‘Right.’
We had walked to Caspar’s – it was only two hundred yards up the road – umbrellas up and braced against the wind. I walked arm in arm with Freya, as much as my umbrella would allow, and Jeff and Gabby strode in front.
Gabby’s hair swung in front of me – I felt like I knew every strand, and Jeff had had a much more severe haircut in recent weeks – it looked a bit painful at the neck. I realised my feelings for him were completely gone now – kaput! I hadn’t seen him for a while, so there was always the worry that I would have a baulk of regret when I saw him, a pang, a pull on the heart strings. But no, apart from that sudden jolt at seeing him, which I’d probably always get – the almost perpetual and weird surprise of seeing someone you used to love – my heart strings remained un-pulled. I really didn’t find him attractive now. He was beginning to remind me of a weasel. If anything it was the sight of Gabby that unnerved me; it was Gabby that gave my heart a frightful pang. The sudden shock of seeing her and realising I didn’t know her any more was so weird. Gabby was just a stranger to me now… somebody that I used to know – with very familiar hair.
Caspar’s was a fantastic-looking restaurant. It was either embracing Christmas early or acknowledging how much the dark, rain-sodden evening needed illuminating, as a dense curtain of ice-cool fairy lights hung from its huge top-to-toe front window, covering every inch of glass. Inside, it was a cool, white box, with dazzling chrome fittings and huge chandeliers. Our table was in the centre of the restaurant, under a large skylight which had also been festooned with fairy lights – the sky was perfectly pitch black; no stars on show tonight. Our short crocodile of people arrived at the table and began to fan round it.
Fabulous. I groaned inwardly. I was next to Gabby. It wasn’t even boy girl boy girl (I thought of the cookery night and the shame of Dex came back to haunt me. What a fool I’d been; how horrible he’d been). There was a table plan and place cards, unfortunately, so nobody had any choice. And they had spelled my name wrong. Darrell, like a boy, though it was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. I had to suffer far greater insults.
We sat down. I shook my napkin into my lap, lined up my cutlery, tried to look busy. Hannah and Freya were all excited and talking nineteen to the dozen in high-pitched voices; Gabby and Jeff were lightly bickering about why the car wouldn’t be ready until Tuesday. When my old best friend saw me flick a quick glance over, she fixed a bright smile on her face. She could at least have the decency to look sorry and ashamed, I thought, but we both knew it wouldn’t suit her.
So, it was the seven of us. Lovely. Two couples, two beautiful teenage girls with their lives in front of them and me: dumped, disappointed Daryl. I was determined not to feel that way, though. I had to rally and not let this situation get me down. Why should I not be Fabulous Daryl, proud mother of one, daring divorced dater (better luck next time, girl!) and sultry wearer of an absolute killer dress…
There was white and red wine on the table, plus bottles of champagne – two at each table – in silver wine coolers filled to the brim with ice and standing to attention behind the table. As soon as we were seated, Jeff reached round behind him and shook one of the bottles from its silver encasement, and I watched as condensation dripped off its bottom and onto the white tablecloth. It was a bit of a theme this week, wasn’t it? Water, water everywhere – when would the sun ever make an appearance? Never, I thought morosely. Rain was hammering on the windows of the restaurant. It was going to rain all winter wasn’t it? My forecasts for the foreseeable were going to be extremely depressing and incredibly boring.
Jeff lined up the first glass – Gabby’s. A stricken waiter, being usurped, tried to take the bottle from him. ‘Let me, sir.’
‘No, no,’ said Jeff, shooing him away. ‘I’ll take care of this.’ And he made a big show of pouring champagne for everyone at the table. Including Hannah and Freya.
‘To the top please,’ murmured Gabby. Oh, she definitely liked a glass of champers, did old Whatsherface. There was the time she drank a whole bottle of it, in the bath, before we went out one night, and cut her legs to ribbons shaving her legs. We’d stuck bits of toilet roll all over them and had laughed and laughed. It was a good night – the kind of night where we hung onto each other in hysterics on the dancefloor – and it had ended with Gabby being unwell in my mum and dad’s en suite bathroom, while I held her hair back. Once a lightweight, always a lightweight. We’d giggled ourselves silly over it in bed the next morning, with tea and toast and Marmite. At the time, it was one for the memory banks; but that memory bank had been tipped all over the floor, a year ago, and its contents trampled on.
Jeff looked at Gabby indulgently, like she was a princess, and filled her glass with a theatrical flourish. Cow. Bloody, bloody cow. She’d wiped out all that wonderful history between us the first time she’d given my husband the glad eye.
