The Other Woman's Shoes (41 page)

However, in her haste to uncover what she’d expected, she’d failed to see the unexpected. The flat was clean. The bed was made; there were no sweaty socks or sticky undies on the floor. There was a smell of soap in the bathroom, aftershave in the bedroom, and Mr Muscle in the kitchen. Eliza was used to the flat smelling worse than a locker room.

Eliza dropped into the settee and leant forward, holding her head in her hands. This was worse than finding ‘the New Woman’, in a negligee, swinging from the lampshade.
Not only did he have a New Woman but the New Woman had succeeded where Eliza had failed. The New Woman had persuaded Greg to clean up. Eliza started to cry. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, scalding her.

‘Hey, what’s up?’ asked Greg kindly as he returned to the sitting room with their cups of tea. He sat down next to Eliza and slipped his hand around her back. His warmth and kindness just made her want to howl.

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ assured Eliza, wiping her tears and snotty nose on the back of her jacket sleeve. Greg leapt up for a box of tissues, but as he offered it to Eliza she started to sob again. Tissues! Proof positive of a woman’s intervention. There is no way on this earth that Greg would ever buy tissues. Eliza had her pride. That was all she had. She didn’t have a boyfriend, or a flat, or even a plan, but she did have her pride. She was
not
going to tell him what was the matter. ‘Martha’s away, I’m babysitting. The children woke up early today, well, every day actually, and I’m tired. Silly, I know. This childcare lark is harder than it looks, and I’m not very good at it.’

‘Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job to me.’

Eliza smiled, pleased to receive any praise, however little evidence it was based upon. ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, fishing for further compliments.

Greg looked at the children; Eliza followed his gaze. Mathew was eating Dog’s chocolate drops, and Maisie had fallen asleep in his basket. Eliza knew for a fact that Martha would not approve. Hardly nutritional, hardly sanitary.

‘Well,’ Greg hesitated. ‘Both their shoes are on the right feet.’

Eliza grinned. ‘How are you?’ she asked, remembering her manners but hoping that he wouldn’t tell her. She really didn’t need the details on just how wonderfully sexed up and loved up he was right now.

‘Not bad at all.’ He smiled but didn’t elaborate.

Eliza was grateful for his sensitivity. They both fell silent, not that it was uncomfortable.

‘What are your plans for the rest of the day?’ asked Greg suddenly.

‘To get through it without the loss of a limb or incurring any other serious injuries such as concussion or a fracture.’

Greg smiled. ‘We could take them to the zoo.’

‘We?’

‘Yes. You and me. I’m not doing anything better, and you’re not. I’ve missed the kids. But if you don’t want to–’

‘Great. No. Yes. I mean, yes, I want to, that’s a great idea. Two sets of hands are always better than one.’

And I’d like to rip your clothes off and take you on the futon, thought Eliza. But she didn’t say so; it didn’t seem like the right moment.

46

She wasn’t going to go. Why should she? She’d been made a fool of once, and once was once too often. It had been nice. Fun. But it was better all round if she just left it where it was. Hadn’t she begged Michael to stay, humiliated herself completely? Surely she should learn from that experience and then at least something would have come out of this whole sorry mess. She wasn’t going to waste a moment longer on a man who didn’t love her and only her. Naked friends had been all very well when she was in her – what did Eliza call it? – her recovery stage. And, yes, she was very grateful that her recovery stage had been spent with Jack. A Sex God with a good heart. But she’d recovered now. And the recovered Martha deserved more than a timeshare. The relationship had been a beautiful, amazing rebound relationship. That was all. Eliza had been right. Martha had been wrong, but she was grateful that she’d been wrong. If she’d listened to Eliza, she would have missed out on the best three months of her life.

True, he’d never lied to her, or hurt her, or let her down, and that was good of him. He’d recognized how vulnerable she was and he hadn’t abused her trust. But, then, he’d got a good deal too: Jack got unlimited, astonishing sex with a grateful, rampant divorcee. And she got, well, unlimited, rampant sex with an Adonis. The deal between her and Michael had been a little more prosaic,
more sock-washing and bread-earning, less foreplay; but the principle had been the same. And as for her and Jack’s sharing doughnuts, laughing, chatting, reading, playing with the kids together, well, that had been a bonus. And as for that next bit, the bit that she found difficult to describe… The bit where she was sure that she was in love with him, that they were alike despite the outward appearances, were peas in a pod, well, she’d have to forgo all of that too if he didn’t love her.

