Little White Lies (22 page)

I sit up and rest on my elbows, surveying the scene. Groups of ducks surround small children who are doling out bread, with nervous parents in the background making sure that none of the ducks take a chunk of their little darling’s hand by mistake. I wish I were still a child. I wish I didn’t have any responsibility at all.

But maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I just need to grow up and sort my life out. I mean, who was I kidding thinking I could just move to Ladbroke Grove and find a great job, new friends, and a whole new life? Chloe was right—I’ve just been up my own arse.

I’m never going to be Natalie from Ladbroke Grove, or Cressida bloody Langton. I could never really live in the City. Look what happened when I tried—I ended up creating a huge web of deceit that blew up in my face. And alienated my best friend. That would never have happened if I’d stayed where I was. If I hadn’t had the big idea of moving up to London. The fact is that I’m Natalie from Bath. That’s all I ever was, and all I’m ever going to be. The sooner I accept it and go back to my old life, the better it will be for everyone.

I take a last look across the park, then walk back to my flat briskly and pack up what few clothes I’ve got left. I can get the rest of my stuff later, I reason. I’ve got a lease on the flat for another three months anyway and if I move back in with my parents, I’ll be able to cover the rent.

It feels great to have made a big decision so fast, with no deliberating. I guess this is what it feels like when you make a decision that is absolutely the right thing to do. God, it’s so easy! I write a quick note to Stanley and hide a key under a flowerpot. Just because I’m going back to Bath, doesn’t mean Stanley has to miss out on
EastEnders.

  16

“So you really went to Soho House?”

I nod.

“And you were living in Ladbroke Grove?”

“Yeah.”

I try to sound enthusiastic, to convince myself I’m on top of the world. I’m sitting in Rummers, the best pub in Bath, with Pete, my boyfriend. Yes, that’s right—we’re back together. And he dumped that bloody Rebecca Williams.

The thing is, I’ve realized that you have to accept your place in life. I’m not a fast-living London kind of person. And I’m not a Simon Rutherford kind of person either—his family made that abundantly clear. Pete’s okay, really—he means well. And we’re going to start saving up for a flat.

As of Monday I’ll even have my old job back—pretty much, anyway. There aren’t any openings for an account manager right now, but my boss said I could come back on slightly less money and see how things panned out. It’s only £2,000 less than I was earning before, which isn’t that much. And I’ll be doing pretty much the same sort of thing, just with less responsibility. Roger emphasized this word on the phone, as if to suggest I’ve got a bit of work to do in that area. But that’s fine. I’m just grateful to have a job again.

“D’you think you could take me? You know, if we went down to London for the weekend?”

I look at Pete blankly. “Where?”

“Soho House, of course!” He sounds exasperated. “James took his girlfriend to Babington House last month. I need to get one over on him!”

“Maybe,” I say after a pause. I don’t ever want to go back to London if I can help it, but I don’t need to tell Pete that.

God, is it just a few weeks since I was there? It feels like no time at all—and at the same time it feels like forever. Like London was just a dream, really. When I got home I spent the first few days pretty much asleep. I felt like I was in my own private hell—no Simon, cast out of Tina T’s—and sleep seemed infinitely preferable to facing up to reality. I crawled into my old bedroom, and my parents brought me cups of tea, not asking any questions. They were really brilliant.

But after a while I started going for walks around the village. And then I started venturing into Bath. I read my book in Queen Square, lazing on the grass and enjoying the late-summer sunshine. I sat in the Abbey, thinking about everything and nothing. And then I bumped into Pete at the shops, and we went for a coffee. I told him I’d moved back, and he didn’t even tease me about things not working out. He just said that he’d missed me and could we get back together? And I said yes. Just like that. No dithering, no indecision. It’s all part of the new me. Or rather, the old me. The real me. Back where I belong.

“Worried about me showing you up in front of your London friends?” Pete grins, looking over my shoulder. I turn round to see Rebecca Williams walking into the pub. She catches my eye and quickly looks away.

“Don’t be jealous, now,” says Pete with a wink as I turn back to him. “She’s history. I always preferred you, anyway.”

We finish our drinks and leave the pub. I wander on to Pulteney Bridge, looking down the river toward Bristol. Me and Chloe used to try and walk all the way there—it’s only twenty miles. We never got very far, though. I guess we didn’t really want to go to Bristol; we just liked the idea of walking along the river and arriving somewhere completely different. Maybe that was what my moving to London was all about.