She simpered back at him. I noticed her fiddling with something, near her neck. And then I saw it – the label. I shook my head and smirked to myself. Oh, typical Gabby! She’d bought a dress today, was wearing it tonight and would return it tomorrow. She used to do that all the time. Shame she hadn’t returned my husband – not that I wanted her too, now, of course, but at one time I had.
The glasses filled, Jeff proposed a toast to ‘Freya and Hannah and a fabulous evening’. He stared lovingly at Gabby as their glasses touched in a soft kiss, and I admired my restraint. It was not only the first time I’d seen Gabby since she stole my husband, but the first time I’d seen them together… discounting the times they smoked in my old back garden and plotted their evil deeds, that is. They were lucky I was the sort of person not to create a scene.
I picked up my glass and took a sip. The bubbles went straight up my nose, making it tickle. It was delicious. God, I needed this.
There was a lull while everyone sipped their champagne and took a look around them. There must have been at least thirty tables in that room, filled with happy people. Mums and dads and daughters and sons. Celebrating. I looked at Freya. She looked luminous, chatting away to Hannah and waving her hands around; I was so bloody proud of her.
There were tiny saucers with rolls of striped butter. And a basket of bread rolls. I took a brown one, broke off a piece and slathered it in butter.
‘How’s the new pad?’ asked Jeff. I looked up from my roll, surprised. Was he talking to me? Oh, I got it, the big man wanted to act all benevolently to his poor, cheated-on ex-wife. Well, I could play along, to an extent, for Freya’s, sake, who was giving me a hopeful ‘be nice’ look from across the table.
‘My new house? Oh, it’s wonderful. Really great. I’m doing it up at the moment.’ I thought of Will methodically painting the walls of my hall, his biceps going up and down… then how he had cleaned and lined up my brushes for me, in the jam jars, and my heart gave a lurch downwards. There he was again. Right in my brain. It was no good – I just couldn’t help thinking about him. Last night, how brilliant it had been, that kiss… oh god that kiss… It gave me butterflies that were instantly chased away by despair. Quick! I thought. Think of all the reasons you shouldn’t like him, again… he’s your neighbour, he’s not ready to move on, he whistles bad songs from the eighties, he’s too good at baking and makes you look bad (gorgeous lemon drizzle, though)… he’s too good looking… This really wasn’t working. I focused on Jeff. He was saying something else to me.
‘Well, that’s great. Glad to hear it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said coolly. I bet you are, I thought. If I’m happy then I’m off your case. I bet Jeff was as relieved as I was that the months of wailing and teeth-gnashing were well and truly over.
The starters arrived, with lots of ‘excuse me’-ing from the silver service waiting staff. It was tomato and red pepper soup and it was really nice. I dipped pieces of my bread roll in it, not caring if it was bad etiquette. The champagne was warming through my body now – it felt good. It always went to my legs first, and made them tingle – it also stopped them from tapping, under the table. I’d be careful not to drink too much though; I really wanted to stay in control. I noticed Gabby was really knocking them back, while Jeff constantly refilled her glass; some things would never change.
‘Excuse me.’ Gabby tapped the arm of a passing waiter. ‘Can we have another bottle of champagne please?’
‘Certainly.’
Jeff gave her a soppy, simpering look. I’d seen that look on his face a thousand times before – it usually meant he was on a promise.
There was a five-minute interlude while people excitedly bought raffle tickets, as they do at these sort of do’s, then the main courses arrived: some sort of chicken and gratin potatoes and veg. I was ravenous and it was delicious.
‘How’s work?’ asked Jeff. I wished he’d stop asking me questions. I guessed he was doing it to look all genial in front of Brian and Movie Star (I still couldn’t catch what her name was), or perhaps it was to show Gabby what a nice guy he was. That was a joke.
‘It’s fine,’ I said, after a bit of a pause – he’d done that annoying thing where someone asks you a question when you’ve got a piece of chicken in your mouth and you’re chewing it and everyone stares at you whilst they wait for you to finish chewing. I’d prefer it if he didn’t talk to me. I knew he wasn’t really interested – he never had been.
