A Hopeless Romantic Part 27

"I don't know," Laura heard her best friend say. "Not sure."

Laura walked down the road toward home, the flat, down the dusty, quiet Sunday streets. She pulled her phone out of her bag.

Laura, still think last night was a bad joke. All of it. Reply to this. Tell me I'm right. N The image of Jo's face, leaning over her lovely wooden garden table, asking in tones of dread, "Who is he this time?"

Hilary's sympathetic expression-which in itself was rarity enough.

Her mother's worried stare that morning as she knocked on her door and told her she was leaving, there was a cab waiting outside, she was sorry.

Yorky's blissful smile when she'd got back to the flat at lunchtime, having just waved goodbye to Becky from downstairs, eighteen hours after their date originally commenced.

There were dry leaves on the dry street; they crunched under Laura's feet as she walked home, dog-tired, as she thought about it; and gradually it became clear to her: The only way this would work was if she did precisely what she'd never done before-just blocked it out. Blocked him out, tried to forget the whole thing as soon as possible.

Usually, when Laura broke up with someone, she almost enjoyed the post-split wallowing. She embraced the playing-sad-songs, getting-rid-of-shared-possessions, crying-to-friends-over-wine portion of the whole experience. The post-dumping a.n.a.lysis of subsequent texts and e-mails. The his-friends-think-he's-mad conversations-all of that could be immensely soothing to a hopeless romantic like her, someone who needed to believe that the person she'd just split up with was actually The One, and thus worthy of weeks more lolling around and sighing.

She knew this about herself, post-Dan, and this was where it had to stop. She looked down at Nick's message, and thought again about how she'd explain to Jo that she'd fallen in love with someone, and how she'd explain who he was. Of course, it was ridiculous. Of course, she had to get over it, as quickly and painlessly as possible, because they couldn't be together, and that was that.

Ahead of her loomed the apartment block. She pressed DELETE, and slowly put the phone back in her bag, rummaging for her keys and trying not to think about him, about him typing that text message. The thought of Nick standing there in the stables, his expression bleak and angry, tall and dark yet so oddly comfortable and easy to be with, made the breath catch in her throat. She couldn't bear to think of him in pain, couldn't bear to think she had upset him. She wanted, more than anything else, for him to be happy and well, and to be able to get on with doing what he had to do.

She climbed the front steps and let herself in. That, she reasoned, as she leaned against the door for a moment, was why it was better this way. He was better off without her, without a doubt.

Yorky had left her a note: Your mum called! I'm EXHAUSTED! What a weekend! See you tomorrow!

chapter thirty-three.

S o, Gareth, do you have any questions at this point?" asked Rachel, turning toward her colleague politely.

"Hhrm...yes," said Gareth, crossing his arms and leaning forward on the table, a pen in one hand. "Laura. I accept that you were going through a difficult time personally, which led to your work suffering as a result. What I have yet to be convinced of is that the same thing won't happen again in the future. What I mean is, I suppose, without prying too far-can you a.s.sure us this was a one-off?"

Laura sat opposite them, ankles crossed neatly, hands clasped lightly in her lap. She looked from Rachel to Gareth, and gave a tiny smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I a.s.sure you it was," she said. "There's no reason for you to believe me, I quite appreciate that. All I can say is that I look back on my behavior over the last year or so, my conduct and my att.i.tude to work, and I'm horrified. I don't recognize myself, and I'm appalled that I let it go that far." She cleared her throat and said calmly, "I understand I've let you down. I let myself down too, ma.s.sively. I'm incredibly sorry."

Rachel nodded at her, looking mollified, but Gareth said rather sternly, "That's great, Laura. But we can't just let it lie there. Can you be more specific?"

Laura didn't get rattled. She just said, "How so?"

"Well..." Gareth looked around Rachel's tidy, bright office as if seeking inspiration. "If you were to get your job back-if-can you tell me what areas of your job you'd need to focus on, if there are any projects you'd like to implement, stones being left unturned, and so forth."

