Chapter 17 Now
Now
“Are you sure you’re up to this?” James asks, running his palms over his shirt and checking his reflection again in the hallway mirror.
He’s changed his shirt three times but has settled on this one, geometric patterns and relaxed cut screaming “trendy East Londoner.” Only the thing is, we haven’t been East Londoners.
Not for the year since we moved almost to the end of the Elizabeth line, expressly in the interests of starting a family.
It was only after we’d begun unpacking in our new Taplow home that the doctor had delivered the news about my endometriosis and how badly it had fucked up my fallopian tubes.
I used to feel a level of responsibility for taking James away from East London that I know is unhealthy.
It still calls to him. It’s where the company’s headquarters are and where tonight’s launch event will be.
Now, with the money gone and the question of children in smoke thanks to James, I feel that guilt a little less.
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to tonight, babe,” I say, not entirely sure.
It’s been a few days since our big conversation and it feels a little like the wheels are coming off my newly renovated wagon, everything at risk of coming to pieces in a crash that I won’t be able to stop.
I curl my fingers around his neck and give him a gentle kiss. “You ready?”
He smiles, face lit up like a child’s at Christmas. “Yeah. All right, then, let’s go.”
The taxi is already waiting outside. It’s only a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest station, but James knew I’d want to wear heels, which are murder on my feet over loose pebbles, cobbles, and potholed pavement.
He didn’t even ask, just knew what I’d want and booked ahead of time.
Two weeks ago, to be exact. This is who the man I love is: thoughtful, kind, attentive.
And that is what he’s been during the emotional turmoil of the past week: thoughtful, kind, attentive.
James suggested going to his parents about the money at first, and this idea ignited cruel hope in me for a moment, before I realized that his parents would want to know why we’d handed the money to Will in the first place.
No. We can’t go to his parents.
And where that leaves us is with no money, no new doctor appointment.
Which I tell myself is fine. I tell myself that not everyone needs to be a mother.
My mother certainly did not need to be one.
But there’s a gnawing feeling inside me.
A need to do better than her. To prove I can do better than her.
To love something, someone, completely selflessly.
To love not for what that person can do for me, but for what I can do for them.
To leave an indelible mark on the world in the form of a good human.
I just want to make a good person. I think perhaps that might make me a good person, too.
I try not to dwell on this as we make our way to the station and onto the train.
There’s a desperation living in those thoughts that repulses me in the same way I know it would my mother.
Instead, I sit nestled into James in the quiet carriage.
There’s a new intimacy between us since we’ve bared our secrets to each other.
But it’s a precarious intimacy, walking the tightrope of all the things we’re not saying.
The trust we’re pretending hasn’t been broken. I know it won’t last.
All the way to the bar, snippets of teacups and old dilapidated staircases and Elizabeth Arden keep pushing their way into my mind.
James speaks, and I half listen as I try to get myself together for him.
I’ve got to show up to his party in top form.
I nod and smile at what feel like correct intervals.
I offer him kisses when it seems he’s said something meaningful.
And before I know it, we’re walking into the venue, hand in hand, the picture-perfect couple.
There’s a momentary flash of concern on James’s face as he surveys the reasonably thin crowd.
Despite my own doubt, I’m about to remind him that it’s only six thirty, people will still be at work, when the marketing manager, Molly, springs forward from the bar.
She’s a fun wine partner for a thirsty Thursday but is just as likely to stick a knife in my back as have it.
I’ve noted the increased warmth she’s radiated toward me since James and I have been together, no doubt banking on some future usefulness I might have for her.
She clearly misunderstands the kind of man James is.
“James! You’re here!” She has a tray of full pints in her hands, the new CBD IPA that’s launching.
It wobbles a little as she does an excited shimmy, her severe black bob shivering with her.
She turns to acknowledge me. “Nice to see you, too, Nat.” Her eyes track back to James, spot the question in them. “Everyone’s catching the sun upstairs.”
And when we follow her up an almost hidden staircase reminiscent of a swanky hotel corridor and emerge onto a roof terrace teeming with plants, we can see that the party has indeed started.
