A Hopeless Romantic (30 page)

“Mum, Mum! It’s me, I’m back!”

Angela appeared from the lawn, rubbing her hands on a tea towel. She smiled thinly. “Oh, Laura. There you are. At last!”

“Sorry, Mum,” Laura called, as she walked across the gravel. “It was all a bit complicated. I’m really sorry. Here, now, what do you want me to do?”

“Well, set the table, maybe,” said Angela, still rather frosty.

“Are they here?” asked Laura in a whisper. “Simon? Is he here?”

“They’re outside, having drinks. Robert and your dad are doing the barbecue,” said Angela, unbending somewhat at her daughter’s apology. “Fran’s brought Ludo, that’s nice, isn’t it.”

“Right,” said Laura, rolling her eyes. She threw her bag into the corner of the room. “What can I do?”

“Get Annabel another drink, I think,” said Angela demurely. “She had a somewhat…
fraught
journey up here, I think. Cedric and Jasper were rather…boisterous, I understand.”

Since the last time Laura—who was too young to recognize Cedric Forsythe as the demigod he was to George and a generation of impressionable young British schoolboys—had seen him, Cedric had taken her and Mary to see
Anything Goes
and had alarmed everyone by breaking wind violently and deliberately throughout, Laura was not surprised. And since she knew that he and Jasper were incredibly naughty when they were together, she was even less surprised when a voice came booming from the lawn, “Is that Laura? Is that gorgeous Laura? Ha-ha, hahahaha. Come here, beautiful.”

Laura found herself being swept into Jasper Davidson’s navy-besmocked chest. He kissed her on the head. “You’re too thin, gorgeous. Far too thin. Ah, Cedric, look who’s here.”

“Dear girl,” said Cedric Forsythe mellifluously, advancing toward her with a happy smile on his face. “I am truly glad to see you here.” He handed her his glass of champagne. “Come and find your grandmother. God, your cousins are awf—ah, Annabel! Dear lady, how are you?”

Aunt Annabel, obviously hearing the commotion, had arrived in the doorway and was regarding Laura with minimal warmth. Laura went over and kissed her, feeling rather like she was in some kind of random 1930s farce. Annabel was wearing a strangely formal all-in-one buttoned-through housecoat in striped khaki with fake cuffs, adorned with several pieces of carefully understated—but nonetheless ever-so-slightly ostentatious—gold jewelry. She was about fifty-five, but she was suspended in time. She could have been seventy, or thirty—one never really knew. She was so correct, seldom betraying any emotion, that Laura couldn’t remember her aging or acting any other way. Where Annabel’s stepsister waved her arms, worried, dropped wooden spoons covered in batter on the floor, and generally despaired of herself, her husband, her children, Annabel had, Laura thought, probably never suffered a moment’s self-doubt in all her life. And she kind of wished she were Annabel, for one brief moment.

“Ah, Laura, you’re here,” she said. “Goodness. You have been ages, haven’t you? With your friend from the wetlands place, dear me. Angela”—she redirected her steely gaze toward her stepsister—“your mother’s getting rather hungry. How long till we eat, do you think?”

“Grrmshowalla,” muttered Angela as she turned toward Annabel. “Not long, Annabel. Shall we all go outside and finish our drinks?”

Angela made a sweeping motion that included everyone, and Cedric and Jasper turned away from the drinks cabinet and shuffled toward the door.

“Yes, but—” Aunt Annabel said, looking over toward the kitchen.

“I suppose it depends on how long it really takes for Robert to get the barbecue going,” Angela said serenely, and sailed outside.

Round one to Mum, thought Laura, settling back into her normal life, and she raised her glass to George as she stepped out onto the terrace. It was hot, almost too hot, and George was slaving over the barbecue, sweat forming perilously on his jaw, while Robert lounged next to him chatting negligibly about something, a bored expression on his large face. Laura’s father glared at her as she appeared; then his expression softened, and he rolled his eyes and flipped a burger in a fluid motion that impressed his daughter deeply.

“Where’s Simon?” she said again.

Annabel made a
moue.
“Oh, dear.”

“Not here yet,” said Angela tightly. “I’m sure he’ll call, though. He knows it’s today.”

Laura knew from long experience that the phrase “he knows it’s today” absolutely meant the person concerned did
not
know it was today, or was
not
going to turn up.

“Oh, man!” she muttered as she followed her mother into the kitchen, unreasonably cross with her absent brother, although deep down she had never seriously thought he might turn up on time. She was cross because she missed him, and the thought of having a normal person here had been sustaining her these seven days. “Shall I call him?”

“I’ve tried,” said Angela. “His phone’s switched off.”

