Josephine and Gabby’s mother have become new best friends. Since Natasha has been here, Josephine has started coming over every day, dropping in to see how Gabby is doing, bringing something for the baby, carrying an extra pumpkin pie she made, but Gabby is convinced she’s only coming to sit at the kitchen table and chat to her mother.
As a child, Gabby found her mother incomprehensible. As an adult, on Gabby’s home turf, Gabby finds her magical. With no one to distract her, nothing to disturb her, no stream of people walking through the front door – and Josephine could never qualify as a stream – Natasha is warm, loving, engaged. Gabby is terrified of what she will do when her mother leaves.
The time seems to have flown by, and Gabby is grateful that her mum has been able to stay for so long, but she is talking of leaving at the end of the month, filling Gabby with dread. Being on her own and pregnant was one thing, but being on her own with a newborn baby is quite another entirely.
She comes downstairs knowing Josephine is here, having heard her car pull up earlier, and walks into the kitchen to find Josephine and Natasha sipping big mugs
of tea, Natasha in peals of laughter over a story Josephine is telling her.
‘Why do I always feel like the gooseberry around you two?’ Gabby pulls a mug down from the cupboard, drops in a tea bag, then puts the kettle back on.
‘Gooseberry?’ Josephine looks at her.
‘Odd man out.’
‘That’s because your mother and I have fallen in love.’
Gabby looks at Josephine in alarm. She is joking.
If only you knew, thinks Gabby.
‘Josephine has an excellent idea. She wants you both to go on a girls’ night out tonight. Her boys are with their father, and Olivia and Alanna are out with friends this evening, so you have no excuse not to go. I think it’s exactly what you need.’
‘It’s not what I need,’ Gabby says. ‘It’s what Josephine needs. She’s been desperately trying to get me to go to some ghastly singles bar with her, and now you’re press-ganging me into going too. I know I said I’d go, but not yet. I’m not ready to go out in public yet.’
‘I think going out will do you good. You go nowhere,’ her mother says.
‘Nowhere,’ echoes Josephine. ‘You’re turning into a dusty old maid. Let’s go out and have fun! You look great, Gabby. Come on, let’s flirt!’
Gabby peers at her. ‘Have you seen the men in those bars? Are you seriously suggesting we put our energies into flirting with those creepy professional singles?’
‘Yes!’
Josephine laughs. ‘Maybe tonight will be our lucky night and the two most gorgeous single men in Fairfield County will decide to be there. You’re coming, whether you like it or not.’ She suddenly sits up straight, turning her head to look out of the window. ‘Speaking of gorgeous men, a car just pulled up and someone extremely interesting is getting out. He’s coming here!’ She turns back to Gabby. ‘Please don’t tell me that’s your ex-husband or I may have to slap you.’
Gabby cranes her neck to see Matt walking up the path.
‘Not ex-husband,’ she explains. ‘Father of my child.’
‘What? And he’s
here
? I thought he wasn’t going to have anything to do with Henry.’
The bell rings.
‘It’s a long story.’ Gabby gets up to open the door. ‘Saved by the bell.’
Josephine does not flirt with Matt, thankfully, but she cannot take her eyes off him. When he goes upstairs to get Henry from his nap, she leans forward and hisses, ‘How did I not know how adorable he is?’
Gabby laughs. ‘Don’t look so surprised. I’m not that awful.’
‘No! That’s not what I mean, but I’m wondering why I’m dragging you out to hit the singles scene when you have the perfect man right here in your house. Why aren’t you up there with him? Why aren’t you seducing him right now?’
‘Because you and my mother are sitting round the kitchen table making my devious plan impossible?’ jokes Gabby.
Josephine’s face falls. ‘Oh God. I’m sorry. I’ll go.’ She stands up before Gabby, laughing, tells her how ridiculous she is being.
‘I’m not interested in Matt.’
Josephine frowns. ‘But he’s the father of your baby.’
‘Yes. And I was interested, obviously. But …’ She thinks. ‘It’s as if there was a light bulb inside me, which glowed for a while, and then, suddenly, it went out, and nothing will get the light to go back on.’
