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

  “That’s okay,” I said. “Thanks for the lie-in. I didn’t get to sleep for ages, I’m knackered.”

  Owen gave a fearsome growl and pushed his face up against mine. “I’m a T-rex,” he said.

  “You’re the squidgiest T-rex I’ve ever seen,” I said, pulling him against me and going, “Grrrr!” into his tummy.

  I’d dreamed of Owen, I remembered – dreamed that I’d been back in the forest, on the set, and Owen was there, somewhere, lost. I remembered chasing his voice through the trees, hearing him calling, “Mummy, Mummy,” but whenever I got close to where I thought he was, his cries faded away again. That must have been when Jonathan took him downstairs so I could sleep.

  There had been no Felix in my dream, only the endless, dark woods and the sense of futile searching. But now he was back in my thoughts, filling me with longing so fierce it shocked me.

  “Where’s Darcey?” I forced my mind away, on to other things.

  “Downstairs, on her tablet,” Jonathan said. “What the hell is unboxing? She’s obsessed with watching clips of it on YouTube. I was worried it was something dodgy but when I had a look it’s just some weird Brazilian teenager opening Disney eggs.”

  “That’s pretty much it,” I said. “I think Zé’s daughter got her into it. It’s a Thing, evidently. They open one of those plastic egg things and tell you what’s inside.”

  “Then what?” Jonathan said.

  I sipped my coffee. “Then nothing. Then they open another one. And another, and so on and on.”

  “But…why?” Jonathan asked, bemused.

  “Search me. She’s watched dozens of the things in the past week. We need to enforce her screen time limit. Go and tell her to stop, and watch telly or something. Or we could go out, I suppose. Go to the park.”

  “It’s a nice day,” Jonathan said, opening the curtains and filling the bedroom with sunlight.

  “What time is it, anyway?” With Owen pinning down my arm, I couldn’t see my watch or reach my phone. Suddenly, it seemed very important to look at my phone, see whether I had any texts or any messages on Facebook. Not that I would – Felix didn’t know my number. He didn’t even, as far as I was aware, know my married name.

  “Half ten,” Jonathan said. “You were out like a light, I thought I’d leave you to it.”

  “God. I had no idea it was so late. I’d better get in the shower. Come on, Monster, you go downstairs with Daddy while I get ready. And wash those hands.”

  Owen and Jonathan went downstairs, and I heard Darcey’s voice saying plaintively, “Just one more, Daddy, please?”

  I pushed the duvet reluctantly aside and went to the bathroom, wincing as I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were hollow, ringed with black shadows. My skin looked sallow and dull, I had a spot erupting on my chin and my hair was a bird’s-nest tangle. That’s what Felix would have seen last night, I thought. This middle-aged woman. Most of the time I thought I looked okay for thirty-five. Just a normal mum, with a sensible layered haircut that I could tie up when I didn’t have time to blow-dry it, and highlights to mostly hide the grey roots that were appearing in depressing numbers. A slim woman, not particularly tall or short, with good posture and good teeth and okay skin, when I wasn’t too tired.

  But the last time he saw me – I hadn’t been ordinary then. I’d been beautiful, and now I wasn’t. And all the things about Felix that I’d managed to convince myself were true – that he was too short, that he was a disappointed, lonely man living in a single room in rented digs wherever he could get work, that he’d have aged worse than I had – simply didn’t matter. He hadn’t aged badly, not a bit. In those few moments last night when I’d been face to face with him, he’d been as vital and desirable as the first time I’d seen him. And my feelings seemed to have lost none of their power, either.

  I turned the shower on to its hottest setting, waited until steam obscured my reflection, and stepped under the needles of scalding water. It was all over. I’d seen him, but it was bound to have happened eventually. It wouldn’t happen again, or if it did, if I bumped into him in Sainsbury’s when another fourteen years had passed, I’d deal with it, as I must deal with it now. He was in my past, and there he must stay.

  By the time I’d dried my hair, dressed and put on a bit of make-up, I was able to face my reflection with equanimity again. In my skinny jeans and pink cashmere polo-neck, I looked healthy and pretty. Just another woman taking her family to the park on a Sunday in the yummy mummy capital of Britain.

