Ten Years On (28 page)

Since leaving home, Alfie and I have built a new life in west London. I didn’t go back to work for Glitz. Alfie is my one piece of Olly, and maybe it’s an unhealthy attachment, but the idea of handing him over to a
stranger is impossible right now. I talked this over with Victor and Carolyn. ‘We’d like to support you,’ Carolyn had reinforced, ‘to make sure you can stay at home and not worry too much about money.’

I felt guilty when Carolyn told me that they had sold a couple of paintings to help funds. ‘Please say yes,’ she’d insisted, handing me a cheque. ‘We want to help.’

‘I should have given Oliver a lot more support when he was alive,’ Victor had added. ‘Let me do it for you and for Alfie. He needs his mother. But most of all, let me do it for my son.’

Another reason I haven’t returned to Glitz is I’m painting again, and it feels wonderful, as if a small part of myself is returning. I’m not doing it on any serious scale, as I haven’t had enough time, but I have been in touch with a local art dealer who runs private exhibitions in central London. She liked my Italian landscapes and has said she will commission me in the future. When Alfie goes to nursery and on to school, I shall work hard to see if I can make a living out of my art full-time again. One thing I have learned, however, since Olly’s death, is not to agonize over decisions, but take each day as it comes. Right now I want to enjoy being Alfie’s mother. It is hard work being a single mum, and I realize now how worn out Pippa must have been,
having twins and a husband abroad half the time. I wish we’d been closer when they were tiny. I would have supported her. I can also understand why she needed Mum so much.

Alfie loves seeing his grandparents. When I take him to Winchester we also meet up with Keisha from the antenatal class, or we visit Annie in her shop, which is hanging on in there in the recession. Oscar and Theo love their baby cousin, although every now and then I have to make sure they’re not about to pinch him, or poke him with their fork just to see if that will make him wake up. In London, Godmother Kitty often visits, and sometimes she brings Steven. Steven is short, chubby in the face with intelligent blue eyes, and lots of fun. He’s also more than a match for Kitty; there’s no way he’s going to allow her to boss him around. She and Steven enjoy telling Alfie the story of how she’d been pushed off a double-decker bus by a big monster man and Superman Steven had flown to her rescue. They act it out with great drama, making Alfie laugh. Sometimes I see Kitty recognizing that twinkle in his eye when he giggles. ‘He looked just like Olly then,’ she says, catching her breath.

Jamie often visits with Sylvie, whom I can tell isn’t interested in babies or baby talk, but she does her best not to show it.

Victor and Carolyn also visit regularly, staying in a local bed and breakfast close to my flat. I have told them about Olly’s script. Finally I read it, and wished I’d done so sooner. I might be biased, but I couldn’t put Olly’s novel down. ‘It’s a comedy,’ I told them. ‘At times I laughed out loud, but it’s also moving. There are these two characters who should be together, but—’

‘Don’t tell me,’ Carolyn had said. ‘I’d like to read it too.’

Losing a son has aged both of them, but I can see how much Alfie is helping them fill a void. Victor promises Alfie that when he’s bigger he must come and stay in Northumberland. They have a lovely garden with a vegetable patch. He’s looking forward to showing him how caterpillars turn into butterflies.

Every so often Alfie and I meet Glitz for a cup of hot chocolate in our favourite cafe close to New Bond Street. But it’s Janet’s visits my boy enjoys most. He loves seeing her and playing with Woody. When he hears the toot of a car horn he runs towards the window in a flap of excitement. Michel drives her up to see us once every month, before discreetly slipping away to see a film or exhibition. Over the months I have noticed how she now leans heavily on Michel’s arm and is much slower on her feet. ‘My old ticker isn’t so strong these days,’
she jokes, though I know it is more serious than she lets on.

When she was last here finally I plucked up the courage to talk to her about Joe. If anyone had any significant news about him, it would be Janet, because Michel knows the family inside out. ‘How’s Joe’s father?’ was the warm-up question.

‘In Cherry Trees nursing home. Oh dear lord, I hope I don’t end up there. But Joe thought it was for the best. It was becoming too much for him.’

‘Right. And Joe?’ I offered her a biscuit with her cup of tea. ‘How is he?’

‘Michel says Maison Joe is booming! A bright spark, that man.’ She felt the biscuit in her hands.

‘Custard creams. Your favourite.’

