‘Hold on!’ Kate said. ‘What the hell is going on? You had a date? Who with?’
‘He’s –’ Zoe picked up her glass and took another slug.
‘He’s called Diggory. He’s a landscape gardener. He works at the nurseries with me.’
‘He’s called what?’ said Kate.
‘Diggory. Like the boy in
The Secret Garden
,’ said Francesca helpfully.
‘Seriously?’
‘But his friends call him Digg.’
‘One g or two?’
‘God, I don’t know!’ Zoe rolled her eyes, impatiently. ‘That’s not the issue, ladies!’
‘So did you snog him?’ said Francesca.
‘Wait,’ said Kate. ‘Back up. Where did you go?’
‘Well, we went to a pub near work, off Primrose Hill.’ Zoe’s eyes sparkled; Kate watched her, uneasily. ‘It was funny, actually, because there weren’t any seats.’ She laughed at the memory. ‘Ah.’
‘Then what happened?’ said Francesca, who was starting to look bored.
‘Oh, then we got some seats,’ said Zoe. ‘A couple left. By the window, so –’
‘I don’t care about the frigging seats,’ said Francesca. She banged her hands on the table. ‘What was he like? What was it like? Was it weird being on a date?’
‘Super weird,’ said Zoe. The others nodded, sympathetically. ‘But, you know, I just told myself it would be weird going on a date with anyone who wasn’t Steve. Of course it’s weird. But I just pretended it wasn’t weird, and tried to get on with it. Not let it take over the evening.’
Kate sat down, suddenly. ‘Wow,’ she said, running her hand through her hair. ‘That’s huge. Good on you, Zo.’
Zoe sat down beside her, her face pleading, almost. ‘Oh Kate, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really wanted to, to ask your advice and all that, I just – I just didn’t want to make it into a big deal, and if you tell people it becomes a big deal, you understand, don’t you?’
You told Francesca, Kate wanted to say. I wish you could confide in me. But instead she said brightly, ‘Totally, of course!’
‘So?’ said Francesca. ‘Then what happened?’ She poured them all more champagne; Kate knocked hers back, as fast as she could.
‘Well, we stayed there for ages, just chatting – you know, about work and stuff, it’s really easy when you’ve got things to talk about already,’ said Zoe, and her sweetly serious face was heartbreaking. ‘Diggory spent lots of time in Australia, he’s got all these really interesting ideas for irrigation systems
– as that’s going to be the next big challenge in garden design in the next few years, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Kate and Francesca, nodding.
‘And then – well, I was a bit reckless, and I got a cab home.’
‘Zoe Hamilton!’
‘Did anything happen?’ Francesca said.
‘Nooo,’ said Zoe. She looked from one to the other. ‘You know. Not yet.’
‘Sure, sure,’ they both said. ‘Not yet,’ Francesca added.
‘Well, good for you, Zo,’ said Kate. ‘That’s great. Did you say you’d see him again?’
‘Oh, er … yeah,’ said Zoe. ‘We’re going to Hampstead Heath this weekend with the children.’
‘Fast work,’ Francesca muttered.
‘Well no. It’s someone at work’s birthday and they’re having a picnic on the Heath, so there’ll be lots of people we know there, and lots of children – you know. It’ll be great. He’s met them before, at Jool’s wedding party, a few months ago, anyway.’
Zoe had always looked the same to Kate – a little, energetic, determined, unassuming ball of life and fun. But since she’d got back, Kate had thought Zoe was starting to look tired. Run-down. Weary of the hand life had dealt her. Now, looking at her friend, she saw a sparkle in her eyes she hadn’t seen since – well, since that fateful day they’d had lunch, nearly three years ago, when Zoe was pregnant with Flora, so soon after Harry, and Kate was engaged to be married. Look at them now, she thought. Look at Zoe, having to go out on dates. It was still wrong, she would never not think that. Kate cleared her throat, angrily.
‘Look at us now,’ Zoe said, like she’d been reading Kate’s mind. Their eyes met and they gazed at each other, in a moment of clarity, and Zoe shook her head at her friend.
Something shot through Kate like a bolt of electricity. It made her want to bang the table and shout that life was bloody unfair.
Francesca, sensing the mood needed lifting, got up and got a bottle of wine from the fridge.
‘Mac’ll be here soon,’ she said, in a not-so-subtle reminder to both of them. ‘Is he eating?’
Zoe jumped up. ‘The food!’ she said, smacking her head. ‘I’ve got to start cooking!’
‘Thank you,’ said Francesca, as Zoe rushed out and ran down to the cellar. ‘We could be here all night, otherwise. I can’t stay late either,’ she said. ‘I’ve told Mac I’m going early.’
‘Right,’ said Kate, still staring into space.
‘So I’ll be leaving before Mac, is what I mean,’ Francesca added.
