Confessions of a Serial Dater (21 page)

“Or rather the builders have painted, sanded and fixed,” Lewis laughs.

“And we’re now in good shape for that dinner party. How about next Saturday?”

“What dinner party?” Elaine asks as she, Luke and Baby Becky join us.

“Our housewarming dinner party.” The words are out of Charlie’s mouth before he can think up an excuse. I wish, sometimes, that he were a better liar. Because I know what’s coming next.

“Oh, how lovely. Congratulations on getting the house,” Elaine singsongs to them, with just the right amount of pathos in her tone.

“You must come,” Charlie tells her. “And you, too, Luke. Bring that lovely wife of yours with you.”

“Darling, do come upstairs with me and help me put little Becky down,” Elaine coos at me, rather surprisingly. “I think she’s had enough excitement for one day. She’s such a sweet baby, isn’t she, Luke?”

“As sweet as her mother,” Luke says, smiling, and my heart does a flip. I know that he’s out of bounds, and I know that I have dear Jonathan in my life again, but I just can’t help it.

“Come along, Rosie,” Elaine says. “As one of her godmothers, it will be nice for you to get to know her a bit better,” she adds, and I have no choice but to follow her up the stairs.

“Um, how is she sleeping?” I ask, because it’s one of those things everyone asks new mothers, isn’t it? Plus, I am trying to make an effort to be nice. “Letting you get plenty of rest, I hope?” Elaine, as ever, is immaculate. She’s even got her perfect figure back.

“Well, I do have Nurse Hodges in residence,” Elaine tells me, placing Becky down in her cot.

“It must be nice to have some help with her.” Yes, indeed, it must help having a full-time nanny-cum-nurse on hand at all times.

“Becky wakes up several times, but that’s to be expected at her age, because she likes her feeds little and often, don’t you, dinkums?” she says. “And we’re such a fussy baby, aren’t we?” Her voice is even more babyish than usual. And then she turns back to me. “I’d be a nervous wreck if it weren’t for Mrs. Hodges—she’s an absolute godsend. She’s under strict instruction to only wake me if there’s a problem. Us new mothers need our beauty sleep, you know.”

“It certainly suits you,” I say, because it does. I think, again, that motherhood really
has
softened Elaine.

“I’m so happy to see you and Jonathan back together again,” she tells me, changing the subject as she gazes down over the crib at Becky. “I always thought he was so perfect for you.”

Did she? She never said.

“Well, it’s early days—”

“He adores you,” Elaine interrupts, and I’m searching her expression for an ulterior motive. “It’s obvious from the way he looks at you. I can tell these things, because I’m a very empathic person, you know.” She clasps her hands together. “He
deserves
a second chance. I just know that if you could find it in your
heart
to open up to him, you’d be
so
happy together.”

“Well, thank you.” I didn’t know she was so invested in my happiness.

“Life’s too short,” she tells me. “You have to
jump
at your opportunities and make the
most
of them.”

I think of Charlie and Lewis, and of Ned and Flora, and of Philip and Jess, and of Carmen and Paul. They certainly seem to have seized their opportunities and made the most of them.

“You know, we haven’t been as close as we might, in the past, have we?” she asks in her little-girl voice, her eyes full of sympathetic pleading, and I soften even more.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

“And it bothers me, Rosie, it
bothers
me,” she says, shaking her head even more emphatically. “Since giving birth, I’ve had time to reevaluate what’s
important
to me,” she adds, walking toward the window. “Because giving birth can be dangerous—why, it’s almost like a near-death experience. And then, with little Becky being so small, it was touch and go…oh, I don’t know
what
I would have done if something had
happened
to my little darling…” She trails off, wiping a tear from her eye.

Well, Becky was a bit small, but I hadn’t realized she’d been in any danger. In fact, this is the first I’ve heard of it, and if there had been a problem I’m sure that Auntie Pat would have wasted no time putting the world in the picture. But I don’t say this. Instead, I will magnanimously allow Elaine her moment of melodrama.

