“Libby,” he says calmly. “When it’s right, it’s right.” And in a flood of confusion I say goodbye.
What the fuck does that mean, when it’s right, it’s right? What was he saying? Was he saying that he loves me? Was he saying that I’m The One? Do I feel the same way about him?
Normally I’d talk this through with Jules, but the only thing we talk about now on the phone is Jamie, and what she’s going to do. But I need to know if she’s okay, so I put my life on hold for the time being and call her. Her machine picks up and I start talking, and then she picks up the phone.
“How are you feeling?” I venture, surprised and incredibly relieved that she sounds almost, almost, like her normal self.
“Not great,” she says. “But better than I was.”
“Have you spoken to him?”
“I’ve left the machine on and he’s been leaving pleading messages. I can’t face speaking to him just yet, I’ve still got a lot to think about.”
“So you think you might give him another chance?”
“I don’t know. I can’t believe what he’s done, I can’t believe how much this hurts, but you were right the other night, I have to think about the marriage, think about whether it’s worth throwing it all away and starting again.”
“Jules, do you still love him?”
“Of course I still love him. That’s the bloody problem.”
Selfish as I may be, I still need to talk to someone about my life, so I phone Sal. And I know I’ve been remiss, I haven’t really made an effort with her recently, but that’s kind of what happens when men get in the way. You suddenly find that a few weeks, or sometimes months, have gone by, and you’ve been meaning to speak to your friends, but somehow you’ve been too busy trying to build a relationship.
“Libby!” she says. “What a surprise!”
“Hi, Sal. How are you?”
“Never mind about me, how are you?”
“Fine, fine.”
“You’re okay, then?”
“Umm.” I’m missing something here. “Okay about what?”
“Well, Nick and all that.”
“Oh God, yes. Actually I’ve met someone new. Sort of.”
“You’re kidding! That’s fantastic! Tell me everything!”
So I start to tell her, except I give her the short version, and then I get to the bit about him saying when it’s right, it’s right, and I hear Sal audibly draw her breath in.
“Jesus!” she says, after a short silence.
“I know. But what d’you think it means?”
“I think it means he’s in love with you! Libby, that’s so exciting! Ed McMann’s in love with you!”
“He hasn’t actually said that.”
“Yet . . .”
“Well, yes. Yet. And maybe he meant something else.”
“Like what?” Sal splutters.
And truth to be told I can’t actually think of anything else.
“Listen,” she says eventually. “I know this may well not be your thing, and Nick’s coming, but presumably if you’re going out with Ed that won’t bother you anymore, and it’s just that a few of us are meeting up tonight at the Clifton, and I don’t know why I didn’t think of you earlier, but d’you want to come?”
I suddenly have an inspired thought. “Sal, my brother Olly’s in London this weekend. If he’s still here, can he come too?”
“ ’Course he can.”
“And it’s fine with Nick. It will be really lovely to see him.”
But after I put the phone down I’m not so sure. First of all I’m no longer the sort of woman who goes to pubs, although admittedly I would make an exception for the Clifton, being as it is one of the few truly country-style pubs in St. John’s Wood, not to mention the whole of London. And I’m not too sure I do want to see Nick.
I mean, yes, it was lovely talking to him on the phone the other day, but seeing him’s another matter entirely, and I really don’t know how I’ll feel about him. In fact, if I’m really honest with you, I really don’t know whether I want to know. If you see what I mean.
Because as long as I don’t see him I can pretend it’s okay. I can settle for Ed, because I don’t have to face physically what I may never have again. I know that one look into Nick’s eyes, and it will bring all the pain back again, and I’m not sure I can deal with that.
But I suppose I’ll have to deal with it sooner or later, and who knows? I may be pleasantly surprised and discover that my feelings for him are on the wane.
And pigs might fly.
Oh, what the hell, it’s not as if I’ve got anything better to do. I ring Olly and yes, he’s still in London, and yes, Mum’s beginning to get on his nerves a bit, and yes, yes, yes, he’d love to come out for a drink tonight.
I give Olly the details and arrange to meet him there, and once I’ve put down the phone I look at myself in my jeans and sloppy sweater, and I decide that, as befits a woman of my recently acquired social standing, I will dress up. I will be smart casual. I will blow Nick’s socks off.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. It’s that old story again. Nick said he didn’t want me anymore, but if I look completely incredible maybe he’ll change his mind, and even though I’m with Ed now, I want to show Nick what he’s missing out on, what he could have had, what someone else is now getting.
Or not, as the case may be, but Nick doesn’t need to know that.
What to wear, what to wear? I riffle through my clothes, and eventually pull out some wide-legged navy trousers, which I team with navy J. P. Tod’s shoes and a thin cream cashmere sweater.
Oops, sorry, I forgot to mention that I went on a bit of a shopping spree recently. It’s Ed, you see. I can hardly go out with him to the smartest restaurants in London in all my old clothes, so I’ve bitten the bullet, pushed my overdraft to the very back of my head, and been hitting Joseph in a major, major fashion. (And no, couldn’t face the woman in the St. John’s Wood store, so I went up to Brompton Cross. Much nicer. They treated me like a human being.)
