A Hopeless Romantic (4 page)

“So, then she said I should know why she was pissed off. And I’m thinking, well, God, woman, you’re pissed off the entire time, how the hell am I supposed to tell the difference between you being annoyed because I was late back from football or annoyed because I didn’t notice your new haircut? Is that for me? Hey, thanks so much. Toast, too. Wow.”

“Thank you,” said Laura, setting down a tray on her bed. She peered out the window. It was two months after Jo and Chris’s wedding, a cold, gray Saturday morning in February. Dan shifted up in bed, crossed his legs, and pulled the tray toward him.

“This is great,” he said, pouring some tea. “Come on, get back into bed.”

Laura hopped back in beside him. He handed her a cup of tea and kissed her. “Mmm. Thank you,” she said.

Dan and Amy had had another huge row the night before, and Amy had stormed back to her own flat. Laura cleared her throat.

“So, what did she say next?” she asked, desperate for more details, but not wanting them, too, fearing what he might say or not say.

Dan frowned momentarily, as if thinking something through. He put his mug down on the tray and took her hand, looking serious. “Forget about it,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He looked down. “It’s crap of me. I’m so crap, boring you with all this stuff. It’s…I’ve got to sort it out.”

“Yes,” said Laura, her heart beating fast.

“Not just for me,” said Dan, looking intently at her. “For…for Amy as well, you know?”

“Yes, of course,” Laura said, less urgently. “Amy.” She picked up a slice of toast and bit into it. “Mmuh.”

Dan smiled, and picked up another bit. “So, I’m pretty much free today now. Do you want to…you know, spend the day together? I know it’s last-minute, but we might as well make the most of it.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

“Er…” Laura said, swallowing fast. She had a lunch date with Yorky and her brother, but she supposed she could cancel. And instead, she and Dan could go to Kenwood House, muffled up in scarves and hats. Drink hot chocolate and walk through the grounds hand in hand. Kiss in the lanes of yew trees that led away to the Heath. Her eyes sparkled. She’d cancel Yorky and Simon—they were boys, they didn’t mind that sort of thing. Although—gah. Simon, more a graduate of the love ’em and leave ’em school, was
always
making fun of her about her love life. Saying she was a romance addict, that she’d ditch her own brother at the last minute if there was a chance of a red rose heading her way. And she’d done it to him a couple of weeks ago, as well…the cinema, shit. She bit her lip. He was going away soon. She was a bad sister.

“Don’t cancel anything special for me,” Dan said, as if reading her mind. “It was just a suggestion.” He stroked her knee. “God, it’s so nice to be here, sweetheart.”

“I think I was supposed to be having lunch, but it’s quite a vague thing,” said Laura, trying not to choke on her toast. “I’d…of course I’d prefer it if…” His hand was lying on the duvet. She hooked her little finger around his and said, “Yes, I’d love to spend the day with you. We should talk, anyway.”

Laura was always doing this, trying to stage moments when she and Dan “talked.” But it never seemed to work. She desperately wanted there to be some kind of agenda to their relationship, instead of Dan turning up when he could, secretively texting or e-mailing, having hurried, passionate, mind-blowing sex at one in the morning when he would drop by unannounced on the way back from the pub, wake her up, shag her senseless, and then go home—to what, Laura didn’t know. Every time they tried to talk, something else would get in the way; Dan would tell her a funny story, or kiss her neck, or have to leave because Amy was calling. They’d tried not seeing each other, but the truth was it was so easy to have this relationship, it was so full of pleasure and excitement that, three months after they’d first got together, nothing had really changed. Dan was still with Amy, trying to sort it out or break it off gently. And Laura—Laura was so wildly happy with the whole thing that she would no more have irrevocably ended it than she would have moved south of the river.

When she looked at the facts of the relationship, the bare facts, only then did she get depressed. Nothing had changed. He was still with his girlfriend. And while he and Laura got along really well, she also had to admit that what they spent most of their time doing was not having a laugh and enjoying each other’s company, but—having sex. And, God, the sex was great, but that was part of the problem—it had obscured the actual facts of the relationship, or whatever it was, for some time now.