Josephine is sceptical. ‘Nothing?’
‘Truly. Nothing. He’s adorable, and brilliant, and handsome, and funny, but he’s just not for me, and, beyond that, he’s a child. I don’t want to be mother to anyone except to my children. We had a … dalliance. It was utterly all-consuming, and it changed my life. I can’t say any longer that I wish it had never happened, because I have Henry, and he is amazing, but, as you know, it turned my life upside down in ways I didn’t want.’
‘Well,’ her mother says thoughtfully, ‘it may not have been what you wanted, but, as you pointed out, you have Henry, and you wouldn’t change that. I always think that we are exactly where we need to be. There is a greater plan for you, and Henry is part of that plan. Perhaps Matt needed to come into your life. Perhaps, as painful as it has been, you and Elliott needed to be apart.’
Gabby
says nothing. Her mother’s words sound so wise, except when they refer to her.
‘Meanwhile, I’m perfectly happy to babysit Henry. I imagine Matt will stay here too, to keep me company. You two go out and have fun.’
Gabby rolls her eyes. The last thing she wants to be doing tonight is hitting a bar, but she checks her watch. ‘I give in.’ She turns to Josephine. ‘I have to drop the girls at their friends’ houses. Shall I pick you up at seven?’
‘Perfect,’ trills Josephine. ‘I’m going to run down to Main Street and get something to wear.’
‘I like him,’ Alanna announces, from the back seat of the car, while Olivia raises her eyebrows and glares out of the window. Gabby doesn’t ask to whom she’s referring.
‘Good,’ says Gabby. ‘He’s a nice man. What’s not to like?’
‘How about: he’s young enough to be your son, and he’s forcing himself into our family when he’s not wanted,’ mutters Olivia.
‘
I
want him,’ says Alanna.
‘Henry wants him,’ adds Gabby.
‘What about you?’ spits Olivia. ‘You definitely want him.’
Gabby sighs. ‘Only as Henry’s father. I don’t want him for me. Listen, Olivia. I know this is hard, to have another man around who isn’t your father, but I promise you that
if there was anything going on between us, or if I thought there might ever be anything going on between us, I’d tell you. I’m not going to keep any secrets from my family ever again. Whatever happened between us happened, and I can’t change that, but nothing’s ever going to happen between us again.’ She laughs. ‘Quite apart from the fact that there’s no chemistry whatsoever, Matt has a girlfriend.’
‘I bet she’s pretty,’ Alanna pipes up. ‘I mean, I know Matt’s old, but he’s very cute.’
‘I’m sure she is. She’s a model. And she has the coolest name: Monroe.’
Olivia turns her head slowly towards her mother. ‘He’s going out with
Monroe
?’
Gabby glances at her daughter. ‘Yes. Why? Do you know her?’
‘Monroe the model?’
‘Is there more than one?’
‘No! There’s only one Monroe. She’s gorgeous. She’s going out with him? Our brother’s father?’
‘Apparently so.’ Gabby keeps her eyes on the road as Olivia whips out her iPhone and starts Googling.
‘Oh. My. God. Mom! You didn’t tell us who he is!’
‘Who is he? Who is he?’ Alanna bounces up and down on the back seat, stretching through the gap between the front seats to try to see Olivia’s phone.
‘He’s, like, a
gazillionaire
. He invented Fourforesight and sold it for
bajillions
. And he dates Monroe! And he’s
part of our family! Oh my
God
. I have to tell
everyone
!’ And she starts furiously texting.
‘Not so bad any more, is it?’ mutters Gabby, who can’t resist a small smile.
Usually the girls climb out of the car and Gabby drives off without going into the house or seeing Elliott, or, heaven forbid, the dreaded Trish, although according to the girls Trish rarely comes to their dad’s house – ‘It’s far too small and poky for her,’ Olivia said – and if they do see her on their weekends with their dad, it’s either going to her house, where they tumble into the amazing basement to play ping-pong, air hockey, or watch movies on the giant TV, or going out to an event.
