A Hopeless Romantic

So, shivering on that cold balcony on New Year’s Eve, as Jo and Chris kissed each other, and Paddy danced crazily and inappropriately with a scared-looking cousin of Chris’s, and Simon charmed the pants – literally – off the brunette, Laura clenched her fist, and went to bed that night with a new iron resolve. Three weeks after her ‘thing’ with Dan had begun, but months after she had realised that he was the one for her, she had to do something about it. Even now, nearly two months later, she remembered it clearly. It kept coming back into her head like a drumbeat.

She had to know, she had to sort this thing out, because somewhere in her lovesick, crazy brain was a small voice telling her that this wasn’t how normal people behaved, fell in love and that small voice had been getting louder and louder since before Christmas until now, two months afterwards, it was like a foghorn in her ear. She and Dan had to take the next step. Well, Dan had to take the next step and finish with Amy, then Laura and Dan had to take the step after that, which was to work out if they could be together.

So they would go to Kenwood House on this cold February Saturday, with the hot chocolate/gloves/yew trees, and during that time they would talk, and Laura would explain, calmly and clearly, that Dan had to sort his situation out, otherwise they couldn’t be together any more.

‘Talk,’ Dan said. ‘Yes, talk.’ He looked at her, their fingers still entwined. Laura smiled at him, took the toast out of his mouth, put the tray down on the floor, reached for him, and they crawled back under the duvet, muffling their laughter, and then, a while later, their moans as they came together again and any further discussion was put aside for the moment.

An hour later, Laura emerged from her room, carrying the teapot, and padded into the kitchen in her bare feet. Paddy was sitting at the little table by the French window, gazing out at the view. Their flat was in a slightly cramped, dodgy Victorian mansion block, and had interesting design features – the French window, for example, opened not onto a charming balcony with pots of geraniums and basil, but a sheer drop down four floors. The boiler was in Paddy’s bedroom, and the sitting room had three electricity sockets, but all right next to each other, by the door, nowhere helpful like underneath the bay window where the television was. It was Paddy’s flat, bought for him with some help from his elderly parents, since he was a teacher at a school nearby and earned in a year what most bankers earn in a month. He and Laura were very happy there, though the water frequently turned itself off, the windows rattled, and the lino was curling because they had laid it themselves. Added to which Paddy had a mania for collecting interesting things from around the world, and so the flat was stuffed with a) painted gypsy floral watering cans, buckets, etc., b) elephants made of wicker he’d picked up travelling through Africa, and c) comic books.

Paddy didn’t look up as Laura came into the kitchen, humming to herself. ‘Morning,’ she said brightly. ‘How are you today, love?’

‘Fine,’ muttered Paddy bitterly. ‘Oh, just fine.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Laura, nonplussed. ‘Er, are you, though?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about me,’ Paddy told her. ‘I’ll survive,’ he spluttered into his tea. He stared moodily out of the window. Since he spent quite a lot of his leisure time doing this, Laura ignored him and put the mugs down on the counter.

‘What are you eating?’ she asked curiously.

‘I made scrambled eggs with tomatoes,’ said Paddy shortly. He gestured to the plate, which looked like pink brains. Paddy was an enthusiastic but disconcerting chef.

‘Oh,’ Laura lied. ‘It looks nice.’

She ran the mugs under the tap.

‘It’s not enough that Mia hasn’t answered any of my texts,’ Paddy said, picking up the thread after a few moments’ silence. Laura obediently swivelled round to listen. ‘I’ve texted her four times, why hasn’t she replied? Oh no. I have to sit in solitary silence, with CD:UK my only companion, and listen to my flatmate – who I’ve known since she was five – screaming with pleasure as some git rogers her senseless at eleven a.m. for about the fifteenth time that morning.’

Laura bit her lip to stop herself grinning. ‘Sorry.’ She went over and patted him on the shoulder. ‘I’ll make you some tea. Why don’t we all go into the sitting room and have some tea?’

‘No, thanks a bundle,’ said Paddy, pulling his tattered paisley dressing gown about him with an attempt at dignity. ‘I prefer to watch Saturday Kitchen on my own, thanks very much, not squashed up on the sofa with you and Mr Playaway whilst he tries to molest you under my very nose.’

‘OK, OK,’ said Laura. This was going to be tricky. Of course, no one knew about her and Dan – not yet anyway. She hadn’t even told Jo. But she’d had to tell Paddy because Dan always came to her place. She hated making him party to it and thereby making him lie. It wasn’t for long, and so far he’d been great, but…She filled the kettle and affected a tone of nonchalance. ‘Er…any plans for today?’