And, er, I probably shouldn’t admit this, but on the way back from Joseph I happened to pass Emporio Armani, well, it wasn’t exactly on the way back, more of a slight detour, but that’s beside the point—and went in just to look, and I came out with masses of stuff. Armfuls. Fortunes.
I felt slightly sick for a while, but I’m Ed McMann’s girlfriend . . . almost. I have to look the part. And anyway, I justified to Jo when she sat there open-mouthed listening to how much I’d spent (and Jo spends money like it’s going out of fashion, so imagine how much I had to spend to shock her), it’s only money. I mean, for God’s sake, we’re only here for about ninety years if we’re lucky, so nothing really matters very much, and certainly not money.
Yup. This is the outfit. Nick will have heart failure.
I walk in the pub, and it’s a bit like déjà vu, because sitting at a table on the other side of the bar are Sal and Paul, the gorgeous Kathy with an equally gorgeous and evidently new man by her side called Jared, and Nick.
And when I see Nick my heart does begin to beat a little faster because—and I know it hasn’t been that long—I really had forgotten quite how blue his eyes are, and just how gorgeous his smile is.
He stands up and gives me a huge bear hug, and there’s something incredibly sweet and painful about hugging this body that up until recently I knew so well, and I can’t help myself, those old loins start stirring and I don’t want to let go. Ever.
No! Stop it, Libby! Nick is not for you. Nick has no money. Remember Moose. Remember the bedsit. I remember, and my heart slows down. It slows down even more when I think of the Porsche and the house in Hanover Terrace.
Nick stands back and looks at me, giving me a wolf whistle and a cheeky grin.
“Cor,” he says. “If I didn’t know better I’d say I was having a drink with Tara Palmer-Tomkinson.”
“Don’t say that!” I slap him lightly. “I don’t look anything like her!”
“You do tonight,” he says. “You’re all sophisticated and sexy. Verrrrrry nice.”
“You like my new look, then?”
“Mmm,” he says. “I could definitely get used to it.”
I almost laugh when I think of how I only ever wore jeans and sneakers with Nick because I thought that’s what he wanted. Almost, but not quite, because Jules’s description of me as a chameleon girlfriend is still in my mind, and I don’t want to think about the fact that I might be doing it again.
“Hi, sorry I’m late.” Olly walks in, and I give him a kiss, then introduce him round the table. I can see Kathy’s eyes light up as she shakes his hand, and bless Olly, he barely even seems to notice her. This is when I realize that it really must be serious with Carolyn, because, up until he met her, Kathy would have been just his type.
“Nick! Good to see you again!” Nick stands up and they give each other a really warm, claspy sort of handshake, the sort of handshake that men give each other when they really like each other—and for a fleeting moment I wonder whether Olly will have this sort of relationship with Ed.
God, why am I even worrying about it? I mean, Ed’s a nice bloke. He’s nice to me. What’s not to like?
“I was just saying that Libby looks fantastic,” says Nick.
“Yeah. You do look nice. Very smart.” Olly seems to notice what I’m wearing for the first time. “That looks expensive. Had a pay rise?”
Nick chuckles as I blush. “No. It’s courtesy of my overdraft facility.”
“Who wants what?” Olly goes off to the bar to get the drinks, and I start chatting to Sal and Paul.
But while I’m chatting to them I keep feeling Nick’s eyes on me, and I can feel myself holding in my stomach, straightening my back, tossing my hair around as I laugh in what I hope is a sexy and mysterious way.
And then there’s a break in the conversation and Nick leans over to me. “You must be happy with this bloke,” he says. “You’re glowing.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. You look like you’re going to explode soon, a sort of thermonuclear reaction.”
“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
“It is a compliment.”
“Okay. Well, thanks.”
“And no food babies tonight, then?” He looks at my stomach and I laugh, and suddenly I’m swept back to that night in my flat when Nick knelt down and rubbed my stomach, and I feel this incredible yearning, and I meet his eyes which are watching me curiously, and I suddenly think that this is exactly what he intended.
He wanted to remind me of what we had, what it was like, and I don’t know why he’s doing this because he was the one who said he didn’t want me, and as far as I’m concerned Nick is now a closed chapter. Or closing, anyway.
I change the subject.
“So how’s the book coming along?”
“Finished!” he says, thanking Olly for the pint that’s just been placed in front of him. “I’m about to send the finished manuscript off to a load of literary agents. I’ve had it with publishers. I don’t think they even bother to read the bloody thing, so I’m going the agent route.”
“Good luck,” I say, and I mean it. “What do you think will happen?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “But unless I win the lottery very soon, I’m going to have to do something about a job.”
There, you see? He did it again. Brought up the lottery. Made me think instantly of the first night we got it together, when we talked about what we’d do if we won the lottery.
“So go on,” he says. “Tell me everything you’ve bought in the last week.”
“What?”
“You said you’d been shopping. I want to know exactly what you bought and where you got it from.”
I start to laugh. “Jesus, Nick. I’d forgotten what a girl you are.”
“It’s not that I’m a girl,” he says. “It’s just that I know the way to a girl’s heart.”
