The Love of Her Life (25 page)

The last time they’d seen each other was at her engagement party, three years ago, and they’d behaved like old friends. A little
too
much like old friends, in fact. Lisa had spent the whole week Oscar and Venetia were over looking like she was sucking a lemon. Kate often remembered the way they’d looked at each other that night: like they got each other. Simple as that. Like there was no one else in the room. She’d never looked at Sean like that, she knew. Knew it now, hadn’t known it then. Oh, she’d loved him, but she’d never really understood him, the way she knew her parents understood each other. But when she thought about it, how understanding someone, like the way they got each other, the way she and Mac got one another, proved nothing, really. Got you nowhere.

So she said nothing. And Daniel said, matter of factly,

‘You know, Kate, all this makes me think.’

‘Think what?’ Kate said, looking around her, trying to see if they were nearly there.

‘About your mother.’ He cupped his hand into a point. ‘Bah. Never mind.’

‘What?’ said Kate.

‘I said never mind. Did she even ask how I was?’ Daniel pushed his hair out of his face.

Kate thought back to her conversation with her mother last night. ‘I expect he’s malingering, like he
always did
,’ Venetia had said, and at the time Kate had thought that was a rather harsh judgement call on a man recovering from transplant surgery but now, having seen her father this morning, she could kind of appreciate her point. She thought she’d better change the subject, and looked down at Dani, who was completely silent, chewing her plait. She bent down towards her. ‘Where’s your school, Dani?’

‘It’s just across the road, Kate, we’re nearly there,’ Daniel said, a little faintly. Traffic whizzed past them, and Kate turned to him. ‘Why don’t you sit here, Dad?’ she said, gesturing to a bench. ‘I’ll drop her off. Just wait a second.’

She and Dani crossed the road, and stopped outside the school gates; people looked enquiringly at Kate. She crouched down, looking into her sister’s face.

‘You’ve got really blue eyes,’ she said, in surprise.

‘Blue eyes,’ said Dani. She patted Kate’s cheek.

‘What colour are my eyes?’ Kate asked her.

‘Brown eyes!’ said Dani with pleasure.

‘Yes. Yours are beautiful,’ said Kate.

Dani tugged Kate’s skirt. ‘But I’m tall. I hate being tall,’ she confided, suddenly.

Kate felt her heart contract, at this little thing thinking she was tall. ‘You’re still small,’ she told her sister.

‘I’m not,’ Dani said, shaking her head firmly. ‘I’m the
tallest girl in my class, the boys call me Daddy-long-legs, I hate it.’

‘Well,’ said Kate, thinking for a moment. ‘They just wish they were tall like you, that’s all. I was very tall when I was your age, tall and spindly, and it was very useful, do you know why?’

‘Why?’ said Dani.

‘My mum could always spot me in the playground,’ said Kate. She wasn’t sure this was going to seal the deal for Dani, who looked unconvinced, so she added, with more zeal than she’d meant, ‘And Dani, I promise you. You’ll grow up and you will be so glad you’re tall. It’s the best, honestly. You can wear boots and baggy tops and you don’t look like a dwarf. Or a woodcutter.’

‘Ah?’ said Dani, looking utterly confused.

‘Never mind,’ said Kate, hurriedly. ‘I
promise
you, please trust me. Aren’t supermodels tall?’

‘Yes!’ Dani looked more cheerful, to Kate’s chagrin, and she bent down and kissed her sister again.

‘Wish me luck for my interview today,’ she said.

‘Good luck,’ said Dani. ‘Can I have a present, please?’ She held her skirt and put her head on one side, trying to look coyly adorable. Kate stood up.

‘Hmphf. Don’t push your luck, love,’ she said, and she kissed her sister again. ‘See you soon, Dani, you go into school now, OK?’

‘There’s Olivia. Bye!’ Dani said and then, with the remarkable callousness of extreme youth, turned around and ran inside, shouting, ‘Hello Mrs Bateman!’ as she did, having entirely forgotten about Kate.

Kate brushed her skirt down again and watched her sister disappear through the doors of the school, feeling strangely bereft, and she looked at her father, waiting for her on the other side of the road. He looked tired, and she ought to get
him home. She checked her watch; it was just before nine. She felt strange, being so dressed up, early on this cold, windy day. Strange and nervous; what if Sue hated the piece, what would she do then? She’d done it now, she told herself. No going back, and she didn’t really want to.

‘I’m coming, Dad,’ she called, as she waited to cross the road.

Besides, she had something to prove to herself. She was pissed off. Finally. In her bag she had the letter she’d got that morning. That made three now.

