We take our drinks to the sofa and sit side by side, facing each other.
‘Have you spoken to Vince?’ Charlie asks.
‘I’ve emailed him,’ I reply. ‘He said I can go and see him at eleven o’clock on Sunday morning. He’s given me his new address.’
‘Is that wise, meeting him at his house?’ He seems worried. ‘Couldn’t you have gone to a café or somewhere more public?’
I shrug. ‘To be honest, I thought he’d be tricky to pin down so I would’ve said yes to anything. He won’t kick off,’ I say assuredly, although I don’t really know. ‘He might not be happy about me writing about him, but it’s been years – he should be over it by now. Anyway, you’ll be waiting outside in your pickup if it all goes wrong. My escape vehicle.’
‘I’m just nervous about April if he does start anything. I won’t be able to leave her.’
‘To come inside and be my knight in shining armour?’ I tease.
He stares at me, deadpan.
‘He won’t kick off,’ I assure him again, brushing the subject off. ‘But I’m still really glad you’re here.’
He nods at the necklace dangling from around my neck.
‘Do you like it?’
‘I love it,’ I reply, my eyes shining as I smile at him with affection.
He smiles back at me and then shifts in his seat. ‘So, I have some news. . .’ His sentence trails away, along with his eye contact.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve just received Nicki’s royalty statement for The Secret Life of Us. She’s already earned out her advance.’
This means she’s sold so many books that she’s now being paid extra money on top of her initial payment.
‘That’s fantastic!’ I exclaim.
‘Bridget, her royalties are crazy,’ he says quietly, disbelievingly.
‘Oh, Charlie, I’m so pleased for you both.’ I know how much easier that will make things for him and April.
‘I’m thinking about joining you in Thailand.’
My jaw hits the floor. ‘Are you serious?’
He nods.
‘No! You are kidding me!’ My happy balloon is threatening to burst right out of my chest. ‘Oh, my God! That’s amazing!’
He smiles at my reaction. ‘I’m glad you’re pleased.’
‘Of course I am! I can’t stop talking in exclamation marks! Look at me!’
He laughs.
‘Oh, my God.’ I clap my hands against my cheeks, stunned and a little beside myself as I let it fully sink in.
‘So, if Elliot comes, I’ll get to meet him, after all,’ Charlie says pointedly.
Now why does that idea make me suddenly feel so cold?
Charlie hasn’t been to London in ages, and April has never been at all, so the next day we go into town to do some sightseeing. April likes the lions in Trafalgar Square and the guards in their red uniforms outside Buckingham Palace, and afterwards we head to Regent Street and go into Hamleys. I buy April a bubble machine for her to take back home with her, remembering how much she liked the music man’s bubbles.
Charlie wants to nip into a clothes shop, so I tell him we’ll meet up in half an hour. In the meantime, I go and buy April an ice cream, because what the hell, I want to spoil her.
We wander into the White Company so I can check out swimsuits for April – I’d like to get her one for Thailand. Whether or not they still have them at this time of year is another matter, but I can pick up some PJs for her if not – I’ve bought them for other friends from here before.
We make it to the back of the store before a sales assistant greets us.
‘Good afternoon,’ she says brightly, looking from me to April. Her mouth gapes open and the blood drains from her face.
‘Oh, no,’ she says with horror. ‘No, no, no, you can’t eat in here.’
Another sales assistant spies us and hurries over, just as I crane my neck over the pram to see that April’s face and hands are covered in chocolate ice cream. Oops.
‘No food in here!’ the other sales assistant calls, beckoning madly to a third person.
Together the three of them shepherd us out of the shop, their eyes wild and their arms locking us in like a jail, making sure there’s zero chance of April’s sticky fingers reaching out to brush chocolate goo over their pristine, perfect, immaculate white clothes.
I make it out of the shop and almost keel over with laughter on the pavement.
I’ve sobered up by the next day. I’m nervous as Charlie follows my directions to Vince’s house. We’ve timed it well with April’s nap – she’s fast asleep when we arrive in New Barnet, north London, where Vince lives. His house is a tan, pebble-dashed semi next to a brown brick apartment block. There’s a white van parked in the front drive with the name of his landscape-gardening business painted on the side: ‘GARDENS BY VINCE’.