I could see Gabby checking me out. She had never been the most subtle. I knew what she was thinking: my bosom area was enormous in comparison to hers – her boobs were neat and constrained; mine were straining at the leash. Her bottom was probably barely covering a quarter of the seat of her chair; mine took up nearly all of it. She had my husband; I had no one. Well, she was right there, but she didn’t know everything, or the week I’d had. I’d had three kisses, one date and a booty call. I supposed it was better than nothing, or no one. At least the week had been eventful. I suddenly wondered what Will was doing tonight; he’d told me he always had Friday afternoons off. Was he at home with a box set (he was a Sopranos guy, I bet, or maybe Breaking Bad), a glass of wine? I knew I shouldn’t be thinking about him, I knew I shouldn’t care what he was doing; I should be as much in the dark about his life as Gabby was about mine. I glanced at her. She was draining another glass. She had that tell-tale look of drunkenness about her. A slightly wobbly head and lightly glazed eyes.
There was the sudden sound of a guitar tuning up and the rumbling of drums – the live band had arrived on stage, at one end of the restaurant. They launched into ‘Summer of ‘69’, and were really very good. Then pudding appeared in front of us – oh, it was delicious and one of my favourites – crème brulee; I enthusiastically broke through the crispy top and got stuck in. Gabby and Movie Star (I couldn’t even be bothered to find out her name now; the evening was too far gone) both pecked at theirs with their spoons. This was unlike Gabby, I thought. She loved her puds. She was showing off, clearly. She’d have a doughnut topped with a huge scoop of ice cream when she got home. And Movie Star probably just ate like a bird. She looked the type. She was tiny.
I was just releasing the last scrape of brulee from my bowl when I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
‘Bloody hell, Mum!’
There, behind me, and bold as brass, was my mother, dressed in what I knew to be her best black ‘slacks’ and a vintage beaded top I knew she’d got from eBay. Her hair was all coiffed and she was wearing make-up.
‘All right, love?’ she beamed.
‘Grandma!’ cried Freya, getting up from the table to give her a hug.
‘What are you doing here?’ I exclaimed
‘Well, I couldn’t not come!’ she tutted. ‘My only granddaughter’s graduation dinner!’ She looked straight over to Jeff, who did not look best pleased; he had a thunderous look on his face and was yanking unhappily on his tie.
‘How did you get in, June?’ he barked. They’d never been the best of friends, Jeff and my mother – they had tolerated each other at best.
‘Oh,’ she replied, flapping her hands around, ‘there was some sweet thing on the door I managed to charm. I just said I’d slipped out for a quick ciggie and was coming back in. Auntie Margaret’s here, as well. She’s in the loos putting on some Charlie. She told the same sweetheart she was Head of Catering.’
I laughed. Oh, those two. I was glad they were here; it might liven things up.
‘There’s a strict limit to covers tonight,’ said Jeff huffily. ‘You really shouldn’t have just sneaked in.’
‘I hope you’re not going to tell on me Jeff,’ said Mum pointedly and giving him quite a look. ‘After everything you’ve done.’
‘Well, no, of course not,’ he blustered. ‘It’s just slightly bad form, that’s all.’
‘Really?’ Oh, she wasn’t having that. Bad form was his speciality, after all.
‘Well, I’m glad she got to come tonight,’ threw in Freya, before things kicked off, but not missing the chance to give her father a bit of a Paddington Stare, for his crime of obtaining an extra Golden Ticket and giving it to Gabby. ‘Well done, Grandma.’
‘Thank you darling,’ said Mum. ‘Where there’s a will there’s a way. Now, can somebody order me a Dubonnet and lemonade, whilst I go and drag Auntie Margaret out of the ladies? She’ll be in there all night, if I’m not careful, holding court and corrupting young innocents with her tales of being a GI’s moll.’ She winked and walked off from the table. I loved the way she’d completely ignored Gabby. Not worthy of her attention. Brilliant, Mum.
I called a waitress over and ordered my mother a drink, plus a dry martini for Auntie M. It was getting loud in here now – a few were already on the dancefloor and people were chattering and clattering and laughing and generally showing varying signs of drunkenness from slightly tipsy to full-on hammered – a man at the next table had already gone for a burton, pulling the tablecloth and half a dozen assorted glasses down with him, as women shrieked. Jeff and Gabby were whispering to each other – probably about Mum. Freya and Hannah were chatting. Brian and Movie Star both seemed to have gone into a trance – they were staring straight ahead, nothing to say. I sat and listened to the band, which was absolutely rocking – the lead singer was now belting out ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ in a rich, husky voice, and my foot tapped to the beat. I was feeling all right, now that Mum and Auntie Margaret were here I didn’t feel outnumbered any more. I had allies. Where were they, by the way? Mum had been ages.