This time they are stopping by to retrieve clothes. The girls are running out of things to wear, and Gabby has no idea what has happened to the rest of their clothes. They aren’t in the laundry, and unless the girls have lent them to friends – which they swear they haven’t – they must be at their father’s house.
Up until Christmas she would have just called Elliott, but since then things have become strained. Gabby has found herself barely able to communicate with him, barely able to look him in the eye, since he embarked upon his relationship with Trish, a woman Gabby has never liked. For a while she became obsessed with Googling Trish. She discovered everything about her, unable to tear her eyes away from her perfect white
smile beaming at the camera. There was even one picture that popped up on a local website of Trish and Elliott together, taken at a charity gala. Elliott looked dapper and sophisticated in a way he never had when he was married to Gabby.
Trish has always been a figure of envy and secret derision to Gabby, but in her mind Trish is now a full-blown monster. She wishes she didn’t feel like this and could let her hatred go, but every time she imagines Trish with Elliott she starts gnashing her teeth together in fury.
So as they pull up outside the house and Gabby gets out of the car, she has to force a smile onto her face as if everything is fine, as if she isn’t consumed by hatred of her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s girlfriend, consumed by the overwhelming fear she has that she is not good enough, that Trish knows she’s not good enough, that Elliott knows it now too.
The girls push open the front door. ‘Dad? We’re here!’ Gabby is somewhat gratified to hear them say ‘We’re here’ rather than ‘We’re home’, but she remains on the doorstep, waiting to be invited in by Elliott. ‘Dad?’ They walk through the silent house. ‘Dad?’
Olivia turns to Gabby. ‘I don’t think he’s here.’
Gabby is relieved. ‘Can you just run upstairs and get the clothes you think are from my house and bring them down?’
‘Mom!’ Olivia pouts. ‘I don’t know which is which. I keep telling you. You come up and take the stuff that’s yours.’
Gabby
frowns. She has never been inside this house, but, peering through the doorway, she has to admit she is curious. There is the old sofa from the family room, but she has never seen those cushions before. They’re stunning. Why didn’t she think of putting cushions like that on the sofa? It completely transforms it.
She steps in gingerly, her eyes scanning the rooms as she walks through. I remember that rug, she thinks. Looked better in our house. And that painting! She looks up at the huge oil cityscape. Thank God that bloody painting’s finally out of my house, she thinks. I hate it even more here.
She doesn’t touch anything for that would be too much of a trespass, but tiptoes up the stairs, peeking into Elliott’s bedroom. The bedspread and sheets are new. Crisp white, with a matelassé cover and matching pillow cases. Two small armchairs by the fireplace, chocolate-brown velour. Gorgeous. She can’t help but walk in, noticing the medical journals on Elliott’s nightstand, his spare reading glasses. Her eyes flick over to the other side of the bed,
her
side of the bed, and she inhales sharply.
On the left nightstand are two glossy magazines, an eye mask, and a novel with a pink cover. The girls are wrong. Trish does sleep here after all. Gabby suddenly wants to get out as quickly as possible, her nosy exploration bringing her nothing but pain.
Her mother told her she looked beautiful. Matt told her she looked beautiful. Why is she feeling so … wrong?
Gabby is well aware of the uniform of the newly single, middle-aged woman. She is well aware she should have found the time, like Josephine, to run down to Main Street to buy the requisite diaphanous top, or brightly coloured little dress, the chunky jewellery, the platform heels, but she is too depressed by the memory of the nightstand on the left – it just won’t leave her mind. Besides, it’s not like anyone would be the slightest bit interested in a woman who has a new baby and a post-pregnancy paunch that doesn’t seem to want to go away – not that she’s the slightest bit interested in anyone anyway. Gabby has to admit that the last thing she wants to be doing is flirting and having fun. She’d much rather be curled up in her bathrobe, watching Apple TV, eating popcorn.
