Anna and Tim arrive just before seven on Saturday evening. Alex knocks at the door a few minutes later. Ben is momentarily alarmed by the number of people who have suddenly appeared in his living room, but the lure of the computer screen in front of him is enough to allay the usual wails of protest and the fight to get away. Instead, he clutches the mouse firmly in his right hand and clicks on the ‘play’ button on the YouTube video that I’ve opened for him on the screen, the noise and music softening the sound of our voices and taking him away into Teletubby world.
‘He’s doing really well with that,’ Alex comments, nodding at Ben. ‘Has he been using it a lot?’
‘All the time,’ I say. ‘He’s completely motivated. He’s even worked out how to drag the cursor back on the video clip to rewind it. I can’t get him out of the chair – unless it’s to get the DVD player going in sync,’ I add, with a smile.
‘He’s dual screening.’ Alex gives a pretend roll of the eyes. ‘They’re all the same, the kids of today.’
I smile back at him. I love it when he talks like this, as if Ben’s just like other kids, even though we both know that he’s not. Other five-year-olds actually watch the video, they don’t keep rewinding it and watching the same bit, over and over again. But it makes me feel good when Alex talks this way. ‘Thank you so much for the computer,’ I say, gratefully. ‘I just can’t believe how he’s picked it up, using a mouse like that.’
‘I honestly only had to show him a couple of times,’ Alex said. ‘He just seemed to get it.’
‘He’s still bringing all his fingers down together, you know, left and right clicking at the same time. He can’t isolate his index finger yet, so he keeps on bringing up a pop-up box every time he clicks,’ I say, ‘but it doesn’t seem to bother him.’
‘He’ll get there.’ Alex walks over and ruffles Ben’s hair. ‘We can work on that, can’t we, buddy?’
I laugh as Ben lets out a loud ‘Aargh!’ which I know from experience means, ‘What use is a pat on the head? Either do something to help me, or step away.’
Anna is watching us both keenly as we talk, looking from one to the other. She says to Alex, ‘I hear you were responsible for Ben’s first steps.’
Alex looks pleased but says, modestly, ‘He was nearly there anyway. The groundwork was all laid by his mother.’ With that, he gives me an admiring smile.
‘She’s pretty amazing,’ Anna tells him.
Alex sits down, leans back into the sofa and says, ‘I’m not going to argue with that.’
‘OK,’ I say to Anna, hastily steering the conversation away from my virtues and on to the practicalities. ‘Ben’s had a bath and some dinner, so he should be getting tired and ready for bed in half an hour or so. He likes his music played when he goes down. And then there’s his medication. Let me show you.’
I glance at Ben.
‘Leave him,’ says Alex. ‘He’s happy. He’s fine with us.’
I nod and beckon to Anna and she follows me down the hall and into Ben’s room.
‘He bought Ben a computer?’ Anna whispers, shutting the door and nodding her head towards the living room. Her eyes widen.
I shrug. ‘It’s just an old recycled one of his that he doesn’t use any more.’
‘Even so... he’s so lovely. He’s so sweet with Ben. And so handsome,’ she gushes.
‘I know,’ I agree. ‘He is just a bit perfect, isn’t he? That’s the thing. I just don’t quite get why he likes me.’
‘Sarah! Why wouldn’t he?’ Anna objects. ‘You’re smart, you’re pretty, you’re funny... and, well, you’ve got the boobs, haven’t you?’
I slap her playfully on the arm. ‘You think that’s it?’
‘No, of course not. It’s everything. The whole package.’
‘Yeah, exactly. The whole package, which includes Ben. That’s what worries me. Why would a good-looking man, who’s got a good job, a nice car, his own hair and teeth...’
‘How do you know they’re his own teeth?’
I slap her on the arm again. ‘He’s the real deal, isn’t he? He’s what women want. And if he’s what women want, then he could have any woman he wanted. Why go for one with a child like Ben?’
Anna contemplates this for a moment and I’m glad she doesn’t say something crass about Ben being a lovely boy. He is a lovely boy, of course – to me. But there’s no denying that he’s hard work.
‘Maybe he genuinely likes Ben. Maybe he sees how difficult life is for you and wants to help you both.’
‘Well, that’s what he says.’
‘So maybe it’s true?’
I look her in the eye. ‘Ben’s vulnerable. He can’t talk. My biggest fear is that someone might hurt him and he wouldn’t be able to tell me.’
Anna considers this for a moment. ‘But that could be true of anyone, couldn’t it? Are you telling me you’re never going to have a boyfriend again, just in case?’
She walks over to the window and I join her. We look out at the overgrown tumble of bindweed and morning glory that borders the patio, at the wild buckwheat that’s invaded my pot plants over the summer.
