The Love of Her Life

‘I’m the same,’ Zoe said. She waved her hands around. ‘Too much stuff of Steve’s around, still. It’s been a while now. Why can’t the bastard come and pick it all up eh?’ She smiled, her eyes filling with tears.

‘I know,’ Kate said, inadequately. She could feel her heart, hammering away in her throat, it seemed. This was it, now. ‘Look, Zo –’

‘Can I say something?’ Zoe interrupted her, her voice high, nervous. ‘Darling. Can we just – catch up, you know? Not have some long, awful, depressing conversation that leaves us both in tears and makes us feel hugely guilty?’

‘But –’ Kate had come expecting that; she deserved it, she was guilty. But Zoe put her hand on hers.

‘Look, Kate. Darling Kate.’ Her eyes were bright with tears. ‘Do you know how much I miss you?’

‘Zoe –’ Kate said, easy tears coming to her eyes. ‘I –’

Zoe interrupted her again. ‘This is what I mean. I miss you so much. There’s so much to say, and so much I want to know about. I don’t want to sit here having a maudlin conversation about all the shit that’s happened. It happened. You ran away.’

‘I did.’

‘But I’m the one who kicked you out.’

‘No, you weren’t.’

They were facing each other.

After a few moments, Zoe sighed, deflated. ‘It doesn’t matter. Oh Kate. I was furious with you, but now you’re back so, oh, please let’s not waste time being apologetic and wringing our hands about it all. I want to know how you are.’

She sat back on the sofa, and nodded her head solemnly.

‘But –’ There was so much Kate could say to this, and she fumbled for words.

‘I mean it,’ Zoe said, almost fiercely, and Kate saw that she was struggling with emotion, emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Kate nodded back.

‘Right. Of course,’ she said.

‘Yep,’ said Zoe, recovering herself quickly. ‘Cheers, darling Kate. Cheers. Welcome back.’ She stood up, and Kate followed suit. ‘God, it’s good to see you again.’

Their glasses, clinking heavily together in the quiet room, made a harsh, clanging sound. After they’d each taken a large sip, they both sank into the sofa and looked at each other.

‘So really, how’s your dad?’ Zoe said first.

‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘He came out of hospital this morning. Um, he’s OK. Not great, actually.’

‘How is Loosa?’

This was the childish name she and Kate had given Lisa after her appearance on the scene, over six years ago. Loosa made them cackle for hours in the pub, at Kate’s flat, and so on. Even Charly tried to claim she’d thought of it. It was less of a joke when, after about nine months together, Loosa and her dad announced they were expecting a baby and were engaged. She was Lisa after that.

‘She was – er, fine,’ Kate said. ‘You know what she can be like.’

‘Was she mean?’

‘Noooo …’ Kate grimaced, remembering the conversation. She smiled, it had been so stupid. ‘Ahm, she told me I’ve wasted my life and I’m a disappointment to Dad.’ She nodded at Zoe’s outraged expression. ‘Oh, and then asked me about the rent, wanted to know when I was getting someone else into the flat and I needed to sort it out ASAP.’

‘What a bitch.’ Zoe’s dark eyes snapped fire. ‘Don’t worry about her. She’s always been a bitch, Kate. She’s a cliché – I thought they didn’t make them like her anymore. Evil stepmothers, I mean.’

‘Still…’ Kate was trying to be fair. She knew Lisa had it pretty tough. And as she thought about the huge, spotless house, perfect without and within, weirdly, she felt sorry for Lisa, and Dani, just a little, and desperately sorry for her dad.

There was silence; another awkward silence. Zoe cradled her glass of wine in her hand; there was a noise from upstairs, a creak, but then silence, and they looked back at each other and smiled.

‘Oh, by the way. I should have mentioned,’ Zoe said after a moment, ‘Mac’s back.’

Kate looked up sharply. ‘I thought he was living in Edinburgh again?’ she said.

‘No, he came back. He’s looking for somewhere to live. He wants to move up here, find a flat closer to us, actually.’ She looked curiously at Kate. ‘Hey! Maybe he should rent your flat when you go back!’

‘That’s a good idea,’ Kate said. She rummaged for some imaginary item in her bag, so Zoe couldn’t see her face.

‘He’d love to live in your flat, I bet. I always thought he had a bit of a crush on you.’

‘Did you!’ Kate waved her head around, as if this was hilarious.

Zoe nodded, her brown fringe bobbing up and down her forehead. ‘Yes, seriously, me and Steve used to talk about it.’ She looked at her friend curiously. ‘But … well, it didn’t work out, did it.’

