‘No, me neither.’
‘If I hadn’t gone walking through the woods that day …’
‘If Minnie hadn’t had a turn!’ We love to pick over it, to revel in how fate threw us together. It’s all wonderful – and not just the drinks, the meals out, the cinema trips or any of that. Perhaps better still are the ordinary things like wandering around a flower market together, or waking up in my sun-filled bedroom to see James still asleep. When I lie there, studying his face, thinking how handsome he is, while hoping – tiny frisson of danger here – that he won’t suddenly pop open an eye and catch me being a staring weirdo.
Then he wakes, and there’s that first smile, warm like honey. It’s felt incredibly easy to switch from being perennially single to being with James, and Charlie seems fine about it. At least, he’s perfectly able to fend for himself when I’m in London, and as pleasant as can be expected when James is here with us. They’re not exactly best buddies but James certainly makes an effort to draw some conversation from him. And, actually, Charlie is more amiable with me when James is around. From time to time I catch myself thinking, I’m so lucky to have all of this.
One evening Kim invites me and James over for dinner. She and Lorenzo, her husband, make quite a fuss of James and we stay late, drinking and laughing around their kitchen table. It feels so natural and not remotely awkward,as if James has always been part of things here. ‘He’s lovely!’ Kim whispers, when James and Lorenzo are locked in conversation. ‘He’sperfectfor you.’
I beam at her, unable to disagree. We all meet up again for a walk next day; two couples strolling along the country lanes on a beautiful autumn afternoon. We have a late Sunday lunch in our village pub. A couple of weeks later Kim and Lorenzo’s daughters, who are home from university on a weekend visit, join us for dinner at my place.
I look around the table and my heart fills with happiness. That day on the beach, when Charlie had parked himself by the bin, I realised with a jolt how empty my life had become, now my son no longer wanted to hang out with me. Next year he’d be off to university and it’d be just me, I realised – in the beautiful cottage I’d redecorated from top to bottom for the two of us. And soon I’d be flicking a duster around his empty bedroom.
The very thought of it crushed me.
But I don’t feel like that anymore. It’s not that Ineededto meet someone, to feel complete; more that I’ve let someone into my life wholeheartedly, for the first time since I met Frank. And that’s opened me up to new possibilities – like pushing my work further and seeing where it takes me. I feel energised, brimming with ideas, and my photos seem to have taken on a new vibrancy.
‘We love what you’re doing,’ one of my clients has told me. ‘We’d like to give your column more space, and could you do a special, longer story for the food supplement we’re planning?’
So work – and life – feel great right now and of course I’m madly in love. There’s justonetiny thing that’s starting to niggle. I haven’t yet met James’s daughter.
The more time goes on, the more it starts to bug me. I love this little bubble of ours, but Esther is a huge partof his life and I start to wonder, is he keeping me stowed away in a little compartment, away from her? Has he even mentioned me to her?
‘I told her about us right away, as soon as I came back from holiday,’ he said, looking taken aback, when I first broached this. Then I started to think:Yes, but have you told her that it’s actually quite a big thing that’s happening with us? Or have you played us down?
I know I’m being ridiculous and horribly needy, and I hate myself for it. Maybe Esther’s just feeling a bit weird about her dad having a girlfriend and spending so much time out here with me? She’s twenty, though – not a child. Perhaps he’s putting off us meeting because he’s worried she’ll be offish with me? Privately I can’t help thinking she must be a bit of a nightmare, to mess up their holiday in the way she did. I’m apprehensive about meeting her but also burning up with curiosity. More than that, I want James to feel that it’stimefor us to meet. Which I know is crazy. He loves me, and I love him. So why does it matter so much?
I’m just not used to being in this situation, having never dated anyone with adult offspring before. Or any offspring, for that matter. It feels like uncharted territory and it’s a bit scary. And of course I want, desperately, for her to like me.
One evening, over dinner in a little Turkish place at the end of his street, I blurt all this out. James is astounded that I’ve been having all these thoughts. ‘Of course I want you to meet Esther,’ he says firmly.
‘I just wondered if you felt a bit funny about it,’ I remark.
‘But why?’
‘Because, well … it hasn’t happened yet.’ I take a fortifying sip of wine. ‘And you’ve spent lots of time withCharlie.’Yes, because Charlie lives with you, idiot,I remind myself.And Esther is a fully grown and independent woman.
James places his cutlery on his plate. ‘Yes, I know. And he’s warming up a little bit with me, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, he is. You’re good with him. You don’t bulldoze him into having massive conversations …’
‘Well, I like him a lot.’ This might be a little strong, considering that their chats have been pretty brief and superficial, but it’s warmed my heart to see James making a real effort to draw Charlie out of his shell without treating him like a child.
A lull settles between us. It’s the first time I’ve noticed even a tiny hint of tension between us. Am I not as glamorous as Rhona, his ex-wife? I find myself wondering, ridiculously. Might Esther wonder why on earth her dad’s seeing me?
I finish my mezze plate and wait for him to say something about Esther being so busy, having such a crazy social life that he can never pin her down. I’ve already decided that, if that’s the case, I’ll just leave it and accept that, for whatever reason, James wants to keep us, and his family life, strictly separate. But instead he looks at me and says, ‘It’s not that I don’t want you to meet each other.’
‘But are you worried about how it’ll go?’ I ask.
‘No, of course not. I mean, it’ll be fine. It’s just …’ His mouth twists. ‘I’ve loved it being like this. Just us, I mean. Me and you.’
‘Like it was in Corsica?’ I suggest.
‘Yes, I s’pose so.’ He smiles now, crookedly, with a hint of embarrassment. I love his clear blue eyes, his slightly off-centre smile, the way he pulls on jeans, a T-shirt and a battered old pair of Converse with not the faintest idea of how attractive he is.
‘James,’ I start, ‘if you don’t want me to meet her—’
‘Of course I do! Like I said, it’s not that.’
