2019
Grant came. Of course he came. Even though I’d specifically told him not to.
‘I’ll come,’ he’d said on the phone. ‘I’m between contracts and I could do with a project to get my teeth into.’
I’d bristled. ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘I’m fine.’
He’d carried on as though I’d not even spoken. ‘It’ll be great. Something new. Good for the old CV.’
‘Grant, listen to me. All I need is for you to let me have some of your media contacts. I can do the rest on my own.’
There had been a pause. ‘Oh, Queenie,’ he said. ‘Where’s the fun in that?’
That had been more than a week ago and I’d begun to think that I was off the hook. Perhaps he’d got another contract and his time was too precious to waste on a little school like Elm Heath. Or perhaps he’d – for once – listened to what I’d said.
Then, as I sat at home one evening, going over the budgets for the after-school club and working out to my immense pride and pleasure that it was making a profit, I heard the familiar roar of Grant’s motorbike. Or, as I liked to call it, his mid-life crisis.
‘No,’ I said out loud, tilting my head so I could hear better. ‘He wouldn’t.’
But he would and he did. The engine stopped and I heard footsteps on my path and then a loud knock at the door.
I could pretend I’m not here, I thought. But my curtains were open to show off my, fairly pitiful admittedly, Christmas tree and my lights were on. There was no avoiding this one.
Resentfully, I plodded to the door, wishing I’d not changed out of the dress I’d worn to school as soon as I got home. Instead I was wearing an oversized jumper that I thought might once have belonged to my brother, and faded leggings along with some thick socks and novelty slippers in the shape of yellow Minions.
‘Hello, Grant,’ I said, as I opened the door. ‘What a surprise.’
Grant flashed me his best smile. ‘You don’t sound very surprised,’ he said. He bent and kissed me on the cheek, and the smell of his aftershave and the memories it triggered made me dizzy. I steadied myself against the wall. I’d loved him once and despite everything I was pleased to see him. Sort of.
‘You’re looking good.’ I was telling the truth. Grant had always been handsome, but he was the kind of man who got better-looking with every year that passed. His hair was properly salt and pepper now, and he’d grown a beard, which suited him.
‘So are you,’ he said. ‘Love the feet.’
‘I wasn’t expecting company.’
‘Busy?’
‘Doing some budgets.’
‘Can I come in?’
I rolled my eyes but of course I was always going to let him in. I was weak where Grant was concerned. Always had been. He beckoned and I followed, without ever asking where we were going. It had taken all my strength to leave him, and even more strength to stay away. And now he was here, filling my hallway and looking at me in that same indulgent and slightly patronising way.
‘Are you annoyed with me?’ he said.
I flopped down on the sofa, leaving all my budget notes and my laptop next to me so he’d have to sit in the chair.
‘Not with you,’ I said. ‘More with myself for imagining you’d listen to me, or trust me to do this on my own.’
‘Queenie,’ he said. He picked up my notes and my laptop and put them on the coffee table and sat down next to me. So much for that plan. ‘This isn’t about your little project. I wanted to see you.’
‘It’s not a little project. It’s a campaign to save a very important school.’
Grant nodded. ‘You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s just that to me, it’s not as important as you are.’
‘Balls.’
He snorted with laughter. ‘There she is,’ he said. ‘My Queenie. Sweet-talking never worked with you, did it?’
I smiled, despite myself. ‘No. And don’t call me Queenie.’
Grant put his hand on my knee and I looked down at it and then up at him.
‘Grant,’ I said, warning him off. He, predictably, ignored me.
‘I miss you, Liz,’ he said glumly.
‘Right, like the women aren’t queuing up for you,’ I said. Because despite his flaws, Grant was a proper charmer. He was funny, and good-looking, and really clever. And when he fixed his eyes on you, you felt like you were the only person in the whole room – the whole world almost – that he was interested in. He had charisma. Chutzpah. Big Dick Energy. Whatever you wanted to call it. And women loved it. I couldn’t blame them – I’d been the same once.
Now he shrugged. ‘There’s no one special,’ he said. ‘And it’s Christmas. Our first Christmas apart, Queenie.’
I glared at him. ‘It’s our second Christmas apart,’ I said. ‘Last Christmas I was living with my mother, listening to her tell me for the millionth time about how well my bloody brother’s career was going, worrying I was never going to work again and crying every time I thought about how many lies you’d told me.’
Grant did, at least, have the grace to look slightly embarrassed. ‘Second Christmas,’ he said. ‘Of course it is.’
He shifted on the sofa.
‘Last year was a bit of a blur, if I’m honest.’
I felt a sudden – and very small – flash of sympathy for him. He’d done things totally wrong, and he’d made everything about himself when it should have been about the kids at his school, but he wasn’t a bad man. Not really. At least, not completely.
I patted his hand. ‘Drink?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
I gave him the first genuine smile I’d managed since he’d turned up. ‘I’ve got nothing here, but there’s a pub just down the road,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you head on down there, and get the drinks in, and I’ll get changed and be there in five.’
It was what we always used to do when I was being slow at getting ready for a night out.
Grant grinned at me. ‘Gin and slim?’