Because she did deserve to be loved.

Martha’s cheeks burnt at the recollection of what she’d said. She’d told him she loved him and he’d ignored her. He hadn’t made any comment at all. She might just as well have said, ‘Funny weather we’re having, aren’t we? Strange the way there’s intermittent showers and then beautiful bright skies.’ Martha took little comfort in the fact that what she’d said was true.

So there was absolutely no point in meeting him at Union Square. The sensible thing for her to do now was get on a plane and go home to her children, her family, her friends, and get started on her real life. Which, thanks to Jack, would no longer be limited to jam-making and cake-decorating; she’d also include a little hip clothes-buying and DVD-watching. What would be the point of meeting him? Everything that could be said had been said, and more. Martha thought all this as she boarded the Subway. She took the R line, which did pass through Union Square – but she told herself she didn’t have to get off there, she could stay on and go to Soho and do a little more shopping before she left for JFK.

Yet again, she’d been deceived into thinking it was a
warm day. It amazed her how her optimism won over experience, time after time, after time. The sky had been blue and bright for the ten minutes it had taken her to choose her outfit this morning. It was now bitingly cold. People in the carriage sat hunched in their own coldness. Of course, like London, no one struck up a conversation, preferring instead to read the third-rate adverts on the posters. Martha wondered what it would be like to live in a world where people talked to one another on the Tube, actually smiled at the buskers, even sung along. But she knew it was another romantic notion of hers, not unlike falling in love and hoping to be loved in return. Ridiculous, unrealistic.

When Martha got off the train at Union Square, passed her token through the machine and pushed through the turnstile, she told herself that she didn’t have to go to the café where they’d spent a hilarious evening the other night, she could shop. She looked at her watch. It was four forty-five. He’d said that he’d be there from four and that he’d wait for her. He hadn’t said how long he’d wait, although the implication was that he’d wait for quite some time. She was curious to know if he’d wait for forty-five minutes. She doubted it. But it would be easy to check. She could just pop by the café and see if he was there, which was unlikely. Martha walked up to the door; she could see through the window. It wasn’t very busy, but she could not see Jack. The disappointment turned her knees to wet newspaper. She was too sad and shocked to cry. Although she was convinced there was nothing more to say (she, for one, had said more than enough) and although their relationship was inadequate and ill-defined,
it had at times seemed heavenly. A tiny little bit of her thought he might have thought so too and therefore found something else to say.

Martha needed a sweet, hot drink. She was shaking so much it looked as though she was breakdancing, and if she didn’t get off the street quickly someone would probably try to force a dollar on her.

She pushed open the café door. No one turned and stared at her, which surprised Martha as she was sure that, besides her strange hue, there must be a huge comedy arrow above her head pointing at her and saying ‘disappointed, again!’ She went to the bar and ordered a caffè latte, full fat, four sugars.

The waitress assumed that she’d just witnessed a horrific accident or had been a victim of a mugging at the very least, because Martha looked so traumatized. ‘Hey, Girlfriend, you OK?’

Martha moved her head a fraction. It wasn’t clear if she was trying to nod or shake.

‘You look cold. Why don’t you go through to the back of the café? There’s a fire there and it’s real restful.’

Martha followed the suggestion as though it were an order. She hadn’t known that there was another part to the café. The back room was empty, all but for two people. A woman, by the window, reading
The New York Times
.

And Jack.

Jack was sitting by the fire.

‘Martha, fantastic, you came. I wasn’t sure you would.’ He jumped to his feet. ‘Can I get you a drink? No, you’ve got one, err, me too.’ In fact there were three empty juice glasses on the table in front of Jack. Martha stared at
them. ‘I got here early,’ he said, by way of explanation, ‘just in case.’

He leant forward to kiss Martha but she ducked. She knew if he kissed her she’d be without resources. She’d cry out, ‘Forget all that stuff I said this morning. Forget the demand for exclusivity, and forget that I said I loved you. Let’s just go back to the way we were. Just be with me. Don’t leave me.’ Which wouldn’t be very dignified. She pressed her lips together in an effort to restrain herself from backtracking.

