A Hopeless Romantic Part 2

A watery ray of pale suns.h.i.+ne was s.h.i.+ning weakly through the window. Laura turned and left, with the fresh pot of tea, her head bowed in thought.

"I've canceled lunch," she said as she came back into her room.

Dan sat up in bed and spread his arms wide. "Great, great news, my gorgeous darling girl," he said. His hands slid inside her ratty old dressing gown and slipped open the tie, and he pulled her toward him. Laura laughed.

"Let me put the pot down," she said as he started kissing her. She crouched to put the paper and the teapot on the floor, then stood up again and said, as Dan flung the duvet to one side, "So, what do you want to do today?"

"You," Dan said, jumping on her with the kind of alacrity usually shown by sailors on sh.o.r.e leave. "G.o.d, I could be with you all day, you are so f.u.c.king gorgeous. Mmm."

"No," Laura said, laughing as he pulled off her dressing gown. "I mean later. I've canceled lunch. We could go out, you know. Maybe...er, Kenwood House for...er, hot chocolate."

Dan didn't answer, but carried on doing what he was doing. Laura sighed and pushed him away. "Dan, listen."

"Yes, yes," Dan said. "Hot chocolate."

"No," she said. "I mean, we go out to get hot chocolate, at Kenwood."

"What are you talking about?" Dan said, looking down at her. "Why do you want to go and get hot chocolate at Kenwood? Is there a festival there or something?"

"No, I mean-what shall we do today, then? We should do something. Go out, you know, make the most of it. The sun's just come out."

Dan cupped her breast in his hand and bent over to kiss her again. "I can't, darling," he said. "We can't. Someone might see us. Imagine if they did." He looked up, his expression anguished. "I'm sorry."

"But," Laura said, trying to be patient, "who are we going to b.u.mp into in the yew trees at Kenwood?"

"The what?" Dan said. Laura watched him intently. "No, we just can't. We should...we have to stay here. Not for much longer, I promise. But things might be tricky for the next couple of months."

"Why?" said Laura, not understanding, and reluctantly waving goodbye to her winter-wonderland dream of laughing and joking in a Missoni print cape as she and Dan carelessly drank hot chocolate and held hands amidst the frosty trees.

"I mean," said Dan, "if I'm going to split up with Amy, you and I won't be able to see each other for a time while it's going on. I mean, on our own-not the usual in the pub with everyone else there. Right?"

"Oh, right," said Laura, not daring to hope he was saying what he was saying. "So..."

"So," said Dan, bending over her nipple and kissing it gently, "this might be the last time we get to do this for a long time. So-we should-make the most of it...."

"Yes," gasped Laura suddenly, understanding him, pulling him down. "Yes, I see...."

As Dan moved down her body, Laura closed her eyes, and the last thing she saw was the crumpled cover of the Guardian's travel section. ROAD TRIP: FLORIDA'S HIDDEN TREASURES, the front page declaimed. A road trip, she thought, and abandoned herself to something more immediate.

chapter four.

L aura worked for an inner-city London council as a schools and business coordinator. She loved her job, contacting local businesses, trying to get them to support their nearby schools, arranging volunteer reading programs-in which employees would go into the local schools and read with children-or school sponsors.h.i.+ps, which arranged for companies or individuals to sponsor a school, donate money, and feel good about themselves. She loved it because she could see how it made a tangible difference, how much disillusioned company secretaries enjoyed reading with a six-year-old once a week, or how much it benefited a school to have a thousand pounds for new computers that some corporation or anonymous donor could easily spare. She had been there for nearly four years now, and the previous year had been put in charge of the council's new fund-raising scheme and the volunteer reading program, which meant a lot more work, but she loved it. At least, she used to love it. Like everything these days, it seemed to have lost a little of its allure.

If Laura had stepped back from her situation, chances were she would have seen that she was behaving badly. The trouble was, her lack of perspective meant she couldn't see the main reason why she was in thrall to Dan, would do anything for him, no matter how degrading: He made her feel gorgeous. He made her feel devastatingly attractive, that she was so powerful to him that he had to have her, he couldn't control it. It made her feel just marvelous, and a little bit dirty, too. It was dangerous, because Dan was like all the others in that Laura had fallen for him hook, line, and sinker, without really stopping to think about it-only this time it was harder and deeper than with anyone before, and she had no control over the situation she'd got herself into, and there was no endgame in sight. It's a very powerful thing, to know you have that effect on someone-and having always thought of herself in the bottom half of the cla.s.s in terms of looks, attractiveness, and intelligence, not to mention sporting prowess, Laura still couldn't quite believe that she affected him this way.

