8. Carly
Chapter 8
Carly
A s it happens, Anthony’s not that bad. He must be at least mid-forties, if not a bit older, so no way is he of any romantic interest to me, but he made good conversation, even made me laugh once or twice, and he didn’t slurp his soup or pick his teeth at the table. But he is not just the wrong age, he’s also very much the wrong type. And he’s shorter than me, by a good two inches, I’d say. The truth is, I just don’t fancy him.
When Anthony had followed my mother into the kitchen after coffee, insisting on helping with the washing up, I’d huddled up close to Sam and asked him just who exactly Anthony was, where Mum had met him, and why on earth she had thought he might be a match for me. It turns out he’s got the allotment next to theirs and they all sit and have a chat sometimes, if Mum pops down there with a flask of tea when it’s sunny. Sam gives him the occasional cabbage and Anthony repays the favour with a bag of raspberries or a few gooseberries. It seems he’s a fruit man rather than a veg one. He’d been there that morning, so Sam told me, doing some digging, but had told Sam he wanted to nip home to spruce himself up ready for their lunch engagement, otherwise they would have walked back to the house together. Nip, spruce… what sort of man talks like that? And engagement? I know he wasn’t talking about diamond rings, but still, the less said about that word the better.
Sam said he’d seen the warning signs in Mum’s eyes and had tried to tell her not to matchmake but she’d insisted she was doing no such thing, just being neighbourly, taking pity on a man who came across as a bit lonely, but I know her only too well, and it wouldn’t be the first time. It’s not that I blame Anthony. He probably walked into her trap just the same way I did. Oh, God, I wish she wouldn’t do this to me. Or to him, poor man.
I take the scrap of folded paper out of my jeans pocket as I bend to put them into the washing machine, and open it out. Yes, he slipped me his number as we rather awkwardly said goodbye in the hallway on Saturday, on some pretext of wanting to talk to me about a car insurance quote. I’ve only just remembered it’s there, but I have absolutely no intention of calling. If he really wants to talk about insurance, he can ring the office or visit the website like everyone else. I decide to treat our meal as a mercy mission and, whether the poor sod’s lonely or not, I vow never to repeat it, and certainly not to phone him, for want of giving him, or Mum, the wrong idea.
I screw the paper up and lob it into the kitchen bin. Bye-bye, Anthony with an audible H. Beggars can’t be choosers, so my mother keeps telling me, and there may not be many fish left in the sea, but I’m letting this one swim on by. I have my eye on a very different fish altogether. Jack’s back, all tall, tanned and handsome, and today is the day I am going to walk right up to him, in my smartest dress and my highest heels, and try to stop shaking long enough to manage a friendly not-too-blatantly-sexy smile, and show him exactly what he’s been missing all these years.
‘Got room in there for a couple of pairs of pants, Carls?’ Fran has just come tumbling into the kitchen with an armful of laundry. ‘Not worth doing a separate load.’ And, before I can answer, she’s stuffed her undies into the drum, closed the door and set the thing going on a full-length wash at forty degrees.
‘Those were jeans in there, Fran. You’ll end up turning all your knickers blue if you’re not careful.’
‘That’s fine. Who cares what colour they end up, so long as they’re clean? Not as if anyone’s going to see them except me.’ She laughs and dashes out again, grabs her bag and opens the door to the communal landing. ‘Must go, I’m late. See you tonight.’ The door slams behind her and I look at my watch. She’s right. She is late, which means, if I don’t get a shift on, I will be too. God, I do hate Mondays. I could have done the washing yesterday, instead of spending hours picking through my wardrobe for come-and-get-me clothes and scouring the make-up stands in Boots for blue eye shadow to match my eyes and just the right shade of lipstick to dazzle the man of my dreams. But here I am, as usual, leaving everything to the last possible minute and risking turning up in the office looking like I’ve just jumped off a horse in a gale-force wind.
I finish my coffee, dump the mug in the sink for later, take a final check in the hall mirror – front view, back view, close-up, touch-up – and I’m out of here, my ankle turning on the corner of the stairs as I try to remember how to hurry in heels.
I don’t want to do this in front of a room full of curious colleagues and I can’t think of any way of getting Jack on his own, so I have no option but to involve Suze. Since her questions in the pub garden, I have done my best to avoid giving her answers, but I can tell she’s bursting to know everything there is to know about me and Jack, all the when and where stuff that, so far, I have managed to keep her in the dark about. So, I wait for a quiet moment and whisk her off to the Ladies where I check that all the cubicles are empty before giving her a brief potted history of what did and didn’t happen between us five years ago.
