You Can’t Fall in Love With Your Ex (Can You?) Page 21

  When eventually we found the restaurant Jonathan had read about, I was feeling sick with hunger and suspected my face was getting sunburned. Jonathan was looking hot and cross in his suit, and snapping at me whenever I feebly suggested that we just pop into the next place we passed.

  “Here we are!” he said. “Thank God for that.”

  But it turned out to be closed for lunch on Tuesdays.

  We looked at each other, both equally pissed off, and then we started to laugh.

  “Look, this isn’t going to happen,” I said. “You grab something on the way to your meeting and I’ll head back to the hotel and eat there, okay?”

  “Hold on, there’s another place we can try just down here…”

  “Jonathan! No! In about five seconds we’re going to have a row if we carry on like this, and I don’t want to have a row.”

  “God, Laura, you’re so unreasonable,” he said, but he was smiling as we parted, and I saw him hurry off down the road and duck into a sleazy-looking hot-dog joint where I wouldn’t have eaten even if I’d been on the verge of slipping into a hypoglycaemic coma.

  I went and found a raw food café and happily ordered seaweed and cashew salad and carrot juice, which I knew Jonathan would rather have gouged his own eyes out with a spoon than eaten.

  Once I was alone, I felt my good mood evaporating. Jonathan and I were getting on, now, in this brief interlude, but that didn’t change anything, really. It didn’t change how frustrated I was by our marriage, how I felt he never listened to me any more, how trapped and stifled I felt in the unending sameness of my days at home. It didn’t change my restless, relentless thoughts of Felix. And it didn’t change the fact that he was here, in New York, now.

  “Dream doesn’t open until the weekend,” he’d texted the previous day. “And I’ve got two days off rehearsals. So I’m all yours if you can get away.”

  All mine. He might be, for a few snatched hours or one night – but I knew I could never be all his again. In my mind, I’d turned over possibility after possibility. I could – I knew I should – walk away. But the idea of never seeing Felix again made me feel like Darcey would feel if I told her there’d never be another Christmas.

  I could have sex with him, get him out of my system and return to my marriage with a spring in my step – and with a horrible, guilty secret I could never, ever let Jonathan discover. I could – I flinched at the phrase – have an affair, let it run its course, let the inevitable discovery happen. And then what? Divorce, or patching things up and enduring a lifetime of bitterness and resentment. Staying together for the sake of the children, or shattering our little family to smithereens like the Christmas bauble Owen had crushed in his chubby hand last year.

  Remembering that, remembering how he’d howled with shock at what he’d done, and how tenderly Jonathan had comforted him, I felt tears fill my eyes. I was trapped, caught between what I knew was right and the prospect of something more – excitement, passion, happiness. There was only one name I could put to what I longed for, and it was Felix’s.

  I paid for my lunch and left the restaurant. I’d said I’d go shopping, so that’s what I would do. I needed something – anything – to distract me from the turmoil of contradicting thoughts in my head. I spent the afternoon wandering from one air-conditioned haven to the next, minimising the time I spent on the scorching, humid streets. It had been ages since I shopped just for me, instead of panic-buying jumpers in colours that didn’t suit me in between school shoes for Darcey and a new winter coat for Owen.

  Now, I could try things on at my leisure, and I made the most of it, sending the helpful shop assistants back for different sizes, spending ages scrutinising my body from all angles, asking for high-heeled shoes to get the full effect, and then finally failing to make a decision and moving on to the next shop.

  By the time I got back to our hotel, I’d bought just one thing: a gorgeous, drapey silk dress in an unlikely shade of tangerine, which a sales assistant had made me try on, insisting that the colour was “just, like, totally you”. Amazingly, it was. I’d wear it out tonight, I decided – make an effort for my dinner with Jonathan, wherever we ended up going.

  I glanced at my watch – it was half past six, so I had masses of time to have a leisurely bath, paint my nails, straighten my hair, and generally make myself look as groomed and glossy as all the women I’d seen in the shops and on the street.