On New Year’s Eve, Laura and Yorky had gone round to the newly married couple’s house for a party, along with lots of other people, but Dan wasn’t there. He was on holiday with Amy, in Prague. Laura stood on Jo and Chris’s balcony with Yorky and watched the fireworks over London. It was a clear night, sharp and cold, and for once the fireworks from the Thames were visible. They fizzed in the distance, tiny and indistinct, and around them, across the rest of London, streets and parks and houses were lit up by similar flashes and bangs, stretching as far as they could see. Simon had been next to her, and as he hugged her tightly, he asked, “So, sis. What’s your New Year’s resolution, then? Tell me.”

“Ha,” said Laura despairingly. She gave him a squeeze back. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Oh, really,” said Simon, not actually listening, as his eye had fallen upon an attractive brunette in the corner of the room. “Love life?”

“Yes,” said Laura honestly.

Simon looked at her briefly. “Who is it this time, then?” he said.

Laura resented the tone in his voice. “It’s…not like that.”

“Oh,” said Simon, not believing her for a second. “Right,” he added vaguely. “You should do something about it.”

“Thanks,” said Laura. “I am.”

Simon smiled. “Really?” She nodded. “Well, good luck, then,” he said. “Who is it this time? Someone at work? Ken Livingstone?”

“Go away,” said Laura. “You’re no help.”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” Simon said. “I mean it. Do something about it.” And he shrugged apologetically, as if admitting this wasn’t helpful, and moved across the room in search of his prey.

Laura watched him go. He was right, though, wasn’t he? This was going to be the thing that she did this year. She’d been searching for true love for as long as she could remember. This year, it was going to happen. She just had to make it happen.

So, shivering on that cold balcony on New Year’s Eve, as Jo and Chris kissed each other, and Yorky danced crazily inappropriately with a scared-looking cousin of Chris’s, and Simon charmed the pants off the brunette—literally—Laura clenched her fist, and she went to bed that night with a new resolve of iron. Three weeks after her “thing” with Dan had begun, but months after she had realized that he was the one for her, she knew she was the one who had to do something about it. Even now, nearly two months later, she remembered it clearly; it kept coming back into her head like a drumbeat.

She had to know, she had to sort this thing out, because somewhere in her lovesick, crazy brain was a small voice telling her that this wasn’t how normal people behaved, fell in love, lived together; and that small voice had been getting louder and louder since before Christmas till now it was like a foghorn in her ear. She and Dan had to take the next step. Well, Dan had to take the next step and finish with Amy; then Laura and Dan had to take the step after that, which was to work out if they could be together.

So they would go to Kenwood House on this cold February Saturday, with the hot chocolate/ gloves/yew trees, and during that time they would talk, and Laura would explain, calmly and clearly, that Dan had to sort out his situation, otherwise they couldn’t be together anymore.

“Talk,” Dan said. “Yes, talk.” He looked at her, their fingers still entwined. Laura smiled at him, took the toast out of his mouth, put the tray down on the floor, and reached for him, and they crawled back under the duvet, muffling their laughter and then, a while later, their moans as they came together again and any further discussion was put aside for the moment.

An hour later, Laura emerged from her room carrying the teapot and padded into the kitchen in her bare feet. Yorky was sitting at the little table by the French windows, gazing out at the view. Their flat was in a slightly cramped, dodgy Victorian mansion and had interesting design features—the French windows, for example, opened not onto a charming balcony with pots of geraniums and basil, but onto a sheer drop down four floors. The boiler was in Yorky’s bedroom, and the sitting room had three electrical sockets, but all right next to each other by the door, nowhere near anywhere helpful like underneath the bay window where the television was. It was Yorky’s flat, bought with some help from his elderly parents, since he was a teacher at a school nearby and earned in a year what most bankers earn in a month; and he and Laura were very happy there, though the water frequently turned itself off, the windows rattled, and the linoleum was curling, because they had laid it themselves, not very well. Added to which, Yorky had a mania for collecting interesting things from around the world, so the flat was stuffed with: a) painted gypsy floral watering cans, buckets, etc.; b) elephants made of wicker he’d picked up traveling through Africa; and c) comic books.

Yorky didn’t look up as Laura came into the kitchen, humming to herself. “Morning,” she said brightly. “How are you today, love?”

“Fine,” muttered Yorky bitterly. “Oh, just fine.”