‘Oh, wow. Wow, wow, wow! So, what next?’ she says, jumping up and down with so much excitement that she manages to bash her elbow on the washbasin. ‘Will you hover by the lifts until he comes downstairs, or follow him outside at lunchtime, or just go right up to him at his desk and grab him? Oh, God, I do love a big dramatic moment. It’s what romance is all about, like something out of Romeo and Juliet , all that held-back emotion just waiting to erupt at any minute. I would so love to see his face when he meets you again after all this time…’
‘Yeah, okay, Suze. Hold your horses. A big dramatic moment is exactly what I don’t want. It’s just too… public, isn’t it? And extremely embarrassing for me – well, for both of us really – in front of a bunch of other people if he doesn’t want to know. Or doesn’t recognise me.’
‘Of course he’ll recognise you, you dingbat! How could he forget all those sparks you say were flying about between you? But it doesn’t have to be public, does it? We just need to get him on his own somewhere, that’s all. Give you both a bit of privacy.’
‘Which is exactly where you come in. To lure him out, away from his desk, distract him…’
‘There’s only one way I know to distract a man and I somehow don’t think that’s what you’d want me to do!’ she says, lifting her hands and wiggling her boobs from side to side.
I look at Suze’s ample chest and am glad to see she’s wearing a high-neck top for a change.
‘No, you keep those beauties to yourself, or you’ll have his eye out! And I want him in one piece, please.’
‘Spoilsport. What, then?’
‘Something work-related. Look up his extension in the internal directory and call him, say you’re having a problem with your software or something.’
She giggles and points to her breasts again. ‘No problems with anything soft here,’ she says. ‘Oh, you mean on my computer! Okay, so let’s say he takes the bait and comes down to take a look. Then what? You’ll have just swapped one set of gawpers for another.’
‘Not if we time it right. You just have to get everyone out somehow. Ask them all out for a lunchtime drink and troop them down to the pub. We don’t have to empty the whole ground floor. Just our little corner. Make up something you’re celebrating. They’ll know it’s not your birthday, but you could have won some money on the lottery or something and want to treat everybody.’
‘It could work, I suppose. Most of them will do pretty much anything for a free drink. And you’ll make some excuse to stay behind, I assume?’
‘Yep. And when he comes down to fix the PC, it’ll me sitting there, not you. What do you think?’
‘The simple plans are often the best. It could work. How long will you need?’
‘Who knows? Five minutes, fifteen, a whole hour if it works out and he feels the urge to catch up over lunch somewhere.’
‘Enough about urges. I don’t want to come back and find anything messy going on at my desk.’
‘Nothing like that, I promise. So, you’ll give it a try?’
‘On one condition.’
‘Which is?’
‘Well, if I’m having to pay for a round of drinks, I expect full reimbursement. And all the gory details as soon as he’s gone, of course.’
‘That’s two conditions.’
‘I suppose it is. But you need me, so you can hardly say no, can you?’
‘Okay. Thirty quid should cover it. Just don’t make out you won a fortune or someone will expect to order champagne.’
‘This all seems to rely on me having to tell a pretty big lie. It’s not as if I usually even do the lottery. I won’t be able to keep a straight face if they start quizzing me about what numbers I picked and how I’m going to spend my winnings. And, anyway, what if Jack’s out to lunch himself or otherwise unavailable when we need him here? He might decide to pop down later, after we’ve all come back.’
‘Better make it sound urgent then. Look, timing’s everything here, and I’m counting on you, okay? Either that, or you all stay here and I lead Jack off down to the pub! Hey, maybe that’s it. He comes down in the lift on his mission of mercy and I waylay him in reception and just lead him straight outside. Act now, explain later. What do you think?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Carly. I need a wee now,’ she says, opening the nearest cubicle door and disappearing inside. ‘So just make up your mind before I’m done, okay?’
In the end, it doesn’t quite work out the way we planned. It turns out that Jack doesn’t do the repairs side of things. He’s more of a programmer or a project manager or something like that, and he immediately passes Suze’s call on to someone else. Someone called Jess who turns up within minutes, has a fiddle with the mouse and declares nothing wrong at all, giving Suze a don’t-waste-my-time look before hurrying back upstairs, luckily before Suze has had a chance to issue her lottery-winning invitation to everyone within a six-desk radius. The only good thing to come out of our failed mission is that I haven’t had to fork out for a round, but I’m no nearer to getting Jack’s undivided attention. Suze and I look at each other with a silent sigh as she shrugs her shoulders and actually gets down to doing some work, but I know I’m going to find it hard to concentrate until I’ve seen him and spoken to him. I just have to know, one way or the other, where Jack and I go from here, if anywhere at all, now that we’ve been thrown back together under the same roof.
