‘Jim, I think your bud-up-bahs might be a bit off,’ said Guy, following our third run-through of ‘God Only Knows’.
‘My bud-up-bahs are always off,’ giggled Doly, nudging me. ‘Natalie? How are your bud-up-bahs?’
‘What? Oh, sorry, yes, bud-up-bahs, all over the place,’ I agreed.
‘You seem a bit distracted tonight,’ observed Doly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘It’s just been a long day.’ This was true. It had been a long day and I felt as if I’d been hit repeatedly with a boxing glove filled with every conceivable emotion.
BAM! Searing fury.
POW! Extraordinary sadness.
WHAM! Unexpected attraction.
It was very confusing and to be honest, I felt exhausted. When Ed appeared half an hour before choir, I’d had an overwhelming urge to send him home and eat my own body-weight in cheese. Like I said, it had been a very confusing day.
Still, the London Choir Finals were looming and one of my more annoying traits is that I find it almost impossible to let people down. So when I’d seen Doly earlier that day during an emergency run for jammie dodgers (I would like to claim that these were for Woody but I’m fooling no-one) and she had asked if I was going that evening, I couldn’t refuse. Besides, I enjoyed the singing. It enabled me to release tension in a wholly fulfilling way. Plus, it was cheaper and less knackering than kick-boxing and there was always cake. I’d wrestle a tiger for a decent slice of Battenberg.
I was glad to see Caroline back to her ebullient self. I heard her giving Pamela instructions about T-shirts during the break. Apparently, there had been an online vote to decide if we should go for a shade of teal or ecru and Pamela couldn’t quite accept that teal was the majority choice.
‘It’s just that ecru doesn’t suit everyone, Pamela,’ explained Caroline. ‘It washes people out and we do have our male singers to consider.’
‘I preferred the brown,’ observed Jim, rather ill-advisedly choosing this moment to join their conversation.
‘See?’ huffed Pamela. ‘Jim prefers ecru.’
‘Do I?’ said Jim, looking confused.
Caroline held up her hands for calm. ‘I’m sorry, both, but the majority have chosen teal. It’s democracy in action. Don’t you agree, Natalie?’
I was painfully aware that three sets of eyes were upon me, expectant and ready to narrow if I gave the wrong answer. I smiled. ‘I’d be happy with either,’ I said. ‘Now what triumph have you baked for us this week, Pamela?’ I added, putting an arm around her.
She gave me one of her indulgent grins. ‘Triple-chocolate brownies,’ she replied, holding up a gigantic tin, which was promptly fallen upon by an appreciative crowd.
‘That was a neat deflection,’ observed Guy, helping himself to a fat slab of chocolate heaven. ‘You could work for the UN with those skills.’
I gave a little bow. ‘Why thank you. I am actually thinking of going into international diplomacy if the writing career takes a nose-dive.’
He laughed. ‘And what about other stuff?’ He said ‘stuff’ in that wincing way men adopt when they feel uncomfortable talking about affairs of the heart.
‘By “stuff”, do you mean my imploding marriage?’ He grimaced. I nudged him. ‘It’s okay, I’m being mean because you’re a man and I basically blame you for all this.’
He put one hand on his heart. ‘Fair enough. I take it on the chin and apologise for men everywhere. You should avoid us at all costs.’
I smiled. ‘Well, you’re one of the good ones so I’m not going to avoid you.’
He pretended to doff a cap. ‘I shall do my best to restore your faith.’
I curtsied. ‘Thank you, kind sir.’ This feels good. I miss indulging in a bit of silly banter with a man. ‘And how are things with you?’
‘I’m fine. I’ve got my mother settled into her new home – she seems pretty happy.’
‘Oh, that’s where my mother was before they threw her out,’ scoffed Caroline, appearing from nowhere. How does she do that? It’s as if she’s got special powers. ‘How are you finding it? The home manager, Peter, is very officious, isn’t he?’
I could see Guy shrink away at her questioning and to be honest, I was irritated by her interruption. Jog on, Caroline. Can’t you see that I’m enjoying a bit of harmless flirting here?
‘They’ve been pretty good with Mum, actually,’ he admitted.
‘Well they were a nightmare with my mother. They said that they could cope with her condition but basically they kept her confined to her room and then they lost her one night. It’s a scandal! I would be very wary if I were you,’ she warned Guy.