He’s not what you’d call inspiring.
Charlie pulls up outside the house and looks out of the window. I follow his gaze. Eventually, he turns to me. He stares straight at me, but doesn’t say a word.
I still haven’t made any move to get out of his pickup.
‘You don’t have to do this,’ he says at last.
I shake my head and jolt into action, opening the door and climbing out onto the road. I can feel Charlie’s eyes tracking me as I walk around the front of his vehicle and up Vince’s drive. I knock on the white, plasticky-looking door.
Through the two frosted panes of seventies-style etched glass, I see the bulk of Vince’s frame approaching from down the corridor. He’s in no hurry.
He opens the door and regards me coolly. He’s broader – fatter – than he used to be, with a bit of a potbelly around his middle. His dark hair is even blacker than it used to be, the tell-tale sign of a war against grey.
‘Hello.’ I force a smile onto my face, which isn’t returned.
‘Bridget,’ he says in a low, unpleasant voice, stepping back to let me pass. I cast one last look at Charlie over my shoulder. He’s staring through his side window, reminding me of a lion about to pounce.
‘Who’s that?’ Vince notices who has my attention and pauses in his move to shut the door.
‘A friend,’ I reply.
‘One of your many men?’ he asks nastily, not expecting a reply.
The door closes with a light click, rather than a heavy clunk, but it feels just as threatening.
My head is spinning slightly as he motions for me to go into the living room. At least I can see Charlie from here, I note, albeit cloudily through the muslin curtains. I drag my eyes away from the window and they land on toy boxes. I glance up at Vince with relief.
‘You have children?’
‘Two,’ he replies, curtly.
‘So you’re married?’
‘Four years.’
‘Congratulations.’ My smile is genuine, but he seems intent on making this painful for me. ‘Where’s your wife?’ I ask.
‘She’s taken the kids to her mother’s,’ he replies. ‘Do you want a drink or will we be making this quick?’ His tone is frosty and abrupt.
‘I don’t need a drink.’ My earlier trepidation returns in force as I perch on the edge of his battered, stained sofa. I try to steel myself and remember my lines, but it’s hard to concentrate. ‘Vince,’ I say calmly, ‘do you know why I’ve come?’
‘I’ve got a pretty good idea,’ he sneers. ‘The missus saw you on the telly a couple of weeks ago, recorded it for me.’ That probably means he’s ranted to her about me in the past. ‘I can’t believe you’ve actually got the nerve to come here.’
‘I need to ask you for the piece of my heart back.’
The words have never sounded more foolish. I just want to be done with it so I can get back to Charlie and April.
He hoots in my face. ‘Have you got any idea how ridiculous you sound?’ His bitterness runs deep.
‘Can I have it or not?’ I snap.
He sniggers and relaxes back in the sof
a, folding his arms.
‘You know what?’ Suddenly I see red. ‘You’re right. This is ridiculous. You never had a part of it in the first place. I was just devastated by Freddie and you were. . . Well, you were just there, weren’t you?’ I get to my feet, but he’s faster. He looks stunned, as if I’d hit him. As I try to leave the room, he grabs my arm hard and drags me to a halt.
‘Get your hands off me or I’ll have you for assault,’ I warn, meeting his furious glare head on.
‘If you dare write about this, I’ll sue you,’ he threatens in return, practically hurling my arm away.
I back towards the door, then hurriedly open it. I know he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on – I change all the details of the men I write about – but I don’t bother pointing that out. As I say, he never had a piece of my heart anyway. We’re down to eleven.
‘Slag!’ he calls as I hurry down the path.
Charlie gets out of the car.
‘No, don’t,’ I say firmly, shaking my head at him. ‘April,’ I remind him. ‘Come on. I just want to go.’
Chapter 38
I really am very sorry about Charlie’s black mood, but I can’t find it in me to stress about what happened with Vince. I’m too excited about the prospect of Thailand.