‘Go and see where Grandma is, darling,’ I said to Freya. ‘Make sure Auntie M hasn’t got herself locked in the toilets or something.’
Freya stood up. ‘They’re at the bar,’ she said. ‘Look!’ Yes, I could see them, laughing and chatting to a couple of young, male graduates. They’d been side-tracked already. Mum was flinging her arms around and Auntie Margaret, wearing some sort of fox fur and a feathery fascinator, was swigging out of a champagne bottle.
‘That’s typical of those two!’ I said. ‘Can you take their drinks over to them? Not that they’ll need them – knowing them, they’ll have drinks bought for them all night.’ They always attracted a crowd, somehow or another, that pair. ‘I know she’ll want to talk to you.’
‘Okay, Mum,’ said Freya. ‘You coming?’
‘Not just yet – I’ll stay and listen to the music for a bit.’
I was happy to just sit, for a while, in my own little world. The band was now doing one of my favourites, ‘Don’t Stop Believin’’ – oh it was cheesy but I loved it. I sipped my champagne, ignored the others at the table and just enjoyed myself. I glanced over to the bar at one point – Mum and Freya were now in deep conversation, while Auntie Margaret had her arms round the two young men, taking selfies. I’d go over when my song had ended.
The song ended. There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops. I wondered what the next one was going to be. Did they take requests? There was a loud tinkling, from the piano, the kind that’s made when someone runs their fingers up and down the keys, bottom to top. Ooh, were they changing the pace? Perhaps there was going to be some Elton John. I couldn’t see the lead singer any more, but then I couldn’t see much of the stage from where I was sitting; it was obscured from view by a dozen tables and a million drinking, laughing people. I couldn’t squint through to the bar now, either – too many people in the way. I poured myself a little more champagne and went to take a sip but, as my glass was halfway up to my mouth, I froze. No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be. Really? My face broke out into a giant grin.
The strains of Chas and Dave’s Rabbit was starting up.
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ bellowed Jeff and he stood up. I stood up, too. Yep, it was them. I had a direct view of the stage now. Mum and Auntie Margaret had taken to the piano.
Jeff and Gabby gawped at each other in surprise. Well, Jeff looked absolutely horrified and Gabby was smiling with a tipsy, slightly gleeful look on her face. She knew what we were in for; she’d seen my mum in action many a time – we’d had some very funny nights, actually, with Mum and Auntie on the old Joannas, at various, often unplanned venues… I refused to smile back at her, though – we weren’t sharing memories any more.
A large group of laughing graduates were on the dancefloor doing ironic, Mockney dancing, which apparently entailed pumping their arms up and down at their sides and weaving in and out of each other, country-dancing style. The Dean was on the dancefloor now, too, his hair flapping around. I hooted with laughter. I could just about see Mum’s face now, over the piano keys, and she looked over and gave me a rather bashful – for her – salute. Auntie Margaret didn’t look up; she was crashing on those keys like nobody’s business. They’d now segued into an energetically cranked-up version of Uptown Funk and Auntie M had started warbling over the top. Branching out indeed! A massive group of young people were now whooping and dancing.
‘Why is that your mother?’ asked Jeff, incredulous.
‘Go with it, Jeff,’ I said. ‘The kids love her.’ I took another large, joyful slug of champagne and scoured the dancefloor for Freya. Yes, there she was, with Hannah, busting some moves.
I was going to join them, I thought. I didn’t want to sit here with Gabby and Jeff and Brian and Wotsit any longer. Gabby looked really quite sloshed now and had her head on Jeff’s shoulder as he sat at the table on his phone. On Rightmove again, probably – checking out the competition. Brian and Wotsit still looked vacant and as about as much fun as wet weekend. I threw my napkin on the table and stood up. I deserved a good old dance. I could get down with the best of them. I should be doing what I wanted to do, and feeling exactly what I wanted to feel. Big time. Enjoy your freedom, remember. It was something I’d told myself I was going to do.
‘Mum!’ shrieked Freya as I arrived on the dancefloor and she took both my hands and we started doing a crazy little jive.
‘I won’t cramp your style, will I?’ I shouted.
‘Of course not!’
It was fun. Mum and Auntie M were now doing a hilarious piano version of Bieber’s ‘Sorry’ and the crowd was going wild. I got really into it, dancing with Freya and Hannah. I laughed like I’d never laughed before and danced like I’d never danced before. Not for a very long time, anyway. I felt free, free of everything. I danced with my daughter and her friend to my mother and my aunt on the piano. I danced away the week I’d had. I danced away the men in my life – long-term lovers, fleeting dalliances and unrequited crushes; I danced away the heartache. This was what freedom felt like. I had friends and I had family – what more did I need?
