Still Thinking Of You Part 8

'For your information, I talked to Greta earlier on this evening,' said Lloyd, although he knew his ex-wife was barely interested in facts. She was ensconced in her version of things. A world that he believed had little basis in reality. She could be so exasperating. So argumentative. So wilful. Spirited. Fun. Lloyd managed to shift from furious to curious in a matter of seconds.

He knew it was the drink, but at that moment he didn't want Greta. At that moment he wanted Sophie, and his daughter, and his old life back. He wanted that more than anything in the world. If they were a family again, he wouldn't be lonely. He wouldn't be alone in a crowd any more. He wanted his old life. The life where he believed in happily ever after. The one where he was respected and envied.

His rambling desires were interrupted by a heavy sigh from Sophie.

'Can I go now? Some of us have to be up early in the morning, and not to dash down a ski run, cutting the first snow, but to feed Cheerios to an unwilling two-year-old.'

d.a.m.n, Sophie mentally kicked herself. There, she'd done it again. The reprimand was loud and clear Sophie's life was lonely and damaged because of Lloyd's selfish actions. The truth was Sophie was doing OK now, better than OK. She had long since left behind her the endless nights of reprisals, revenge plots and recriminations. She was sometimes genuinely happy. It wasn't always easy. Juggling a career and a small child on her own was complicated, but her daughter was such a source of undisputed, exquisite joy that the complications were nothing more than inconvenient. Her work was also a great source of pride and, not to put too fine a point on it, income.

For the first time in a long time, Sophie felt in control of her life and destiny, and she liked that feeling. So why was it that she found her treacherous tongue could not resist waging a pointless battle with her ex-husband? It was clear that the war had already been fought, the casualties counted and the dead buried. Why couldn't her treacherous tongue follow the instructions of her infinitely more sensible brain and behave with composure and serenity? Sophie wondered if she was over Lloyd. The loneliness had gone away, but her anger reared its ugly head at so many unexpected turns. She was angry with him when other women her friends, for example announced their second pregnancy or when she b.u.mped into him and Greta in the high street, strolling along hand in hand, and smiling as though they hadn't wreaked as much damage as an earthquake measuring seven on the Richter scale. She was angry when he announced he was taking a week's skiing holiday.

'What was your New Year wish?' asked Lloyd.

Right at that moment, Sophie wished she had the courage simply to hang up on him, but she didn't. Even now she was pathetically grateful for his attention. Habit, she supposed. Because she had been deprived of it for the past couple of years, she naturally hankered after it, like an ex-smoker gladly inhaling secondary smoke in a bar.

'You don't have New Year wishes. You're confusing it with birthdays. You have New Year's resolutions,' she pointed out tetchily.

Lloyd didn't bother to ask her what her New Year's resolution was. He a.s.sumed he knew. It was likely to be to drink more water and lose half a stone in weight. Those had been Sophie's New Year's resolutions for all the years they'd known each other. Besides which, he suddenly found that he had an agenda, one which had been developed with the speed and intensity exclusive to a drunk. He planned to stick, unwaveringly, to the agenda. It was the only way to secure success.

'My resolution is to grow my business by another 30 percent and to franchise the Highgate branch,' said Sophie, even though he hadn't asked. Lloyd barely registered what she had said, so intent was he to push ahead.

'Well, my New Year's wish is that you were here, with the old gang.'

He let his voice drop slightly, and Sophie knew that his eyes would be misting over. The two things, the drop in tone and the misty eyes, always came hand in hand. It wasn't exactly insincere, but it was a practised technique. His huge, melting, puppy-dog eyes had weakened her resolve on many, many occasions in the past. But they were less effective over a telephone line.

'I wouldn't be enjoying myself if I were there,' said Sophie truthfully.

'Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you, really?' Incredulity was always amplified after a jar or two too many.

'Mia would be making my life h.e.l.l because I like make-up and I didn't go to an ancient university. Mistakenly, she seems to link the two facts. She'd be making snide comments about my "party project" and ignoring the fact that I was nominated as Business Woman of the Year by Red magazine. Rich would be veering between correcting my grammar and accent, and trying it on.'

Lloyd lost his footing and slipped. He only managed to stay upright because he fell against the wall. He was glad that Sophie couldn't see just how drunk he was. 'Oh, no, no, no, no. Rich wouldn't do that.'

'Rich always did that. As did Jason. And Kate and Ted are OK, but I've been extremely disappointed with Kate of late. We were good friends, or so I thought. I've seen her once since you and I split up. I think that was due to curiosity she wanted to hear me dish the dirt. Maybe I should have obliged. At least I'd have been more interesting, then maybe she would have called a second time. I don't think it's very decent of her to ditch me and Joanna quite as unceremoniously as she has. Even lepers get visitors, and leprosy is medically proven to be infectious. As far as I know, divorce isn't.'

