A Hopeless Romantic Part 29

"Oh, G.o.d," said Yorky to himself.

"No, no," Laura hastened to rea.s.sure him. "Nothing like that, I promise. He wanted to pay for his half of the money I lost, canceling our holiday."

Even saying "our," like there ever had been an "our" as in her and Dan, sounded weird. She opened a bottle of wine and collected the gla.s.ses. It was still light outside. As Yorky cooked some chicken, slos.h.i.+ng in a little wine, and sliced some crusty bread on the side, Laura set the table. She went to the window and threw it open, breathing in the evening air. Across the treetops, streets, houses, more houses, cars, big roads, shops. She looked north, to the horizon.

Somewhere, in a huge house a hundred miles away, was Nick. Sitting there eating supper by himself, in an empty room, a great rattling house stuffed with treasures and relics of the past. But nothing that was actually his, his own personal stuff, until he climbed those long winding stairs to his room at the top of the house, a room with a radio, his own clothes, some paperbacks, that bed-and another, very different view out the window over the treetops. Was he on his own? Was anyone with him? Did he have someone to talk to, like Charles? She stared out the window, willing herself to see more, if only for a second, before the picture left her mind.

"Ready?" came Yorky's voice behind her. Laura spun around.

"Yep," she said.

Yorky looked at her. "Sit down, and pour that wine," he said. "You've had a lucky escape." She looked confused, so he said, "Dan."

"Oh," said Laura. "G.o.d, yes. You know, it's fine."

They clinked gla.s.ses.

"Tell me what's happening with Becky," said Laura, switching tack. "So, she hasn't replied to any of your texts yet?"

"Right," said Yorky.

"Have you seen her on the stairs or anything?" Laura asked.

"Nooo," said Yorky. "Not since she left my place early on Sunday morning. Oohoo."

"You said she fell asleep on the sofa and nothing happened," Laura reminded him.

"Er," said Yorky, deflated. "Er, yeah."

"So," said Laura encouragingly, "what have you done about it?'

"I've taken action," said Yorky, looking pleased. "I thought, okay, perhaps she didn't get any of the texts. So I'm on my way back from school today, and I think, I'll go round to where she works. You know that little gift shop in West Hampstead?"

"Oh, G.o.d," said Laura.

"Yes, absolutely," said Yorky, unheeding. "I get there, it's about six-ish. I can see her clearing up and stuff. And when she comes out, I say, 'Hi, Becky, how are you, okay?' And-G.o.d, I don't understand girls, I really don't."

"Why?" said Laura.

"She pretends she hasn't seen me, and runs back into the shop! And I follow her and say, 'Hey, look, I only wanted to make sure you got my text messages. And, by the way, do you want to go out next week?' And she said she was really busy, but she'd think about it and let me know. I feel confident, though. Strangely confident."

"How come?" Laura asked, trying not to grin.

"Er..." said Yorky. "Not sure, really."

"So..." Laura said after a pause. "When are you seeing her again, then?"

They both cracked up, and then Yorky said, "Seriously, Laura. I'm really proud of you. Norfolk did you a power of good. You're so much better off without him, you know. I'm not just saying that. It's the truth. And..." He looked slightly embarra.s.sed. "I don't want to sound pervy, but you look amazing at the moment."

"Really?" said Laura.

"Whatever it is, you look-er, very nice. Really well. And you know, you're better now. Time for a fresh start, eh?"

"Yep," said Laura. "Fresh start."

"Got your eye on anyone, then?" Yorky said, helping himself to the chicken and avoiding her gaze.

It was as if someone had asked her if she were an ironing board, or if she liked drinking raw meth-a completely outlandish, freakish question. "G.o.d, no," Laura said. "Me?"

"Yes, you!" Yorky said, chuckling. "Don't look so amazed! You've always got someone you're mad about, haven't you? Come on, Lara. Who is it?"