We danced for three or four more songs. The band had reclaimed the stage, and Mum and Auntie Margaret had been turfed off – I could see them now, back at the bar, clinking cocktail glasses. We danced until my feet ached and I felt like I’d lost half a stone. We danced until I was gasping for a drink and had to go to the bar to get a glass of water.
I asked the barman what time it was and he said eleven o’clock. One more hour to go; it was carriages at midnight, which everyone knew meant dodgy minicabs or the Tube. I felt like I’d (happily) had enough. I felt like I wanted to go home. I was tired and all danced out; Freya wouldn’t mind. I looked over to our table. Gabby was completely slumped onto Jeff’s shoulder now and he had his arm round her, nuzzling his nose into her hair. I would probably never see them together like this again, I realised. Well, I would, some day, but not until Freya’s wedding, or something… and until then they’d get on with their lives and I’d get on with mine. I was free now – both they and I could do exactly what we wanted.
I went over to the table to get my bag. Gabby had her eyes closed; she had zonked out. Jeff gave me that little smile again.
‘She’s plastered,’ he said.
‘So I see.’
‘Never could take her drink.’
‘No.’ I don’t know what he expected me to say. I looked at them. It was odd, really. Her head on his shoulder; his arm around her. A whole new couple: Jeff and Gabby. It was true, I wouldn’t see them again for a long, long time. I suddenly didn’t think I could wait that long. If I truly wanted to get on with the rest of my life I had to say something now, and, suddenly, there were things I really wanted to say to them. Things I had kept inside for so long. If I wanted to completely move forward, those things had to come out. I took a deep breath. Do what you want to do. Feel what you want to feel. Say what you need to say.
I really didn’t know where this was going to go but I had to do it.
‘While we’re all here, there’s a few things I’d like to say to you, Jeff. And you Gabby.’ I said the ‘Gabby’ quite loudly. She stirred and Jeff gave her a little nudge so her head wobbled up and her familiar, bloodshot eyes met mine.
‘Jeff,’ I said. It helped that I was standing and they were sitting. I felt more in control. ‘You hurt me beyond belief. I’ve been through things in the past year I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It’s been absolute hell. But I want you to know – both of you – that I’m over you. I don’t want you thinking “poor Daryl” or that I still hold any sort of remotely stubby candle for you, because I really don’t.’
Jeff sat up straighter, yanking on his tie again. ‘Daryl, I…’
‘Let me finish.’ This was something he always said to me, back in the day, when he had a point to make and I dared interrupt. Now it was my turn. ‘Not only am I over you, but I’m a different person now. I want you to know that I’m not that meek and mild, servile Daryl any more and I’ve realised how awful it was to be her. The Daryl who would put up with – quite frankly – quite a lot of crap. Your crap.’ I took another deep breath. ‘The way you had me running round after you like a little housewife. The way you never, ever respected my career or thought it as valuable as yours. The way it was all about you, and I was just a little bit player… And that was all before you started screwing my best friend.’ I was strong. I was fearless. I looked straight at Gabby. ‘I actually pity Gabby that she’s got herself saddled with you. Does she know yet you pick your toenails and like to have a woman clear up the bits? Does she realise you think a woman’s place is in the home, preferably at the oven cooking endless meals for you you’ll never really appreciate, even if she’s worked all day herself?’ Gabby looked blank. She didn’t know yet? They were still in the honeymoon period. Well, she’d learn. ‘She must know you’re appalling in bed, but she obviously has very low standards these days. She’ll soon find out about the misogynistic attitude and the token romantic gestures that mean absolutely nothing.’
I stood there, breathing hard. I looked at Gabby. She had her mouth open, but instead of looking angry, she just looked all pathetic and drunk.
‘Once a cheat always a cheat,’ I said to her. ‘If he did it to me, he could do it to you.’ She put one elbow on the table; it slid off. Oh, she was wasted. I hoped she’d remember my words, tomorrow.
‘Daryl…’ she slurred. The elbow that had slid off the table was now back on it and it knocked over a glass of red wine. Burgundy liquid sloshed all down the front of Gabby’s pale green dress. Oops, that dress wouldn’t be going back to the shop tomorrow, then. She grabbed a napkin that Jeff was holding out and started dabbing at her flat stomach muttering, ‘For god’s sake.’ Jeff stood up and threw some white wine onto the red stain, then picked up a salt shaker… No, it wasn’t a shaker, it was one of those posh grinder things. He started grinding salt onto her…‘Stop it! Stop it!’ she was shouting. She’d never get that stain out, I thought. Not tonight. She’d have to stay like that for the rest of the evening….
