Impossible to Forget(73)

Maggie’s mind turned to Leon, sitting, as he would be, on his sofa watching whatever was on the television, and her heart gave a fond little flutter. She had thought she might tell Angie about the two of them this evening, in a quieter moment, but the room was too loud and the moment all wrong. She had waited this long to say something. She could wait a little longer.

‘Shall we go in a few minutes?’ asked Angie, blowing her lips out and shaking her head at the parade of beauties before them. ‘I’m not sure I can take much more of this spectacle!’

Maggie nodded and lifted her half-empty glass. ‘When I’ve finished this one?’ she asked, and Angie nodded.

They continued to watch. Someone new had arrived, a man dressed more casually than the majority in well-worn jeans and a T-shirt, with dark hair, greying slightly at the temples. He wasn’t as picture-perfect as most of the others and had at least ten years on them. He made a beeline for Hope, approaching her with open palms, all apologies. Hope rolled her eyes but then she leant in and embraced him. This would be the boyfriend, Maggie thought. He really was late. It must have been approaching ten thirty. Still, Maggie couldn’t help but have a sneaking admiration for him and his failure to get sucked into whatever this was.

She turned to pass her thoughts on to Angie, but Angie was also looking at him, staring in fact, her jaw slack.

‘That must be the errant boyfriend.’ Maggie laughed. ‘Looks like he’s forgiven, though.’

‘Shall we go?’ said Angie, turning on the spot to face the exit.

Maggie, slightly thrown, looked at her half-filled glass, then at Angie and then back to the glass. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Just let me . . .’

But Angie was gone, pushing through the crowds and out into the cool evening beyond.





37


Angie did not sleep at all that night. When she got back to the flat, having said a rather perfunctory goodnight to Maggie (she would need to apologise for that, claim that she hadn’t been feeling well or something), Romany was still awake and watching some reality TV programme that seemed to be populated by the kinds of people that Angie had just left behind at Hope’s party.

‘You’re back early,’ Romany said, without looking up from the screen. ‘Was it any good?’

‘Yeah, it was nice,’ replied Angie. ‘But I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late.’

She walked over to the sofa and stood between her daughter and the television and then, cupping Romany’s face in her hands, she bent down and kissed her forehead.

‘Mum! I can’t see!’ Romany objected, squirming free and twisting to look around her and back at the screen.

Angie smiled weakly. ‘You shouldn’t watch this crap. It’ll fry your brain,’ she said, but she didn’t do anything to prevent it. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’

Once in her room, the door closed behind her, she flopped on to the bed and curled herself up in a tiny ball.

Jax.

It had been Jax. Even from a distance there was absolutely no doubt in her mind. Jax, Daniel Jackson, was Hope’s boyfriend. Older, more conventional-looking, but most definitely him. His hair was longer than when she had last seen it and he had filled out over the years, but it suited him. Where he had been sharp-edged and pointy in the past, he was softer now, less angry-looking. Angie had always found him handsome, but objectively he perhaps hadn’t been before. Now, though, fifteen years on, he seemed to have grown into his looks and was attractive in a scruffy, slightly chaotic way.

Angie held a hand to her chest and felt her heart pounding beneath her ribs. It hadn’t stopped racing since she had fled the party, every part of her prickling with the adrenaline that her body had produced in response to the shock. She had barely heard a word that Maggie had spoken as they made their way back, Maggie to a taxi rank and she to her flat. She had just wanted to get back to the sanctity of her space so she could start to process what had just happened, although right now she wasn’t sure where to start.

She began with deep breathing exercises, in through her nose and out through her mouth, to try and calm herself into a state where she could at least think straight, and gradually her heart rate slowed.

Jax was in York. How long had he been here, with the potential to bump into her around every single corner she had turned? It must be at least three years. Angie tried to remember how new Hope’s relationship had been when they had first met, but the facts, such as they were, danced in her head and were impossible to catch. Angie hadn’t listened that hard, not really having any interest in Hope’s boyfriend.

Now she tried to delve deep into her memory for any snippets of information. He was a chef, she knew that. They had met at some do when he was doing the food and had spilled something down an expensive dress that Hope had been wearing. Angie remembered Hope telling the story, her eyes dancing with the sheer delight of it all, relishing how uncomfortable he had been about his mistake and how she had strung him along, knowing all the time that there would be other dresses.

What else? Angie squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to concentrate, but when she did that all she could see was Jax, open-palmed in abject apology to Hope, and then their embrace. Her Jax, in love with someone else.

She checked herself. She was being ridiculous. He wasn’t ‘her Jax’. He hadn’t been for years. Hadn’t he left her for someone else when Romany was a baby? That relationship hadn’t lasted either, it seemed. He obviously didn’t do commitment, full stop.