The outfit she is wearing was chosen deliberately for its lack of sex appeal. No hint of cleavage, no flash of thigh. Nothing that would make anyone think she might possibly be trying to pick up a man. She is – thank you, God – finally able to get into her ‘fat’ jeans. She may have a substantial roll over the top, and it is
entirely possible that she will not be breathing by the end of the evening, but she got them on and got them done up, and frankly that is all that matters. The substantial roll is covered by a thin grey sweater that is simple and, to her mind, elegant. She is wearing the chunky necklace she bought, once upon a time, to impress Matt, and she is wearing the high-heeled boots she bought, once upon a time, to impress Matt, but both choices are largely to prove to Josephine that she is not the dowdy housewife she appears, and can scrub up rather well when forced.
She couldn’t be bothered to blow out her hair. It feels like years since she visited the hairdresser, and her hair is now well past her shoulders. She isn’t sure how appropriate it is for a forty-three-year-old mother of three – three! She still can’t get over that it’s now three! – to have a tumbling mane of long, curly tresses, which is why she usually clips it back, but tonight she did as she used to do when she was a teenager: scrunch mousse into the curls, tip her head upside down to dry it, then flip her head back to produce a cloud.
A touch of make-up, a clutch purse that Elliott bought her – again, once upon a time – and her look is complete. But walking through this place, with its crowds of people all busily chatting away, their eyes scouring the room to check out each new person that enters, makes her seize up with anxiety, makes her feel out of place, wrong. She resists the urge to grab Josephine and run; instead she follows Josephine to the bar,
her eyes cast down to the floor, terrified to make eye contact lest anyone thinks she might be available.
They are there less than five minutes before they are surrounded – and, oh Lord, how lascivious these men seem to her, with their flashing smiles and appreciate looks. We must give off the scent of fresh meat, thinks Gabby, smiling politely but coldly, while Josephine giggles prettily and tells the men what they will be drinking.
‘I haven’t seen you ladies here before,’ one of them says, a handsome man, but a drinker, Gabby deduces, staring at the broken veins on his nose.
‘We’re fresh meat,’ Gabby says with a bold grin.
He raises an eyebrow. ‘English fresh meat!’ He seems delighted. ‘Does it taste different over there?’
Gabby gives him a withering look as he laughs and throws up his hands with a boyish shrug, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if he’s a naughty boy. Oh
God
, she thinks. This is exactly why I didn’t want to come.
She glances at Josephine, who is already in an animated discussion with one of the other men. It is hard to tell whether she is genuinely interested, or whether she is just enjoying the attention. Either way, her body language is open and flirtatious; the pair of them are both laughing. Gabby sighs, wondering if she might be able to call a cab and leave early.
The professional singles have, it seems, claimed the bar. As long as she perches on a stool by the bar she will have men like this chatting her up all night. Would it be
worse, though, if men like this didn’t chat her up? Would she feel inadequate? Less than? She looks around at the women, at their high, high heels, their mid-winter tans, their straightened hair and heavy make-up. It isn’t about being less than, she realizes. It is about being entirely different. She isn’t one of these women, nor does she want to be. She should have trusted her instincts and not agreed to come. As wise as her mother has been of late, she is not always right. This was not a good idea.
A couple gets up from a table in the bar area, and Gabby swoops in. She will sit there and lose herself in her iPhone until it is time to go, or until she feels she is able to make her escape. Her Kindle app is on the phone, and even though she doesn’t find it particularly easy to read on such a small screen, it’s better than being the fresh meat at the bar.
She orders a cup of tea from a passing waiter, ignoring his surprise at the unusual request in the bar that is famous for its singles night on this particular day of the week, then gets stuck into the novel she has been meaning to read for weeks.
‘Is this seat taken?’
She isn’t sure she heard properly as she looks up. Oh God. She should have got rid of the other chair. Why didn’t she anticipate this was going to happen? She hesitates, looking at the man standing by the table, not wanting to be rude; but if she says it’s taken he will soon see there is no one to join her, and if she says it’s free she will have to fend off yet another awful man.