‘I suppose not,’ Kate nodded, seemingly interested. ‘So, how’s his job?’

‘Good, good,’ Zoe said. ‘He’s a resident now in a hospital down here, actually doing pretty well I think. It’s just – since everything happened, it’s good to have him around,’ she said, looking glum. ‘It’s nice for Harry and Flora to see their uncle. He’s so good with them.’ Zoe smiled. ‘Oh, he’s lovely. He’s just a gentle giant, you know.’

‘Yes,’ said Kate, smiling gently at her. ‘He is lovely. I can imagine he would be.’

‘Anyway,’ Zoe shook her head, recovering herself. ‘When he heard you were back and you were coming over, he said he’d pop round tomorrow instead. He said he didn’t want to intrude, you know. On us catching up and everything.’

‘Of course,’ said Kate. ‘That’s really nice of him. Still, it’d be great to see him.’

So Mac could be on his way over, as she sat here on the sofa. But he wouldn’t come over, Kate knew it. Once he knew she was back, he’d no more pop round to Zoe’s to say hi than he would eat a glass vase. And she couldn’t blame him.

‘So how’s work?’ Kate said a bit later, two more glasses down.

‘OK.’ Zoe swallowed. ‘OK. Good, actually. They’ve really been great about the kids and everything. And it’s a nice place to work. I like going there.’

Zoe worked as a garden designer for a picture-perfect little garden nursery near Primrose Hill. Having been a lawyer at one of the top London firms, averaging eighty-hour weeks and earning double that, suddenly three years into her job, she chucked it all in. Memorably – or this was how Steve told it – she’d told a partner at the firm that she didn’t want to end up like him.

She’d trained as a garden designer, because she could afford to – and Steve was a management consultant, still working long hours and bringing home the bacon – and when they had Harry her job was flexible. It was perfect – until Steve left them and now she was struggling to make ends meet. But as she said, she’d rather struggle, working in the open air with the flowers and seeds, and pick her children up from school, than work all the hours of the day and be able to afford five-star holidays to Dubai.

‘You should come and have lunch with me one day, when I’m at the nursery,’ Zoe said, patting the table flatly with the palm of her hand. ‘What are you going to do for the next week or so?’

‘Not sure, really,’ said Kate. ‘I need to sort stuff out in the flat. See Dad. Spend some time with Dani, too, I suppose. And catch up with people, Francesca and all that lot.’

‘How’s your work going?’ Zoe emptied the rest of the bottle into her glass.

‘OK,’ said Kate. ‘Someone’s covering me while I’m away. They’ve been really good about it.’

‘Are you – what’s happening with becoming an agent? Are you handling any stuff of your own yet?’

She took another swig of wine as Zoe watched her, waiting for her answer.

‘Not really, no,’ she said honestly. ‘And I like it that way, Zo. I know it’s terrible, but I loved it. I liked not having to be me any more.’

Zoe nodded.

‘I thought you’d be editor of some huge magazine some day,’ she said. ‘Devil Wears Prada, that sort of thing. Or writing a bestselling novel.’ She shook her head. ‘That’s all.’

‘You sound like Lisa,’ Kate pointed out. ‘I thought you’d be a QC by now.’

‘You thought lots of things would happen,’ Zoe said. ‘So did I. Look at us.’

The cluttered kitchen was silent; the house was quiet.

Kate tried to imagine what it must be like for Zoe, alone every evening, while the children slept upstairs. Tears pricked her eyes; a painful lump rose in her throat.

‘Hey,’ she said, trying to change the mood. ‘Do you remember your housewarming party here, all those years ago?’

‘My god,’ said Zoe. ‘I always forget about then. We only had the groundfloor flat then. Isn’t it weird, how different it was then.’

‘Sure was,’ Kate nodded. ‘That was a great party though.’

‘You wore your blue and gold dress.’

‘You stood on a chair and sang “Cabaret”.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Zoe ruefully. ‘Didn’t Francesca snog that Finnish gatecrasher from the flat upstairs?’

‘Yes, she did!’ Kate hit the table, memory flooding back.

‘And – oh my god. Wasn’t that the night you got together with Sean?’

She cleared her throat, as Kate was silent, drowning in waves of memory. Then Kate said,

‘No, it was a few weeks later.’

‘But you were flatmates, weren’t you?’

