‘Hi, Alex. How are you?’ That didn’t sound too needy, did it? If she made it obvious how much she’d longed to see him again, then he’d run. She had to play it cool.
Alex held the door open for her. ‘Fine, I’m fine. You’re looking wel , Daisy.’
She’d put on some weight - the tol of al the late night forays into the fridge. People who said that wine and chocolate didn’t go together had obviously never been dumped. She hated the fact that she couldn’t fit in her thin clothes again, but Mary
was always trying to buoy her up by saying she looked better with curves. ‘The hourglass look is in,’ Mary pointed out. Then love it.’
I only want Alex to love it, Daisy thought as the rounded body she’d hated al her adult life began to return. At the lift door, she turned to him. ‘What are you here for, Alex?’
‘To see you, to talk,’ he said.
The lift arrived and as she moved into it, Daisy banged her bookstore carrier bag against her shin. Feel the pain and get on with your life, she remembered. ‘What do you want to talk about?’ she asked firmly.
‘Us, everything, how you are. That’s al .’ He hesitated. Alex had always been so definite. He wasn’t the sort of person who hesitated. ‘I care about you, Daisy. I hate to see you hurting.’ Score one for Mary. Daisy was grateful that at least she was prepared for this approach.
The lift hummed up to the fourth floor. Inside the apartment, he handed her an expensive green and gold gift bag. ‘I brought you these,’ he said.
Inside was a smal bouquet of yel ow roses and a bottle of wine. Hope surged inside her. Nobody would visit their ex girlfriend with wine and roses if they weren’t planning to get back with her and tel her leaving had been a mistake. It was a sign. Mary had been wrong. Alex wanted Daisy back. She knew it. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ she asked, trying to hide her excitement.
‘Yeah, that’d be great.’ Alex prowled around the room, looking at the place without his things. There were so many bits and pieces they’d bought together over the years, that he had said it was impossible to imagine working out who owned what.
‘We can work it out later,’ he’d written in the note he’d left for Daisy while she was in Diisseldorf. ‘I’d hate to fal out over splitting up the furniture.’
He’d taken his CDs and his books, and the big Blues Brothers movie poster that used to hang over the couch.
He’d left the huge television with its intricate family of wires and matching pieces.
Daisy picked up the digital remote control and threw it to him now.
‘The sports channel is getting withdrawal symptoms,’ she said. ‘Put it out of its misery and switch it on while I get the wine.’ There, that sounded suitably happy, didn’t it? No pressure, cool and relaxed. Alex clearly thought so too from the big grin he gave her.
Outside the room, she rushed into their bedroom and tore off her black trouser suit. Humming to herself, she rifled through her underwear drawer and found an Italian coral bra and G-string set that was halfway between her skinny undies and her fat, suck-it-al -in ones.
With her suit trousers and silk tee back on, with the sexy fresh underwear underneath, she felt better, more in control.
And it wouldn’t look as if she’d done anything except brush her hair.
Because if she was wrong - dear Lord, let her not be wrong
- and he didn’t want her back, then she wouldn’t have made a fool of herself.
She poured the wine, took a large gulp out of her glass, then refil ed it and carried both glasses into the living room.
The television wasn’t on the sports channel. It was set to one of the soaps that Daisy loved and Alex hated. Another sign. Now that he was here, Alex didn’t seem in any mood to talk about anything in particular. He sat back in the armchair he had habitual y occupied, rested his wine glass on the arm of the chair just like normal, and chatted. How was the shop? Was business good? How was Mary? Keen to see you disembowel ed at dawn, Daisy thought. ‘Fine.’ ‘I suppose she wants me roasting on a spit over burning coals,’ Alex said.
Daisy laughed. ‘Close enough,’ she admitted.
‘She’s a good friend,’ he said approvingly.
‘You’ve never got on with Mary,’ Daisy couldn’t resist saying. Mary and Alex had existed in an uneasy truce from day one, which had always irritated Daisy. She had so much to be grateful to Mary Dil on for.
‘Doesn’t mean I can’t see that she’s good to you,’ Alex said, unperturbed. ‘She’s tough as old boots, just not my sort of woman, that’s al .’
Silence hung in the air. Mary wasn’t his sort of woman but Louise, pretty, dark and pregnant, was.
Alex took another drink from his glass. ‘And Paula, how is she?’ Another clanger.
‘She had her baby, a little girl.’
