The Love of Her Life (31 page)

When the morning finally arrived, Kate was still freezing. She hadn’t bought enough winter clothes and she hopped around the flat trying to stay warm. At the bottom of the cupboard, beneath some of her old trainers was a squashed black felt hat. She pulled it on, gratefully, and sat down in front of her computer. She was bone-tired, but she reasoned it was no more nor less than she deserved. Kate knew, with a certainty born of experience, that it would be a few days after what had happened last night, early that morning, before it would start to hit. At the moment, she just felt numb.

She poured herself some coffee and opened her emails. In amongst messages from Kate Spade about their summer collection, enticing offers from Amazon that promised her thirty per cent off a box-set they thought she’d want but she found vaguely insulting to be offered (what had she bought recently that made them think she’d like even one Jeremy Clarkson DVD?) and entreaties from disenfranchised Nigerian aristocrats were hidden three emails. If she wanted a wake-up call, she got it.

The first email read:

The second one said,

And the third one had been sent at eight that morning. It was called ‘Perfect’ and it simply said,

Kate leant back in her chair and stretched her hands above her head, high into the air, till her sides ached. She drew her legs up under her chin, pulling the tattered old jumper over her knees. Her heart was hammering inside her chest. She’d known that email from Bruce was going to come; over the last week or so, she’d deliberately avoided calls from the agency, reasoning to herself that they were getting on fine without her, and the real reason Bruce was getting in touch was to fire her and replace her with the bodacious Lorraine. But now – she bit the tip of her finger, thoughtfully. Did she really have the nerve to email Bruce back and tell him to stick his job? Wasn’t that just saying she wasn’t going back to New York?

She knew it wasn’t. No, if the last few weeks had taught her anything, it was that she should not be doing that job any more. She had to start being brave and get out there, not moulder away at Perry and Co. She had been quiet and diligent, but her heart wasn’t in it, she didn’t enjoy any of the books Bruce represented, she didn’t believe in the world of Perry and Co, where one author – Anne Graves – held sway over everything, an author who’d long ago stopped trying to write good books and was merely content to deliver something half-baked, year after year, later and later, because millions of people across the United States had been convinced by her publishers that hers was a name they could trust. She didn’t like Doris, and Doris hated her. She was
pretty sure Bruce didn’t like her much either, it struck her suddenly with certainty. It wasn’t a job she cared about, why had she let herself do it for so long, then? Kate shook her head.

She had told Mac last night that since she’d come back to London, she was finally working things out for herself. Well, time to put that into action. She pressed ‘Reply’ and typed Bruce a long, apologetic email taking full responsibility for her behaviour and thanking him for everything, and then a separate card, which she addressed and stamped, in a fit of organization. Right. Done. And it felt pretty easy. Liberating, in fact.

She was half-way through a reply to her mother, telling her to calm down in as nice a way as possible, when the phone rang. Kate checked her watch. It was ten-thirty. She wasn’t due at her dad’s till about three-ish. She clutched the now-cold mug of coffee and picked up the receiver.

‘Well?’ a brisk voice demanded on the other end of the phone. ‘What on earth happened last night?’

‘Francesca,’ said Kate, with some relief. ‘Hello.’

‘I had a meeting at eight-thirty this morning, just got out of it, otherwise I’d have called sooner. So …?’

‘Why do we have this relationship when all of a sudden all you’re interested in is me and Mac?’ Kate complained. ‘How are you, Francesca? What’s happening with Pav, have you seen him lately since you slept with him by accident at the Christmas party? What are your hopes and dreams?’

‘Shut up,’ said Francesca. ‘Pav’s back with his girlfriend, the stupid twat. And as for you and Mac, that’s practically the only thing I know about you in the last two years, since you disappeared off the face of the frigging earth. And I still don’t even know what happened! Man!’

Kate took a sip of her coffee and pulled unenthusiastically
at the untouched toast which sat next to her, cold and slightly soggy. ‘Look, Francesca …’ she began, warily. She wasn’t ready to be reminded of it all yet. She paused. ‘It’s pretty horrible, so …’

Francesca’s voice softened. ‘Oh, Kate. I’m sorry.’ She sounded genuinely contrite. ‘I wasn’t calling to force you to tell me, honest. I just wanted to make sure you were OK. It was such a weird vibe last night after he arrived, between the two of you. I can’t believe Zoe doesn’t know something’s going on, don’t you two ever
talk
?’

She sounded like Mac. ‘Well, we left together,’ said Kate defensively. ‘She probably imagines …’ She didn’t finish, curiosity suddenly, overwhelmingly getting the better of her. ‘What time did he get back this morning?’

‘Well, sometime after six o’clock,’ said Francesca. ‘I was in the shower when he came in. He was quiet as a mouse, too. But I didn’t see him. I yelled out “Bye” when he was in the bathroom when I left and he yelled back.’

‘Mmm,’ said Kate. ‘What – what did he yell back?’

‘Well – “Bye”, too.’ Francesca sounded apologetic. ‘Sorry.’

‘Right,’ said Kate. She knew he wouldn’t have said ‘By the way, I’m in love with Kate, and I left her this morning, but I’m just back here for a shower and change of clothes and then I’m going to buy her a big bunch of flowers and go back to her flat to shag her senseless again and then take her out for lunch somewhere nice, possibly by the river.’ But a small part of her hoped he would. She stamped her foot. She was a stupid girl.

Francesca asked curiously, ‘So he left you at – what? Five?’

‘Five-thirty, yeah.’

‘Blimey,’ said Francesca. ‘That’s early.’

‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘Oh god, Francesca. He was so angry.’

‘About what?’

‘Well –’ Kate sighed. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to fill
you in, and if the yen starts to crumble you have my permission to cut me off. OK?’