‘Shall I tell you what’s wrong with this, then?’

The great glass office was the same; the ornaments on Sue’s desk were the same. There was even the same poster up in the kitchen, a yellowing Health and Safety notice about what to do if someone was choking. Underneath it, someone had written
Leave Them Alone. They’re Probably Bulimic
. Kate had never known if they were serious or not. She still didn’t. The layouts for Sue’s approval were the same, piled high in Sue’s tray; Kate could see the marks scribbled all over them. But still everything at
Venus
felt different, Kate most especially. It was like it was with her parents. She couldn’t remember being in those meetings, telling people what to do and she most especially couldn’t remember leaving that life, going home to Sean, in their flat. Kate sat in front of Sue, who was holding a printout of her article. Her fringe was falling into her eyes; she blew it away, nervously.

‘Go on then,’ she said, torn between being completely humiliated and suddenly, inexplicably, wanting to laugh.

‘Right,’ said Sue, grinding her jaw. ‘Here goes. “It was the advent of the canals which, coupled with the arrival of steam engine power to England, hastened the Industrial
Revolution and helped enable the greatest – and most controversial – Empire since Roman times.”’ She fixed Kate with a baleful glance. ‘And that’s one of the more interesting bits. The rest of the time it’s all about the good old days during
rationing
! Rationing, for Christ’s sake! This is a fun, informative lifestyle magazine for young women. This is supposed to be a charming, funny column about one young woman’s experience of London. It’s not a slideshow evening with Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Dame Vera Lynn!’

‘I like Dame Vera Lynn!’ Kate protested.

‘Honey, I love Dame Vera Lynn,’ said Sue. ‘“A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square” was the first dance at my parents’ wedding. I love the woman, I have nothing but love for her. That’s not the effing point, OK?’

‘Don’t swear about Dame Vera Lynn,’ Kate said.

‘Kate.’ Sue shook her head. ‘Can you not see what I’m talking about?’

‘Yes.’ Kate bit her lip. ‘I know, I know.’

‘You’re a young Londoner. Act like one.’

Kate was shaking her head. ‘Sue! I’m thirty, I’m not that young.’

‘Oh for god’s sake, ridiculous girl. You see that’s the trouble.’ Sue was practically banging the table in frustration, half leaning over towards Kate. Kate couldn’t decide if she was going to slap her or hug her. ‘Kate, Kate. You’re young, you’re still really young. Half these op-ed pieces or lifestyle columns or whatever – they’re written by forty-five year olds pretending to be thirty.’ She calmed down a bit; her voice softened, and this time Kate really did brace herself.

‘I was wrong, after Aunt Eileen’s funeral, what I said to you.’

‘What was that?’

‘I told you to grow up. I was wrong. You don’t need to grow up. You need to stop behaving like an old lady. You bought
doilies
for Eileen’s wake, you were handing round
mini-quiches! And those disgusting wet crisps, oh I could cry. Look. Eileen hated doilies! So does Uncle Gray! So do you!’ Sue was practically screeching. ‘Kate, when I poached you to come to
Venus
with me it was because you were everything a modern girl was supposed to be! You knew the key pieces from every prêt-à-porter collection that year
and
your favourite book was
Middlemarch
! You were the modern girl par excellence!’

Kate, fascinated at this description of herself, was nodding along, rapt to the staccato rhythm of Sue’s speech. ‘You’re not a doilies girl!’ Sue calmed down a little. ‘It’s like you’ve stopped bothering to engage with the real world around you. Do something wild for once. Sleep with someone you shouldn’t. Dance on a table! Stay up all night! You’re becoming an old lady, and you’re still a young woman.’

Kate raised her hand, as if in a classroom, to make an Important Point. ‘Er –’

‘You are. Let me finish.’ Sue waggled a pencil at her. ‘Living with your mother and stepfather, for example. What’s that like?’

On the verge of defending herself, crossly, Kate was suddenly, irresistibly reminded of her last Saturday before she’d left, when Oscar had held an impromptu piano party, and Mrs Da Costa and the Cohens from down the hall had come, and Maurice the doorman (practically, she was realizing, her best friend in New York) had popped by to say hi and sung, brilliantly, ‘Makin’ Whoopee’, and they’d all had gin fizzes, made by Venetia, and Kate and Oscar had duetted to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’.

‘Oh, my god,’ she said, the scales falling from her eyes.

‘And what have you done since you got back? Seen anyone your own age?’