"Gareth, I don't think it's quite fair to ask her-" Rachel began, but Gareth shot her a warning look.

"Well," Laura said. She breathed in, collecting her thoughts, remembering what she and Jo had talked about on the phone the night before. Don't get rattled, don't.

"Our fund-raising scheme isn't working," she said calmly. "I know I haven't been paying enough attention to it. But it's more than that. We need a special initiative. Something new." Rachel was nodding furiously. Laura took heart, and went on, "And I had been thinking we don't do enough to involve local businesses with schools. That we should be acting more as an introduction agency, if you like. Our catchment area of businesses is incredibly diverse. It's big City firms, and small local businesses, shops, and so on. And lots of them want to be more involved with the school nearest to them. We get these lawyers or people from the banks or some cafe going to read with children in these schools, yet we don't do anything else with that link. It's often just four people in a company of a hundred. We should empower that company a bit more. Get them more involved in the school. And we could get them to donate to that school, specifically."

"Right," said Gareth. He nodded expectantly. "Give me an example."

"Well," said Laura, leaning forward a little. "We should appoint a special coordinator in each company. a.s.sign them each a school. So it's not just reading they're doing with them. They could have the students into the office, show the children what a working environment's like. Do sponsored events, half marathons and so on, to raise money, if they liked. Give them talks about different things. Show-and-tell, as it were."

"Great, great," said Gareth, smiling at her enthusiasm. "What do they get out of it, though? The person working at the local bank branch or the person in the law firm. Why would they want to do it?"

"The call of altruism is a powerful thing," said Laura wryly. She sat up in her chair. "If you're some big lawyer, and you go and read with some six-year-old kid, show a cla.s.s round your company, and then you get to go to their carol service or their school concert, and these children are coming up to you going, 'h.e.l.lo, Gareth,' or whoever, you know it makes them feel good. Like people who wear those plastic wristbands. All in a good cause."

"You're right," said Gareth with emphasis. "Most of those people-pathetic. They're rich, they have no idea what it's like. Big n.o.bs. How the other half lives. Gah, it makes me so angry."

Laura swallowed a smile. Gareth Lunn was the original conservative phony who still liked to think of himself as Old Labour through and through.

Gareth stared ruminatively into the distance, and Rachel caught Laura's eye. Laura met her gaze nervously, still unsure of how Rachel felt about her, and was immensely relieved when Rachel gave her a sweet smile and winked confidently.

"Right," said Gareth, snapping out of his reverie. "Time, time. I have to go. Meeting on the other side of town. With..." He tapped the side of his nose. "Laura, wait outside for a moment, will you? This shouldn't take long."

Laura stepped out into the main office, wondering what that meant. She felt it had gone well, but who knew? She looked round and leaned against the wall, taking in the scene. Nasrin was reading a magazine, per usual; Shana was on the phone, arranging something; and Tim had just come back from a training session, it was clear, because he was loading the videos back onto their shelves. He caught sight of Laura, and smiled shyly at her.

It was very strange, being back in this place she knew so well she didn't even have to think to look for the light switches or find something in the filing cabinet by her desk. It didn't feel like it was barely three weeks since she'd run out of there. She felt as if she'd been away for months, in a different world.

"Laura?" came a voice from Rachel's office, and Laura stepped back inside.

Rachel and Gareth were looking serious. "Sit down," said Gareth.

Laura sat down obediently, and found to her annoyance that her legs were shaking. Please, please, don't let this be it, she prayed.

"Look, Laura," said Gareth. "I'm going to level with you. Okay? I was all for letting you go, to be honest."

"Right," said Laura, nodding earnestly, feeling she should agree with him, anything to keep him on her side.

"But Rachel persuaded me, and I'm really glad I came today. I think you're good, Laura. I think you've got potential. The education authority needs people like you."

"Thank you," said Laura, but too soon-Gareth raised his hand in a gesture of impatience.

