You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) (14 page)

“His
parrot?” I heard the beginning of a laugh in Felix’s voice, and started to
giggle too.

“I
know,” I said. “It’s not funny, except it is.”

“Look,
I can do magic,” Felix said. “I’m not as shit-hot as your parrot guy, I expect,
but I can do the basic stuff. I’ve done kids’ parties. They scare the hell out
of me, but I can do them. Want me to come round?”

“Are
you serious?” I said.

“Of
course,” he said. “I’d love to see… to help. If you want.”

“Really?
I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

“Don’t
be absurd, Laura. It’s no trouble – would I offer if it was?”

I
paused. He wouldn’t, of course. Felix never did anything he didn’t want to do.

“I’ll
pay you,” I said. “Of course. I’ll pay what I was going to pay Larry the parrot
man.” And I named Larry’s vast fee.

Felix
laughed. “No you won’t. I’m skint, but not so skint I’d take your money. Bloody
hell, though, it’s a nice little earner, isn’t it? Maybe I should ditch the day
job and move into magic. Fuck playing Hamlet, when you can pull rabbits out of
hats for a hundred and fifty quid an hour. What’s your address, and what time
do you want me?”

Before
I could think about my decision, before any doubts could form in my mind about
the wisdom of letting this man back into my life, into my home, into my
children’s lives, I’d said yes and told him when and where to come. Then I hung
up, just before Jonathan arrived home from work, and just before I could say
anything to Felix that I’d really regret. 

I
didn’t tell Jonathan what I’d arranged. Well, I did – I told him that Magical
Larry had cancelled, but that I’d managed to find a replacement at the eleventh
hour. He didn’t ask who, or how, and I didn’t volunteer the information. In
fact we didn’t talk much at all; we went straight to bed. I suppose he thought
I was still sulking over his jolly to the races.

I
wasn’t, though. A shameful part of me that I could barely acknowledge was
grateful, because after all, if Jonathan was going to be there, I wouldn’t have
been able to let Felix step in – not, at least, without long and convoluted
explanations that would involve either telling the truth or telling lies worse
than those of omission. So I lay in the dark next to my husband, said nothing,
and waited for sleep to come.

We
were woken the next morning by Darcey leaping on to the bed, literally bouncing
with excitement.

“Today’s
my party!” she said. “Wake up, Mummy! Come on, Daddy!”

Reluctantly,
I opened my eyes. “Happy party day, Pickle. Come and give your Mum a kiss, and
let’s get Owen up and dressed.”

The
rest of the morning was spent in frantic preparations. I hung multi-coloured
bunting from the spotlights in the kitchen and over the patio outside, and
arranged Darcey’s presents in a satisfyingly large pile in front of which she
sat, transfixed and forbidden to touch, for a good ten minutes before dashing
outside and spinning round and round on the lawn in a frenzy of excitement. I
made the children eat some breakfast and started arranging the party food on
platters and baking sheets. Then I stuck them both in front of the telly and
barricaded myself in the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the cake.

Jonathan
tapped on the door to say goodbye, clad in his race-day finery. It was
impressive, I thought fleetingly, that he was still able to get into the
morning suit he’d bought for our wedding – my frock certainly wouldn’t fit me
any more. And with that realisation came a torrent of self-doubt – what the
hell was I going to wear? My Mum uniform of skinny jeans and a tunic top would
have been good enough for Darcey’s friends and their parents, and it would
certainly have been good enough for Magical Larry, but Felix? I didn’t want him
to see me like that.

I
washed and straightened my hair and put on a summer dress, wishing there was
time for the fake tan I slapped on my legs to develop. I frantically painted
two coats of coral varnish on my toenails and slid my feet into a pair of
sparkly flip-flops. No amount of expensive podiatry appointments in the years
since I’d last worn pointe shoes had done anything to fix my distorted, lumpy
toes or disguise the fact that the metatarsal I broke had healed crooked. But
Felix knew my feet. He’d spent so many nights peeling tape off them after
performances, dabbing antiseptic on bleeding blisters, kissing the pain away.
There’d be no surprises for him there.