Paddy looked up suspiciously. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You know I have. We’re going out to lunch with Simon.’

‘Simon?’ Laura said in a tone of blankness. She pulled a mug off one of the hooks above the sink and examined it. ‘Urgh, this is dirty.’

‘Your brother Simon, who’s about to go to Peru for four months.’

Laura winced. Simon worked for a charity. He was taking time off from work to travel to Peru, volunteering for another charity.

Paddy went on, ‘And then you know perfectly well we’re going round to Jo’s because Chris is away and she wants a hand with painting the kitchen.’ He glared at her. ‘Oh my god, you’re piking. I can’t believe it.’

‘What?’ said Laura. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You lying bitch,’ said Paddy. ‘Go back in that bedroom, ease those chafed thighs onto the bed and tell Dan you’re not spending the day with him or whatever it is he’s suggested you do. You’re coming out to lunch.’

‘Honestly, Paddy, I had no idea,’ Laura pleaded with him, aware how weak she sounded. ‘Sure, Jo mentioned going round, but it was ages ago – I didn’t think it was a proper plan…no one emailed me about it this week – I thought it was a casual arrangement.’

‘Casual arrangement?’ Paddy repeated.

‘Yep,’ Laura said. ‘And lunch – hey, you’ll have a much better time without me there. You never see Simon on his own, you can really catch up. And stuff.’

Paddy looked at her, and Laura realised the atmosphere in the kitchen was no longer one of grumpy, amused sniping.

‘No, Laura,’ he said quietly. ‘That – that thing you’ve got next door with Dan. That’s a casual arrangement.’

‘No it’s not,’ said Laura in a small voice.

‘Oh god, you stupid girl,’ Paddy slapped his hand to his cheek. ‘I don’t care. Just don’t try and lie to me. It’s not a big deal, Laura, honestly. But –’ he held up his hand as Laura made to speak ‘– don’t lie to me. You know it was arranged ages ago. You, of all people.’

‘What do you mean?’ said Laura, feeling her chest tighten.

‘I mean, I’ve always thought you were a good person, someone I could trust, someone I could rely on. Thick and thin, and all that.’

‘Oh for god’s sake, Paddy,’ Laura said, her face reddening, feeling cross all of a sudden. ‘That’s such crap. It’s only lunch, get over it! I am – I am a good person. Dan – I – you know how I feel about him, don’t do this.’ The kitchen tap was encrusted with limescale and she wrenched it round to turn it on, running her finger around one of the mugs as she thought of what to say next.

Paddy turned his back on her and looked out of the window, as if he was counting to five. Then he turned around again.

‘Hey, love,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘I know how you feel about him. But it’s never going to happen. He’s never going to leave Amy. Can’t you see that? He’s a wanker, and he’s using you.’

‘How dare you say that,’ Laura retorted, her voice rising. She turned the tap off. ‘How dare you! That’s bullshit. He’s not like that, it’s not like that. It’s just…complicated. He can’t just dump her, I don’t want him to do that. We have to wait before we can be together…we…oh.’

She slumped down into a chair, tears in her eyes. The lino squeaked under her feet. ‘It sounds so fucking clichéd,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so stupid.’

‘You’re really not, darling,’ Paddy said, patting her hand across the table. ‘You’re just mad about him, and what’s wrong with that, eh? You’ve got to…you’ve got to sort it out, that’s all. You know what you’re like.’

Laura stood up again and went over to make the tea. ‘I have to, I know,’ she said. ‘It’s just. It’s just – I can’t think of anyone I’m ever going to like more than I like him.’ Hot tears ran down her cheeks and she rubbed her eyes, feeling like a little girl in the playground.

It was true, that was the awful thing. She knew all this, she thought she was a sensible girl. But some kind of love had taken hold of her and refused to let her go, and it wasn’t a happy, easy, joyful thing, it had her in a vice-like grip.

She looked up at Paddy and smiled, trying to be brave. His face contorted with sympathy, and he walked over to where she stood and gave her a big hug. ‘Do something about it, darling,’ he said, his voice muffled against Laura’s shoulder. ‘Give him an ultimatum. Or give yourself an ultimatum. Get pregnant. No –’ He stood back and shook her. ‘Forget I said that. Really, don’t get pregnant.’

‘I won’t,’ Laura said, touched, for Paddy really did look alarmed. ‘Don’t be stupid.’ She picked up the mugs. ‘I’ll do something about it, honestly.’