"But I have to say, you're lucky to have a job. We're giving you the job back, but on a three-month probation period, subject to review at the end of that time."

"Thank you. Thank you so much-" she began again.

Gareth said, "But you have to be aware, Laura, you have done some damage, and you're going to have to sort it out. Pull something big out of the bag. Rachel tells me you haven't heard about Linley Munroe."

"What about them?" Laura said sharply.

"You remember Marcus Sussman?" said Rachel. "The one Mrs. McGregor complained about? The banker?"

"Oh, yes," said Laura, searching through the fog of her Dan-skewed memory of this year. "Goodness, yes."

"She had a real go at him. He's gone mad. Furious. Says it's a two-bit operation. Turns out he's quite important there. Anyway, he's told the coordinator to pull the plug on the whole project. It's a real shame, Laura. They're a big firm, they wanted to play a part. They were looking to sponsor a school-perhaps plow some serious money into the local community. And now it's not going to happen."

"G.o.d," said Laura. "That's awful. Right." She scrunched her face up, trying to work out what had happened, how much of a part she had played in this. They were watching her expectantly, waiting to hear her response; and Laura looked at each of them in turn, trying not to panic. And then she stopped herself. Took a deep breath.

"Leave it with me," she said, looking from Rachel to Gareth. "I'll get them back." She smiled at them, nervously but candidly. "I'll get them on board. And the whole company'll be at their carol service at Christmas in a few months' time, you mark my words."

Even Gareth grinned a little at this. He stood up, as did Laura and Rachel. He held out his hand. "Well done, Laura. Good luck. Great to have you back."

Laura shook his hand. She found herself saying, as if she were on L.A. Law, "It's great to be back, sir."

Rachel took her hand in both of hers and leaned over the desk. She kissed Laura, and whispered, "If you f.u.c.k this up again, I'll kill you."

Laura laughed, and shook her head.

"See you tomorrow," said Rachel. "Bright and early, remember?"

Laura nodded emphatically, slung her bag over her shoulder, and walked out behind them. A small part of her wanted to shake her head in annoyance, to ask Rachel: Couldn't she tell, couldn't they all tell, how different she was from that Laura person of before, who was late and careless and self-obsessed and useless, that reminding her to be on time was totally pointless? Could she really not see? She was new, different. That Laura had gone, gone forever.

chapter thirty-four.

O utside the office, Laura stopped and got her phone out of her bag. There were text messages from Jo and Yorky, both asking her how it had gone, saying to call them, good luck, as well as a voice message from her mother: "h.e.l.lo darling! Just wondering how everything...er...went today!' as if Laura had been at the circus, not interviewing to be reinstated at work.

She dialed Jo's number, and turned away from Kingsway into the Victorian redbrick back streets of Holborn.

"Yes.... I know! I know. Can't believe it. All good now.... Well, I don't know about that.... Yes, they have.... Tomorrow! I know.... Oh, thanks, love, thanks for your help, seriously...."

The battery on her phone was low, so Laura turned it off and threw it back in her bag. She threaded her way through the tiny warren of roads behind the Law Courts tucked behind the roar of central London, past the gown-makers for the judges, the minute little pubs, the rambling small bookshops tucked into courtyards. Eventually she came upon the wide, leafy s.p.a.ce of Lincoln's Inn Fields, and she headed to the north side of the square, looking for a diminutive figure outside the Soane Museum. She was there.

The Soane Museum was Laura's favorite in London. Mary used to take her and Simon there as children, and they would walk down to Simpsons in the Strand afterward and have tea. It was the holiday treat of their childhood. Laura loved the higgledy-piggledy nature of the house, the way it had been meticulously a.s.sembled by its creator for an atmosphere of chaos, sensation. It was the kind of place you could look around for hours and still find something new to surprise you.

"Granny!" Laura called as she approached.

"h.e.l.lo, darling," her grandmother said, lowering her huge sungla.s.ses and pushing her headscarf back a little. She looked like a daintier version of the later Gracie Fields, the Capri Years. "You're here. How did it go?"