“God,
pull yourself together, Laura,” I told my reflection in the mirror. “Why are
you even thinking like this? Get a grip. He’s helping out, as a friend.”

“Who
is, Mummy?” Darcey appeared in the doorway, catching me by surprise as she so
often did.

“People
whose birthday party it is shouldn’t ask questions like that, darling,” I said.
“Not unless they want surprises to be spoiled. And you don’t, do you?”

She
squirmed with excitement, put her thumb in her mouth, a habit she’d mostly
overcome but still resorted to in times of high emotion, and produced a
muffled, “No.”

“Come
on then, let’s get you into your party dress.”

Soon
we were all ready – Darcey in her fairy splendour, layers of white tulle that
reminded me of the costumes I’d worn on stage, Owen in a clean T-shirt and
shorts, me looking as good as I was going to get. The kids, unable to sit
still, went out into the garden and raced around, shrieking. My mother’s voice
said in my head, “Don’t let Darcey get her best frock dirty,” but I silenced
it. It was her birthday party – she could get as dirty as she wanted.

I
found myself unable to sit still, either. I faffed around, arranging and
rearranging food and drink, tying balloons to the front gate, peering
critically at my face in the mirror, wondering what Felix was going to make of
it all – the photo of Jonathan and me on our wedding day hanging in the hallway;
the kids’ drawings curling beneath a forest of fridge magnets; the plastic toys
spilling through the glass doors out into the garden. It was a typical family
home – a picture of comfortable conventionality that he and I would have
sneered at twelve years ago. And I would have sneered at myself, too – a
frazzled stay-at-home mum in last year’s summer frock, surrounded by plates of
ham sandwiches.

But
that’s what I am now, I told myself – and why did I even care what Felix
thought? He was a relic of my past, and if I had any sense at all, I would have
made sure he remained there. I felt a sudden rush of apprehension: regret at
what I’d done and fear of what it might mean, and snatched up my phone to call
him and invent some reason why he shouldn’t come after all. But before I could
dial, there was a knock at the door.

“Hello!”
Amanda cooed. “I’m sorry we’re a bit early, we’ve come from another party and
it seemed silly to go home. It’s such a social whirl at the moment – one
birthday after another! I swear the kids have busier diaries than I’ve ever
had! You don’t mind, do you? Go and find Darcey, Delphine, and say happy
birthday. Is she out in the garden? You’ve got a glorious day for it. How’s it
going, Laura? Need a hand with anything?”

“It’s
all under control, thanks,” I said, faintly. Amanda, I reflected, was actually
quite relaxing company – all you had to do was feed her occasional cues and
she’d talk and talk. Much as I longed for Zé’s more congenial presence, with
Amanda around, there was no need to put much effort in at all.

“Monica
tells me you booked Magical Larry,” she said. “Good call! He’s pricey, but
worth it.”

“Yes,
except unfortunately he can’t make it,” I said. “But I managed to find a
replacement, so – well, as I said, it’s all under control.”

“A
replacement?” Amanda rummaged in her bag for her phone. “You simply must pass
on his details. Decent party entertainers are like unicorn poo.”

“He’s
a friend of a friend, actually. He’s just doing me a favour. I don’t know if
he’ll even be any good.” This was something that hadn’t occurred to me until
now. What if Felix was rubbish? What if I – and by extension Darcey – were
shamed in front of all her friends? The more I thought about this, the more I
realised how truly, deeply stupid I’d been to accept his offer.

The
knocker crashed on the door again, and I greeted Jo and her daughter, then
Helen arrived to drop off her twins, and soon I was knee-deep in children,
laughing, squabbling, wanting juice, asking where the toilet was and trying to play
with Owen. I glanced at my watch – I’d told Felix to come at three o’clock, and
it was already five past. I wasn’t sure which I was dreading more – his
arrival, or his not turning up at all.

