A Question of Love (41 page)

-You should have given me the benefit of the doubt.

I should have done. Instead, I’d spent three years believing that Tom had done something awful. If I hadn’t thought that—how then might I have regarded him, I wondered…

Through the open bathroom window, I could hear the shriek of whistles, and the honking of bicycle horns. May Day protestors. The streets would be full of them, especially with the General Election. I decided I’d go and look. As I got dressed, my mobile beeped—there were five missed calls—three from Luke, and two from Felicity. Then I listened to the answerphone. Luke had left three messages, and Fliss had left two. Suddenly the phone rang. It was her.

‘Where have you
been
?’ she said accusingly.

‘Oh…’ I was too tired to explain. ‘Working,’ I said, which was true.

‘Well it’s been absolute hell here—he’s out with Olivia so he can’t hear—but when I confronted him about the e-mails he admitted that he’d been getting far too cosy with Chantal.’

‘Did anything actually happen between them?’

‘No—but
thank God
I looked at his computer when I did, otherwise it would have done—he said so himself. But it’s been the most terrible twenty-four hours—and then just to top it all off, that bloody power cut! I looked in the freezer this morning—I had sixteen pints of breast milk in there, all ruined! OhgodHugh’sjustcomingbackcan’ttalkbye.’

And I was just wondering quite why Felicity had sixteen pints of breast milk in the freezer—when the phone rang again.

‘Laura!’ It was Luke. ‘Thank God. I couldn’t get through to you on your mobile for some reason—this annoying woman kept saying that calls from this number were not being accepted or something, anyway, I’m just on my way to Marco Polo airport and I’ll be back later and then we’ll talk and I can’t wait to see—’ I hung up, then tapped in the code.

‘Calls from this number are now barred,’ said the automated voice. ‘Thank you.’

Then I picked up the dressing gown, still in its carrier bag, unworn. It was so beautiful, with its pattern of pink tulips—but now it was tainted and spoiled. I wondered what todo. Give it to Oxfam, I suppose, or to Hope or to Fliss or to my mum, that would be nice or…

‘OOHHHH!’
THUMP! THUMP!!

Cynthia. I’d give it to her. I put it back in its bag and went upstairs.

‘OOOHHHH!’
THUMP! THUMP!! THUMP!!!!

I knocked hard so that she could hear me.

‘Laura!’ she said, opening the door. She beamed at me. ‘How lovely. Come in!’ As I followed her inside I noticed that she was wearing yet another scent—what was this one? Oh yes—that new one by Chanel—
Chance
. ‘Have a cup of coffee with me,’ she said. ‘I’ve just made a pot.’

‘Okay—thanks—but I won’t stay long. The weather’s so gorgeous that I want to get out there and—’

‘Seize the day,’ she finished. ‘Good idea. Make the most of it my girl. To quote Philip Larkin, “Days are where we live…They are to be happy in”—’
THUMP!!
—‘But this damn television…’

‘What are you trying to watch?’

‘ITV are doing a two-hour special—
The World’s 100 Worst Ever Films
—and I really want to see it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because,’ she said proudly, ‘
seven
of them are mine.’

She banged the TV again. I bent down and examined the console, then twiddled one of the buttons at the back. The picture wobbled again then stabilised. ‘There.’

‘Oh
thank you
, Laura. Which button is it again?’

‘This one, here.’

‘I never knew that,’ she said.

‘And were you okay in the power cut?’ I asked her.

‘I was fine—I like the dark. I see everything more clearly. Can you understand that?’

‘Ye-es,’ I said. After last night, I could. ‘I’ve got something for you, Cynthia.’

‘Really?’ I handed her the bag, and she opened it. ‘Oh, I say.’ She held up the dressing gown. Then she slipped it on—it was wonderful on her—and looked in the mirror overthe fireplace. ‘How lovely, Laura,’ she said as Hans batted at the belt with her paw. ‘But you shouldn’t be giving it to me, I mean, it’s so sweet of you but—’ she blinked in bewilderment. ‘Don’t
you
want it?’

‘No. It was an unwanted gift,’ I explained.

‘Oh. From…?’ I nodded. ‘Not going well then?’

I shook my head. ‘I’m afraid your prediction was right.’

‘I knew it,’ she said, as she poured me a cup of coffee. ‘The second I saw him. It was his aura, you see. Too much orange—it clashed with your lilac.’

‘I was very dismissive about what you do,’ I said. ‘I was very judgemental. I’m sorry.’