“It must have been such a worry,” I say instead. Because if Elaine can hold out an olive branch, then the least I can do is accept it. “But she’s looking lovely and healthy now, isn’t she?” I try for upbeat.

“Yes, she is, isn’t she? Her lovely little face reminds me sometimes of her father…” Elaine trails off, looking tragically down over the garden.

I hold my breath. Elaine never did tell us who it was; I wonder if this new, touchy-feely, friendly Elaine will want to confide in me.

“You just can’t imagine how hard it is to be alone, with a poor, fatherless child,” Elaine says dramatically, and then she does an about-turn. “But all that has changed since Luke came into our lives.”

Luke?

“Um, he seems very nice,” I say, all nonchalant.

“Oh, Rosie. I shouldn’t tell you, I shouldn’t tell anyone, but I’m so
happy,
” she says, innocent eyes widening as she puts a
hand to her mouth. “I have to confide in someone or I’ll
explode.
We just—bonded, in the neonatal unit.”

Oh. My. Fuck. I don’t believe this. The lying, cheating, adultering…

“But he’s—he’s married.”

“That’s not the whole truth. Oh, I’m bursting with it, I just can’t keep it in,” Elaine bursts out. “Of course, you can’t tell a soul. Not for now, at least.”

“Um, of course.” What does she mean, it isn’t the whole truth?

“Come, sit with me.” Elaine perches on the overstuffed cream sofa and pats the cushion next to her.

And as I walk across and sit down, my heart in my mouth, I can’t help but marvel at the choice of a cream couch for a baby’s nursery. I mean, I thought babies had, you know, a tendency to be sick and stuff…

It’s strange, isn’t it? My cousin, who until this moment has been Bitch Cousin from Hell, has suddenly had a character-changing experience, wants me to be her new best friend, insists on confiding something to me that I am sure I do not want to know, and all I can think about are cream-covered sofas.

“It’s Luke and Rowan,” she says. “They’re getting divorced.”

“Oh.” If she’d just told me that an alien craft had landed outside the Houses of Parliament, and that the Prime Minister and, in fact, the entire government had been replaced by a group of three-headed, ten-legged, yellow Urgs from the planet Zoon, I wouldn’t be more surprised.

Luke and Rowan are getting divorced? A cold layer of ice forms around my heart as I worry about whether this has something to do with the fact that I slept with him.

“I know. It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?” Elaine laughs. “I know I shouldn’t be happy about it, but you see, it hasn’t been a real marriage for years.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. Luke has confided everything in me.
Everything,
” she says, shaking her head. “They’re very good friends, and she’s a lovely person, and everything. But apparently they got married when Luke was fresh out of medical school because it was expected by both families. They’d been engaged since they were both twenty-one.”

“That’s young to get engaged,” I say absently, thinking, thinking all the time, as the cogs in my brain click and whir.

“Too young to know one’s mind,” Elaine tells me. “But neither of them could envision marrying anyone else, and they’d been friends forever, and they just kind of fell into it.”

Well, that sounds like a good reason to get married to me. I mean, the passion doesn’t last forever.

My night of passion with Luke springs instantly to mind. And the friendship that began to form between us at the Christmas fund-raiser, and in the bar at Flora and Ned’s engagement…

“They just didn’t have any passion,” Elaine tells me. “Right from the start. Of course, Luke hasn’t told me that, but I could tell from the look in his eyes,” she adds, and I wonder how much of what she is telling me is a fabrication. Because let’s face it, Elaine has been known to give the truth a bit of a helping hand on more than one occasion.

Maybe she’s not fabricating. I mean, the note Luke left me that morning said that his life was complicated, and that he needed to explain something to me, and—Oh, fuck, I don’t know what to
think
anymore.

Warning bells ring in my head as it all starts to fall into place.

“But. But. But why stay married for so long? I mean, they’ve been together how many years?” I squeak, trying to get a grip on my vocal cords.

