A Hopeless Romantic (2 page)

It seemed as if Jo and Chris had been together forever, and Laura could barely remember when he hadn’t been on the scene. He fitted right in, with his North London pub ways, his easy, uncomplicated personality, so laid-back and friendly compared to Jo’s dry, rather controlled outlook on life. He had friends who lived nearby—some lovely friends. They were all a gang now, him and Jo, his friends, Yorky and Laura, sometimes Laura’s brother, Simon, when he wasn’t off somewhere being worthy and making girls swoon (where Laura was always falling in love, Simon was always falling into bed with a complete stranger, usually by dint of lulling her into a false sense of security by telling her he worked for a charity). And Hilary, also from university and christened Scary Hilary—because she was—and her brother, Hamish, their other friends from work or university, and so on. Laura’s easy, happy, uncomplicated life went on its way. She had a brief, intense affair with a playwright she thought was very possibly the new John Osborne, until Yorky pointed out that he was, in fact, just an idiot who liked shouting a lot. Yorky grew a mustache for the autumn. Laura got a raise at work. They bought a PlayStation to celebrate—games for him, karaoke for her. Yes, everything was well within its usual frame, except that Laura began to feel, more and more, as she looked at Jo and Chris so in love and looked at the landscape of her own dull life, that she was taking the path of least resistance, that her world was small and pathetic compared to Jo’s. That she was missing out on what she most wanted in the world.

Under these circumstances, it was hardly surprising that the next time Laura fell, she fell hard. Because one day, quite without meaning to, she woke up, got dressed, and went to work, and everything was normal, and by the next day, she had fallen in love again. But this time, she knew it was for real. And that was when everything started to go wrong.

chapter two

L
aura’s grandmother, Mary Fielding, was the person Laura loved most in the world (apart from whomever it was she was in love with at that moment), even more so perhaps than her parents, than her brother. Mary was a widow. She had lost her husband, Xan, eight years before, and she lived on her own, in a small but perfectly formed flat in Marylebone. There were various reasons why Laura idolized Mary, wanted to be just like her, found her much more seductive than her own parents. Mary was stylish—even at eighty-four, she was always the best-dressed person in a room. Mary was funny—her face lit up when she was telling a joke, and she could make anyone roar with laughter, young or old. But the main reason was that Mary had found true love. Her husband, Xan, was the love of her life to an extent Laura had never seen before or since. They had met when each was widowed, in Cairo after the Second World War. Mary had a daughter, Angela, Laura’s mother. Xan also had a daughter, Annabel, whom Laura and Simon called aunt, even though she wasn’t really related to them, and neither was Xan.

Because of her mother’s natural reserve, it was Mary whom Laura told about her love life, her latest disaster, the person she was in love with. Because she lived in central London, and so not far from Laura on her way into and out of work, it was Mary Laura called in to see, to talk to, to listen to. And it was Mary whom Laura learned from, when it came to true love. She did not learn it from her own unemotional parents. No, she learned that true love was epic stuff, as told by Mary.

One of Laura’s favorite stories was how Mary and Xan had realized they were in love, on a trip out to the pyramids to see the sun rise. It had been pitch black as they rode out, crammed in a jeep with the other members of their club in Cairo. And as the sun rose, Xan had turned to Mary and said, “You know I can’t live without you, don’t you?” And Mary had said, “I know.”

And that was that. They were married six months later.

George and Angela, by contrast, had met at a choral society function off the Tottenham Court Road, when they were both at university. Somehow, Laura felt this wasn’t quite the same.

“You are the love of my life. The woman I want to grow old with. I love you.”

He was staring at her intensely, his eyes boring into hers. Laura raised her hand to his chest and said breathlessly, “I love you, too.”

Beyond them, the sun was rising, flooding the vast desert landscape with pink and orange color. Sand whipped her face, the silk of her headscarf caught in the breeze. She could feel the cold smoothness of the material of his dinner jacket against her skin as he caught her and pulled her toward him.

“Tell me again,” Laura whispered in his ear. “Tell me again that you love me.”

Suddenly, a microphone crackled loudly, jerking Laura back to reality, as someone cleared his throat and said, “To my beautiful wife, Jo!”

“Aah,” the wedding guests murmured in approval, as Laura came back down to earth with a bump. There was some sniffing, especially from Jo’s mother up at the top table, as Chris raised a glass to his new bride, kissed her, and then sat down, to a welter of applause and chair shuffling.