‘I get you,’ Kate said.
‘So Mac’ll be going home on his own,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘Thank you. I wish I could work out what you were saying. It’s all smoke signals with you.’
‘Shut up,’ said Francesca, aimiably. ‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘I know you are,’ said Kate. ‘Sorry.’
‘Go on,’ said Francesca, as the sound of crashing and muffled curses drifted up from the cellar, where Zoe was trying to locate something. ‘While she’s gone. Tell me what happened between the two of you. She doesn’t know, does she?’
‘No.’ Kate bowed her head.
‘Can’t believe that.’
‘Like I said …’ said Kate. ‘There’s a lot of stuff we don’t talk about anymore.’ She gestured, vaguely. ‘Look at Diggory.
Digg
.’
Francesca ignored this. ‘So what happened?’
‘I stole his stethoscope and he was furious.’
‘
Kate
.’
‘
Francesca
.’
‘I give up,’ Francesca said. ‘All I’m saying is, you don’t hate someone that much without still feeling something for them. The opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s …’
‘Indifference, I know,’ Kate said.
The doorbell rang at eight; Mac was always punctual. Zoe was hunting for a spare knife and Francesca had Flora on her lap; she made to put her down and stand up, but Kate was quicker.
‘I’ll let him in,’ she said. ‘I’ll say hi. You stay there.’ She brushed Flora’s cold, baby-smooth cheek with her hand and went inside.
He registered no surprise when she opened the door. ‘Hello,’ he said. He bent forwards and kissed her on the cheek.
He was dressed in a suit and tie. When she’d seen him at Francesca’s, he was in trousers, an open-necked shirt, which was how she always thought of him. He looked formal now, buttoned up. And tired.
‘Francesca told me you were back because of your dad,’ he said, unexpectedly, his soft Scottish accent hitting her in the solar plexus. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d been ill.’
‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘He’s much better now. The operation was a couple of weeks ago. It’s looking OK, touch wood.’
He nodded. ‘That’s usually enough time to know. That’s good. How are you?’ he asked, loosening his tie and putting
his satchel-style briefcase on the floor. His voice was pleasant. She watched his hands.
‘Oh, er,’ Kate said, not sure how to contain her surprise at this, a semi-cordial exchange, ‘I, I am well, thanks. And you?’ She felt like a Dickens character in a TV adaptation. ‘Are you well?’
Mac looked at her in some surprise. ‘Yep. Fine.’
‘Good. Good!’ Kate said, as she shut the door. ‘They’re this way,’ and she gestured towards the kitchen, which was the only direction one could possibly go anyway.
‘Thanks,’ said Mac. A smile flickered across his lips. ‘This way we go, then,’ and he followed her into the kitchen.
‘Hey, Mac,’ said Zoe, who was licking her fingers.
‘Yo, flatmate,’ Francesca waved her wine glass at him, over Flora’s semi-somnolent head. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine, fine,’ said Mac, suddenly awkward in the halogen lights, still in his trench coat. Standing next to him, Kate could smell the fresh air of outside still on him, in the warm fug of the kitchen.
‘I brought some wine,’ Mac offered, and he handed it to her, watching her, and Kate took it, and said, ‘Thanks. I’ll – put it in the fridge,’ and she smiled at this faux-domestic scene, it wasn’t hers, and he smiled back, and the ice was broken a little further. He was going to be nice, he’d obviously made up his mind. Very well, good for him, she told herself. She would happily do the same.
He took his coat off. ‘Harry’s upstairs?’
‘Yes,’ said Zoe. She nodded at her daughter. ‘This one won’t go to sleep.’ She saw he was holding a bag. ‘Is that for Harry?’
‘It is. It’s a doctor’s kit. We do them at the hospital. He wants to be a doctor.’
‘Just like his uncle.’
‘Absolutely,’ he said, and he looked away.
‘Mac?’ called a small voice from upstairs. ‘Hello!’
‘Hey, Harry,’ Mac said, slightly raising his voice. ‘Be up in a minute.’
‘Have some wine,’ Zoe said. ‘I’m going to take Madam here back up to bed.’
‘Ooh, I’ll come with you,’ said Francesca suddenly, as Zoe scooped Flora into her arms and the three of them set off upstairs.
‘Sure,’ said Mac. He moved towards the dresser on the side, pulled open a drawer and took out a corkscrew; he knew his way around this house. ‘You want some wine?’ he said.
‘Sure,’ said Kate, watching him, unable to believe the luxury of being in the same room as him again. ‘Where are the …’
‘Glasses. Here.’ He took a bottle of chilled wine from the fridge and it was a screw-top; he smiled again, the corkscrew in his hand, and it broke the ice a little further.
There was silence in the kitchen, then. It was just the two of them, standing with the corner of the table between them. Kate put her hands awkwardly in her jeans pockets. He did the same.
