Little White Lies (24 page)

I look up balefully. “No! I mean, I don’t know . . . I mean, maybe . . .” I manage to say, sniffing loudly. But instead of giving me a hug like I’m expecting, he claps his hands together.

“That’s wonderful news. I’ll give you a lift down if you want. You know, when you’ve packed your things.”

He looks at me expectantly, evidently waiting for me to go and pack. Confused, I wander back into the kitchen, trying to work out how a conversation about how shit my life is turned into a conversation about me going back to London. I can’t go back, can I?

I try to imagine myself back in Tina T’s, going out with Julie, watching
EastEnders
with Stan, and I get a sudden pang. Maybe I do want to go back to London. But what about Simon? Will I be able to bury my thoughts of him as easily once I’m back?

Unless . . . unless burying my thoughts isn’t actually the best option. I sit down as my mind races, trying to decide whether I can actually do what I’m thinking about doing. Am I really thinking about calling him up? Explaining everything? It sounds so brilliantly simple, so utterly straightforward. But what happens when I hear his voice?

What if it really was Cressida Langton he was in love with? What do I, Natalie Raglan, have that Simon could possibly want?

But at least if I called him, I would find out either way. I need to just get it over and done with, so I can get on with my life, don’t I?

My palms are sweating furiously, but I know I’ve got to go through with it, right now while I’ve got the courage. While my parents run around upstairs packing, I quietly shut the kitchen door and pick up the phone. I know Simon’s direct line by heart, and I dial it before I can change my mind.

“Hello, Helen Adams speaking.”

“Oh! Oh, sorry, I think I’ve got the wrong number,” I mumble, and put the phone down. Bollocks. I must have dialed one of the digits wrong. Carefully, I dial the number again.

“Hello, Helen Adams. Can I help you?”

“Oh! I wanted Simon,” I say indignantly. What is this Helen woman doing answering his phone? Who is she?

“Simon Rutherford? He’s left, I’m afraid. Can I help?”

“No! I mean, why? And where? Where has he gone?”

“Dunno, actually,” Helen replies. “He left a month or so ago.”

“Was it a sudden decision? It’s . . . I’m just a friend,” I say quickly, to explain. I’m getting a bad feeling in my stomach. Has he given up his job because of me? Because I broke his heart?

“Sudden? No, I don’t think so. He’s retraining . . . I think he wanted to be a teacher or something. . . .”

“Right!” I say as brightly as I can manage. “Great. Well, sorry to have troubled you.” I hang up and get a fuzzy feeling in my head. Simon retraining as a teacher? That’s ridiculous. She must have got him confused with someone else.

Quickly I dial his home number. It rings a few times and then the answer phone kicks in. “Hi, Jezza and Caroline here. Leave a message.”

Jezza and Caroline? Who the hell are they?

I put the phone down and stare at it.

“So how does it feel to be going back to London?” says my dad, walking into the kitchen.

“What? Oh, you know. I mean, great. Really great,” I hear myself say.

“Right, are you ready?” asks Dad, as Mum bustles around.

“You’re pretty keen for me to go, aren’t you?” I ask him.

“Pretty keen for you to be happy,” says Dad seriously, then gives me a kiss on the cheek.

I pause. “Do you think there’s any chance we could go via Wiltshire,” I ask hesitantly.

“Don’t see why not,” says Dad. “Why?”

“Just some people I need to see,” I say quietly. “Some unfinished business.”

  17

I call Julie from the car.

“I knew you’d bloody see sense eventually,” she sighs. “Honestly, you are a bloody drama queen, you know. I’ll let Laura have your mobile number. But don’t return her call for a day or so. I love seeing her so helpless . . .”

Dad and I don’t talk very much while we drive. He puts on the radio, and from time to time we sing along to an ABBA song or something, but other than that we pretty much stay silent. My dad’s very good at the strong, silent support thing. And right now I don’t know what to say.

It’s only when we draw up at Simon’s parents’ house that I decide I want to talk—but it’s only on avoidance tactic and my dad knows it. It was probably a stupid idea, just turning up like this. And poor old Dad—It was nice enough of him to offer to drive me to London without having to go miles out of his way to go to Wiltshire, too.

“Tell me more about when you and Mum were going to move to London . . .” I ask suddenly. But Dad refuses to play ball.

“You going in?” he asks pointedly, and switches off the engine.

I take a deep breath and open the car door. For all I know there could be no one at home. I mean, it was a ridiculous idea, just coming down like this. And even if they are in, they’re hardly going to want to see me, are they?

Slowly I approach the front door. I remember the last time I was here—how sunny and happy everything was. All the dogs and children. And now it’s just me.

But before I can reach for the doorbell, the door opens and Simon’s father is right in front of me. “Tilly thought it was you,” he says with a half grin. “So, are you going to tell us your real name this time?”

Archie ushers me in, and we sit in his study. It’s much more formal than the other rooms I’ve been in, and it almost feels like I’m being kept away from the warmth of the rest of the house on purpose. Like I don’t deserve to spend time there.

Tilly brings me a cup of tea, then leaves the room, emerging again a few minutes later with my laundry bag.

