A Hopeless Romantic

After a short while, they broke apart slowly, and said nothing. There was nothing to say, really. Laura drained the meagre contents of her glass and leant into Dan. They stood there together as the music died away and applause rippled out towards them, aware of nothing else but themselves, alone in their bubble.

‘Well,’ Dan said eventually. ‘I didn’t know that was going to happen tonight,’ and he put his arm around her.

Laura twisted round, looked up at him. ‘Oh yes you did,’ she said, smiling into his eyes. ‘Of course you did.’

That was Laura’s second glass of champagne, and she found Paddy and Hilary on another terrace having a cigarette so she joined them. After her third glass, thirty minutes later, she was a bit tired. After her fourth, she felt better again – and she’d eaten from the buffet as well. After her fifth and sixth, she danced for an hour with Jo and Chris and their other friends. And after her seventh glass, she didn’t know how it happened, but she found herself in one of the free taxis going home with Dan Floyd, and they were kissing so hard that her lips were bruised the next day. And that’s when it really started, and Laura went from knowing lots of things about Dan and how she felt about him and her place in the world in general to knowing nothing. At all.

At one point during the night, she propped herself up on her elbow and leant over him, and kissed him again, and he kissed her back and they rolled over together, and Laura pulled back and said, ‘So…what does this mean, then?’ It just came out.

And Dan’s face clouded over and he said, ‘Oh gorgeous, let’s not do this now, not when I want you so much,’ and he carried on kissing her. Something should have made Laura pull away and say, No, actually, what does this mean? Are you going to tell your girlfriend? When will you leave your girlfriend? Do you like me? Are we together? But of course she didn’t…

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_4836df69-d99f-5c78-8e5f-b95402670c43)

Yes, Dan had a girlfriend, Amy. Just a tiny detail, nothing much. They were as good as living together, too – although she still had her own place. Another detail Laura tried to forget about. She had almost managed to convince herself that if she didn’t tell anyone about her – well, what was it? A ‘thing’? A ‘fling’? A fully formed relationship just waiting to move into the sunlight of acceptance? – her liaison with Dan, then perhaps the outside world didn’t matter so much. And it didn’t, when she was with him. Because he was The One, she was sure of it. So it became surprisingly easy for Laura, who was basically a good girl, who never ever thought she could do something like this, to turn into a person who was sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend.

She had tried, after Jo and Chris’s wedding. She told herself – and Dan – that it wasn’t going to happen again. She bit her nails to the quick about it because, much as Laura might be clueless about some things, she was clear about other things, and one of those was: don’t sleep with someone who has a girlfriend. She’d already tried going cold turkey from him, as autumn gave way to winter, and as she realised she was falling for him, badly. She tried avoiding him at the tube station – but she couldn’t. She tried to forget him – but she couldn’t. When she thought about him, it was as if he was talking to her, pleading with her, communicating with her directly. Laura, it’s you I want, not Amy. Laura, please let me see you, his eyes and his voice would say in her head, until the noise got so loud it was all she could hear. Every time was the last time. Every time was the first time.

Laura knew it was wrong to be thinking like this. But she assuaged that secret guilt in her head with the knowledge that Dan and Amy weren’t getting on well. Dan himself had told her it wasn’t working out. Well, he had in so many words, with a sigh and a shake of the head, in the early days of their coffee mornings together on the tube platform. And she knew from Jo that Dan was going out with Chris and his other mates more, playing more football, watching more football, in the pub more, working harder. Added to which, no one in their group ever really saw Amy. They were together, but they were never actually together. She was completely offstage, like a mystery character in a soap opera whom people refer to but who never appears. You know when a couple are happy together – mainly because you don’t see either of them as much, and when you do they’re either together, or they talk about each other. Or they’re just happy. You know. Laura knew – as did everyone else – Dan wasn’t happy with Amy. Dan wanted out, he just didn’t know how to get out.

And, actually, Amy wasn’t really her friend. They occasionally all went out for drinks, Jo and Chris, Dan and Amy, Hilary, Paddy and Laura and so on, especially now Chris and Dan had moved nearby. But Amy rarely came along, and in any case, Laura had long ago realised she couldn’t stand her. Never had been able to, in fact. Because not only was Amy a quasi-friend of hers, they had also been at school together, many moons ago, and there is no more mutually suspicious relationship than that of two ex-schoolmates who are thrown together several years later. Added to which, Amy had been one of the mean girls who had teased Laura relentlessly about her love for Mr Wallace the oboe teacher, and had spread the subsequent rumours surrounding Laura giving up the oboe. She’d even told Laura’s mother Angela about it, at a school concert, all wide-eyed concern. Angela Foster had got the wrong end of the stick, and assumed Laura was being pestered by Mr Wallace. She’d complained. He’d nearly been fired. The whole thing was deeply embarrassing. So Laura’s dislike of Amy was genuinely historical, rather than based upon the fact that Amy was with the man Laura felt quite sure she loved. This made her feel better, in some obscure way.

