The Love of Her Life

‘Hardly,’ said Kate.

‘Slept with your hottie flatmate yet?’

Everyone always thought she was having a torrid affair with Sean. ‘No!’ Kate said, and she blushed. ‘It’s not – there’s nothing going on. Shut up!’

‘Yeah right,’ said Charly, draining the last of her drink.

‘In your head there is. I don’t blame you, he’s gorgeous. Dull as fuck though.’

‘No he’s not,’ said Kate defensively, though Sean had in fact, this morning in the kitchen, droned on for five minutes about the new Microsoft enabling functions, while Kate held her hungover head in her hands and prayed for death. ‘He’s just passionate about his job, that’s all.’

‘Bor-ing.’

Kate thought back to the weekend before, how Sean had showed her how to use his new laptop, set her up with her own hotmail account and everything. They had sat side by side at the computer for hours, she listening, he explaining, their legs touching, neither of them acknowledging it. ‘No,’ she said, quietly. ‘Not all the time.’

‘He’s so not the one for you,’ said Charly. ‘Don’t shag the flatmate just because he’s there and you’re busy playing husband and wife. Textbook. I mean it.’

Kate was silent, uneasy all of a sudden. She looked at her watch. ‘Let’s get another drink, and then I’d better be off,’ she said, after a pause.

Charly sprang up, suddenly alive again. ‘These are on me, doll,’ she said. ‘Thanks. Thanks a lot.’ She sashayed to the bar, and every man in the vicinity glanced in her direction.

CHAPTER NINE (#u1a88c0c4-05e2-5666-9ccb-685953012233)

It was after eight when Kate got back, and she was two-white-wine-spritzers-drunk, which is to say not sober but not disastrous. Sean was watching TV as she barrelled into the sitting room.

‘I’m late!’ she cried loudly, hoping that by making a drama of it she’d get the guilt over quickly. Sean hated being late, it was the one area of flatmate life where they diverged wildly. If Kate said Sunday lunch at one p. m., she expected people to pitch up by two and to serve food by three. Sean meant lunch on the table at one p.m.

Sean didn’t look up from the TV. For some inexplicable reason (Kate said it was because she was being all grown-up), Zoe had decreed that tonight was to be evening dress, and Sean was immaculately dressed in black tie. He was that kind of boy, the sort who always had nicely shined shoes and owned his own dinner jacket.

‘Are you furious?’ Kate said, unwrapping her scarf and throwing her coat on the ground. ‘Sean, it’ll take me two minutes to change, I’m sorry –’

He looked up and she saw his face.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said.

His big blue eyes were curiously expressionless; but Kate knew him by now, knew him well enough to know something was up. ‘Jenna’s engaged,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ Kate sat down next to him, and took the remote out of his great big hand. She turned the TV off. ‘Oh, Sean, that’s – that’s crap.’

Jenna had been Sean’s girlfriend all through high school in Texas, and most of university, till they’d broken up before he came back to England for his third and final year. She was, as far as Kate knew, the only woman he’d ever loved, and the circumstances of their breakup were mysterious. Sean had been really unhappy. Kate had only met her once, in their second year, when she’d come to visit. She reminded her of a girl from a Seventies perfume ad: long, wavy brown hair, flicking out at the sides, endless long legs, the shortest skirts, the widest smile. And she was nice, which was the killer. Kate and Francesca had hated her.

She patted her unresponsive flatmate’s leg, feeling the hard muscle beneath the black cloth. ‘How did you hear?’

Sean cleared his throat, and flicked his eyes wide open, then shut them rapidly. He did this several times. ‘She called me. I was just leaving work, and she called me.’

‘Are you really upset?’ said Kate gingerly.

‘No,’ Sean said, sitting up and shaking his head. ‘Hell no!’

Rubbish, Kate thought. He reminded her, fleetingly, of Charly and her earlier bravado.

‘It’s just – hey, Jenna was my first proper girlfriend, and I was really into her, you know. She’s marrying some farmer guy called Todd. Ugh.’ He shook his head again. ‘He grows maize, has like thousands of acres. It’s such a fucking cliché, man!’

Kate looked round their warm, small flat, crammed full of mementoes of their happy flatmate life together. Sean followed her gaze and she nudged him, desperately wanting him to feel better, be happy. She hated seeing him like this, it hurt her too, and it was then she realized how close they’d become. ‘I know,’ she said, almost desperately. ‘Oh love.’ She clutched his hand a little tighter and he turned to look at her, with something like surprise on his face.

‘Kate –’

‘Who wants to be a bloody maize farmer, eh? Aren’t you glad that’s not you? Aren’t you glad you’re here instead?’

