Gigi
Caitlin was every bit as glossy and glamorous at lunch as she had been at Christmas. More so, actually, in her smart navy work clothes and power heels, with a good handbag. Everything about her was neat and buttoned-up. Gigi felt a bit plump and country-bumpkinish by comparison. And then a bit cross with herself for letting this kid make her feel that way. Caitlin was just as quiet and equally as disinterested in food, ordering a salad of goat’s cheese and beetroot and really eating only the beetroot. And, if anything, slightly more brittle than she had been before.
Richard had counselled against this. It was too soon, he said. It was confrontational, he said. She should meet up with her a few more times with Oliver, before she tried to do it on her own. Which was easier said than done. She’d issued a couple of invitations, but there’d been reasons why they couldn’t. Reasons that sounded legitimate, but left her feeling they weren’t, quite. She’d told Richard she only wanted to get to know her a bit more – to share some time when she wasn’t overwhelmed by Christmas catering, and Caitlin wasn’t overwhelmed by people. Richard harrumphed, raised an eyebrow, and repeated that he didn’t think it was a good idea.
Within five minutes she had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that about this one thing, at least, he’d actually been right.
Olly had been surprisingly positive (or pragmatic) about it, by contrast, when she’d rung him to ask for his approval and Caitlin’s email address. He was his usual easy self. ‘I’d like it if you three were friends. As long as you don’t go OTT, and quiz the poor girl to death, then why not?’ She’d promised they wouldn’t.
She’d sent her an email, to avoid a telephone kneejerk reaction. Deliberately casual. Fabricated a reason why she and Emily would be in the vicinity of where Caitlin worked, asked if she might have time to meet them. Suggested a little lunch place she knew – not too posh, but quieter than a lot of the eateries in the West End, so they’d be able to have a proper conversation. She’d half expected her to say no, and wondered whether Olly had had a hand in her saying yes, although he’d said he’d stay out of it.
Caitlin had responded promptly, and said that would be lovely, thank you, emphasizing, though, that she had afternoon meetings that day, and would need to be back at the office by 2 p.m. at the latest. So the parameters had been set, and her escape route mapped out.
On the morning in question, Ava had woken early with a fever – nothing too dramatic, but enough to make Emily feel she needed to stay at home with her (or at least to make Christopher think that Emily should stay at home with her instead of him, as she explained ruefully to Gigi on the phone). So she had to go alone.
She had the distinct feeling Caitlin didn’t believe Emily’s excuse, as she explained it straight off.
They busied themselves with reading the menus and making food small talk. Gigi looked at her while she ordered. She was a pretty thing. Her eyes were anxious, but lovely – wide and dark and long lashed. Her skin was clear and fresh-looking – completely unlined – and her hair, up today in a neat chignon, was thick and shiny. She was lovely to look at. But Oliver wasn’t a shallow man. That would not be enough. She knew it.
Gigi had begun by ordering sparkling mineral water like Caitlin. By halfway through she’d beckoned the waiter over and ordered a glass of white wine.
She’d promised Olly she wouldn’t ask too many questions, but it was difficult to keep the conversation on the right side of an interview. Mostly because Caitlin’s answers were clipped and not expansive. And because she didn’t have many questions to ask in return. There were clearly things she didn’t want to talk about – the wedding, for one – and where they might live. Gigi tried to steer her to talking about how she and Olly had met, hopeful that the opportunity to gush about someone they both loved would warm her up, but she hadn’t taken that bait either, confirming the facts Olly had already given her and not spicing them up with a dash of girlish excitement.
They talked more than you should about the food in front of them. Gigi found herself feeling uncomfortable. They were almost finished eating, and Caitlin hadn’t directed one really interesting question at her.
Once the waiter had cleared their plates, Caitlin’s still a third full, and they’d ordered mint tea, she decided to brush away the small talk and try to be real.
‘I invited you to lunch today so I could get to know you a bit better. It was so sudden …’
‘I know. It must have seemed that way to you.’
‘Well, even to you, it’s been quite a quick thing.’
Caitlin nodded, which wasn’t exactly agreement.
‘But I suppose when you know, you know?’
‘And I do so hope we can be … well, friends.’ She daren’t push it any further than that. For a second, before she replied, Gigi swore that Caitlin blanched.
It made no sense. Caitlin was acting as though she’d already pushed too hard – like she’d shown up with wedding magazines and a lie-detector test – like she had given her a reason to be suspicious. Someone or something had done a right number on this girl – she was going to be a much tougher nut to crack than Gigi had imagined. If you’d ever be able to crack her.
She tried again, less careful now – careful wasn’t getting her anywhere. She needed to leave lunch with something that made her feel she’d moved the dial, even if it was only a fraction. ‘Listen, it’s him you’re marrying. Not the rest of us. Not me. Olly. All I need to know is that you love my boy.’ It wasn’t a question, and it didn’t get an answer. The bill had come by then, and it was easy enough for Gigi’s remark to hang in the air while the credit card was processed and the waiter asked if they’d enjoyed their meal.
It was a lie – it wasn’t all she needed to know from her. She needed to know that Caitlin was going to make him happy, that she wasn’t going to take him too far away from her. That her motives were pure – not motives, even. Feelings. That she had a softer, gentler side, even if she only ever showed it to him.
‘I wouldn’t be marrying him if I didn’t love him.’
‘Of course not … I didn’t mean …’
And then it was ten to two, and Caitlin could legitimately give her thanks, and run away to her possibly fictitious meeting, after an air kiss and no eye contact.
Gigi left lunch with more questions than answers. And more unsettled by the thought of this woman becoming a part of her family than she’d been before.
Emily, knowing where she’d been, texted her when she was on the train home, playful. ‘So? Did you thaw Elsa?’
‘Nope. Still frozen.’
She typed ‘Let it go …’ She put musical note emoticons next to it. And a yellow face crying blue tears of laughter.
But Gigi wasn’t really laughing.