So she told Francesca everything. About the night together all those years ago. The affair last year. Last night. The letters from Charly. How he’d left. When she’d finished, Francesca was silent, and then she said,

‘Wow.’

‘I know, sorry.’

‘Yeah. Wow.’ Francesca exhaled, loudly. ‘You two are hopeless.’

‘That’s the problem,’ said Kate. She added sadly, ‘Do you know something? I promised myself I wasn’t going to think about it for a little while, but I can’t help just wondering if that’s the last time I’ll see him. And it’s probably for the best.’

She didn’t know what she wanted Francesca to say. She just wanted her to be honest. Francesca made a strange sound, and then she said,

‘You know what?’

‘What?’

‘I think you may be right.’

‘Oh.’

‘Oh babe. It’s hard, but really – how would it ever work? You’re both too – messy from the past. He’s got his own stuff, too. His job’s really busy – he’s looking for somewhere else to live, you know.’

‘Yes. I know.’ Kate bit her lip, grimacing. She thought for a second and said, ‘I was so sure it’d work last year. I kept having these dreams, kept thinking I saw … I saw Sean and Charly. You know? They were everywhere, in the dreams, wherever I was.’ She’d never said any of this before. ‘It was like my punishment. Even though I knew they were dreams, they were so real, it was … awful.’

‘Forget about her,’ said Francesca.

‘I can’t,’ said Kate. ‘Now there’s this letter thing.’ She banged her fist gently against the wooden surface of her desk. ‘God, I don’t want to see her.’

Francesca made a huffing sound. ‘Course you don’t! She did you a favour though.’

‘How so?’

‘Getting you away from Sean, in my opinion,’ she said. ‘Imagine if you’d married him.’

‘Yeah. Maybe,’ Kate said, uncertainly.

‘No maybe about it. You were such a little mouse in his presence,’ Francesca said. ‘You weren’t yourself. You stopped saying interesting geeky facts, you stopped talking about your job – and you had this really important job too, while he was moving stupid program data around from one computer to another! You’d sit there and gaze up at him like he was fucking – Zeus or something!’ Her voice was loud; she obviously realized it and said, after a moment, ‘And as for that cow Charly, well. I just think it was bad luck, you know? We all make friends who we think are the greatest things since sliced bread. Especially at work. You just got really unlucky, that’s all. She was a bitch, you always knew she was a bitch, but you never really knew she was
evil
, did you? Who could have known.’

‘You’re right, you know.’ Kate nodded, blinking in amazement.

‘I think they’re probably miserable together,’ Francesca went on. ‘You know, Bobbie saw them last year, in some Vietnamese restaurant in Dalston. It was BYO and Sean hadn’t bought the wine and Charly was having this massive go at him.’

‘Gosh,’ said Kate, fascinated. ‘Is that true?’

‘Yep, she looked awful, apparently,’ Francesca said with relish. ‘But she was always one of those people whose looks were going to go early on. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I
say. And god, you know we all wish we could change what happened that day, but the one thing I don’t think any of us would change is you splitting up with Sean. He wasn’t right for you. He’s weak. A weak, weak man.’

This was all news to Kate, and she was astounded. ‘I had no idea,’ she said, but as she said it she realized pretty much all of it made sense. ‘Why didn’t you say any of this to me?’ she asked Francesca.

‘When?’ said Francesca, snorting loudly. ‘Kate, when?’

‘Yeah.’ Kate nodded, startled at the easy honesty of this conversation. ‘I know.’

‘Let me ask you something,’ Francesca said. ‘You talked to Zoe about any of this?’

‘No,’ said Kate. ‘No way. She’s got enough on her plate.’

‘I think that’s your problem,’ Francesca said, elliptically. ‘You should have told her.’

‘Maybe.’ Kate squirmed in her seat. She still felt guilt about Zoe, in a variety of different ways. ‘One thing at a time, eh? Hey. Let’s have dinner tonight. My treat. To say thanks. You’ve been an amazing friend since I got back, don’t know what I would have done without you.’

‘Hm,’ said Francesca darkly. ‘Well, I don’t know about that. Dinner’d be nice though, Where?’

‘You pick.’

‘Great.’ She was silent. ‘Yes. I’ve got an idea. I’ll – I’ll text you, when I’ve booked somewhere.’ She changed tack, suddenly, and Kate forgot the strange tone in her voice. ‘Oh god, I’ve got to do some work –’

By lunchtime, Kate felt much better. She’d accomplished more that morning than she’d ever expected to, and it filled her with an intoxicating sense of freedom. She spoke to Sue, who was so kind, and so positive, and she asked her
to do another article for next week, and then to Lisa, checking on her dad and her plans to see them all that afternoon.

Francesca, in her bluntly affectionate way, had made her see things she’d never thought of before. And she was right about Mac, too, little though Kate wanted to hear it. Perhaps it was best to sweep all of this out, with this new sense of purpose she had. Consign it, once and for all, to the past. She didn’t understand him, though she thought she had. But she understood his wanting to preserve his sanity, to not want to get dragged back into all of that again – even though it had been so good. Like investigating a sore tooth with one’s tongue, Kate probed her feelings on the previous night – and wasn’t surprised when, as ever, it hurt to the touch. Perhaps it always would.

She was having a shower when she heard the phone ring again, but they didn’t leave a message. She got dressed, humming, and popped the ‘thank you for everything’ card she’d written to Bruce into her bag. The feeling of lightness that was washing over her did not vanish. She ran down the stairs, looking out of the windows onto the blue sky; another beautiful day, when would this gorgeous weather end? Because it had to end, sometime.

As she flung open the door, patting her bag to make sure she had her keys, Kate screamed with surprise. There, on the doorstep, grinning manically at her, just like she did in those dreams, in her nightmares, was Charly.