Born early to an ecstatic Paula after a merciful y easy labour, little Emma Marie was now a week old and weighed seven pounds one ounce. She had perfect little ears, Mary said. ‘Oh, right.’
It felt so tense. Daisy’s stomach was in a knot from wondering what was the right thing to say. She didn’t want to sound desperate with longing or heaving with bitterness.
And yet not so cool as to make him think that he couldn’t come back. The door would be wide open if Alex wanted it so. How did you say that and stay calmly unruffled al at the same time? Desperate for a topic that didn’t have high explosive content, they cast around wildly for something to talk about. The bank.
The bottle of wine and an entire jumbo packet of cheesy nachos were consumed over a long story about the bank, a story that never made a single mention of Louise.
Loosened up, thanks to half a bottle of wine and the empty calories of the nachos, Daisy thought about blithely introducing the subject of Louise and the baby. How’s the pregnancy? When is she going for her next scan?
Something like that. But she just couldn’t.
She couldn’t bring herself to be that forgiving.
‘Do you have any more wine?’ Alex was halfway out of his chair as he asked.
She nodded, eyes shining up at him. He knew where the wine was kept. This was his home, after al . While he located another bottle, Daisy went to the bathroom. Wine suited her, she decided, happy in vino with her reflection.
Her hair was better behaved when she’d had a drink and her face never looked fat, just welcoming and with rounded cheeks. A rosy Madonna with a child. No, strike that.
She brushed her teeth, sprayed Eternity into the air, walked into the fal ing droplets, and slicked on strawberry lipgloss.
Alex was back in his seat with a ful glass when she returned. ‘I love this chair,’ he said, stretching out his long legs. ‘It’s here for you anytime you want it,’ Daisy said. She curled up on the corner of the couch close by him.
‘I know.’ Alex’s hand reached out and rested on her thigh, so it seemed natural to lean her head over in his direction.
‘You’re an amazing woman, Daisy,’ he sighed.
Warmth that had nothing to do with the wine swirled inside her.
‘I miss you and our life. Everything’s changed and it’s hard to accept.’ His eyes grew misty and he stared blankly at the wal over the bookcase where a wooden painted tribal mask hung. ‘Do you remember that trip to Puerto Rico where we picked that up? And we had practical y no money left and the guy in the stal said I was a lucky guy and he would buy you?’ ‘Yeah,’ said Daisy. ‘Remember the photos of us on the beach where I got sunburned because we fel asleep?’
‘And you had one red cheek and one white one,’ finished Alex. ‘That was a great holiday. We didn’t see that much, did we?’
It had been the first time they’d gone away anywhere outside Ireland as a couple, and they’d both been broke.
They’d had a tiny white-wal ed bedroom in a smal cheap hotel where the
wine was plentiful, the sun danced on their balcony al day, and the bed had been soft enough to lie in for hours after they made love. They’d spent a lot of time making love on that holiday. Bare skin, the swel of Daisy’s golden body in the white bikini Alex insisted on buying for her, the feeling of sunlight on their limbs made lovemaking seem like the only sensible way to spend the long, hot days.
‘Do you remember the white …’
‘… bikini.’ She finished for him and smiled. ‘I’ve stil got it.’
‘Bet it looks even better on you now,’ he said, smiling too.
And he meant it, she knew, because his dark eyes were ful of love as they rested on her.
‘Alex …’ she began.
‘I know, Daisy, I know,’ he said, and then he was off the armchair and pul ing her onto the floor beside him. Their mouths found each other and Daisy could have cried at the familiar taste of his lips.
‘Daisy,’ he moaned again as he pul ed off her T-shirt to reveal the Italian lace in al its glory. His lips brushed and sucked, devouring her flesh as his hands ran over her body.
‘Your skin is so soft,’ he murmured, fingers splaying out over the creamy silken flesh, with its delicate tracery of blue veins visible in the swel of her breasts.
And Daisy felt herself melt to liquid in the arms of the man who’d introduced her to both the concept of sex and the reality. Alex had been her first lover, her only lover, and he knew exactly which buttons to push to turn her on.
Somehow, they got out of their clothes, stil clinging to each other, then, on the soft chenil e of the cream rug, Alex was inside her and Daisy felt as if she was at home. Nestled in the protective circle of his arms, his scent in the air, his breath on her skin, she stretched against him ecstatical y.