Clearing his throat, he said, ‘Look, Kate. I don’t want to get into it again, but – just to say, I’m sorry about last week.’
Because Kate thought about him all the time, she couldn’t instantly recall what was different about last week. ‘What?’ It took her a moment to process what he was saying, and she blinked, slowly. He watched her.
‘I thought you were supposed to have a brilliant journalistic brain,’ he said. ‘Last Thursday, whenever it was, at my house. I was vile to you. I’m sorry, Kate. I wasn’t expecting to see you, that’s all. Whatever’s happened between us. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.’
Kate bowed her head. ‘You should have,’ she whispered. ‘I deserve it.’
‘No you don’t,’ he said, moving slightly towards her. It was so quiet in the kitchen, she could hear Harry and Flora upstairs, Zoe talking to them soothingly. He took her wrist. His skin was warm on hers. ‘You don’t deserve it, Kate, you’ve – you’ve been through enough already.’
Kate didn’t allow herself to cry much, these days. She wasn’t an attractive weeper, anyway. Tears didn’t tremble on the edge of her glossy black lashes and drop to the ground as her big dark eyes filled with water, like they did in books. No, her nose went red, her eyeballs bloodshot, she got swollen lids that wouldn’t go down for days, and rough, raw patches underneath her eyes. Partly because, on the extremely rare occasions when she did properly cry, she really went for it. It was silly. He was only being nice to her. But the niceness was the very thing she’d been missing and she could feel her throat swelling up, tears pooling in her eyes.
‘Don’t,’ Kate said, and she smiled.
His hand on her wrist was suddenly tight. He dropped her arm as if he were holding a poisonous snake, and picked up two glasses of wine. The tension between them was as strong as ever, and as Kate went over to the sink, spotting a knife and washed it, all the time she was aware of him behind her, she was apprehensive.
‘Anyway, I am sorry,’ Mac said, with his back to her. ‘It made me think. We should talk about it. About last year.’
‘Not now,’ she said, as Zoe’s voice was heard from upstairs.
‘When, then,’ said Mac, wearily. ‘
When
, Kate? That’s the trouble with you and me. Mainly you, I have to say.’ He smiled, grimly, but she couldn’t smile back. ‘Our timing bloody sucks.’ He rubbed his face; she saw again, with concern, how tired he looked. She wanted to get him to sit down, make him supper, take care of him. But she mustn’t.
They heard Zoe and Francesca on the stairs.
‘Later,’ said Kate. She set her jaw, turned to look at him, and he was standing under one of the spotlights in the kitchen. She clutched the back of the chair.
Don’t get a taxi home with him, she told herself.
Don’t
sleep with him. Don’t open all of that up again, don’t hurt him, don’t hurt yourself. She turned around, as if he’d spoken those words out loud to her. He scratched the sandy-brown stubble on his cheek. His face was expressionless but his eyes were on her, flinty, grey-green, stormy.
‘Ah, Kate,’ he said, simply. ‘Damn you.’ And, leaning back on her hands, against the chair, watching him too, Kate knew. She was terrified, exhilarated, at the power he still had over her, at how much she wanted to give in to it. She couldn’t.
‘Mac, Harry’s asking for you, if you –’ said Zoe, slightly loudly, as she came into the kitchen.
‘I’ll go now,’ he said instantly, and went upstairs.
Zoe made pasta bake and they sat in the kitchen and ate, leaving the french windows to the garden ajar, so they could hear the birds singing in the trees outside. Mac was upstairs for a while to say goodnight to Harry, and give him his doctor’s set, which he’d forgotten before, and Harry tried to get up and put it on.
Then the four of them stayed around the table till ten, when it was time for Francesca to go – she had to be up early for a meeting at eight.
‘I’m going,’ she said, standing up, pushing herself away from the table. She looked at Kate, significantly. ‘I’m going to leave you to reminisce over times gone by.’
And then it was just the three of them, late into the evening, long after they’d cleared everything away and they were left with wine glasses and the windows were closed
against the night. They talked of everything – but mostly, they talked about Steve. How he’d mended Kate’s desk chair at university, and the next time she sat down on it it cracked beneath her. How, on their wedding night, he had had a nightmare about Zoe trying to kill him and woken up screaming ‘No, Zoe, no!’ How he had broken Mac’s calculator-ruler, by flicking rubber Disney characters off it till it snapped in two, then put it back in Mac’s drawer, hoping he wouldn’t notice. Just saying Steve’s name was hard for Kate and at first, she found it impossible. She never talked about him. Who in New York had known him? Hardly anyone. She had liked it that way, at first, and now, here, these last few days, around the table with her friends, she started to realize that she might have been wrong, like she was starting to wake up again, from a long sleep.