I look at my watch. It’s a couple of minutes past twelve and I don’t usually take my lunch-break this early but I need some space, and some air, so I grab my jacket from the back of my chair and head for the door. Suze nods at me, as if she knows exactly how I’m feeling, and waves a little goodbye as I leave.
And that’s when I walk right into him. Jack Doherty, rushing out of the lift and across the reception area, a big leather briefcase swinging from his right hand.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Wasn’t looking where I was going.’ And then he stops and looks up, straight into my eyes, and something registers. A sudden flash of recognition passes across his face. ‘I know you,’ he says, plonking the case down at his feet and slowly raising his hands until he’s put them gently on my shoulders, so we are standing facing each other, just an arm’s length apart. He pauses, as if to make sure he hasn’t made a mistake. ‘It is you, isn’t it? Your hair’s different but I’d know those eyes anywhere! My God, this is such a surprise. What are you doing here? Do you work here too?’
I nod.
‘I’m here on a contract. Three months.’
Ah, so it’s not forever then? I don’t know quite what to feel about that.
‘I never thought I’d see anyone I know,’ he says. ‘I had no idea you were…’ And then he stops talking and just looks at me, and finally gives me one of his drop-dead gorgeous lop-sided smiles. ‘Sorry. Ignore my rambling. What I mean is… Hello, Carly.’
‘Hello, Jack.’
‘It’s been a long time.’
‘Five years,’ we both say together, and then we both laugh as he lowers his hands and picks up his briefcase again. I can’t help noticing the wedding ring, but it comes as no surprise. Any ideas I might have had of him calling the whole thing off and still being single were a one-in-a-million chance, weren’t they?
‘I was just going out,’ he says. ‘A quick bite to eat before I have to dash back for a meeting later. I don’t suppose you…’
‘Fancy coming with you?’
He nods. ‘I was going to read a report in the park, grab a quick sarnie, feed the crumbs to the pigeons…’
‘I could do that. Well, not the report bit, but I’m happy to keep you company, if you like.’
‘I would like, yes.’ He hesitates, as if he’s about to offer me his arm or hold my hand or something, but he thinks better of it and I follow him out, in single file, through the big double doors into the street.
‘What flavour sandwich? Anything you like. Don’t say I don’t know how to treat a girl!’ He laughs as we walk into the sandwich place on the corner and I pick some kind of soft bap out of the chill cabinet without really noticing, or caring, what’s in it. I don’t argue as he orders two coffees to go, pulls out his wallet and pays.
It’s not far to the park, and within five minutes we’ve chosen a bench in the sun, down one of the smaller paths that run around the edge, and have settled ourselves side by side, looking out over the grass. A lot of people from our building come here at lunchtime, but we’re very early and, so far, it looks like we’re on our own.
‘Carly,’ he says. Nothing else, as though he’s trying out the sound of my name after not having had to say it for so long. ‘I didn’t expect to ever see you again.’
‘Me neither.’
‘How have you been? And what have you been doing? Changing jobs, obviously. But what else? Are you with anyone? Married? Kids?’
I shake my head. ‘No. Still the same old Carly. I’ve moved out of my mum’s, sharing a flat with a mate, but otherwise I’m still living the same old life! Hanging out in pubs, reading a lot, seeing my mum at the weekends. No man, no kids. Still waiting to meet Mr Right. My own Mr Darcy! Not that I’m in any hurry.’ I look away, for fear of blushing. It doesn’t happen often, but this is one occasion when I’m afraid it just might.
‘I’m surprised. I felt sure someone would have swept you off your feet by now, and whisked you down the aisle!’
‘I’m not sure all that marriage and family stuff is all it’s cracked up to be. You should see Rosie and Syd these days. Happy as Larry, but struggling a bit moneywise, I think. They never did get over to Oz to visit his parents. Other priorities got in the way. You heard they had twins?’
‘No!’
‘Yep! A boy and a girl, just a few months old, and yet to meet their Aussie grandparents.’
‘To be honest, I haven’t really stayed in touch with anyone from back then. I should have done, I know. Especially Syd, after he let me sleep on his sofa for weeks on end. Maybe I should have come down for their wedding, and invited them to mine, but it’s a man thing, isn’t it? We don’t do friends the way you girls do. But twins, eh? Wow!’
‘Yep. Hard work, and loud too. Very loud! But how about you? How’s married life? Do you have any kids yourself?’
