You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) Read online

  Then, just as I was piping frosting on to a phalanx of vaguely wand-shaped biscuits, my mobile rang yet again. Not bothering to see who it was, I snatched it up and said, “Hello?”

  There was silence, and then a man’s voice said, “Is that Mrs Payne?”

  God, I thought, the last thing I need now is some poor sod trying to sell me household insurance or do market research on me. “Yes, but I’m extremely busy right now,” I snapped.

  “Mrs Payne, it’s Larry here. The party entertainer.”

  Oh God, no, please no, I thought. If you fucking cancel on me now my life won’t be worth living.

  “What can I do for you, Larry?” I said, praying that he’d just mislaid my address or wanted to check on the time, but of course it wasn’t that.

  “Mrs Payne, I’m awfully sorry, but I have to… I’ve had some bad news.” He sounded a bit hoarse, and I heard a loud sniff and realised that he’d been – or still was – crying.

  “Yes?” I said. “Does this – does whatever it is mean you are cancelling my booking?” And if it does, even if your house has burned down and your top hat and white rabbits and coloured handkerchiefs are mere ashes; even if you’ve lost both hands in a firecracker accident and will never work again, I will hate you for ever and ever, I thought, but of course didn’t say.

  “It’s my parrot, Mrs Payne,” he said.

  “What?” I said, my voice rising hysterically.

  “My parrot. Vincent. He’s an African Grey.” He didn’t sound a bit like the brash, slightly sleazy man who’d called round two weeks before. He sounded pathetic and old, and in spite of myself I felt sorry for him.

  “What’s happened?” I sat down on one of the kitchen chairs and took a big gulp of my G&T.

  “He’s been falling off his perch,” Larry said. I felt a bubble of hysterical laughter rising in my throat. “And the only appointment I can get with the specialist avian vet is tomorrow at two o’clock. Which of course means I am going to have to – I won’t be able to do your daughter’s party. I’ve never let a client down in thirty years, Mrs Payne. I can’t say how sorry I am. But Vincent’s my friend. I will of course return your deposit in full, and if you book me again there’ll be no charge. And I can give you some names of colleagues who might…”

  “Don’t worry, Larry, I’ll Google,” I said. “I hope Vincent makes it okay and isn’t… Goodbye.” I disconnected the call just before I said out loud, “Pushing up the daisies.” Then I burst into a fit of uncontrollable giggles that quickly turned to tears.

  I cried for a long time, hunched over the kitchen table, getting purple frosting in my hair. Every time I managed to stop and blow my nose, I remembered Larry saying, “He’s my friend,” and it set me off again. Eventually I got control of myself enough to pick up my phone and start Googling alternative party entertainers, but then I imagined them, all these lonely men with parrots for company and no children of their own, and worried I’d cry some more. So I put down my phone, resolving to get back to the biscuits and worry about a back-up plan in the morning. It was ten o’clock anyway, far too late to start ringing up magicians.

  Wearily, I picked up the piping bag, just as my phone rang again. Jonathan, I thought, on his way home at last. But it was another unfamiliar mobile number.

  “Hello?”

  “Laura? It’s me.” Oh my God. Felix. Almost a month of waiting and wondering and jumping out of my skin every time someone sends me a text, and he picks now to call, I thought. Now, of all times.

  “Laura? Is this a bad time?”

  I took another sip of my drink and a huge gulp of air, almost choked, and started to cry again.

  “Laura? Babe, what’s the matter?”

  “Everything,” I said. “It’s my daughter’s birthday and her party’s tomorrow and my husband’s got to work and the fucking magician’s just cancelled on me and the cake’s a mess and it’s all shit.”

  I realised, even through the fog of my self-pity, how pathetic it sounded. The ultimate middle-class nightmare or first-world problem or whatever you want to call it.

  “And I’m crying about it and that’s just so stupid,” I blurted out.

  “It’s not stupid,” Felix said gently. “Look, you’ve made her a cake, haven’t you? With a fuck-ton of sugar, right?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” I said.

  “And sparkly shit?”

  “And sparkly shit,” I admitted, feeling the beginnings of a smile.