‘Deadline. You need a deadline,’ Paddy said, sitting back down and picking up the newspaper, which was lying on the table. ‘Ooh, travel. Book a holiday,’ he said casually, throwing the travel section at her. It flapped through the air and Laura caught it, scrunching it in her hand, and wedging it under her arm. ‘Book a holiday to somewhere fantastic and then you have to go,’ Paddy suggested. ‘You know, in a few months’ time, when everything’s sorted out. God, I’m brilliant. As you once were, young woman. Go off and shag that worthless young man in there. I’ll make your excuses to Jo, but she’s not going to be happy. You know she’s not, you blew her out last week.’

It was true. Laura had arranged to go to Borough Market with Jo, but something else had come up, a Dan-shaped something else.

‘It’s her birthday in a couple of weeks. I’ll make it up to her then,’ Laura said gratefully.

‘Honestly. The things I do,’ Paddy murmured.

‘Thanks, Paddy,’ Laura said. She paused, as if she might say something else, gazing at the back of his head as Paddy picked up his tea and turned a page of the newspaper. ‘Thanks a lot.

I…well.’

A watery ray of pale sunshine was shining weakly in through the window. Laura turned and left, her head bowed in thought.

‘I’ve cancelled lunch,’ she announced as she came back into her room.

Dan sat up in bed and spread his arms wide. ‘Great, great news, my gorgeous darling girl,’ he said. His hands slid inside her ratty old dressing gown, slipped open the tie, and he pulled her towards him. Laura laughed.

‘Let me put the pot down,’ she said, as he started kissing her. She crouched down, put the paper and the teapot on the floor, stood up again, and said, as Dan flung the duvet to one side, ‘So, what do you want to do today?’

‘You,’ Dan said, jumping on her with the kind of alacrity usually reserved for sailors on shore-leave. ‘God, I could be with you all day, you are so fucking gorgeous. Mm.’

‘No,’ Laura said, laughing, as he pulled off her dressing gown. ‘I mean later. I’ve cancelled lunch. We could go out, you know. Maybe…er, Kenwood House for…er, hot chocolate.’

Dan didn’t answer, but carried on doing what he was doing. Laura sighed, and pushed him away. ‘Dan, listen.’

‘Yes, yes,’ Dan said. ‘Hot chocolate.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean we go out to get hot chocolate, at Kenwood.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Dan asked, looking down at her. ‘Why do you want to go and get hot chocolate at Kenwood? Is there a festival there or something?’

‘No,’ Laura explained. ‘I mean – what shall we do today, then? We should do something. Go out, you know, make the most of it. The sun’s just come out.’

Dan cupped her breast in his hand and bent over to kiss her again. ‘I can’t, darling,’ he said. ‘We can’t. Someone might see us. Imagine if they did.’ He looked up, his expression anguished. ‘I’m sorry. This is crap.’

‘But,’ Laura said, trying to be patient, ‘who are we going to bump into amongst the yew trees at Kenwood?’

‘The what?’ Dan asked. Laura watched him intently. ‘No, we just can’t. We should…we have to stay here. Not for much longer, I promise. But things might be tricky for the next couple of months.’

‘Why?’ said Laura, not understanding, and reluctantly waving goodbye to her winter wonderland dream of laughing and joking in a Missoni print cape as she and Dan carelessly drank hot chocolate and held hands amidst the frosty trees.

‘I mean,’ said Dan, ‘if I’m going to split up with Amy, you and I won’t be able to see each other whilst it’s going on. I mean on our own, not the usual in the pub with everyone else there. Right?’

‘Oh right,’ said Laura, not daring to hope he was saying what he was saying. ‘So…’

‘So,’ said Dan, bending over her nipple and kissing it gently, ‘this might be the last time we get to do this for a long time. So – we should – make the most of it…’

‘Yes,’ gasped Laura suddenly, understanding him, and pulling him down. ‘Yes…I see…’

As Dan moved down her body, Laura closed her eyes, and the last thing she saw was the crumpled cover of the Guardian’s travel section. ‘Road Trip: Florida’s Hidden Treasures’, the front page declaimed. A road trip, she thought, and abandoned herself to something more immediate.

