A Hopeless Romantic

‘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 asked, looking down at her. ‘Why do you want to go and get hot chocolate at Kenwood? Is there a festival there or something?’

‘No,’ Laura explained. ‘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. This is crap.’

‘But,’ Laura said, trying to be patient, ‘who are we going to bump into amongst the yew trees at Kenwood?’

‘The what?’ Dan asked. 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 whilst 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, and 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 (#ulink_ab443ef3-e96a-5e7f-8858-9b4d0f10ee5a)

Laura worked for an inner-city London council, as a schools and business co-ordinator. She loved her job, contacting local businesses, trying to get them to support their nearby schools, arranging volunteer reading programmes or school sponsorships – where companies or individuals could 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 their new fundraising scheme, and the reading volunteer programme, 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 are 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: he made her feel gorgeous. He made her feel devastatingly attractive, that she was so powerful to him he had to have her, he couldn’t control it. It made her feel just marvellous, 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 ever before – and with no control over the situation she’d got herself in, and no endgame in sight. Having always thought of herself in the bottom half of the class in terms of looks, attractiveness and intelligence – not to mention sporting prowess – Laura couldn’t quite believe the effect she had on Dan.

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 hadn’t been a good friend, or daughter, or sister, since Dan came along. She forgot birthdays, she was late for work, her mind wandered. But she consoled herself with the knowledge 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.

Dan just needed a 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, too. She had another life apart from him and she was neglecting it, he had to see that.

The following Wednesday afternoon, Laura was in the office when the phone rang. It was pelting with rain, which rattled on the windows of the shabby, draughty Victorian building in Holborn. It was an old school, and hadn’t been redecorated since the pupils had been moved into the big glass comprehensive south of the river, close to London Bridge, in 1972. In summer Laura would wander up to Lamb’s Conduit Street and around the Inns of Court. On days like today she and her four other colleagues stayed inside, reheated soup in the ancient, sticky microwave and huddled around the fan heater which guzzled electricity and dispensed minimal heat.

Laura looked up wearily from her emails and glanced suspiciously at the caller display panel. A teacher from St Catherine’s primary school nearby 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. This was a pretty big firm of financial advisers called Linley Munroe, and it was something of a coup to have them onboard – 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 world view and couldn’t be persuaded that anyone else’s was admissible. In her own way, she was pretty hard-line, especially since her arrest during the demo she’d organised the previous spring at the NUT conference. This had renewed her zeal in a way that made her even harder to deal with, and 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.

‘Hello?’ 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. A catastrophe.’

‘Yes, hello, Mrs McGregor,’ said Laura.

‘Well, Laura,’ the voice was saying five minutes later. ‘I’ve told him. You may think you can come here and believe you’re doing something marvellous, 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 any more, 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. As I said, you know we’ve never had any problems with Linley Munroe so far, Mrs McGregor.’

She gazed at her in-box and looked flatly round the office. In Rachel’s absence, Shana was on another call, Tim was out on a visit and Nasrin was clearly reading Pick Me Up and not doing any work at all.

‘I don’t care,’ Mrs McGregor said quickly. ‘Laura, I’m afraid who they are isn’t relevant here, not for my kids, anyway. That Marcus – he’s a big thug. I know those kids aren’t perfect, but…’

‘Look,’ Laura cut in, wanting to avoid another ten minutes of Mrs McGregor. ‘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 – it could have been worse, couldn’t it? They call each other the most horrific things in the playground, don’t they?’

Her email 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 the email. She said shortly, ‘Oh come on, Mrs McGregor. You know what I mean. Fuck, bum, willy, vag—And…’ she paused, realising 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 illustration,’ said Laura briskly, marshalling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, whilst Nasrin and Shana gaped open-mouthed 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 and communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

Mrs McGregor droned on in the background, but Laura didn’t listen, only vaguely registering that she had to get rid of her in order to reply to this email.

‘…have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cufflinks 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.’

‘They’re ten, Mrs McGregor,’ Laura said, finally losing her patience. ‘Of course they haven’t been to university, don’t be stupid. Fine. Talk to Rachel, but I’m surprised you’re being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted snob but I didn’t think you’d let it derail the volunteer programme 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. ‘Fuck, bum, willy, vag? What the hell…?’

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 the magazine down and gazed at her. ‘St Catherine’s again. Mrs McGregor. Stupid old bitch, 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 email again. Now she was free to read it properly, she didn’t want to. Mrs McGregor had spoilt 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 thinkingabout where to go. July is best for me, by then everything’ll be sorted. We can celebrate properly. I want you.

Dxx

Laura blushed with pleasure. The email, the email she’d been waiting on for over two days since she’d tentatively emailed him on Monday to ask if he thought they should go away. And here it was. He wanted to go away with her, everything would be sorted by then – so when was he going to talk to Amy? And then they’d be together. He was serious about her, she knew he was. Going on holiday, that was a big step, but they were ready for it. They’d spent so much time together they knew each other better than most other couples, and they certainly got on better than most other couples – look at Dan and Amy, she thought, and then realised they weren’t the best couple to compare Dan and herself to. Laura rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, but her heart was singing, and the rest of the day passed more pleasantly than she’d expected.

The next day it was still raining, and Mrs McGregor wrote a letter of complaint to the local education authority about Laura. She faxed it to Laura’s boss Rachel, who gave Laura a formal warning. She had no choice, she said, looking firmly at Laura as she twiddled a pencil between her fingers. Laura watched the pencil, sliding in and out and around, and wondered what all the fuss was about. Mrs McGregor was wrong, she was a horrible woman and she was wrong. Marcus Sussman was a bit hearty but he seemed to be a nice man: all he’d done was to tell a kid who called him ‘a fucking cunt’ to shut the fuck up – well, was that so bad? No, not in her book. Who cares, she thought, mentally shutting down and blocking out the memory of Mrs McGregor’s droning voice.

‘I won’t say I’m not disappointed,’ said Rachel, leaning over her desk towards 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?’