Sophie took a deep breath. She'd been meaning to say that for a while.

'Rich wouldn't be trying it on. He's engaged now. You'd really like his fiancee, Tash.' Lloyd giggled, as though indulging a small child. 'I think she's running into the same problems with Mia as you did.'

'Poor girl.'

'Why do you say that? I'm sure they'll be very happy,' argued Lloyd. Sophie tutted, but realized she didn't know enough about the situation to comment. These weren't her people any more. These weren't her problems. 'Soph, I thought you might pop on a plane and come to join us.' Lloyd's voice was urgent and drunken. If he could get Sophie out to Avoriaz, away from all the distraction of her work, then maybe he would have a chance at convincing her just how sorry he was. He knew he'd been foolish, made a terrible mess, but the game was over now. He wanted to put things back to normal. 'I bet you could get a flight or, if not, there's a train from Waterloo. It comes all the way into Cluses.' He wondered if he sounded desperate.

He absolutely hated rejection.

And so he added, 'The wedding is on Friday. You're a pal of Rich's, too.'

Put this way, he hoped his proposal sounded friendly, rather than romantic. A rejection of his friendship was easier to bear.

Sophie was almost amused at Lloyd's stupidity. She knew that he wanted her, very, very much. But she also knew that he wouldn't want her in the morning when he sobered up. If he remembered this conversation at all, he'd be mortified. He'd had plenty of opportunities to make it work between them. Opportunities he had shrugged away, with a casualness that was insulting. He was always p.r.o.ne to nostalgia, and that was all this was. Where should she start with pointing out just how silly a plan that would be?

'What would I do with Joanna? The wedding party is a child-free zone, isn't it? And what about Greta? I can't imagine she'd be too happy to hear I joined the little ski trip. And what about my work? You have no grasp on reality, Lloyd. Besides, I'd be d.a.m.ned if I'd just melt back into that scene at the first offer after months of being out in the cold. I'm surprised you have. Go sleep off the beer, and lay off the spirits.'

Stung, Lloyd yelled, 'You can't tell me what to do any more, Sophie.'

'I won't even try if you stop calling me. Goodnight.'

For the second time in less than fifteen minutes, Lloyd found himself listening to the empty tone of a dead line. He didn't know what to do, so he decided to ignore Sophie's advice to go to sleep and to stop drinking. His only regret was that she couldn't see him march straight back into the club.

21. Not so Polite Small Talk.

Mia left her dance partner on the floor and went to stand with Rich, Tash, Kate, Ted and Lloyd.

'He looks really keen,' commented Lloyd, pointing to the French guy that Mia had left languishing.

She shrugged and didn't even treat the guy to a smile. She'd spotted Scaley and Jayne emerging. They'd obviously found a private bit of the bar to chat and G.o.d knows what else. d.a.m.n. She was going to have to get a move on. Mia took a deep breath and once again tried to quash the rising panic she felt. She told herself that it was not impossible that Scaley Jase would have more than one flirtation on this holiday. In fact, it was probable.

'So what happened with the Frog Prince?' asked Jason, nodding towards the bloke Mia had left stranded. 'He's a good-looking guy.'

'Dull,' said Mia, by way of explanation.

'Well, you didn't give him much of a chance to shine. He can hardly impress you with his conversation on the dance floor. He was a good mover, surely that ought to have got him through to the second round, even by your strict criteria. You never know, Mia, you might even have had some fun.' Mia shot Jason a withering look. He ignored it and carried on. 'Your problem is that you are already rehearsing your exit before you've even got their mobile number. What are you so scared of?'

'Inadequacy.'

'Yours?'

Mia looked scornful. 'Theirs.'

It was true. No man had ever been good enough for her. Bright enough, sensitive enough, funny enough, pa.s.sionate enough, rich enough, single enough. They might have had one or two of these qualities, but never the full house. No one except maybe Scaley. He was the last person on earth she would admit that to. She turned away from him and picked up a conversation with Kate.

Lloyd had bought a bottle of beer and paid with the last of his loose change. He'd hoped it would help him forget about the two abruptly ended calls, but he'd drained it and the calls were still the only thing on his mind, although he was half-heartedly joining in with a conversation about French cheeses. Lloyd was desperately trying to appear sober and therefore coming across as very drunk. 'It is my round,' he articulated carefully. 'Can I interest anyone in a nightcap?'

'Yeah, I'll have one more drink,' said Tash, as she'd finally come up for air after kissing Rich for what seemed to the others for ever and seemed to her not long enough. 'But better make it water. I want to be in a half-decent state tomorrow.'