“Aah,” Laura whispered to herself, leaving her daydream behind with a sigh. She looked at Jo, her best friend, so beautiful and happy-looking, and found tears were brimming in her eyes. She turned to her flatmate, Yorky, who was sitting next to her, and sniffed loudly.

“Look at her,” she said. “Can you believe it?”

“No,” said Yorky, raising an eye at Chris’s cousin Mia. Yorky had recently begun to teach himself how to raise one eyebrow, in a “come to me, pretty laydee” way. This had involved several hours of grimacing into Laura’s hand mirror in the sitting room of their flat, whilst Laura was trying to watch TV. She got very irritated when he did this, and frequently told him that being able to raise one eyebrow was not the key to scoring big with the ladies. Wearing matching socks was. As was having a tidy room. And not acting like a crazy stalker when some girl said no after you asked her out. These were the things that Laura frequently told Yorky he should be concentrating on; yet, much to her deep chagrin, he ignored her every time. For Yorky’s retort was always that what Laura knew about dating was worthless.

What a perfect, happy day, Laura thought as she gazed around the room, clapping now that the speeches were over. She was gripping her glass, searching for someone she couldn’t see. Suddenly her eye fell on Jo and she watched her for a moment, truly radiant, happy and serene in an antique lace dress, her hand resting lightly on her new husband’s as they sat at the top table. Laura couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of something sad. It wasn’t just any bride sitting there in the white dress with the flowers and the black suits around her. It was Jo, Jo with whom she had danced all night in various Greek nightclubs, with whom she had spent hours in Top-shop changing rooms, with whom she had stayed up all night when she sobbed her heart out after her last boyfriend, Noel, dumped her. It was her best friend, and it was weird.

She blinked and caught Jo’s eye, suddenly overcome with emotion. Jo smiled at her, winked, and mouthed something. Laura couldn’t tell what it was, but by the jerking of her head toward the best man, Chris’s newly single brother, Jason, Laura thought she could guess what Jo meant. Laura followed her gaze, shaking herself out of her mood. Jason was nice, yes. Definitely. But he wasn’t…Damn it, where
was
he?

“Who are you looking for?” said Yorky suspiciously, as Laura cast her eyes around the room.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Who is it? You keep looking round like you’re expecting to see someone.”

“No one,” said Laura rather huffily. “Just looking, that’s all.”

“There’s Dan,” said Yorky.

“Who?” said Laura.

“Dan. Dan Floyd. He’s raising his glass. He’s talking to Chris.”

“Right,” said Laura calmly. “Ah, there’s Hilary. And her mum. I should go and say—”

“Laura!” said Jo, coming up behind her, dragging someone by the hand. “Don’t go! Here’s Jason! Jason, you remember Laura?”

“Hey. Of course,” said Jason, who was an elongated, blonder version of Chris. “Hi, Laura.”

“Er,” said Laura. “Hi, Jason, how are you?”

There is nothing more likely to induce embarrassment in a single girl than the obvious setup at a wedding in front of friends. Laura smiled at Jason, and once more cast a fleeting glance around the room. Where was he?

“Good, thanks, good,” said Jason, as Jo nudged Yorky and grinned, much to Laura’s annoyance.

“See the match on Wednesday?” Yorky asked Jason, in an attempt at bloke-ish comradeship.

“What match?” said Jason.

“Oh…” Yorky said vaguely. “You know. The match. The big game.”

“What, mate?” Jason repeated, scratching his head.

“Anyway, great to see you, mate,” said Yorky, changing tack and banging Jason hard on the shoulder, so that he nearly doubled up. “So, Laura was just saying—Laura? Help me out here.”

Jason gazed at Yorky, perplexed. Laura looked wildly around her, seeking an escape, and then someone over Jason’s shoulder caught her eye.

“Jason split up with Cath two months ago,” Jo hissed in her ear, in a totally unconvincing stage whisper, as Laura gazed into the distance. It was him, of course it was him, she would know him anywhere. “You know he’s living in Highbury now? Laura, you should—”

But Laura was no longer standing next to her; she had turned around to say hello to their friend Dan, who had appeared by her side. Vaguely she heard Jo’s tut-tutting; vaguely she was aware that she should be making an effort.

For Jo hadn’t seen the look on Laura’s face after Dan tapped her on the shoulder. In fact, Jo and Yorky hadn’t been seeing quite a lot of things lately, and if they had, they would have been worried. Especially knowing Laura as they did.