‘Thing is, Sarah, you’re vulnerable too. Isn’t it more likely that Alex is just a nice bloke who’s turned into a knight in shining armour after meeting a damsel in distress?’
‘Probably,’ I agree.
‘What do your instincts tell you?’
‘What you just said.’
‘Well there you go. Listen to your instincts and give him the benefit of the doubt. If he says or does anything that sets off alarm bells, you’ll know what to do to protect Ben.’ She smiles. ‘You know, since us women got the vote, and the right to own land and property and go out to work and bring home our own bacon, there are a lot of displaced men out there whose instincts are still to be the provider, the protector, and a lot of women just don’t want or need that role any more. Maybe you just tick all the boxes for him. Maybe you’re exactly what he wants.’
‘Well, I hope he doesn’t want a doormat,’ I tell her. ‘I’m not that person, either.’
‘Hardly. Anyone can see that you have remarkable inner strength; that’s almost certainly one of the things he likes about you. But maybe he’s been hurt in the past; and maybe he’s aware that you’re not in a position to run off with someone else and hurt him quite so easily as the next person. Maybe you make him feel safe in that way, and good about himself at the same time for helping you.’
I look up. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘And you know, he’s attracted to you, you’re attracted to him. That sort of thing doesn’t come along every day, no matter how good-looking and eligible you are. Maybe he could have any woman he wanted, but you still have to click with someone, and maybe he just didn’t find anyone he clicked with until he met you.’
I put up my hand. ‘OK. Sold,’ I smile, ‘to the lady in the red dress.’
‘Who looks lovely, by the way. Radiant.’ Anna smiles and tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I take her hand. ‘Thanks so much for this, Anna. I hope he’s OK for you. He might wake up. He can be a bit difficult. He sometimes gets upset and it’s hard to know what’s wrong.’
‘We’ll cope, don’t worry.’ She smiles, reassuringly.
‘I’m going to be a bag of nerves.’
‘No, you’re not, you’re going to have an amazing night out.’
‘But if anything happens... if he has a seizure... There are things that you need to watch out for, certain signs...’
‘Sarah, I’m married to a nurse,’ she says, nodding towards the door. ‘Tim will know what to do.’
‘Of course he will. That’s reassuring.’ I put my arms round her. ‘Thanks so much, Anna. I mean it.’
‘Any time,’ she says, pulling me to her and hugging me back. ‘And I mean that.’
I smile, wryly. ‘So, can I tell Gareth that I’ll go on the police station rota?’
‘No, you can’t,’ Anna reprimands me. ‘I’m not doing this for your work colleagues. I’m doing this for you.’
When we get back to the living room, Ben is still playing the same section of the same Teletubby clip. Alex and Tim are standing near the window, looking out at Alex’s BMW and talking about cars. I think of Ellie’s comments to me, about men, and smile to myself.
Alex turns as we enter the room. ‘Ready?’
‘In a minute. Tim, before we go, can I ask you a question?’ I say. ‘How would I go about tracking down a nurse who worked in the paediatric intensive care unit at St Martin’s earlier this year?’
‘Hmm. Do you have a name?’ Tim asks.
‘Yes. Mary Ngombe. She’s African, worked there as an agency nurse apparently. She was originally seconded to the paediatric department at St Bart’s, but then moved to St Martin’s when her sponsorship ended. Now she’s left the hospital and no one knows where she’s gone.’
‘Back to Africa?’ Anna suggests. ‘Isn’t that what you said?’
‘Possibly,’ I say. ‘But they don’t know that for sure.’
‘Well, she’d have to be a registered children’s nurse,’ Tim says. ‘Which involves a lot of extra training, so you don’t normally go through that unless you’re making it a career choice. So if she’s still in the country, it means she would probably be in a neonatal or paediatric ward somewhere else now. It’s actually a fairly small world, especially somewhere like PICU.’
‘Do you know her? Have you ever worked as a children’s nurse?’
Tim shakes his head. ‘No, but my friend Shelley has, and she’s worked at St Bart’s PICU too. I could speak to her.’
‘Why do you want to find this nurse?’ asks Alex.
‘She’s given a statement to the police, and it’s going to be read in court under the hearsay provisions. It’s fairly damning, and yet there are gaps in her account, which we can no longer test because she won’t be there to give live evidence. If I can find her, then she’ll have to come to court. It’s the only way to stop her statement going in as it is.’
‘Can you do that?’ Alex asks. ‘Are you allowed to talk to a prosecution witness?’
‘We don’t usually, for very good reasons. But there’s no property in a witness,’ I explain. ‘Which means that no one can “own” her. So technically there’s nothing to stop me talking to her and taking my own statement. And in these circumstances I think it’s worth the risk.’
