A Question of Love (6 page)

‘Any general knowledge question,’ I corrected him.

‘Still, it was a very good, fast-paced show,’ Sara interrupted. ‘You were a great contestant, Luke, and there was no harm done. Anyway, I’ll…leave you two to it,’ she added tactfully. ‘You’ve obviously got some catching up to do.’

As Sara retreated, Luke smiled at me again, quizzically, as if slightly bewildered by my frosty demeanour, but what did he expect? Why should I be warm and effusive when he’d embarrassed me like that, not to mention what had happened between us twelve years before?

‘Can I ask you something?’ I said.

‘Of course.’ He grabbed another sausage roll. ‘That’s your job now, isn’t it—asking people things. Gosh I’m hungry—I didn’t have lunch.’

‘Did you plan to do that?’

‘No. I was going to ask you something perfectly sensible—’ he wiped the crumbs off his lips—‘but then I suddenly felt this overwhelming compulsion to ask you out to dinner instead.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘So it was a “caprice” then was it—an “impulsive change of mind”?’

He smiled. ‘I suppose it was.’

‘And why did you laugh when I asked you what “caprine” meant?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘It would take
too
long to explain—I’ll tell you over dinner. You will come, I hope. It’s been such a long time.’ He smiled again, and as he did so, I was suddenly acutely aware, despite my turmoil, of the familiar longing that I had once had for him resurfacing. I wanted him to wrap his arms around me, like he used to. ‘Will you?’ I wanted to bury my face in his neck. I wanted to trace the lovely curve of his lips with my fingertips. ‘Will you?’ he repeated.

‘I really don’t…know.’

‘Playing hard to get, Laura?’

‘No, but…’ I suddenly surfaced from my reverie. ‘Look, Luke—you’ve got a
nerve
. You waltz back into my life in this…
bizarre
way, and now you’re just assuming I’ll have dinner with you, when we haven’t actually
spoken
since 1993, have we?’

‘No. But that’s not my fault.’

‘It
is
!’ I lowered my voice, aware of eyeballs swivelling discreetly in our direction. ‘It
is
your fault.’

‘That’s not true. You wouldn’t answer my letters or calls. You airbrushed me out of your life as though I’d never existed.’

‘Who could
blame
me?’ I enquired. ‘In the
circumstances
?’ A silence descended.

‘This is just like old times,’ he said happily. I realized, with a jolt, that he was right. Two minutes in each other’s company and we’d already stripped down to our emotional underpants.

I tried to wrest the conversation back to neutral ground. ‘So what was the sensible question you were going to ask me then?’

‘Ah—well, I gave that very careful thought. I didn’t want to ask you anything that you might not know, because of course the last thing I wanted was for you to be humiliated in front of the watching millions.’

‘How considerate.’

‘So I decided I’d ask you a question that you’d be able to work out.’

‘Namely?’

‘How many times a day does the human heart beat?’

I looked at him blankly. ‘That sounds like one of your classic snippets of Useless Information.’

‘It is. But your mental arithmetic was pretty hot, I remember, so I knew you’d get it.’

‘But it would almost certainly have taken me longer than five seconds, so you could have doubled your money there, Luke. Your little joke was rather expensive, wasn’t it?’

‘Oh well.’ He shrugged. ‘Eight grand’s enough.’

‘For what—if you don’t mind my asking? I mean, why on earth did you want to take part?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘I
do.
I was surprised to see you, to put it mildly.’

‘Okay. I was put up to it by a couple of friends. I was complaining to them that I needed a few grand because I’d like to go to art school—I’ve always wanted to go. Don’t you remember that?’

‘Yes, I do. Of course.’

‘And I’ve got a place at the Slade to do a part-time diploma. But I’m very short of cash at the moment for various reasons which I won’t bore you with, so they suggested that I try and get on
Whadda Ya Know?!!
When I discovered that you were the presenter it was a bit of a shock, to put it mildly, and I decided against it. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized how much I’d like to see you again—especially when I found out that your office isn’t far from where I live.’

‘Then why didn’t you just write to me there?’

‘Because I didn’t think you’d reply. You probably wouldn’t have done, would you?’

‘I don’t…know. I…probably…
not.’

‘Exactly. So I decided that I’d just get myself on the show. To be honest, I thought you’d know beforehand.’

‘I should have done, but I hadn’t read the list of contestants.

