The Other Woman(38)

It was as if her walking in on us, seeing what she had seen, had caused him physical pain. Maybe it had, but even now that that pain has surely gone, the mental block remained, and that was so much harder to recover from.





18

I hadn’t expected to hear from James again but, a week after his first call, he claimed to be ‘just passing’, and, as I had a free half hour and was beyond curious as to what he actually wanted, I found myself agreeing to meet him for a coffee.

We were nestled in the corner of a tiny Turkish cafe on Villiers Street, the windows steamed with condensation as the heat of the interior fought against the bitter chill outside. It was unsettling that the man behind the counter was barking out orders. Who eats kebabs at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday morning anyway? But at least it created a diversion from the odd feeling of intimacy that being with James created. I kept telling myself that he’d soon be my brother-in-law, which made this perfectly normal, yet it still felt wrong. Was that just me, or did he feel it as well?

‘So . . .’ he began, before I had the chance to say the same. It seemed the only opener to a conversation, the direction of which was entirely in his hands. Though now it appeared that even he didn’t know where it was heading.

‘How’s things?’ he asked.

‘All good, yeah, all really good,’ I said too quickly. ‘How about you? Still with Chloe? All going good?’ I had no idea why I’d mentioned his girlfriend, a woman I’d never met, before asking about his business. Or indeed why I’d used so many ‘goods’ in one sentence. The sense of ease I’d always felt around James had been replaced by an unnerving tension, our usual banter now stilted conversation.

‘It’s up and down,’ he said, ‘but it’s still early days.’

‘How long’s it been?’ I enquired, as casually as I could.

‘Oh, only four or five months, so anything could happen.’ He raised his eyebrows and laughed. ‘You know what I’m like. I haven’t exactly got a great track record.’

I smiled awkwardly. I didn’t know what he was like, not really, so his comment made it sound as if we were closer than we were.

He edged his arms out of his navy wool overcoat, his elbow banging on the peeling dado rail that ran around the tight corner we were sitting in. He mouthed ‘Ow’, and I laughed, as he untied a tan scarf from his neck to reveal a smart blue shirt with the distinguishable polo player on a horse emblem on its top pocket. Adam favoured a certain Mr Lauren’s brand as well, but whereas his shirts were bursting at the seams, due to his broad shoulders and gym-honed upper arms, James looked comfortable in his, and the collar sat just as it should.

‘And work? Are you busy?’ I asked.

He nodded as he took a sip of his cappuccino, leaving a white foam moustache above his top lip. I laughed and gestured to my own. His cheeks flushed a little.

‘Yeah, it’s going great. I’ve had to take two guys on to help me out, and I’m here in town for another meeting to hopefully secure some corporate work.’

‘Oh, great,’ I offered, already thinking of another question to ask.

‘A developer is looking for a local business to take care of some communal gardens, for a new residential site up by Knole Park.’

I nodded. I’d heard Pammie talking about Knole Park, but I couldn’t recall ever going or its exact whereabouts.

‘I’ve got to go and pitch to them at the company headquarters in Euston but I was a tad early, so I thought I’d see if you were about. You don’t mind, do you?’

‘Not at all. It’s worked out well, as I have an appointment in Aldgate. I’m just sorry that I wasn’t able to catch up last time you called. I’m often here, there and everywhere.’

‘No worries, it was just on the off chance. I know how busy you are. Still, you’re here now.’

I looked at him and smiled.

‘And how’s your mum?’ I really didn’t care, but it felt rude not to ask.

‘She’s okay. She said you had a nice time at Loch Fyne.’

I felt like I’d been punched in the chest. ‘Did she?’ I asked incredulously. ‘Really?’

‘Yes.’ He laughed. ‘Why, didn’t you?’

‘Well, it was a little fraught . . .’

‘In what way?’ he asked, clearly confused.

‘We . . . had a bit of a disagreement.’

He waited for me to go on.

‘I’d had too much to drink, your mum said one or two things that I didn’t like, and I’m ashamed to say, I retaliated.’

‘Oops!’ He laughed.

I smiled. ‘Exactly!’

‘So how did it end? Are you friends again?’ He made it sound like we were two toddlers who had fallen out over a toy.

I wrinkled my nose. ‘I hope so, though I don’t know how she feels. In hindsight, she was probably only trying to be helpful, but I gave her pretty short shrift.’

‘Well she certainly didn’t mention anything to me,’ he said. ‘Sometimes Mum can say the wrong thing at the wrong time, but once you get to know her better you’ll just learn to take it with a pinch of salt.’

I felt oddly insulted that he thought I didn’t know her well enough by now, but had to remind myself that it had only been six months. How well can you know anyone in such a short space of time?