A Hopeless Romantic (42 page)

“If they hate the jobs they’re doing and want to do something else, you mean? Harrumph.” Marcus exhaled loudly.

“Well, no,” said Laura. “But it’s a good way of adding something extra to your life. Someone else’s, too.”

Marcus said nothing for a moment, but peered at her through his floppy hair. “Like you, I mean.” He flicked his hand out dismissively. “Why do you do the job you do?”

Laura gazed at the egg on his tie again as he sat there fiddling with his cuff links awkwardly, almost aggressively, legs sprawled out in a V shape.

“Well—er,” said Laura uncertainly. “Why?”

“It’s just interesting. Don’t you think it’s interesting, why people do what they do?”

“Sometimes. I fell into my job,” said Laura with a wry smile. (She wasn’t going to say that she had applied for her job, four years ago, only because she’d snogged an absolutely gorgeous man at a party the week before who’d told her there was a vacancy there; and even though he worked for a totally different business coordination scheme on another council, the old Laura had passionately hoped the two of them would meet regularly and fall in love over literacy initiative brochure language meetings. Alas, she’d never seen him again.) “But I love it, and I want to be good at it, more than anything.” She realized she was gazing into space, cleared her throat, and said, “How about you?”

“Not sure, really,” said Marcus. “Fell into it, too.”

“Do you like it?”

“Not really the kind of job you like or don’t like. I just don’t think I’d be much good at anything else.” He said it without emotion.

“Oh,” said Laura, not sure what to say once again.

But then Marcus shifted in his seat, looked at his watch, and said shortly, “I have someone coming in now. The meeting I mentioned. ’Fraid you’ll have to go.”

“Of course,” said Laura, springing up like a jack-in-the-box. “I—er—just let me get my stuff together—er. So.” She stood still and breathed in. “Marcus, will you talk to Clare? Consider agreeing to let Linley Munroe rejoin the program, maybe think about the investment choices I mentioned? I know she’s keen—”

“Yes,” said Marcus. He stood at the door and their eyes met briefly.

Laura looked away and busied herself shoving papers into her folder. She realized, as she stuffed the papers back in in a slightly haphazard fashion, that she was waiting for him to say, “Thanks for coming in,” or at least some acknowledgment, even if he loathed her and the whole thing; but she knew he just wasn’t the type—probably hadn’t ever said thanks for anything in his life, it just wouldn’t occur to him. He even…

“…with me to the dinner?”

“I see,” Laura said noncommittally, putting the folder under her arm. God, it was cold; she wanted to be back outside again.

“Forget it,” Marcus muttered, half to himself. “This way, then.” He turned away.

“Sorry,” Laura said. “I wasn’t really listening. What did you say?”

Marcus straightened up, cleared his throat, and said in his strange, low voice, “Well. There’s a dinner—for our banking division. Our clients are having it—they’re Germans. It’s in a couple of weeks. Would you like to come with me?”

“Why?” said Laura in total astonishment.

Marcus’s eyes bulged slightly and he said, “Right, sorry. We have to bring a date. I just thought—well, I’d like to think about what we’ve discussed today. I think it could work out, you know. Perhaps we could talk about it again. At the dinner. So I—I just thought I’d ask if you’d like to come.”

Was this how it was supposed to be? Marcus was asking her out. Her. She who thought no one would ever look at her again. Laura felt weird, disconnected from the situation. She looked at Marcus and felt nothing, no feelings whatsoever other than a strange, misplaced affection; but perhaps that was a
good
thing, rather than rushing in headlong like before.

She crossed the room, then realized it was even more awkward being right opposite him, and stepped back, cross with herself. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—sorry, I just didn’t get that you were asking me on a date. You see—right. She couldn’t feel more stupid.

“No problem,” said Marcus abruptly. “No. Problem.” Then he did something quite remarkable. He almost smiled. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and it was gone almost as soon as it was there, but she knew she’d seen it.

“I’d love to come.” She said frankly, “Sorry to be so stupid, I really didn’t realize that’s what you meant.” She put her hand on his folded arms. “Anyway. Thanks.” She said again, like a robot, “I’d love to come.”

“Really?” said Marcus. He shook his head as if in disbelief, and grinned at her again, showing his teeth in a big, boyish smile. “Wow!” Then, almost instantly, he snapped his gaze down to the floor and fiddled with his cuff links again. “Yup, great. And the money—I’ll think about it.”