  “You’ll never see him again,” I told my reflection, and my reflection nodded back at me. “Smile,” I commanded, and it did.

  “Who are you talking to, Mummy?” said Darcey from the doorway, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “Nobody, Pickle,” I said. “Shall we go to the park? You can go on the slide.”

  “Okay.” Darcey looked down at her trainered feet. “Only first, Daddy said I can go on YouTube for a bit longer.”

  “I bet he didn’t,” I said. “Come on, get your coat and let’s go. I’ll show you the place where Mummy was last night, where the play happened.”

  “What play?”

  “You know, that I went to last night. It was outside, in the park.”

  “How do you do a play outside?”

  Glad to have her attention, I explained as we bundled both kids into their coats and walked down the road.

  “It’s called A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” I said. “It’s about some fairies who live in a forest, and there are two men and two women who are in love, except they’re not in love with the people they’re supposed to be in love with. And the fairies cast loads of spells, and turn one man into a donkey, and the Fairy Queen falls in love with him.”

  “Is that meant to be funny?” Darcey asked.

  “Yes, I suppose it is,” I said. “Because he’s not really a donkey, he’s just got a donkey’s head stuck on over his, and after a bit the fairies magic it off again, and the Fairy Queen falls back in love with her husband.”

  “But what about the poor man who was a donkey?” Darcey said. “Who’s he in love with?”

  I glanced at Jonathan for help.

  “No one,” he said. “I expect he’s got a wife at home, and children, and is quite glad to go back home afterwards, and get a telling-off from his wife for being out in the forest all night. But the story doesn’t say, so you have to imagine what happened to him next.”

  “Look,” I said, as we arrived at the bandstand. “They had a bar set up here, and there’s the bit where you go through to get on to the set. It’s all closed off now. I wonder if there’s a performance tonight.”

  I felt a sudden wild urge to text Zé, see if she could pull strings with her well-connected friend and get us tickets for another performance. I longed to be back inside the forest, in the darkness, exploring deeper, seeing things I’d missed last night. Feeling the adrenaline and wine coursing through my body and turning me, briefly, into someone else, someone without responsibilities, with nowhere to go but deeper into the dream. Seeing Felix again, watching him in costume and in character, knowing, this time, who the man was behind the mask. But that way madness lay.

  “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” Jonathan said, once Darcey had run off to play on the swings.

  “About what?”

  “The play, Laura. I can see you’ve got something on your mind.”

  “I… yes, I suppose I am, a bit. It was pretty amazing. You saw the reviews.”

  “We can do more of that sort of thing, you know, now we’re in London. It would be a shame not to.” He lifted Owen up on to the slide. “Down you go, Mummy will catch you at the bottom. We can organise babysitters, book a few Saturday nights out. God knows I could do with a bit of culture.”

  “Yes, good idea,” I said, passing Owen back for another go. I imagined going to see a West End show, having dinner afterwards, being tourists for a night. A few months ago the idea would have se
emed like fun; now it seemed dull and stifling.

  I looked at Jonathan, laughing with our son as he hoisted him up on to his shoulders. The past ten years had added a few grey strands to his dark hair. He bought thirty-four inch waist jeans now, not thirty-two as he used to. But he was still as handsome as he’d been when I met him. You are extremely bloody lucky, Laura, I told myself firmly.

  “I’m starving,” Jonathan said. “What are we doing for lunch?”

  “There’s a chicken in the fridge,” I said. “I can bung it in the oven with some potatoes. Make a salad.”

  Jonathan looked at me, sensing disinterest. “Fuck it, let’s go to the pub,” he said.

  “Daddy said a rude word,” Darcey said.

  The next week, things returned to their normal chaos, and I had no chance to think about Felix or, indeed, very much else at all. Whether it was a virus or dodgy chicken nuggets I don’t know, but both the children were horribly ill, and I spent my days slumped in front of CBeebies with a limp, forlorn little figure on either side of me, and my nights cleaning up sick. It was awful, it went on for three days, and by the end of it I felt like a limp rag, and probably smelled like one too.

