A Married Man Part 4

Me : (Hand to brow, looking fragile and very beautiful.) No no, I'm fine, really. (Brave smile.) Him: My house is literally down the road, why don't you come back and lie down? I've got cold compresses and ... all sorts.

Cut to me, lying on his sofa, not exactly undressed, but he'd had to remove a few garments, naturally, lest I expire. Him, hovering anxiously and no. He'd hovered anxiously in the shop. Plucking a guitar at my feet? No, stupid, Lucy, much too cringey and 'd.a.m.n!'

A jar of Branston slipped from my distracted grasp, smashed on the supermarket floor, and splashed up, all over my jeans. I gazed down at the mess. I appeared to be up to my knees in pickle. Was this symbolic? I wondered.

Apologising profusely to the girl on the till, I finally lugged my carrier bags out of the shop and home. Was this all gettingout of hand, I asked myself, as I strolled along? And if so, did it matter? After all, I was happy, and in some ways, it was so uncomplicated. So much easier than having a real man. I didn't need one, you see, my dreams were enough. In my head, he was already mine. I walked up the chequered front steps and smiled at my reflection in the hall mirror. The black front door closed softly behind me. Yes. Mine. I could see why people did it. I stared at my reflection, horrified. Did what, Lucy? Stalk? Jill Dando's face on the ten o'clock news sprang terrifyingly to mind. Clutching my Safeway's bags, I bolted upstairs, aghast.

Teresa was at the top, just trying my door handle.

'Ah, you back! Good. I brought you a present, see?'

She drew a beautiful moss-green scarf from a plastic bag. 'The supplier sent too many, and it so pretty. See, it suit you! Go with your eyes.' She wrapped its silken swathes around my neck and stood back, eyes narrowed to appraise. 'Yes.'

I grinned and let us both in. 'Thanks, Teresa, it's lovely, and lovely to see you, too. I think I've been on my own too much recently. Going quietly crazy. I've got a present for you, too. Here' I handed her the Epoisses.

Tor me?' She sniffed, then shut her eyes ecstatically. 'Aahhh! Proper cheese!'

'Well, you know I can't take anything stronger than Dairylea, and I was well, talked into buying it. Come on, come in. I need a drink, and I hate drinking alone'

'Me too, my feet are killing, but it only five o'clock, Luce. Bit early, no? You get boys from school or me?'

'I'll go, but later, they've got football club, remember, so we've got at least half an hour. And anyway, since when did Italians have any truck with that stupid sundown rule? It must be six o'clock somewhere.'

I poured a gla.s.s of wine from the fridge and handed it to her. She walked with it to the window. 'Ah yes,' she murmured. 'Somewhere. In Rome, no doubt.'

She leaned her forehead pensively on the gla.s.s and we were silent for a moment. I pushed the cork back in the bottle, turned away.

'Teresa, d'you think it's healthy to day-dream?' I asked tentatively, putting the bottle back in the fridge. 'I mean, constantly? As if ... well as if reality's some kind of unwelcome intruder, always barging in on your thoughts?' I frowned. Turned back. 'Teresa?'

'Hmmm?' She lifted her head off the window. 'Sorry, Luce, I was in another world. Just opening my third shop in the Piazza del Navona, just down the road from the Duomo. Quite an opening party actually; all the glitterati were there, spilling out of my shop onto the pavement, all in their finery . .

I smiled. 'Quite normal then. And clearly I'm not a patch on the real, hardened escapists. Except,' I paused, running my finger reflectively round the rim of my gla.s.s, 'your dreams are about your career, your ambitions. About bettering yourself, which is all very laudable. Whereas mine . .

'Yes?' she prompted, as I broke off. She was gazing at me intently now, her dark eyes steady.

'Well, mine . . I bit my lip.

'Lucy, these past few weeks, I never seen you look so well,' she said softly. 'Your eyes, they sparkle now, and your face has lost that dead, defeated look. You look like you did when I first met you, that day when Ned banged on our door.' Shesmiled. 'If I didn't know better, I'd say you were in love.'

I laughed nervously. 'No, not in love, because there's nothing real about this, and never will be. You see, it's all in my head.' I must have looked anxious, because she came across and hugged me.

'It's got to start somewhere. It's fine, let it grow, work with it. It's good, you know? You're coming back to life.'

Chapter Four.

