Authors: Annie Lyons
‘What’s tomorrow?’ asks Emma confused.
‘I told you. Charlie and I are going to look at a venue for the stag do.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘Uh-oh, trouble in paradise,’ mutters Charlie.
Emma ignores him. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to look for somewhere for the stag do when we’ve got all the other stuff for the wedding to sort out!’
Martin looks sheepish. ‘Well, it is part of the wedding and it does need to be done.’
‘Right, fine. Fine,’ says Emma not wanting to continue the argument in front of Charlie, who is relishing the spectacle. ‘Goodbye, Charlie; goodbye, Stacey. Congratulations again,’ she says walking out of the pub without a backward glance.
‘Last one to the top of Arthur’s Seat buys the ice creams!’
The kids bound ahead like excited puppies. Steve offers his wife a hand.
‘Why thank you, kind sir.’ They walk hand in hand for a while not speaking, concentrating on breathing and admiring the immense view that is unravelling in front of them as if someone is lifting a blind on the world. The sky is filled with billowing grey and white clouds, but the wind is spiralling them across the sky at such a rate that if you stood still and looked up, you would think that you were moving.
‘Don’t go too far, kids!’ bellows Rachel.
Steve is ahead of her now. ‘It’s OK. I can see them.’
‘When did I get so unfit?’ she puffs as she catches up with him.
‘That would be when you had children.’
‘I thought they were supposed to make you fitter. Phew! I don’t remember it being this difficult when we last did this. When was that?’
‘1990 and our ascent was fuelled by a night of filthy sex, a gigantic fry-up including Haggis and two pints of Heavy.’ Rachel giggles at the memory.
‘Ah yes, happy days and didn’t we, erm, seal the deal again at the summit?’
‘I think we did. Gave those Japanese tourists quite a fright, didn’t we?’
‘Ha, ha, Mummy and Daddy are losers!’ shouts Lily as she reaches the top. Reunited, the five of them sit and share some chocolate.
‘Why is it called Arthur’s Seat?’ asks Lily.
‘Something to do with a famous king called Arthur, I think. Actually, this used to be a volcano,’ says Steve.
‘Cool!’ shout Lily and Will.
‘A volcano?’ says Alfie looking around nervously as if he is about to be engulfed by molten lava.
Lily tuts. ‘You’re such a baby, Alfie!’
‘Am not!’ cries Alfie, his face turning red.
‘Are!’
‘Not!’ A couple of tourists look round.
‘OK! OK!’ says Rachel. ‘Time Out! Why don’t you go and see what you can spot over there?’ Rachel and Steve watch the kids run off, jostling and carefree.
‘That’s what they need, isn’t it?’ says Steve eventually.
‘What? A walk up a hill followed by a Kit Kat?’
‘You know what I mean, Rach.’
‘Yeah well, we have hills in south-east London.’
‘Oh yeah, where?’
‘Crystal Palace is very hilly.’
Rachel looks out at the view and breathes in. ‘When did life become so complicated?’
Steve falls silent for a moment. ‘I think,’ he says, his voice filled with sincerity. ‘I think it was around the time they changed Marathon bars to Snickers.’
‘Ha bloody ha.’
‘Oh come on, Rach. Why does everything have to be so serious all the time? Why can’t we just live a little, laugh a little?’
‘Isn’t that a supermarket tagline?’
‘See? You can’t take this any more seriously than I can. Look, the bottom line is that this is a real chance for us; something different and new and exciting! So –’
‘So? Move to Scotland?’
‘Why not? Look, Rach, it doesn’t have to be for ever. We could just rent a house for as long as I’m doing this job. See if we like it. Move back if we don’t.’
‘But what about Mum and Dad?’
‘Rach. They can visit. Anytime.’
‘All right, steady. Don’t give Mum ideas!’
Steve laughs. ‘I just think we should give it a go.’
Rachel looks at the children running in the distance and takes a deep breath. ‘All right then.’
‘What?’
‘I mean, I’m not saying yes, I’m not saying no, but I think we should go and look at some houses tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Now let’s go and have a pint. I’m gasping!’
She grabs Steve’s hand and they scoop up the children on their way down the hill, whooping and laughing all the way.