Still, long after Harry was asleep again, Flora would not go down, and she sat up in her small person’s chair, staring round impassively and munching clods of earth she’d managed somehow to bring inside from the garden, which occasionally fell into her mouth. As Flora banged her spoon, and tried to stick some more mud into her eye, eventually Zoe said, with resignation,
‘Oh, Flora love – don’t do that. It’s mud. Dirty. Don’t eat it.’ Then, turning to the other two grown-ups: ‘She’s like Just William. I don’t know what to do about her. She’s going to grow up and have boiled eyeball sweets in a horrible paper bag in her pocket. I know it. She’ll be one of those weird gummy women you see waiting at a bus stop wearing a dirty burgundy nylon mac.’
Flora banged her head with the tray that lay on the table. Her face scrunched up and she screamed.
‘Oh god,’ said Zoe. ‘She’s gone. I’m sorry,’ she said, scooping a wailing Flora into her arms. ‘She’s really really tired, I should put her to bed –’
Mac stood up, pushing his chair out. ‘Let me help.’
‘No,’ said Zoe, firmly, pushing her hair back with her hand and trying not to look harrassed. She smiled brightly. ‘Honestly, it might be best if she sees you going, she’ll understand the night is over. God, she’s awful.’ She clutched Flora closer to her; Mac watched them both, and then said,
‘Of course. Anyway, Zoe, love. We’ll put the stuff away and – god, it’s late.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Let me just –’ he put his wine glass by the sink.
Kate looked at her watch, it was twelve-thirty. ‘God, I’m sorry Zo. I had no idea it was so late.’
‘Neither did I,’ she said, holding the wriggling Flora in her arms. ‘She just won’t sleep like other babies, she likes the nighttime. Just like her mummy and her daddy I’m afraid. Look, you two, just go, OK? I should put her down now and I can put some plates and a few wineglasses in the dishwasher afterwards.’
‘Well –’ Mac looked uncertain, but Zoe shooed him along.
‘Come on, seriously.’
He bent down and kissed his sister-in-law and his niece. ‘Bye, girls,’ he said, his voice soft. He grabbed Zoe’s arm lightly. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday. Thanks Zoe.’
She looked up at him, grateful, her eyes sparkling. ‘Oh Mac. Thank you …’
Kate hung back but stepped forwards then and kissed her. ‘Bye, Zo. Thanks so much, so much, it’s been a lovely evening.’ And it had been. She squeezed Flora’s little arm. ‘Bye Flo. Be good.’
They were almost pushed out by Zoe and, as the door shut quietly behind them they shivered on the street, the two of them alone again, in the cold, clear night.
She knew that she was going to go home with him. It was inevitable, the way it always is, she had known it from the
moment he touched her wrist, how powerful the connection between them was. But neither said anything as they walked towards the main road. Kate could hear Mac’s breathing. She turned quickly, and saw the black outline of his profile in the moonlight. She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped a little way away from him, so they were walking in parallel, a metre separating them, along the quiet street with its cracked pavement slabs, jammed with cars.
Did he remember this was where they first kissed, all those years ago, after the housewarming party? It had been March then too. Did he remember this was the exact spot they had caught the taxi back to his flat? Did he replay it in his mind, did he know how often she had? They stood in silence, waiting for a cab to arrive, and when it did they both stuck their hands out.
‘Where to?’ the cab driver said.
Kate didn’t look at Mac. He held the door open for her.
‘Maida Vale, then on,’ he told the cab driver, who nodded as Mac shut the door.
They settled down in the cab, and silence fell.
‘So, how is work, Mac?’ said Kate. Perhaps an interesting conversation about the merits and demerits of the NHS might help smooth out the spiky atmosphere.
She felt his eyes on her in the darkness, knew he was smiling at her, and she turned to meet his shadowy gaze.
‘You always were terrible at awkward silences, Katy,’ he said.
‘No I’m not.’
‘You are. You always crack first.’
Don’t kiss him
.
‘Well …’ The wine was going to her head; she sat up straight against the hard leather of the cab seat, trying not to smile. ‘It’s an only child thing. Social pressure, you know.’
‘Hm,’ he said, moving towards her. She could see his face
in the grey night. She was cold, hot, every part of her was tingling, and now she was smiling, as his lips were next to hers. ‘You shouldn’t worry about that,’ he said, and he kissed her. ‘Oh, Kate.’ His voice was hoarse, now. ‘I don’t like you for your conversation, you know.’
His lips on hers, how she remembered them, the rasp of his day-long stubble on her cheek, her lips, his strong, supple hands on the back of her head. Kissing Mac had been her downfall before, because kissing him was overwhelming, as if she’d never been kissed before. The strength of her physical response to him floored her, like it always did, and they were back in the old game again, and to give herself up to it, to simply enjoy him, was a pleasure the like of which she hadn’t had since she’d walked out on him before.