‘Yes, we were …’ Kate squashed a piece of bread into her fingers. ‘Yep. That was a weird night. I’d forgotten.’ And she had, strangely. It had been one of those event evenings that mark the beginning of a new time in one’s life and thus the end of another, she realized now. ‘Six years ago,’ she went on. ‘I can’t believe it. It seems – well, it’s weird.’

‘So near yet so far,’ said Zoe, and Kate nodded.

Kate unwrapped an after dinner mint, and carefully smoothed the foil out onto the table. ‘When did you buy the flat upstairs?’ she asked. ‘I can’t remember. Was it after you got married?’

‘After,’ said Zoe flatly. ‘Steve flirted totally disgustingly with the estate agent and I didn’t speak to him for two days. But he got the price down by five grand, so I couldn’t hate him anymore.’

Kate well remembered Steve’s flirting. There was nothing she could say to this.

‘Typical of him,’ Zoe went on. ‘Bloody typical.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘Anyway, what was I saying? Yes, Mac. Mac!’ Kate nodded. ‘You see, I always thought he had a bit of a thing for you. That night at our housewarming party, you know. He was mad about you for a while, you know that, don’t you?’

Kate was silent, and then she said, ‘Well, it’s a long time ago, isn’t it.’

‘Yep,’ said Zoe. ‘It’s just a shame. We should get you two together before you have to go back, you know.’ She looked Kate over, appraisingly, like she was a prize heifer. ‘You haven’t seen him since – how long?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Kate. Keep your voice light, she told herself. ‘Is he –’ she opened her eyes wide. ‘Is he well, though?’

‘Yeah.’ Zoe nodded. ‘He’s OK. Got a bit of grey hair. Works too hard. Doesn’t talk about stuff much. But he’s OK. I know he’d love to see you.’

Kate looked around the bright, cosy room, feeling cold suddenly, and very tired.

‘It’s weird talking about this,’ Zoe said, sighing. ‘I never talk about it, about all of us any more. I’ll have to make the most of you while you’re here. It’ll be a while won’t it?

Perhaps you’ll love it back here so much you won’t go back. Yay!’

‘I am going back,’ said Kate. ‘Seriously. I love it there. I’ve got a new life, you know.’

‘I know you have,’ said Zoe. She crinkled her nose. ‘You needed it. I like thinking of you leading this super-glam New York life, meeting up with Betty for cocktails, running around like Sarah Jessica Parker. Sort of means I can’t hate you for not being here, Katy.’

Since her last birthday party had consisted of her mother, stepfather, and the Cohens (from down the corridor), and Maurice the doorman having a slice of cake out on the sidewalk, Kate didn’t know what to say to this. She smiled and nodded, sagely, as if hinting that a life full of incident and drama lay waiting for her across the ocean.

At eleven o’clock, Kate left, by then a little worse for the wine. As she was putting her coat on, Zoe opened the door and said,

‘Bye darl,’ Zoe said. ‘I love you. It’s so good to have you back.’

‘It’s good to be back,’ Kate said and then, that moment, as she hugged Zoe, it was.

When Kate got back home, the letter from Charly was still in her bag. She waited till she was in bed, face washed, warm chunky bedsocks from Bloomingdales, which her mother had given her last Christmas, enclosing her feet. Her old bedroom smelt faintly of familiar things, Coco perfume and peonies. Outside, someone somewhere was yelling at someone else, or perhaps at no-one, and away beyond her the city flickered, lights gradually going off one by one, still at its heart never asleep. Kate smoothed her hands over the duvet and blinked, the fatigue of the day finally catching up with her as her fingers fluttered on the glue of the envelope.

She drew out a letter. A letter and a photo. It was of Charly and Kate, dressed up before the office Christmas party, their first year at the magazine. Kate winced at her ill-advised Spice Girls-era black clompy platform boots, black miniskirt, waistcoat and hair in a high ponytail, and then, almost greedily, her eyes drank in Charly, glorious as always, her long, tousled hair tumbling around her tanned shoulders, the little black dress with spaghetti straps, the gorgeous, still-covetable knee-high black suede boots. It had been so long since she’d seen her, she’d forgotten how beautiful she was, how hilariously different the two of them were.

Hilarious, yes. That they’d been friends, so close you couldn’t slide a finger between them, so obsessed with each other it was almost like a relationship, so heartstoppingly sad that she hadn’t seen Charly for years, that Kate rocked back against the bookshelf, as if a ray of something had just shot out and hit her in the chest. That was the effect Charly still had on her, nearly eight years on, all those years since they’d first met.