“Five. But you see, staying married suited them. They’ve
lived very amicably side by side for a while, so why scuttle the boat if there’s no reason? Neither of them had met someone else…until now.” Elaine laughs her little laugh, and the ice around my heart hardens, because I can almost guess what’s coming next.

Oh, why didn’t I give him a chance to explain himself to me back in February?

But, I remind myself, married or not, he should have told me about Rowan before climbing into my bed. Then again, I didn’t exactly give him the chance. I mean, I was all over him the minute we got inside my front door….

“Also, you see, there’s all the charitable donations that her family makes. They’re a very conservative bunch, they don’t really approve of divorce, and Luke and Rowan had to make sure that they didn’t destroy the planned agenda of charitable donations her family has made this year. Including a hefty amount for neonatal research.”

Oh, it all makes sense.

“As soon as the time is right, Luke and I will be able to
declare
our
love
to the
world,
” Elaine finishes, watching me closely.

“Well.” I’m bemused, confused. I just can’t think straight.

But one huge, unmissable thought shines thorough like a beacon in my fog-infused brain. The one that is telling me that I might have made the biggest mistake of my life not giving Luke the chance to explain things back in February.

“Darling, you’re such a good friend,” Elaine tells me, taking my hands in her own. “I just hope you can find it in your heart to be happy for us.”

“Of course, of course,” I say, pulling myself together. “Um, that’s completely wonderful news,” I add. “And you and Luke can both rest assured that I won’t breathe a word of it to, well, anyone,” I babble, infusing my voice with false enthusiasm.

“Oh, it’s just so exciting,” Elaine tinkles at me.

And as Baby Becky begins to cry, I am tempted to join her, without really understanding why.

“You’ve been very quiet tonight,” Jonathan says as he pulls up outside my house.

“Oh, just thinking about, you know, Elaine being a mother, and that kind of thing,” I lie, because I can hardly tell him the truth, can I? It all fits. I mean, if I’d really wanted Luke, then I would have listened to him, despite thinking he was a cheating, lying scoundrel. Which means that subconsciously, I was rejecting him.

“So have I. In fact, I’ve been thinking a lot about the future just recently.”

Colin must still be up. All the downstairs lights are on. I just don’t know if I can face listening to him tonight.

“Me too,” I say, thinking of Colin’s future.

“Rosie,” Jonathan begins, then stops.

“What?”

“I know this isn’t the most romantic setting in the world, and it should usually involve fine food, and violins, and expensive rings. And I know that we’ve had our difficulties, but I think that we’ve come full circle. Will you—will you marry me?”

I’m shocked by his question. It’s the last thing I was expecting, but as all my jumbled thoughts whirl in my brain, it becomes the most logical, natural question in the world.

We know each other so well; we’re that comfortable pair of old shoes.

We’re fond of each other and have a lot of the same interests. French, to name one.

And I think of Charlie and Lewis, and how Lewis got his embarrassing mole removed because Charlie was worried. He compromised.

I think of Flora and Ned, and how happy they are in their newly wed state.

I think of Carmen and Paul, and the compromises they made for comfort as well as spontaneity.

I think of Philip and Jess, and how well suited they are.

And then I think of Elaine and Luke.

“You don’t need to answer me now,” Jonathan adds, an endearingly earnest expression on his face. “Take all the time you want.”

“Yes, Jonathan,” I tell him. “I will marry you.”

“Are you sure you don’t need any help with that?” Colin deadpans rhetorically at me two weeks later as he pushes past me to run hot water into the kitchen sink.

“I’m fine, thanks,” I lie brightly. “You go back inside and have fun.”

“Let me just clear the decks for you,” he says, ignoring me as he begins to clear the utter chaos that is my small kitchen, and generally get underfoot as I stir yet another pan of spaghetti Bolognese.

I know that he is only trying to help, so I bite my lip as I have to move out of the way for him to collect more dirty dishes and wipe down the sauce-splattered side.