I don’t like people my own age, Kate wanted to say. Instead
she said, crossly, ‘Of course I have. Don’t be so silly. I’ve seen Zoe – and –’

‘Zoe? The one on her own with the kids?’

‘It wasn’t like that, Sue, we needed to catch up, and –’

‘Well, whatever. Woman in a semi-detached making jam and wearing a tabard, that doesn’t count, alright? Anything else?’

‘Um – I’ve seen Mr Allan,’ said Kate.

Sue’s eyes were twinkling, now. ‘Yes, of course. But he’s almost younger than you, dear. He’s gone off to Mallorca, most likely he’ll join a band and stay there, playing to 1830 holidays. Who else?’

‘Well, I see Dad and Dani most days. And Lisa –’

‘Who’s Lisa?’

‘My stepmother.’

‘How old?’

Kate considered this. Lisa was mysterious about her age, but Kate remembered her fortieth had been mentioned as having possibly taken place, a couple of years ago. ‘She’s about forty-two.’

‘Right,’ said Sue. ‘So, apart from me, and my recently widowed uncle, and the mum with the kids, the person closest to you in age you’ve been hanging out with is your stepmother. And
that’s
why this article doesn’t work.’

More than just the article. Kate’s head sank to her chest, but then suddenly snapped up again.

‘Wait, wait!’ she said. ‘My friend Francesca. I saw her.’

‘OK,’ said Sue, her eyes lighting up. ‘What’s Francesca do?’

‘She’s a banker.’

‘Cool. Where did you go?’ said Sue, practically rubbing her hands together.

‘Er … we went to Kettners.’

Sue looked crestfallen. ‘God. Established 1964 or something. This is depressing. And that’s it?’

Well no, Kate wanted to say to this, I also saw Mac, who I think is very likely the love of my life, but he told me he actually kind of hates me, and then I ran out screaming into the streets like a mad woman and
that
is why the food at the party was not particularly well-prepared, must you keep going on about it?

Oh, plus, Charly, your old assistant, remember her? Well, she’s writing me letters that keep turning up delivered by hand to my flat. And they’re scary.

If you knew what I’d seen the day Steve died, if you’d spent the last three years knowing you were responsible for his death, if you’d been told by his widow, your best friend, that it might be best if you leave them all alone and go, if you knew all of that, perhaps, you’d understand why I like hanging out with Mr Allan and hearing about the night he played with some old legend at the 606 club, or singing Dean Martin songs with my stepfather, or walking my four-year-old sister to school.

Instead, Kate reached across the glass table, and took the article back. She tore it up and threw it in the bin.

‘Point taken,’ she said. ‘I’ll rewrite it. You’ll have it by the end of the week.’

‘That’s my girl,’ said Sue. She stood up, and shook Kate’s hand. ‘Now go out and get yourself drunk. Or go to a club somewhere. Pick up someone.’

Kate laughed. ‘Jeez, Sue! If I still worked here, I could have you done for harrassment, you know.’

Sue ushered her out of the door. ‘You don’t work here,’ she said, handing something to her assistant. ‘Book Orso for lunch, will you? Thanks.’ She pushed Kate gently in the back. ‘I’ll walk you to the lifts.’

As they walked through the white and grey, light and airy offices of
Venus
, Kate noticed how much busier it was, filled with more things. Backlist issues lined the shelves; filing
cabinets were scuffed; she recognized hardly any faces. The magazine was three years old now, it was practically a senior citizen in the marketplace.

‘Look,’ said Sue carelessly. ‘That’s Rachel.’ She pointed towards Kate’s old office.

‘She does my old job?’ Kate said, looking at the small, perky blonde girl gesticulating on the phone to someone. She looked up, saw Sue, and waved.

Sue waved back. ‘No, darling. You did her job. Once. So get back to your desk and get on with it. You can do it.’ They were at the lifts. She kissed Kate briefly on the cheek. ‘I’ll look forward to getting the piece again,’ she said. ‘Let’s sort this out this week, otherwise I’ll need to look at other options.’

Kate nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ she said. She stood up straight, feeling like someone was challenging her for the first time in years. ‘That’s great, Sue.’ She put her hand on her arm. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Alright, alright,’ said Sue, backing away. ‘This isn’t a Celine Dion video. Don’t get yucky on me. Just email me when you’ve done it. Tomorrow?’

‘Definitely,’ Kate told her.

‘And remember. Enjoy yourself.’