Can't you see? she wanted to say to Yorky, just as she had with Rachel earlier that day. Can't you see I've changed, that everything's different?

"No one, honestly," she said after a bit. She pulled the bottle toward her.

Yorky waved his winegla.s.s at her and nodded, in an ancient-sage sort of way. "You should get back out there, Laura. Get over him, get under someone else, you know. You're the best, Loz, so don't leave it too long before you fall in love again, okay?"

She said nothing, but smiled. Yorky raised his gla.s.s. "All better now. To fresh starts, eh?"

"Fresh starts," Laura echoed, knowing he was right.

Yorky was right, it was a fresh start. And she wasn't going to screw it up again. She was at work an hour early the next day.

"It's lovely to see you again," said Rachel, who was waiting for her as she walked through the door. She handed her a bunch of tulips.

"Oh, my goodness," said Laura. "That's so sweet of you." She kissed her. "Thank you, Rachel." She bent down, put her bag on the floor, and switched on the computer.

Shana waved at her across the large table they shared. She was eating a doughnut, and after a minute she said, "You okay?"

"Fine, you?"

"Yeah. Good to see you again, Laura."

"Thanks."

The phone rang, and Shana grinned at her and picked it up.

"Come into my office when you've sorted yourself out," said Rachel. "We'll talk about what you're going to be working on next. This major fund-raising drive's about to take off, and I want you to work on it."

"Thanks," said Laura. She tapped Rachel's arm as she turned to leave. "I mean it. Thanks."

"Don't let me down," said Rachel quietly. "That's all I ask, Laura love. Show me you've turned over a new leaf."

"Trust me," Laura said. "I mean it-I have."

And she had. For the next month, work became her obsession. She loved throwing herself into it, proving to Rachel that she'd changed. And she started walking everywhere. There were fresh flowers in the flat each week, and Laura's room was always tidy, her clothes sorted and hanging neatly, freshly ironed. She remembered birthdays; she cooked a meal for Yorky and Becky (which he could pa.s.s off as his own); she organized a picnic for Hilary to celebrate her promotion at the museum where she worked, and helped Jo paint her bathroom while Chris was away. She couldn't undo the way she'd behaved in the past, she knew that; but there was a grain of comfort from realizing, as she looked around at her friends, that she was back in her old life, in some small way.

For the short rest of the summer, Laura felt the zeal of someone on New Year's Day, trying to suppress their deep depression about it being cold and dark and having to go back to work by distracting themselves with a new keep-fit regimen, some bulbs in a window box, learning to cook, taking tap lessons-anything rather than give in to it. This was her life; she knew it and recognized it for what it was. At last she felt she was being a proactive, organized, serene person. The feeling of emotional isolation, of being able to look back at her life, her mistakes, and feel nothing, or virtually nothing, continued. And if she occasionally had to bite her lip when an involuntary memory of those brief few days flew back to her-walking down a leafy country lane, sitting on the beach at nighttime, creeping through the great hall, lying quietly holding hands with him in bed looking at him, or his face when she said she was leaving-well, she simply told herself to add it to the box, the box of memories of the past.

chapter thirty-six.

E arly in September came the return of the prodigal son. Simon Foster arrived home from Peru, where he had acclimatized to the alt.i.tude, learned to speak Quechuan, grown an impressive beard, and bought or made a selection of brightly colored, simply woven garments that hung, Guevara-like, about his person. What does someone having acquired all these skills and possessions do with such a trove? Move back in with his parents in Harrow, of course. He arrived back on a damp Sat.u.r.day afternoon, and Angela phoned, delirious with excitement, to ask Laura-and Yorky, too, of course-round for Sunday lunch.

Though she couldn't wait to see her brother again, Laura had to admit she was kind of reluctant to go to her parents'. She hadn't seen them since she got back from Norfolk. It wasn't that she was avoiding them; it was more that she...she'd been busy. She knew they wondered what had happened with her and Nick. Her mother called fairly often, wanting to "chat," and Laura always managed to steer her off the subject. She felt awful, since she knew her mum must be bursting with curiosity, if nothing else; but she just couldn't talk about it, and she knew Angela would never ask directly. Angela wasn't the only one Laura was trying to avoid, little though she liked to admit it.