My work here was done. Time for me to go. But I had one more thing to say.
‘Gabby.’ She looked up from her frantic dabbling. She had my full attention. ‘What you did was unforgiveable,’ I said in a cool, clear voice. ‘I hope no one has the misfortune of being your friend ever again.’
Gabby laid down the napkin on the table and for the first time ever – ever – she looked ashamed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, in a quiet voice.
Wow. She’d said sorry. Finally.
‘Not forgiven,’ I retorted. ‘You broke my heart. More than Jeff did. You did, because you were supposed to be my best friend.’
My words hung in the air between us. Tears filled Gabby’s eyes and she looked down. I was done.
I grabbed my bag from under the table and went to fetch my fur-collared cape from the back of my chair. It wasn’t there. It was on the floor and currently under the foot of a waiter who was standing at the next table handing out coffees. I tried to yank the cape free but it wouldn’t yield; the waiter’s shiny shoe was pinning it firmly to the ground. I tugged at it again. And a bit more. Oh, come on, I’d made such a fine speech to Jeff and Gabby I couldn’t ruin it now with some farcical cape yanking. Finally, when the waiter casually moved his foot two inches to the right, I released my cape with a light ripping sound; it was minus its faux-fur trim. I grabbed what was left of it and headed for the dancefloor, my head held high.
I found Freya.
‘I’ve got to go, darling,’ I shouted, above the racket of a Billy Idol medley. ‘Will you be all right? Dad can take you home.’
‘Okay, Mum – are you all right? Are you getting a taxi?’
‘Yes, I’ll get one outside, and yes, I’m fine. Please tell Grandma I think she’s bloody fantastic, will you?’
‘Of course I will!’
‘And Auntie Margaret. They were brilliant.’
‘They certainly were!’
‘I’m so proud of you, Freya!’ I clutched both of her arms and looked into her beautiful face.
‘Me too, Mum,’ she shouted, over the din. ‘You held your own with Dad and Whatsherface. And you didn’t bawl once, during the ceremony.’
‘No, I didn’t, did I?’ And I had definitely held my own with Jeff and Gabby. I’d done it.
‘I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too, Freya. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’
After the warmth of Caspar’s, the air outside the restaurant was like a wet smack in the face. Heavy rain was still pelting down and quite a wind had picked up; I should know, I’d forecast it. In a strange way I welcomed the wind and rain on my face, as I propped myself against the huge window that faced the street, and caught my breath. It had taken me longer than I’d hoped to get from the dancefloor to the wooden door of the stone lobby. I’d had to push through crowds of grinning graduates surrounded by red-faced, leaping parents, and men trying to carry six pints of beer on the way back from the bar kept getting in my way. At one point the Dean had loomed in front of me, his hair slipped down to his left shoulder and we did that thing where we bobbed from side to side for ages, trying to get past each other and saying ‘Sorry, sorry’. It had been like a mad slalom course.
I welcomed this harsh autumn weather on my face; it felt almost liberating. And what I’d achieved inside felt that way, too. I’d told Jeff and Gabby how I felt – finally. They knew what they’d put me through – at last. It was done and it had gone: my fear and my despair. The reinvention of the Trampled-on-by-life Me, which had started with the chucking of my wedding ring into that fountain, was now complete.
Okay, no, this weather was not welcoming; it was hideous. I was shivering. With the warm, furry bit gone from my cape, the rest felt laughably insubstantial, not that any of it had been remotely waterproof, anyway. I would be drenched in about three seconds flat. It was all very well congratulating myself on not only surviving the evening, but surpassing it, but I now had to get myself home.