“It’s always switched off,” said Laura. “I don’t know why he took it there. I’ll try him again anyway. Perhaps it’s just because he’s in a tunnel on his way to King’s Lynn. Don’t worry, Mum, it’ll—”

“Lawww-rah!”
came a booming voice behind her, and Laura turned around, to be snaffled in a headlock by Fran and patted painfully on the back by Fran’s indecently hefty boyfriend, Ludo.

“Lululu! Laura’s back. Hi, Laura! Wow, how are you?” Fran stepped back, bouncing on her huge sneakers, her stubby ponytail wagging behind her head like a pug’s tail. “Wow!” she said again. “You’re here! We thought you’d just decided not to bother! Lululu thought you’d pulled, but I said, ‘God, no
way
, Laura never pulls, can you imagine!’ Hey, Ludo, get Laura a drink!”

“Hey, Laura,” said Ludo, who was a huge man-mountain. His bulk momentarily blocked out the sun as he stood facing Laura, his hands on his hips. “Hi.
Really
great to see you. What do you want? Some poo? We bought a couple of bottles.”

“Argh,” said Laura, disentangling herself from her cousin’s grasp. “Can you just…give me a moment? I just want to dump my stuff.”

“LULULU!” screamed Fran, even louder than usual. “Come and say hiiiiiiiiiii to Laura!”

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Laura desperately. “I’ll be back in two seconds, I promise—oh, hi, Lulu.”

“Hiiiiiiiiiiii, Laura,” said Lulu, as thin and sepulchrally pale as ever. “So,” she continued as Ludo handed Laura a glass of champagne, “where have you been? Really great to see you.” She said this with the enthusiasm of one who has just been given the present of a dead rat.

“Mum said she thought you weren’t going to show up, just like Simon!” squeaked Fran behind her. “Wow, Laura, we’ve got loads to fill you in on. Ludo and I are buying a flat! In Battersea, well, it’s kind of Battersea, toward Clapham. It’s
really
lovely. You’re still sharing, aren’t you?”

Laura cast an anguished look about the patio. She didn’t know what to do, how to react. Her father was still slaving over the barbecue; Mum was talking animatedly to Annabel, who was looking bored; Jasper and Cedric were throwing olive pits over the wall into the sand dunes, trying to hit day-trippers. Suddenly she caught sight of the person she’d been looking for.

“Sorry, give me a minute,” she said briskly. “I just want to say hi to Granny.”

Leaving her cousins gaping behind her, Laura strode over to where Mary was sitting in her wicker chair, watching the progress of the olive-throwing and nursing a gin and tonic.

“Hi, Granny,” she said, and bent down to give her grandmother a kiss. Mary’s cheek felt cold and papery, beautifully soft to the touch. She patted her shoulder. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Happy birthday. Are you having a good time?”

“Oh, yes, darling,” said Mary, opening her blue eyes very wide. “You’re here, then. Thank goodness; I’d given you up.”

“God, Granny,” said Laura. “I didn’t mean to. I overslept. I’m so sorry.”

Mary bent her index finger, motioning for Laura to come closer. “It’s fine,” she said. “You’re here now.”

“I know, I know. I feel—I feel terrible. Anyway, we’re all here, and it’s such a lovely day,” said Laura manically, feeling like a children’s entertainer. All she needed was a stripy jacket and some huge clown’s shoes.

“Go and see if your mother wants any help,” said Mary. “I’m afraid your aunt rather puts her on her mettle.” Laura nodded obediently and turned to go. “And—Laura?”

Laura turned back to face her. “Yes, Gran?”

“Will you tell me who he is one day?”

“Who who is?” Laura said stupidly, blinking in the sunlight.

“Whoever he is you’ve been spending all your time with.” Laura gaped at her. “I know you, darling. Now, go.”

“Er,” said Laura, feeling that since she’d arrived home, all she’d done was speak in a series of grunts. “Ur. Argh. Well—it’s complicated.”

“I’m sure it is.” Mary smiled. “It always is.”

“It’s nothing,” said Laura, standing firm. “Nothing at all. Part of my new rule.”

“We shall see,” said Mary. “Darling, be a dear and get me another gin and tonic.” She held out her glass.

“You don’t want any champagne?”

“Loathe the stuff,” said Mary cheerfully, glaring balefully at Ludo, who was flexing his muscles and showing them to Fran and Lulu, amidst screams of delight. “Some ice and a—”

“—thick slice,” Laura finished. “Sure, be right back.”