  “Right then,” he said. “Job done on the cake. And your magician guy, what was he going to do? Make daft jokes and pull coloured hankies out of a hat and make pound coins come out of the kids’ ears?”

  “Yes,” I said. “But he’s not, because his parrot’s dying and he’s got to take it to the vet.”

  “His parrot?” I heard the beginning of a laugh in Felix’s voice, and started to giggle too.

  “I know,” I said. “It’s not funny, except it is.”

  “Look, I can do magic,” Felix said. “I’m not as shit-hot as your parrot guy, I expect, but I can do the basic stuff. I’ve done kids’ parties. They scare the hell out of me, but I can do them. Want me to come round?”

  “Are you serious?” I said.

  “Of course,” he said. “I’d love to see… to help. If you want.”

  “Really? I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Laura. It’s no trouble – would I offer if it was?”

  I paused. He wouldn’t, of course. Felix never did anything he didn’t want to do.

  “I’ll pay you,” I said. “Of course. I’ll pay what I was going to pay Larry the parrot man.” And I named Larry’s vast fee.

  Felix laughed. “No you won’t. I’m skint, but not so skint I’d take your money. Bloody hell, though, it’s a nice little earner, isn’t it? Maybe I should ditch the day job and move into magic. Fuck playing Hamlet, when you can pull rabbits out of hats for a hundred and fifty quid an hour. What’s your address, and what time do you want me?”

  Before I could think about my decision, before any doubts could form in my mind about the wisdom of letting this man back into my life, into my home, into my children’s lives, I’d said yes and told him when and where to come. Then I hung up, just before Jonathan arrived home from work, and just before I could say anything to Felix that I’d really regret.

  I didn’t tell Jonathan what I’d arranged. Well, I did – I told him that Magical Larry had cancelled, but that I’d managed to find a replacement at the eleventh hour. He didn’t ask who, or how, and I didn’t volunteer the information. In fact we didn’t talk much at all; we went straight to bed. I suppose he thought I was still sulking over his jolly to the races.

  I wasn’t, though. A shameful part of me that I could barely acknowledge was grateful, because after all, if Jonathan was going to be there, I wouldn’t have been able to let Felix step in – not, at least, without long and convoluted explanations that would involve either telling the truth or telling lies worse than those of omission. So I lay in the dark next to my husband, said nothing, and waited for sleep to come.

  We were woken the next morning by Darcey leaping on to the bed, literally bouncing with excitement.

  “Today’s my party!” she said. “Wake up, Mummy! Come on, Daddy!”

  Reluctantly, I opened my eyes. “Happy party day, Pickle. Come and give your Mum a kiss, and let’s get Owen up and dressed.”

  The rest of the morning was spent in frantic preparations. I hung multi-coloured bunting from the spotlights in the kitchen and over the patio outside, and arranged Darcey’s presents in a satisfyingly large pile in front of which she sat, transfixed and forbidden to touch, for a good ten minutes before dashing outside and spinning round and round on the lawn in a frenzy of excitement. I made the children eat some breakfast and started arranging the party food on platters and baking sheets. Then I stuck them both in front of the telly and barricaded myself in the kitchen to put the finishing touches on the c
ake.

  Jonathan tapped on the door to say goodbye, clad in his race-day finery. It was impressive, I thought fleetingly, that he was still able to get into the morning suit he’d bought for our wedding – my frock certainly wouldn’t fit me any more. And with that realisation came a torrent of self-doubt – what the hell was I going to wear? My Mum uniform of skinny jeans and a tunic top would have been good enough for Darcey’s friends and their parents, and it would certainly have been good enough for Magical Larry, but Felix? I didn’t want him to see me like that.

  I washed and straightened my hair and put on a summer dress, wishing there was time for the fake tan I slapped on my legs to develop. I frantically painted two coats of coral varnish on my toenails and slid my feet into a pair of sparkly flip-flops. No amount of expensive podiatry appointments in the years since I’d last worn pointe shoes had done anything to fix my distorted, lumpy toes or disguise the fact that the metatarsal I broke had healed crooked. But Felix knew my feet. He’d spent so many nights peeling tape off them after performances, dabbing antiseptic on bleeding blisters, kissing the pain away. There’d be no surprises for him there.