I take a deep breath. It’s balmy and the river looks beautiful. So peaceful.

“I might walk home,” I say to Pete. “It’s such a nice evening.”

“Don’t be mad,” he says, putting his arm round me and leading me away from the river. “I’ve got my dad’s Saab.”

Reluctantly, I let him guide me to the car, and we drive in silence back to the village.

“So, see you at the weekend, then,” Pete says with a grin, leaning over to kiss me good night.

“Sure,” I say brightly, and move my lips to meet his. I feel nothing, but that’s hardly a surprise. I haven’t felt anything since I came home. Haven’t even cried. I’ve just become slightly numb. And you know what? It makes everything a lot easier.

I walk slowly toward the front door and look sadly up at the house. This is the place I grew up, where I spent years dreaming about a glittery future full of glamour, incredible opportunities, and great achievements. And now I’ve moved back in having been sacked from a job in a clothes shop. How did it happen? Was it my fault for wanting too much? Should I just have stayed here and been grateful for what I had?

I lift my key to open the door, but the door opens before I get there and my dad appears from behind it.

“Nice evening?” he asks, as he gives me a hug.

“Yeah, not bad,” I say, giving him a kiss. I don’t think I’ve ever been as grateful to my parents as I have for the last few days. They haven’t pushed me once to tell them why I’m back staying with them for the first time in over eight years—even my mum, who was obviously gagging to find out what happened. Instead of questions, I’ve had lots of home-cooked meals, and the space to do what I wanted. Which has pretty much focused around watching anodyne programs on television and taking the dog for walks. Lots of them.

“You’ve . . . um, got a visitor,” he says quietly. “Now, make sure you keep the noise down because your mum’s gone to bed with a headache.”

My heart stops. A visitor? Who would come and see me at this time on a Thursday night? I feel a huge surge of excitement and dread course through me as I wonder if Simon could have tracked me down, could have come to demand an explanation, to offer his forgiveness, to make things okay again. But of course that’s impossible. He doesn’t even know what my real name is.

Instead, when I walk into the sitting room, there, curled up on the sofa which my parents bought the year I was born, is Chloe.

“I, er, heard you were back,” she says awkwardly as my father closes the door after me, leaving us to talk in private.

“Yeah,” I manage to say.

“You . . . want to talk about it?”

I look uncertainly at her. Does she mean it? Or is she here to gloat, to find out just how badly I screwed up?

“I just thought it was time to come back,” I say unconvincingly. I’m not sure I’m ready to talk yet.

“Right,” says Chloe; then she stands up and starts to walk toward me. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I’m really sorry about that weekend. I was . . . Oh, I dunno. I s’pose I was jealous. Or something. I . . . it just felt weird for you to have another life, you know?”

“You felt weird?” I ask incredulously. “How d’you think I felt? God, I was doing everything I could to really impress you and show you how sophisticated I was, and . . . oh, you have no idea.”

We’re right next to each other now, looking each other in the eye.

“I don’t think I did have an idea. At least, I certainly don’t understand what you’re doing back here. I thought you had everything you ever wanted.”

“I did,” I say, and as I speak I feel a tear pricking my eye. “But I didn’t, as well. It was all a pack of lies. I didn’t know who I was anymore.”

The tear becomes tears, and soon I’m sobbing. Chloe reaches up to give me a hug, walking me to the sofa, where we both sit down, her arm still round me.

“I’m really sorry,” I tell her between sobs, my shoulders hunched as I finally face up to the enormity of how badly everything has turned out, how desperately I miss Simon. “I’m a terrible friend.”

“No, I’m a terrible friend. I should have been there for you,” says Chloe, gripping my shoulder with her hand. “Now, look, tell me what happened. What the bloody hell made you come back?”

“Chloe, you know you thought I’d taken up Reiki healing?”

She nods.

“Well, I didn’t really. Stan thought I was a Reiki healer, but I’m not. And I have no intention of becoming one.”

Chloe looks at me closely, then smiles with relief. “Thank fuck for that,” she says with a sigh. “Jesus, Natalie, I thought you’d turned into this completely different person. I mean, you’ve never been into that stuff. But why did Stanley think you were?”

“So what happened to your supportive ’Oh, I think Reiki healing is so great’ comments?” I ask accusingly through my tears.

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you I thought you’d lost it, was I?” Chloe grins.