Laura knew she wasn't working as hard as she should; she knew her boss, Rachel, was on her case about things. She knew she wasn't being a good friend, or daughter, or sister, since Dan had come along. She forgot birthdays; she was late for work; her mind wandered. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that this was a temporary situation and in a few short months-by the summer-they would have sorted it out and could be together. And then she would make everything all right.

He just needed a little push, that was all. Just a little something to let him know she wasn't going to wait around forever, that she had deadlines of her own. She had another life apart from him and she was neglecting it, he had to see that. But so did she.

The following Wednesday afternoon, Laura was in the office when the phone rang. It was pelting rain, which rattled on the windows of the shabby, drafty Victorian building where the education authority was housed in Holborn.

Laura looked up wearily from her e-mails and glanced suspiciously at the caller ID panel. A teacher from a primary school nearby, St. Catherine's, had said she would be calling to discuss a problem with the latest batch of teaching volunteers who'd just started at the school, once a week, helping individual children with their reading. The volunteers were from a firm of financial advisers, pretty big, called Linley Munroe, and it was something of a coup to have them involved-perhaps they might be induced to get involved in other ways. Laura didn't particularly like Mrs. McGregor, though she could see how devoted she was to the school and the children. She knew from experience that Mrs. McGregor was the kind of person who had her own worldview and couldn't be persuaded that anyone else's was admissible. Laura knew why she was ringing-she made the same complaint, along different lines, every year. Laura picked up the phone with a heavy heart.

"h.e.l.lo?" she said tentatively.

"Laura? Laura Foster?" came a slightly husky voice down the phone.

"Yes," said Laura, resigned.

"Oh, Laura, I really must talk to you. I'm afraid this is a very bad situation, very bad indeed. Something's going to have to be done, it's a disaster. Catastrophe."

"Yes, h.e.l.lo, Mrs. McGregor," said Laura.

"Well, Laura..." And she was off.

"...I've told him," the voice was saying five minutes later, "'You may think you can come here and think you're doing something marvelous, helping these kids so you can sleep easy at night in your big banker's flat. Well, you can't behave like that and get away with it.' I'm not putting up with it anymore, really I'm not."

"I explained the guidelines to him and all his colleagues, back in October," Laura repeated. "I'm sure this Marcus bloke's just got his wires crossed. I'll talk to Clare at Linley Munroe, tell her to have a gentle word with Marcus. But I really don't think he should be banned, Mrs. McGregor. He's obviously enjoying it, and-well, let's face it, all he did was tell this boy to shut it? They call each other the most horrific things on the playground, don't they?"

Her e-mail alert beeped and her eyes flicked instantly to the screen. She opened the message and read, her heart pounding.

"Do they?" Mrs. McGregor said. "Not in my experience, Laura. Sure, there are rude words, but-"

Laura wanted to reread and reply to this e-mail she'd just got. She said shortly, "Oh, come on, Mrs. McGregor. You know what I mean. f.u.c.k, b.u.m, w.i.l.l.y, vag. And..." She paused, realizing what she'd just said. "Er. Well, we used to, anyway. That sort of thing."

Mrs. McGregor was silent. Then she said, "Well, I must say. Honestly, Laura."

"It's an ill.u.s.tration," said Laura briskly, marshaling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, while her coworkers Nasrin and Shana gaped openmouthed at her and started laughing. Laura flapped her arms at them to shut them up, and said, with what she hoped was an air of finality in her voice, "I'm sure if Marcus Sussman used inappropriate language, he was doing so to try to communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

Mrs. McGregor droned on, but Laura didn't listen, only vaguely registering she had to get rid of her, reply to this e-mail.

"...have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cuff links who thinks he can treat these kids like dirt because he went to university and they didn't. It's vile. And I'm surprised at you for not seeing it."

"Fine," Laura said, finally losing her patience. "Talk to Rachel, but I'm surprised you're being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted sn.o.b, but I didn't think you'd let it derail the volunteer program like this."

"Oh!" Mrs. McGregor inhaled sharply. "Laura Foster. You'll regret this, I promise you. Yes, you will." And she slammed the phone down.

"Laura!" said Shana, her eyes sparkling with the unexpected office excitement. "f.u.c.k, b.u.m, w.i.l.l.y, vag? What the h.e.l.l...?"

Laura put her head in her hands and moaned softly to herself.

"It was brilliant," said Shana joyfully. "Best thing I've heard in ages."

"Oh dear," said Laura, finally looking up at Nasrin, who put her magazine down and gazed at her. "St. Catherine's again. Mrs. McGregor. Stupid old b.i.t.c.h, I hate her," she said defiantly. "I'm going to get in trouble, aren't I?"

"She always makes a fuss, every year," Nasrin said placidly, picking up Pick Me Up again. "Rachel knows that, don't worry. She's just a sad old rebel without a cause."

