“Are there any specials?” I ask, stalling for time. “And can you describe them in detail please?”
He does exactly that, and I smile and nod and pretend to be paying attention as he enthuses about lobster ravioli and slow-roasted porchetta. When he’s finished, I thank him and order a lasagne. He looks a bit disappointed but perks up when Marcy gazes up at him and asks for the lobster. She is super-pretty, and he is clearly taken with her.
By the time everyone has finished and the waiter has gone, I am feeling calmer. This was an emotional ambush, I tell myself, and I can be forgiven for over-reacting. But now, it’s time to Be More Dolly.
“So,” I say, turning to Zack, “I suppose I should apologise.”
I smile as I say it, because I don’t want this to be serious – I just want to clear the air. Yes, it was a long time ago but his memories are probably also ambushing him, and maybe his are just as unpleasant. It was a big deal, that show he was putting together, and my disappearing act must have thrown a spanner in the works. It was unprofessional, and not at all grown-up, and I have to accept that.
“For what?” he says, leaning back and sipping his water. Lordy, I think, he is still a fine-looking man. There always was a spark, and even though I’m pretty flame-retardant these days, I can still appreciate the aesthetics. Back then I wouldn’t have thought twice on letting that spark ignite, and I always got the sense that the feeling was mutual. Now, I am very much a look-but-don’t-touch kind of woman.
“For running away without any explanation.”
He shrugs, thinks it over, and says: “Well, I won’t say it didn’t sting at the time. I may have called you a few unflattering names. It was my idea to bring you in, and the bosses were all keen – thought you had star quality, that you’d be a ratings magnet. They were right, you would have been – and when you left, I got some stick for it. But life moves on, and I’m older and wiser now. I’ve thought about it occasionally over the years, and I came to the conclusion that you did what you had to do.”
“I really did. And if it’s any consolation, I never intended to stay away forever. I always thought I’d come back, do a bit of grovelling, and take up where we left off. But then… something else happened.”
“What happened?”
“I fell in love.”
His smile is big and genuine and warm, and he pats my still shaky hand on the tabletop.
“Ah. Well. Who can argue with that? Besides, things didn’t turn out too badly for me in the long run.”
Marcy pipes up: “He’s being modest! He runs one of the most successful production companies in the entire world!”
“The entire world?” I echo, widening my eyes. “Really? Even without me?”
He knows I’m joking, and laughs before he replies: “Yep. Even without you. It’s been… an interesting journey, to put it into reality TV parlance. One I must admit I’m getting a bit weary of.”
Marcy makes a snorting noise and adds: “He’s always saying that. He’s always threatening to retire, or step down. Then he realises he’d be bored rigid and goes back.”
Zack looks at her fondly. This is clearly a well-trodden conversational path. I glance at Zack’s hand, see a gold band on the traditional finger. There is no ‘Marcy’s mum’ here tonight, but that means nothing – she might be busy. She might be onthe runway at Milan fashion week, or masterminding the hostile takeover of a multi-billion dollar corporation, or back at home with a litter of Afghan hound puppies. Who knows?
He glances at his phone again, and I wonder what is so urgent that he can’t bear to put it away for even one meal. He looks up, catches me staring at him, and firmly sets the phone to one side.
“Sorry,” he says, “that was rude. It’s supposed to be me telling the young people off for that isn’t it? Anyway, Connie, it’s wonderful to see you again, and Sophie, it’s great to meet you at last. Now, let’s enjoy our night out together!”
He raises his glass in a toast, and we all clink in the middle of the table. He still looks distracted, but who can blame him? All we can do is try and make the best of a very strange situation.
FOUR
I wake up the next morning on the inflatable mattress on Sophie’s floor. Or, to be precise, my legs wake up on the inflatable mattress. The rest of me seems to have scuttled off on an adventure in the night, and my head is underneath her desk, right next to the bin and a stray trainer sock. A classy start to the day.
I don’t sleep especially well anymore, and it was impossible last night. I’d had a confusing evening, drank slightly too much wine, and London is so noisy I kept getting woken up by shouts and shattering glass and sirens. The urban lullaby of the city never used to bother me, but after so long in Starshine Cove, it is all brain-shreddingly loud.
Even now, as I slowly come to, I can hear a lorry outside, making that bleeping sound they make when they’re reversing. I rub my eyes, surprised when my fingers come away smudged with black from my mascara. Yeah. I probably should have taken that off, I think, as I try to decrust myself.
I look up at the bottom of the desk and spot a lump of chewing gum wedged up in one corner. Nice. I do the little stretches I’ve found I need to do in the mornings these days, just to get my body ready for proper movement. Naturally enough Ialso knock over the bin, and a pile of used face wipes spills out onto my head. Sophie, it seems, actually took her make-up off – clever girl.
I wriggle my way back onto the mattress and look up at her. She’s still asleep, one pyjama-clad leg hanging off the edge of her bed, blonde hair strewn over the pillows. I lie still for a bit and simply enjoy the moment – the guilty pleasure of being able to look at my baby girl. I know she’s technically an adult now, but she will also still forever be my baby girl. I can still see the outlines of her younger self in the curve of her cheeks, the gentle flutter of her eyelids. Even that one dangling leg – she’s slept like that since being a toddler, perfectly at rest but almost as though she’s getting ready to spring out of bed and face the day ahead.
I roll onto my side, the mattress squeaking beneath my weight, and realise it was stupid of me to insist on sleeping here instead of the bed she’d offered. I’m going to have to get up from the floor now, which will be a complicated manoeuvre involving getting on all fours first, then working my way back upright. I am fit and healthy enough for my age, and I lead an active life – but I am also carrying some extra timber, and my knees have noticed.
Not quite yet, I decide, staring at Sophie a little bit longer. I grab the bottle of water I’d thoughtfully left out for myself, and check my phone. Just after eight. We didn’t get back here until gone midnight, as our dinner turned into drinks, tucked away in a cosy bar a black cab ride away. I’d enjoyed it as much as I was capable of, and certainly played the part that was required of me – chatty, engaged, open.
Beneath that, I was still bewildered. Nothing personal against Zack, but I found being around him again disconcerting. He is from the past, and the past, as someone once said, is a foreign country. Everyone has a past, obviously – but most people’s are a little more linear than mine. Mine had a great big schism in the middle of it – a fault line left by my emotionalearthquake. There was Before Me and there was After Me, and never the twain shall meet.