Emma looks around the flat and feels her heckles rise. She is tired and dehydrated after one lunchtime glass of wine too many and is bristling from Martin’s revelation about spending tomorrow with Charlie. She is starting to feel as if she is the only one doing anything towards their wedding and is also feeling a bit guilty about letting Martin chase Richard away yesterday. She did send him a text to apologise and he had sent her a short and somewhat abrupt message: ‘Nothing to apologise for. Have a good weekend.’ She had considered calling him but wasn’t sure what the right course of action might be. He is just her author after all, nothing more.
She wants to follow Martin’s example and lie on the sofa, snoozing with the papers. However, as a woman she knows this option is simply not open to her. The kitchen needs to be tidied, the bathroom needs to be cleaned, the clothes which have been hanging on the airer all week are demanding to be put away and she can not rest until she has at least attempted some of these jobs. She moves towards the kitchen surfaces and lets out a loud ‘Oh for God’s sake’ at the open pot of jam with a sticky knife protruding from the top, the discarded foil from a newly opened tub of butter and the teabag nestled on a teaspoon in a pool of tea. Emma hates housework, but knows that she will feel a lot better once it is done. It’s just that it will take a lot of swearing and cupboard slamming before she gets to that stage.
‘All right, sweet pea?’ asks Martin, wandering into the kitchen and, unwittingly, a domestic war zone.
‘No, not really!’
‘What’s up?’
‘Are you blind?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Look at the state of this kitchen!’
‘Oh yeah, sorry. We left in a bit of a hurry. I meant to do that.’
‘It’s disgusting.’
‘All right, Em, calm down. I’ll do it in a bit.’
‘Calm down? Calm down? Martin, does it ever occur to you to just clean up without being asked? I mean, I do work just as hard as you and yet it’s always me cleaning up after us, making sure it gets done. Would it kill you to clean the bathroom without being asked once in a while?’
‘No, but I just don’t think of doing it. I’ll do it if you remind me.’
‘But I don’t want to remind you, I don’t want to be the nagger and the whinger!’
Martin looks at his nagging, whingeing fiancée. ‘OK, so don’t then,’ he says with the innocence of a child.
‘Aaaaaargh! You’re so annoying!’ shouts Emma. ‘You just don’t get it, do you?’
‘Well, I don’t think I’m going to tonight, no,’ quips Martin unwisely.
Emma fixes him with a glare and points a finger at him. ‘You are pathetic.’
‘Emma, calm down! I said I would clear up and I will.’
‘But when? When? Today? Tomorrow? The day of the next lunar eclipse?’
‘Today! In a minute. Why does it matter? Why are you being like this?’
Emma shakes her head and starts to cry. ‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’ she sobs. ‘I just feel so –’ She covers her face with her hands, realising that the word that is pounding in her ears but which she can’t bring herself to say is ‘trapped’.
Martin tries to prise her hands from her face. ‘What is it? Tell me, Em, what’s the matter?’
‘I don’t know! I told you, I don’t know! Just leave me alone, will you?’ She pushes him away, rushes from the room and flings open the front door just as her father is about to knock.
‘Hello youngest daughter. I was just passing and –’ he begins and then seeing his daughter’s face, opens his arms to her. ‘Hey, hey, what’s all this?’
Martin appears behind Emma at the door. ‘Oh hi, Edward, sorry, just a minor spat about domestic chores. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Well, I don’t want to intrude.’
‘No, it’s fine, you go and have a seat with Em.’
Edward leads his daughter into the living room and they sit down on the sofa. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves a large monogrammed handkerchief and offers it to his daughter. She sniffs and accepts it gratefully, smiling at him from behind red puffy eyes.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Thanks, Sorry, Dad.’
‘Oh you don’t need to apologise to me. I just don’t like seeing you upset. It reminds me of when you were a nipper and your sister used to terrorise you. Mind you, when you were a bit bigger, you gave as good as you got.’ He laughs at the memory. ‘So, do you want to talk about it?’
‘I don’t know that there’s anything to talk about. Probably just work stress or the wedding or both.’
‘You know, you don’t have to be a superwoman all the time, Em. It’s OK to give yourself a day off every now and then.’
‘I know.’
‘And Martin is a good man, you know.’
‘I know.’
‘Men are just poor weak souls and it’s up to you women to show us the way and goodness only knows the Darcy women are better at that than most.’
Emma laughs through the tears.
‘Is there anything else?’
She contemplates telling her father about Richard, but knows she can’t. It’s a Pandora’s box that she’s too confused to open.
‘No. I feel better for a chat and a hug, thanks.’
‘Just like when you were five.’