There was Mary. She felt guilty about her, too-she hadn't seen her for weeks, either. But Laura pushed that to the back of her mind, along with everything else. The trouble was, she was working very hard these days, and not that she was in a lovelorn frame of mind, she told herself. It was all very well, going round to Mary's and listening while her grandmother told her about the time she and Xan stayed in a palazzo in Venice and met Nancy Mitford, or how they had visited a maharajah in Jaipur and been woken by the sound of fighting tigers; yes, that was all very interesting, romantic, fascinating, when you were younger and not concerned with other things. Now, she just didn't have the time. A voice in her head was telling her that was rubbish, that she could talk to Mary about anything, always had done. No. But Laura consoled herself with the thought she'd call her. Soon.

The third member of the trilogy Laura was holding at arm's length was Jo, and Jo had gone on her trip of a lifetime with Chris to Australia (Yorky and Laura referred to it as Their Trip Before They Get Pregnant). It was a fortnight since they'd left. Laura felt guilty about Jo, too, but a slight sense of relief that she was out of the country for a while, because Jo knew something was up, and Laura knew Jo knew something was up, and this gave her some breathing s.p.a.ce. Laura wasn't worried-it wasn't a secret, after all. She just wanted control, she wanted to keep a lid on it all. Maybe that way it would just go away. Jo, Mary, her mother-she loved them all, but while they were capable of concern, she wanted to keep them at bay. Just for a while.

"I know what it'll be like," said Laura gloomily as she and Yorky walked up Heathcote Road toward her parents' house. "Me sitting there like a spare part, or tidying away, being a good daughter, while Mum has kittens because Simon's back and you're there, too."

"Well, so she should," said Yorky reasonably, though slightly smugly. He was secure in his knowledge of Mrs. Foster's deep and lasting affection for her children's oldest friend. "He's been away for nearly four months now, Laura. Remember those two weeks when you didn't hear from him? She thought he was dead."

"He wasn't dead!" Laura exclaimed impatiently.

"Well, obviously," said Yorky.

"You know what I mean! He just couldn't be frigging bothered to drop his own parents an e-mail saying, 'h.e.l.lo, I'm still alive'! He's a lazy b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

"You don't know that," said Yorky. "Your poor mum." He coughed self-consciously and increased his stride, looking bashfully down at the bunch of tulips he was clutching.

"You are such a suck," said Laura, reverting to the behavior of her teenage years. She'd been so grown-up lately. Simon brought out the childish side in her, she knew.

"Laura! h.e.l.lo, dear!" cried her mother, flinging open the door. "And James! So wonderful that you could come, we're all so pleased. Darling," she said, hugging her daughter. "How are you?" She emphasized the question delicately.

"Great, thanks," said Laura, thrusting a bottle of wine at her mother. She gave her a kiss. "Where is he, then?"

Simon appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, and Laura had to stop herself from running toward him. She smiled. "All right?"

"Yeah," said Simon, leaning against the cellar door. "You all right, sis?"

"Yeah," said Laura, coming forward and giving him a big hug. "'S nice to see you."

"You too." Simon squeezed her tight, and punched her on the arm.

Laura kissed him. "Where's Dad? I'll go and say hi. Back in a min."

Simon was hugging Yorky, patting him on the back. "Out the back. Hey, man."

Laura wandered into the kitchen, which was, as always, immaculate. The white surfaces spotless, the plants in little tiled bowls on the windowsill, the childish nursery drawings by her and Simon in clip frames. The National Trust calendar by the fridge, annotated neatly by both George and Angela. She looked at it. September had a picture of a beautiful garden at a stately home in Shrops.h.i.+re. She grimaced.