He glanced at his watch. ‘Crikey—I must get going—I’ve got to pick up Jessica.’ Jessica? ‘She’s my girl,’ he explained proudly. I felt a sudden sagging, as though all my buoyancy had gone. ‘She’s the love of my life.’

‘I see.

‘She’s really gorgeous. She’s got big blue eyes…’

‘How nice…I really
must
talk to the other contestants.’

‘And this
fantastic
smile.’

‘That’s great.’ I held out my hand. ‘It was nice seeing you again, Luke.’ I gave him a brittle smile, then turned away.

‘Do you want to see a photo of her?’

‘Sorry? No—not particularly, since you ask.’

‘Hang on…here you go…’ He’d removed a small folding leather frame from his pocket and now handed it to me. Staring out at me was an angelic little girl, smiling gappily.

‘She’s your daughter?’ He nodded enthusiastically. A wave of relief flooded over me, in a way that took me aback. ‘I didn’t know you’d had a baby.’

‘Didn’t you?’

I shrugged. ‘I didn’t have a clue
what
had happened to you.’ I didn’t add that I’d avoided finding out. I’d dropped all our friends because I couldn’t bear the association. I looked at the photo again. ‘She
is
gorgeous. She’s really beautiful.’

‘Well, I think so obviously, but thanks.’

‘She’s, what, five?’

‘Just turned six.’

‘So you—got married and all that, did you?’

‘I did.’

‘Uh huh.’ So that was that then.

‘Anyway…’ He fished his car keys out of his pocket and jingled them. ‘I’d better be off—it’s my turn to collect her from school. So…I guess you don’t want to have dinner with me.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh well…’

‘I didn’t actually
say
that, Luke.’

‘Well you didn’t say that you
did.
‘ He picked up his scarf. ‘So you’ve changed your mind have you?’

‘How could I have changed it when I hadn’t made it
up
? You’re being so…bloody…
manipulative
.’

He smiled. ‘I’m not actually—I’m being direct. I’m asking you if you’ll have dinner with me—how about Friday? Now, I’m in a hurry so, if you don’t reply, I’ll take your silence as assent. I’ll pick you up at eight shall I?’

‘But…’

‘But what?’ He looked at me then slapped his brow. ‘Of course…but I don’t know your
address.
Silly me. Give it to me now then will you?’

‘No Luke—that wasn’t what I meant. I meant—what about your
wife
?’ My heart was beating so loudly I thought he’d hear it. ‘You said you were married—won’t your
wife
mind? I rather imagine she will.’

He shook his head. ‘I’m not going to tell her.’

‘Oh. Well, I don’t think that’s on.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Get off your high horse will you Laura. I’m not going to tell her—for the simple reason that I don’t have to. We’re separated.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said. My heart sang. In fact it wasn’t just singing—it was jigging and pirouetting and twirling and hopping. ‘I
am
sorry to hear that. Since when?’

‘Last May…Anyway, Laura, I’ve got to leave right now. So what’s the answer then?’ He picked up his coat.

‘Well—’ and now, for the first time, I allowed myself to smile—‘the answer
is
…a hundred thousand. The human heart beats a hundred thousand times a day doesn’t it?’

‘That’s right.’ He kissed me on the cheek. ‘Sometimes more.’

They say the first cut’s the deepest—and it’s true. Seeing Luke again seemed to have cast the whole world in an entirely new light. All that was familiar looked oddly unfamiliar—as though the prism through which I’d viewed everything had changed. As I opened my front door that evening, it was as though the past had risen up to overwhelm the present and I was seeing the flat for the very first time. I went straight to my desk and took out a carved wooden box in which I’d kept things too personal for public display. There was a black and white photo of my parents, kissing; there was a beribboned lock of my grandmother’s hair, there were my engagement and wedding rings in their velvet boxes and, at the bottom, one of Luke’s drawings of me. I’d burnt all the others—he’d done dozens—but, for some reason, I’d kept just thisone. He’d sketched me while I slept one Sunday morning at the end of our first month together when everything had been heightened—intense. Now, as I looked at my younger self, my naked form caught in dark blue pastel lines and smudged shadows, I thought of how different my life might have been.