'I'll have malt,' said Jayne, 'Glenmorangie Black, darling. No ice, no water, as it comes.'

'Hey, that's Rich's favourite nightcap,' said Tash.

'I'll bring whisky for everyone, and I'll make mine a double,' said Lloyd. It was only when he'd ordered a bottle of malt and eight gla.s.ses that he remembered that he'd run out of ready cash and needed to change more sterling into euros. He tried to pay with Visa, but the busy bartender was unimpressed and uncooperative. Kate kindly led him back to his seat and instructed Ted to take care of the bill.

'I think you've had enough,' said Kate to Lloyd. 'You are going to feel lousy in the morning.'

He slouched next to her and rested his head on her shoulders. The intimacy didn't seem inappropriate, more motherly than flirty. Kate's role in the gang had always been that of mother hen. If they'd been alone, he would have told her about the disastrous phone calls. He was unsure which one would have the most disastrous consequences. He hadn't called Greta back, which he'd meant to, and he'd asked Sophie to come back, which he didn't mean to. f.u.c.k. Kate stroked his hair, and he allowed himself to feel temporarily soothed. He'd stay drunk and avoid the repercussions, that was the answer.

'This reminds me of old days in uni bar,' said Lloyd, sentimentally. 'Do you remember when Jason ran the bar and we'd have those lock-ins?' The uni crowd nodded and smiled. 'I think that was the last time I felt this coc.o.o.ned,' added Lloyd.

'No, it's just that that was the last time you felt this drunk,' laughed Jason.

Ted came back from the bar with the whisky and water. Everyone accepted a gla.s.s, despite worries about early starts on the slopes tomorrow.

'I didn't really expect to be invited here,' said Lloyd suddenly. The stark truth was spluttered, despite his desire to be affable.

'Lloyd, buddy, you are one of my oldest and best friends. I couldn't get married without you being here,' said Rich.

'But you could go and play footers every week and not ask me along,' said Lloyd sulkily. The combination of the term 'footers' and the sulky tones made Lloyd appear about age eight. Luckily he was too drunk to be self-conscious. Besides, he had a point. Or, rather, he had Sophie's point. Rich had been avoiding him. Rich had, and so had Jason, and Mia, and Ted and Kate, and the whole b.l.o.o.d.y lot of them.

'What are you talking about? You're welcome to come along to footie anytime,' lied Rich, embarra.s.sed.

'Since Sophie and I split up, I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen you.' Unfortunately Lloyd had the grim determination of a drunk. He wasn't going to let his point go. He was oblivious to the discomfort he was causing the others.

'Rubbish,' replied Rich, without turning to face Lloyd. 'It's nothing to do with your split. If we've seen less of each other of late, it's because we're all busy. My biggest crime has been falling in love with Tash. She's all-consuming. But look at her, can you blame me?' Rich smiled proudly, oblivious to how insensitive his comment was. 'The timing is coincidence.'

'You are all the same. No one wants to see me or meet Greta.' Lloyd pointed an accusatory finger around the table. Unfortunately, he used the same hand as he held his whisky in, and it slopped on to his jeans. It wasn't very dignified.

'Why didn't you bring Greta along? Doesn't she ski?' asked Jase innocently.

'Yes, she does, actually,' admitted Lloyd. 'I didn't bring her along because I didn't think she was welcome,' he blurted.

'It's not that we have anything against you or Greta,' said Kate untruthfully. In fact, she was wary of Greta. As a rule she didn't like women who went out with married men. Ted was a married man. She generally preferred to mix with married women. 'Ted and I haven't seen you as much because we thought it was awkward. In truth, we liked Sophie.' She jutted out her chin in defiance.

'Yes, I liked Sophie, too,' added Jason, jumping on the bandwagon that looked vaguely like the moral high ground. It was true that he'd always thought she had great t.i.ts and nice cheekbones.

A general buzz went around the crowd. Everyone agreed that they did like Sophie. Mia forgot that she had thought she was rather common. She'd worn her ambition on her sleeve. She was an archetypal working-cla.s.s, comprehensive-educated girl, with a chip on her shoulder the size of a Henry Moore sculpture. She'd been so desperate to prove herself. Which, Mia supposed, she had, when she made her business a success and received that award from whichever magazine she received it from. (Mia couldn't quite remember, despite Sophie going on about nothing but for several weeks.) She'd been nauseating when she'd gone to that ceremony at the Ritz, just because it was on some c.r.a.ppy satellite TV channel. She had no idea how to be gracious. Her sort never did. But Mia did like her now. Now that she'd seen her crumble into tiny, spiky shards of gla.s.s. The chip crumbling along with the rest of her.