‘God, no. Too soon for all that. We’ve only just moved here. New job, new flat, and still finding my feet. Well, our feet, I suppose I should say, although I don’t think Molly’s too keen on London life. Not yet, anyway.’ He stops talking and turns his attention to opening his sandwich, a dollop of mayonnaise oozing out and just missing his trouser leg as he quickly holds the whole thing out over the side of the bench. A big fat pigeon swoops down instantly but soon waddles off again when it discovers nothing but a gloopy breadless splat on the path. ‘Come on, eat up. Our little feathered friend here is looking most disgruntled.’
I laugh at his choice of vocabulary. ‘Can a bird be disgruntled? More like just plain greedy, if you ask me.’ I tear open the wrapping and take a bite of my roll. Cheese and pickle. I don’t much like pickle, but I start to eat it anyway. We sip at our coffees, now they’re not so hot, and I realise I have no idea what to say next. It’s hardly the moment to pronounce my undying love, is it? And I really don’t fancy hearing any more about his wife and how much she does or doesn’t want to live in London. Let her leave if that’s how she feels. And leave him here, for me.
He puts his coffee down on the ground by his feet and opens his briefcase, pulling out a heap of papers, but he doesn’t make any attempt to start reading them.
‘Do you ever think about that night?’ he says, suddenly, as if he can read my thoughts.
‘Which night’s that?’ He could be talking about something else entirely, for all I know, and I need to be sure before I make a complete fool of myself.
‘Carly…’ He turns to look at me, moving what’s left of his sandwich over onto the wooden arm of the bench, so there’s nothing in his hands, nothing between us. ‘You can’t have forgotten. I know you haven’t. It was…’
‘It was what? Special? Magical? A mistake?’
‘Yes, all of those things.’ He reaches for my hand but I pull it away, immediately wishing that I hadn’t. I want to touch him so badly. ‘But it couldn’t happen, could it? We couldn’t let it. Not with the wedding and everything. You do understand that?’
I nod. I can feel the tears starting to well up, the tears I have probably been holding in for the last five years, but I have to stop them. He mustn’t see how I feel. He had been fair about it all back then, and totally honest. He hadn’t made any promises. Well, not to me. Only to her.
‘Wrong time, wrong place…’
‘Wrong man?’ he adds, peering at my face.
‘No, Jack. The right man. Definitely the right man. But someone else got there first, didn’t she? I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this.’ I stand up, my food falling from my lap and signalling a mass pigeon stampede around my ankles.
I’m making a spectacle of myself, I know I am. Stumbling about and saying the first thing that comes into my head. I’ve already said too much, and it’s time to cut my losses and leave. Only, he should know, shouldn’t he? This could be my last chance, my only chance, to tell him how it was for me.
And so I do.
‘That night was very special to me, one of the most important of my life, ridiculous though that probably sounds to you, as nothing really happened, did it?’ I find myself staring at my shoes, and at the last of the pigeons still pecking determinedly at the remains of my bap, now little more than a pile of mangled crumbs. My voice drops almost to a whisper. ‘But I think it’s best, in the circumstances, that we just keep our distance again now. We’ve managed it for years, but we’ll just have to try a bit harder now we work in the same place, won’t we? I don’t have a lot of reasons to come up to the second floor…’
‘You know where I’m working?’
‘Not too tricky to work out, as you’re in IT. That’s where they’re based.’ I swallow hard. The last thing I want is for him to think I’ve been stalking him, that I’ve already been up and found out exactly where his desk is. ‘Anyway, I should go. I’m sure the last thing your wife would want is you having lunch with another woman, especially one from the past, who she knows nothing about. I assume she doesn’t…’
‘Of course not. There was no reason to tell her. Not that there was anything much to tell.’
‘No, you’re right. Nothing at all. Okay then. I’m going back to work now. It’s been nice seeing you again, Jack. I’m glad you’re happy.’ Has he actually said he’s happy? He has to be, he has to have left me for the right reasons, made the right decision, or the last five years without him have all been for nothing. I lost; she won. It’s as simple as that. What was I thinking, trying to engineer some sort of secret meeting, working out some crazy plan to get him back? It’s not going to happen. It can’t. He’s married, and I don’t get mixed up with married men, especially happily married men. I have to back off, stay away, let him go, once and for all.
I start to walk back along the path, forcing my feet to take me away from him and, when I turn, he’s just sitting there, staring after me. ‘You’d best read that report now, before your meeting,’ I say, my voice as level and businesslike as I can make it, as my heart pounds away, nineteen to the dozen. ‘And thanks for lunch.’