  When at last Darcey and Owen were well enough to keep down toast and Marmite and watered-down apple juice, I packed them off back to school and nursery with an overwhelming sense of relief. Once I’d handed Darcey over to Mrs Odewayu, assuring her that it had been forty-eight hours since she was last sick, whatever had caused it was now in the past and she wasn’t going to infect the entire classroom, I crossed the road and knocked on Zé’s door. I felt horribly aware that I hadn’t washed my hair since Sunday and had worn the same jeans for more days than I liked to remember, but I was also desperately in need of adult company and a conversation that didn’t revolve around how people’s tummies were feeling and whether we were going to watch The Clangers or Postman Pat next.

  “Hey,” she said, opening it, looking like a creature from another world in her cream leather skirt, over-the-knee boots and linen jumper. “Where have you been? I thought you’d left the country.”

  “Home,” I said. “Battening down the hatches with two poorly kids. It’s been grim.”

  “God, you poor thing,” she said. “Coffee?”

  I accepted gratefully and entered the serene haven of her immaculate house.

  “I’m so bloody glad to have Carmen back, I can’t tell you,” Zé said, firing up the espresso machine. “Juniper’s going through a Phase. She’s acting eight going on sixteen, bursting into tears at the slightest thing and slamming doors and generally being a little madam. It makes me want to cry and slam doors right back, but Carmen seems to be able to manage her.”

  “Do you think she could be unhappy at school?”

  “God knows. I’ve asked her, I’ve had a meeting with her teacher but Juniper won’t tell me anything and apparently she’s angelic in the classroom. She’s not naturally academic. She’s like me, I was bottom in everything at school. So anyway, how did you enjoy Saturday night? We didn’t really have a chance to talk about it afterwards.”

  “It was fabulous,” I said. “Thanks so much again for the ticket. I got lost in the forest bit, and I got taken off for a scene with Oberon.”

  “Really? What happened?” she asked.

  I told her about the lifting of the mask, what I could remember about the words, and about the kisses, feeling my cheeks colouring at the memory. I didn’t tell her that I knew who the actor was. I don’t know why – part of me was longing to talk about Felix, but part of me wanted to keep it secret, keep my feelings buried deep inside me where they belonged.

  “It gets to you, doesn’t it?” Zé said. “I’ve been dreaming about it, you know, and I never remember my dreams. I won’t tell you what happens in them though, there’s nothing duller than hearing about other people’s dreams. Anyway, I was going to ask you – any chance you and your husband are free on Saturday night? If you can face my company two weeks in a row, that is.”

  “Of course I can. Let me check with Jonathan. As far as I know we haven’t got any plans…” I took out my phone and checked the diary. Saturday was free. I immediately put ‘Seeing Zé, L and J’ in the space, so Jonathan would see it and have no excuse for saying he didn’t know we had anything on, and arranging post-golf drinks or something. “I’m sure it will be fine. I’ll just need to sort someone to look after the children.”

  “Carmen will do it,” Zé said. “Juniper’s at a sleepover. Bung her forty quid and she’ll be only too happy – she’s saving up for a trip to Ibiza with her mates in the summer, she’s desperate for extra cash.”

  “Great, if you’re sure,” I said.

  “I’ll check with her, but it’ll be fine,” Zé said. “I’ve asked my friend Anton, the one who sorted out the tickets to the show, out for dinner to say thanks. He’ll probably bring a boyfriend. And Rick will come, if he knows Jonathan’s there to talk shop to. So there’ll be six of us. I’ll book Le Bouchon d’Or.”

  This time, I resolved, I wasn’t going to be caught on the hop, looking mumsy and frumpy in contrast to my new friend’s groomed glamour. I made appointments to have my hair highlighted and my eyebrows threaded, sent the black dress I’d worn to Jonathan’s work Christmas party to the dry cleaners and bought a chunky black and silver necklace to wear with it.

  I realised I’d achieved the desired effect when Jonathan did a double take at me in my finery and said, “God, you look gorgeous, Laura. We should go out to nice places more often, so I can show off my glamorous wife.”