Laura turned back to her e-mail. Now that she was free to read it properly, she didn't want to. Mrs. McGregor had spoiled her afternoon.

A holiday is a great idea. You and me, nothing else. Imagine what we could do all week. Why don't you start thinking about where to go. July is best for me, by then everything'll be sorted. We can celebrate properly. I want you.

Dxx And the rest of the day pa.s.sed much more pleasantly than she'd expected.

The next day it was still raining, and Mrs. McGregor wrote a letter of complaint about Laura to the local education authority. She faxed it to Laura's boss, Rachel, who gave her a formal warning. She had no choice, she said, looking firmly at Laura, who still wondered what all the fuss was about. Marcus Sussman was a bit hearty over the phone, but he seemed to be a nice man; all he'd done was tell a kid who called him a f.u.c.king c.u.n.t to shut the f.u.c.k up-well, was that so bad? No, not in her book.

"I won't say I'm not disappointed," said Rachel, leaning over her desk toward Laura. "I thought that was one of your strengths, people management. You've always been so good at it, Laura. They love you at St. Catherine's, too. What happened?"

Laura looked at her and felt tears start in her eyes. She was being stupid, she knew it, behaving so irresponsibly, but she didn't know how to start to explain. So she just said, "Oh, you know. I just-she really was so vile. I just couldn't take it anymore. I'm really sorry, Rachel. You know it won't happen again. Can I ring Mrs. McGregor and apologize?"

Rachel smiled at her, slightly more warmly than before. "Of course. Thanks a lot."

"So, darling," said Angela Foster that evening, smoothing the sofa cus.h.i.+on with her hand. "How's work?"

She glanced around the sitting room as if she expected a troupe of tiny tap-dancing mice to cancan out from a hole in the skirting board and pirouette off with her handbag.

"Fine, fine," Laura said hastily. "Today was...er, fine. Thanks for these, so much. They'll look great." She gestured to the pastel-spotted blinds her mother had bought her from John Lewis as a belated birthday present. "It's so nice of you to bring them round, Mum, you shouldn't have."

"Not at all, darling," said Angela. "And I wanted to see my girl. We haven't seen you for such a long time, you know. You're so busy these days."

Laura changed the subject quickly. "So, Mum. Have you got time for a cup of tea, or do you have to go, then?"

Angela looked at her. "I can see you're longing for me to stay," she said drily.

"No, of course I am," Laura said. "Of course. Do stay. I've got some biscuits, too. Sit down, Mum. I'll put the kettle on. Sit down, make yourself at home."

"I'll try," said Angela, lowering herself gingerly onto the blue sofa with its tea-stained arms and cigarette holes in the cus.h.i.+ons.

Laura sighed and hurried into the kitchen, glancing anxiously at her watch. Dan had said he'd come round later, and she didn't want the two to collide. Not that it was likely they would-he only ever turned up after the pubs shut, whereas her mum was usually in bed and fast asleep by the time the pubs shut.

When Laura returned with the tea, Angela said, "The flat's looking nice." Laura gritted her teeth. Her mother was a grand master at the art of faking it. Laura knew she didn't do it on purpose, but her superbly repressed nature meant that whenever an unkind or negative thought crossed her mind, she felt she had to atone for it by saying the opposite of what she thought. It was quite a good barometer, actually. "What a lovely short skirt, darling!" meant "I am embarra.s.sed to go with you dressed like that to the Hunts' anniversary party, you look like a common prost.i.tute." Or "Your friend Hilary is very lively, isn't she? Dad loved talking to her" meant "Your friend Hilary drinks more than is socially acceptable at a barbecue buffet lunch in Harrow and is nothing more than a jailbait husband stealer."

"Thanks, Mum. It's a bit of a tip at the moment. Yorky's been on half-term break from school and he just lazes round reading newspapers all day in his dressing gown."

"Ahh," said Angela fondly. She had more than a soft spot for Yorky. "How is James?" She always called him by his given name. It was strange, Laura mused, that Yorky could read mothers-and his female friends-like open books, yet be so disastrously out of sync with the opposite s.e.x the rest of the time. Half-term break had been notable for Yorky's attempts to catch the attention of the girl in the flat downstairs, which involved hanging around the stairwell for half the day and smiling mysteriously, raising the eyebrow he'd now learned to raise, and generally looking like an unemployed spy. The girl in the flat downstairs-whom Laura had met; she was called Becky and seemed really nice-simply cast him looks of something amounting to concern for his mental state every time she saw him. He was despondent about it, because he actually did really like her. And before he'd decided he fancied her and had started acting like a lunatic, they'd actually got on quite well, the few times they'd chatted. Added to which, Mr. Kenzo from the flat opposite now thought Yorky was a delinquent or else some kind of dodgy s.e.x pract.i.tioner, and spent a lot of time watching him watching Becky, which all contributed to the atmosphere of light comedy pervading the stairwell of the building.