Thank god for a sunny day in London. Everyone’s ready to power down laptops at four p.m. From some of the wide and slightly uneven smiles, some people have done exactly that and are already a few pints in.
It’s easy from there, at least for the next hour or two. James mingles with colleagues and contractors. Outside his overbearing brother’s shadow, he’s the star of the show. People seem easy, relaxed. James is good at holding court and I’m good at allowing him to.
A not small part of me wishes Ama was here for company, even though she left the business a while ago, her warm smile and wicked quips a comfort.
The ghost of Emily intrudes at that thought.
She doesn’t need to belong somewhere to show up and have a good time.
Have everyone around her have a good time, too.
The perfect plus-one. I miss her. But I don’t know how to reach out.
We haven’t spoken, in fact, for years. I wonder if my mother is haunted by the phantom limb of Aunty Dev in this way, too.
I shake the melancholy away. Dutifully listen to holiday stories from co-workers and exchange home reno ideas with local shop owners.
It’s important to give James space to mingle, let him feel he doesn’t have to babysit.
He’d do it without complaint, but I know firsthand how annoying it is to have to try to entertain a spouse when it’s their partner you really want to be talking to.
“God, he’s good, isn’t he?” It’s Molly the marketer, hands free of a drink tray this time and occupied with lighting a cigarette instead.
“Lucky you. He really looks out for you, you know?” I’m not sure what she means by that, but the look that lingers on James, a few feet away, is clear admiration.
And more than that. She may as well have cartoon heart eyes bulging out of her head, despite the existence of her long-term boyfriend, Brian.
She’s not the only woman I know who wants to sleep with James, and I’ve never particularly minded when women do.
Even the previous office manager, Mad Mary, was said to have held a candle for him before her infamous nervous breakdown and abrupt departure.
He’s an attractive man; it’s only human.
But there’s something new this time as Molly lets invisible drool spill down her chin—something white-hot.
Something sharp enough to gut a man with.
It takes me so by surprise that I take a physical step back from her.
This sudden movement draws her eyes back to me, a subtle question in them as she tries to assess whether I’ve read her thoughts, whether she’s been staring too long.
But it’s nothing to do with Molly and everything to do with me.
Because suddenly, I can imagine James’s longing stare turned her way.
Picture him leaning closer to her in the office after hours.
Nonsense, I know. He’s not Will, would never cross that line.
But I can feel the trust James and I have built is on even shakier ground than I’ve admitted to myself. I don’t like it.
“You okay, Natalie?” Molly asks.
“Yes,” I say with a small nod that speaks of weariness and mild embarrassment. “Sorry for the thousand-yard stare; I just remembered an important email I forgot to send before logging off. It’s not going to be a fun day for me tomorrow.”
Molly relaxes a little, smiles. “It’s okay, we’ve all been there. I’m sure whatever it is can wait until morning. Worst-case scenario, at least you’re sleeping with the boss.”
A tight smile.
Molly continues. “Although, god, it’s a relief not having to do damage control for Will’s chaotic emailing anymore.” Her body language is conspiratorial, a cheeky glint in her eye. It’s becoming increasingly clear that the pint in her hand isn’t her first.
Not one to pass on a performative bonding opportunity, I lean in, too. “Honestly, I don’t know how it wasn’t a total shitshow before James took the reins.”
“Wasn’t it? I had to have a bottle of wine after work every day, just to wash away the trauma.
I was one small crisis away from having a nervy b and going full Mad Mary.
Just totally sodding off without telling anyone.
When Will started drunk posting on our socials, I almost did!
” There’s unbridled delight in her laugher.
Okay, so she’s loving this. I’m happy to indulge her further.
“I don’t know why James taking over didn’t happen sooner. James is really grateful to those of you that stuck it out, by the way. Think he’d have lost his mind without everyone’s support.”
She takes a puff of her cigarette and shrugs. “Well, it wasn’t so bad to start with. But I guess sometimes when the wheels come off, there’s no putting them back on.”