A Hopeless Romantic. Harriet Evans
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which, I think you may have had a lucky escape. No, listen –’ because Laura’s expression was mutinous ‘– honestly. This way, you’ll come to realise you were better off without him. I promise, you will.’
‘Don’t, Gran,’ said Laura. ‘I know. I know. It’s just – really hard.’
‘It’s true,’ Mary said. She drummed her fingernails on the table. ‘You never got to the next stage, thank god. The stage when you’re together with him, and both of you are walking down the street, and a girl walks past who looks exactly like – whatever the girlfriend’s name is, what is it?’
‘Amy,’ said Laura.
‘Yes, exactly,’ said Mary, as if this was further evidence. ‘And instantly the guilt starts up in your mind. The recriminations. Is he looking at her, is it awkward, does he still find her attractive? Does he think he made an awful mistake?’
‘Well,’ said Laura.
‘It’s a life half-lived. That’s what you would have had, believe me.’ Mary drained her drink. ‘And that, my darling girl, is not your destiny.’
‘Well –’
‘Trust me.’
Laura didn’t know what to say, but something about her grandmother’s expression told her further questioning would be dangerous. After a few seconds Mary sighed, and smiled, and the twinkle reappeared in her eyes.
‘You are a very great girl, Laura darling, you do know that?’
Laura didn’t know what to say, it seemed such a completely untrue remark, apart from anything else. So she was silent.
Mary watched her, and she said, ‘I know you don’t think so, but you are. I am so proud of you, of the way you are. Guy would be so proud to see how you’ve turned out, you and Simon.’
‘Hardly,’ said Laura. ‘He’d disown us. Well, me. If you can disown your step-grandchildren, which I don’t think you can.’
‘You’re not listening,’ said Mary slightly sharply. ‘I am proud of you, Laura, and do you know why?’
‘I am listening. Why?’ said Laura, hastily swallowing some more of her drink.
‘Because the quality you castigate yourself most about – your tendency to fall in love with the most inconvenient people – is what I love about you, darling.’
‘Oh, Gran,’ said Laura, trying not to sound impatient. ‘That’s just not true. It’s awful – I should get a grip, not –’
Mary interrupted her. She banged her ringed hand on the arm of her chair, as if she were Elizabeth I inspecting the English fleet. ‘No, darling. You have a great capacity to love. Be careful. Use it wisely. But be proud of it. So much love in your heart. That’s why I worry about you.’
She coughed. Laura listened, relieved to be talking about it at last, but not really knowing what to say.
‘I worry you will walk away from that. That this will close you up, make you forget how wonderful falling in love can be. Don’t.’
‘Are you saying I should go out there and pull the first man I see?’ said Laura, trying to make light of it.
‘No, no,’ Mary shook her head crossly. ‘Just – promise me, darling. Don’t run away from it, not now.’ She closed her eyes briefly. ‘I worry that you will. That’s all. Now, tell me,’ she said, changing the subject and lifting the glass to her mouth and holding it there. ‘If you have nowhere to go on holiday next week, might this mean that you want to keep me company with your parents in Norfolk? And that you’ll be there for my birthday lunch? Which, darling, I note you would have missed otherwise.’
Laura’s hand flew to her mouth.
‘Oh shit,’ she said. ‘Sorry.’
‘What’s that?’ Mary said, alarmed.
‘Holiday.’ Laura croaked, then stood up. The buried memory of her financial situation came rushing back. ‘Holiday. With Dan. All booked. Have to cancel. No insurance.’ She sank back into her chair.
‘Well,’ said Mary. ‘Ain’t that a pretty pickle.’
‘No one in a western ever said that, Gran.’
‘Yes they did.’
‘What am I going to do?’
‘I’ll lend you the money,’ Mary said instantly.
‘No,’ said Laura, shaking her head slowly. ‘No. I got myself into this mess. God. I’m going to get myself out of it. And then I’m never, ever looking at another man ever again.’
‘Really?’ said Mary, smiling.
‘Really,’ said Laura fervently.
Slowly but surely, Laura’s rehabilitation had begun. When she got back from Mary’s, in the early evening, slightly light-headed from the gin and wine her grandmother had pressed upon her, and full of good intentions, she cleaned the rest of her room from top to bottom, and the rest of the flat, even vacuuming in Paddy’s room. She went out and bought fresh flowers, bunches of sweet peas and cheap anemones. She had long known that a broken heart takes a while to mend, but as Mary always said, flowers in vases to look at go some way to help. And she bought food. She made supper, spaghetti with clams, scrubbing them clean for ages, cooking them in white wine, garlic, lemon juice.
She didn’t feel suddenly light as a feather, or much better. She felt – numb. But a little hopeful. She was just glad she was out of bed, frankly. She told herself she would take everything as it came, not try to sort it out immediately, in the old impetuous Laura way. When Paddy came back from work they sat together and ate, chatting lightly over a bottle of wine, and Paddy asked, ‘What the hell happened to you?’, and Laura repeated the story again that day. Everything – Dan, the baby, the job, no money. Somehow saying it all to someone her own age, who wasn’t on her side necessarily, made it worse, because then it was out there, final and true, not just in her head. Paddy whistled through his teeth as Laura finished. She held her glass of wine by the stem, and looked into her lap.
‘I’m sorry, love,’ Paddy said. ‘I’m so sorry. I wish –’
‘You wish you’d been wrong, and you wish I wasn’t so stupid,’ Laura said lightly. ‘There’s no need to say anything. I just wanted to say sorry, Pads. I’ve been a crap flatmate. And an even crapper friend. Not any more. Things have changed now, OK?’
‘Oh, right,’ said Paddy uneasily. ‘How?’
Laura heard the tone in his voice, but carried on regardless. ‘How? How? Ha, well. New leaf, that’s all. I’ve seen the light. No more romance. It’s cold, hard facts for me from now on, and that’s that. I’m not going to go on about it,’ she said as Paddy coughed politely and settled back into his chair. ‘Seriously! I’m not. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘Yeah right,’ said Paddy. He smiled. ‘You don’t have to change, Laura. We all love you just the way you are, you know.’
‘Thanks, Pads,’ Laura said. ‘But you don’t get it. I mean it. This isn’t a thing thing I’ll forget about in a couple of weeks’ time. I am Never. Feeling. Like. That. Again.’ She banged her glass on the table. ‘I promise you. I never want to go through that again. I will do Anything. To. Make. Sure. I. –’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Paddy. ‘I see, I see.’
‘I mean it, seriously,’ said Laura. She looked at him.
‘Right,’ said Paddy, but she saw him hide a smile in his wine glass.
Never