Martin comes into the room with the tea. ‘Feeling better?’ he asks.
‘Much,’ she lies.
‘Good stuff. Well, I’ll just go and sort the kitchen and bathroom. You stay and chat to your dad.’
Emma looks at her father and smiles. ‘I am lucky, I know,’ she says.
‘Just as long as you’re happy, Em. That’s the main thing.’
‘I am,’ she lies again, wishing that she could shake off the nagging sensation that she is losing control of her life and everything in it.
‘This is a wonderful area for schools and as you can see, it’s already a family home so you could move in straightaway,’ says the matronly estate agent in a Miss Jean Brodie voice, peering at them from behind her half-moon spectacles.
‘I don’t like it!’ declares Lily.
The estate agent behaves as if no one has spoken and looks expectantly at Rachel and Steve.
‘It’s very nice,’ says Rachel feebly.
‘I love it!’ shouts Will, sliding down the wooden-floored hall on his knees.
‘Let’s go and have a look upstairs, shall we?’ says Steve, keen to keep them on the move.
The estate agent ushers them up in front of her.
Alfie stays by her side. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes?’ replies the woman, horrified to be addressed by a small child with snot streaming from his nose.
‘Why do you talk like that?’
‘Sorry! Sorry!’ says Rachel wondering if she will have to spend the rest of her life apologising for her family. ‘He’s at that very direct age!’ she explains.
‘I see,’ says the estate agent.
‘Mum! The toilet works!’ calls Lily from upstairs.
Rachel smiles at the woman and hurtles upstairs after her daughter.
‘I thought she was lovely,’ says Lily without irony as they watch the estate agent drive away.
‘Excellent, great. OK, one more to go then,’ says Steve with his trademark optimism.
The other members of his family groan.
‘This is boring,’ says Will. ‘When can we have something to eat?’
‘Oh come on, guys! This is our only chance to have a good look round. Alfie!’ says Steve, scooping up the most compliant member of the group. ‘You want to go and look round another house with Daddy, don’t you? This one’s got a big garden!’
Alfie looks uncertain. ‘‘kay,’ he says, burying his head in his father’s shoulder.
‘Weakling!’ mutters Lily.
‘Come on, Steve, this is the third one we’ve seen,’ echoes Rachel.
‘Rach, I promise you. You’re going to love this one.’
‘That’s what you said about the last one.’
‘Trust me.’
Rachel looks at her husband and then at the children. ‘Come on kids! Last house and then Dad’s going to buy us the biggest lunch ever!’
Emma pours herself another cup of coffee and picks up the newspaper, listening to Martin singing cheerfully in the shower. They had managed to broker a fragile peace yesterday with Martin overcompensating for his failings by not only cleaning the house but also changing the bed linen and cooking dinner. They had cuddled up on the sofa but Emma had felt restless. She had excused herself and gone to bed early, pretending to be asleep when Martin came up some time later. That morning he had treated her to breakfast in bed but instead of feeling touched, she was irritated and she wasn’t sure why. Her phone buzzes with a text from Rachel: ‘Ednbrgh grey and S gt us on our 4th hse. L pooed in the last 1. Hope yr hvng a gd w/e and M was helpfl wth the flwrs - lol. Rx’
Emma smiles and sends back a non-committal reply. She would actually quite like to see her sister now. She’s probably the only one who could help her cut through the crap and see her situation for what it is.
Martin appears in the bedroom doorway wearing a towel and a cautious smile. ‘How was your breakfast?’
‘Lovely, thank you,’ says Emma stretching.
‘Look, I’m sorry we got our wires crossed about today but I shouldn’t be late. Shall I cook us a roast when I get back?’
Emma shrugs. He’s trying too hard again. ‘I might go out, see if Ella’s around, maybe go to the cinema.’
‘Em, are you still cross with me?’
She shrugs again. Martin perches on the end of the bed. ‘Look, Em, I’m trying my hardest, OK. I’ve said sorry, cleaned the house, made you breakfast, what more do you want?’
It’s a reasonable question but Emma isn’t feeling reasonable today. ‘I want you to think before you act and not afterwards.’
He looks at the ceiling and sighs. ‘OK, OK. Just give me a break sometimes will you? I’m doing my best.’
‘Well, it’s obviously not good enough.’
‘Obviously not,’ he says getting dressed. She can tell he’s angry now. He takes his wallet and keys and kisses her on the cheek. She doesn’t respond. ‘I’ll see you later,’ he says disappearing down the stairs.
