Chapter 25
Forty! How on earth was I forty? Where had the last twenty years gone?
I stood at the French window, gazing through the dusky March evening down my tiny garden, admiring the daffs and myriad pots of burgeoning spring bulbs that Dad had helped me with on his last visit in October.
I was showered but not yet dressed, and I pulled my cotton robe around myself, continuing to gaze out at the garden, reluctant to leave the past, not yet ready for the evening ahead – to come to terms with being forty years old and what I guessed Michael was going to ask me.
My thoughts came back to my time at Leeds, as they often did, recalling my final year where I did very little except get my head down and study like the mad woman I think I’d probably become.
On my return from my year out at the NUM, students had appeared a lot more involved in political activism than when Fliss and I had joined Frank to organise the Reclaim the Night march.
Now, they were heavily into anti-apartheid action, even picketing Leeds Chamber of Commerce, as well as an anti-fascist demonstration which led students to petition and organise against the inclusion of a National Front supporter in a local media phone-in.
I’d little heart for any of it – particularly the picketing which brought back so many bad memories of Orgreave and Theo’s injuries – and I’d turned down Frank’s invitation to accompany him there.
I did take time out to organise a demonstration against domestic violence, as well as volunteer at the university union’s safe place for women who’d been sexually assaulted.
Roddy McClellan had long since left high office, and, according to rumours, was now clean-shaven, wearing a pinstriped suit and wielding his Filofax along with the other young bucks in the big city.
I’d never come across him here in London, so maybe that’s what it was – mere rumour.
It was a good story anyway, and I smiled as I continued to reminisce.
Being back in Leeds for that final year had reminded me so much of both Fliss and Theo – the library, the park where Fliss and I had run, Len’s Bar where Susannah had told me Theo would break my heart – that I’d been more than relieved to leave both Leeds and Rothersley and head to London.
‘You ready? You were miles away!’ Michael had arrived armed with flowers and champagne and was now opening the bottle while I continued to stand at the window.
‘Yes, yes, I’m good.’ I turned, smiling, and he passed me a glass.
‘Happy birthday, you gorgeous woman.’ Michael clinked his glass with mine and kissed me. ‘Are you OK? We don’t seem to have seen much of each other lately.’
‘We’re both so busy,’ I said. ‘If you’re not in the Commons, running the country, or out of the country, you’re sleeping it off at your place.’
‘And you’re constantly in your office or at court. You do know our work/life balance is non-existent? I just think we should try and spend more time together.’ Michael hesitated. ‘One has to work at a relationship, you know – I know that to my cost with Rebecca.’
‘How is she?’
‘Oh, enjoying marital bliss and her twins.’ Michael’s tone was light, but I knew he carried regrets about losing his first wife. ‘The thing is, Anna, I don’t want to make the same mistakes with you. Do you not think… you know…?’
‘What?’ I couldn’t quite meet his eye.
‘Anna, I’m forty-four. I’d like to settle down… have a family.’
‘I know.’ I’d realised Michael was becoming broody, wanted to put down roots.
‘You know? What, you know because you feel the same way? You’re ready for more too?’ He put down his glass and then took mine, placing it on the table next to his own before wrapping his arms round me. ‘Anna, I’m crazy about you.’
I was fully aware I didn’t feel quite the same way, recognised I liked Michael enormously, but did I want to commit?
To a family? Wasn’t I too old, at forty, to be even considering a family?
Let’s cut to the chase here: a baby? Did I want a baby?
Gemma’s news had got me thinking, made me feel a stirring of something, but was that stirring just envy, a reminder of the old ticking clock or a real, genuine maternal pull?
Was it because I didn’t have that heart-stopping, heart-wrenching love I’d had for Theo Mandeville all those years ago?
Almost twenty years ago? That, surely, had just been a young girl’s infatuation.
Wanting something I couldn’t have, could never have.
To be honest, I’d not thought much about Theo over the past decade.
I’d occasionally, out of curiosity, google him and his family, see that he appeared happy and fulfilled running the estate, and that was that.
More than I missed Theo himself, I knew I missed that burning love that probably only hits us once in our life.
Only if we’re lucky. And for some, never.
I turned to Michael. ‘Are you proposing?’
‘Oh!’ For a moment he looked surprised, terrified even, and then he took his glass, drank what remained before refilling it and downing that too.
‘Oy, that’s supposed to be my birthday champagne.’ I laughed at his face, waiting for him to recover from the bubbles going down too quickly.
‘Bloody hell, Anna, you really are just too direct!’ he finally got out. ‘Can’t you let a man propose his own way without you taking over?’
‘I’m sorry.’ I laughed again, downing my own drink.
‘So.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We’ve an hour.’
‘Time enough.’ I smiled, reaching for Michael and the bottle and, leading him by the tie, headed for the bedroom.
