Love...Maybe Page 15

  ‘Grim. Sorry about that. I can’t imagine how that must feel.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  God, but I sound prim. I just never know how to respond when I drop that bombshell on someone. Especially a stranger. Not that I’ve ever told a stranger about Craig dying before. It’s hardly something one normally drops into conversation with a person who has only been in the vicinity for ten minutes. But it feels right to tell Danny about Craig. I have no idea why, but Craig always did say I rolled with the punches.

  ‘How did he die? If that’s not an impertinent question to ask.’

  Danny looks concerned about his question for a second. His concern is replaced by relief as large-bottom-tight-leggings gets up and gives him space to breathe. He shuffles up, but only a fraction.

  I collect my thoughts. ‘Of course it’s not an impertinent question. It’s a perfectly reasonable question. Craig died in a fire. Which sounds a bit outlandish, but it isn’t really, because he was a firefighter.’

  Danny scratches his forehead, appearing to consider what I have just revealed. ‘Blimey. A firefighter who died on the job. Your husband was a hero.’

  ‘Actually, he made a very stupid mistake. He went back into an unsafe house, not because he was a hero, but because he wasn’t paying attention. I’ve read the reports and I’ve spoken to his colleagues. None of them knew why he did what he did. They blame tiredness and stuff … all a bit odd, as he really was very good at his job.’

  I can hear the taut, barely contained fury in my voice, but I have, by this point, decided that offloading onto a stranger is a good thing; cathartic. It is, actually. I rarely talk about Craig. Not like this. Everyone I know is aware of all the details, so there is little point in repeating myself. It’s quite refreshing to go through the basics again.

  ‘Oh.’ There was a wealth of thought behind Danny’s reaction. ‘That’s a whole other situation to deal with right there.’

  ‘It is. I’m not bitter about it, as such. Just really, really, bloody …’

  ‘Angry. I don’t blame you. I’d be fuming too.’ Danny nods. ‘Oh yes. If I were you, I’d want him in front of me right now, just so I could biff him in the face. Really bloody hard.’

  Suddenly, I laugh. I often feel like that. I could be sitting quite happily remembering a brilliant holiday me and Craig had shared; trekking up some mountains somewhere; traipsing around Peru; skiing (Craig had been the active, outdoorsy type). And then, bam, right out of nowhere, I’d remember that he had been a distracted idiot on the one day it would cost him his life and I wanted to murder him. I wanted him back, just so I could kick him up the backside.

  Well. I rub my nose. It really is chilly today; snow in the air, perhaps. That would have all the hopeless romantics reeling. Snow on Valentine’s Day! Anyway, I knew I wasn’t being strictly honest, saying I only wanted Craig back to kick him up the backside. I wanted Craig back for all manner of reasons. I did that whole ‘deal with God’ thing for about a year afterwards. If you bring him back, I’ll (insert anything here you see as a bargaining tool). Ridiculously embarrassing, now I come to think about it. But grief makes idiots of people. This is something I have learnt.

  Danny looks at me, raking his fingers through his dark hair. ‘Doesn’t it hurt to come back here and remember him like this?’

  ‘Yes.’ I feel tears pricking at my eyelids. ‘It hurts like hell, in fact. But it’s the one day I allow myself to be really self-indulgent. To feel completely sorry for myself. Poor me – I had an amazing marriage and then my husband messed it all up two years ago by getting himself killed.’

  ‘Ouch. But very brave of you to confront your feelings.’ Danny blew on his hands. ‘Would you like my jacket? I know that sounds totally cheesy, but your nose is a bit pink and I reckon you’re freezing sitting there.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ I catch myself. Why had I said no? I was freezing. ‘What I meant to say was yes please. I’m frozen stiff and I would love your jacket. Unless you’re naked under there.’ I blush. Good lord. What a thing to say.

  Danny grins. ‘Not naked, no. I rarely gad about naked in London. I have a very thick jumper on under here. I’ll survive.’ He removes his jacket and wraps it around my shoulders.