She waits for him to slam the door but he doesn’t and that irritates her too. Typical Martin; so bloody reasonable all the time, he even exits an argument in a rational, considered way. She picks up the newspaper and flicks to the book pages and there, staring out at her with his intense gaze is Richard Bennett. She skims the article, which is by a female journalist who obviously fell for Richard on sight. She reports how well he writes about women and asks about his inspiration. In his answer Richard confesses to being a terrible flirt and much happier in the company of women. He says that he has known many strong and impressive women and is lucky that his latest editor is such a person and that he has drawn great strength and inspiration from knowing her. Emma almost drops the paper in shock and feels herself redden at the compliment. She tells herself that it doesn’t mean anything. A lot of authors are inspired by the editors they work with – it’s part of the creative process. And yet she feels as if Richard is sending her a message somehow. She picks up her phone and scrolls down until she finds his number. She looks around the room as if searching for the answer as to what she should do. She tells herself that she’s merely calling to congratulate him on the article and presses dial.
He answers after one ring. ‘Emma Darcy.’ His voice is warm and welcoming like an embrace.
‘I just wanted to say that I thought the article was great.’
‘Thank you.’ His voice is expectant.
‘And to apologise again for Martin. I felt bad that our lunch ended that way.’
‘Well, I admire your fiancé for staking his claim.’ Emma detects a note of irony.
‘Yes well, he has been severely scolded.’
‘Lucky man. And where is he at the moment? I’m guessing he doesn’t know you’re making this call or is he about to come onto the phone and give me what for.’
There is a playfulness to his voice, which Emma knows should be sounding alarm bells in her brain. He is clearly enjoying the illicit nature of their conversation.
‘Actually, he’s out for the day.’ As soon as the words are out of her mouth she knows she’s in trouble. With one sentence she has made herself sound available and suggestive all at once.
‘I see.’ He is toying with her, she knows this but her heart is beating fast and there’s another emotion. Is it longing or excitement? She is on the brink of ending their chat when he says. ‘Well, I’ve got this lunchtime thing to go to at a pub in north London if you fancy it? A friend of mine is doing a poetry reading and I’ve promised to go. To be honest, I’m dreading it but it would be altogether more palatable if you were to join me.’
And there it is. The beginning of the end or is it the beginning of the beginning? Emma isn’t sure. This isn’t an author meeting, it isn’t a discussion about plots or publication plans. There are no excuses this time. Richard Bennett is asking her out on a date.
She pauses for a moment, her mind racing. She is about to decline the offer when she remembers Martin and his trip with Charlie. It is a combination of still-simmering anger with her fiancé and a longing for a small adventure that leads her to say, ‘I’d love to.’ After they have finished the call, Emma runs herself a shower and lays out some clothes, trying to ignore the fact that she is taking more time than usual over her outfit.
The flat seems too quiet somehow so she switches on the radio and tunes in to
Desert Island Discs
. By the time she is ready to leave she has convinced herself that this isn’t a date at all – it’s just two friends, work colleagues really, meeting in a public place for lunch. Yes, that’s it – just friends and nothing more. She leaves the house quickly, shutting the door firmly behind her and marching down the road to the station before she can change her mind.
‘Mummy, what happens if the pilot gets sick?’ demands Lily so loudly that people ten rows in front turn, some of them looking with interest at Rachel, waiting for the answer. Rachel looks behind her at Steve, who is sitting with the boys. Alfie is asleep and Will is playing his Nintendo. Steve looks up from his newspaper and gives her a thumbs-up. She sticks out her tongue in reply.
‘Mummy?’
‘Yes, darling?’
‘What about the pilot?’
‘Oh yes, the pilot. Don’t worry, if the pilot gets sick, there’s a co-pilot to take over.’
‘Right. But what about if he gets sick?’
‘Well, that never happens.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because it has never happened, so it never will happen.’
‘But you can’t say that. They said that Maisy’s grandad wouldn’t die, but he did. Why do adults lie all the time?’
‘It’s not lying, Lily. People don’t always know what’s going to happen.’
‘See? There you go. You don’t know what’s going to happen so you can’t say that. The pilots might both get ill and then there would be no one to fly the plane and then we would crash.’ Lily delivers this final word with a loud clap of her hands. Rachel can see several people looking more than a little worried now. One of them alerts a stewardess and starts to point in Rachel’s direction. The stewardess stalks towards them, and Rachel is horrified to see that it’s the same woman who they met at the departure gate on the way out.