The weeks went by and the summer blossomed. I saw Charlie - ooh, probably once a week, because I was careful not to overdo it, and anyway, that was enough. He'd hop on a bus and I'd spot him and hop on too. G.o.d knows where I was going, but I'd sit behind him for a few euphoric minutes, then get off at the next stop and walk home, smiling. It was ridiculous. I felt - possessed, almost - but I loved the feeling. Hugged it to myself, and told myself it was harmless.

I was learning more about him, too. I knew which paper he read, which brand of cereal he liked, and which cigarettes he smoked, but I still didn't know where he lived. He was clearly local, but I hadn't actually had the courage - or the audacity - to tail him home. On the weirdo scale of things I thought this was quite promising, though I have to admit, the opportunity had never really presented itself. One of the peculiarities of the King's Road is that it can bustle to bursting point, with people literally jostling one another off the pavement, but pop down a side street and wham! It's empty. Silent. So quiet and rarefied you can almost hear thepavements squeak. Even the pigeons look snooty in these areas of Chelsea, and this, of course, was where Charlie disappeared to.

I did pluck up the courage to follow him one day, but it was so quiet, I could hear myself breathing. Nervously. Heavily. Great gusts of it. Any minute now, I thought, he'd turn and say, 'Oh hi, it's you! Where are you off to?' And I'd billow away like the Atlantic, blushing horribly, and then the game would be up. He'd know I was following him and I'd never be able to do it again. I had to be so careful.

A few days after that little episode, I had a thought. I borrowed Theo and Ray's dog.

'He's had a walk today already, Lucy,' Ray insisted in the hallway, as I put Bob on a lead. Bob was a rather scrawny Yorkshire terrier who wore his fringe in a bow, poor chap, and looked permanently startled. He looked even more alarmed than usual today.

'And he does get awfully puffed,' added Theo. 'He's not so young now, rather delicate'

'I'll carry him if he gets tired,' I promised with a smile. 'Trust me, boys, I grew up with dogs, he'll be fine.' And with a tug of the smart tartan lead, we were off, Bob and I. Off to wander those smart, slumbering backwaters, off to those elegant squares and mews where Bob, I reckoned, was my pa.s.sport. My perfect excuse, as looking - hopefully - rich and nonchalant, I searched for the most fragrant lampposts, the most manicured squares, in order for Bob to do, what was for a small dog, quite a bit of business.

We trailed for miles, Bob and I. Up and down those discreet, bleeding backwaters, round and round those oh so elegant squares, and yes, one day - we did see Charlie. Just as I was bending down to scoop the p.o.o.p. Just as I was groaning, 'Oh G.o.d, not another one, Bob!' Just as - as luck would have it - 20 Marlboro and a pair of sungla.s.ses fell out of my shirt pocket, and plopped right into it.

'Arrrggh!' I screeched. 'Oh G.o.d, now it's all over my hands! b.a.s.t.a.r.d dog!'

Naturally, Charlie didn't linger. He gave a brief, nervous smile of recognition, neatly sidestepped my crouching form, and walked smartly on.

At times like this, as I straightened up from my pile of ordure, I'd swear I could hcar Ned laughing at me. And not just laughing, but guffawing and holding his sides. 'You idiot, Lucy,' he'd hoot. 'What on earth are you doing?'

'Oh I don't know,' I sighed, trying to wipe my hands on the gra.s.s. 'What am I b.l.o.o.d.y doing?'

And I didn't feel guilty, either, about chasing a man in the presence of my husband's ghost. No, that wasn't the problem at all. You see, I knew that's what he'd want. Not the chasing, necessarily, but the man. Because for the last four years, as I'm sure, periodically, I've mentioned, I'd been so deeply unhappy. Sometimes I'd even given in. And on those occasions, when I'd stolen back to bed as soon as the boys had gone to school, wept silently, stared at the ceiling, hating him for having left me, on those occasions I'd swear Ned had come to me, crouched down beside me.

'Lucy,' he'd said gently. 'Come on, Luce, get up. Don't do this to yourself. You'll be fine, you'll see. There'll be someone else for you, I promise.'

You smile, but two or three times, I actually felt him theretoo. Felt his presence. Smelt him even, beside the bed, urging me on.

I was thirty-one years old. Twenty-seven, when he'd died. Would he want me to be alone for ever? No. Did he want the boys to have another daddy? Oh harder, much harder. He would always be their daddy. And he'd loved Ben so . .

But there. Enough. He was laughing at me now. Pleased perhaps that I was having a go, but - G.o.d, what a mess, Luce. What a Horlicks! I could hear him sigh.