'Why isn't Sophie here, then?' asked Lloyd reasonably. His grin was ridiculously wide and slack. He thought he was being extremely clever and that he'd just tripped them up in a complex interrogation.

'Because we were being tactful towards you, mate,' explained Rich carefully.

'Right,' said Lloyd, allowing his disbelief to show. The loud music blasted around Lloyd's head, drowning out common sense. He couldn't really understand why he was saying these things. He'd wanted to be agreeable, yet this was social suicide. He laughed into his whisky, drained it, then poured another. Rich noticed that his whisky gla.s.s was empty, too. He refilled it.

'Sorry, mate, that we didn't specifically invite Greta. Maybe we should have been more welcoming. We should have had you over for dinner by now. As soon as we get back we'll arrange it. But I think I did feel funny about having Greta over for dinner, so soon after Sophie.'

'So you are saying you stopped seeing me in deference to Sophie?' challenged Lloyd.

'I don't know, maybe. Yes.' Rich felt quite proud of himself for computing and confessing something so emotionally complex. Lloyd chose to throw cold water.

'If only that were true. If only you were making a moral judgement on my behaviour. But you are not. The reason you don't see either me or Sophie is not because I behaved badly, or even because she's boring and always crying into her Chardonnay nowadays. It's because we don't fit any longer.' Lloyd shouted this, and was drawing attention from other clubbers and drinkers. It was lucky he was British and the French expected little better of English tourists. 'We're not throwing barbecues in the summer or dinner parties at any time. We don't make polite conversation. We're not perfect, successful or even happy. We hurt, and we bleed our hurt all over the place.'

Lloyd waved his hand about, to demonstrate the point that he metaphorically bled profusely, and sent gla.s.ses crashing and smashing to the floor.

'We're not reliable dinner guests. She dates younger men, and that's embarra.s.sing for you. We don't fit any more; we can't get in to your exclusive club. We don't fit, so we don't count.'

Lloyd threw himself back into his seat and, for an awful moment, it looked as though he was going to cry. Everyone wished he would shut up, including himself.

'Now, come on. Let me get this straight. You are giving us a hard time about not inviting Sophie. Not being nice to Sophie. That takes the biscuit. You treated her like s.h.i.t, mate. You dumped her. You were together for six years, married for three of those. Then you grew bored and you gave her and your kid the old heave-ho.' Rich thought it was time to point out the obvious.

'I didn't give my daughter the heave-ho,' shouted Lloyd.

'You did. You could have worked harder at it for her sake,' argued Rich. He was really irritated that Lloyd was ruining his night like this.

'We are really sensible about time access to Joanna. I see her every Sunday.'

'She's a baby, not a timeshare in the Costa del Sol,' snapped Kate.

'He needs some air,' said Tash. 'He's drunk a lot.' She stood up and kindly led Lloyd outside before he could expose himself further. She felt uncomfortable because she had a feeling that his drunken ramblings were the worst kind they were correct. As Tash led him away, Lloyd could hear the recriminations he'd left in his wake.

'What Lloyd did was wrong. He left a wife and child,' said Kate.

'Well, strictly speaking, Sophie threw Checkers out. He didn't have any choice in the matter,' pointed out Mia.

'She was right to throw him out. He had an affair,' added Rich.

'I admit it was daft of him. He hurt himself but ' Ted interjected.

'He hurt her, not himself. People should say what they mean, or else what is the point?' bit out Kate.

'It is quite possible that there isn't one,' shouted Lloyd over his shoulder, as Tash continued to shepherd him away. She was trying her best to get him to stay upright so that he didn't upset any more drinks or people. 'And would you all stop talking about me as though I'm not here,' slurred Lloyd, clearly disgruntled.

'Oh yes, sorry, mate. Habit,' apologized Jason.

22. It's Cold Outside.

Tash and Lloyd stood outside the bar and didn't know what to say to one another. The freezing air was so cold it scratched at Tash's eyeb.a.l.l.s and bit her cheeks, but, on the plus side, it seemed to help sober up Lloyd. They both wondered what to do next, and they both wondered if Lloyd was going to throw up. It was snowing heavily, shrouding everything in a thick, white mist. Tiny, silver fairy lights twinkled magically on roofs and fences, illuminating the wood with a warm amber glow.

'I'm sorry about that.' Lloyd pointed towards the bar.

Tash shrugged, 'No problem.'

'I've drunk too much.'

'I should say,' Tash smiled. 'It's nothing. G.o.d, we've all been lashed, then lashed out, said things we didn't mean.'

'I did mean it, though,' said Lloyd defiantly.

'Right.' Tash moved her weight from her left foot to her right and concentrated on making patterns in the snow.

'Well, I think I did. I don't know. I'm not sure about' Lloyd searched for the word.

'Anything?' filled in Tash.