‘Oh, how delicious.’ She took a large bite and half of it fell on to the carpet. It was Woody’s lucky day. ‘I’m sure Joe would love to hear from you,’ Janet said, picking her words carefully. She knew why we hadn’t been in touch since Alfie was born, that he had said he loved me. ‘I do miss him, a lot,’ I’d told her months ago, ‘but it could never work between us, Janet.’

I reminded her how much I’d hurt him.

‘Was he
trying
to replace Olly?’ she asked.

‘No,’ I muttered, not wanting to think about what
I’d said. ‘I did write to him, about six or so months after Alfie was born. I asked him to visit us and sent photographs. I didn’t hear back.’ I paused. ‘I often think of him. Anyway …’

‘Do you love him?’

‘Janet!’

‘It’s a simple question.’

‘Do I like chocolate? That’s a simple question.’

‘Fine, but if you can’t talk to an old fuddy-duddy like me, who can you talk to?’

I relaxed my shoulders. ‘Since things have settled with Alfie and I’ve had more time, well, yes, I miss him, but does that mean I love him?’

‘Do you think you
could
love him?’ she asked, more gently this time.

‘I feel guilty.’

‘Guilty?’

‘He was Olly’s best friend.’ I decided then to tell Janet the whole story this time, starting from the very beginning, going right back to our university days. She listened, transfixed, didn’t even eat her biscuit. I censored some parts, but Janet very much got the gist. ‘He’s probably met someone else anyway.’ I crammed a custard cream into my mouth. ‘Oh, Janet, I’m scared of falling for anyone again. It’s easier being on my own.
In fact, I’m not on my own. I’m with Alfie. He’s my man.’

‘When I was growing up, Rebecca, I didn’t want a dog.’ I noticed her hands were shaking, causing her cup to rattle against its saucer. ‘Why get a dog when it will die? So I asked Mum if we could train guide dogs instead. That way they’d leave us when they were still young. I was terrified of death, you see, I don’t know where this fear came from, but it was there.’

I nodded, curious to know where this was heading.

‘So this is what we did. We trained Billy the Labrador for a year before, handing him back and taking on Maisy the golden retriever, and so on … until Mum finally persuaded me that we should get our own dog. Pepper was our first, a grey-and-white miniature schnauzer. He died ten years later, when I was twenty-two. I cried for days. Days, Rebecca! It was my first real experience of grief, but it taught me a lesson. To love you have to lose. Grief is the price you pay for love.’

I felt tearful.

‘Life is essentially wonderful, Rebecca, but you know, as much as I know, it does have the ability to kick you in the teeth when you’re least expecting it. So many people rail against the injustice, the unfairness, they don’t move on. We are not entitled to anything in this
life, we are not as in control as we’d like to be, but we do have choices. All I’m saying is, make the best choice you can and don’t feel guilt. It’s a waste. You can’t help who you fall in love with, and Olly would not want you to be unhappy.’

As I turn the corner into our street I see Kitty hovering outside my front door. She’s babysitting tonight, with Steven. She helps me get Alfie and all our belongings inside, before grilling me on what I am going to wear for my date. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!’ Kitty has been persuading me to ‘get out there’ again.

‘You could go on a few dates,’ she’d suggested, ‘nothing serious, just see how it goes.’

All of my friends have been encouraging me to do the same. Even Mum asked if I was meeting new people, and I could tell from her tone that she didn’t mean the mums at the toddler group.

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ I assure her. ‘Come on Alfie, let’s get you some supper.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘Nervous. I can’t remember how to talk to men, let alone flirt.’

‘You’ll be fine.’ She follows me into the kitchen.

‘You used to have disastrous dates,’ I remind her.
‘Remember peanut head and
Sister Act
man?’

She laughs. ‘Yeah, but at least this guy has come highly recommended from Steven. Andrew and he are good friends. They trained together, and I promise you his favourite film won’t be
Sister Act
or
Mrs Doubtfire
.’

‘I love
Mrs Doubtfire
,’ I say.

‘I’ve got a good feeling about tonight.’

‘We can’t both go out with anaesthetists.’

‘Why not? It’ll be fun, I promise.’

‘We’ll see.’

44

I am late for my date, but it looks like he is too. I grab the last free table in the corner of the crowded bar. I sit down, rummage through my handbag to make sure I’ve brought my phone in case Kitty needs to call. A party are enjoying cocktails at the next table. I look out of the window, at the sweeping view over London towards Big Ben, telling myself I am going to enjoy tonight.