  “God, pull yourself together, Laura,” I told my reflection in the mirror. “Why are you even thinking like this? Get a grip. He’s helping out, as a friend.”

  “Who is, Mummy?” Darcey appeared in the doorway, catching me by surprise as she so often did.

  “People whose birthday party it is shouldn’t ask questions like that, darling,” I said. “Not unless they want surprises to be spoiled. And you don’t, do you?”

  She squirmed with excitement, put her thumb in her mouth, a habit she’d mostly overcome but still resorted to in times of high emotion, and produced a muffled, “No.”

  “Come on then, let’s get you into your party dress.”

  Soon we were all ready – Darcey in her fairy splendour, layers of white tulle that reminded me of the costumes I’d worn on stage, Owen in a clean T-shirt and shorts, me looking as good as I was going to get. The kids, unable to sit still, went out into the garden and raced around, shrieking. My mother’s voice said in my head, “Don’t let Darcey get her best frock dirty,” but I silenced it. It was her birthday party – she could get as dirty as she wanted.

  I found myself unable to sit still, either. I faffed around, arranging and rearranging food and drink, tying balloons to the front gate, peering critically at my face in the mirror, wondering what Felix was going to make of it all – the photo of Jonathan and me on our wedding day hanging in the hallway; the kids’ drawings curling beneath a forest of fridge magnets; the plastic toys spilling through the glass doors out into the garden. It was a typical family home – a picture of comfortable conventionality that he and I would have sneered at twelve years ago. And I would have sneered at myself, too – a frazzled stay-at-home mum in last year’s summer frock, surrounded by plates of ham sandwiches.

  But that’s what I am now, I told myself – and why did I even care what Felix thought? He was a relic of my past, and if I had any sense at all, I would have made sure he remained there. I felt a sudden rush of apprehension: regret at what I’d done and fear of what it might mean, and snatched up my phone to call him and invent some reason why he shouldn’t come after all. But before I could dial, there was a knock at the door.

  “Hello!” Amanda cooed. “I’m sorry we’re a bit early, we’ve come from another party and it seemed silly to go home. It’s such a social whirl at the moment – one birthday after another! I swear the kids have busier diaries than I’ve ever had! You don’t mind, do you? Go and find Darcey, Delphine, and say happy birthday. Is she out in the garden? You’ve got a glorious day for it. How’s it going, Laura? Need a hand with anything?”

  “It’s all under control, thanks,” I said, faintly. Amanda, I reflected, was actually quite relaxing company – all you had to do was feed her occasional cues and she’d talk and talk. Much as I longed for Zé’s more congenial presence, with Amanda around, there was no need to put much effort in at all.

  “Monica tells me you booked Magical Larry,” she said. “Good call! He’s pricey, but worth it.”

  “Yes, except unfortunately he can’t make it,” I said. “But I managed to find a replacement, so – well, as I said, it’s all under control.”

  “A replacement?” Amanda rummaged in her bag for her phone. “You simply must pass on his details. Decent party entertainers are like unicorn poo.”

  “He’s a friend of a friend, actually. He’s just doing me a favour. I don’t know if he’ll even be any good.” This was something that hadn’t occurred to me until now. What if Felix was rubbish? What if I – and by extension Darcey – were shamed in front of all her friends? The more I thought about this, the more I realised how truly, deeply stupid I’d been to accept his offer.

  The knocker crashed on the door again, and I greeted Jo and her daughter, then Helen arrived to drop off her twins, and soon I was knee-deep in children, laughing, squabbling, wanting juice, asking where the toilet was and trying to play with Owen. I glanced at my watch – I’d told Felix to come at three o’clock, and it was already five past. I wasn’t sure which I was dreading more – his arrival, or his not turning up at all.

  “No – no, you can’t open those, they’re for Darcey.” Helen’s hellion twins were showing too keen an interest in the pile of presents. “Why don’t you have a go on the trampoline? Come on.”

