, we were kissing each other, as hungry and eager as we’d been the first
time we’d made love in my tiny single bed, our skin still slick with
post-rehearsal sweat. My hands moved over his body, discovering the hardness of
his chest, the smoothness of his back, the powerful muscles of his thighs under
his jeans. His lips moved from my mouth to my neck, then to my collarbone and
lower, pushing aside the neckline of my top.

“Take
it off,” I said, and he did.

I
kicked off my trainers, not bothering to undo the laces. Felix carefully
unbuttoned my jeans and I stepped out of them and stood in front of him in my
bra and pants. He pulled his shirt over his head – I heard a button ping off
and bounce on the floorboards – then held me close again, his naked skin warm
and smooth against mine.

For
a moment, I rested my face against his chest, inhaling the smell of him. Then
he lifted me up, as easily as if I weighed nothing at all, and laid me down on
the bed.

This
was it, I realised through the haze of my desire – this was the moment, the
point of no return. His mouth was pressed against mine, his eyes swimmingly
close, his cock hard against my stomach. I wanted him like I wanted to breathe.

And
then I said, “Felix, stop.”

He
did. He lay down next to me and took my hand, and we both stared up at the
ceiling, our breath coming in identical gasps. Every part of my body yearned
towards him – I could almost feel myself thrumming with desire, like a twanged
guitar string.

I
turned to face him and said, “I can’t do this. Not unless I leave my husband.”

 Felix
looked aghast. “Laura, you can’t. Why would you do that?”

“Isn’t
it obvious?” I said. He put his arm round my shoulder. I could feel his warm
breath against my neck.

“I
can’t let you fuck your life up because of me,” he said. “Or your children’s
lives, or Jonathan’s, even though sometimes I’d like to throttle the bastard.
I’ve got nothing to offer you – you must be able to see that. You’ve got a
great life with him. He’s what you and your kids need.”

“Then
why do I feel so trapped?” I said. “Yes, we’ve got everything we need, if you
mean a nice house and holidays and access to good schools. I should be happy – I
was happy, until I saw you again and felt just the same as I did before, when
we were together. But it’s not the same, is it?”

“You
love him,” Felix said. “If you didn’t, we wouldn’t be lying here talking.”

I
looked down at the white sheets and knew what he meant. “I do love him. I do,
but it doesn’t stop me wanting you. I have since that first time you kissed me
– or Oberon did.”

“Never
in my life have I found it so hard to stay in character,” Felix said.

I
tried to laugh, but what came out was a sort of choking hiccup.

“I
can’t cheat on him. It’s just so sordid, apart from being wrong.”

“I
want to fuck you, of course I do. Jesus, Laura, I’ve been lying awake at night
thinking about nothing else. If you wanted me to, there’s no way I could
resist, even if I knew it could only happen once. But you don’t want that. I
understand why – it is sordid, it is wrong, too many people would end up
getting hurt. But if you left Jonathan for me, you’d never forgive me. You’d
feel so guilty about it that you’d end up hating me. You’d regret it for ever.”

I
thought about that for a second, and I knew that he was right.

“I
shouldn’t have come here,” I said. “To New York, I mean. It’s just been a
really terrible idea all round.”

“Not
for me,” Felix said. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll be able to remember
these two days.”

“We’ll
always have Paris?” I said.

“Something
like that.”

He
wrapped his arms around me again. His body was so familiar, so strong. Holding
him made me feel safe, but I knew it was an illusion. This was the most dangerous
place in the world for me to be. What I wanted to do could never be undone.
Even if we never spoke of it again, even though no one need ever find out what
had happened in that room, no one would hear us over the roar of the traffic
outside and no one could see, I’d know. I’d know, and I’d never be able to
forget it, face my husband or respect myself. 

I
opened my eyes. Felix must have sensed the finality of my decision, because his
lips left mine. I looked at his beautiful, familiar face close to mine for a
moment, and then I said, “I must go.”

“Yes,
I think you must,” he said. “I’m sorry, Laura, I didn’t mean to leap on you. I
just —”

“It
wasn’t only you,” I said. “I want to just as much. That’s why I have to go.”

“I
know,” he said.

I
put my clothes on again, as hastily as I’d removed them. Felix walked with me
to the door. We didn’t say goodbye – he just brushed my cheek with a fingertip,
and I tried to smile, then turned and walked away down the stairs.

I
walked all the way back to our hotel, and by the time I got there it was dark
and I’d stopped crying, although the hollow feeling of sadness in my chest
remained.

It
was only when I was in the lift going up to our room that it occurred to me to
check my phone. I had twelve missed calls. Suddenly, I felt not just sadness
but fear. I slid my key card into the door and opened it.

Jonathan
was sitting on the sofa, his back to me.

“Hi,”
I said. “You’re back early.”

He
stood up and turned to face me. “How long have you been fucking him?” he asked.

I
felt blood rush to my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes,
you do, Laura. He was hanging around you like a bad smell in London, and now
he’s followed you here. Or perhaps you followed him. There I was worried you
were bored, spending your holiday on your own. You haven’t been, have you?”

“Jonathan,
I…” I sought desperately for the right words. I wanted to tell him it was over,
there’d never been anything, really, just a crazy longing in my own head for
something from the past, a dissatisfaction with the present. But the habit I’d
formed of denial was too strong to break now. And how had he found out? Someone
must have seen Felix and me together – but who?