“Oh, right,” said Laura, nonplussed. “Er. Are you, though?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Yorky spluttered into his tea. “I’ll survive.” He stared moodily out the window. Since he spent quite a lot of his leisure time doing this, Laura ignored him and put the mugs down on the counter.

“What are you eating?” she asked curiously.

“I made scrambled eggs with tomatoes,” said Yorky shortly. He gestured to the plate, which looked like pink brains. Yorky was an enthusiastic but disconcerting chef.

“Oh. It looks nice,” Laura lied. She ran the mugs under the tap.

“It’s not enough that Mia hasn’t answered any of my texts,” Yorky said, picking up the thread after a few moments’ silence. Laura obediently swiveled round to listen. “I’ve texted her four times—why hasn’t she replied? Oh, no. I have to sit in solitary silence, with the TV my only companion, and listen to my flatmate who I’ve known since she was five screaming with pleasure as some git rogers her senseless at eleven
A.M.
for about the fifteenth time this morning.”

Laura bit her lip to stop herself grinning. “Sorry.” She went over and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll make you some tea. Why don’t we all go into the sitting room and have some tea?”

“No, thanks a bundle,” said Yorky, pulling his tattered paisley dressing gown about him with an attempt at dignity. “I prefer to watch
Saturday Kitchen
on my own, thanks very much, not squashed up on the sofa with you and Mr. Playaway while he tries to molest you under my very nose.”

“Okay, okay,” said Laura. This was going to be tricky. She’d had to tell Yorky about Dan, and she hated making him a party to it, making him lie. It wasn’t for long, and so far he’d been great, but…She filled the kettle and affected a tone of nonchalance. “Er…any plans for today?”

Yorky looked up suspiciously. “Yes,” he said. “You know I have. We’re going out to lunch with Simon.”

“Simon?” Laura said blankly. She pulled a mug off one of the hooks above the sink and examined it. “Urgh, this is dirty.”

“Your brother, Simon, who’s about to go to Peru for four months.”

Laura winced. Simon worked for a charity. He was taking time off to travel to Peru, but since he was going to be volunteering for some other charity, it didn’t really seem like time off to Laura.

“And then you know perfectly well we’re going round to Jo’s because Chris is away and she wants a hand with painting the kitchen,” Yorky said, glaring at her. “Oh, my God, you’re bailing out. I can’t believe it.”

“What?” said Laura. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You lying bitch,” said Yorky. “Go back in that bedroom, ease those chafed thighs onto the bed, and tell Dan you’re not spending the day with him or whatever it is he’s suggested you do. You’re coming out to lunch.”

“Honestly, Yorky, I had no idea,” Laura pleaded with him, aware of how weak she sounded. “Sure, Jo mentioned coming round to me, but it was ages ago—I didn’t think it was a proper plan…. No one e-mailed me about it this week—I thought it was a casual arrangement.”

“Casual arrangement,” Yorky repeated.

“Yep,” Laura said. “And lunch—hey, you’ll have a much better time without me there. You never see Simon on his own, you can really catch up. And stuff.”

Yorky looked at her, and Laura realized the atmosphere in the kitchen was no longer one of grumpy, amusing sniping. It was suddenly more tense than that.

“No, Laura,” he said quietly. “That—that thing you’ve got going on next door with Dan.
That’s
a casual arrangement.”

“No, it’s not,” said Laura in a small voice.

“Oh, God, you stupid girl.” Yorky slapped his hand to his cheek. “I don’t care. Just don’t try to lie to me. It’s not a big deal, Laura, honestly. But”—he held up his hand as Laura made to speak—“don’t lie to me. You know it was arranged ages ago. You, of all people.”

“What do you mean?” said Laura, feeling her chest tighten.

“I mean, I’ve always thought you were a good person, someone I could trust, someone I could rely on. Thick and thin, all that.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Yorky,” Laura said, her face reddening, feeling cross all of a sudden. “That’s such crap. It’s only lunch, get over it! I am—I am a good person. Dan—I—you
know
how I feel about him, don’t do this.”

Yorky turned his back on her and looked out the window, as if he was counting to five. Then he turned around again.

“Hey, love,” he said in a gentle voice. “I know how you feel about him. But it’s never going to happen. He’s never going to leave Amy. Can’t you see that? He’s a wanker, and he’s using you.”