He
doesn’t look awful. He is wearing a Barbour, and how could she not warm to a man in the coat that always reminds her of home? He is rugged, and has kind eyes. How is she supposed to be so rude as to say it’s taken?
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Is this seat taken? May I sit here?’
‘You’re English!’
He smiles. ‘So are you.’
Gabby puts her phone back in her bag. ‘Where are you from?’
‘London.’
She looks at him. Since coming to live here she has met a lot of people who are English and say they are from London. ‘Where?’ she used to ask excitedly, always hoping they would be from her ‘village’; hoping they might say Belsize Park, or Primrose Hill, or Camden Town.
Invariably they’d say, ‘Guildford.’ She has no idea why, but it seemed everyone she met who said they came from London, ended up coming from Guildford. ‘Right,’ she’d say, covering her disappointment. ‘Surrey.’
‘Where in London?’ she asks dubiously, awaiting the Guildford reply.
‘Maida Vale.’
‘No!’ She is delighted. ‘I’m from Belsize Park!’
He grins from ear to ear before doing what all good Londoners do when far from home and connecting with someone from their village: declare their school. ‘City of London.’
‘South
Hampstead!’
‘Oh my God!’ He laughs. ‘Don’t tell me – nineteen seventy-nine to eighty-six?’
‘Not quite. I’d have been in the year below you.’
‘I think I went out with the whole of your year.’
‘Who? Who?’ It is an unspoken connection, an immediate familiarity, as Gabby leans across the table towards him.
‘Sarah Diamond.’
‘She was in the year above me!’
‘Emma Montgomery.’
‘My year!’
‘Daisy Luckwell.’
‘My God, you were busy!’
‘What can I say? I was very charming when I was at school. Didn’t you know City boys?’
‘Not really.’ She shakes her head. ‘I was too busy falling in love with the boys at UCS.’
‘Oh please!’ He waves a hand dismissively. ‘How could you possibly have fallen in love with boys from that school? Maroon-and-black-striped blazers! What little taste you must have had. You should have looked further afield to us, where the real men were. We played rugby. And tennis. Very manly.’
‘Oh yes. And cricket.
Very
manly.’
‘What’s the matter with cricket?’ He feigns hurt. ‘I’ll have you know I’m an excellent bowler.’
‘You’re certainly bowling me over,’ she says, and grins, before her hands fly up to her mouth. ‘Oh my
God. I didn’t mean that. I was just making a double entendre. I didn’t mean that to sound like a come-on.’
He laughs. ‘First of all, I’m just thrilled to hear someone pronounce “doobl ontond” correctly, and secondly I haven’t had such a nice come-on in years. Even if it wasn’t one. What are you drinking? Sorry, I can see you’re drinking tea but that’s completely ridiculous. You can’t sit in a bar on this ghastly singles night and drink tea and think that’s okay. You need something far stronger to give you the fortitude to get through this evening.’
Gabby cannot stop smiling at the banter. ‘Why? Are you that bad?’
‘Oh I’m much worse.’ He grins. ‘Let me guess. Cosmopolitan.’
She grimaces. ‘Do I really strike you as a Cosmopolitan kind of girl?’
‘Good point. Pint of Scrumpy?’
‘If I knew you better I’d tell you where to go.’
‘Vodka and tonic, lots of lime?’
‘Perfect.’ She watches him as he heads over to the bar, knowing this isn’t going to be such a bad night after all.
‘Excuse me?’ She looks up into the face of a leering, perma-tanned man. ‘Is anyone sitting here?’
‘Yes,’ she says, and smiles at him. ‘I’m afraid there is.’
‘I’m Julian.’ He extends his arm over the table and they shake hands formally.
‘Gabby.’
‘I
hate to ask the obvious question, but do you come here often? Know that if you say yes I may have to get up and leave, but no pressure.’
Gabby laughs. ‘I have been here before, but for dinner. This is the first time I’ve been to the singles scene, and it is, as you said earlier, ghastly, as I knew it would be, and the only reason I’m here is because my girlfriend has been begging me for weeks to accompany her, and in the end I ran out of excuses. I also thought: it’s one night – how bad can it be?’