CHAPTER FOUR

Laura worked for an inner-city London council, as a schools and business co-ordinator. She loved her job, contacting local businesses, trying to get them to support their nearby schools, arranging volunteer reading programmes or school sponsorships – where companies or individuals could sponsor a school, donate money, and feel good about themselves. She loved it because she could see how it made a tangible difference, how much disillusioned company secretaries enjoyed reading with a six-year-old once a week, or how much it benefited a school to have a thousand pounds for new computers that some corporation or anonymous donor could easily spare. She had been there for nearly four years now, and the previous year had been put in charge of their new fundraising scheme, and the reading volunteer programme, which meant a lot more work, but she loved it. At least, she used to love it. Like everything these days, it seemed to have lost a little of its allure.

If Laura had stepped back from her situation, chances are she would have seen that she was behaving badly. The trouble was, her lack of perspective meant she couldn’t see the main reason why she was in thrall to Dan: he made her feel gorgeous. He made her feel devastatingly attractive, that she was so powerful to him he had to have her, he couldn’t control it. It made her feel just marvellous, and a little bit dirty too. It was dangerous, because Dan was like all the others, in that Laura had fallen for him hook, line and sinker, without really stopping to think about it. Only this time it was harder and deeper than ever before – and with no control over the situation she’d got herself in, and no endgame in sight. Having always thought of herself in the bottom half of the class in terms of looks, attractiveness and intelligence – not to mention sporting prowess – Laura couldn’t quite believe the effect she had on Dan.

Laura knew she wasn’t working as hard as she should; she knew her boss Rachel was on her case about things. She knew she hadn’t been a good friend, or daughter, or sister, since Dan came along. She forgot birthdays, she was late for work, her mind wandered. But she consoled herself with the knowledge this was a temporary situation, and in a few short months – by the summer – they would have sorted it out and could be together. And then she would make everything all right.

Dan just needed a push, that was all. Just a little something to let him know she wasn’t going to wait around forever, that she had deadlines of her own, too. She had another life apart from him and she was neglecting it, he had to see that.

The following Wednesday afternoon, Laura was in the office when the phone rang. It was pelting with rain, which rattled on the windows of the shabby, draughty Victorian building in Holborn. It was an old school, and hadn’t been redecorated since the pupils had been moved into the big glass comprehensive south of the river, close to London Bridge, in 1972. In summer Laura would wander up to Lamb’s Conduit Street and around the Inns of Court. On days like today she and her four other colleagues stayed inside, reheated soup in the ancient, sticky microwave and huddled around the fan heater which guzzled electricity and dispensed minimal heat.

Laura looked up wearily from her emails and glanced suspiciously at the caller display panel. A teacher from St Catherine’s primary school nearby had said she would be calling to discuss a problem with the latest batch of teaching volunteers, who’d just started at the school once a week, helping individual children with their reading. This was a pretty big firm of financial advisers called Linley Munroe, and it was something of a coup to have them onboard – perhaps they might be induced to get involved in other ways. Laura didn’t particularly like Mrs McGregor, though she could see how devoted she was to the school and the children. She knew from experience that Mrs McGregor was the kind of person who had her own world view and couldn’t be persuaded that anyone else’s was admissible. In her own way, she was pretty hard-line, especially since her arrest during the demo she’d organised the previous spring at the NUT conference. This had renewed her zeal in a way that made her even harder to deal with, and Laura knew why she was ringing – she made the same complaint, along different lines, every year. Laura picked up the phone with a heavy heart.

‘Hello?’ she said tentatively.

‘Laura? Laura Foster?’ came a slightly husky voice down the phone.

‘Yes,’ said Laura, resigned.

‘Oh Laura, I really must talk to you. I’m afraid this is a very bad situation, very bad indeed. Something’s going to have to be done, it’s a disaster. A catastrophe.’

‘Yes, hello, Mrs McGregor,’ said Laura.

‘Well, Laura,’ the voice was saying five minutes later. ‘I’ve told him. You may think you can come here and believe you’re doing something marvellous, helping these kids, so you can sleep easy at night in your big banker’s flat. Well, you can’t behave like that and get away with it. I’m not putting up with it any more, really I’m not.’

‘I explained the guidelines to him and all his colleagues, back in October,’ Laura repeated. ‘I’m sure this Marcus bloke’s just got his wires crossed. As I said, you know we’ve never had any problems with Linley Munroe so far, Mrs McGregor.’

She gazed at her in-box and looked flatly round the office. In Rachel’s absence, Shana was on another call, Tim was out on a visit and Nasrin was clearly reading Pick Me Up and not doing any work at all.