‘I’ll speak to Shelley,’ Tim says. ‘See if she knows her, or anyone else who might. I’ll get you the names of the main nursing agencies, too. If she hasn’t left the country, she might be on someone’s books somewhere. They might tell you something.’
‘Thanks, Tim,’ I tell him. ‘I appreciate that.’
*
Alex drives into the West End and finds a parking space in a backstreet somewhere behind the British Museum. We stroll through Bloomsbury Square Gardens and down to Covent Garden, where we eat dinner at a lovely fish restaurant. I also drink two glasses of prosecco while Alex sips at a Beck’s Blue. It’s been so long since I’ve been out anywhere really nice for dinner that I can’t help but feel a little like an impostor as the waiter pulls back my chair and tucks me under the table, the starched white tablecloth brushing my bare knees. For some reason, Ellie slips into my mind as I unfold the thick, soft linen napkin in front of me and pick up the heavy cutlery. I wonder what it’s like to eat dinner with someone, knowing that in an hour or two you’ll be the dessert. Did she go to the same hotel restaurant each time, I wonder? Did the waiters know her by sight? Was it a ritual for them, to greet her and run down the specials board for her? And is there a particular meal choice that’s lighter on the stomach, one that’s less likely to tug at her suspender belt or produce acid reflux when bouncing around or bending over? You wouldn’t want to eat beans, that’s for sure.
‘Something funny?’ Alex smiles. He puts down his fork.
‘Oh,’ I laugh. ‘No. No, not at all. I was just... just wondering what it would be like to eat out like this all the time.’
‘You’d like to?’
‘Who wouldn’t?’ I smile. ‘That wasn’t a hint,’ I add, hastily.
Alex wipes his mouth and folds his napkin, placing it on the table in front of him. ‘If I’m honest,’ he says, ‘it was just as nice eating hard-boiled eggs and olives out of Tupperware pots with you last Saturday, lying on a blanket in the shade of a sycamore tree.’
I’m secretly touched that he might feel this way, and hope suddenly that he doesn’t think that being wined and dined is what I expect from him. ‘I agree. Who needs fancy meals?’ I ask, and then jokingly grab the edges of my plate. ‘Although, I’ll fight the person who tries to take this sea bass away from me.’
Alex looks at me seriously for a moment, his eyes flicking up to meet mine and watching my face. I was only making a throwaway comment – a joke – but it appears as though I’ve somehow said something that matters, that’s caused him pain. I think back to my jokes with Will about his earnings and hope that I haven’t touched a nerve this time. Maybe that’s why Alex doesn’t want to talk about his job? Maybe, like Will, he doesn’t earn as much money as people might think. Maybe his work is tough, commission-based, insecure; after all, the economic outlook is pretty uncertain at the moment. Maybe he’s worried about his financial future and is checking me out to see how much all of this matters to me? I hope he doesn’t think that I’m one of those women who is looking for a rich husband, someone who’s ready to dump him as soon as his true prospects are revealed.
‘I mean, it doesn’t matter, does it?’ I add, hastily. ‘You’re right. This is very nice, but... I agree. A picnic in the park is just as special. Money can’t buy you happiness, after all.’
Alex smiles back at me, suddenly, as if he’s only just become aware that he’s frowning. ‘Money can buy happiness,’ he says. ‘At least, to the extent that you have a roof over your head and enough to eat, and that you don’t have to work for someone you dislike or lie awake at night worrying about how to pay the bills. But once you have a certain level of financial security, I don’t think that having any extra after that is... well, it’s not going to make you any happier.’
‘So, you don’t long to drive a Ferrari and retire at fifty?’ I smile. My experience is that most men want exactly that: wealth and status in some form or another. Andy was always talking about how much he was going to earn and what he was going to own one day.
Alex gives me a long hard look. ‘No, not really. Those things don’t matter, at least, not for long. We always want more. It’s human nature. As soon as we get something, it’s no longer enough, or at least that’s how it can be if we don’t pay attention to where happiness really comes from.’
‘Within?’ I smile.
‘Actually, no. Research has shown that it’s our social connections and the experiences we have together that are most important. Friendship, basically, is what makes us happy.’
I consider this. ‘OK. So... what about hearing an amazing piece of music, reading an inspiring book, or... or fulfilling your creative aspirations?’
‘Well, yes. But again, they’re all free,’ says Alex. ‘More or less. You don’t need to buy a lottery ticket to do any of that.’
‘Except that you need the time,’ I say. ‘To study, create something or pursue your dreams. And time is money, after all. Or, at least, money buys you time.’
‘Maybe. But then again, the harder time you have achieving what you want, the better it feels when you get it, isn’t that right? You fly to the top of a mountain in a helicopter and the view is amazing, but you won’t get that same feeling that you’ll get when you’ve spent a month of sweat, blood and tears climbing up there from the ground. The greater the well of your misfortune, the deeper your capacity for happiness – I think that’s how it goes. Look at what you’ve been through with Ben. You must have experienced some real lows.’