Dear Kate

It’s been a while, hasn’t it. How are you?

I’m fine I suppose, working hard, not.

I found this photo of you and me at the Christmas party, the year you started at Woman’s World, thought you’d like to see it? What did we look like back then??!!

Kate I’m writing to say hello. Also to remind you I’m still alive. I wonder if you still care about that.

This is hard for me to write, you know I never was one for letters. I wanted to apologize. For everything I suppose. Well I thought I might as well try. Also, I’m writing because I wanted to let you know I’m having a baby. We don’t know what it is yet –

Kate didn’t read any more. She screwed the whole lot up, jumped up out of bed, and the cold hit her. She ran through to the kitchen, opened the little narrow french doors, and threw the letter, the photo, the envelope, out. She wondered, as if watching herself from above, why she hadn’t just opened her bedroom window, or thrown it in the bin. But it wouldn’t have been far away enough.

It was only when she felt something drop onto her chest that Kate realized tears were running down her face. In the dark corridor there was no sound. She crawled wearily back to bed, turned the light off, praying for a deadening sleep.

But the thoughts crowding into her brain danced there all night. She should have realized that those scenes would go through her head again, that she would dream about it all again. Back when she was starting her life as a grown-up, they all were. Look how it had turned out. She’d told Zoe, she never thought about it, she’d practically forgotten everything.

But that was a lie. Although she didn’t want it to be, it was imprinted on her brain, for always. How could it not be? And the dreams always ended the same way, with Kate realizing what, deep-down, she carried around with her every single day in New York. That she shouldn’t be here. She didn’t deserve to be here. That was why she didn’t let herself remember.

CHAPTER SEVEN

October 1999

‘Hey. New girl. I’m going to Anita’s for lunch. Do you want to come?’

Kate blinked up at the vision before her, and pushed her tortoiseshell glasses slightly further up her nose.

‘Er, yes, please,’ she said, shocked. ‘Thanks.’

‘I’m going now,’ the vision said. ‘I’m bloody bored, and Catherine and Sue are going to be gone for fucking ages on that conference meeting thing. Let’s get out of here.’

Nearly three weeks into her exciting new job at Woman’s World, and Kate had yet to have lunch with anyone; she was too terrified. She sat on a bench by Lincoln’s Inn each day at lunchtime, eating her sandwich and hiding behind a book if she saw anyone from the magazine. The offices were near Holborn, a big glass building housing all the magazines in the stable of Broadgate UK, and every morning the revolving doors sucked in these tall, gorgeous, glamorous stick-girls who strode past Kate, hair flowing in the breeze, expressionless and cool, and every evening it spewed them out again, as she flattened herself against the wall, trying not to get in their way. She spoke to her boss Sue, to Gary, the postroom boy, with whom she was insanely jolly and chatty, the way new people always are with the photocopying man, the postroom boy, the security guards. They’re men, they’re not bitchy, they don’t ignore new people as a point of principle.

To everyone else, however, she felt miserably that she might as well be invisible. If by chance one of the tall goddesses who hustled and bustled around Catherine Baldwin, the fearsome editor, should be forced to address her with some features-related query which only she could answer, Kate heard herself replying to their careless questions in a voice rusty with lack of use, and a tone hopelessly fulsome and inane.

‘Hi!’ she’d squeak. ‘Hi, there! No, Sue’s not here! She’s still out at lunch! Sorry, sorry,’ she would say, practically bowing, as Georgina or Jo or Sophie looked bored and not a little contemptuously down at her.

Because it was now October, the whole new job thing had a curious resemblance to going back to school, or university. The days still dry and relatively warm, the leaves dusty and crunchy on the trees, the streets of town suddenly busy again after the dog days of August and September. They were still playing ‘Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)’ and ‘Livin La Vida Loca’ on the radio, but they sounded flimsy, summery, silly, out of kilter. The Argos Christmas adverts had started appearing on TV, even. As Kate and her new flatmate Sean walked to Rotherhithe station in the mornings, the still rising sun would hit them in the eyes, and in the evenings though they tried to deny it, it was too cold to sit outside at the pub.

Kate and Sean had been friends at university, but they were more friends-in-a-group than friends who went out for drinks on their own together. Tall, laconic, with a Texan drawl, Sean was Steve’s best friend. Steve was a good friend of Kate’s too. In the Easter term of their first year at university, Kate had introduced Steve to her best friend Zoe, and Steve and Zoe had been going out ever since. So Kate and Sean had spent a lot of time together in the past few years.