“Darling, I’m leaving now.”
“Okay, I’ll see you in a little while.”
I put down the phone to Ed and ring Jules.
“I feel awful,” she says, as soon as she picks up the phone. “I completely forgot about the ball. Are you excited?”
“Jules, my darling, I didn’t expect you to remember, you’ve got far too much to think about.”
“I’ll be fine,” she says. “It’s just weird being in this huge flat on my own. I feel a bit lost, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“Look, I can cancel tonight. Why don’t I come over? We can do face packs and girly things.”
“That’s so sweet of you, but no. I’m a big girl now and I can cope, and anyway I wouldn’t ruin your date. I’ll make some supper and have an early night. God knows this is exhausting me. It feels like I haven’t slept for years.”
I want so desperately for her and Jamie to get back together. I know he’s done an appalling thing, he’s betrayed her utterly and completely, but I also know, or at least I think I know, that for men sex doesn’t have to mean an emotional commitment. That for many men it’s simply physical gratification, and that Jamie, despite having made a major fuck-up, has admitted it’s over. And I wonder whether three fucks, to put it crudely, are worth a marriage, are worth throwing away a man who might not be perfect, but who loves her, despite everything, and who is a good husband, will be a good father.
And I want them to get back together because I want to regain the equilibrium in our friendship, selfish as that may be. You see Jules has always been the strong one. Jules has been the one to whom I turn in times of pain, and now that she is turning to me, I am not sure that I am strong enough, or wise enough, to give her the advice she needs.
And I miss the easy banter of our friendship, although I hate to say, despite sounding completely exhausted, the more we talk the more Jules sounds like her old self. Maybe she’s just putting on a very good act, but things are almost like they used to be.
“So did you ask him?” she says.
“I couldn’t. How could I ask him whether or not we would be staying the night?”
Because for the last few days I have been terrified of this. The ball is in a country house in Midhurst, and I phoned the AA, who said it was about an hour and a half’s drive from London, so does that mean we’ll be driving back, or does it mean we’re staying there, and if we are staying are we staying in the same room, or will they have organized separate rooms for us, and I’m really not sure I’m ready for this yet.
“You are such a wimp!” says Jules. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’ve packed clean knickers and a toothbrush just in case, but I don’t want to be forced into a situation where I have to have sex with him before I’m ready.”
“Don’t you mean, make lurrve,” she shrieks, giggling.
“Oh, Jules! Be serious.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry. Look, Libby, I doubt very much whether Ed will force you into anything, he’s far too much of a gentleman, so I would assume that if you are staying the night you will definitely have separate bedrooms.”
“You really think so?”
“I really think so. Anyway, have you got a nightie or what?”
“I couldn’t spend any more money, Jesus, do you know how much I’ve spent recently?”
“Yup.”
“So I’m just taking a T-shirt.”
“I hope it covers your bum. You might have to get up in the middle of the night and wander down dark, frosty corridors looking for the loo.”
“Do you really think I hadn’t thought of that?”
“You’re going to have a brilliant time. Think of your gorgeous dress.”
“Okay, okay. You’re right. I will have a brilliant time. I’ll ring you tomorrow, either way. Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?”
“I’m sure,” she says. “Slowly getting used to enjoying the single life again. It’s reminding me how jealous I am of your life.”
“Oh yeah, re
ally—you’d just love to be living in my tiny flat, fending off the bastards, trying to find Mr. Right.”
“First of all, I may well be single again. Secondly, my self-esteem’s taken the biggest knocking it’s ever had and I’m not sure I’ll ever feel the same, and thirdly, I thought I had found a decent man. It looks like we are pretty damn similar after all.”
Shit. Why did I have to say that? I’ve unwittingly brought the conversation back round to Jamie.
“I’m sorry,” Jules says after a pause. “I didn’t mean that. I still feel so hurt. Look, I’d better go. Have a wonderful time tonight, and let me know how it went tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Sure that you should have a wonderful time or sure that you should let me know tomorrow? On both counts I’m sure.”
“No, are you sure you don’t want to carry on talking?”
“No, Libby. I’m tired of talking about Jamie. I need a break.”
“Okay. Just look after yourself.”
“What am I, an invalid?”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do know, and I can’t tell you how much easier this is, having you there. I couldn’t go through this without you, Libby, I really couldn’t.”
“You know I love you.” There are tears filling my eyes.
“I know. And I love you too. Oh, and by the way, give him one for me,” she says, with a faint hint of laughter that brings a smile to my face, because at least I know we’ve ended the conversation on a good note.
I put the phone down and it rings again immediately. Who the hell is it now?
I might have guessed.
“Ringing to remind you, darling, that if it’s a sit-down dinner you work your way in from the outside of the cutlery.”
What the fuck does my mother think I am? Ten years old?
“I can’t believe you’re ringing to tell me that.” I shake my head, trying to stifle the urge simply to tell her to fuck off.
“I’m only trying to help, Libby,” she says indignantly. “I don’t want you showing me up.”
“You? You? What on earth has anything got to do with you? You’re not coming.”
“I know, but you’re still your mother’s daughter.”