"SIMON BACK!" it said on the Friday, covered with stars and underlined. Then, the following weekend: "The Real Inspector Hound, Harrow Am Dram Soc, 7:30 p.m." "Dentist, 1 p.m."

From the door out to the little conservatory at the back, George Foster emerged, wearing his gardening gloves. He looked up and saw his daughter, and smiled. "Oh, h.e.l.lo, love," he said. "How are you?"

"Fine, Dad," said Laura, watching him. He took his gloves off gingerly, hung them carefully on the pot by the conservatory door, then neatly wiped his weekend loafers on the doormat and shook out his dark blue corduroy trousers.

"All okay with you, love?" he asked.

Laura wondered what her poor dad must have made of her over the past couple of months, lurching from one crisis to another. She nodded emphatically. "Yeah. Really good. Thanks, Dad."

"Good, good, ha-ha, good," said George, visibly relieved he didn't have to say anything more. He rubbed his hands together. "Well, h.e.l.lo, James." He advanced into the room and shook Yorky's hand. "I'll get the drinks," he said, smiling with pleasure as he went over to the fridge. "Nice to have everyone here, isn't it."

Laura nodded happily, and sat on the seat watching her dad take a new lemon from the bowl.

"Slice this for me, love, will you?" he said.

In the corridor, Simon was saying earnestly to Yorky, "I am well, mate. Peru-it changed my life. I can't wait to tell you all about it, you know."

"Lunch in five minutes, darling," her mother said, bustling into the kitchen as George picked up the drinks tray and headed for the sitting room. "How's work, Laura?"

"Fine, Mum. Great, actually."

"Oh..." said Angela, pleased. "That's wonderful. I'm so glad. And you-you're...About that chap, you know. The marquis-I haven't liked to ask, but..."

"Oh, it's absolutely fine," said Laura. "Good grief, I've totally forgotten about it, Mum, really."

"Your granny said that-" Angela began.

"Gran likes to gossip," said Laura furiously. Her mother looked hurt. "Sorry, Mum, but I promise you, I'm fine."

Angela didn't say anything. She just looked rather quashed. "Oh, love. I know you like talking to Granny about it, but you know I'm here if you ever want-" she began timidly.

"Yes, of course," said Laura, feeling guilty, and guilt making her even angrier. "Come on, Mum, let's go." She grabbed her drink and went into the sitting room, Angela following slowly. As they entered, her brother looked up.

"Now she's here. Hurrah. My favorite sister. And my darling mum. I just want to make a toast. To being back home again, with all of you." Simon raised his gla.s.s in one hand, and took his mother's hand in the other. "I've felt very far away from here the last few months, you know. But this is where I come from. It's home. And it's just great to be here. Cheers. Thanks, Mum and Dad. Cheers."

"My boy and girl, under one roof," Angela said, with a catch in her throat. "Oh, it's so nice." She caught sight of Yorky, looking rather left out. "Oh, James. And you, too."

"Chocolate, James? Go on," said Angela. She waved a plate under Yorky's chin, so it loomed in his face and his eyes squinted to focus.

"Oh, thank you, Angela," said Yorky. It always sounded awkward, Laura thought, when he called her mother by her first name.

Angela spun brightly round. "Well," she said, rubbing her hands. "Everyone having a good time? You all right, Simon dear?"

"Yes, Mum," said Simon patiently, for the fourth time. "I'm fine. Sit down."

Looking at him, Laura realized Simon was indeed transformed. He didn't look like her younger brother. He looked huge, tall, imposing. It was as if Aragorn had suddenly turned up in the lounge in Harrow and was drinking a gla.s.s of Waitrose best pinot noir on the sofa next to Angela and George after a nice lunch of roast chicken. The conversation over lunch had been chitchat, Simon telling them a few stories here and there but never really going into detail; but Laura could feel he was gearing up for it, for something.

"So!" said George.

"We want to hear all about it!" said Angela.