Chapter Thirty-Five Call Off the Search
‘You should definitely put a chaise longue there — just because you can,’ says Josie at work the next day.
I’m proudly showing them pictures of my new apartment and they’re cooing over them as if they were baby photos, which I guess they are to me.
‘Right, ladies,’ says Charlie, checking his watch as he gets up. ‘Guess it’s time to open the doors to all those bookings. We need a great day to set us up for an even greater evening.’
It’s Charlie and Peter’s hen/stag night tonight. We tried to think of a portmanteau that would work but neither of them liked ‘hag’ or ‘sten’, so we’re sticking with using them both and changing them randomly. Charlie’s friends are heading out with him and Peter is out with his, then we’re all meeting up in a nightclub.
‘And remember,’ he says, wagging a finger at us, ‘I want this to be fun but tasteful. Absolutely no firemen jumping out at me.’
Josie tuts and says, ‘When did stag dos become so sanitised? Anyway, we’ve booked a policeman.’
Charlie looks horrified until he realises she’s kidding and I promise him that there are no strippers whatsoever booked for tonight.
We work a full and busy day and are closing up when Mum calls me in a fit of excitement.
‘I’ve got a match!’ she screams down the phone.
At first I haven’t a clue what she’s talking about.
‘He wants to meet me tonight,’ she says, and the penny drops that it’s a dating match. I’m struck silent with despair but she doesn’t seem to notice.
‘I know that meeting on a stag do isn’t the best way to start something, but it’ll make me look fun and if anything goes wrong or I don’t like him then I just need to signal over to one of you,’ she says, obviously having thought this out.
I sigh out loud and tell her that I didn’t think she’d actually be going through with this item on her list. I tell her to think of Dad and how he would feel if he knew.
‘After all,’ I say, ‘how would you feel if he did the same and wanted an affair? You’d be really hurt.’
‘He’d never do that,’ she says. ‘Besides, I’ve told him.’
‘You’ve what? What did he say?’
‘He wasn’t best pleased.’ Mum is probably understating the situation. ‘But Patty had a word with him and then he agreed that I’d be better off getting it out of my system. I’ve only ever known your dad and sometimes things do need shaking up a bit.’
I sincerely hope that if I ever find someone else, I won’t want to ‘shake it up’ as I approach my eighties. I hope we’re happily drinking cocoa and watching cosy mysteries together, but if she’s really cleared this with Dad then I know I can’t stop her.
‘You’ll be wearing a rainbow flower garland and headdress,’ I remind her. That’s Charlie’s dress code — all black except the garlands. It’s easy to do and a huge relief as I’ve seen many a hen party in the most ridiculous get-ups.
‘But that’s good because I won’t have to worry about what to wear,’ Mum continues. ‘Honestly, I think it’s a godsend that it’s all planned out. I know where to meet him and how long he can have before we move on to the nightclub. It’s perfect — I don’t know why more first dates aren’t held on hen parties.’
Patty would love this logic and Mum is right — if she’s determined to go through with this then it’s better that we’re around and even better that he sees her crazy family as that will have him running a mile. I must find out what Patty actually said to Dad.
I don’t tell Charlie what’s going on — he’s worried enough about this evening going well. Instead, I just wave him goodbye and tell him I’ll see him later. I know he’ll now spend hours getting dressed and yet he’ll look just the same only smell sublime. As no one will be looking at me, I’ll get changed and be out in a flash — right now, I have something else to do.
Thanks to Mum’s surveillance, I know exactly when Michael gets in from work and I’m heading over there to get to the bottom of this. I drive to Cross Road and park up opposite his house then wait. Pretty much on the dot of the time in Mum’s notes, Michael’s van appears and pulls into his drive. He gets out and pulls a folder from the passenger side then opens the door and heads in. I watch all of this and realise that I still feel a pang of affection. His front garden is as immaculate as ever and now abundant with spring flowers that I know he’ll have planted with care. My heart starts beating faster and I wonder whether I’m doing the right thing. Am I about to humiliate myself with a man yet again? After all, I have form. But if I don’t do this then:
1. I will never understand why he seemed keen one minute and ignored me the next.
2. My mother will come round and ask him herself — and that will be even more humiliating.
I have to do this.
I get out of the car, hoping that none of my old neighbours are watching and if they are that they don’t recognise me. I walk calmly up to Michael’s door, practising my opening sentence and pause before pressing the bell.
The ten seconds or so it takes him to open the door feel like ten years, but then, there he is, and I watch his expression move from hassled to surprised to delighted.
‘Angie!’ he shouts, pulling me into a hug then quickly releasing me. ‘Thank goodness, please come in. That is, if you want to?’
He looks as nervous as me as he holds his hands firmly by his side. My opening sentence has long since vanished; I simply nod and walk in. I don’t sit down but instead turn to face him.
‘I wanted to check that you were okay,’ I say in as neutral a voice as I can muster.
‘I’m okay,’ he says. ‘What about you and your friend, Patty — how is she?’
Okay, I think, so the call Poppy overheard seems to be valid so far.
‘She’s fine,’ I tell him. We’re both treading very carefully here and I’m hoping to work out what is going on before him.
‘It’s just, when you told me not to contact you because you needed to spend time with her, I thought...’ Michael looks to the ground then back up at me. ‘Well, I thought it might be very serious and I know that when my wife was first diagnosed, we didn’t want to hear from anyone.’
He thought Patty had cancer?
‘It’s understandable,’ he continues. ‘But I’ve been through it and if you ever need a shoulder to cry on or just tea and a chat, I’m here.’