Laura smiled. This is amazing, she thought, looking at Marcus. For the first time in months and months, a) I’m in danger of actually being good at my job; and b) on a completely unrelated, yet bizarrely linked subject, I’ve got a date—with someone who actually wants to be seen in public with me.

“Thanks!” she said, her eyes sparkling at him. “For thinking about it. And—you know.”

Marcus said stiffly, “No, thank
you.
It will be my pleasure. I’ll be in touch. Do I have your mobile number?”

“No,” said Laura. “I’ll write it—”

“Give it to my assistant,” said Marcus, fiddling with his cuff links. “I’m due in a meeting now. I’m glad you came in, thank you. I’ll talk to Clare. We’ll discuss this again at the dinner? Thanks.” He raised his hand in a gesture of farewell and walked off, and Laura, watching him disappear around a corner, knew she was leaving another little bit of her old, stupid self behind. She hugged the folder and looked around Marcus’s office.

How strange. She felt totally unemotional about it—her stomach wasn’t churning, her heart wasn’t thumping in her chest. She hoped it stayed like that, this feeling, that it didn’t change. She clung to the cloak of numbness that hung over her. It was her best friend.

chapter thirty-nine

T
hings may have been going well with Yorky and Becky, but that didn’t mean Yorky was any more relaxed as a host. When Saturday came, he was like a cat on a hot tin roof, leaping nervously about the flat all day, so much so that he ended up hitting his hand on the kitchen doorframe fairly hard whilst trying to explain to Laura the best way to make lasagna. His finger swelled up, and Laura took over the cooking, as she had known all along she would.

She loved cooking, more so than ever. It gave her a feeling of control, a sense of purpose. She was in charge, no one else telling her what to do, and she loved mixing, chopping, stirring, crushing flavors together, deciding what to do next. It was funny—she and Yorky used to cook together all the time, but now she preferred to do it alone. Like most things, these days.

As Laura was putting the lasagna into the oven and checking her watch, Jo and Chris arrived.

“Look who’s here!” said Yorky, ushering them slightly manically into the kitchen. “Look who’s here. Great! Say hello to Laura, and then come and get a drink.”

“Is Becky here yet?” said Jo, looking round eagerly.

“No, no,” said Yorky, glancing over his shoulder just to make sure she hadn’t crept in behind the others without his noticing her. “Er—no.”

Laura hugged Jo. “Hello, love! How are you?” she said, squeezing her tightly.

“I’m good. Ohhh,” Jo said. “Laura, it’s so good to see you.”

“You too,” said Laura, surprised at her normally restrained friend. “I can’t believe it’s been three weeks, it seems like—nothing, though. It’s flown by.”

“I know,” said Jo. “And yet we packed so much in, you just wouldn’t believe it.”

“Sounds like it,” said Laura, smiling brightly. “It sounds amazing.”

Chris leaped on her enthusiasm, and said eagerly, “We brought the laptop along, in case you want to see the photos. I know they’re probably really boring, but we thought you might be interested!”

Laura and Yorky exchanged looks.

“Ooh…” said Laura. “Yes…. Let’s see, after supper, shall we?”

An hour later, they sat down to eat. Simon had talked of little else but Jorgia since his arrival—Jo and Becky clasped their hands, said it was wildly romantic and sweet, and hung on Simon’s every word on the subject, while Laura stared suspiciously at them, wondering what on earth they were talking about. Simon then got out a photo of Jorgia to show everyone. He put it on the table, propped against the mustard, and Laura couldn’t help feeling even more like Bridget Jones at the Smug Marrieds’ dinner party, even if one of the couples was half represented by photo only.

“Jorgia sends her love,” said Simon at one end of the table to Laura at the other end. Jo and Yorky and their respective partners were on either side of them. Becky smiled at Laura and made an “ahh” sound. She had brought Laura some flowers, which Laura could tell made Jo think Becky was the nicest person in the whole world. Laura could also tell Jo was gearing up to invite Becky and Yorky round to dinner with her and Chris, so they could talk about mini-breaks together and Jo could show Becky their wedding photos. She could feel it, it was coming, and she knew she wouldn’t be invited. Hah, like she wanted to be. She realized Simon was smiling expectantly at her, so she sat up in her chair and looked at her brother.