‘Madam?’ says the woman, baring her teeth in a thin white smile.
‘Yes?’ says Rachel trying to maintain an air of innocence.
‘Madam, we’ve had a complaint from another passenger about the content and volume of your daughter’s conversation.’
‘Oh right,’ says Rachel starting to feel her primal maternal urges kick in. ‘What seems to be the problem?’
‘Well, some passengers are rather nervous of flying and therefore, using words like “crash” might cause them to panic.’
‘You mean to say that people are being intimidated by the fanciful talk of a four-year-old?’ says Rachel.
‘I didn’t mean to cause offence, madam,’ says the woman with emphasis on the word, “madam”. ‘We just need to cater to the needs of all our customers.’
‘I see, well I’m sorry for the over-sensitivity of another passenger. I will tell my daughter that she needs to be seen and not heard in future.’ Rachel realises that this is the point in an argument when she would usually storm off but that being in a large metal tube prevents her from doing this. Luckily, the stewardess is called to the front for the safety announcement but not before she gives Rachel a final, disapproving look.
As she walks away, Lily remarks, ‘Is that the orange lady we saw on the way out? Why is she so cross?’
‘I have no idea, darling,’ says Rachel kissing her daughter on the head.
‘Excuse me,’ says a jovial looking Scottish lady from the row in front. ‘Just wanted to say good for you, lassie. These air hostesses are so up their own ends these days! Hope you don’t mind me asking but would your little girl like one of these?’ She holds up a box of shortbread. ‘I’ve been staying with my daughter and she sent me home with some. Much better than that shop-bought crap! Oops, pardon my French!’ Lily giggles at the woman and accepts a biscuit.
‘Thank you,’ says Rachel, grateful for the support.
‘So have you been staying in Edinburgh then?’
‘Yes, yes, actually we’re thinking of moving up here.’
‘Oh yes? Good for you. Best city in the world, Edinburgh. I’ve been visiting my daughter. I used to live here but moved to London for my husband’s job. Biggest mistake I ever made. Now I have to spend my whole time going back to visit my family. I’m going to try to move back myself soon. Do you want to move?’
Rachel looks at Lily who is now bossing her Barbie™ collection into some order and considers the question. She takes a deep breath.
Emma has had a wholly enjoyable day. She met Richard at the pub as planned and was initially thrown off guard when it turned out that he was meeting some of his own friends there. However, they were a friendly and lively bunch; intelligent and funny and they took Emma to their companionable bosoms straightaway. One of the girls, Daisy, took an instant liking to Emma, sharing her bottle of wine and quizzing her about her publishing life.
‘It’s so lovely to meet you. Richard has told me a lot about you. It’s a shame you’re getting married as I reckon you’d be perfect for each other. You’re much nicer than that bitch, Stella,’ she declared, knocking glasses with Emma and taking a huge gulp of her wine.
Richard’s poet friend had actually been quite good and gave an enthusiastic reading, buoyed by Daisy’s wolf whistles and his other friend’s rowdy cheering. Emma liked them and found herself thinking how different this pub meeting was to the one with Stacey and Charlie the day before. Was it so wrong to prefer the company of people with similar minds and intelligence? Of course, that made her sound like a snob and she didn’t mean it. She just felt more at home here somehow. She didn’t talk to Richard much during the lunch but she did catch him looking over at her every now and then. At one stage he raised his glass to her and she smiled in response. When Daisy disappeared to the toilet, he plonked himself in her vacated seat and smiled.
‘Having a good time?’
‘Lovely. I like your friends.’
‘They’re a good bunch. Daisy’s very excitable but she looks out for me.’
‘She’s great.’
After lunch, they had gone for a stroll in a nearby park. Everyone was a little drunk and they laughed their way round, kicking up the fallen leaves and pushing each other like schoolchildren. Emma had glanced at her watch and seeing the time said, ‘I better go.’
Richard nodded. ‘I’ll walk you to the Tube.’
Daisy had given her a squeezing embrace goodbye and told her to, ‘Marry Richard if it all falls through with the other bloke.’ Emma had looked at Richard as she said this but he was saying goodbye to someone else.
It was starting to get dark and chilly as they reached the Tube entrance and as they stopped to say goodbye, Richard had reached out to pull Emma’s coat more snugly around her.