It wasn’t about sex. It was about the comfort of his arms and when he came, quickly, cal ing her name the way he always had, Daisy cried. Salty tears pooled in her eyes and she did her best to brush them away, because she didn’t want him to think she was sad. They weren’t sad tears: they were tears of joy. She’d never thought she’d have this again, this luxury of Alex in her arms, loving her, and she held on to him tightly. ‘I love you,’ she murmured into the solidness of his shoulder. He rested his weight on her briefly and grunted as he moved off. Daisy didn’t want him to move away, so she curled around him as he sank back onto the carpet.
This moment, this place on the floor, it was al perfect. She didn’t want it to end.
Alex moved and looked at his watch anxiously. ‘I better go,’
he said. ‘You know … it’s hard to explain.’
Daisy nodded. He was right. He needed time to tel Louise that it was al over. It couldn’t be easy, so he needed time.
Now he was coming back to her and that was al that mattered. ‘I understand,’ she said.
‘You’re a woman in a mil ion, Daisy,’ he said affectionately.
With a swift kiss goodbye, he pul ed his clothes back on and left. Languorously, Daisy got ready for bed, stil on a high from their lovemaking. She put the feel-the-pain-and-get-on-with-it books at the bottom of the pile beside her bed. Then she picked up a glossy magazine and settled back to read. Everything would be fine.
The next morning, Mary noticed a spring in Daisy’s step.
‘You look good,’ she said approvingly.
‘I slept wel ,’ said Daisy guiltily. It was true but that wasn’t the reason she looked happy.
‘What did you think about Women Who Love Men Who Can’t Love? It’s not bad, is it?’
‘No,’ said Daisy dreamily. ‘Not bad at al .’
When another week had gone by and there had been no phone cal from Alex, no email, no funny text message on her mobile phone to set up another date, Daisy final y panicked.
The yel ow roses had died but, stubbornly, Daisy had pressed them al . She felt sick in the pit of her stomach every time she stared at the spot on the floor where she and Alex had made love. She’d been so happy then and now that bit of carpet was mocking her. The whole apartment was mocking her. She felt like moving out there and then just to get away from the memories. But that would be stupid. She had to wait and see, didn’t she? There was nobody she could ask for advice. Not Mary, that was for sure. And so many of their friends were just that: their friends. Not hers or his. But both. Shared friends. She had no idea who was on which side.
It would be so much easier if separating couples divided up their friends in the same way they divided up the CDs: ‘You can have Gerry and Michel e, as long as I can have Sheryl and Ian.’ Then Daisy would know that she could phone Michel e for support, and not be afraid that Michel e would get off the phone and say ‘That was awful. I hadn’t the heart to tel her that Alex and Louise are coming out with us on Friday. Poor Daisy. Louise was worried about how she’d cope and Alex says she’s a bit unstable …’
‘Don’t be such a wimp,’ Daisy lambasted herself. ‘You need to find out what’s going on. Phone him, phone somebody.’ She left a message on his mobile phone: ‘Alex, I need to speak to you. I was worried whether everything was OK. I thought after last week that …’ Shit, what could she say now? Quickly, she pressed the button that al owed her to erase her message and tried again.
‘Alex, it’s me. I wondered if you were OK. Could you phone me? We’ve stil got things to talk about.’ Simple but to the point, she thought. ‘I keep thinking about that night on the living-room floor,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.
She wouldn’t erase this one.
Daisy got the train into the city the next day so she didn’t have to worry about parking. She’d been invited to the launch of a new range of costume jewel ery, and Mary had urged her to go. Paula’s replacement was with her in the shop and Daisy could do with a break, Mary said.
‘I’l be back in the afternoon,’ Daisy had said. ‘It won’t take long.’
‘Take as long as you need.’ Mary waved her off airily. ‘You might meet a gorgeous man there.’
Daisy laughed. She didn’t plan on looking for one. There was an air of summer drifting about the streets of Dublin: people were shedding their winter clothes, and a few hardy souls were fashionably bare-legged at the jewel ery launch.
The col ection was good - definitely suitable for the shop, Daisy decided - and after a few glasses of champagne with a fashion stylist old friend of hers, Daisy was feeling no pain. ‘How’s Alex?’ asked Zsa Zsa, the stylist.
‘Wel …’ Daisy hummed and hawed. She’d been waiting for her mobile phone to ring al day. Surely he’d reply soon, although she’d had to switch it to silent for the actual show.