Chapter 29
Rachel
A few days into the new year, I am walking to my car after work when Lawrence catches up with me. It’s already dark, the air weighty with woodsmoke and wet with mist.
‘Hello, HR. Good Christmas?’
I nod. ‘It was nice. You?’
‘Sure. I’m one of those wholesome family guys, so yeah. I had a great time.’
I roll my eyes softly, shake my head.
‘Fancy a drink?’ he says. ‘Drown our sorrows. January blues and all that.’
I shove my hands into my pockets, tighten my body against the cold.
‘Come on. Let me tempt you to a glass of single-vineyard shiraz.’
‘You say that like you think I might know the first thing about wine.’
‘Well,’ he says, levelling his eyes to mine, ‘I could teach you.’
I resist a smile. ‘Thanks, but I’d better get home.’
‘You have plans?’
‘Sort of.’ This is true: I was going to add watercolour tonight to a bunch of line drawings I’ve been working on for my art class.
I signed up to it after leaving Josh. In the wake of walking out, I was craving a way to help occupy my mind.
To channel some of my messier feelings into something at least a little beautiful.
Lawrence keeps a respectable distance, though in the foggy car park lamplight his gaze all but pins me down. ‘So, in other words, you have nothing on.’
I decide I should probably spell it out to him. ‘I don’t think us going for a drink would be appropriate.’
Lawrence salutes me softly. ‘Aye-aye, Captain Sensible.’
‘I have to be sensible,’ I say, my breath turning milky in the mildewed air.
‘Nobody has to be sensible.’
‘We work together.’
Lawrence hesitates, then feigns a sudden pain, clutching his chest. A pantomime gesture so ridiculous, I end up biting back a laugh.
‘Come on, HR. I think we’ve had, what, like two meetings together ever?
We work in entirely separate functions. Take it from me, I try to stay out of personnel issues as much as humanly possible.
Unless they come to me, of course.’ Then he reaches out and, ever-so-gently, tugs on one end of my scarf.
It is years old, the colour of cobalt, a gift from my dad on my fourteenth birthday.
He murmurs, ‘Love this, by the way. It suits you.’
In the end, I decide that perhaps I’m overthinking things. So what if Lawrence and I do end up kissing, or even having a fling? It would only ever be that – a bit of fun. Lawrence is hardly the kind of guy you’d introduce to your dad, or your friends. And maybe that’s exactly what I need right now.
So eventually I relent, agree to a drink.
By my side in the bar, he looks – annoyingly – very handsome.
Shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar open, dark hair just so.
His jawline and profile are cut-yourself sharp, his brogues so shiny they actually glint.
He fits in well here, in this moody and classy cavern of dark wood and polished brass, surrounded by near-silent serving staff and the watery tinkle of piano music.
‘So, Rachel. The last time we were in the same boardroom, I could have sworn you were wearing a wedding ring.’
‘What, in one of those two meetings we’ve had together?’
‘Yeah. One of those,’ he says, mouth twitching.
‘You notice things like that, do you?’
‘Not always,’ he says, holding my gaze. His playful expression becomes sincere, his green eyes watchful. The devilish glimmer is gone.
This catches me off-guard. I’d been expecting – no, wanting, actually – to come here and indulge in a bit of surface-level flirting.
To have a nice time and perhaps get tipsy and forget everything else.
I certainly hadn’t planned to discuss Josh, who I definitely don’t want to think about right now.
I tilt my head. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘You’re Captain Sensible. I’m Captain . . . Curious.’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘Relationships usually are,’ he says, then waits, as though he’s sure it’s only a matter of time before I am spilling my heart out to him. ‘Rumour has it he’s a famous writer.’
‘A writer. Not famous,’ I mumble.
Just before Christmas, Polly told me Josh had got a publishing deal for the book he’d been working on while we were splitting up.
She asked if I wanted to join everyone for a few drinks, to celebrate.
But, given Josh hadn’t even told me the news himself, I declined, convinced he must not have wanted me there. And who could blame him?
‘You don’t have kids, right?’ Lawrence asks.
‘Why do you say that?’
He shrugs. ‘You’re thirty-two. You were married. You don’t have them . . . Is there a reason?’
I sling him a look. ‘I don’t know if you got the memo back in the eighties, but you’re really not supposed to ask people that.’
Lawrence, it has to be said, has a very nice laugh. It comes right from his stomach, and feels oddly gratifying, a tiny dart of dopamine. ‘Believe me, I get every bloody memo going. But I only asked because I’m interested.’
Maybe he’s more perceptive than I thought. It’s possible he’s good at reading people, has a depth that’s easily missed, because I suspect he does spend quite a bit of time pratting about.
I don’t know why I decide to tell him the truth, exactly. A combination of the wine, perhaps, and knowing how unlikely he is to ever cross paths with Josh.
‘I did want kids. Do want them. Actually, it’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ I take another sip of wine, then another. Ah, fuck it. I’ve gone this far. ‘But, last year, Josh took an anti-ageing pill, which has left me . . . in a really shitty position, quite frankly.’
This will go one of two ways: Lawrence will either laugh and change the subject, or he’ll lean forward and ask more, because he sees that as his ‘in’.
Unsurprisingly, he opts for the latter. ‘What the fuck is an anti-ageing pill?’ He says this with some urgency, as if he’s been on the hunt for something similar for years.
Over the rest of the wine, I tell him as much as I know, although I keep Wilf’s name out of it. Occasionally, as I talk, I notice Lawrence smiling, as if he’s trying to decide whether or not I’m crazy.
But I suspect he concludes it doesn’t particularly matter, because eventually, when I’m done, he just says, ‘Well, shit.’
‘Shit indeed.’
I was hoping I might feel relieved, after telling him all this. Instead, the guilt and resentment of having disclosed private information about Josh tastes faintly noxious. I attempt to wash it away with more wine, sensing Lawrence watching me closely.
‘The thing is,’ I say, ‘I really do love him. Did. Did love him.’
Lawrence doesn’t blanch. ‘Sometimes love’s not enough, though.’
I slide him a smile. ‘All right, Plato.’
‘No, I mean, I was in a similar situation with my ex. She didn’t want kids, and I really do, and ultimately we couldn’t make it work.’
I study him for a couple of moments, then laugh lightly. ‘I’m not falling for that.’
‘I’m absolutely telling the truth. Ask her yourself. I have her number right here.’ He holds up his phone.
We both know it is the safest of bluffs. ‘Well, obviously I’m not going to call your ex-girlfriend and ask her why the two of you broke up.’
He sets down the phone, then takes my hand, looks right into my eyes.
My heart begins to pound. His skin feels smooth and clean, the metal of his watch a cold jolt against my wrist. He is looking at me as if the rest of the world has suddenly turned to motion-blur, leaving only the two of us in dazzling, brilliant focus.
‘So, what do you say, Rachel?’ he murmurs. ‘Fancy getting out of here?’