Chapter Twenty London Friday 16 November 2007 #2
‘Through his agent, Ben, of course. You know, Royal Ben . . . ?’
‘Ah, that’s him, is it? Oh, right.’ She recognised Leo would probably realise she was being disingenuous.
They stood staring at each other awkwardly.
She felt exactly how she’d thought she’d feel when she saw Leo Greene again, apart from the obvious physical attraction.
Sad, reflective. Swirling with thoughts of her father and his funeral.
But she was better these days, much better.
She could think of Charlie without crying, although she still had moments when she felt wretched for not saying the things she should have said to him.
And Leo . . . actually, as she looked at him – his handsome face, a soft note of friendliness and warmth in his eyes – she realised she could handle seeing him again. Just.
‘Oh, there you are!’ Ben Moleko appeared behind them and clapped his hand on Leo’s shoulder. ‘How are you doing, mate? Fancy going for a curry after? We’ll have to bring Simeon along, but we can ditch him before the dancing. Who’s this?’ he asked, looking at Olivia.
‘Olivia,’ said Leo, smiling at her, and she found herself smiling back. She forgave herself for letting him go, and she forgave him for giving her the space she needed.
‘Hello,’ she said. ‘And this is Annabel. But we must move on,’ she added politely.
The smiling had been nice, but they had both moved on, hadn’t they?
Two years was a long time ago and her life was quite different now.
She could almost feel embarrassed about the bathtub and the limoncello and inviting Leo into her bed in the early hours .
. . ‘We’ve got . . . some people we need to talk to. Shall we, Annabel?’
‘Of course,’ Annabel replied, looking bemused.
They sailed off like two ladies in a regency dance hall.
‘You OK?’ Annabel whispered, once Olivia had steered her friend and her bump carefully through the crowd.
‘Of course. Never better!’
Olivia gave Annabel a grateful squeeze as they headed to the back of the bookstore.
By 9 p.m., people were down to their shirtsleeves and, in some cases, lacey camisoles.
It was so roasting, a layer-cake of coats and jumpers had formed underneath the Christmas tree in the back corner like a pile of really bad presents.
Parchment she raised hers back.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said. ‘That it all went weird in the afternoon. But it was all weird. Emotions were too high. Mine, I mean. I was all over the place. It just wasn’t right for something more to develop.
So, you’re off the hook,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t you, it was us. ’
Neither of them spoke for a while. They put their backs to the wall again and stared out into the night.
They watched in silence as a band of taxis sailed by, their lights off, people inside, going home to husbands and wives and lovers, to flats, to houses, to bedsits.
Listening to cab drivers talk about football and the famous people they’d had in the back.
‘I passed your door,’ he said. ‘A couple of months or so ago. I thought about knocking.’
‘Why were you in Pimlico?’
‘I was just in the area. For work. How’s everything going there?’
‘Fine,’ she replied. ‘I’ve redecorated,’ she added, unnecessarily.
The flat had been left to her, of course.
The flat and the mortgage. For a time, she had considered selling it.
But Pimlico was central. Pimlico had been home.
Her childhood had been in that house. Her father was in every room, every molecule.
When she had officially moved back in, it had been so painful.
Boxing up all her father’s things. Replacing the net curtains with drapes.
Collecting all his tools together in a cardboard box and donating them to a local handyman.
When it was time to sort out his wardrobe, she had stood at the double doors and cried.
When she had held his worn, navy-blue jumper to her chest, she had sobbed bitterly.
But at least she was there. ‘And I think I’m going to go home now. It’s cold. I have a busy day tomorrow.’
There was nothing else to say. There had been a bittersweet coming together and it could only result in another bittersweet parting. She wasn’t sure what they thought they were doing, out here at the wall. She wasn’t sure why he had wanted to see her.
‘OK. I guess I’ll go back in. How are you getting home?’
‘The night bus.’
‘Right. So, take care of yourself.’ He hesitated. ‘I feel I want to kiss you on the cheek.’
‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I don’t want you to. And why do people tell you to take care of yourself, anyway, when they don’t really care either way?’
‘I would like you to take care. I’d like to think you’re at least alive, as I move through the world. That you’re doing alright.’ He gave a small frown. ‘I like the way you challenge me,’ he said. ‘I’ve always liked that.’ He hesitated. ‘But, anyway, goodbye, Olivia.’
‘Bye.’
She walked away from him, heading for the bus stop. Then, she heard footsteps behind her. A rush of cold air. A hand on her shoulder. Leo.
‘Sorry, but I really want to see you again. I need to. Would that be OK? What are you doing tomorrow?’ He was out of breath. His face was flushed. Tomorrow was Saturday.
‘Going to the library,’ she replied, taken aback.
‘To take some books out?’
‘No, actually, I’m attending a writing workshop. Islington Library. I’m trying to get serious about finally writing that novel.’ What did it matter if she told him?
‘Oh, great! Good for you! I’ve started . . . something,’ he said. ‘Just a couple of chapters. But it’s going OK, you know?’ He mussed up his hair above one ear. ‘What time are you finishing?’
‘Three o’clock. Why?’
‘Can I pick you up? Can we go out? Do something?’
She looked at him. ‘Why would you want to do that? Why would I want to do that?’
‘I like you, Olivia. It’s been great to see you. I’d like to see you again. We could do something, couldn’t we? Start over? Can I please pick you up from the library?’
She considered him. She considered the fact she hadn’t been attracted to anyone as much as him since their night together – not even close.
She considered that, despite all her misgivings about him and the past, she liked talking to him, she liked the rhythm of their conversation and the things he said to her.
‘OK,’ she said. ‘You can meet me after the library.’
He looked delighted at the plan. ‘Great!’ he said. ‘That’s fantastic. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ And he gave her that kiss on the cheek she had disallowed earlier and he was jogging away and waving at her over his shoulder.
She got the night bus back to Pimlico. She liked the rumble around the streets, the stopping and starting, the whoosh and clunk of the doors opening and shutting. She wanted to think. Think about Leo and the words they had spoken to each other outside the bookstore. That she would see him tomorrow.
She let herself into the flat on Moore Street.
‘Hello, Dad,’ she said into the empty air, as she opened the door. She always did.