"Yorky's fine. Bit gloomy at the moment."

"Any girls on the horizon?" asked Angela hopefully.

Laura didn't want to get into Yorky's love life with her mother. She cast around for something else to say about him. "He's giving me a hard time-" Laura stopped and cursed herself. "-for not tidying up more," she finished, inwardly hugging herself for her own ingenuity.

"Well, I'm sure he's right," said Angela. "You are a bit messy. Still, it's nice to live with someone who is, too, isn't it? You're only young once, it does no one any harm to leave the Sunday papers strewn about once in a while."

"True, very true, Mum," Laura agreed with a grin.

After they chatted about her aunt Annabel, Angela's stepsister, her mother said, "I should be on my way soon, you know. Dad's coming back from Norway tonight and I ought to have something ready for him, poor thing." She drained the last of her tea and stood up. "Right, darling, I'll be off."

"Oh, okay," said Laura. "Thanks so much for the blinds, Mum. They're great. I love them."

"I'm glad, darling," said Angela, kissing her on the cheek. "Your granny picked them out with me. She said they were very you. And-oh, my goodness, that reminds me. I nearly forgot. Honestly, where am I these days?"

"What?" said Laura, handing her mother her coat.

"Granny. You know it's her eighty-fifth birthday in July? Well, we want to have a little party for her at Seavale. With Aunt Annabel and Uncle Robert, and Lulu and Fran." Laura groaned, but Angela ignored her and carried on. "I think Simon will still be away traveling, so it's even more important you're there. I just wanted to check-you're around in July, aren't you, darling? No holiday plans or anything?"

"Well..." Laura said.

Angela looked at her.

"I'm not sure," said Laura.

"The whole of July? You're not sure?" said Angela.

"Of course not," said Laura, collecting herself. Good G.o.d, she was being stupid. "Any time's good. I was thinking...thinking I might be on holiday in July sometime, but I'll wait till you tell me a date and then plan round it. Of course I'll be there. And do tell Granny thanks for the blinds, too. I love them."

"You could ring her up and tell her, she'd be over the moon. She'd love to hear from you. Maybe you could meet for lunch-she was saying she hadn't seen you for a while." Angela wrapped her scarf carefully around her neck.

It was true. Mary was not usually offstage. Laura usually saw her about every other week, even if it was just to pop in for a drink after work or to meet for a coffee. But Laura hadn't seen her for a while. She pushed the thought from her head, and the a.s.sociated guilt, and said, "Yes, I must call her. I must. Just been quite busy. Now, safe journey. Yorky will be disappointed he missed you, you know how much he loves you."

Angela blushed. "Go on," she said. "Thanks for the tea, darling. And call Granny. I'll let you know when we decide on a date for the party."

"Yep," said Laura, standing at the doorway. She waved as her mother disappeared down the curving staircase, and wandered back into the flat, kicking a stray football out of the way. As she stood in the hallway, she realized it had been ages since she'd seen her grandmother. In fact, since Christmas. That was ridiculous. It wasn't as if she could say she lived in the middle of nowhere, either. Mary lived behind Baker Street-"within walking distance of Selfridges, good for the soul, my dear"-in Crecy Court, a 1930s apartment building that Laura absolutely loved.

She went to pick up her mobile, to call her grandmother. There was a text from Dan.

Can I come over? Have told Amy I'll be late tonight. I really need to see you and I want you. I miss you so much, beautiful girl. Please say yes. D As Laura stood holding the phone, the doorbell rang, and she started. She dropped the phone and went over to the intercom. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Did you get my text?" said the voice. "Is Yorky there? Can I come up?"

"Dan?" Laura said shakily.

"Yes, it's Dan," the voice said, amused. "Who else sends you text messages saying they want to come over and give you a good seeing-to? Am I one in a long line, should I join a queue?"

"Aaagh," said Laura. "I was just confused, I was about to call someone and I was just-oh, come up, sorry, I'm just being thick."

"Are you sure?" Dan lowered his voice. "I can't stay long. I just wanted to see you."

Laura's legs wobbled a bit and she smiled into the intercom. And then, out of nowhere, she found herself saying, "I'd love you to come up. But not if you can't stay. Oh, Dan, I'm sorry."

"What?" said Dan.

"I mean, you're not just coming up for a quick f.u.c.k and then scooting off again. Not that that wouldn't be nice. It would..." Laura wavered, then checked herself. "Hm. I want you, too, but no, that's not going to happen. I'm really sorry. Night, darling."