‘Thanks,’ said Guy uncertainly. ‘Right, we better get started again.’ He smiled at me before returning to the front of the room. ‘Okay, my singing friends – I know I don’t need to remind you that we’re singing at the School Summer Fair on Saturday and then the London Finals are on Sunday, so we need to up our game. From my experience, the choir always gives the worst performance at the final rehearsal, so in that respect, we’re doing great!’ There were a few groans of concern. ‘But don’t worry. We just need to focus. I propose singing some of our old favourites and then one last run-through before we call it a night, okay? Let’s clear away the chairs and stand as we’ll be for the performance.’
‘Any progress with the counselling?’ Caroline asked as we stacked the chairs at the back of the room. I stared at her in disbelief as a few fellow choir members glanced our way.
Keep your voice down, I wanted to say. What happened to the Caroline who sat in my kitchen eating a cheese sandwich, chatting like a normal person? I prefer her to this loud-mouthed know-it-all.
Instead, I stared at the floor and murmured, ‘A bit,’ in a non-committal way. This was actually true. There had been progress, but the kind of progress where someone suggests the opposite of what you were hoping for. My baby-faced counsellor, Abigail ‘I’m just being honest, Natalie’ Walters, had suggested today that I consider the realistic possibility that not all broken marriages are salvageable.
It was progress – progress towards marital Armageddon.
I left the session feeling like a child who had just been told that both Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy aren’t real. My body was shaking and I felt as if I was about to either be sick or cry. Or both. It wasn’t the best.
I had planned to go home and work but realised during the train journey, that my brain wasn’t capable of writing funny happy stories today; dark psychological thrillers where marriage guidance counsellors meet grisly ends perhaps, but definitely not books aimed at anyone under five. I made a detour at the station, heading to the nearest coffee shop, where I ordered an ill-advised double-shot flat white and weirdly, no pain au chocolat. It is a sign that I’m approaching the abyss when I turn down food. That’s the moment when I know I’m in big trouble.
I had sat at my table for a long time, watching the other customers with their normal happy lives. Actually, there was a good chance that they were dealing with all kinds of issues but at that moment, I was the only person with real problems. I observed the exhausted woman with the sleeping baby in a pushchair, enjoying a precious moment of peace, and hated her. I watched the young dude plugged into his Mac, frowning at the screen, and I felt utter loathing.
You people don’t understand what it’s like to be me. My misery reigns supreme.
‘Natalie?’ I looked up from my brooding stupor into the smiling face of Tim Chambers, local MP and, to my mind at that moment, utter cretin.
Really? I’m having a quiet coffee whilst indulging in a session of unadulterated self-pity and the world sends me this man. Thanks. Thanks a bunch.
‘Oh, hi,’ I replied in an off-hand way, hoping he would take the hint and leave. He didn’t.
‘This is nice surprise,’ he remarked. ‘May I join you?’
Quick, Nat! Make up an excuse. ‘I have to get my overdue library books back before I run up a fine?’ ‘I have The Choir on Hope Street a contagious disease that only Tory MPs can catch?’ What can I tell you? I’m not good under pressure.
‘Okay,’ I sighed.
‘Can I get you another?’ he asked, pointing at my empty cup.
‘Another flat white with an extra shot please,’ I said. Keep the caffeine coming.
He returned with our drinks, put down the tray and took off his jacket, neatly folding it over the chair before he sat down. ‘So,’ he said, passing me my drink. ‘Pardon my frankness but you seem a little down. Is everything all right?’
What the hell. I’m never going to be bosom buddies with this man. Besides, seeing as everyone else was being so straight-talking today, I may as well join in.
‘I’ve just been for counselling,’ I said. He raised his eyebrows. ‘Marriage guidance,’ I added.
He nodded. ‘I’ve done a little of that myself,’ he said. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. ‘How are you finding it? I have to say I found the endless quizzes a bit much – as if I were trying to save my marriage via the medium of a gameshow.’
I gave an involuntary laugh. ‘I know what you mean. They’re like those crappy magazine quizzes I used to do as a kid.’
He grinned. ‘Oh yes – Cosmopolitan’s were always the best. I learnt everything I needed to know about girls from those mags.’ I stared at him. ‘I had three sisters,’ he added, ‘in case you think I’m a weirdo.’
I smiled. ‘And did they help? The quizzes I mean, rather than your sisters.’
He put a hand on his heart. ‘I’m recently divorced, so possibly not. And as for my sisters, they like to tell me everywhere I’ve gone wrong with women. I probably deserve it,’ he shrugged.
Heavens, a straight-talking politician – now that’s unusual. ‘So where have you gone wrong?’
He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before counting them off on his fingers. ‘I’m vain, egotistical, arrogant, selfish and a liar.’
Very straight-talking. ‘Wow, that’s what your own sisters say? Harsh.’