‘I don’t care,’ Mrs McGregor said quickly. ‘Laura, I’m afraid who they are isn’t relevant here, not for my kids, anyway. That Marcus – he’s a big thug. I know those kids aren’t perfect, but…’

‘Look,’ Laura cut in, wanting to avoid another ten minutes of Mrs McGregor. ‘I’ll talk to Clare at Linley Munroe, tell her to have a gentle word with Marcus. But I really don’t think he should be banned, Mrs McGregor. He’s obviously enjoying it, and – well, let’s face it – all he did was tell this boy to shut it – it could have been worse, couldn’t it? They call each other the most horrific things in the playground, don’t they?’

Her email beeped and her eyes flicked instantly to the screen. She opened the message and read, her heart pounding.

‘Do they?’ Mrs McGregor said. ‘Not in my experience, Laura. Sure, there are rude words, but…’

Laura wanted to reread and reply to the email. She said shortly, ‘Oh come on, Mrs McGregor. You know what I mean. Fuck, bum, willy, vag—And…’ she paused, realising what she’d just said, ‘er. Well, we used to, anyway. That sort of thing.’

Mrs McGregor was silent. Then she said, ‘Well, I must say. Honestly, Laura.’

‘It’s an illustration,’ said Laura briskly, marshalling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, whilst Nasrin and Shana gaped open-mouthed at her and started laughing. Laura flapped her arms at them to shut them up, and said, with what she hoped was an air of finality in her voice, ‘I’m sure if Marcus Sussman used inappropriate language he was doing so to try and communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean and I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.’

Mrs McGregor droned on in the background, but Laura didn’t listen, only vaguely registering that she had to get rid of her in order to reply to this email.

‘…have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cufflinks who thinks he can treat these kids like dirt because he went to university and they didn’t. It’s vile. And I’m surprised at you for not seeing it.’

‘They’re ten, Mrs McGregor,’ Laura said, finally losing her patience. ‘Of course they haven’t been to university, don’t be stupid. Fine. Talk to Rachel, but I’m surprised you’re being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted snob but I didn’t think you’d let it derail the volunteer programme like this.’

‘Oh!’ Mrs McGregor inhaled sharply. ‘Laura Foster. You’ll regret this, I promise you. Yes you will,’ and she slammed the phone down.

‘Laura!’ said Shana, her eyes sparkling with the unexpected office excitement. ‘Fuck, bum, willy, vag? What the hell…?’

Laura put her head in her hands and moaned softly to herself.

‘It was brilliant,’ said Shana joyfully. ‘Best thing I’ve heard in ages.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Laura, finally looking up at Nasrin, who put the magazine down and gazed at her. ‘St Catherine’s again. Mrs McGregor. Stupid old bitch, I hate her,’ she said defiantly. ‘I’m going to get in trouble, aren’t I?’

‘She always makes a fuss, every year,’ Nasrin said placidly, picking up Pick Me Up again. ‘Rachel knows that, don’t worry. She’s just a sad old rebel without a cause.’

Laura turned back to her email again. Now she was free to read it properly, she didn’t want to. Mrs McGregor had spoilt her afternoon.

A holiday is a great idea. You and me, nothing else. Imagine what we could do all week. Why don’t you start thinking about where to go. July is best for me, by then everything’ll be sorted. We can celebrate properly. I want you.

Dxx

Laura blushed with pleasure. The email, the email she’d been waiting on for over two days since she’d tentatively emailed him on Monday to ask if he thought they should go away. And here it was. He wanted to go away with her, everything would be sorted by then – so when was he going to talk to Amy? And then they’d be together. He was serious about her, she knew he was. Going on holiday, that was a big step, but they were ready for it. They’d spent so much time together they knew each other better than most other couples, and they certainly got on better than most other couples – look at Dan and Amy, she thought, and then realised they weren’t the best couple to compare Dan and herself to. Laura rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, but her heart was singing, and the rest of the day passed more pleasantly than she’d expected.

The next day it was still raining, and Mrs McGregor wrote a letter of complaint to the local education authority about Laura. She faxed it to Laura’s boss Rachel, who gave Laura a formal warning. She had no choice, she said, looking firmly at Laura as she twiddled a pencil between her fingers. Laura watched the pencil, sliding in and out and around, and wondered what all the fuss was about. Mrs McGregor was wrong, she was a horrible woman and she was wrong. Marcus Sussman was a bit hearty but he seemed to be a nice man: all he’d done was to tell a kid who called him ‘a fucking cunt’ to shut the fuck up – well, was that so bad? No, not in her book. Who cares, she thought, mentally shutting down and blocking out the memory of Mrs McGregor’s droning voice.