  And so I did. I titivated as thoroughly as for a first date, then helped myself to a miniature bottle of champagne from the mini-bar, and texted Jonathan.

  “Hey – where are you? What time do you want to meet?”

  His reply didn’t come instantly, and I felt myself getting faintly annoyed as I sipped my champagne. He’d said cocktails then dinner – he’d said he’d book somewhere. It was getting late – this might be the city that never slept, but he’d mentioned a seven o’clock meeting the next morning, and we wouldn’t be able to have much of a night out at this rate.

  I’d sipped my way through almost all the tiny bottle of fizz by the time my phone rang. It was Jonathan, and he had his ‘people are listening’ voice on.

  “Laura? It’s me. Sorry about the delay.”

  Automatically, I found myself responding with equal formality. “Hi. That’s okay. I’m sorry to have texted, I know you’ll have been busy.”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, it looks like this meeting’s going to go on for a while, and then we’re heading out for some food. I don’t anticipate getting back much before midnight, if then. You’ll be okay, won’t you?”

  My ‘you’re in a meeting’ voice deserted me as quickly as it had arrived. “Okay? Yes, of course I’ll be okay. I’ll sit here in our room on my own in the dress I bought especially for tonight and order room service and watch Sex and the City reruns on TV. It’ll be amazing fun.”

  “Give me a moment, would you, Peter?” Jonathan said. I heard his hurrying footsteps, then a door slamming. “Laura?”

  “What?” I said sulkily.

  “I cannot have this, okay? I’m working. Get it – working. I’ve been having really intense, really unpleasant conversations with my colleagues all afternoon and they’re going to carry on all night, most probably. So I’d prefer not to have another unpleasant conversation with you. You’re an adult, Laura, you’re perfectly capable of looking after yourself. Go for dinner, go to the theatre, do whatever you want, but don’t give me a hard time when all I’m doing is my job, which if you remember is what I came here to do, not act as a tour guide for you. And before you ask, yes, this is what it’s going to be like every night. You wanted to come – you’re here. Deal with it.”

  And before I could formulate a reply, he’d ended the call.

  I stared at my phone, waves of shock and hurt crashing over me. Jonathan never lost his temper like that. He’d never shouted at me or at the children, even when they were being their most insufferable. And back then, he’d been properly shouting. At least he’d done me the courtesy of leaving the room first, and not telling me off like a naughty schoolgirl while Peter, whoever he was, and the rest of his colleagues listened in, approvingly, while the little woman was put in her place.

  Thinking of this, my hurt turned to anger. I imagined Jonathan walking back into the meeting room, placing his phone face down on the table and saying, “Right, where were we?” as if I were a temporary inconvenience, one that had now been dealt with, so the proper business of the day could resume. I could cope with him working late at home – I didn’t bloody like it, mind, but I was willing to put up and shut up, but here? On holiday? And then I remembered that it wasn’t a holiday, for him, it was a work trip I’d muscled in on. And then I thought, but I wouldn’t mind him doing this on a work trip I’d muscled in on if he didn’t do it all the time at home, too. And so my thoughts went, round and round, making me more and more annoyed.

  And anyway, what the hell was I meant to do now? I could ring Sadie and try and talk to the children again
– check that Owen was all right and had settled down. But when I worked out the time difference, I realised it would still be night-time there – too early even for Sadie and Gareth’s countryside hours. A man might have been able to stroll out alone into the streets and pick a bar or a restaurant and eat and drink alone, but I couldn’t – not dressed like this, anyway. Maybe if I changed back into jeans and took my Lonely Planet guide, or at least my tablet, as defensive camouflage.

  I unzipped the dress and was about to tug it off over my head when my phone buzzed. If that was Jonathan texting me to tell me he’d changed his mind and could come out after all he could piss right off, I thought angrily. But it wasn’t – it was Felix.

  “Any chance you’re free for a drink?”

  Well, I was, wasn’t I? “Where are you?” I texted back.

