Secret Smile

CHAPTER 7

Nick did call two days later. There seems to be a strict code about when you call, the way there used to be a code about on which date to kiss for the first time. If you call on the same day, you're virtually a stalker. If you call the day after, you're maybe a bit desperate because, as the first day is out of the question, the second day is really the first day, so you're calling on the first day. If they're going to call at all, people call on the third day. If you wait longer than the third day, you might as well not call at all. The person will have either married or emigrated. Personally I've never paid any attention to the code. Life is too short. If it had been me, I would have called the moment I was home.

So Nick called and it was all pretty simple. We arranged to meet the next evening at a bar in Camden Town. I was five minutes early and he was a few minutes late. He was wearing faded jeans and a checked shirt which hung loosely under his leather jacket. He was unshaven and his eyes were very dark brown, almost black.

'You're a decorator,' he said. 'Pattie told me. And I can see some paint in your hair.'

I rubbed my hair self-consciously.

'There's nothing I can do about it,' I said. 'However much I check, there's always a spot somewhere round the back I've missed. It falls off in the end.'

When I meet people, they become improbably excited by the fact that I'm a woman doing the work I do. You'd think I was defusing bombs. Still, it gives me something to talk about. And it's a bit like being a doctor. I get asked for my advice. People ask me about how they should do up their homes.

Then Nick asked me what I wanted to do after.

'After what?' I said, pretending not to understand.

'Well. I mean – do you want to always be a decorator?'

'You mean, instead of getting a profession?'

'I guess so,' he said uncomfortably.

'Yes,' I said simply. 'This is what I want to do.'

'Sorry – that probably sounded really patronizing.'

Yes, it did, so I just asked Nick what he did. He told me that he worked for an advertising company. I asked if they'd done anything I would have seen. Lots, he said. He said that they were the ones who'd done the commercial with the fluffy talking pig. Unfortunately I hadn't seen it. I asked what he was working on now, and he replied that they'd recently won a huge account with an oil company and he was working on a report in preparation for the campaign.

But it didn't matter. What mattered were the things going on underneath the conversation, the things we weren't saying. After what seemed like a short time I looked at my watch and was surprised we'd been talking for over an hour.

'I've got to go,' I said. 'I'm having dinner with this old friend of mine. Laura,' I added, to make it clear that I wasn't off to meet a man who might be a boyfriend or an ex-boyfriend or someone I might be considering as a boyfriend.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I hoped that we could have dinner. Or something. Not tonight, obviously. What about, I don't know, Thursday?'

I had arranged to see Troy on Wednesday that week, so Thursday sounded fine. I walked out of the bar thinking, yes, I was sure, almost sure at least, that something was going to happen. I had another thought as well, almost a scary one: maybe this was the best bit. Probably for the next few days or weeks we would have the excitement of a new object in our lives, exploring it, finding out about it. We would ask each other questions, tell carefully edited stories from our earlier lives. We would be so nice to each other, so concerned and thoughtful and just endlessly curious. And then what? Either it would fade away or just end quickly, and we would lose touch and become a memory. Somehow it never subsided into pleasant friendship. There was no way back to that. Or we would become a couple, and even then we would have to subside into some sort of normality in which we got on with our jobs and had anniversaries and had joint opinions about things and we would complete each other's sentences. It could be good. People say so. But it could never have the sheer possibility of the beginning. I felt wistful and it seemed to suit the early evening. On one side of the road the cars and shopfronts and people walking home from work were painted in gold from the last of the sun. On the other side of the road they were lost in deep shadow.

When I saw Laura, she knew straight away that something was up, which it wasn't, not really.

'You don't need to say anything,' she said. 'I can tell just by looking at you.' I tried to tell her not to be ridiculous. It had only been a drink. I thought he seemed nice, but I couldn't tell yet.

I was more convinced than I let on. Thursday was good as well. We ate at a place just around the corner from my flat and the evening went by almost without my noticing, until we were the only people left in the restaurant and the chef was out from the kitchen with a glass of wine chatting with us. Twenty minutes later we were in the doorway of my flat, kissing each other. I pulled back from him and smiled.

'I'd like to ask you up,' I said.

But…?'

'Soon,' I said. 'Really soon. It was such a nice evening, I had a great time, I really like you. I'm just not…'

'Sure?'

'Ready. I'm sure, Nick.'

'Can I see you tomorrow?'

'Yes, of course…' Then I remembered. 'Fuck. Sorry. I've got to… You won't believe it, but I've got to go round to my parents. Things are a bit complicated with them. I'll tell you about it. But not now.'

'What about the day after tomorrow?'

'That would be so lovely.'

I arrived at my parents' house feeling sulky. It had been bad enough, but then my mother had phoned me just before I left, asking if I could dress up. I pulled off my trousers and top and put on the blue velvet dress that I've had for so long its hemline's gone wavy.

'You look lovely, dear,' said my mother, as she let me in.