Although I am a self-confessed neat freak, comparison with Colin pales me into insignificance on the fanatically-clean-and-tidy front. Since he moved in “temporarily” oh,
eleven weeks and six days ago, I’ve taken to leaving dishes unwashed, and squeezing the toothpaste from the top, just to hurry along his search for alternative accommodation. I’m fond of him, but I really hope he finds somewhere soon. He’s driving me crazy. Especially tonight, when I need to concentrate on the task at hand.

“We can do that later, Colin,” I tell him patiently, because although he truly means to help, he’s more of a hindrance. This is a bloody, fearsome war, and I need to plan my campaign.

“Everything alright in here?” Mum asks from the doorway.

“It’s all under control,” I lie again, because it will be a miracle if I can produce nineteen plates of hot pasta and nineteen servings of hot pasta sauce without having a nervous breakdown.

“Oh, Colin, you’re never washing all those dishes on your own?” Mum bustles into the kitchen. “Here, I’ll wash and you dry up. We’ll have this spick and span in no time.” This from the woman to whom the term Domestic Goddess cannot be applied.

I chew even harder on my poor lip as my mobility in the small space is even more severely restricted. I know that they mean well, but in the words of Marlene Dietrich, I just want to be alone. If only they would leave me in peace, I could fight my way through my assault on the spaghetti dinner.

Tonight was
supposed
to be my night of culinary triumph. An intimate dinner party for my nine nearest and dearest friends. A challenging occasion on which I would repay everyone’s hospitality for previously eaten dinners prepared by them.

On the two other occasions when it has been my Saturday-night turn to entertain my friends, I took the precaution of ordering (a) Chinese takeout and (b) Indian takeout, thereby ensuring gastronomic delight, because they all
knew that I could not cook and forgave me for sidestepping this element.

But that was before I completed my night school cookery course.

Yes, tonight was one of those best-laid plans of mice and women. A chance for me to display my newly acquired knowledge and skill. And also to serve as a low-key engagement celebration, because Jonathan and I have decided on a low-key wedding. We’re paying for it ourselves, and why splurge out all that extra money on a huge affair that only lasts one day when we should be investing in our future?

Anyway, I’ve had several practice cooking runs, just to ensure success. I’ve calculated ingredients, cooked them, and measured them onto ten plates. The first couple of attempts were a disaster, but I really did a decent job the third time, and the results are currently frozen in individual servings in my freezer.

Oh, yes, I’d planned how to accommodate ten people around a table by opening the partition doors that separate my living room from my dining room and extending the dining-room table by the cunning addition of Carmen’s collapsible table, covering both with large tablecloths. I’d even planned to borrow four extra chairs, crockery and cutlery from Jess or Carmen. I had it all worked out perfectly to a T, and in my state of organized euphoria, I should have
known
that something would go wrong.

It began yesterday at lunchtime.

I’d taken an extended lunch break so that I could make a thorough reconnaissance of the supermarket and purchase everything that I needed for the dinner party. With list in hand, I waged a successful campaign that had all the ingredients purloined, taken home, unpacked, and put away, ready for the next stage of the assault.

So when I arrived back at the office just after two and
found that Elaine had arrived minutes earlier, you could have knocked me down with a feather. This is what happened when I pushed open the door and walked into the main reception area…

“She shouldn’t be much longer,” Shirley tells Elaine as she sneezes into a Kleenex.

“Here, love, I’ve made you a nice cup of tea and cut you a slice of my homemade chocolate cake. That’ll keep you going until Rosie gets back. You look like you need feeding up,” Gloria says, holding out a cup and plate to Elaine. And then to Shirley, “Are you eating enough greens? Only if you ate more vitamin C you wouldn’t get so many colds.”

“No, thank you,” Elaine tinkles, taking a horrified step back from the germ-infested Shirley and the calorie-infested plate of cake. “I’ll just wait in her office, shall I?”

This is the first time Elaine has ever condescended to visit Odd Jobs, and before I can absorb my shock and surprise, Colin unintentionally lands me in A Situation.

“Here she is,” Colin monotones as he sees me. “Get everything you need for the engagement party tomorrow night?”