“Um, Simon left this here with us. Just in case. You know . . .” she says, trailing off at the end, obviously unsure what to say.

I take it gratefully, and Tilly sits down awkwardly. I’m convinced she’s looking at me reproachfully, but every time I meet her eye, she sort of gives me this smile that makes me feel worse than if she’d glared at me. This is almost worse than seeing Simon himself.

I clear my throat. “My name is Natalie,” I say, feeling like I’m addressing an Alcoholics Anonymous group. “I wanted to explain, and to apologize,” I continue, my voice wavering slightly. I look up but get no reaction, so I just carry on.

“I never meant to lie to Simon. About my name, I mean. I just . . . Look, I was living in a flat where Cressida used to live. And I got this letter. She did, I mean. And I opened it, because I was lonely and bored and . . . so anyway, she got a matchmaking letter, from Leonora, suggesting that she get in touch with Simon. It said he worked in the City and stuff, and I know it wasn’t me she was trying to set up with Simon, but I . . . I was a bit lonely. I know I shouldn’t have opened it, but . . . well, I did.”

“A matchmaking letter? Is that what you call it?” asks Archie, looking surprised.

“Well, I don’t know . . . I mean, at first I thought Leonora might be an up-market dating agency or something, but it was so personal I thought it must be a friend or something . . . and I know that she was trying to set Simon up with Cressida, but I thought Cressida wouldn’t have got the letter, anyway, so it wouldn’t be so bad if I got in touch instead . . .”

“You contacted Simon because you thought Leonora was matchmaking?” Archie says sternly.

“Yes. No! I mean, well, that bit sort of happened by accident. I just . . . well, I asked him out,” I say nervously. “When I was drunk. Not . . . not that I get drunk a lot or anything,” I emphasize. I don’t want them thinking I’m a lush, do I?

“Anyway, I just decided to call him, and when he called me back, I was too scared to tell him who I really was. I mean, I didn’t think he’d want to go out with some complete stranger. But I didn’t lie about anything else. Apart from being a Reiki healer, that is. But that wasn’t my fault. It was Stanley’s. He’s my patient. Although I don’t give him Reiki or anything, just television . . .”

Archie and Tilly are looking at me in utter bemusement. Okay, Natalie, stick to the point, I tell myself.

“Honestly,” I continue, “everything else was true . . . and I wanted to tell him . . . I just didn’t know if he’d still like me if I was Natalie and didn’t have a family friend who was a missionary . . .”

“Leonora?” Archie asks with a smile. “I wouldn’t exactly call her a missionary. She runs a project for the missionary, though. From Wiltshire. Goes out once or twice a year to see how things are going.”

“Oh, right,” I say desolately.

Archie looks at me very seriously, and then little by little his face begins to break into a smile.

“You weren’t looking for financial backing, then?”

“What?” I ask, not understanding. What’s Archie talking about?

“The letter, Cre . . . , sorry, Natalie, was not, as you put it, a matchmaking letter. Leonora was actually writing to her goddaughter suggesting that she approach me to provide investment funds for her business idea. A Reiki healing center or some such place. And the next thing she knows, Cressida arrives here purporting to be in love with my son . . .”

“I am in love with him,” I say pointedly, and then I pause. Something Archie just said didn’t add up. “You?” I ask, incredulously. “Why would Leonora give Simon’s name, then?”

“It didn’t.”

“But . . . but it said ’Simon.’ The letter said ’Simon,’ and it said he worked at Henderson . . .”

“Which is where I am still a consultant of sorts,” Archie says, smiling broadly now. “Senior director, actually. And I am called Simon. Just never really suited me, so my friends call me Archie. It’s my second name, you know. Anyway, I’m what you call a business angel—always looking for new projects to invest in. Like to keep busy, you know?”

I feel my face redden. “So it wasn’t a matchmaking letter?”

“No, although it seems to have worked on a number of levels,” he says with a grin.

“And you thought that the reason I lied to Simon was to get your money?”

“Leonora was obviously concerned when she found out Cressida was staying with us. Particularly as Cressida moved to L.A. a couple of months ago,” says Archie, his eyes glinting slightly.

I gasp. “She knew? I mean . . . you knew I wasn’t Cressida all along?”

Archie’s eyes twinkle. “We didn’t know, no. Not until I mentioned to Leonora that you were here. She came down straightaway. I thought that a bit odd—but it was only after your . . . ah . . . until you were unwell that she told us.”

I hang my head in shame. “I bet she wanted to call the police,” I say miserably.

“She did rather think the worst,” agrees Archie affably. “But we didn’t believe her. And Simon certainly didn’t. It’s just a shame that you couldn’t have stayed to explain yourself.”

“I wanted to,” I say softly. “But then I heard you all talking about me. About Simon lowering his standards and stuff. I just couldn’t face you . . . couldn’t come out . . .”

I look at Archie closely for a reaction, but instead of looking guilty, he looks utterly bewildered.

“What are you talking about? We said no such thing!” says Tilly indignantly.

“You did, I heard you,” I say pointedly. “You said you thought it was a rash decision. And that he was lowering his standards.”