Kate walked across Waterloo Bridge, the wind whipping her hair around her face, ignoring the thoughts jostling for position in her head. The Thames was grey and choppy underneath her, the sky matching it above, and she turned and looked out at the South Bank and the London Eye, across to the Houses of Parliament and the white Shell Mex building with the huge black clock above a balcony where Churchill used to stand during the Second World War, watching the German bombers tear up his capital city. She stood for a while, thinking. About the meeting, about her dad. But
mostly about the letters from Charly, how angry she was with Kate. It was weird, Kate had never really realized it before, that someone who appeared to be that strong and beautiful, so in command of her own life, could actually be so – was weak the word? No, probably not. She didn’t know what it was with Charly. But, weirdly, she realized as she looked out across the river, she didn’t really care that much any more. When she thought about her dad, Zoe, Dani – making things right with Mac, even – the lives and loves of Charly and Sean didn’t concern her in the way they used to. She turned, and walked across the bridge. When she reached the other side, she pulled out her phone and dialled.

‘Hi, Francesca,’ she said. ‘It’s me. Kate.’

‘Mysterious Kate Miller,’ said a wry voice on the other end of the phone. ‘Last seen running out of my house in hysterics a week ago. She lives.’

‘Sorry to call you at work. Can you talk?’

‘Sure, for a minute,’ said Francesca. ‘I’m glad to hear from you. I was starting to think you were D.E.A.D dead. What happened last week, for god’s sake?’

It was a high-risk strategy, but Kate decided to go for insouciantly forgetful. Barely a couple of words in she realized it was a mistake. ‘What, oh, after we went out? The next day at yours?’ Her voice was getting higher. ‘Oh, you know, don’t you remember? I had to go, my neighbour’s wife died and –’

‘Good grief,’ said Francesca, her smoky voice sounding amused. ‘You’re as bad as he is.’

‘Who is?’

‘He. Mac. The two of you.’

The two of you
.

‘Oh really, why?’ said Kate, trying to sound politely interested. ‘What’s he said?’

‘He’s said nothing,’ said Francesca. ‘Said he wouldn’t
discuss it and I wasn’t to ask him about it. Thanks for making the few free moments of leisure I have at my home full of tension and stress.’

‘Oh god, Francesca,’ Kate said. ‘I am sorry, you know that. And I should have called you. I’ve been a bit crazy, and – you know.’

‘Well, I don’t know,’ said Francesca. ‘That’s the point.’

‘Look,’ said Kate. ‘It’s in the past. It’s to do with old stuff. I promise it’s nothing for you to worry about and I shouldn’t have behaved that way. It was – childish of me. Old lady with doily-ish, maybe.’

‘Eh?’

‘Nothing,’ said Kate, hurrying on. ‘Nothing. Look, are you around tomorrow night? I’ve got a freelance job.’

‘That’s great, Kate!’ Kate could hear the pleasure in Francesca’s voice. ‘For who?’

‘Sue again,’ said Kate. ‘It’s for
Venus
– look, I’ll tell you all about it. I’ve got to do it tonight, for tomorrow. Can we go for a drink then, to celebrate me finishing it?’

Even walking down the street, Kate could hear the hesitation in Francesca’s voice.

‘Um,’ she said after a while. ‘Look, I was supposed to be seeing Zoe, and –’

‘Well, that’s fine,’ said Kate. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Yeah, it’s just – I was going round to hers for supper.’

‘Oh,’ said Kate, not sure how to play it. She was crossing into Covent Garden, her feet wobbling on the tricky cobbles, passing the Punch and Judy, where Sean had his birthday all those years ago. ‘Well –’

‘Look, I’m sure Zoe’d love it if you came, it’s just – Mac might come. I mean, he says he can’t, he’s working, but he was going to maybe pop by, perhaps I should tell him not to –’

Kate was suddenly a bit cross at Francesca assuming this
way and that. How did she know what Zoe would or wouldn’t love? Zoe was her best friend, wasn’t she? And she and Mac were grown-ups, weren’t they? Uncertainty made her defensive.

‘Francesca look, I’ll talk to Zoe,’ she said firmly.

‘Does she know? About you and Mac, I mean?’

‘No,’ said Kate. ‘It’s complicated. I mean I don’t want to talk to her about it. I mean … he may have told her, I haven’t.’ How she wished she could tell them both.

‘I thought you told each other everything,’ said Francesca. ‘Oh.’

Kate opened her mouth to say something and then didn’t. The truth was, she and Zoe didn’t talk about anything much, these days, both before when she was in New York, and now she was back. She’d seen her a couple of times since she’d been back, that first night at her house. It was fine, of course it was fine. But it wasn’t great. Somehow she’d thought, naively, that it would be when she came back. But she didn’t want Francesca knowing that.