  I snuggle into the warmth of Danny’s jacket. It is huge and navy, with a fleecy lining. Piccadilly Circus is still … like Piccadilly Circus, I decide. Loud, bright, in your face. Craig always used to describe our house at Christmas that way. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus around here, Clara. Blimmin’ people, flipping kids charging around, Christmas music blaring out.’ It was a mock-grump, though. Craig loved Christmas. A bit of my heart melts thinking about that.

  I realise I’ve been even more self-indulgent than usual. I haven’t even asked Danny about his Valentine’s Day issues.

  ‘I’m sorry, Danny. You give me your jacket and I haven’t even asked who it was you used to meet here.’

  ‘Aah, well.’ Danny pulls the cuffs of his jumper down. ‘Only ask that question if you’re prepared to see a grown man crying.’

  I turn to him, pulling his coat around me more tightly. ‘Tell me. I can handle crying. I cry an awful lot myself, actually. It’s part of the job description, I reckon. Two years I’ve been carrying on like that.’ I shake my head. ‘Tragic, really. So go on, shoot. I’m ready.’

  ‘I used to meet my daughter here.’

  I’m taken aback. I wasn’t expecting that. I panic. Is Danny’s daughter … dead? I can’t bear the thought of that. Or the idea that I’ve been whining on about my life when Danny might be going through something far worse. Oh God, what do I say now?

  ‘She’s ten,’ Danny says, noticing my awkwardness and allaying my fears. His eyes light up – it’s as though someone has flipped a switch inside him. ‘I used to take her out every Valentine’s Day. For dinner, on fairground rides if we could find them … a posh tea party somewhere.’

  ‘That’s … that’s … incredibly lovely.’

  ‘It was. I wanted her – Hannah – to be treated like a princess on that day, even when she was really little. To … expect it, you know? For her to know that, one day, another man she loves – in a totally different way – would take her out on Valentine’s Day and do fun stuff. Show her she’s completely brilliant.’

  That was it. I give in to the lump in my throat and begin to cry. ‘That’s the soppiest, most romantic, sweet … It’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.’

  ‘Oh stop it,’ Danny says, wiping his jumper across his eyes. ‘Now look what you’ve done.’

  ‘What a pair,’ I hiccough. ‘Strangers, talking about our woes, sitting by Eros – sorry, Anteros – bawling our eyes out.’

  ‘Mortifying. We’ll never live it down.’ Danny made an effort to pull himself together. ‘I share Hannah with my ex, you see. We split up six years ago. She went off with someone else … her boss, actually.’

  ‘Oh, that must be so hard. Both the break-up and the custody thing.’

  Danny scuffs the toe of his shoe on the step. ‘I can’t even describe it. And this year, my ex has taken Hannah away on holiday. With her boss.’

  ‘Double ouch,’ I say sympathetically.

  ‘Don’t mind about the boyfriend,’ Danny says. ‘It’s only my daughter I’m upset about.’

  ‘Are you really not upset about your ex being with someone else?’ I ask skeptically, not sure I believe him. ‘I didn’t have to go through that with Craig. He was just … gone one day. Awful, but I wonder if it would be harder if we’d split up and he’d gone off with someone else.’

  Danny shrugs. ‘I kid you not. I’ve had a few relationships since my ex, although nothing serious – but my ex … she wasn’t the one, you know? If there is such a thing, I don’t think she was it. I loved her, I really did, but I’m not sure it was … the real deal, you know? Do you believe in all that? Soul mates, that kind of thing?’

  I consider this as a police car charges round with its siren blaring. ‘I think so. But I can’t say f
or sure, not with the way my life panned out. I can’t say for sure if Craig was “the one”.’

  ‘Can’t you?’ Danny seems surprised. ‘I would have thought you would have been absolutely convinced that Craig was the one. Mostly because you never got to the stage where things could have turned sour. But … you’ve come here for what, the past two years, to think about him? Surely that means something?’

  Does it? I don’t know for sure. Gosh. Now Danny has me thinking. Why can’t I say if Craig was the one? We were well-suited; I know that for sure. We liked the same things. Sushi, steak, red wine. Crime shows, TV dramas, cutting-edge American comedy. Bike riding, squash, active holidays.