Amy ate nothing, exercised obsessively, talked about shoes and handbags the entire time (like, the entire time) and she played with her beautiful red hair. Non-stop. It was her thing. She always had, even when she and Laura had been eight-year-olds in plaits and virgin socks at school. Twenty years later, the same white hand would smooth down the crown of its owner’s hair as Amy softened her voice to tell a sad story – about a friend’s mother’s death, or something bad in the news. Or said something deeply meaningful at the pub, which made Laura want to gag childishly on her drink.

The thing was, Laura knew Amy was the kind of girl men fell for, even though she led them a merry dance. Laura wasn’t. She was nice, she was funny, but she knew she was ordinary, nothing special. Why would anyone, especially Dan, choose her when they could be with Amy? Why was it he got her so well, laughed at her jokes? What amazing thing had led him to think of her as this perfect person for him, just as she knew that he was her Mr Right? It perplexed her, as much as it exhilarated her. It was extraordinary, it was magical, and so even though it was underhand and stressful, she carried on doing it.

‘So, then she said I should know why she was pissed off. And I’m thinking, well god, woman, you’re pissed off the entire time, how the hell am I supposed to tell the difference between you being annoyed because I was late back from football or annoyed because I didn’t notice your new haircut? Is that for me? Hey, thanks so much. Toast, too. Wow.’

Laura set down the tray on her bed. She peered out of the window. It was two months after Jo and Chris’s wedding, a cold, grey Saturday morning in February. Dan shifted up in bed, crossed his legs, and pulled the tray towards him.

‘This is great,’ he said, pouring some tea. ‘Come on, get back into bed.’

Laura hopped in beside him. He handed her a cup of tea and kissed her. ‘Mm. Thank you,’ she said.

Dan and Amy had had another huge row the night before and Amy had stormed back to her own flat. Laura cleared her throat.

‘So, what did she say next?’ she asked, desperate for more details, but not wanting them too, fearing what he might say or not say.

Dan frowned momentarily, as if thinking something through. He put his mug back down on the tray and took her hand, looking serious. ‘Forget about it,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked down. ‘It’s crap of me. I’m so crap, boring you with all this stuff. It’s…I’ve got to sort it out.’

‘Yes,’ said Laura, her heart beating fast.

‘Not just for me,’ said Dan, looking intently at her. ‘For…for Amy as well, you know?’

‘Yes, of course,’ Laura said, less urgently. ‘Amy.’ She picked up a slice of toast and bit into it. ‘Mm.’

Dan smiled, and picked up another piece. ‘So, I’m pretty much free today now. Do you want to…you know. Spend the day together? I know it’s last-minute, but we might as well make the most of it.’ He leant forward and kissed her.

‘Er…’ Laura said, swallowing fast. She had lunch with Paddy and Simon, but she supposed she could cancel. And instead she and Dan could go to Kenwood House. Muffled up in scarves and hats. Drink hot chocolate and walk through the grounds hand in hand. Kiss in the lanes of yew trees that led away to the Heath. Her eyes sparkled. She’d cancel Paddy and Simon – they were boys, they didn’t mind about that sort of thing. Although – gah. Simon, more a graduate of the love ’em and leave ’em school, was always taking the piss out of her about her love life. Saying she was a romance addict, that she’d ditch her own brother at the last minute if there was a chance of a red rose heading her way. And she’d done it a couple of weeks ago to him as well…the cinema, shit. She bit her lip. He was going away soon. She was a bad sister.

‘Don’t cancel anything special for me,’ Dan said, as if reading her mind. ‘It was just a suggestion.’ He stroked her knee. ‘God, it’s so nice to be here, sweetheart.’

‘I think I was supposed to be having lunch, but it’s quite a vague thing,’ said Laura, trying not to choke on her toast. ‘I’d…of course I’d prefer it if…’ His hand was lying on the duvet. She hooked her little finger around his, and said, ‘Yes, I’d love to spend the day with you. We should talk, anyway.’

Laura was always trying to do this, stage moments where she and Dan ‘talked’. But it never seemed to work. She desperately wanted there to be some kind of agenda to their relationship, instead of Dan turning up when he could, secretive texting or emailing, hurried, passionate, mind-blowing sex at one in the morning when he would drop by unannounced on the way back from the pub, wake her up, shag her senseless and then go back home – to what, Laura didn’t know. Every time they tried to talk, something else would get in the way. Dan would tell her a funny story, or kiss her neck, or have to leave because Amy was calling. They’d tried not seeing each other, but the truth was it was so easy to have this relationship, it was so full of pleasure and excitement that, two months after they’d first got together, nothing had really changed. Dan was still with Amy, trying to sort it out or break it off gently. And Laura – Laura was so wildly happy with the whole thing she would no more have irrevocably ended it than she would have moved south of the river.