I looked up and down the road. There was the odd car driving past – one, full of young lads, tooted at me – but no taxis. None whatsoever. I stood there for a while, watching and waiting. I waited a bit more. Then a bit more. The unrelenting rain was making me feel a little more sober, which in turn lowered my tolerance for the rain. I was beginning to get quite worried; I couldn’t stand out here forever. What if I was still here when they all came out? It would diminish my triumph, somewhat. What about a bus? Was there a bus stop near here? Had I got enough change, or did they take cards these days? I hadn’t been on a bus for years… Oh, hang on, I could call for a taxi. I’d Google a cab firm on my phone and give them a ring…
Oh god! My heart sunk – I’d left something behind again, hadn’t I? I’d left my purse, with all my money and all my cards in, in the restaurant. The raffle! I’d got my purse out so Freya could buy some tickets. Where was it? Still on the table somewhere? Fallen onto the floor? Damn! I couldn’t get a taxi even if one did come past – and all for the sake of free body oil for a year, and a hamper full of chutneys. I had no cash at home either. I certainly wasn’t going to pop next door to Will’s to ask him if I could borrow some…
Oh god. Would I have to walk back in there, past all those people again, and return to the table to retrieve my purse? Slink up to Jeff and Gabby slightly sheepishly and say, ‘Oh hi, yeah, sorry, hello again. I forgot my purse. Silly me,’ and slink back out again? I couldn’t. No way, after the speech I’d just made! There was no way I was going back into Caspar’s.
I could walk, but I didn’t even know what direction it was best to head in. All I knew was it was miles back to Wimbledon and I’d never make it. I was stranded.
What could I do? Could I call someone? I could call Sam – she’d said she was out on a date with Simon tonight, but she always had her phone on her. Or Peony, although she’d be snuggled in with Max, watching a DVD or an instruction video on YouTube on how to make pew ends or something… I could call them. They’d tell me what to do.
I tapped in Sam’s number. It rang twice.
‘Hi. Daryl.’ Oh, thank god. Behind her, Rihanna was singing loudly about an umbrella. It was noisy – where was she, a bar?
‘Sam!’ I gabbled. ‘I’m stuck, I can’t get home. I’ve left my purse in the restaurant and I’ve had a bit of a – rather brilliant, actually – show-down with Jeff and Gabby and I can’t face going back in and… I’m stranded, pretty much, and it’s pouring and I don’t know what to do… and…’
‘Whoah, hold on!’ Rihanna was silenced. Had Sam gone outside? ‘Slow down. I can barely understand what you’re saying. What’s going on? Whereabouts are you?’
‘I’m outside the restaurant. Caspar’s. And I can’t get home because I haven’t got any money and I can’t still be here when Jeff and Gabby come out, soaked to the skin… Me, that is, not them… and…’
‘Right. Stop talking for a minute and listen. Breathe.’
I stopped gabbling and took a deep breath.
‘Sorry. I’m breathing. I’m listening.’
‘Okay. Daryl. Don’t worry. Peony and I are in a restaurant round the corner – an Indian – we’ll come and get you.’
‘You didn’t think we’d let you get through this night without backup, did you? We’ve been here all along, just in case. We knew you’d call us if anything went wrong.’
‘Oh, Sam, I don’t believe it… you’re just round the corner, that’s amazing. Hey, what about your date with Simon? You didn’t cancel it on my account, did you…I..?’
‘Shut up, Daryl! Hold fire. I reckon we’ll be there in ten minutes. We’ve got to pay the bill and I might have to do a bit of manoeuvring with the car – we’re really sandwiched in.’
‘No worries, no worries, I’ll be here – obviously – and oh my god, thank you, thank you.’
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘We’re coming to get you.’
And she hung up.
I didn’t mind waiting now, as I knew they were coming. Coming to rescue me. My two bestest best friends. So, Gabby was gone from my life, so what? Who needed her? She didn’t deserve me anyway. What was the saying, ‘with friends like these..’? Well, I had friends like these. True proper friends who looked out for me, didn’t sleep with my husband and came got me.
I waited. It was still absolutely chucking it down. The street was still deserted. No, hold on, there was someone walking towards me. A man. He had a black umbrella held out in front of him, like a shield. I felt a little uneasy. I was all alone here, in the rain. It was just me and him. He didn’t look like a mugger; he was wearing smart trousers and shoes – and some kind of dark overcoat. All the same, I turned and looked the other way. I couldn’t make eye contact anyway, because of the umbrella, but best not look in his direction, just in case. Some muggers could be smart. Some could carry umbrellas. Oh god, I really didn’t want to be mugged. Not that I had anything on me. Well, I had my phone. And my bag without a purse in it. And he might mistake my bling fakery for diamonds… I suddenly wished I had some pepper spray, or a status dog… The footsteps were getting closer… closer and closer.
‘Daryl.’