“Darling,
there
you are,” Elaine singsongs at me. “I was just passing on my way to Luke’s new house. I’m helping him with the interior design—you know what men are like when it comes to that kind of thing,” she adds, laughing her tinkly laugh.

Luke’s got a house? I suppose it makes sense that Elaine makes sure that she likes the décor. I mean, it will be partly her house too, won’t it?

Luke and Rowan are officially separated. They announced it just after the christening, and it even got a mention in the daily newspapers. Not that it has anything to do with me. Not that I’m remotely interested.

“So I thought, why not pop in and say hello to Rosie?” Elaine continues. It’s all part of her newly reformed character. Since Charlie and Lewis’s housewarming party with Luke, she’s taken to calling me to fill me in on what she and Luke are planning next.

“Um, lovely,” I say with a bright smile on my face, as I wait for the other shoe to drop. Maybe she missed it? “So, how’s Becky?”

“Gorgeous. Nurse Hodges has taken her for a walk in the park. So important for infants, you know.” And then, as she absorbs Colin’s words, “Oh, are you having an engagement party? I thought you weren’t going to bother. I thought the wedding was low key.”

“It’s
not
an engagement party,” I stress, feeling my heart sink. Thank you, Colin. “It’s just, you know, a few friends and a plate of spaghetti Bolognese. Nothing elegant, just, um, pasta and supermarket wine.”

“Oh, but that sounds so—so spontaneous. And fun.” Elaine adds just that perfect bit of pathos to her voice, and I’m immediately guilty for excluding her.

“Well, if you’ve nothing better to do, you’re more than welcome to join us,” I say, infusing my voice with false eagerness. “I just didn’t think it was your, you know, kind of thing, but—”

“Darling, we’re not snobs,” Elaine jumps in, and I cringe at her use of “we,” because, of course, I know that she’s not referring to herself and Baby Becky. “Luke and I would
love
to come to your little spaghetti party. Although I didn’t think that you could
cook,
hahaha.”

“She’s been taking lessons,” Shirley tells her. “Oh. Well, I hope you all have a lovely time,” she adds dourly, then blows her nose, and I feel like the meanest person.

“I suppose you’re going, are you?” Gloria asks Colin. “I
mean, with you being Rosie’s lodger. Not that I’m angling for an invite or anything,” Gloria adds with a big beam on her face. “But if you need any help with the cooking, you know my number—just give me a call. I’ll be happy to stay in the background and just—help.”

“I haven’t got any fixed plans,” Colin monotones back at her. “I thought I’d spend the evening checking and dusting my model train collection.”

Fuck, fuck,
fuck.

I didn’t mean to hurt Colin’s feelings. I just assumed that he wouldn’t
want
to join us. I mean, on the previous two occasions I had my friends around, Colin just disappeared upstairs, even though I told him that he was welcome to join us. I assumed tomorrow would be the same, so I just didn’t ask him. How did I suddenly become the most heartless person on the face of the planet? I take a deep breath. There is no way out of this.

“It’s like I said, just a few friends having an informal plate of spaghetti,” I say. “But if you all want to come, then that would be lovely. The more the merrier,” I add, just a bit hysterically.

How the hell am I going to cook dinner for
fifteen
people? Where will they sit?

I can do this. I can cope. I called Carmen and Jess earlier. They’re bringing Jess’s fold-down arts and crafts table, plus more additional crockery and cutlery. And chairs.

Christ, they’ll all be here in a minute, and I haven’t even gotten the water boiling for the pasta yet! Better get a move on.

“Can I just get to that drawer, Rosie?” Colin asks, just as I’m teeming spaghetti sauce from four saucepans (two of which are new, because I needed additional pans to cook ad
ditional food) into four tureens (two of which are also new, because I needed additional tureens in which to store the additional food) so that I can keep it hot in the oven while I wash the four saucepans, boil water in them, and cook the pasta.

I sigh, put down the ladle and move out of Colin’s way.