  Well, actually. The holiday thing. I always had a secret hankering for a beach holiday. Not for the full two weeks we used to go away for, but maybe half of it. A vigorous trek up a mountain, coupled with some full-on, horizontal sun-appreciation. Preferably on a beach with white sand, with shallow, turquoise waters lapping at the edge … cocktails on tap. But that wasn’t huge in the scheme of things, was it? Or the fact that Craig used to leave his mugs on the side instead of putting them in the dishwasher. And that he always wanted to have a Chinese when we ordered a takeaway. Not an Indian, or a Mexican or a Thai. A Chinese. Every single time. Superficial things, those. And I think if I’m honest, there was probably rather more to it than that. But no one is perfect. And Craig did like Doctor Who, however. That would be a deal-breaker otherwise.

  ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ Danny seems contrite for some reason. ‘None of my business.’

  ‘Oh, don’t go all silly on me now,’ I retort. ‘We’ve bared our souls here.’

  ‘We certainly have.’ There was a pause. ‘And I don’t know about you, but my bum has gone completely numb.’

  ‘So has mine.’ I laugh and Danny joins in.

  Danny stands up. ‘Shall we walk for a bit? Get the blood circulating again? We could always end up back here.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  I take his proffered hand and stand up, feeling shy. I have never clapped eyes on this man before and yet, somehow, we have exchanged the most intimate details of our romantic history; I am wearing his coat; we have cried together; and now we have, fleetingly, held hands. I feel rather overwhelmed. I have kept myself to myself for over two years now, so this all feels quite unusual.

  We start walking. Danny is tall, taller than Craig. Not as broad, but Craig spent a fair amount of time working out. Quite a lot of time, in fact, but he looked great on it. I feel another stab of sadness. Surely this pain has to end soon?

  People push past us and someone knocks my shoulder. I feel Danny’s hand on my arm, steadying me, but only for a second. I wonder if I should give Danny his coat back, but I really am chilly.

  ‘What’s your view on balloons?’ Danny asks. ‘Valentine’s Day balloons. With funny messages. Rude messages. Soppy words.’

  I bite my lip but I can feel myself smiling. ‘I know I should hate them. But honestly, I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day. And although we used to do that anti-Valentine’s Day dating thing, that was really Craig’s idea. Nothing would offend me on the present front, I have to say. Not even a teddy bear.’

  ‘Not even a teddy bear?’ Danny echoes. ‘Good lord. You are a hopeless romantic, after all, Clara. In spite of what you’ve been through.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ I give him a sideways glance as we stroll past the Theatre Royal, Haymarket. I love this theatre. Such a beautiful building. ‘Oh dear, have we found something we don’t agree on already? Do you think Valentine’s Day gifts are a bit naff?’

  Danny bursts out laughing. ‘No! I’m the complete opposite. I used to buy my ex really soppy presents. Cards, flowers, chocolates – and some much more original stuff, obviously. But she didn’t really like them, I don’t think. Not very well-suited, me and my ex. But without her, I would never have had Hannah, so I don’t regret a second.’ He shields me with his arm as a drunken couple sway past us. ‘It’s probably why I started buying my daughter teddy bears and taking her out.’ He looks bashful. ‘More suitable for kids than grown-ups anyway, I guess.’

  ‘Depends on the grown-up.’

  We meander through the streets, chatting about nothing. Everything and nothing, really. Not such important stuff, but the kind of stuff that keeps the conversation flowing and the odd laugh emerging. We played the ‘or’ game quite a bit. ‘Eat in or eat out?’ ‘Football or rugby?’ ‘Doctor Who or Downton Abbey?’ That last one was just for fun, obviously. I’m not sure I’ve enjoyed myself as much in ages.

  Or maybe I haven’t enjoyed a Valentine’s Day so much in ages, I correct myself. I’m not the type to get carried away. I like to think of myself as a ‘romantic realist’. I can be as soppy as the best of them, but only in the right circumstances. That makes me chuckle inwardly; maybe I need to lighten up a little on that front. When I’m ready to. For now, Craig is very much in my thoughts. And even though he is now part of my past, I haven’t quite let go of him yet.