Charlie hasn’t booked his tickets yet, so I put him in touch with Marty. It would be amazing if we could go on the same flight, if not from Heathrow – that would be a bit of a trek for him – then at least from Bangkok.
I try to perk him up as we say goodbye.
‘Will you be all right?’ he asks, seeming reluctant to leave.
‘I’ll be fine!’ I exclaim. ‘Thailand, remember?’
‘And you’re sure you want us to all be there at the same time? We won’t be gatecrashing on a romantic getaway for you and Elliot?’ He looks concerned.
‘No. He probably won’t be able to make it, anyway.’
I go outside to wave them off, my heartstrings twanging as they round the corner, then I return indoors and play Honeyblood’s ‘Super Rat’ as loudly as I can without riling the neighbours through all four walls. When the chorus kicks in, I sing, ‘I will hate you forever’ at the top of my voice. It’s an ode to Vince, but, despite the sentiment, I can’t stop smiling.
Sara calls me the next day. She falls silent when I tell her I don’t want to write about Vince.
‘I’m sorry, but he never had a piece of my heart in the first place,’ I say.
‘But you can write about that,’ she replies emphatically. ‘It will make a fabulous chapter.’
‘I don’t want to.’ My voice is sullen.
‘That would be a missed opportunity,’ she cautions. ‘Does Elliot have anything to do with this change of heart?’
‘No, I haven’t spoken to him. He’d probably tell me to write about it, too,’ I mutter.
‘Perhaps you should call him, then,’ she says boldly.
The fact is, Elliot and I haven’t had a proper catch-up since I’ve been back. It’s never felt like the right time. He was very surprised to hear that Charlie and April were coming to see me. Surprised and apprehensive. I told him Charlie didn’t want me to visit Vince on my own and that ruffled his feathers a bit. I had to convince him he was just looking out for me, as any friend would, but it made him suspicious.
‘Is there anything I need to know?’ he asked me, a wary undertone to his voice.
‘No,’ I replied.
‘Because I’ve always trusted you.’
‘And you are right to,’ I said firmly.
He left it at that.
How am I going to tell him that Charlie and April are coming to Thailand? The truth is, he would mind their ‘gatecrashing’, as Charlie put it.
I try not to fret unnecessarily. There are only three weeks until we set off, so, if Elliot hasn’t got his act together yet, chances are he never will.
I’m wrong. He FaceTimes me the next morning, wanting to know how it went with Vince. I tell him. Unsurprisingly, he agrees with Sara.
‘She’s right, Bridgie,’ he says with easy nonchalance. ‘It would make a good chapter.’
I feel a spark of anger. ‘You weren’t there, you don’t know what he was like. I couldn’t bear to give the bastard the attention!’
Charlie was there, and he agrees with me. . . I don’t say it out loud.
‘All right, calm your tits,’ he replies with a grin. ‘I’ve got some news that will cheer you up.’
‘What?’ I ask, still smarting.
‘Guess who’s coming to Thailand. . .’
I stare at his gleeful face and realise that I don’t feel a trace of excitement.
His smile falters.
What I actually feel, I realise, is dismay.
That’s not right. That’s not right at all.
This is not a reaction I can bank. This is something that needs dealing with here and now.
Elliot’s brow creases into a frown. ‘You don’t seem that happy about it.’
I shake my head. I can’t correct him.
‘What’s going on?’ he demands to know.
‘Elliot, I’m sorry.’ My voice comes out in not much more than a whisper.
‘Why?’ he asks guardedly as I force myself to face the truth – it’s something I’ve been avoiding for a while.
‘I don’t want you to come,’ I admit.
‘What?’ he asks with alarm.
I take a deep breath and make myself say it. ‘I think we should break up.’
‘What?!’ He flies to an upright position. He’s been sprawled out on his brown-leather sofa, the one on which I’ve snuggled up with him on countless occasions. ‘Does this have anything to do with Charlie?’
‘No.’ My scalp prickles as I shake my head. ‘Yes.’ I shake it harder. ‘I don’t know.’ I return my gaze to him on the screen.