‘No, that’s what my ex-wife says, but then she was the one who had the affair, so it’s a little bit “pots and kettles”.’
‘And what do you think?’ I asked.
He gazed at me. I hadn’t noticed before but he had intensely green eyes, like a cat’s. ‘I think I have been all those things but I’m trying to be a better man.’ There was something heartfelt about his words that struck me. Here I was, sitting with a man whose political convictions were a million miles away from my own, who I wouldn’t have trusted for one second and yet, I felt an odd affinity with him. It was a bit of a worry, but then, life seemed to be taking quite a few unexpected turns of late.
‘Well, you can’t do any more than that,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘And what about you? Excuse me for speaking out of turn, but what kind of idiot would let you slip through his fingers?’
It was outrageous flirting – a completely blatant attempt to charm. Normally I was immune to this kind of nonsense. However, today was different. Today I was a woman who was losing hope and actually, this statement gave me goose-bumps. It was such a direct declaration. I took a sip of my coffee. ‘An idiot I thought I knew,’ I conceded.
‘Sorry,’ said Tim. ‘I really should mind my own business. Why don’t I do my compassionate MP bit and ask you about your community hall campaign?’
We talked for another hour or so about the campaign and the choir and I felt my attitude towards Tim alter dramatically. Far from being a smug politician, I felt that he was listening. As we put on our coats to leave, he turned to me.
‘It was really good to see you, Natalie. Thank you for taking the time to talk to me. I can see how much the hall means to your choir and the community. Whilst I can’t make any promises because this is technically a council matter, you have my word as your local MP that I will do my very best for you and your supporters.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thanks for the coffee.’
‘And as for your situation,’ he added, ‘I wish you all the luck you need. I hope you resolve it to your satisfaction and remember, I’m just a phone call away if you want to chat to someone who’s been through it. And I’m more than willing to do Cosmopolitan quizzes with you,’ he joked.
I laughed. He held out his hand and as I took it, he pressed my hand to his lips. ‘Sorry,’ he smiled. ‘Couldn’t resist.’
I blushed. I actually blushed. Blimey, Nat. You’ve lost it, love.
The confusion continued to reign supreme as I left choir and returned home. I had thought that Ed might stick around or perhaps even stay over. I had chucked a bottle of Prosecco in the fridge before choir in the hope that we might have a heart-to-heart over the latest ups and downs of my day, but by the time I’d turned my key in the door, kicked off my shoes and pulled on my slippers, he was out of his seat and putting on his coat.
‘Have you got a date? You smell like you’ve got a date,’ I observed, sniffing his neck on the way past. ‘That’s your pulling after-shave.’
‘It’s not after-shave, you pleb. It’s eau de parfum.’
I pulled a face. ‘Whatevs. So you don’t want to stay and get merry with your BFF then? I have had a very interesting day.’
He pouted in apology. ‘Sorry, gorgeous. I’ve got an early start but let’s make a date soon, ’kay?’
‘’Kay,’ I replied.
He wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. ‘Always here for you, my darling. You know that, don’t you?’
I accepted the hug with gratitude. ‘Yeah, I know. Was Woody okay?’
‘He was a complete sweetheart, as ever. He beat me at Fifa about fifty times.’
I smiled. ‘That’s my boy. Thanks for tonight.’
‘Any time, my love. Any time. So Dan’s moving to a flat in Forest Hill then?’
I nodded. ‘Apparently. After all his denials, it turns out that it is too cramped at his mum’s and he wants to be nearer to Woody. He says it’s temporary until things are sorted out. Who knows what to believe? I heard about it via text. We’re not speaking at the moment.’
He hugged me again. ‘I’m sorry, honey.’
I sighed. ‘Thank you. Now bugger off. I want to eat ice cream in front of Gogglebox without you judging me.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said, kissing me again. I waved him off and then locked the front door before going to the kitchen to fetch something suitably sugary. It wasn’t until I returned to the lounge with tea and a large tub of Maltesers that I realised that I hadn’t actually told Ed about Dan’s flat. I was going to tell him that evening.
I hadn’t mentioned it to Woody yet either. So it made me wonder how he knew and then it made me realise that he must be in touch with Dan, which confused me further because he hadn’t told me this. In fact, Ed, with his trademark penchant for injecting drama wherever possible, had been adamant that he wouldn’t have anything to do with the ‘shit-bag’ until he had ‘come to his effing senses’ and told me ‘what the bejeepers was going on’.
It was becoming steadily clearer to me that the list of people who I thought I could trust, who I believed would never lie to me or let me down, was getting smaller and smaller by the day.