'Yes, I know,' I muttered to the clouds, tucking the hapless, exhausted Bob under my arm. 'I know, Ned, and I know he's married too. But I'm not actually interested, OK? I'm just interested in the way it's making me feel, that's all. The way it's making me better.' I hoped I could sense him nod approvingly, but I couldn't be sure.

And then one day, he disappeared. Charlie, I mean. A week went by and I didn't see him, and then another, and another, and although I told myself not to panic, after four weeks, I was distraught. I could feel myself sinking down again. Saw those dark pools of despair rising up to meet me, found myself reaching for too many paracetamol, too much Night Nurse. And I didn't want to go down that black alley again. I knew I was missing my weekly relief, and I felt like a junkie with a terrible habit. Desperate for a fix.

Mrs Khan at the corner shop couldn't help.

'Golly, I haven't seen Charlie for absolutely ages, have you?' I breezed brazenly one morning, no pride now, clutching her counter anxiously.

'Charlie?' She frowned.

'Yes, you know - tall, dark, married. Lives near Oxford.

Buys milk,' I added desperately. It was all I knew.

'Oh, Charlie.' She paused. Looked at me carefully. 'No, no, I not seen him.'

I waited, willing her on.

'Maybe he go home,' she said eventually, unnerved by my silence.

'Yes! Yes, maybe,' I agreed, raising speculative eyebrows, as if this thought hadn't occurred to me, every waking moment. 'And that is?' I asked shamelessly, despising myself, but out of control now. As if my lips were moving without my mind.

'Sorry?'

'And home is? Charlie's ... home is?'

She blinked. 'No idea. Like I say, he say Oxford but ah, Rozanna, she know. Rozanna, where Charlie Fletcher live?'

I swung around to see Rozanna behind me, holding half a bottle of gin, and looking gorgeous as usual, swathed in lilac cashmere.

'Charlie Fletcher?' she drawled. 'Well around the corner somcwhere, but in the country? Oh, some farmhouse near Woodstock, I believe. Why?'

'Because Lucy was-'

'No reason,' I interrupted, flushing. 'How how d'you know him, Rozanna?'

'I s.h.a.g him, darling'

I stared, horror-struck.

She gave a throaty laugh. 'No, no such luck. I just get the has-beens and the wannabes. No, everyone knows Charlie, he's quite famous. Writes TV scripts. Wrote that arty little film a while ago Coming Up for Air, I think it was called. It wason Channel 4. Hollywood's after him now, I gather.'

My mind was a.s.similating all of this greedily, stashing it away in the golden archive for later, but simultaneously reeling in horror. Surname: Fletcher. Occupation: Scriptwriter. Status: Relatively famous. d.a.m.n. Too much, far too much for me. Why couldn't he be an aspiring porter, desperate for a job at an auction house? Desperate for a peek insidc a porcelain department? I could have helped him there, been his salvation.

'And married to a lovely girl called Miranda, who runs a very successful business from the country but I can't quite remember what it is.' She frowned. 'Catering, I believe, or something domestic. I was at school with her actually. Sweet little thing and as you know Luce, I'm not mad about sweet little things as a rule, but she's awfully nice. Stunning too, a bit younger than me. You've gone terribly pale, Lucy. Why d'you need to know all this?'

Need, not want. At least, as she was banging nails into my heart, she'd given me an escape clause, too.

'Oh, because I need to send him some mail. For some reason it got sent to me, addressed to Charlie Fletcher. So I need to know his address.'

She frowned. 'How bizarre. At your flat?' She regarded me for a moment. I didn't answer. She shrugged.

'Oh well, here darling. I've got it in here, somewhere'

She rooted around in her Gucci bag and found her address book. Flicked through to the F's. 'This ' she showed me, pointing, 'is London, Langton Villas, which is literally round the corner, and this' I scribbled away frantically on the back of an old envelope 'is where I presume he's hanging out now. In Oxfordshire, in the country.'

Chapter Five.

Have you got everything, boys?' I yelled, clattering downstairs with a box full of saucepans. 'Because I'm not turning round with that trailer on the back!'

'Can I take this?'

I swung around to see Bcn at the flat door, dragging an ancient wicker chair with exploding arms out onto the landing.

'Oh darling, no, not really. I thought we'd leave it. I did say I'd leave it fully furnished and I won't have room in the trailer.'

'But it's my special chair. Where am I supposed to sit and read in my room then?'

