‘Great,’ I say, as if that’s decided. ‘Thanks, Lucie.’
Ward shakes his head. Graham and Lucie look at Ward and then at me, confused.
‘I have a dentist appointment tomorrow,’ I say. ‘I’m in a lot of pain.’
‘You never said a word, Jan.’ Graham is sniffing the air curiously. Any old fool can feel the atmosphere is strained.
‘I told Nadine. It’s agony. Root canal.’ I pull a pained face.
‘That settles it then,’ announces Lucie. ‘I’m going with you, Ward.’
Ward calls me into his office after the boardroom meeting. I take a deep breath as I sit down opposite him.
‘I used to have many dentist appointments when I was unhappy at work,’ he begins in that maddeningly calm way. ‘I tell you one excuse I once used when I had a job interview. I told them I had a funeral to go to in three weeks’ time. “So your friend hasn’t diedquiteyet?” my boss said.’ When Ward sees a flicker of a smile he says, ‘Can I at least make you an offer?’
‘I can’t work here any longer, Ward,’ I reply, thinking he’s about to up my salary.
He nods, as if he understands things are complicated between us. ‘If you do have a painful tooth which is in urgent need of root canal treatment, I’d hate you not to go. There is nothing worse than toothache. I have two crowns.’ He taps one of his back teeth, followed by the other. ‘But if you’re not in agony, can I take you on one last pitch?’
‘Ward…’ I don’t know what to do. I’m torn. Can I really go on ignoring my feelings for the man sitting in front of me? But then again, I have this job interview tomorrow and I swore I’d stay away from him.
‘One last pitch,’ he says.
28
It’s twelve noon when I call Grandad from Ward’s car. The line rings, and it rings. If he’s out he usually puts the answer machine on. Come on, Grandad. I don’t like to think of him getting older and deafer.
I watch Ward entering the cafe to buy us some coffee. We parked in front of the beach at St Mawes. We left London at the crack of dawn to be at the pitch by eleven o’clock. I’m still not sure what I’m doing here, but at least I managed to rearrange my job interview for Monday. I told them I had urgent root canal treatment.
The pitch went well – a pretty pale-blue house with white-framed windows, set back from the coastal road, with stunning views. I talked to the elderly owners about my grandparents and how they had been so happy down here and that living by the sea was good for the soul.
The car journey wasn’t too awkward. We talked a lot about Ward’s childhood. He grew up in Sussex. His parents didn’t have a happy marriage. Mum was creative, bohemian; Dad was a disciplinarian. ‘Mum and I would go out on long walks along the Sussex Downs just to get away from him.’ Often he wonders how they fell in love in the first place. ‘Wouldn’t you love to be a fly on the wall and see their first encounter or their first date?’ he’d asked. ‘I can’t imagine my father ever being romantic. He was as dry as an old bone.’
I found myself telling Ward about Lucas. Sometimes I feel deep love for him. Other times I could throttle him for remaining so distant with my grandad. ‘He finds any kind of intimacy hard,’ I explained, understanding why, in a way, he’d had an affair with a married woman. He didn’t have to commit. It wasn’t daunting because he didn’t believe it would lead to anything. However, Lucas was terrified when it exposed him, when he realised that he did have feelings. ‘I know he cares, he’s just not that good at expressing himself.’
‘Like the entire male sex,’ suggested Ward. ‘Do you think he’s closed off partly because you lost your parents?’
‘I guess so. I know we all deal with grief differently.’
Ward has a younger sister who lives in Canada, married with three boys. ‘She has her hands full.’ He’d wanted to know about my childhood in Cornwall and I’d told him how this part of the world would always be my home. London is a place where I work; Porthpean is where I feel close to my parents and my grandparents. I feel Granny’s presence every time I visit Grandad. I think he does too, which is partly why he doesn’t want to move, not until he has to. When I go for walks along the beach I tell her what’s going on in my life, as though she can hear me. ‘Change the lights, Trisha,’ Grandad always says when we approach a red traffic light and it seems, almost instantly, to turn green, Grandad thanking Granny as he drives on.
Spud barks when Ward gets in the car. ‘Any luck getting through?’ he asks me when I hang up. I shake my head, worried. ‘Let’s go anyway. He’s probably just asleep.’
As I direct Ward to Beach House my mobile rings and I pray it’s Grandad. It’s Ralph. He tells me he’s booked a table in a French restaurant on Marylebone Lane. ‘L’Entrecôte,’ I repeat, jotting the name down in my diary. ‘Great. See you tomorrow.’
When I hang up I’m aware Ward is watching. ‘A date?’
‘Um,’ is all I say, unable to meet his eye.
We drive on in silence.
When we reach the narrow road leading to our house, Spud sits up on the back seat, knowing exactly where we are. I hop out to open the gate and also let Spud out of the car.
I hurry to open the front door. ‘Hello!’ Ward follows me inside. I rush into the kitchen, hoping he’ll be having lunch, but there’s no sign of him. ‘Grandad?’ I call again, heading into the sitting room.
‘Oh, Grandad,’ I say, when I see him lying on the floor by the fireplace. Ward helps me lift him up.
He mumbles, disorientated, ‘What time is it? Is it supper?’ He looks at Ward. ‘Who are you?’