"I got my job back," said Laura, nodding and smiling with pleasure.

Mary clasped her hands together and brought them above her head. "Oh, that is marvelous," she said. "Just marvelous. Oh, my dear, I am so relieved. You must be, too, hm?" She put her head on one side.

"You could say so," said Laura grimly. "Thank G.o.d. Seriously."

"Never mind," said Mary. "All that's over now, yes?"

"Yes," said Laura, slightly apprehensively, and then she added, "And now I have to find a way of persuading some company that hates us to donate thousands of pounds to their local primary school."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Golly."

"Yep," said Laura. "But, you know, I'm going to do it."

"Well, the main thing is the job's yours again," said Mary. "It's just wonderful. Tell me exactly what they said. Tell me what you have to do. Let's go inside." She indicated the steps up to the Soane Museum.

"Right," said Laura, hesitating.

"I want to see the Hogarths," said Mary. "They've been rehung in the picture gallery. Last time I was here-oof, in some cramped little back room. My favorites, don't you know. Shall we go?"

"Gran," said Laura. She stroked her grandmother's arm. "Do you mind if we don't? It's such a lovely day, after all. Can we go up to Lamb's Conduit Street, get a coffee, sit down instead?"

"You don't want to see the Hogarths?" Mary said. "I thought you liked them. Didn't you do that sweet project on them in school about Marriage a la Mode-do you remember, darling? You had to make a costume, and Xan found you that wonderful piece of material for a dress. Where did he find it?"

Laura pretended to hunt in her bag for something, not trusting herself to speak.

"In the attic, wasn't it? Wasn't it from a ball gown of mine, something I had in Cairo?" Mary smiled at the memory. "Yes, I'm sure it was. You were a countess, weren't you? Anyway. Are you sure you don't want to look at them?"

"No, not really," said Laura, her face still in her bag.

Mary looked at her, and suddenly said, "How stupid of me. Hogarths. Oh, darling, how stupid of me. Let's go and get a drink. Let's talk about it all."

"I don't-"

Her grandmother put her arm firmly through hers and said, "Shh. We're going to have a little chat."

They found a pretty little pub in Lamb's Conduit Street, and chose a table outside on the cobbles. When Laura appeared back from the bar with two gin and tonics and sat down, Mary said, "Darling. Cheers. Congratulations. Well deserved."

"Well, hardly," said Laura, taking a sip. "I wouldn't have had to go through all this if it wasn't my fault in the first place."

"Maybe not," said Mary, putting her gla.s.s down gently on the slatted wooden table. "But still, you obviously proved to them just why you're the great girl you are. Well done, darling. Have you rung your mother?"

"Not yet," said Laura. "My mobile's dead."

"Eh? Oh, I see. Well," said Mary, patting a ring of condensation on the table, "do call her later. She's worried about you."

Laura said nothing.

"We all were, a bit." Mary looked at her from under her eyelashes.

"It's fine now," said Laura after a while. "The job's okay, and all that stuff with Dan-it's over, honestly."

"I don't mean that," said Mary. "I mean that handsome young man who appeared so dramatically at lunch and was clearly so terribly, terribly keen on you."

Laura sometimes wanted to tell her grandmother to lay off sounding like someone at a film dialogue school run by Noel Coward, and never more so than now. She peered into her gla.s.s. "Don't worry," she said, sticking her plastic swizzle stick into her slice of lemon. "It's nothing."

"Really?" Mary said. "Hm. It didn't seem like nothing."

"Holiday fling," said Laura. She felt that if she said as few words as possible, she might be able to convince her grandmother, she might not have to stop and take a deep breath.

"Well. It doesn't seem like nothing when you come back at ten o'clock at night, go straight to your room, and lock the door," Mary said frankly, knocking back her drink. "And when your mother knocks on the door, you tell her you've gone to bed and are very tired. And it doesn't seem like nothing when you leave the next morning at the crack of dawn, without saying goodbye to anyone."