“No
– no, you can’t open those, they’re for Darcey.” Helen’s hellion twins were
showing too keen an interest in the pile of presents. “Why don’t you have a go
on the trampoline? Come on.”

I
grabbed a small, sticky hand in each of mine and led the twins outside. “One at
a time, now, you have to take turns.”

“I’m
first,” Darcey said. “It’s my party.”

“All
right, but only two minutes, okay? Then you must let Rosie have a turn.”

“I’m
Poppy,” said the twin, and I forced a smile. It was going to be a long
afternoon.

“Laura,
there’s someone here to see you.” Amanda appeared at my side and mouthed, “The
magician. He’s waiting in the lounge.”

“Oh
– right. Thanks. Would you…?” I gestured at the trampoline and retreated
indoors.

The
house was cool and still after the sunny chaos of the garden. I ran my hands
through my hair and walked slowly through to the sitting room. Felix was
standing by the window, reading the front page of Jonathan’s copy of the
Guardian
,
his back to me.

“Hello,”
I said, and he turned around.

I
started to laugh. Magical Larry’s working attire, I’d gathered from YouTube,
was a red polyester clown outfit, complete with white panstick and a yellow
bowler hat. Felix’s interpretation of what the well-dressed conjuror wore
couldn’t have been more different. He was part steampunk and part Mad Hatter in
a velvet frock coat, a tall black hat, a shirt with a cascade of white ruffles
down the front and a fake moustache. He looked both hilarious and impossibly
sexy.

“Oh
my God,” I said. “You came.”

“Of
course I came,” he said. “Didn’t I say I would?”

“Thank
you.” Suddenly shy, I walked over and kissed his cheek, just above the
moustache.

“All
my stuff’s in there.” He gestured to a battered leather suitcase on the sofa.
“Want to give me five minutes to get sorted and then we’ll get the show on the
road?”

“Yes,
great,” I said. I felt as if he was the one in control here, calm and poised,
while I flapped around like an idiot, not knowing whether to fall at his feet
with gratitude and desire or run away as far and fast as I could. “I’ll get
them in. Would you like anything? Glass of water?”

His
professional demeanour flickered for a moment. “A fucking enormous drink,” he
said. “I’m bricking it. But that wouldn’t really be appropriate, would it?”

I
went outside and rounded up the children, who, well trained by their first year
of school, filed obediently in and sat in fairly orderly rows on the carpet,
their chatter gradually stilling until they were all quiet. I could see Darcey
sitting on her hands so as not to suck her thumb, and felt a rush of love for
my little girl, who was growing up so fast. I sat on the sofa next to Amanda
and tucked Owen on to my lap, whispering to him that he must be very quiet and
good.

Felix
stood with his back to the children, adjusting a few objects that he’d placed
on the mantelpiece and covered with coloured handkerchiefs. One of the little
girls whispered something to her neighbour and they both giggled. Delphine
said, “Shhh!”

There
was a long, long pause. Fuck, I thought, he’s going to bottle it.

Then
Felix turned around. He looked at the children for a moment, and then he
smiled.

“Who
here believes in magic?” he said softly, into the silence.

“Me!”
they chorussed, sounding like a flock of birds taking wing. I felt my own
spirits soar. It was going to be all right.

Felix
didn’t leave after his magic show, and he didn’t leave when the other mums
departed, their children clutching party bags and practically ricocheting off
the walls from all the sugar (except Jo’s daughter, who’d been restricted to
carrot sticks and hummus). Amanda, in her self-appointed role of my best
friend, offered to stay and help clear up, but I assured her it would be fine.

“You
must give me your card,” she said to Felix. “We all loved your show, the
littles were transfixed. I’d love to contact you later in the year, when it
gets closer to Delphine’s b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y.”

“I’d
adore to help,” Felix said, with a totally convincing note of regret in his voice.
“But this isn’t actually my day job, so to speak. I just did it as a favour for
Laura.”

“Are
you sure?” Amanda said. “Well… do get in touch if you change your mind. Thanks
for the party, Darcey – Delphine, say, ‘Thank you for having me.’”