There was a silence as they looked round the flat again, together. On the floor was a Kentucky Fried Chicken box, five bottles of vodka forming a pyramid on a shelf, several really vile lads’ mags, several equally vile gossip mags, and pinned haphazardly on the wall were a poster of The Graduate, a panoramic photo view of New York, from Kate’s last trip to see her mother, and a series of photos of Sean, Kate and their friends stuck onto cork boards. At Kate’s feet were two empty beer cans. Their eyes met, and they burst out laughing.

‘You know what,’ Sean said, turning to her slowly, ‘you’re right. I am glad I’m here instead, Katy.’ He took her hand, and kissed it.

‘Don’t be sad,’ said Kate, and she gave Sean a hug.

‘I’m not,’ he said, and he squeezed her tight. His hand cupped the back of her head. ‘Bless you, darlin’. It’s just I thought she might be the one … you know? I thought she was the love of my life. So you can’t help thinking about it.’

‘I know,’ said Kate, though she didn’t. She had never thought Jenna was right for Sean. He needed someone … Well, not like Jenna, that was all, and she’d been glad when Sean had come back for their final year single, truth be told. She felt cross, all of a sudden, like the conversation was shifting out of her control. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing gently.

‘Thanks, darling,’ he said, and she could hear his voice reverberating against her back. ‘I feel fine, god, it’s years ago now, but you can’t help having a little think when you hear something like that, can you.’

‘No,’ said Kate, stroking his back again, and feeling a little like Florence Nightingale, doomed to tend eternally to the romantically injured. ‘You can’t.’ She stood up briskly. ‘I’m going to get changed, OK? We’re going to get dressed up for the ridiculously-themed fancy dress party, we’re going to look a million dollars, and you’re going to have a great evening, I’ll make sure of that. Get another beer. I’ll be five minutes.’

‘Sounds perfect, darling.’ Sean settled back on the sofa. ‘What you wearing?’ he said.

‘The blue and gold dress,’ Kate yelled as she ran down the corridor to her bedroom. ‘It’s a special night.’

‘Sure is,’ said Sean, and Kate heard him cracking open another beer, as she took the blue and gold dress from the hook on her bedroom door where it was hanging. She stroked it happily.

Kate wasn’t a girly girl when she was a teenager, she was more into the old-fashioned, vintage dresses of years ago. She had her old stack of Vogue magazines, from the 1950s and 60s that she’d picked up in second-hand bookshops and school fairs, and she still loved flicking through them, staring with envy at the girls in their effortlessly elegant cocktail dresses, in completely inappropriate settings: posing with a bough of cherry blossom, or hopping off a suspiciously empty, clean Routemaster bus.

On her nineteenth birthday, she and her father were walking through Hampstead. After Venetia left, they would often go for long walks through London, mostly on Sunday afternoons, ambling without aim through the deserted City, or along the river, or through the parks. They’d just come off the Heath, and were looking for a place to have a cup of tea. As they crossed a little cobbled courtyard, deep in conversation about what utter bastards Daniel’s record company, who had just dropped him, were, Kate’s eye fell on a dress in the window of a rickety old shop. It was Fifties, blue silk, embroidered all over with gold silk thread roses. Kate gazed at it, helplessly. Her father, turning around and seeing his pale, lanky daughter peering shyly into the window, had looked at her quizzically, as if trying to work out why she was looking at the dress, why would she be interested in that? It was just a dress – Daniel had never been good at empathy. Then his expression had changed.

‘My god. I did get you a proper birthday present, didn’t I,’ he said, suddenly remembering, panic streaking across his face in case there was a repeat of That Birthday Which They Never Talked About, the one where Kate had gone to school the next morning and come back in the evening to find Venetia had left.

‘Yes you did,’ said Kate loyally. ‘You got me the new lens for my telescope, and that beautiful box of chocolates. It’s OK, Dad, honestly.’

(She had, in fact, bought the lens herself and he had given her the money, but to be fair, Daniel had actually bought the chocolates.)

Daniel breathed in heavily through his nose and pursed his lips, musing.

‘Do you want that dress, old girl?’

Kate looked amazed. ‘Dad! But it’s a hundred quid!’

Daniel looked quickly at his watch and put his arm round her. ‘Who cares! It’s your birthday, darling. Come on. Let’s go and try it on …’

Five years later, it was Kate’s most treasured possession. When she was answering those quizzes at the back of the Sunday supplements, the reply to ‘What one item would you rescue if the house was burning down’ was always, always the blue and gold dress. It had been her telescope, but she was a bit over that now, and it lay, gathering dust, in the back of her cupboard in the Rotherhithe flat.