“Yeah, well, I nearly did lose it,” I say with a shrug. “Look, if I tell you what I did, will you promise not to think I’m a complete loser?”

Chloe nods solemnly. I go to the drinks cabinet and pour us each a small glass of port for Dutch courage; then I go back to the sofa, and tell her everything—starting with the letter and finishing with Leonora and Laura sacking me.

When I’ve finished, Chloe is looking at me in complete shock.

“You just ran away?”

“Well, I was hardly going to beg for my job back. I mean, she’d made it perfectly clear that . . .”

“From Simon, I mean,” Chloe interrupts. “You just left him and his family sitting in the kitchen?”

I nod. “I couldn’t bear to stay,” I say softly. “They thought I was beneath him. And I couldn’t face seeing Simon after I’d lied to him about everything . . . But I think it’s for the best. He didn’t really love me, anyway—he loved Cressida. He loved this London girl who did Reiki healing, not crummy old Natalie Raglan.”

“You really think so?” Chloe asks incredulously.

I shrug. “And anyway, Pete’s finished with Rebecca. I think things might be okay for us.”

Chloe’s eyes narrow. “Now I know you’re in denial.”

I shrug. “Maybe he’s all I deserve.”

Chloe puts down her glass. “Natalie, look, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but fucking sort your life out!”

I look up, shocked. What happened to being sympathetic?

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say hotly.

“What I mean is that you fancied Pete when we were fourteen, and I agree, he was cool back then. But you’ve outgrown him. You outgrew him before you guys even got together, but you just couldn’t see it. You were so overwhelmed that this guy—this nothing guy—had noticed you that you didn’t think to look at him again and realize that he’s nothing special. Don’t talk to me about not deserving better, because you do—deserve so much better. But, Jesus, coming back and going straight into his arms . . . it’s bloody madness.”

I stare at Chloe. Why has everyone got it in for me at the moment?

“I just want to get my life back to normal,” I say, a little defensively.

“Normal? With Pete? Look, Pete’s fine for going to the pub with and talking about football, but that is the sum of his abilities. You’ve left Simon with no clue how to get hold of you, you’ve run away from everyone in London, and now you’re telling me you’re happy going out with a guy whose only defining quality is his leather jacket, which, as a fashion expert, you should realize is ten years out of date, and the fact that Rebecca bloody Williams fancies him. You know, sometimes I really wish you would stop worrying so much about what other people think . . .”

Chloe is hot and pink, and her eyes are flashing.

“I’m working in advertising again . . .” I say weakly.

“You never wanted to work in advertising, anyway!” triumphs Chloe.

I look down at my feet.

“Chloe, have you ever read
Vanity Fair
?”

She looks at me, nonplussed. “Yes, but what’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, I finally got round to finishing it when I moved back home,” I say slowly. “And Becky—well, she’s manipulative and scheming, isn’t she? And she gets her comeuppance, too, doesn’t she?”

Chloe nods uncertainly.

“Don’t you see?” I ask her impatiently. “I’m Becky. I lied to everyone, and now I’m getting my comeuppance. I don’t deserve anything better than Pete. We’re perfect for each other, actually. He lies to me, and I . . . well, I seem to lie to everyone else . . .”

I trail off as I start to cry. “I’m scared, Chloe,” I manage to say after a minute or two. “I don’t know what else to do.”

My throat chokes up and Chloe wraps her arms round me.

“Nat, you are not Becky Sharp. You aren’t at all scheming. So you lied—but you did it because you didn’t want us to worry. And you took me to Soho House because I wanted to go. Just . . . you need to stop trying to please everyone else sometimes. And you can’t just hide down here for the rest of your life.”

“Why not?” I weep, letting out a month of hurt and anger. “Oh God, Chloe, I was really in love with Simon. Am really in love with him. And now I’m never going to see him again. I just can’t bear it.”

“I think we need another drink,” says Chloe, after a while, walking over to the drinks cabinet. When she gets there, she pours herself another glass of port, puts the bottle back, then thinks again and brings it back with her to the sofa. I gratefully fill my glass.

“And how do you think Simon feels?” she continues.

“Now? I think he probably hates me,” I say quietly.

“Hates you, or just thinks that you’re completely insane?”

“Probably both.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, both contemplating the awful situation I’ve got myself into.

“You don’t think you should maybe get in touch with him?” says Chloe finally. “I mean, even just to let him know why you . . . well, pretended to be Cressida?”