‘Oh, my God, I don’t believe this! You said we were going out for a quiet celebratory dinner?’ I stared round at the crowd of friends and family, work colleagues and politicians who’d gathered and were now jumping out of hiding places, singing ‘Happy Birthday’ and popping corks and streamers.
‘Come on, Anna, I wasn’t going to let your fortieth birthday go by with just a dinner. We can have dinner any time.’ Michael bent to kiss me, pushing me into the crowd where I was ambushed and kissed, hugged and cosseted, over and over again.
‘How lovely…’
‘I’d no idea…’
‘I’ll kill him…’
‘You can blame me as much as Michael.’ My brother David had his arms round me. ‘We sorted it together.’
‘Aw, Dad!’ I flung myself at him and he gathered me up.
‘Wszystkiego najlepszego! Happy birthday, my beautiful Anna.’
‘’Ere, out the way. Let me at her.’ Mum came first and then Aunty Sandra, both hugging the very life out of me.
‘I can’t believe this!’ I laughed in delight.
‘Oh, and Les! Come here!’ I embraced my little brother and then spotted my two nephews, Brandon and Ethan, fourteen and twelve respectively.
Both hung back, probably overwhelmed by the noise and kissing, preferring to drink their cans of Coke than be made to greet this London aunt of theirs who, to be fair, they only saw a couple of times a year.
Brandon appeared truculent, constantly pulling his hair across his cheeks where his acne flamed like scarlet porridge.
But Ethan came forward, shy and tentative at first but then, like any twelve-year-old before adolescence hits, curious and interested.
‘Where’s your mum?’ I asked.
‘She’s just taken Megan to the bog. Oh, she’s here…’
Tracy, my sister-in-law – who also happened to be Linda of NUM fame’s youngest sister – came trotting towards me on high heels which elevated her five-foot-nothing frame.
‘Oh, the little dote…’ I took eighteen-month-old Megan in my arms, and she gazed up at me, unsmiling. ‘Goodness, she’s beautiful, Tracy.’
‘Well, you’ve not seen her since she was born.’
‘Oh, is it so long? Really? But thank you for the photos.’
‘You’re welcome.’
I liked Tracy enormously; she was so like Linda in both looks and personality, and she was a strong and fiery wife and mother, keeping Les, as well as the kids, under control. ‘’Ere,’ she said now, ‘give Megan to your dad and lead me to the bar. I’m having a night off.’
‘Oh, I can’t put her down.’ I kissed the little girl’s downy head, breathing in her baby smell.
‘Your dad will be fighting you for possession,’ Tracy warned. ‘He adores her. Les says she reminds him of you, and you were always the favourite.’
I moved towards Michael who was chivvying waiters with the drinks, wanting to show off this latest addition to my family. ‘Michael, I don’t even know where we are…’ I turned back to Tracy. ‘He made me close my eyes,’ I added.
‘David came up with it,’ Michael said.
‘You don’t know where you are?’ David, overhearing, laughed. ‘Where all the media and arty people hang out?’
‘Oh, of course. I saw we were in Soho. The Groucho Club! Wow! I should have recognised it; you brought me here once, David.’
What a wonderful birthday: a party and a proposal!
I put the latter out of my head – I’d deal with that later – and spent the next couple of hours chatting, dancing, eating delicious food and drinking far too much alcohol.
Mum and Aunty Sandra had taken to the dance floor, and, despite both being in their seventies, were reliving their youth, jiving and jitterbugging with Michael and David.
Other guests joined in, until the dance floor of the large event room was rocking.
I went to see Dad who was sitting down with a sleeping Megan in his arms, and then set off to find the loo, delighted with the whole evening, smiling to myself as I went.
When I finally found it, the bathroom was large and contemporary, and I laid my hot forehead against the cool basin before mending my make-up.
‘Not bad for an old woman!’ I preened, pouting at my reflection and fluffing up my long dark hair in the large mirror, adding more mascara, lipstick and a good squirt of perfume.
I realised I’d not actually drunk as much as I thought – I’d kept refilling my glass and then abandoning it to greet more guests.
I set off back and, having absolutely no sense of direction, attempted to retrace my steps.
‘Aha,’ I said aloud, ‘here we are.’ I paused, confused. ‘Hmm, maybe not!’
I found myself in another, much smaller and empty events room. I was about to turn round and go back the way I’d come, when I realised one of my guests had obviously lost their way too and was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink.
‘Wrong room, Buster!’ I shouted from the doorway. ‘Come on…’
The man turned and started to reply: ‘Just having a bit of peace and quiet before I…’ He broke off, staring.
I stared back.
‘Theo?’
‘Anna?’
We spoke as one, neither of us saying another word, just staring at the other for what seemed forever.