When she looked at the facts of the relationship, the bare facts, only then did she get depressed. He was still with his girlfriend. And whilst he and Laura got on really well, she also had to admit that what they spent most of their time doing was not having a laugh and enjoying each other’s company but – having sex. And god, the sex was great, that was part of the problem – it had obscured the actual facts of the relationship, or whatever it was, for some time now.

On New Year’s Eve, Laura and Paddy had gone round to the newly married couple’s house for a party, along with lots of other people, but Dan wasn’t there. He was on holiday with Amy, in Prague. Laura had stood on Jo and Chris’s balcony along with Paddy and watched the fireworks over London. It was a clear night, sharp and cold, and for once the fireworks from the Thames were visible. They fizzed in the distance, tiny and indistinct, and around them, across the rest of London, streets and parks and houses were lit up by similar flashes and bangs, stretching as far as they could see. Simon had been there next to her, and as he hugged her tightly, he asked,

‘So, sis. What’s your New Year’s resolution, then? Tell me.’

‘Ha,’ said Laura despairingly. She gave him a squeeze back. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

‘Oh, really,’ said Simon, not actually listening as his eye had fallen upon an attractive brunette in the corner of the room. ‘Love life?’

‘Yes,’ said Laura honestly.

Simon looked at her briefly. ‘Who is it this time, then?’ he asked.

Laura resented the tone in his voice. ‘It’s – not like that.’

‘Oh,’ said Simon, not believing her for a second. ‘Right,’ he added vaguely. ‘You should do something about it.’

‘Thanks,’ said Laura. ‘I am.’

Simon smiled, ‘Really?’

She nodded.

‘Well, good luck then,’ he said. ‘Who is it this time? Someone at work? Ken Livingstone?’

‘Go away,’ said Laura. ‘You’re no help.’

‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ Simon said. ‘I mean it. Do something about it,’ and he shrugged his shoulders apologetically, as if admitting this wasn’t helpful, and moved across the room in search of his prey.

Laura watched him go. He was right, though, wasn’t he? She’d been searching for true love for as long as she could remember. This year, it was going to happen. She just had to make it happen.

So, shivering on that cold balcony on New Year’s Eve, as Jo and Chris kissed each other, and Paddy danced crazily and inappropriately with a scared-looking cousin of Chris’s, and Simon charmed the pants – literally – off the brunette, Laura clenched her fist, and went to bed that night with a new iron resolve. Three weeks after her ‘thing’ with Dan had begun, but months after she had realised that he was the one for her, she had to do something about it. Even now, nearly two months later, she remembered it clearly. It kept coming back into her head like a drumbeat.

She had to know, she had to sort this thing out, because somewhere in her lovesick, crazy brain was a small voice telling her that this wasn’t how normal people behaved, fell in love and that small voice had been getting louder and louder since before Christmas until now, two months afterwards, it was like a foghorn in her ear. She and Dan had to take the next step. Well, Dan had to take the next step and finish with Amy, then Laura and Dan had to take the step after that, which was to work out if they could be together.

So they would go to Kenwood House on this cold February Saturday, with the hot chocolate/gloves/yew trees, and during that time they would talk, and Laura would explain, calmly and clearly, that Dan had to sort his situation out, otherwise they couldn’t be together any more.

‘Talk,’ Dan said. ‘Yes, talk.’ He looked at her, their fingers still entwined. Laura smiled at him, took the toast out of his mouth, put the tray down on the floor, reached for him, and they crawled back under the duvet, muffling their laughter, and then, a while later, their moans as they came together again and any further discussion was put aside for the moment.

An hour later, Laura emerged from her room, carrying the teapot, and padded into the kitchen in her bare feet. Paddy was sitting at the little table by the French window, gazing out at the view. Their flat was in a slightly cramped, dodgy Victorian mansion block, and had interesting design features – the French window, for example, opened not onto a charming balcony with pots of geraniums and basil, but a sheer drop down four floors. The boiler was in Paddy’s bedroom, and the sitting room had three electricity sockets, but all right next to each other, by the door, nowhere helpful like underneath the bay window where the television was. It was Paddy’s flat, bought for him with some help from his elderly parents, since he was a teacher at a school nearby and earned in a year what most bankers earn in a month. He and Laura were very happy there, though the water frequently turned itself off, the windows rattled, and the lino was curling because they had laid it themselves. Added to which Paddy had a mania for collecting interesting things from around the world, and so the flat was stuffed with a) painted gypsy floral watering cans, buckets, etc., b) elephants made of wicker he’d picked up travelling through Africa, and c) comic books.

Paddy didn’t look up as Laura came into the kitchen, humming to herself. ‘Morning,’ she said brightly. ‘How are you today, love?’