'Granny will have ma.s.ses of chairs, you'll see, lovely ones.' 'But this is my chair, where all my animals sit, and where I listen to my tapes and things, and-'

'I'll take it,' said Teresa, quickly coming to the rescue from across the hallway. 'And when you come and see us, you take it then. We put it in Pietro's room for the minute, yes? It's just Mummy's got no room.'

He gave it up sulkily, then went trudging back inside, slamming the door behind him.

I caught Teresa's eye and she smiled sympathetically. This wasn't going quite as smoothly as I'd hoped. Ben, who I'd talked to at length about the benefits of the move, whose opinion I'd canva.s.sed, and who initially had been thrilled to bits at the idea of streams and woods and badgers and barn owls, was suddenly getting very cold feet. Catching the vibes and loving a drama, Max was rapidly coming out in sympathy. When I went back up to collect the pair of them, they were sitting on the top bunk together, Ben staring moodily into the distance, and Max sucking his thumb defiantly, eyeing me resentfully. They reeked of solidarity.

'Come on boys,' I cajoled softly. 'I know it's a wrench, but we really have to get a move on, you know. Got to hit that road. And it'll be great when we get there, you'll see. You'll be tickling trout and whittling sticks and wondering why on earth we didn't go sooner.'

'No I won't,' said Ben, jumping off the bunk but snapping his Walkman firmly to his head. 'I'll be wondering why I can't go to the Science Museum any more, or to Peter Kelly's party at the ice rink on Sat.u.r.day, and why you always decide things without thinking about us.'

'Yeah,' added Max for good measure, glaring at me. 'Finkin' 'bout us.'

As Ben brushed past me with his henchman beside him, I caught my breath at the injustice. Did I deserve this? Did I? As they stamped out to the landing I made to follow, to lock the door behind me, then paused. Turned. Slowly, and alone, I walked around that tiny flat one last time. It was tidy, in fact it was immaculate, and it seemed to me it was reproachful too, as it waited poised for its next occupant.

A company had bought it, and paid me a fairly decent whack for the privilege of having their thrusting young executive move in, but perhaps I should have rented it, I wondered nervously, as I fingered the muslin curtains. Perhaps I shouldn't have burnt my boats entirely, because what if Oxfordshire ... no. I bit my lip, standing at the window gazing out across the familiar rooftops. No. It would work out, and anyway, this was the home I'd had with Ned, and Ned was no longer in it. Too many memories, too much clinging to the past. I had to make a new life for myself, elsewhere.

'Come on then, Pickle, let's go,' I said, forcing a smile as I encountered Max, staging a last sit-in on the landing. I picked him up like a sack of potatoes, feeling a pang of sympathy for the police at Greenham Common, but noting with relief that he did at least flop obligingly over my shoulder. Ben, preternaturally obedient, was trailing miserably down the stairs behind us, despite his misgivings.

I'd said my goodbyes to everyone else in the block last night - couldn't bear to be doing it on the doorstep this morning - and had told them so in no uncertain terms. Pietro had gone to school so that it wouldn't be too emotional for Ben, and only Teresa was hovering helpfully, the other flat doors remaining discreetly closed. Teresa hugged me hard on the pavement, tears in her eyes.

'You'll come back?'

'Of course I'll come back, you idiot. G.o.d, I'm only in Oxfordshire. Anyone would think I was going to the moon! We'll be back all the time, and you'll come and stay. Think of all the weekends away you'll have, we can be your very owncountry retreat. Pietro will love it, and it'll be fab for you and Carlo to get out of London'

'For me, maybe, but I worry about you, stuck down there. And no job now.'

I sighed. Teresa had a happy knack of not pulling her punches and this one caught me low. She was quite right, of course. This particular blow to morale had fallen quite unexpectedly - last week, in fact, as I'd finally plucked up the courage to ring my head of department at Christie's and find out what the h.e.l.l was going on. Find out what sort of headway he'd made in changing my four mornings a week to two full days. Had he swung it for me? And if so, why hadn't he called? After all, it made far more sense if I was coming all the way up from the country, didn't it? Well, didn't it, Rupert?

There'd been an awkward pause and then a fair bit of throat - clearing on the other end.

'Rupert? Is it OK? Are you still there?'

'Um, yes, still here, Lucy. It's just ... well, the thing is, it's all been a bit tricky. You see, I've been instructed by the powers that be, to implement one or two changes in the department. One of them, I'm afraid, is to cut down on all the part-timers'

'Cut down? Part-timers? But, hang on, I am the only part-timer!'

'Er, well, precisely. And, um, the thing is Lucy, they're being a bit sort of all or nothing about it. A bit sort of total commitment on all fronts.'