“That’s so nice of her,” said Laura politely.

“So, mate. When’s she coming over?” said Chris, handing Jo the salad. “When are you going to see her?”

A cloud passed over Simon’s face. “I don’t know, actually,” he said. He looked rather glum. “I hoped she’d come as soon as possible, but she still hasn’t got the money, she says.” He paused. “I’m going back in about a month’s time, though. I haven’t spoken to her for a while, that’s all.” He sighed. “I miss her. You know.”

“You really think you might move to Peru?” asked Yorky.

Simon turned to him. “Yeah, you know, I really might. It’s a big step and everything, but—it just feels right. I can’t explain it.”

Laura said nothing. She chewed on her lasagna.

“That’s amazing, Simon,” Jo said, smiling happily at him. “But—wow, that’s a big step.”

“I know,” said Simon. “It is, but it doesn’t feel like it, somehow. I can’t explain it. I can really see myself moving there.”

“Oh, come on,” said Laura suddenly. Yorky looked down at his plate.

Simon stared at her. “What?” he said.

Laura said patiently, “Look, Si. It’s really great you’ve met Jorgia, and everything. And you love her and all that. But—come on.” She stretched out her hands in a placating gesture. “You have to wise up slightly. You know? You’re not going to move there. You might think you are at the moment, but long term—seriously, no way.” Yorky was still looking down at his plate. Laura tried to catch Jo’s eye for support, but Jo was staring at Simon. She carried on blindly. “I mean—who is she, this girl? You barely know her. You’re completely different! You’ve got nothing in common! It’s never, ever, going to—”

“And what the hell do you know about it?” Simon’s expression was ugly. He pointed his finger at her, his voice shaking. “You’re amazing, Laura. What business is it of yours in the first place? Eh?”

“It’s not that—it’s—” Laura said, taken aback by the vitriol in his voice. She tried to reason with him. “Listen, Simon. I’m just saying—”

“No,
you
listen,” Simon said. The others were looking distinctly uncomfortable now. He pointed at his sister again. “You listen, for once, instead of sitting there in that smug judgmental way you keep doing since I’ve got back, when you don’t know the first fucking thing about it. You have no right, no right at all!”

“Simon—” Jo began, a look of anguish on her face, but Laura waved her away.

“Oh, really,” she snapped back, a flush of anger rising to her cheeks. “It’s none of my business when my own brother’s leeching off Mum, and Dad, and—and Gran, and lazing around the house doing jack-all just because of some random stranger he thinks he’s in love with! Oh, no, none of my business, you’re quite right.”

“That’s what I mean,” Simon said, his voice dripping cold disdain. “The hypocrisy of it. You should listen to yourself, Laura. It
is
none of your business, okay? I’ve been back three weeks, and I know I have to get a job. Mum and Dad don’t mind.
You’re
the one who minds. It’s so fucking hypocritical! You make me laugh! You, all of a sudden judging
me
because you think I’m in some dodgy relationship, when you—you go from one crappy relationship to another, some loser who you think’s the answer to your prayers, and you’re too fucking stupid to see they’re just leading you on! You practically
lose your job
because of it! And when I fall for someone—I know it’s hard, I know it’s going to be difficult, but I really
love
her, you can’t see that, can you, I
love
her—you don’t even say ‘Great!’ or ‘Can’t wait to meet her, brother!’ No, you sit there with your sour-milk expression, like you’ve got it all sorted, like you’re perfect.”

He paused and wiped his hand across his mouth, breathing deeply. “I don’t understand what’s happened to you. You didn’t used to be like this.”

Jo was staring at her, her eyes huge, shaking her head. Laura looked at her, perplexed, and then at Yorky, who was looking down at his plate. She knew what that meant. It meant he agreed with Simon. A pain stabbed in her side.

She and Simon knew the drill of their arguments, now they were older, well enough not to let them fester. And—Laura bit her lip. He was wrong, he was fucking rude and wrong, and it was never going to work out, but—it
was
none of her business. So as they waited for her response, the silence in the room growing more and more awkward, she took a deep, deep breath, fighting the urge to scream, to burst into tears, to slap her little brother.

“Sorry,” she said. “Fine. I just worry about you. Because you’re so different. That’s all. But you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like, being with someone like that. It’s none of my business.”