He took hold of her hand and held it tightly for a moment. He tried to look into her eyes but she wouldn’t meet his. She stared at the floor miserably. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. The kisses branded her, embossed his signature. She was sure she’d be ruined for life. No other man could possibly be this unique combination of sunshine and sexiness. She didn’t really believe in this one.

Jack sat down and waited for Martha to sit opposite him. But she stayed resolutely on her feet. She didn’t feel comfortable, and she didn’t want him to feel comfortable either. A little bit of her wanted to punish him for not loving her, and whilst she realized that making him stretch to reach her hand wasn’t exactly the same as putting him on the rack in the Tower, it was all she had available to her at that exact moment.

Jack waited a second, realized that Martha wasn’t going to sit down and then stood up again. He still held on to her hand. ‘God, I’ve had the most bizarre day,’ he said.

Martha stared at him with disbelief. Was he taking the piss? Hers hadn’t been exactly run-of-the-mill, either. It
wasn’t every day that you told someone you loved them and (this was possibly the most salient point) the person you’d said ‘I love you’ to ignored you.

Jack beamed at Martha.

Oh my God, he did love her, he was going to tell her now. Suddenly Martha could see such warmth and hope and excitement in his eyes. Why hadn’t she looked closer this morning? Then she would have seen it all, and saved herself this horrific day of worry. Martha allowed her body to relax as though it were sinking into a huge warm bath full of bubbles. She felt her dreams envelop her and then buoy her up. She waited for the words.

‘I’ve got a new job,’ said Jack.

‘What?’ demanded Martha. Had she misheard?

‘A job. That’s why I’m here – for a job interview – and today they told me I’ve got it.’

‘What?’

‘Isn’t it fabulous, Martha?’ Why had he started calling her Martha? Where had ‘Little Miss E.’ gone? Was she to be buried with their history? ‘I’m going to be running the New York branch, I’m going to be MD, Martha.’

‘Congratulations. I’m very happy for you,’ said Martha as she collapsed into the nearest chair. She sat down before shock could slam her over. Jack took this as a good sign and sat down again too. And the odd thing was, a bit of Martha was actually happy for Jack. It sounded like a good position, and he was obviously thrilled; she loved him, she wanted him to be happy. That’s what a bit of her thought. The rest of her thought that he was the most obnoxious, cruel, tactless bastard to be so obviously delighted at the prospect of leaving her but, hey, as he’d
said all along, he wasn’t in this game to find a girlfriend, he still had too much he wanted to do.

‘Well, I’d love to stay and chat over the details of your new contract, etc,’ said Martha, not doing such a brilliant job of hiding her pain, ‘but I have to get back to the hotel, I have a plane to catch.’

‘A plane? But why? Are the kids OK?’ asked Jack, suddenly anxious.

‘Yes, they’re fine. I just don’t want to be here with you any longer. I don’t see the point.’ Martha made to stand up. She wondered if her reserve would last at least until she got out of the café. Then she could sob or scream or do whatever struck her as most appropriate.

‘I don’t understand,’ said Jack. He did look genuinely bewildered. ‘You said you loved me.’

Martha glared at Jack. How could he be so insensitive as to bring that up? He really had no idea. ‘I was drunk,’ she said.

‘You couldn’t have been drunk. It was in the morning.’

Martha considered telling him she’d changed her mind. But what would the point be? She couldn’t salvage any self-respect by telling a lie. She considered demanding ‘Love me. Love me. I’m a good person, and a pretty person, and a funny person. I have so much love to give.’ But she feared it would fall on deaf ears.

Again.

So instead she said, ‘I do love you, Jack.’ Funnily enough, she didn’t feel the humiliation that was surely due when she said this. She supposed the difference was that this time she didn’t have any expectations at all. She was just stating a fact. ‘I hope you’re very happy in your new
job. And country,’ she added significantly. ‘But I’ve never been a fan of long-distance relationships, and I make a lousy pen pal. I’m sure it won’t take you too long at all to surround yourself with a posse of new naked friends.’