  “Chelsea.” He gave me the name of a bar I’d never heard of, and its address, and within two minutes I was in a taxi on my way there. It was as simple as that.

  The bar was hidden away on a quiet side street, so unassuming I thought the cab driver had brought me to the wrong place. I paid the fare and walked anxiously up and down, past a launderette, a school and what looked like a backpackers’ hostel. Just as I was beginning to wonder if Felix was playing one of his practical jokes on me, making me come all the way downtown only to send me off again somewhere else, he texted again.

  “It’s the black door by the hotel. You can’t miss it. Actually, I did – about six times! So far, so speakeasy. I’m at a table in the garden.”

  Black door – I was right there. I pushed it open and a very thin blonde girl in a black dress looked me up and down, gave a false smile, then glanced at her clipboard.

  “Good evening, Ma’am. Do you have a reservation?”

  Feeling foolish, foreign and overdressed, I said, “No. No, I don’t, but I think my friend’s here, in the garden. This is Raynes Law Room, right?” Even the name of the place made me feel like I was the victim of some elaborate hoax. But her smile warmed a degree or two.

  “Come right this way.”

  I followed her through the subterranean gloom and out through a door. The light dazzled me briefly, then I saw Felix, sitting at a wrought-iron table in the corner under a shady pergola festooned with fairy lights. Even though the evening was still hot, out here it felt pleasantly cool.

  I thanked the hostess, wondering whether I ought to tip her for her thirty seconds of service, but she vanished back inside before I had a chance to decide.

  Felix stood up and we kissed each other shyly on both cheeks, then he pulled me towards him for a hug. His body felt lean and taut under his dark green shirt. He smelled like he’d just had a shower. In my high heels, I was almost the same height as him, and our eyes were level as we looked at each other, smiling.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said. “I’m glad you came.”

  “Me too,” I said, feeling a surge of pure happiness as we smiled at each other.

  We sat down and he handed me a cocktail menu, which was full of unfamiliar drinks.

  “They specialise in prohibition era recipes,” Felix said. “God only knows what that means. I thought everyone sent themselves blind drinking dodgy moonshine brewed in car radiators. But apparently not – this is actually rather good.”

  He passed me his glass for a taste – it was.

  “I’ll have whatever that is,” I said to the waitress, who was hovering by our table.

  “Sure,” she said. Then she hovered a bit more, and said, “Excuse me, but aren’t you Felix Lawson?”

  “That’s right,” Felix said.

  “Oh my God, I’m so excited to see you! I’m a drama student. Me and my friends have already booked, like, eight shows of Flight of Fancy’s Dream. Would you mind… Would it be okay if I took a selfie of us to put on my blog?”

  “Not at all,” Felix said, and the waitress whipped out her phone, put her arm around him and snapped away for a few seconds, while I watched awkwardly.

  “Thank you so much! Now, what can I get you guys to drink?”

  She took our order and went away, saying, “My name’s Nancy, just let me know if there’s anything at all you need.”

  “God, Laura,” Felix said. “Sorry about that.”

  “It isn’t your fault,” I said. “Does it happen a lot?”

  “Never,” Felix said, and I could tell he was pleased, although he’d never admit it. “First time in my life. I’m a nobody, remember?”

  “Looks like you aren’t one any more.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “The last five years – there were times when I thought I should chuck it all in.”

  “What, acting?”

  He nodded. “There was one stretch where I didn’t work for six months. After that you start to wonder whether you’ve lost the right to call yourself a performer. Whether you aren’t really a barman who does a bit of acting on the side.”

  The waitress brought our drinks, gave Felix a megawatt smile, and went away again.

  “Anyway,” he said. “Sorry. I’m boring you.”

  “Of course you’re not. It’s just – it’s hard, isn’t it? It wasn’t when we were twenty, but it must be different now.”

  Felix laughed. “Everything’s different now from when we were twenty.”