  I realise I have no idea what the time is. It’s late; people are spilling out of theatres and my stomach is rumbling. Astonished, I find myself looking up at Anteros with his arrow stretched out.

  ‘We’ve come full circle,’ I say, amazed.

  ‘We certainly have.’ Danny smiles at me. ‘And we’ve talked the hind leg off a donkey. Whatever that means.’

  ‘Oh wow, look!’

  I glance up at the sky. It’s inky-dark, but tiny white flakes are falling down around us.

  ‘Snow.’ Danny looks transfixed. ‘Hannah loves snow. Oh God, here I go again, feeling all emotional. Sorry, no more tears. I just miss her.’

  ‘’Course you do.’ It’s my turn to place a hand on his arm. ‘It’s OK to miss her. I still miss Craig and he was just my husband. I mean, Hannah is your daughter. It’s different.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Danny looks up at the sky again. ‘That is a bit romantic, it has to be said. Snow on Valentine’s Day.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  I check myself. Nope. No cynicism. Just genuine appreciation. And real joy at something romantic. How about that?

  ‘Clara.’ Danny is looking at me earnestly. ‘I really hope I’m not speaking out of turn, but … could we … could we maybe meet again? I know you’re still grieving, but we could …’ He glances up at Anteros. ‘We could meet here again in a year’s time, if you want. I might not be such an emotional idiot about Hannah and you might … well, I have no idea how you might be. Not over Craig, I’m sure, but maybe a bit more ready for … open to …’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘A year is an awfully long time,’ I say, looking into his fern-green eyes. Properly this time. I decide that Danny also has a very nice mouth. Sexy. Kissable. And I haven’t thought that about a man for ages. ‘Why don’t we … exchange numbers for now and see which one of us feels … ready to meet up first?’

  ‘Well, that’s a great plan,’ Danny says, looking extremely chuffed. He leans into me so his mouth is close to my ear. ‘But I reckon it might be me who wants to meet up first. Just saying.’

  That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, so I start removing Danny’s coat.

  ‘Keep it,’ he says, wrapping it round my shoulders again. ‘Give it back to me when we see each other next.’

  ‘Oh, that’s smooth,’ I say.

  ‘I thought so,’ Danny pretends to puff himself up. Then he looks serious and holds onto the lapels of his coat so that we are facing each other. ‘But seriously. Only when you’re ready. However long it takes. Even if it’s just as friends.’

  I nod and smile. ‘OK. That’s a deal.’ I start to walk away before turning back. ‘Danny. Active holiday or beach holiday?’

  He tucks his phone into the pocket of his jeans. ‘For my sins … beach holidays. Not every time – I need some sightseeing and I always run on the beach because I like being fit. But I also love just chilling out. That’s what holidays are for, isn’t it?’

  ‘I quite agr
ee,’ I say. ‘Speak soon, Danny.’ I leave, taking a sneaky look behind me, delighted when Danny waves at me before walking off in the other direction.

  Happy Valentine’s Day, I say to myself as I head to the Tube. And goodbye Craig. Not yet, but soon. It’s nearly time. Time for a new romance. And maybe the odd beach holiday.

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  About the Author

  As a shy teenager, Ella Harper found a way to escape by learning foreign languages, and imagined she might eventually get a glamorous job speaking French. After completing a BA in French and Russian Studies, she found herself following in her father’s footsteps into banking instead, seduced by the excitement and glamour of that world. But after climbing her way to Assistant Vice President, Ella started idly mapping out the beginnings of a novel on an old laptop. When she realised her characters were more real to her than dividends and corporate actions ever could be, she left her job to become a writer. Eight years later, and Ella has published four hugely popular novels under the name Sasha Wagstaff.

  JULIA WILLIAMS

  A Brief Encounter

  The Romantic One

  Copyright

  Avon

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  First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2015

  Copyright © Julia Williams 2015

  Julia Williams asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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