“Rosie, Colin’s just wiped that kitchen surface, and you’ve dirtied it again,” Mum fusses, and I hold my breath and count to ten. “Here,” she says, handing me a small plate and a cloth, and I fight the strong urge to scream in frustration. “Put the ladle on the plate and give the side another wipe, there’s a love.”

Mum wasn’t originally on the invitation list for tonight, either, but that all changed when Mum phoned this morning to invite Colin to go to bingo with her. They’ve become very chummy these days. Colin, of course, told her I was having an engagement party.

What else could I do to preserve world peace but invite her? So, of course, I also had to invite Granny Elsie. And Sid and Alf, because she’s still embroiled in her love triangle and didn’t want to play favorites.

“Everything under control?” Jonathan asks from the doorway. “We’re doing nicely out here. Not to make you panic or anything about dinner being late, but people are starting to arrive. Just thought I’d see if you needed a hand, but you know how useless I am in the kitchen. But I can see you’re fully manned—I’ll go and sort out the drinks,” he says, beaming at Mum and Colin, totally missing the desperate, madwoman expression on my face as he disappears back into the living room.

“You’ll have to get that sauce into the tureens and into the oven if you’re going to have enough pans to cook the pasta,” Colin tells me wisely, and I want to shake him.

“Have you got another ladle?” Mum asks. “I’ll give you a hand. Oh, have you got the plates in the oven keeping warm? Why don’t you let me—”

“Can I help?” Luke asks brightly from the doorway, and I panic even more. He came, then.
Yet another pair of helping hands,
I think hysterically, as I also remember just what those hands are capable of. And what happened last time he came….

“No, no,” I say brightly. “All fine, all okay, lovely to, um, see you, hahahaha.”

Luke, always observant, as we know, recognizes the desperate, madwoman expression on my face for what it is and does something rather startling and kind. He raises that sardonic eyebrow at me and gives me a gentle, understanding smile.

And then he rescues me.

“We’re in dire need of some help out here,” he tells Mum. “Flora and Ned have just arrived with the extra table, and we need you to—organize setting it up.”

“Oh, well have you opened the French doors onto the patio? Only we’ll need to extend out onto the patio if we’re all going to fit,” Mum says, heading toward the door. “Honestly, Rosie, it’s not like you to be so disorganized and leave things until the last minute.”

“Colin, we’re still in need of two additional chairs. If you could just get the vanity chair from Rosie’s room and the stool from the master bathroom, that would solve the seating situation problem. I’ll take over down here,” he finishes, just as Carmen, too, arrives in the kitchen to hear every word.

My face flames, because the only way Luke would have this information is if he’d actually been upstairs in my bedroom and bathroom. Which he has…

“Yes, I—noticed the extra seats when I used the master bathroom earlier,” Luke adds as he realizes what he said.

“Certainly,” Colin tells him, his expression not flickering as he wipes his hands on the dishcloth. But then his expression never flickers, so who knows what he’s thinking? “If Rosie’s sure she doesn’t need me in the kitchen any more?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Um, thank you, Colin. Carmen,” I squeak. “How lovely to
see
you,” I add just a bit desperately, which sounds completely manic because I saw her earlier when she called around to drop off some cutlery and crockery.

“I was going to ask if you needed some help,” she tells me, looking back and forth from me to Luke with a very strange, speculative gleam in her eye. “But I can see that you and Luke have everything in hand.” She twirls a lock of her red hair—a bad sign that she is thinking and putting together two and two and coming up with, well, four.

She eyes me with an expression that says she didn’t believe a word of Luke’s excuse and promises “Later you will spill all.” She smirks at me as she leaves us to a difficult silence.

“Right—you finish the ladling,” Luke tells me, all business. “Hand me each pan as you finish, and I will wash and add water for pasta. How does that sound?”

“Thank you,” I tell him in a small voice, concentrating furiously on the sauce.

“You’re welcome,” he tells me gently. And then, “Sorry about that comment. I didn’t think. Do you think she bought that excuse?”