  Our eyes met and I felt a rush of sadness – a deep regret for what I’d had and lost. Everything was different – except one thing. I still loved Felix. I’d never stopped loving him. The realisation hit me like a bullet – I could almost feel the rhythm of my heartbeat changing, quickening, as if I’d been running up a hill. I felt as if I’d spent the past fourteen years asleep, and now I’d woken up again. My senses were suddenly on high alert – I was conscious of every drop of condensation beading my glass, the distant roar of traffic on Sixth Avenue, the smell of Felix’s skin.

  The evening felt replete with possibility, but I had no idea what was going to happen – or even what I hoped for.

  Felix broke my mood of refection with a laugh. “It’s all big talk, anyway,” he said. “Ask me again in six months and I’ll probably be back mixing cocktails, phoning my agent every day and moaning that there are no parts out there for short, ageing ex-dancers.”

  “You’re not short,” I said. “And even if you were – look at Tom Cruise.”

  “I prefer not to, actually,” Felix said.

  Nancy came over and took our order for another round of drinks.

  “What time do you need to get back?” Felix asked.

  “I don’t,” I said. “We were going to go for dinner somewhere, but Jonathan had to work late, and so there I was, all dressed up with nowhere to go. Then you texted.”

  Just saying my husband’s name felt strange – for a few minutes, it had felt almost as if he didn’t exist.

  “I’m glad I did,” Felix said. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad we’ve found each other again.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and he stretched across the table and brushed the back of my hand with his fingertips.

  “So what do you want to do? Are you hungry?”

  I shook my head.

  “We could go dancing? Find a dive bar with live music and throw some shapes?”

  I imagined dancing with him again, experiencing the synergy of our bodies, the way we could still move together like we used to. But, more even than that, I wanted to be alone with him. “You know what I’d like? It’s so hot. Why don’t we go to Central Park?”

  “And walk around the lake and look at the stars?”

  “Exactly.”

  So that’s what we did. We didn’t walk for long, because of my high heels, but we looked at the stars and tried to see how many constellations we could identify, which wasn’t many, so we switched to looking at the lights of the city skyline, trying to identify the buildings, but we couldn’t get many of those right, either. And, to be honest, I found it difficult to focus on anything except Felix’s hand in mine, the sound of his voice, and how much I w
anted him to kiss me.

  It was after one when I got back to our hotel, and Jonathan still wasn’t there. I undressed, hanging the orange dress in the wardrobe, cleaned my teeth and got into bed, my body going through the motions automatically while my mind raced back to Felix.

  What was he doing right now, I wondered. I imagined him in a hotel room across the city, kicking off his clothes as I’d seen him do so many times, leaving them in a heap on the floor. I knew how he would look asleep, his long legs pushing the covers aside. I knew the way his body moved when he was dreaming. I knew the way he woke in the morning, instantly alert and eager for the day to begin, not grumpy and muddle-headed before several cups of coffee, like I always was.

  I turned out the light and lay in the semi-darkness, the room illuminated by the city’s million windows, one of which was his.

  When I heard the click of the door unlocking, I felt a leap of shock and hope and sat up – had he come? He hadn’t, of course – he wouldn’t and couldn’t. It was Jonathan, late, cross and a bit drunk, his tie askew and his face shadowed with stubble.

  “I thought you’d be asleep, Laura,” he said. “Did I wake you?”

  I shook my head. “I was awake anyway. Jetlag, I guess. How was your day? And your night?”

  “Brutal,” he said. “Back-to-back meetings all afternoon, then dinner, then one of the guys had the bright idea of going for drinks afterwards, and we ended up in some sleazy strip joint. I thought that sort of thing went out with the ark, but evidently not.”

  “Strip joint?”

  “I’m sorry, darling. I should have realised, but I didn’t. They said they were going on to a club, and would I like to come along, and by the time I realised I couldn’t back out without looking like a total prude. Christ, I’m knackered.”

  “I’m not surprised,” I said. “Sounds like an eventful night.”

  “Laura,” he pulled off his tie and sat down on the bed, reaching his arms out to me. “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realise. And I didn’t touch, I just looked.”