As I sat in the chic bar of the hotel on Welsh Back, waiting for Eddie to turn up, it struck me that this would be the first time I had seen him in almost two years, our last meeting having taken place three days after my theatre performance. We had, by then, spoken at length on the telephone, a conversation during which he had explained that the blonde had been a good friend for four years and a very good friend, for almost two. When I had requested clarification of these friendship categories, it had become apparent that a good friend is one in whom you confide, whilst a very good friend is one whom you shag senseless at every possible opportunity. It was also explained to me that Eddie’s very good friend, Philippa Hunter, ‘Pip’, lived a convenient twenty-minute drive from Great Aunty Mo and was aware of his relationship with me but was, as he put it, extremely secure in herself and not at all jealous. He also advised that the last thing either of them wanted was to hurt me.
By way of a retort, I had advised him that anything I chose not to set alight would be in bin bags, ready for him to collect, the following day.
He came. He collected. He went. I later learned from mutual friends that he had relocated, alone, to Manchester, from which I deduced that his attachment to both Great Aunty Mo, and to his very good friend, Pip, had waned. But, other than a few subsequent, perfunctory telephone conversations to discuss the various financial and practical issues arising from a broken relationship, I had no further contact with Edward Hall.
Almost two years on then, from this most acrimonious of splits and I had just bought a drink and was sending Sophie a reassuring text, confirming my state of mind as “sound”, when Eddie walked into the large, but still relatively empty, hotel bar. I saw him before he saw me and so had the advantage of a few moments to take in his longer mousy hair, his more casual, but undoubtedly more expensive, attire and to note, with some satisfaction, body language which suggested he was not entirely at ease. I felt myself relax a little and raised a hand to attract his attention. He saw me and, after just a flicker of hesitation, smiled and came to join me.
‘Alice,’ he said, as he reached the table, ‘it’s so good to see you. You look great.’ He inclined slightly towards me, as if for a hug. I didn’t budge.
‘Hi, Eddie,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
He straightened up, somewhat awkwardly, pushing his now foppish, locks from his eyes. ‘I’m good, I’m good. Right,’ he rubbed his hands together and then gestured towards my spritzer, ‘well, I can see you’re all sorted for a drink – unless you’d like one in waiting?’
I tapped my glass. ‘I’m fine with this, thanks,’ I said.
‘OK,’ he looked towards the bar, ‘so I’ll, er, just get myself one and then we can catch up.’
I smiled. ‘Sounds good.’
As he headed for the bar, I finished typing, and quickly reread, my text to Sophie.
STOP WORRYING. Am fine – just trying not to fall off ridiculously high stool. Bar not busy yet – just a few couples and one sad guy reading a copy of Heat. Might ask to borrow it if E’s late. Got a spritzer. E’s just arrived. Looks nervy. Lost weight and his hair is all Hugh Grant. Will text/call later x
I pressed ‘send’, just as Eddie returned to the table.
‘So,’ he said, sitting down with, I noted, recovered composure, ‘how are things with you?’
‘Good. And you?’
His reply was lost on me as I continued to take in his sartorial upgrade and the expensive watch, revealed as he removed his jacket and turned back his shirt cuffs, in a relaxed, man-of the-people manner.
‘…which was just great,’ he concluded, picking up his drink.
‘That’s nice,’ I said, whilst at the same time realising that for me, today, small talk was not going to work. I took a deep breath. ‘Eddie, you have never explained or expressed any regret over what you did,’ I began, ‘and if it’s OK I’d like to just cut to the chase and tell you that I’m here only because I thought I should give you a chance to put that right – to say something which might make me feel better about you.’ I attempted a smile. ‘I’m sorry, but I think that’s something we really need to get out of the way.’
‘Oh, Alice,’ he said gently, leaning towards me. ‘Ongoing recrimination and regret isn’t helpful.’ He placed his hand on mine and offered me a pitying smile. ‘I really hoped you’d moved on.’
I looked at his hand and then into his eyes. I searched for the man I had fallen in love with and quickly came to the conclusion that he had never actually existed. He had, I decided, been my own construct. I had been drawn to the journalist, to the author, to the ambition, to the self-confidence and not least to the undeniable ability to charm when required. But the total lack of empathy and, it seemed, of conscience, which was so immediately obvious this evening, had, I decided, always been a problem – I simply hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it as such.
I withdrew my hand, picked up my drink and took a sip. ‘How is Manchester?’
He leaned back and smiled. ‘Ah, Manchester is great. I love it. Working hard on book number three. And it’s a great feeling to have the other two under my belt. One is good, two is always better, you know.’
Like women? I managed to resist articulating the thought. I replaced my drink on the table and glanced at my watch, setting myself a target of one hour, before making my excuses.
He was still talking, ‘…I hope you enjoyed it.’
‘Sorry?’ I looked up. ‘Enjoyed what?’
‘My second novel.’
‘I haven’t read it,’ I said simply. He smiled. ‘I haven’t,’ I insisted.
He held up a placatory hand. ‘I believe you,’ he laughed. ‘Anyway, how are you? Still at that design place?’
I forced a smile. ‘Yes, I am. I’m still very happy there.’ He looked mildly incredulous and I lost the battle with my tongue. ‘And how is Great Aunty Mo? When did you last see her?’
To my dismay and undisguisable horror, he didn’t miss a beat. ‘Yesterday morning. She’s great. She loves Manchester as much as Pip and I do. It took me a while to find the right house for us all, but Mo has the ground floor and it works really well.’