  I grabbed a small, sticky hand in each of mine and led the twins outside. “One at a time, now, you have to take turns.”

  “I’m first,” Darcey said. “It’s my party.”

  “All right, but only two minutes, okay? Then you must let Rosie have a turn.”

  “I’m Poppy,” said the twin, and I forced a smile. It was going to be a long afternoon.

  “Laura, there’s someone here to see you.” Amanda appeared at my side and mouthed, “The magician. He’s waiting in the lounge.”

  “Oh – right. Thanks. Would you…?” I gestured at the trampoline and retreated indoors.

  The house was cool and still after the sunny chaos of the garden. I ran my hands through my hair and walked slowly through to the sitting room. Felix was standing by the window, reading the front page of Jonathan’s copy of the Guardian, his back to me.

  “Hello,” I said, and he turned around.

  I started to laugh. Magical Larry’s working attire, I’d gathered from YouTube, was a red polyester clown outfit, complete with white panstick and a yellow bowler hat. Felix’s interpretation of what the well-dressed conjuror wore couldn’t have been more different. He was part steampunk and part Mad Hatter in a velvet frock coat, a tall black hat, a shirt with a cascade of white ruffles down the front and a fake moustache. He looked both hilarious and impossibly sexy.

  “Oh my God,” I said. “You came.”

  “Of course I came,” he said. “Didn’t I say I would?”

  “Thank you.” Suddenly shy, I walked over and kissed his cheek, just above the moustache.

  “All my stuff’s in there.” He gestured to a battered leather suitcase on the sofa. “Want to give me five minutes to get sorted and then we’ll get the show on the road?”

  “Yes, great,” I said. I felt as if he was the one in control here, calm and poised, while I flapped around like an idiot, not knowing whether to fall at his feet with gratitude and desire or run away as far and fast as I could. “I’ll get them in. Would you like anything? Glass of water?”

  His professional demeanour flickered for a moment. “A fucking enormous drink,” he said. “I’m bricking it. But that wouldn’t really be appropriate, would it?”

  I went outside and rounded up the children, who, well trained by their first year of school, filed obediently in and sat in fairly orderly rows on the carpet, their chatter gradually stilling until they were all quiet. I could see Darcey sitting on her hands so as not to suck her thumb, and felt a rush of love for my little girl, who was growing up so fast. I sat on the sofa next to Amanda
and tucked Owen on to my lap, whispering to him that he must be very quiet and good.

  Felix stood with his back to the children, adjusting a few objects that he’d placed on the mantelpiece and covered with coloured handkerchiefs. One of the little girls whispered something to her neighbour and they both giggled. Delphine said, “Shhh!”

  There was a long, long pause. Fuck, I thought, he’s going to bottle it.

  Then Felix turned around. He looked at the children for a moment, and then he smiled.

  “Who here believes in magic?” he said softly, into the silence.

  “Me!” they chorussed, sounding like a flock of birds taking wing. I felt my own spirits soar. It was going to be all right.

  Chapter 9

  Felix didn’t leave after his magic show, and he didn’t leave when the other mums departed, their children clutching party bags and practically ricocheting off the walls from all the sugar (except Jo’s daughter, who’d been restricted to carrot sticks and hummus). Amanda, in her self-appointed role of my best friend, offered to stay and help clear up, but I assured her it would be fine.

  “You must give me your card,” she said to Felix. “We all loved your show, the littles were transfixed. I’d love to contact you later in the year, when it gets closer to Delphine’s b-i-r-t-h-d-a-y.”

  “I’d adore to help,” Felix said, with a totally convincing note of regret in his voice. “But this isn’t actually my day job, so to speak. I just did it as a favour for Laura.”

  “Are you sure?” Amanda said. “Well… do get in touch if you change your mind. Thanks for the party, Darcey – Delphine, say, ‘Thank you for having me.’”

  “Thank you for having me,” muttered Delphine, and I closed the door behind them.

  “Thank God that’s over,” I said.

  “Mummy, can Felix stay and watch me open my presents?” Darcey said. “And do some more magic? Please?”