I smile. ‘Just a few. Are you going to tell me that my reward will be in heaven?’
‘Lord no.’ Alex grins and takes my hand across the table. ‘A little sooner than that, I’d say.’
*
We walk to a nightclub on Great Queen Street, just off Drury Lane. I feel alive, as though I’m walking on air – as though I’m twenty again – as we stroll along the pavement, hand in hand, past the bars and restaurants and the people who are spilling out onto the streets, chatting and laughing and blowing clouds of cigarette smoke into the summer evening air. When we reach the club, Alex nods to the doorman and guides me in, past the cloakroom and down a flight of steps into a basement where music is blasting from the speakers. While Alex goes to the bar, I stand in the darkness, mesmerised by the silhouettes of the dancers and the coloured lights that are flickering across the ceiling. Alex comes back a moment later with a bottle of beer in one hand and a glass of white wine in the other, which he hands to me before circling my waist with his arm and pulling me to him and pressing his cheek against mine. I can smell his aftershave, and it’s delicious.
‘It’s not Strictly Ballroom,’ he says, his mouth pressed up against my ear. ‘But I think you’ll like it.’
As if on cue, there is a burst of piano and bass-heavy Motown with a rhythm that makes it impossible not to swing my hips to the beat. Alex smiles and takes my hand and leads me onto the dance floor.
We spend the next two hours dancing; we just can’t stop. The music is amazing and bounces back and forth through the decades from the sixties through to the present day. Every time I think that I’ll sit the next one out and have a rest, another song comes on that makes me want to get right back onto the dance floor again. Alex leaves me only to fetch us bottles of water from the bar, and we fall into each new rock, funk or disco rhythm with a delighted smile, Alex periodically leaning forward to grab my hand, twist me round or mouth something to me over the music.
‘I knew you’d be a great dancer,’ he says, pressing his mouth up against my ear.
Occasionally I pull my phone out of my bag and peer at the latest text message from Anna, but there’s never any cause for concern. Her periodic updates say simply, Ben’s still watching the Teletubbies. Tim’s asleep X; Tim now watching the Teletubbies, Ben’s asleep X; All good, both boys fast asleep; and Hope you’re having a fantastic time, all good here, don’t rush back X.
We tiptoe in at half past two in the morning. Tim is on his back on the sofa, snoring softly, and Anna’s curled up on my bed, clutching a pillow, Ben’s monitor next to her head and her long legs tucked up neatly underneath her.
‘Don’t wake them,’ Alex whispers. ‘It’s fine. Forget the cup of tea. I’ll just head home.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I should have thought this through... now you have to drive all the way back.’
‘It’s fine.’ Alex puts his finger to his lips as Tim turns over in his sleep, his arm now hanging off the sofa and trailing the floor. He lifts it up and scratches his nose, but he doesn’t wake.
Alex leads me gently back out into the hallway and puts his arms round me.
‘I’ve had such a great time,’ I tell him.
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘The best time. I’ll call you tomorrow, OK? We can make a plan for next week?’
‘OK.’ I stand on my toes and put my hands behind his neck.
Alex kisses me, gently at first, but then his whole body weight is pressing up against me and we fall back against the wall.
‘I want you to stay,’ I whisper.
‘I want to stay,’ he says, and laughs. ‘But there’s someone in your bed.’
‘Next time,’ I say.
‘Next time,’ he repeats and kisses me again. ‘Definitely next time.’
When he’s gone, I climb into bed next to Anna, pull the duvet over me and lie in the dark awhile, too wired for sleep. Instead, I close my eyes and replay the evening, like a movie soundtrack in the darkness. I recall the easy, interesting conversation over dinner, the flashing lights and music in the club. I feel Alex take my hand, our bodies connecting, and then intertwining, the heat of the club making us hot and sticky as we move against each other.
And then I picture him as he locks his car and walks up the path to my house, his shirt open at the neck and his hair tousled from dancing. I remember the feeling of electric anticipation (would he stay or would he go?) and my heart flutters in my chest as I recall the way he’d held me, and the passion with which he’d kissed me in the hallway and pushed me up against the wall.
And because I don’t want the evening to end, I then rewind right back to the restaurant, when Alex had taken my hand across the table top and looked into my eyes. The greater the well of your misfortune, the deeper your capacity for happiness – I think that’s how it goes. I think about the very deep ‘well’ of my unhappiness before I met him, the endless nights I’d lain here feeling desperately tired and lonely, as compared with the overflowing elation and overwhelming joy I’m feeling right now. I think about this until I’m ready to fall asleep. I think that it might be the truest thing I’ve ever known.