Still, though, Kate was still fairly surprised to find herself sharing a flat with Sean, but then lots about her life now surprised her – the fact that she was south of the river, for starters, was a shocker, as was the fact that she didn’t like alcopops any more – she preferred a glass of Chardonnay. She’d been to TopShop and bought a black and grey checked miniskirt, which she wore with a black polo-neck and black tights, mistakenly in the warm, dry weather of September, but it made her feel super-mature. She did her own shopping at the supermarket, picking out Things to Cook from her new Jamie Oliver cookbook. She bought the Evening Standard on her way home each night and felt super-grown-up, reading it with a concentrated expression on her face on the Tube.

Three weeks into her new living arrangement and all was going swimmingly – too swimmingly, in fact, because Kate had started to dread saying goodbye to Sean each morning. He sometimes perplexed her with his constantly flirty ways and optimistic, can-do attitude, as well as intimidated her since he was, without doubt, usually the best-looking man in the room. Now, he was the friendliest face Kate saw most days and she would cling to him at the ticket barriers.

‘I don’t want to go to work today,’ she’d say, clutching his arm.

‘Hey now. Don’t be silly,’ Sean would say, gently prising her off him with a giant, paw-like hand. ‘It’s only been ten days. You’ll soon make friends, Katy. You’re shy, that’s all.’

‘They’re horrible,’ Kate would mutter, biting her lip. ‘Don’t like it. Don’t want to go to work and be grown-up.’

It was true, in its way. Part of her wished this wasn’t happening, that she was back at home with her father, cheerfully cooking stew, throwing insults at each other, listening to music. Warm, exotic – but a little bit safe, boring. Wouldn’t it be easier if she just moved back in with her dad again? And never left the house, faced the real world, with all its terrifying complications that she wasn’t at all good at? Yesterday, she had spilled coffee over one of the girls at work – George. George had given her what Kate could only identify now as a death stare and said, ‘That fucking top was new,’ even though it was only a tear-drop-sized spot of coffee. Kate was thinking of having plastic surgery to change her appearance.

‘Look,’ Sean would say, punching her playfully on the arm. ‘You’re Kate Miller, aren’t you? All you ever wanted to do since I’ve known you was work in magazines. Didn’t you?’

‘I’m not right for them. I don’t fit in.’

‘You got a First in English from Oxford, Kate,’ Sean would say. ‘You’re right for anyone. You gotta see that. You’re young, you’re cool! Man. They’re lucky to have you, OK?’

Kate would rather die than use her university education to impress people, and she refrained from pointing out that at college she’d done nothing but work, while everyone else was off having fun, drinking, putting on plays, drinking, sleeping with each other, going to balls, going to silly parties, drinking and sleeping with each other. She wasn’t cool, she was the opposite of cool, she was … lukewarm. She was destined for the shadows, watching from the sidelines, not centre stage. Ugh. But Sean, whose nature was as sunny as his hair colour, couldn’t see that about her, and it annoyed her.

‘You’ll find some friends,’ he said, one Thursday, nearly three weeks after she’d started there. He patted her on the shoulder, moving her away from the ticket barriers. ‘You’ll love it there soon. This is your time! You’re in the big wide world now, and you’re gonna find your niche. I promise.’

Sean was untroubled by self-doubt. ‘It’s easy for you,’ Kate said, childishly. She looked down at the floor, knowing she was being stupid, feeling eleven again, like she was back at school, trying to persuade her mother to let her stay at home. Sean put his finger under her chin, and she turned her face up towards him.

‘Hey,’ he said gently, looking into her eyes. He smiled, his tanned, kind face crinkling into lines. ‘It’ll be easy for you, Katy. You’re wonderful. We all know it, you just need to know it.’

She clutched at his wrist, taken aback. ‘Oh, Sean.’ She was embarrassed, she didn’t know why, and she smiled back at him, shyly. ‘You’re just saying that.’

You’re just saying that. She sounded about five; Kate cringed, inside, then asked herself why it mattered, as awkwardness fell upon them. She tightened her hold on his wrist, reached up and kissed him on the cheek.

‘Thanks,’ she said, and she smiled at him, feeling happy, all of a sudden. ‘You’re right, Sean. Thanks a lot.’

‘I know I am,’ he said, and he was still watching her. ‘Now, you’re gonna be late. Have a great day. I’ll be there when you come back, after a long day slaving over some JavaScript. OK?’