‘Worse,’ Julian says.
‘Clearly.’ They chink glasses in a silent toast.
‘So what brings you here, in your Barbour and brogues? Are you looking for a glamorous divorcee to tuck you up at night?’
His face grows serious as he studies his glass, before looking up at her again. ‘Actually, I’m here in much the same way you are. I’m newly separated and my mates at work have been trying to get me out for a night’s drinking for weeks. I kept trying to put them off, but in the end I also ran out of excuses and thought I’d just get pissed and get it over with.’
‘Pissed as in English pissed?’
‘Yes. Drunk. Not angry.’
‘God, it’s nice to meet someone who speaks the same language,’ Gabby says. ‘I’ve been here for ever – I’m an American citizen – and I love this country more than I could ever imagine, but when I’m with someone English I just feel I’ve come home.’
‘I
have that effect on all women,’ Julian says. ‘Seriously, it isn’t meeting someone English, though. At least, I don’t think so. It’s meeting someone from your “village”. We probably went to the same parties. I’m sure if we tried we’d come up with a ton of people in common. Were you hanging out at the Dome?’
‘Yes!’ she says in delight. ‘The Mud Club?’
‘Yes!’
‘Hang on –’ she peers at him – ‘didn’t I snog you on New Year’s Eve in nineteen eighty-five?’
‘Oh my God! That was you? I’ve been looking for you for ever!’ They both laugh. ‘So what’s your story, Gabby? Husband? Kids? What brought you here …’
‘I had a husband,’ Gabby starts, leaning forward so he can hear.
‘What?’ The music has just been turned up and he cups his ear. ‘Can you speak up?’
She leans even further forward and speaks loudly. ‘Not really!’
‘Have you eaten? This place is too damn noisy for me. Do you want to leave and grab something to eat?’ he asks, his lips up against her ear.
She beams up at him. ‘That would be lovely!’
Josephine turns to see Julian, before gaping at Gabby. ‘What? How is it that you’ve met a cute guy already?’
‘He’s not a romantic prospect,’ Gabby assures her. ‘He’s from the same place as me. We have friends in
common. To be honest, it’s getting a bit loud in here. Would you mind terribly if I left?’
‘You’re going to get in a car with him? A stranger?’
‘No! We’re just going across the street. I’ll be back.’
‘Oh. Okay.’
‘You’re sure? Because I won’t go if you’re not okay with it.’
‘It’s fine.’ Josephine leans forward. ‘This guy Rich is really nice. I’m more than fine.’ And she winks.
‘Be back later,’ Gabby says, giving Josephine a kiss on the cheek.
She told Josephine he isn’t a romantic prospect, and the truth is she is enjoying herself too much to even think about whether he is a romantic prospect or not. There is certainly banter, perhaps one might call it chemistry, but Gabby suspects it’s from familiarity, rather than any sexual attraction. He feels like a brother, like someone she has known for ever, for while she does not know him, she has known a million men, boys, like him, and feels completely safe and comfortable in a way she rarely feels with people she has just met.
They walk across the street, both chattering nineteen to the dozen, and walk into the restaurant there. Julian guides her in through the door, one hand on the small of her back, then helps her off with her coat, hanging it on the rack by the door.
How lovely it is, Gabby thinks, to be with a man
who knows what to do. He pulls the chair out for her before sitting down himself, and shakes out his napkin as soon as he sits down, smiling over the table at his new friend.
Gabby sighs. ‘This is so much better. Thank you for suggesting this. I felt like my ears were going to pop.’
‘I haven’t forgotten you were about to give me your life story,’ Julian says. ‘I think you were at the part where you had a husband.’
‘Ah yes. I was.’ Gabby is quiet for a moment, because she is not sure how to edit her story to make it palatable. He may feel like someone she has known for ever, but what will he think if she tells him the truth? Is it necessary to tell anyone the truth? Would it not be better just to say she and her husband split up and she has a baby? But she has tried that before, and everyone gasps in horror at how disgusting her husband is, that he could leave her when pregnant.