As
if he’d read my thoughts, Jonathan said, “I suppose you thought you were being
discreet. Shame about your boyfriend’s fangirl following. I wouldn’t have seen
this, except I was looking online for something for us to do together.”

He
threw his phone towards me, hard. Reflexively my hand darted out to catch it.
On the screen was the photo Nancy, our waitress, had taken of her and Felix
together the night before. Her face and his were pressed together, smiling, but
in the corner of the image was a slice of another face that was unmistakably
mine.

“Everyone’s
talking about the NYC opening of Flight of Fancy’s
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
this week,” the caption read. “So imagine how excited I was to meet one of its
stars, Felix Lawson, out in Chelsea with his gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Jonathan,
seriously, there is absolutely nothing happening. Felix and I met up for a
drink, and today we went sightseeing together. That’s literally all. I haven’t
cheated on you, ever, and I never will.”

Even
though it was the truth, I knew how very, very close I’d come to it not being.
My words didn’t sound convincing, not even to me.

“Then
why did you lie to me? God, you must think I’m completely fucking stupid.”

“I
don’t! Of course I don’t. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you – it just didn’t seem
important.”

“Oh,
I see,” Jonathan said. “Honesty isn’t important. I guess that tells me all I
need to know about how you feel about our marriage.”

I
stood, still holding Jonathan’s phone with its trivial, incriminating evidence.
I couldn’t deny the truth of what he said: I had lied. I had chosen not to be
honest with him – and not because it wasn’t important, but because I knew full
well how important it was. I’d lied so I could carry on doing what I wanted to
do, enjoy the heady sense of freedom being with Felix gave me, imagine a life
without commitment and duty and responsibility.

And
now, by telling Jonathan that there had been nothing beyond friendship between
me and Felix, I had made it even harder for myself to tell him the real truth.

“You
brought him into our home,” Jonathan said. “My home, our children’s home. Did you
have sex in our bed?”

“Jonathan,
please,” I said. “You have to believe me. I didn’t sleep with Felix. Not in our
bed or anywhere else. I didn’t!”

Then
I remembered the afternoon of my birthday, Felix’s room in London, Felix’s bed
– and I realised that that, too, was not literally true.

My
doubt must have shown instantly on my face, because Jonathan said, “I don’t
believe you, Laura.”

Jonathan’s
phone vibrating in my hand, then ringing shrilly, startled me so much I almost
dropped it. I held it out to him and he glanced at the screen, then swiped it
with his thumb.

“Sadie?”
There was a pause. “Laura’s here. I don’t know why she hadn’t been answering
her phone; it must be on silent. What’s wrong?”

I
felt suddenly icy cold. This was it – the punishment I’d feared, the fate I’d
tempted, was coming sooner than I could ever have expected, and in the most
terrible way imaginable.

“I’ll
tell her,” Jonathan said. “We’ll get her on a flight tonight; she’ll be there
in the morning. It’s not your fault.”

“What
is it?” I asked. “Is it Owen?”

Please,
please let him not be dead, I prayed. If he is, I’ll die too – my heart will
stop and never start again.

“It’s
Darcey,” Jonathan said. “She’s in hospital. Pack your bag. I’ll ring for a taxi
and get the office to change your flight. Do it now, Laura.”

Like
all dancers, I was used to working through pain. I’d finished the ballet during
which I broke my toe, and returned to work after just four days off, which is
why it never healed properly. I’d danced with pulled muscles and tendonitis.
Most days, I danced with my feet bleeding into my pointe shoes. I was far more
used to feeling pain than not feeling it. And now, I was going to have to go on
stage even though my heart was breaking, and I was going to have to dance and
dazzle and smile, smile, smile.

I
looked at my face in my dressing room mirror. I looked white and miserable, and
my eyes were red and swollen from crying. Well, that was the first thing I
needed to sort out. I poured a stream of eye drops into each eye, ignoring the
sting, and while they took effect I did my hair, securing it in its bun with
countless pins and grips and a cloud of industrial-strength hair spray.

Then
I turned my attention to my face. My make-up took me half an hour: heavy
foundation to mask my blotchy pallor, contouring to bring out my cheekbones,
blusher to mimic a healthy glow, layers of shadow to make my eyes look huge and
luminous. By the time I’d carefully stuck on my false eyelashes, the face that
looked back at me wasn’t that of a frightened young girl any more, but a
ballerina, confident, serene and beautiful.

Still
in my leotard, tights, hoodie and legwarmers, I made my way through the corridors
and found an empty studio. I spent almost an hour warming up alone, feeling my
body coming gradually to life, my muscles remembering their individual jobs,
the residual pain and stiffness receding. I forced myself to concentrate only
on my body, preparing it for the task ahead like a mechanic tuning a car. The
turmoil I felt in my mind I securely isolated, the way the sports psychologist
had taught us. Later, on stage, I could let my emotions take over, when there
was useful work for them to do, when they’d add expression to my face and
passion to my steps. Now I had no use for the gnawing pain in my heart, so I
ignored it.

I
was in the best shape I’d ever been, I told myself: honed, trained and
rehearsed. I was ready for this. Now all that remained was to put Laura aside
and become Aurora, the beautiful princess celebrating her birthday with her
doting parents and a court that worshipped her, preparing to meet the four
princes competing to make her their bride.