Five minutes later I pretend to be absorbed in the drinks menu before glancing over to the bar again. Relax, I tell myself. It’s a date, not an exam.

My telephone vibrates, alerting me to a text message. For a second I’m hoping my evening is cancelled so I can kick off my high heels and get back into my cosy jumper and jeans. It’s Kitty.

‘Alfie’s asleep. Remember, you look
hot
. Good luck x’

Earlier tonight I’d opened my wardrobe. Alfie was playing with some toy wooden bricks, though he was far more interested in a shoehorn found at the bottom of the wardrobe.

Kitty picked out one of my red dresses – casual but sexy, she described it. ‘I remember you wearing it to that film premiere thing.’

‘That was years ago. I can’t wear it tonight. It’s a bit over the top, isn’t it?’

‘No!’ She’d swiped my jeans and safe black top away from me and thrust the dress into my hands. ‘I won’t fit into it,’ I protested, gesturing at my wobbly tummy before tripping over one of Alfie’s bricks and cursing. I’m trying to find substitutes for the ‘f’ word these days, but nothing works quite as well.

I look at my watch. It’s seven fifteen. We did say seven, didn’t we?

Why am I so nervous?

Probably because the last date I went on was with Luca, in Florence, well over ten years ago. Since Olly’s death I haven’t wanted to be with anyone. Only recently have I begun to re-examine my life, especially after what Janet said to me. When I saw Kitty and Steven kissing on my sofa (they didn’t think they had an audience, but I was on my way downstairs, having just put Alfie
to bed) I noticed for the first time a flicker of longing, a desire to have what they had.

‘Andrew Matthews,’ says a man, standing at my table and taking off his jacket. ‘You must be Rebecca. I’m so sorry I’m late.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ve only just arrived,’ I lie through my teeth.

Steven told me Andrew divorced over a year ago. I’m guessing he’s in his late forties and his handshake is firm, always a good sign, but my eyes are drawn to his pine-needle hair, like shark’s teeth.

‘So,’ we both start.

‘Would you like a drink?’ he asks at the same time as I say, ‘You’re an anaesthetist, like Steven?’

‘Yes,’ we both say again, before laughing. I can see he is nervous too.

Over drinks, Andrew tells me about his work.

As he’s talking, my mind wanders to Olly. I remember us buying this red dress together many years ago. Olly called it my ‘banker’s bonus’ dress. ‘How much is it?’ he’d asked.

‘Don’t!’ I shielded his eyes from the price tag. ‘It’s nasty.’

‘How nasty? Minor injury on the credit card or …’

‘A & E. Cardiac arrest. The card might never recover.’

‘Oh, go on, try it on,’ he said, pushing me towards the changing room.

Inside the cubicle I whipped off my jumper.

‘New bra?’ His fingers slid under one of the straps.

‘Not here,’ I laughed, before peeping my head out of the cubicle and pulling the curtains shut.

‘Let your hair down,’ he said, when the dress was finally on.

I let my hair down.

‘You’re beautiful, Becca.’

‘Oh, Olly, you old romantic.’

‘Almost as stunning as the new iPod,’ he said with that mischievous smile that Alfie has inherited.

I long to see his face opposite mine. What I’d give to kiss him again, feel his touch, his arms wrapped round me. Despite all our ups and downs, what we had was true. What I’d do to walk Alfie to the park with Olly and me on either side of our son, holding his hand. I even miss our arguments about all the silly stuff. I’m terrified that I am forgetting the sound of his voice. I never imagined I’d be dating again, always believed we’d grow old together. We talked about how we’d live in a retirement place by the sea. We’d play cards and amble along the beach, watching the waves.

As Andrew carries on I try to listen, but instead I’m
wondering who to send Olly’s script to. This script
is
good. Even if it doesn’t get accepted, I wish I’d told him I was proud of him. I see him writing in our flat, one of his records playing in the background. I sneak up on him, glance towards the screen. He snaps his laptop shut. ‘Oh, Ol, can’t I read just a teeny-weeny bit?’

‘When it’s finished.’

‘I’ll be an old lady by then.’

He pulls me on to his lap. ‘Right, missy, you deserve a smack for that!’

Next moment we’re kissing, laughing, his hand creeping up my skirt and I’m unbuttoning his shirt, kicking my heels off …