They were everywhere, these Sandersons, blocking her way to the kitchen, making loud noises, cheerfully insulting her father—“No, old man, that burger’s charcoal on the outside, but you’ve left it raw inside, look”—and subtly digging at her mother: “Angela, your salad was rather small, so I’ve taken it out of the fridge and added some spinach.” Laura leaned against the wall of the kitchen and breathed deeply. The events of this morning seemed an age away already. She would have time to digest them all when she caught the train home that night and said goodbye to all this. Tonight she would be back home, back in the flat with Yorky watching TV, flicking pistachio shells into the bin, having a beer, telling Jo on the phone all about her holiday. If Laura wanted to tell—she thought she probably didn’t. She checked her phone. There was a text message from Yorky:

Need your help asap. Please advise return time. Having romantic crisis with Becky downstairs. She is single. Think we’re going on date tonight. Not sure. Need you to be laughing flatmate who thinks am great. V important. Love to yr gran. Yx

The phone in the hall rang, and she ran to answer it. “Hello?” she said uncertainly.

“Laura?” came a distant voice, accompanied by what sounded like someone waving sheets of metal in the background. “It’s—mon.”

“Simon!” Laura yelled. “You’re here! Where are you? Ely? Cambridge?”

“Callao,” came the distant voice.

“Where?”

“It’s near Lima.”

“Simon—” said Laura. “Oh, God. Why aren’t you here?”

“I—chew—amazing!” Simon’s voice said happily. “Can I speak to—?”

“Who?”

“Um!”

“Mum? Hold on.” Angela appeared in the corridor, a squeezed lemon in her hand. “So you’re not coming back?” Laura yelled unnecessarily.

“Isst my—!” Loud metal sheet waving in the background. “Ing to see the—gasts!”

“Oh, good grief,” Laura said, turning to her mother.

“Give me the phone,” Angela said crossly. “Silly boy. What happened?”

“Tell Gran I—her!” Simon said in Laura’s ear.

“What?”

“Yes!”

“Simon! Are you—” Laura began, but the line went dead. She banged the phone hard on the cradle in annoyance.

“He’s gone?” Angela said.

“Yes,” said Laura.

“Where is he?”

“Somewhere called Callao. It’s near Lima. That’s all I could get out of him,” said Laura. “Sorry, Mum. He sounded okay, though.”

“Hm,” said Angela. “It’s just as well I didn’t speak to him. I’d have said something unforgivable.”

Laura reflected with some amusement that the safety and wellbeing of her son came a very distant second to Angela’s desire for him to fulfill his family commitments. She looked at her phone again; another text message had just arrived;

Pls reply re return time. Y. PS Just had call from Simon. Not coming back till next month. In Callao. Is near Lima apparently. Sounds nice.

“Argh!” Laura growled, surprised only that she was still surprised at the crapness of blokes. From the garden, George said loudly, “Lunch is ready,” and Laura followed her mother outside, with a heart as heavy as Aunt Annabel’s mashed potatoes.

They sat down to eat a few minutes later, and as the others tucked into their food, Laura sat there staring at her plate, half expecting it to talk to her. She felt suddenly very weary. As her father munched happily away on his burger, equilibrium briefly restored as Sandersons on both sides ignored him, she gazed around the table, unsure of what to say or do.

She speared a leaf of salad, looked at it, then put it back on the plate. She wasn’t hungry.

“You all right, dear?” said Cedric Forsythe.

“Ye-yes,” said Laura. “Just tired, that’s all.” She pulled herself together. No, not again. She’d be home this evening, ready to advise Yorky on Becky from downstairs. That sounded promising. And there was the hearing at work on Wednesday, she reminded herself. She had to get through that. That was what she’d focus on. That, and the shape of the lettuce leaf she was eating. Focus, focus. Don’t let this become a thing, like all the other times. Just don’t think about it, she told herself; and second by second, minute by minute, the lunch went on its way, as Mary relaxed, the sun shone, and this odd assortment of quasi-relatives concentrated on trying to have a good time, unconscious of their nearest neighbors’ most fundamental hopes and dreams. It was ever so.

chapter twenty-seven

T
he clock ticked on, nearer the time she’d be able to get away, go back home, while Laura nodded and smiled and said things like “Yes, I love rugby” to Ludo and “Yes, I love sushi” to Lulu. Annabel held court at one end of the table, ignoring George and batting her lashes at Cedric in an alarming way. Cedric, in turn, was making overt eyes at Mary, who was frankly not repelling them as she might, while Robert was locked deep in conversation with Jasper, expounding upon the art market and its relative value in recent months. Jasper’s eyes were drooping, and he stifled a yawn. Ludo and Fran joined in—they knew someone, a guy who’d been traveling, who’d taken some really wonderful wildlife photos in Africa, he should contact Jasper, shouldn’t he? Wasn’t Jasper’s gallery looking for young new photographers, too?