  “Your wife’s forgotten how to be glamorous,” I said gloomily. “It feels seriously weird to be wearing something that doesn’t have egg stains on it.”

  “I can assure you it was worth the effort,” Jonathan said, running his hands over my hips and kissing me. “In fact, we’ve got fifteen minutes and the children are in bed…”

  He pulled me close and kissed me again, pulling up the dress and stroking my thighs.

  “Stockings,” he said. “Is this some kind of special occasion?”

  “Just felt like it,” I said. “You don’t look too bad yourself. Or smell too bad.”

  I ran my lips over his neck, breathing in the freshly showered smell of him, feeling the smoothness of his newly shaved skin. In my four-inch heels I was tall enough to kiss him without standing on tiptoes as I usually did. I undid the top button of his shirt, then the next one down and the next, stroking his skin with my fingertips.

  Then the doorbell rang.

  By the time we’d let Carmen in, shown her where everything was, given her the broadband password and checked one last time that the kids were asleep, the moment had truly passed. Still, as we walked hand in hand to the restaurant, I felt a gentle, fizzing undercurrent of excitement. I could feel the tops of my stockings encircling my thighs, and the lace of my new underwear against my skin, unfamiliar and slightly, pleasantly scratchy. The air was cool on my bare spine where my dress scooped low over my back.

  The evening felt full of promise, like a first date, only one with a person I knew, trusted and loved. I knew that during dinner Jonathan and I would catch each other’s eyes, perhaps brush hands, let our thighs press together under the table, and know that we were thinking the same thing, engaged together in a silent dance of desire. It felt good – I’d missed it.

  I was even gladder of my new dress when I saw Zé, polished and stunning in a silver-grey vest top that showed off her slim, sculpted arms. I couldn’t compete with her – I didn’t have the time, the money or the raw material. I wondered fleetingly how it must feel to be so fundamentally, unquestionably beautiful, for it to be the first thing anyone ever noticed about you, the first thing they thought when they saw you, even once they knew you quite well. I wondered whether it was frightening for her to know that her looks would fade, would slip away and leave her invisible, without currency.

  But I didn’t have much time for such gloomy thoughts, because I were being introduc
ed to Rick, a silver fox whose tanned skin, perfectly fitting clothes and Cartier watch shouted status.

  “Anton’s running a bit late,” Zé said. “He said they’ll be here in twenty minutes, so why don’t we have a cocktail while we wait? We’ve already ordered – I’m on the pisco sours and Rick’s having something called a Blue Marine, God knows what’s in it.”

  “I always order the campest drinks,” Rick said. “I can’t help it, it’s a curse.”

  And sure enough, his cocktail arrived bristling with pineapple slices, maraschino cherries and paper parasols. He laughed, and I found myself liking him better. Jonathan and I ordered martinis, and we all embarked on the kind of conversation you have when the women know each other mostly through their children, and the men through their jobs.

  We’d covered the weather, the pleasantness of the restaurant, and were just skirting cautiously around the results of the General Election. Then Rick turned to Jonathan and launched into a diatribe about office politics, leaving Zé and me to talk to each other, and I liked him a bit less again, and found myself understanding why Zé didn’t mind him being at work all the time.

  Then she glanced over my shoulder towards the door and said, “And here’s Anton. So glad you could make it, darling.”

  “Zé, my precious, you look wonderful.” Anton was fey and tiny, with sparkly blue eyes and a waxed moustache that I imagined he’d sported since last time they were fashionable, about sixty years ago. His outfit was similarly extravagant: a velvet smoking jacket and a cravat. But I wasn’t really looking at him or his clothes.

  “I brought one of my boys along,” he said. “It’s his night off and I promised him a square meal. We pay Equity rates, of course, we’re not vilely exploitative like some theatre companies, but even so it’s barely enough to keep body and soul together, is it, sweetheart?”

  “I intend to eat all the food,” agreed Felix solemnly.

  My heart was beating so fast it felt as if it was about to escape my body, either by bashing through my ribcage or bursting out of my mouth. I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard.