No way was she going. Rachel was stirring coq au vin on the stove with one hand while trying to pull baked potatoes out of the oven with the other. No way.
‘Do you want wine?’ her grandmother shouted from the table.
‘I’m only just here, Gran, no need to shout.’
‘Sorry, was I shouting? I must be such an embarrassment to you.’ She cocked her head and pulled a tight smile. ‘Do you know, Gran is such a terrible term. I’d really rather you called me Julie.’
‘We’ve been through this. I can’t do it. It just won’t happen. When I try to it feels too weird. You’re my grandmother—that’s just the way it is.’ Rachel slid the steaming potatoes from the baking tray into a terracotta bowl and carried them to the table.
‘Well, I don’t think things should always be the way they are. Who says that’s the way it should be?’
Rachel sighed; they had this conversation at least once every six weeks. ‘You know I don’t know the answer. Can we please talk about something else?’
‘So I hear you’re off to Paris.’
‘Not that. Something other than that.’ Oven gloves on, she picked up the Le Creuset bubbling with stew and set it down in the centre of the table.
‘Just so you know, I’ve volunteered to keep an eye on the lovely Australian couple.’
‘I’m not going.’
‘Oh, you must.’ Julie reached forward and grabbed a potato. ‘Gosh, these are hot,’ she said, slicing it open, forking up the fluffy insides and slathering it with butter. ‘You must go,’ she said again, her mouth full of boiling potato. ‘Divine. Divine as always. Mine are always so hard—bloody microwave. Yes, you have to go. Your mum would have been so proud.’
Rachel flinched as she stirred the coq au vin.
There was a pause as she felt her grandmother watching her. ‘She would, you know.’
‘I don’t want people in my flat, and—’
‘Nonsense. Anyway it’d do you good to get away from that idiot guitar player. Brad?’
‘Ben.’ Rachel tried to cut her potato but pulled back as she burnt her fingers on the crispy skin. ‘And he plays the drums, not the guitar.’
Julie made a face as if it made no difference.
‘And he’s fine. It’s fine between us.’ Rachel could feel the frustration boiling up inside her. ‘I’m not going.’
There was another pause as Julie shook out her napkin, then held up her hands as if she’d say no more about it. ‘Well, come on, then.’ She nodded at the casserole dish. ‘Are you going to serve this thing or not?’
As Rachel ladled out the rich, thick stew Julie took a mouthful and sighed. ‘I’m going to miss my dinners here while you’re away.’
At four a.m. the doorbell went, followed by the usual tap on the door. Rachel pulled on her dressing gown and tried to do something vaguely decent with her hair as the tapping got louder and louder. She checked her reflection in the mirror by the door, refusing to think about the fact she’d purposely slept in her make-up on the off chance this visit would happen.
‘Rach, honey, darling, beautiful…’ Ben bounded in off the step like a Labrador high on the adoration of his fans. Shaggy black hair, crack-addict cheekbones and eyes that crinkled as if they always knew a secret—he was gorgeous and he knew it.
‘Hi,’ she said coyly as he twisted her hair round his hand and pulled her head back for a kiss that tasted of cigarettes and beer and the toothpaste she’d just swallowed while running down the stairs.
‘Let’s get rid of this horrible thing, shall we?’ He smirked, pushing her old towelling dressing gown off and sliding his hands round her waist to her arse, then, leaning forward, whispered, ‘Go on, make me something nice. I’m starving.’
Five minutes later Rachel was whipping up the perfect, smooth, yellow hollandaise and checking the timer for the poached eggs while she watched Ben as he sat back, feet up on the table, flicking through her Grazia magazine.
‘Do you want to sleep here tonight?’ She didn’t know why she said it; she hadn’t said it for months. He peered over the pages he was holding and watched her for a second before his mouth quirked into its infamous grin.
‘Honey, you know I can’t sleep here. I need my—’
‘Own bed.’ She finished before he could and turned her back to him, scooping out the poached eggs. After a moment or two of silence he came over and wrapped his hands around her, pressing himself close against her back.
‘You smell awesome.’
She turned around in his arms and handed him the plate of Eggs Benedict.
‘And this—’ he took it from her ‘—looks awesome.’
As he cut into it, the golden yolk oozing out into the toasted muffin she’d found at the bottom of the freezer and the silky hollandaise dripping from his fork, he paused before putting the first bite into his mouth, as if preparing himself for the bliss.
When he did eat it, gobbling greedilywith his eyes shut, he hit the table twice with his fist. ‘Fucking amazing. A-mazing. God, it’s better than being on stage. Well—maybe not but it’s fucking good.’
Rachel couldn’t help smiling.
‘You—’ He pointed at her, mouth full. ‘You are going to make someone a great wife one day.’
She paused for a moment, sipped the tea she’d made herself, and found herself asking, ‘Not you?’
Ben laughed into his cup of coffee.
‘I’m serious,’ she said.
‘Hun, come on, it’s too early for this.’
‘We’ve kind of seen each other for two years.’
He made a face. ‘I meant in the morning. It’s fucking four a.m.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ She nodded, glancing down at her haphazard appearance as if to show him just how aware she was of the time.
‘Babe.’ He didn’t get up, but took another slurp of coffee. ‘No one gets married any more. What we’ve got… It’s good. Don’t—’ He shook his head as if he was on the cusp of getting annoyed. ‘Don’t spoil it. Just let a man eat. Yeah?’
Rachel opened her mouth to say something but then closed it again.
Oh, my God, she thought. Oh, my God, what have I been doing?
Who was he? What had she seriously expected from him?
As she watched him eat, chewing furiously, she suddenly saw what everyone else saw. A black hole at her table where her life disappeared.
‘OK, babe?’ He glanced up, checking that she was still there, still waiting for him to finish.
She nodded, her mouth frozen into place.
He pushed his plate away and stretched his arms high to the ceiling. ‘Awesome. Totally awesome, as always. Bed?’
‘I erm…’ But it felt as if her mind had slipped all the way through her body into a pool on the floor. And instead of saying anything else she let him lead her up to her bedroom, where she was suddenly ashamed that she’d changed the sheets because she’d had an inkling he was coming and had put the winter roses her gran had brought for her in a vase by the bed and sprayed Dark Amber Zara Home room spray to make it smell all moody and sexy.
When the front door clicked shut forty minutes later, she lay staring up at the ceiling and wondered what had become of Rachel Smithson, because right now she felt completely hollow from the neck down.