It was a devastating response; one which immediately converted my rising sense of relief at being free from this man, to a feeling of crushing rejection. When it came to Great Aunty Mo, he clearly felt something remarkably akin to loyalty and love. He was capable of that. He just hadn’t felt it for me. And, of course, he was still with bloody Pip.
I nodded and wanted to cry. ‘Great Aunty Mo was lovely,’ I mumbled.
‘She still is. We love having her around. She came to Singapore with us last year. She’s incredible – game for absolutely anything. You should have seen her on the flight.’
We. Us. The words sliced into me. I stared, without focusing, at the table and suddenly the prospect of sixty minutes with him seemed like a very painful eternity. It simply had not occurred to me that he would be living a life of domestic bliss. I nodded again and some part of my brain wondered whether he had any concept of what he was doing to me. I looked up at him. He was now relaxed and animated. I realised that he looked genuinely, unselfconsciously happy and that realisation was very nearly the final blow. The actual final blow came a second later.
‘So, anyway,’ he said, still smiling at the thought of Great Aunty Mo on the plane to Singapore, ‘I’m pleased you mentioned Mo. It’s because of her that I’m here really.’ He paused and his smile broadened. ‘Pip and I are getting married in September and Mo asked if the lovely Alice would be there. And Pip said absolutely you must come, and I think so too.’ He reached for my hand again. ‘What do you say, Alice? It would be the perfect way for you to show everyone that you’ve accepted the situation and moved on, wouldn’t it?’
I started to get up and had just picked up my wine glass, with the express intention of emptying its contents over his head, when I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently pressing me back down onto the bar stool, and removing the glass from my grasp.
‘There you are,’ said David breathlessly, downing the remaining contents of my glass. ‘Gosh, I needed that. I’m so sorry to interrupt, Alice.’ He turned to Eddie. ‘Hello, Edward, how are you? But,’ he immediately returned his attention to me, ‘my computer has crashed and I have a meeting scheduled with the Harveys in an hour’s time. I’ll need to present from your laptop.’
I blinked, disorientated by his sudden arrival, the swift change of subject and, not least, by the quite bizarre theft of my drink.
‘My laptop? But I—’
‘I called you,’ said David, ‘but it went straight to answer phone. I’m so sorry to interrupt.’ He turned again to Eddie. ‘So sorry. But it’s a very, very important pitch for us.’
Eddie waved an amused hand. ‘Not at all. You carry on, Dave.’
I reluctantly tore myself away from a delightful, rapidly-forming, mental image of Eddie, lying dead at his own wedding reception, and forced myself to focus on the Harvey pitch. I looked up at David. ‘So you need my laptop?’
David wrung his hands. ‘I do.’
I shook my head in puzzlement. ‘But, David, my laptop is at home and I haven’t a clue—’
‘Look,’ said Eddie, ‘this is clearly important. It’s fine. You go. We can finish chatting later on the phone. I’ll give you all the wedding details. It’s just really good to have seen you – even briefly. It’s been great, hasn’t it?’
‘Great?’ I returned my gaze, and my attention, to Eddie. He was smiling benignly, graciously, at David and myself. I felt my colour rising. ‘Great? It’s been bloody—’
‘Marvellous!’ interrupted David, laughing explosively. ‘Bloody marvellous! That’s what it’s been! Bloody marvellous!’ He laughed again.
I stared at him. He appeared to be bordering on mania. ‘David, are you—’
‘I am, yes,’ he said, picking up my handbag and handing it to me with a fixed grin. ‘So please come. Goodbye, Edward. Sorry to rush her away but tempus fugit.’
Eddie smiled. ‘You’re clearly the lynch pin of the business, Alice,’ he said, as David dragged me across the room. He held his hand to his ear in a telephone gesture. ‘Call me!’
David speeded me through the hotel foyer, out onto the pavement and had hustled me a good hundred metres or so along the waterfront before I was able to wrestle my arm from him. ‘Hang on,’ I protested, shaking myself free and stopping dead. ‘I refuse to take another step before you tell me what’s going on. Who are the Harveys?’
He looked at me and then glanced back anxiously in the direction of the hotel. ‘They are fictitious clients whom I created in order to encourage you to come with me,’ he said.
I threw my hands up. ‘And you did that because…?’
‘Because I thought you were about to either assault Edward with your wine glass or…’ he hesitated, gestured towards my eyes and then looked away, ‘…or get upset,’ he concluded quietly.
I opened my mouth to protest, before opting instead for a heavy sigh. ‘Well, you were right.’ I swallowed hard. ‘And it was probably more of a “both” than an “either”.’
He smiled. ‘Would you like a drink? Somewhere else?’ he asked gently.
I shook my head. ‘Thanks, David, but I think I’d rather just go home.’
‘I understand,’ he said. ‘My car’s in the NCP. I’ll drop you.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘both for the lift and for rescuing me from Eddie.’ My shoulders sagged. ‘And from myself.’
‘Come on,’ he said, offering me his arm. ‘You can tell me about it on the way home.’
I looked at him. ‘You didn’t hear it all?’
‘Well, yes, most of it,’ he admitted.
I smiled sadly. ‘So maybe instead you could tell me exactly how long you were eavesdropping. And also,’ I added, as I linked his arm and we started to walk, ‘how Sophie managed to talk you into doing it.’
‘Well, as you know,’ he sighed, holding up the copy of Heat magazine, behind which he had been hiding in the bar, ‘Sophie is that rather distressing combination of being frequently formidable,’ he looked at the magazine and smiled, ‘and invariably right.’