“You had a good evening, then?” Dan was saying to Laura, smiling wickedly at her.

“Yes, thanks,” she replied, looking up at him, into his eyes. “Good speeches.”

“Great,” he said, shifting his weight so that he was exactly facing her. It was a tiny movement, almost imperceptible to Jo, Yorky, or any of the other hundred and fifty people in that room, but it enclosed the two of them together as tightly as if they were in a phone box.

Dan smiled at her again as Laura pulled her shawl over her shoulders, and she smiled back, helplessly, feeling her stomach turn over at his sheer perfectness. His dark blond hair, the boyish crop that curled over his collar. His tanned, strong face, wide cheekbones, blue eyes, lazy smile. He reminded her of a cowboy, a farmhand from the Wild West. He was so relaxed, so easy to be with, so easy to be happy with, and Laura glowed as she gazed up at him, simply exhilarated at the prospect of a whole evening in his company—a whole evening, during which anything could happen. Suddenly she could barely remember whose wedding it was, why those rich people were there—she didn’t care.

He was here. She was here with Dan, and he was hers for the rest of the evening, and for those hours only, she could indulge herself with the secret fantasy that they were a couple who’d been going out for years. Perhaps they were married already. Perhaps Jo and Chris had been the only witnesses at their beach wedding in Barbados two years ago. Dan in a sarong—a sarong would suit him, unlike most men. She in a silk sundress, raspberry pink, her dark blond hair falling loose down her back. Some spontaneous locals and other couples gathered at the seashore, crying with joy at how perfect, how in love they obviously were, totally poleaxed by the strength of their emotion, the purity of their love. Laura and Dan, Dan and Laura. Perhaps—

“Laura!” a voice said sharply. “Listen!”

Laura realized she was being prodded in the ribs. The lovely bubble of daydream in her head burst, and she tore herself away from Dan and looked around to see Yorky glaring at her.

“I was talking to you!” he said, affronted. “I asked you a question four times!”

“I’ll see you later,” Dan murmured, shifting away from her. “Come and find me, yeah?” And he very lightly ran his hand over her bare arm, a tiny gesture, unnoticeable to anyone else, but Laura shuddered, and looked up at him fleetingly, even more sure than ever. As Dan moved off, he raised his glass to her and smiled a regretful smile. Laura screamed inwardly, and turned away from him toward Yorky. “Sorry, love,” she said. “What was it?”

“Is this fob watch too much?” said Yorky, fingering the watch hanging from his waistcoat. “I think it is. I’m not sure, but perhaps it overloads the outfit. What do you think?”

“Ladies ’n’ gentlemen,” came a bored-sounding voice from a loudspeaker in the back of the room. “Please make your way back into the ballroom. Mr. and Mrs. Lambert are about to perform their first dance. Ah-thann yew, verrimuch.”

Laura looked wildly around, as if trying to prioritize the many tasks on her mind. She glared at Yorky, who was still waiting for an answer.

“Yes, it is. Far too much. I totally agree. In fact, it’s
hideous,
” she said crossly. “You’d better take it off and throw it away. I’m going to the loo, see you in a minute,” she finished, and hurried away.

Dan, Dan, Dan. Dan Floyd. Even saying his name made her feel funny. She muttered it on her way to the loo, feeling sick with nerves, but totally exhilarated. Laura had got it bad. She
knew
it was bad, and she knew if any of her friends knew they’d tell her it was futile, that she should get over it, but she couldn’t help it. It was meant to be. She was powerless in the face of it, much as she’d tried not to be. Dan, Dan Floyd, looking like a ranger or an extra from
Oklahoma!
, calm, funny, and so sexy she couldn’t imagine ever finding any other man remotely attractive. Laura wanted him, plain and simple.

She had constructed a whole imaginary life for them, based around (because of the
Oklahoma!
theme) a small house in the Wild West with a porch, a rocking chair—for Laura’s granny, Mary—corn growing in the fields as high as an elephant’s eye, and a golden-pink sunset every night. Mary would drink gins on the porch and dispense wise advice, and would sit there looking elegant. Dan would farm, obviously, but he would also do the sports PR job thing that he did. Perhaps by computer. Laura would—well, she hadn’t thought that far. How could she do her job on the prairie? Perhaps there were some dyslexic farmhands who’d never learned to read properly, yes.