‘You thought it was “bunkum”,’ she said good-naturedly.

‘I did think that. But I’m a little less sceptical than I was before.’

‘So there
are
more things on heaven and earth…’

‘Yes, there clearly are.’

I picked up one of her flyers. Let Psychic Cynthia predict your past, present and future.

As I sipped my coffee, I realized how much of my life Cynthia had got right—I
had
been missing two people:
You didn’t know them for long…you loved them. You didn’t want it to end…
That was so true. Her reading of my current life had been accurate too.
Romance is in the air. But not with him.
As for the future…

‘An ending is coming, Laura. I can see it…’ I heard her say. She meant my ending with Luke—but to me, that had already happened twenty-four hours earlier. ‘And there’s a new beginning.’ She sipped her coffee, then closed her eyes. ‘I see a lake,’ she said after a moment.

I smiled. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. A beautiful lake—in a vast wilderness. The leaves are all gold. It’s autumn. And there are some animals. I’m connecting with them now.’ Her eyelids flickered. ‘I’m not quite sure what species. Hold on a moment…’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘How
odd
,’ she said, her brow furrowing. ‘It looks like…a kangaroo…’

‘It isn’t a kangaroo,’ I said happily. ‘It’s a wallaby.’

From outside we could hear the shrieking whistles and loud cheers of the May Day protestors.

‘Anyway, thanks for the coffee, Cynthia. I’m going for a walk now. It sounds rather jolly out there.’

‘Well thank you, Laura—for this.’ She patted the dressing gown. ‘I shan’t ever want to take it off.’

I walked to the end of Dunchurch Road and, there, coming up Ladbroke Grove, were the Reclaim the Streets cyclists—peddling up the hill, maybe two hundred of them, all blowing their whistles and hooting their horns—and with them, in force, the anti-capitalist demonstrators in their Bush and Blair masks and their fat cat suits. It was a bit like the Notting Hill Carnival.

No Bombs, Bosses, or Borders!
announced banners.
Split The Pea—Not the Atom!
Slogans were emblazoned on backs, fronts, and huge placards.
Solidarity with Asylum Seekers—Free Movement of People Not Goods! More Jaw Jaw Less War-War!
Protestors were dressed as clowns, Vikings and vicars or just wrapped in pages from the
Financial Times
. One cyclist was in cricket whites, with
Smash Capitalism for Six!
emblazoned on his shirt. Two anarchists held up a huge banner:
Why Should the Police Have a Monopoly on Violence?
Meanwhile the policemen themselves were nervously eyeing the protestors whilst trying to look relaxed.

‘One more word and I’ll arrest you,’ I heard one officer say to a man wearing a lacy wedding dress.

‘Sod off copper!’

‘One more word and I’ll arrest you.’

‘Sod off copper!’

‘One more word and I’ll arrest you.’

‘Sod off copper!’

My mobile rang.

‘Laura?’

‘Tom.’ I turned up the volume so that I could hear him. ‘How are you?’ I said, pressing my index finger to my left ear.

‘I’m fine. And you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you.’

‘Good. Now I have a very serious question for you.’

‘Yes?’ I smiled. ‘What is it?’

‘Well…did you really tell Nerys that in your opinion I was the most gorgeous, handsome, wonderful, marvellous, sexy, brilliant man you’d ever laid eyes on? Because she’s just dropped in to see how it’s going here, and she told me that you said all those things to her, no exaggeration. Of course I’m much too modest to believe it,’ he added. ‘So I thought I’d better check. So…did you?’

I hesitated for a second.

‘
All You Need is Love.
‘

‘Yes, Tom,’ I said. ‘I did.’

I walked up to the top of Ladbroke Grove with the protestors, then left them as they turned towards the West End, while I veered right to Holland Park. As I went through the gate, I felt a thousand times happier than I had done when I’d gone there twenty-four hours before. Somehow, telling Tom everything had made me feel lighter. Today I didn’t avoid the toddlers’ playground as I usually did. In fact I stood there for a few moments, watching the children being pushed on the tiny swings, or bounced on the springy horses, being helped up the climbing frames or just happily scraping and digging in the sandpit. And I knew the chances were that, one day, I’d be doing that with my child too. I had been pregnant once, after all, so maybe it could happen again. And if it didn’t—then there were other ways to have a family.

I believe that if you truly want children in your life, then one way or another, children will come.