‘Please.’
Wasn’t it funny how quickly you just slotted back into old habits?
I took Grant to the front door and pointed him in the direction of the pub, then I took the stairs two at a time up to my bedroom. I didn’t want to take too long getting ready because I knew if I did, Grant would have made friends with everyone in the pub – that was the sort of man he was.
I yanked off my scruffy sweater and leggings, pulled on the dress I’d worn to work, pulled it off again because it looked too head-teachery, and instead went for black jeans and a soft, slim-fitting, black jumper. My hair was wild but I didn’t have time to tame it, so I pulled it into a bun and added some sparkly earrings to stop me looking like a Russian spy. I squirted myself with perfume to disguise the smell of school dinners, whacked on some mascara and took a deep breath.
‘Stay strong, Lizzie,’ I said to myself. ‘He is not good for you. Get what you need and then send him on his way.’
Despite my lightning-fast makeover, by the time I got to the Three Kings, Grant was standing at the bar, surrounded by people, telling a story that was making everyone – even bloody Nev the grumpy barman – laugh.
I paused for a minute by the door, to gather myself and to roll my eyes without anyone seeing, and then went over.
‘Lizzie!’ Paula’s husband Chris was in the group surrounding Grant. ‘Grant was just telling us you were on your way.’
‘You know me, Chris,’ I said through a forced smile. ‘I’m never one to miss out on a drink.’
Grant reached over and handed me my gin. ‘Shall we grab a table?’ he said. He shook Chris by the hand, jovially. ‘Great to chat, Chris,’ he said. ‘Let me know about that round of golf. And Phil –’ he turned to another man who I’d seen around but never spoken to ‘– keep me posted on how your wife’s getting on, won’t you?’
I raised my eyebrows at him as he slid into the chair opposite me.
‘Wife’s got cancer, poor git,’ he said. ‘But apparently the treatment’s going well.’
‘You’re something else,’ I said. ‘You’ve been here five minutes and you know everyone better than I do.’
He smiled. ‘That’s not true,’ he said. ‘They were all singing your praises.’
I was pleased. ‘Really?’
‘They said you’ve done wonders already and that you’re planning some big rally?’
I nodded. ‘That’s what we need publicity for,’ I explained. ‘It’s a really good story. The woman who founded the school was a suffragette, so we’re drawing inspiration from her, doing a march and a rally, and trying to show the council how important the school is.’ I took a slug of gin. ‘Will you help?’
Grant leaned forward across the table, his eyes gleaming. He loved a challenge. ‘Tell me everything.’
It took a while but I filled him in on how lovely the children were, and how much everyone wanted to keep Elm Heath Primary open. And I told him about the developers sniffing round, and that the surveyor had been to visit, and he frowned.
‘It doesn’t sound good, Liz.’
I lifted my chin. ‘I know, but it’s not fair that they’re just acting as if the Elm Heath kids don’t matter. They’re such a lovely bunch and for all the fancy big houses there are round here, there are a lot of vulnerable kids too. I don’t want them to have to schlep into Blyton every day, where no one knows them.’
Grant was staring at me.
‘What?’
‘Just, you,’ he said. ‘I always loved how much you cared about the kids.’
I looked down into my empty glass, embarrassed by the affection I could see in his eyes. ‘Don’t,’ I said. This was already too complicated. Keen to deflect his attention away from me, I pushed back my chair, and stood up. ‘Another drink?’
Grant nodded. ‘Same again, please.’
I picked up our empties and weaved through the tables to the bar. I’d just ordered when I felt a hand on my back and turned, expecting to see Grant. But it was Danny.
‘Lizzie,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
I looked up at him. What to say? That I’d spent a week berating myself for sleeping with him when he was obviously seeing someone else? That I had seen him around the village a few times and deliberately gone the other way to avoid a situation just like this one? That my ex-husband had just rocked up and was making it quite clear that if I fancied rekindling things, he’d be up for it? Instead I said nothing. I just smiled.
‘Listen,’ Danny said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What for?’
Our hands were next to each other on the bar, my left hand close to his right. He stretched out his little finger and hooked it round mine. The touch of his skin on mine had an immediate effect on me, sending heat rushing to my face – and elsewhere.
‘I’ve fucked everything up, but I’m sorting it, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘Trust me?’
I pulled my hand away from his. ‘How can I trust you now?’
I felt his eyes on my back as I took the drinks Nev handed me and headed back to the table, slopping some of Grant’s beer as I plonked down the glasses.
‘Easy,’ Grant said. He leaned back in his chair and looked at me carefully. ‘Are you okay?’ he said.
‘I’m fine.’ I forced a smile.
‘Who was that you were speaking to at the bar?’
I pretended not to remember. ‘Speaking to? Erm …’
Glancing round, making out I was checking to see who’d been there, I accidentally caught Danny’s eye. He was still watching me, though he was chatting to Phil and Chris.
Quickly I looked away. ‘Oh that’s Danny,’ I said casually. ‘Just a parent.’
Grant narrowed his eyes. ‘Just a parent?’ he said. ‘No one special?’
I swallowed. ‘No,’ I said. ‘No one special.’