I poured a glass of wine, had a couple of large, steadying sips, then lay on the sofa, eyes closed, thinking about Luke, allowing all the memories that I had pushed away for so long to wash back on a nostalgic tide…

Thump! Thump!
I opened my eyes. ‘Oh God.’
Thump! Thump!
I looked at the ceiling. ‘Not again.’ My new upstairs neighbour is a medium and her séances can get a bit noisy
. Thump! THUMP! THUMP!!
I rolled my eyes, imagining the curtains swishing, light bulbs popping and furniture flying round the room. I haven’t met her yet, though I caught a glimpse of her when she moved in—she’s one of these glamorous brunettes
d’un certain age
. But I know what she does, because for the past month people have been buzzing my intercom, and asking me if I’m ‘Psychic Cynth?’
Thump! Thump!!
According to the letters she gets, her real name is Cynthia del Mar.
THUMP! THUMP!!!
I see her cat sitting on the fire escape sometimes.

THUMP!! THUMP!!! ‘EEEEEEHH!!!’
This really was a bit much. Why couldn’t she show a little consideration, or at least clock off at a reasonable time? I glanced at my watch. It was a minute to eight—time to turn on the TV; with luck it would drown out her noise.

‘Fingers on the buzzers now everyone,’ said the continuity announcer cheerily. ‘Because it’s time for Channel Four’s brand new quiz show
- Whadda Ya Know?!!
‘ The opening credits rolled. And there I was, asking the four contestants—two men and two women—to introduce themselves. We’d recorded this edition in early January.

‘My name’s Peter Watts and I’m a civil servant.’

‘I’m Sue Jones and I work in I.T.’

‘I’m Geoff Cornish and I’m a poultry wholesaler.’

‘My name’s Kate Carr and I’m a librarian.’

‘Here we go. First Question…’

I felt disconsolate, watching it alone, but there wasn’t anyone to watch it with. My parents live in Yorkshire, Hope and Mike were out, and I hadn’t wanted to go round to Felicity’s because I was seeing her the following night. It would have been nice to have watched it with Tom, but he was obviously busy. I think he might be seeing someone—I’ve got that feeling. Now, as we got to the third or fourth question I heard, from above, ‘Oh!—oh!—OOOOOH!!‘
THUMP!! THUMP!!!

Living below a spiritualist might bother some people, but it doesn’t bother me because I don’t believe in the paranormal—I’m a rationalist, so I only believe in facts. But although it doesn’t spook me, I do object to the noise. And Geoff the poultry wholesaler had just got the question about Noël Coward completely wrong (the answer was
Blithe Spirit
, not
Hay Fever
), when there was the sound of rapidly descending footsteps, then urgent knocking.

‘Hell-oooo!!!’ I heard, in a pleasantly husky, but oddly over-elocuted voice. ‘Is there anybody there? Is there anybody
th-e-r-e?
‘ I wearily got to my feet.

‘You’re a medium,’ I muttered. ‘So you should know.’ I opened the door. There was Cynthia, looking desperate.

‘I’m
awfully
sorry,’ she breathed, clasping the architrave with both hands. ‘But I’ve got a problem.’

‘Yes?’ I said wonderingly, inhaling the overpowering aroma of her
Knowing
. I’ve a good memory for scents as well as facts.

‘I’m Cynthia.’ She offered me a bejewelled and beautifully manicured hand. ‘I know we haven’t met properly, but I wonder if you could help me.’

‘Sure. If I can do. How?’

‘My blasted television’s broken down again. It usually responds to manual violence, but not today for some reason.’ Ah. That explained the noise. But what did she think
I
could do? Thump it myself? Call Radio Rentals? ‘And there’s this new quiz show I’m
dying
to watch.’

‘I see.’

‘It looks like a real goodie actually.’

‘Hmm.’

‘So I wondered if you’d mind if I watched it down here.’ Oh.

‘Well…’

‘I’m
so
sorry,’ she breathed. ‘I know it’s an
awful
imposition.’ Why not, I thought? In any case my encounter with Luke had made me feel expansive and generous.

‘It’s…okay. I really don’t mind. I’m just watching it myself actually.’

She clapped her hand to her chest, rattling her string of large pearls. ‘Oh that
is
kind of you! You see I
adore
quizzes,’ she explained, as she barged past me and installed herself on the sofa. ‘I watch them all. I’m rather
good
at them if I say so myself. Ooh, is that an open bottle? I’d
love
a glass.’

I wouldn’t have minded Cynthia’s presence—or the speed with which she consumed most of my Merlot—were it not for her non-stop commentary on the show. She sat right forward on the sofa, staring at the screen intently. If she’d had a tub of popcorn she would have been rattling it.