‘Have you cheated on me?’ He’s aghast.
‘No!’ I exclaim. ‘Never!’
‘But you wanted to,’ he says flatly.
‘That’s not true. At least, I don’t think it is. I’m very confused.’
I’ve always had strict rules about what constitutes cheating. To me, being unfaithful is not as simple as getting physical. Even fantasising about kissing or having sex with someone who isn’t your partner is a crime in my books.
I haven’t thought about Charlie in that way, but I’ve been suffocating a far deeper attraction to him. And there’s more to it than that. I can no longer deny what my heart has been trying to tell me for weeks.
I am in love with Charlie.
And how he feels about me is irrelevant to the conversation that’s going on right now. My admission itself is enough to bring my relationship with Elliot to its knees.
‘Do you not think this is just because we’ve been apart for so long?’ Elliot asks me in a wavering voice, and I feel sick to see the pain I’m causing.
Would we be splitting up if I’d never left Australia? I doubt it very much. We are good together – we always have been. I still can’t believe we found each other again after all these years. There’s every chance I’m making a terrible mistake in letting him go.
‘I could still come to Thailand.’ He puts forward this gentle suggestion. ‘We could just see.’
‘No.’ My chest feels constricted as reality sinks in. I really am breaking up with him.
It’s not as if there hadn’t been signs: I’ve been avoiding Face-Timing him for weeks, and, when we have spoken recently, our conversations have often been strained. The piece of me that was his has been shrinking steadily ever since Charlie and I became friends. It’s nothing that Elliot has done. It’s nothing that anyone has done intentionally. My heart is holding the reins, not my head. And it has already carved part of itself off for Charlie.
‘It is Charlie, isn’t it?’ Elliot looks stunned.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I reply, feeling an intense stab of frustration that we’re having to have this conversation on the phone and not in perso
n. ‘I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how he feels about me.’
‘You’re his dead wife’s ghostwriter, for Christ’s sake!’
‘I know!’ I raise my voice, feeling like I’m going to throw up. ‘And that’s totally fucked up! Nothing might ever come of this. All I know is that when you said you were coming to Thailand, I wasn’t happy. That’s the undeniable truth of the matter.’
‘So this is it,’ he says with disbelief. ‘We’re done?’
I stare with anguish at his face on the screen. The phone camera doesn’t care that this moment is poignant – it still refuses to capture our eye contact. I force myself to say it out loud. ‘Yes, El. I’m so sorry.’
A thought occurs to him, then. ‘Am I going to feature on your blog one day?’
‘No.’ I shake my head vigorously. ‘No.’
‘I better not, Bridget,’ he warns, and the little devil on my shoulder cries, ‘How do you like it when the tables are turned?’
‘You won’t,’ I vow. ‘You won’t.’
‘That would be really fucking ironic.’
I continue to shake my head.
He sighs and drags his hand over his beard, looking gutted. Tears spring up in my eyes. ‘Man. What will our mates say?’
I think of Bronte’s disappointed face and wince. She adores Elliot. I’ll get a call from her at some point, wanting to know what on earth it is I think I’m doing. I’m not sure myself. Everyone said we were the perfect couple. But is there any such thing?
We end the call, neither of us wanting to draw it out any longer, but that’s not to say we won’t speak again.
I go back to bed, swiping a box of tissues from the side table as I walk past. I don’t know what will happen with Charlie. I know he cares for me, but I’m not sure if his feelings run deeper – or if he’d ever even allow them to run deeper.
The future is uncertain, but right now, I just want to engulf myself in the past. I need time to mourn the death of yet another relationship.
Chapter 39
In the end, Charlie and April take an earlier flight to Thailand, so our flight paths don’t coincide, but it gives them a day or so to catch up with Grandpa Dupré before I arrive. I, in turn, will be at the resort for an extra day after they leave. With Alain’s contacts and my press credentials, it was no trouble to change our reservations to a two-bedroom beach house that will accommodate the three of us. Charlie simply asked, ‘No Elliot?’ when I emailed to ask if he was happy with the arrangement. I replied, ‘No,’ and didn’t get a response.