I’d bought a copy of the
Evening Standard
from the newsagent’s at the top of Ladbroke Grove and I sat on a bench, reading it. As it was a Bank Holiday it was a thin edition—there was quite a bit about the power cut, and its aftermath, a couple of pages on the May Day demonstrations, some pre-election coverage, some foreign news, and then something caught my eye in the media diary:
NORMAN SERVICE WILL NOT BE RESUMED
. It was about Scrivens. It said that R. Sole had sacked him for buying shares on his behalf, in a company that was apparently involved with animal experimentation. R. Sole was, famously, an animal nut. I thought of the awful ‘Incognito’ piece, and the horrible coverage it had unleashed, and the pain and turmoil it had caused me, and couldn’t help a little smile.

It was half past six. I went back to Dunchurch Road and cooked myself an omelette, and by now it was eight thirty.

Bzzzzzzzzz
. I went to the door.

‘Laura.’

‘Luke.’ He looked tired and dishevelled, five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. He’d obviously dumped his suitcase and come straight round.

‘Look, I know you’re very cross with me Laura, and I do understand it, but there was no need to block all my calls.’

‘But I didn’t want to talk to you, and you kept ringing.’

He looked at me imploringly. ‘Don’t be like that, Laura.’

‘Luke,’ I said patiently. ‘You told me that, after Venice, everything would change—and it is going to.’ I shut the door.

Bzzzzzzzzz.
Reluctantly, I opened it again.

‘
Did
you know,’ he said, ‘that in Florida it’s illegal to sing in a public place while wearing a swimsuit?’

‘No,’ I said wearily. ‘I can’t say that I did.’

‘And did you know that bamboo can grow thirty-six inches in a single day?’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I didn’t know that either.’

‘And did you also know that the ancient Egyptians trained baboons to wait at tables?’

‘That’s absolutely fascinating, but can we please leave it now, Luke? There’s really no point.’ I shut the door.

Bzzzzzzzzz
. I opened it again.

‘And did you
also
know…that for reasons which no-one understands, twins are much more common in the east than the west?’

I stared at him. ‘No I didn’t know that. And did
you
know—that I really don’t care. I like you very much, Luke—but we’re not going to be together. We can be friends again, at some indeterminate time in the future, but our relationship is not going to resume. We’ve been round the block twice—and that’s enough. We are not Charles and Camilla.’

‘I’m sorry, Laura,’ he said. ‘I know I’ve let you down…in many ways…with Magda. I feel so bad…’

‘Well there’s no need to,’ I sighed. ‘It was only because you love Jessica so much. But you know, Luke, why don’t you answer that sad little prayer of hers—the one about her mum and dad living together again?’

‘Oh God…’ He was rolling his eyes.

‘Why not? Then you’d have Jessica with you all the time. Okay, Magda’s insane—but no-one’s perfect. And it isn’t going to work out with me. Goodbye for now, Luke. There’s nothing of mine at your house, so we won’t need to speak. And please don’t ring the bell again.’

I shut the door, then went back inside, feeling more upset than my sardonic tone might have implied, although I knew that I’d done the right thing. I went downstairs. My omelette was cold and leathery—not that I was hungry. I binned it, then filled the sink.

Buzzzzzzzzz.

Right, I thought. I am now going to get very cross.

I flung open the door. Shit. This was all I needed. One of those day-release guys with their bloody holdalls…Tall and thin, cropped hair and a short dark beard, black leather jacket. I heaved an exasperated sigh.

‘Please don’t shut the door in my face…’ he began.

‘Look, can we just cut the tragic sales pitch,’ I interrupted. ‘I promise I
will
buy something from you, because I always do, but I do
not
want a long sob story on my own doorstep and, while I’m at it, can I just say that I wish you guys didn’t
always
have to turn up when it’s dark and—’

He had started to cry. Oh shit. The man was crying. I stared at him, too shocked even to breathe. Then he looked at me, and his features became more distinct now. Familiar. Oh.
Shit
…

‘Laura.’

I felt my mouth quiver, then the sudden
thump
in my ribcage. My eyes had filled now, too.

Nick
.

‘Laura,’ he murmured again.

‘I…didn’t…recognize you,’ I whispered. The Nick I knew was a big bear of a man. This Nick was…thin and lean and hard looking—like a plank of wood. And he was sun-tanned—his face and neck a ruddy brown—and there were deep furrows at his eyes and brow. His hair, which had been thick and wavy and the colour of mahogany, was very short—and sprinkled with grey. I’d had to hear his voice again, to be sure.