Okay, this is weird and we need to stop beating around the bush.
I sit down on the sofa and he follows my lead.
‘Patty is absolutely fine,’ I tell him, getting a surprised look in return. ‘When did you get a message that she was ill and why did you think it was from me?’
‘Because it came from your number,’ Michael replies. ‘The new number you got after you lost your phone.’
‘But even if I had lost my phone, you can transfer a number,’ I say, trying to put this jigsaw together but unable to see the picture on the front of the box.
‘Okay,’ he says sheepishly. ‘I know that but you said you weren’t that tech savvy so I wasn’t sure if you knew it — sorry.’
He looks so ashamed of himself that I can’t stop myself from laughing out loud. As I do so, he joins in and it clears the air.
‘I can’t work out most of the settings on Patty’s combi-oven but I can switch phones without losing my number,’ I reassure him. ‘Let’s try and understand what happened, shall we? Starting with you standing me up at the café.’
He opens his mouth to protest but then closes it and calmly says, ‘I was on my way to the café, really looking forward to it, when a friend of yours calls and tells me that you’ve had to cancel because of a personal issue.’
‘Which friend?’ I ask, and he replies that they didn’t say.
‘Then later, I get a message from a new number saying you’ve had to change yours and I should replace the number in my phone with that one. Obviously I did that,’ he continues. ‘I messaged to ask how you were but you didn’t reply.’
I’m astounded by all this and tell him I did none of these things.
‘I’ve messaged your new number a couple of times suggesting we meet up whenever you were ready but you didn’t reply to them either. I called the number and left voicemails but again no reply. Then, you sent me a message saying that Patty was seriously ill and could I stop calling as you were dedicating all your time to her.’
‘Wow,’ I reply. ‘This is elaborate. I swear to you, I haven’t heard from you and didn’t contact you because I thought you’d just lost interest.’
‘Never.’ He shakes his head. ‘I sent you a Valentine’s card with gnomes on it hoping you’d know it was me and get in touch, but you didn’t. Then I saw pictures of you dancing and at a fancy golf club evening. I have to be honest — I was jealous and angry. I thought you were stringing me along.’
‘And I came by here one night and was told you were out with a woman,’ I tell him.
‘The only woman I’ve been out with is an old friend of my wife’s,’ he replies. ‘And I do it out of respect for her loss but I honestly wish she would move on and let me do the same. I still really like you, Angie.’
‘And I like you,’ I tell him.
We sit quietly and I contemplate all that I’ve just heard. It’s obvious that someone has been trying to keep us from getting together but we both want to give this a go.
‘Can I see the number you were given?’ I eventually ask and Michael stands to get his phone out of his pocket then hands it to me. I go through his contacts and find my name.
‘Call it,’ I say, handing it to him. He does and it goes straight to voicemail. It’s an automated response so there’s no clue as to who is behind this.
Almost immediately after the call, he gets a message saying that this fake Angie is busy. My skin crawls to see my name appear on the phone and know that someone is pretending to be me.
‘Give me the number,’ I say. ‘They might pick up to a number they don’t know.’
I call the number and after a couple of rings, the person picks up.
‘Hello? Who is this?’
I recognise the voice immediately and suddenly it all falls into place.
‘Sarah?’
‘Angie? Oh god.’
‘Sarah, I’m here with Michael and I think we need to talk.’
* * *
We meet in the park and as we watch her approach, I feel as if I’m in some Russian spy movie. I invite Sarah to sit at a picnic table and ask her to explain everything.
‘I’ve loved him for years, ever since I lost my husband,’ she blurts out through snotty tears. ‘Jenny and Michael took me in, we went everywhere as a threesome, so when she died, I presumed it would move on to just being the two of us. I knew I could look after Michael better than you ever could and that’s what Jenny would have wanted, I’m sure. If I lost Michael to you I’d have nothing, so I called him from my colleague’s phone while you were in the bathroom at the café and then I got the idea for everything else later. I bought one of those pay-as-you-go phones to send the other messages. I didn’t think you were serious enough about him and hoped you’d hit it off with David.’
She looks up at Michael and says, ‘We could have made a go of it.’
Kindly, he puts his hand on top of hers and tells her that it wouldn’t have worked as he sees her as just a friend. I look on, thinking that’s particularly generous as I’d have pulled her hair out.
‘The book club?’ I ask.
‘I just wanted to keep tabs and know what you were up to.’
‘And The Salt Path?’
‘Jenny and I read it together when she was first diagnosed.’ I can hear the sorrow in Sarah’s voice as she speaks. I’m not quite sure how it’s happened but in this moment I’m actually feeling sorry for her. When I first met Sarah, I thought of my own situation this time last year; how lost I was and how much I needed a friendship circle of my own. I invited Sarah into ours and I know I would have done anything to make her welcome. I’ve been badly deceived, and although Sarah’s actions had no regard for my feelings, I do understand them. I’ll be happy when I never have to see her again, but I feel sad for her rather than angry.
I’m ready to leave and get up from the bench but Michael stays seated. I hear him tell Sarah that she’ll meet someone soon and, when she does, he’ll be so happy for her. Sarah gets up and walks away; we both watch to make sure she has.
‘Gosh, that was tough,’ I tell him.
‘She’s still grieving,’ he says. ‘But as long as we’re okay, we can watch out for her going forwards. Agreed?’
‘Agreed,’ I say, then link into his arm as we walk; I feel relief at being able to leave this scene behind us. ‘Now for a very important question — do you have a black sweater and jeans?’
‘Of course, why?’
‘Because we’re going to rekindle this relationship the way it started. With a party.’