I growled something in response. At least she hadn't asked me how I was. My parents were also decidedly dressed up. Troy was there as well. He looked exactly the same as usual, in corduroy trousers and a faded green sweater which should have looked fine. Troy is a rather beautiful young man, or should be. But something was always just slightly off.

'It's good to see you, Miranda,' said my father. 'We're seeing a lot of each other, aren't we?'

'So where are the lovebirds?' I asked.

'Miranda,' said my mother in a tone of rebuke.

'I didn't mean anything by that,' I said.

'They should be here any…' my mother said and before she could finish the sentence, the door rang and she smiled at me. 'Why don't you go?' she said to me, pushing me towards the door.

I opened the door and there were Brendan and Kerry on the doorstep, entangled, laughing, in love. They gave me another of their group hugs as they spilled into the house. When I saw them in the light of the living room, they looked startlingly smart. Kerry was wearing a purple satin dress I'd never seen before. It clung to her hips and breasts. When she looked at Brendan, it was with a sort of dazed carnal pleasure. They looked like a couple who had been in bed together about eight seconds earlier. Brendan was wearing an expensive-looking shiny suit and a large colourful tie decorated with some sort of cartoon character I couldn't recognize. He was carrying a shopping bag that clinked. He removed from it two bottles of champagne, glistening with droplets of water. He placed them on the table. There were already six tall glasses there. He picked up one of the glasses and lightly tapped it with his finger so that it rang like a little bell.

'Without further ado,' he said, 'I'm so glad you're all here. Kerry and I wanted you to be the first to know.' I felt a lurch in my stomach. 'Yesterday, I took Kerry out to dinner. And I regret to say that I caused a certain sensation just before the dessert course. I knelt down beside her and asked if she would marry me. And I am very glad to report that she said yes.'

Kerry smiled shyly and held up her hand to reveal a ring. I looked at my mother. Tears were spilling from her eyes. She moved towards them with both arms outstretched and, after they'd hugged, I stepped forwards as well.

'Kerry,' I said, 'I'm so happy for you.'

'Hang on, hang on,' said Brendan. 'That can wait. I just wanted to say one more thing. I spent most of my life moving from foster parent to foster parent. I was a lonely little boy, and I didn't know what it was like to belong to a family, to be loved and welcomed and accepted for what you were.' As he spoke, two huge tears welled up in his eyes and rolled symmetrically down his cheeks. He didn't wipe them away. 'When I first came here,' he continued, 'when I met you, Derek and Marcia, I felt I had come home. I felt at home. What more can I say? Thank you. And now I've brought some champagne so that you can toast our happiness.'

It was all chaos. Brendan opened the champagne in between hugs from my mother and handshakes from my father. Troy gave a shrug and said it was really good and wished them luck. My mother hugged Kerry so tightly I thought she would do her damage. When the champagne was poured and distributed, my father gave a cough. Oh God, I thought. Another speech.

'I'm not going to say too much,' he said. 'It's all been rather quick, I must say.' He smiled at my mother, a shy smile that made him look like a boy. 'But then, if I remember rightly, some other people in this room acted rather impulsively when they first met.' My parents met at a wedding of a friend in 1974 and were married two months later. 'Sometimes we should trust our instincts. And one thing I know: I have never seen Kerry look so happy and so beautiful. Brendan, I think you're lucky to have her.'

'I know,' he said, and we all laughed.

'What I really wanted,' said my father, 'is to drink to the happy couple. Can we call them that?'

'The happy couple,' we all said and clinked each other's glasses.

I looked at Kerry. She was almost crying. My mother was definitely crying. Brendan was blowing his nose on a handkerchief and wiping his shiny cheeks. Even my father looked suspiciously near to tears. I made myself a promise. I would make this work. Or, at least, I would let it work. I felt a prod at my elbow.

'A penny for your thoughts,' said Brendan.

'Congratulations,' I said. 'I'm very glad for you.'

'That's important to me.' He looked around. Mum and Dad and Kerry and Troy were in a group at the far end of the room, talking, laughing. Brendan leaned closer to me.

'When I made the announcement, I was looking at you,' he said. 'You looked shocked.'

'Surprised,' I said. 'It's been sudden.'

'I can see it's difficult for you,' he said.

'It's not difficult at all.'

'When I was talking, I was looking at your mouth,' he said.

'What?'

'You've got a beautiful mouth,' Brendan said. He moved closer still. I could smell his breath, sour against my face. 'And I was thinking that I've come into that mouth.'

'What?'

'It's funny,' he said, in a low voice. 'I'm marrying your sister and I was thinking of my semen in your mouth.'

'What?' I said again, too loudly.

The others stopped talking and looked round. I felt something on my skin, hot, feverish.

'Excuse me,' I said, my mouth feeling clammy. I put my glass down and walked out of the room quickly. I heard Brendan saying something. I went into the lavatory. Just in time I pushed my head towards the bowl and vomited in spasms, again and again, until there was nothing left but hot fluid that burned my mouth and throat.