Stephen picked me up, in the Morgan, at 6.50pm. And, despite having no interest whatsoever in cars, I had to admit that this particular car was rather nice. What made it even nicer was that my chauffeur for the evening was more amused than flattered by my enjoyment of the experience; and more interested in talking about me than his car, politely dismissing my few equally polite vehicular enquiries with brief, closed-ended explanations.
‘You know,’ he said, after one such explanation, ‘I love this car because I think it has character – personality even. And because I’ve worked hard on it. It’s a part of me, of my history – a memory box on wheels. But I’m not interested in cars per se.’
‘What kind of memories?’ I asked, enjoying the evening sunshine on my face as we waited at traffic lights, the engine idling.
‘People, conversations, days out. I remember my father’s face the day I turned up with the car and asked him if he’d like to take my mother out in it. That was a really special moment.’ He shrugged as the lights changed and we pulled away. ‘Things change. Situations change. People change. We move on. I like that. But it’s great to have a physical reminder of a certain time in your life – or of a certain person.’
I nodded. ‘I suppose a house is like that for a lot of people.’
‘I suppose so. But,’ he tapped the steering wheel, ‘for me, for now, it’s this car.’ He turned to me briefly and smiled, before returning his attention to the road. ‘I’ll always remember driving Alice to see her friend’s production of Oliver!. I’ll remember what she was wearing and how she looked enquiringly at me as she sat to my left.’ He looked straight ahead and grinned. ‘She looked bloody good, by the way.’
I laughed. ‘You charmer.’
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ he said. ‘A cad in a convertible. Now, what time is it? Do I need to put my foot down?’
I checked my phone. ‘No, we’re fine. It’s ten past and we’re less than five minutes away and there’s plenty of parking at the school.’
‘And we’re meeting Jon and Susan there?’
I cleared my throat and put my phone in my bag. ‘Suzanna. Yes, that’s right. I told them you were happy to drive but it was easier for them to make their own way.’
I had texted Jon a few hours earlier and passed on the offer of a lift. I was pleased when Stephen had made the suggestion, as it gave me a reason to get in touch, other than simply arranging to meet up at the play. I had kept my text brief but had made a definite, considered attempt at warmth. I had made no reference to our disagreement and I had described Stephen as “my friend”. I had said I was looking forward to meeting Suzanna and had given him our seat numbers.
His texted reply was similarly pitched. He thanked us “both” for the offer of a lift, but explained that he was picking up Suzanna from Temple Meads mid-afternoon and, beyond that, their plans were unfixed. However, he added that their seats for Oliver! were next to ours, so there would be no difficulty meeting up. It hadn’t occurred to me that Abs would give us four seats together but, on reflection, I realised that she was unlikely to have done anything else. The fact that I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the arrangement, was a painful reminder of my changed relationship with Jon. But whilst I continued to regret that change, my excitement at the prospect of an evening out with Stephen at least took the edge off any sense of sadness or misgiving.
Stephen, I had decided, was good for me. We had talked daily by phone since the tapas evening, and I liked him more as a result of each conversation. He was both a listener and a talker, and over several hours of phone calls we had discussed family, friends, his relocation and work. The latter was the only issue over which he expressed any dissatisfaction, complaining that his current heavy schedule meant that he was often speaking to me from the office or car when, he said, a conversation from home, with a glass of wine in his hand, would have been his preference.
However, despite the relatively intense and wide-ranging nature of our conversations, no references had yet been made to, or questions asked about, previous partners. And I sensed that the subject of relationships in general – past and possible future – was, for the time being, if not exactly off-limits for Stephen, then at least something he was as equally willing to save for later as I was.
As we pulled into the school car park and Stephen reversed into a space, I leaned forward to retrieve my bag from the footwell. ‘I’ll just turn off my phone,’ I said, reaching into my bag. ‘I don’t want Sophie’s ringtone blaring out mid “Food Glorious Food”.’
Stephen turned off the engine, got out and raised the roof. ‘Sophie’s ringtone?’ he queried, as he got back in the car.
‘She changes the ringtone on my phone, and on David’s, every Friday at 5pm. The rule is that we’re not allowed to check it, or change it, until we’ve received at least one call. I haven’t had a call this evening – only texts – so it’s still a mystery. Mine are usually fine. It’s poor David who gets the more edgy ones. The worst was Anarchy in the UK. That went off during a private viewing at the RWA.’
Stephen laughed. ‘And yet he still lets her do it?’
I nodded. ‘He loves it. But he now always asks me to phone him at six if he’s going anywhere sensitive.’
‘I like Sophie and David,’ said Stephen.
‘So do I.’
He smiled at me. ‘But I like you more.’
He leaned towards me, and gently stroked my cheek before kissing me. After a few seconds, he moved his lips from my mouth to my ear. ‘Alice,’ he whispered softly.
‘Yes,’ I replied, my eyes closed.
‘I don’t want to panic you, but there are two people standing in front of the car, staring at us. And,’ his tone remained gentle as he kissed my earlobe, ‘unless they are Jon and Suzanna, I’m slightly concerned that this area might be even dodgier than you described.’
It was Jon and, as we discovered upon introduction following our exit from the car, it was Suzanna. She was slim, slightly shorter than myself and undeniably attractive. The long, dark hair which had so caught Craig’s eye at Hotel du Vin, was this evening loosely coiled against the back of her head, with the odd stray tendril adding to the casually sophisticated effect. She wore cropped jeans, pumps and a semi-sheer, cream, loosely-fitted blouse over a camisole. A fine beige jumper was draped around her shoulders. I guessed her to be around the same age as me and was disappointed that Craig had described her as considerably younger than Miriam.
‘We didn’t mean to intrude,’ she smiled, as the four of us made our way through the car park towards the school. ‘I spotted the car, so I suggested we walk across to meet you. It wasn’t immediately obvious what was going on, because of the way the light was reflecting off the glass.’ She looked up at Jon for corroboration and slid a hand around his waist as she did so. He reciprocated with an arm around her shoulders.
‘That’s right,’ he said.
Stephen took my hand. ‘It was only a peck,’ he smiled, and then, giving my hand a quick squeeze, added, ‘because I’m not overly comfortable with PDAs in car parks. I prefer to save the heavier stuff for shop doorways.’
I laughed and looked at Jon, who appeared not to have heard the comment and was instead searching his pockets for something. He took out his car keys, turned and pointed them towards his car, which was parked just a short distance from our own. ‘I’m not sure I locked it,’ he said.
‘I think you did, Jon,’ said Suzanna.
He didn’t reply but turned, replaced his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. My smile dropped and I found myself unable to look away. He looked up, caught my eye and for a moment we looked at each other, with no attempt on either part to disguise negative feelings with a smile. I was aware that Stephen said something to which Suzanna replied, but I took in neither comment, unable to focus upon anything but the growing conviction that a friendship with Jon might soon be impossible.