Oh god, the mugger was saying my name. Why was that? Had I attracted a secret umbrella-carrying, smart stalker somewhere along the line? A radio weather fanatic maybe? Why did this man know my name? I whipped my head to face him, clutching my bag in case I needed to clout him with it (not that a fringed leather bag with one of those tassel-y keychains hanging off it would do much good). The man’s umbrella, still open, with rain ricocheting off it, was down by his side. A huge bunch of flowers – yellow roses, white gerberas and gypsophila, if I wasn’t mistaken – covered most of him and came right up to his chin. His face, running with rainwater, and topped by soaking wet hair, flat to his forehead was slap bang in front of me and as clear as day…
Oh god.
The chin, the face and the rest of him, belonged to Will.
‘Will! What are you doing here?’
‘You told me you’d be here for the graduation tonight, remember?’ he said. ‘The cathedral, and then dinner.’
‘Oh, yes, yes I did.’ I was flabbergasted. I mean, I knew he worked just up the road, at the hospital, but why was he here? Just walking past with this huge bunch of flowers?
‘So I thought I’d come and find you. Give you these. For Freya’s graduation. I figured it might be Caspar’s you were eating at.’
‘Oh right, thanks.’ I was totally confused.
‘They’ve got a bit wet,’ he said, holding them out to me. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh right, okay, don’t worry. Thank you so much.’ I took them off him, almost automatically. I could barely hold them they were so big. I didn’t get it. Why was he giving me these? Why had he come looking for me?
A car – Sam’s Fiat, to be precise – screeched round the corner and came to a Dukes of Hazzard halt at the kerb. Sam was in the driver’s seat; Peony was next to her, grinning. Sam wound down her window.
‘Daryl!’
‘Sam! Hi. Can you just give me a minute?’
‘Sure!’ I saw her shrug at Peony, who shrugged back. I turned back to Will. He had the umbrella up now and was trying to hold it over both of us, and the flowers.
‘Thank you for the flowers, Will, but I don’t get it. I know you said they’re because of Freya’s graduation, but I don’t really understand…’
‘Okay, right, well, they’re not just for the graduation, actually.’ He paused and seemed to take a deep breath. ‘I made a mistake and I wanted to apologise to you.’
Oh, right. My heart went as flat as a sat-upon pancake. I got it. This was about that bloody kiss. Not only did he regret it, but he regretted it so much he felt the need to give me flowers over it. Flowers to express his huge, mammoth regret! I felt mildly insulted. Well, not mildly, actually – greatly. What was I supposed to do, accept them gratefully, agree that not only was that kiss a mistake, but it was such a huge mistake it totally warranted a massive bunch of over-priced (hand-tied, by the looks of it), flowers? Given to me on the street? In the pouring rain?
I looked at him. He looked all plaintive and concerned. Say it with flowers, the old adage went. Well, these flowers said sorry, in the worst possible way. These flowers said he’s all guilty he’s hurt my feelings. Worried we can’t be good neighbours now. Worried I’ll think badly of him… now that we (oh! horror of horrors!) kissed. I wasn’t impressed. He made a mistake and now he was making a gesture, and an empty one at that. He was hoping to erase the guilt of a misjudged kiss with some bloody flowers.
‘Will, thank you for your apology and your mistake, but actually, I don’t think I want your flowers.’ I thrust them back at him. God, they were massive; it was hard to hold them in one hand.
‘What? Sorry? You don’t want them?’ He looked all confused; he was stammering slightly. He passed a wet hand across his wet forehead, getting his hair out of his eyes. We must both have looked like a couple of drowned rats. He a very handsome one, but hey ho, that didn’t matter any more. His handsomeness was no longer my concern.
‘No, I don’t want them. Thank you.’ I smiled; I was nothing but polite. I’d meant what I’d felt on that dancefloor in there. I’d meant what I’d decided. It was my time now – I was in charge of me and things were going to be my call. ‘Give them to the hospital, to one of the wards.’
I glanced over to Sam. She tapped her finger on an imaginary watch, on her left wrist.
‘Hospitals don’t take flowers any more,’ stammered Will. ‘And I got them for you. I need to talk to you. I’ve made a mistake. I…’
‘So you’ve said,’ I said brightly. ‘And Will, it’s absolutely fine, it really is. Please don’t worry about it. Look I’ll see you soon, for coffee and cake, or something.’ Yes, we could do that, I supposed. That was the friendly status we could return to, one day soon. When I’d got over him being the prat with the flowers. ‘But I’ve got to go now, my friends are waiting.’
‘Bye, Will.’
And I walked over and got in the back of Sam’s car, leaving Will standing there on the pavement, rain cascading like a waterfall over him and his perfect flowers.