“And you thought we were talking about you?” Archie says with a huge smile.

“Of course,” I say hotly, unable to understand what’s so funny. “Which is fine, you know, if that’s what you think . . .”

“My dear girl,” says Archie, “give us some credit, will you? We were talking about Simon’s proposed change of career, if you must know. Simon’s got it into his head that he wants to be a teacher. Apparently he was going to tell us for several months, and finally decided to fill us in the week before he started his teacher-training course. The weekend that you came to stay.”

“So you were talking about . . .” I say slowly, my head clouding with the thought that I may have judged this whole thing very, very badly.

“. . . the change to his living standards,” Tilly says, finishing my sentence for me. “Paying the mortgage, that sort of thing.”

“Are you serious?” I want so much to believe them. Sod it—just look at them. Of course I believe them. They are the nicest people ever.

“Yes, Natalie,” Tilly says crossly. “I can’t believe you think we’d talk about you like that.”

She looks really upset.

“I’m so, so sorry.” I put my head in my hands. Good one, Natalie. Lie to the man who loves you, and then insult his entire family.

“I think we can forgive you, can’t we, Tilly?” says Archie generously. “After all, you were having to juggle two names and a bit of Reiki healing. Anyone would have got in a muddle.”

His eyes are twinkling, and I smile at him gratefully.

“And this new career of Simon’s,” I ask him. “Is he really becoming a teacher? I called his work and this girl said he was retraining or something.”

“Yes,” says Archie proudly. “I’m quite warming to the idea now. Bit of a shock at first, of course. But that boy never really felt at home in the City, you know.”

“I feel so stupid,” I say humbly.

“ ’Stupid’ is a little harsh, I think. ’Silly’ might be a better description,” says Archie cheerfully. “Anyway, you’ll know next time, won’t you? There will be a next time, won’t there?”

I look at him nervously. “The thing is,” I say tentatively, “I don’t know where Simon is . . . there’s someone called Jezza living in his flat.”

“Ah, Jezza, is it?” Archie asks distractedly. “Yes, well, he rented it out for a while. He’s—oh, what do you call it now?—downsizing. Yes, that’s it. Just while he’s training, you understand. Staying somewhere in Shepherd’s Bush, I think, near the college. Now, I’m not sure we’ve got his new address, but I do know the name of the college—yes, here we are.”

He hands me a compliments slip on which is scribbled, “Newham College, 255 Uxbridge Road, London W12.”

“You know,” says Archie, as I get up to go, “I think
Natalie
’s a lovely name. Suits you. And I’m sure Simon will think so, too.”

He leads me to the door and plants a kiss on both cheeks.

“You’re sure you don’t want to set up an alternative-healing practice?” he asks as I leave.

I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

“Shame,” he says vaguely as he sees me to the door, clutching my laundry bag. “Do let me know if you change your mind, won’t you?”

I get back into the car in silence. Dad puts a hand on my shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks tentatively.

“Fine. I’m fine,” I say firmly. “I think I’m ready to go home now.”

“Home?” says Dad, alarm in his voice. “I thought we were going to London?”

“That’s what I mean,” I say with a half smile. “London. My home.”

Dad reaches over and gives me a hug. “Home it is, Natalie. Home it is.”

We drive through the English countryside toward London, and I stare out of the window thinking back to conversations with Simon. I remember him talking about investment banking not being worthwhile. Wondering if there were more important things. And now he’s found something more meaningful. I’m so proud of him. And so desperate to talk to him, to explain. If only I’d called him sooner. If only I hadn’t been so pathetic and run back home.

We get to Ladbroke Grove and get out of the car.

“Coming up?” I ask Dad, but he shakes his head. “Your mum and I’ll come down in a week or two when you’re sorted. I’d better get back now.”

“Thanks, Dad. Really.”

He nods and smiles at me. “Remember what Winston Churchill used to say,” he says.

“Keep buggering on?” I say with a grin.

“That’s the one. Your mum and I are very proud of you, Natalie.”

I give him one last hug, then pick up my bag and walk toward my flat.

As I walk up the stairs, I hear the familiar strains of daytime television emanating from my flat. Sure enough, when I walk through the door, I find Stanley sitting on the sofa staring at the screen, cup of tea in hand.

“Cressida!” he says, jumping up—or as near as someone his age gets to jumping.

“Natalie,” I correct him.

Stanley looks confused.

“Cressida, it is very good to have you back. But I thought . . . I thought you’d gone for good.”

“I know,” I say, putting down my things. “Stanley, look, there’s lots of stuff I’ve got to tell you. A tangled web of deceit and . . .”

“A tangled web of deceit? Well, I think that calls for a cup of tea, don’t you think?” Stanley interrupts. “You tell me your story, and then I’ll fill you in on the latest happenings on
EastEnders.
You won’t believe what Janine has been up to.”

I smile gratefully, and as Stanley makes the tea, I tell him the whole sorry tale, from Leonora’s letter to her turning up at Archie and Tilly’s house, my sojourn in Bath, and my conversation with Archie and Tilly. I wait for him to look shocked or upset, but instead, he laughs.