Part 2 (1/2)
A watery ray of pale suns.h.i.+ne was s.h.i.+ning weakly through the window. Laura turned and left, with the fresh pot of tea, her head bowed in thought.
”I've canceled lunch,” she said as she came back into her room.
Dan sat up in bed and spread his arms wide. ”Great, great news, my gorgeous darling girl,” he said. His hands slid inside her ratty old dressing gown and slipped open the tie, and he pulled her toward him. Laura laughed.
”Let me put the pot down,” she said as he started kissing her. She crouched to put the paper and the teapot on the floor, then stood up again and said, as Dan flung the duvet to one side, ”So, what do you want to do today?”
”You,” Dan said, jumping on her with the kind of alacrity usually shown by sailors on sh.o.r.e leave. ”G.o.d, I could be with you all day, you are so f.u.c.king gorgeous. Mmm.”
”No,” Laura said, laughing as he pulled off her dressing gown. ”I mean later. I've canceled lunch. We could go out, you know. Maybe...er, Kenwood House for...er, hot chocolate.”
Dan didn't answer, but carried on doing what he was doing. Laura sighed and pushed him away. ”Dan, listen.”
”Yes, yes,” Dan said. ”Hot chocolate.”
”No,” she said. ”I mean, we go out to get hot chocolate, at Kenwood.”
”What are you talking about?” Dan said, looking down at her. ”Why do you want to go and get hot chocolate at Kenwood? Is there a festival there or something?”
”No, I mean-what shall we do today, then? We should do something. Go out, you know, make the most of it. The sun's just come out.”
Dan cupped her breast in his hand and bent over to kiss her again. ”I can't, darling,” he said. ”We can't. Someone might see us. Imagine if they did.” He looked up, his expression anguished. ”I'm sorry.”
”But,” Laura said, trying to be patient, ”who are we going to b.u.mp into in the yew trees at Kenwood?”
”The what?” Dan said. Laura watched him intently. ”No, we just can't. We should...we have to stay here. Not for much longer, I promise. But things might be tricky for the next couple of months.”
”Why?” said Laura, not understanding, and reluctantly waving goodbye to her winter-wonderland dream of laughing and joking in a Missoni print cape as she and Dan carelessly drank hot chocolate and held hands amidst the frosty trees.
”I mean,” said Dan, ”if I'm going to split up with Amy, you and I won't be able to see each other for a time while it's going on. I mean, on our own-not the usual in the pub with everyone else there. Right?”
”Oh, right,” said Laura, not daring to hope he was saying what he was saying. ”So...”
”So,” said Dan, bending over her nipple and kissing it gently, ”this might be the last time we get to do this for a long time. So-we should-make the most of it....”
”Yes,” gasped Laura suddenly, understanding him, pulling him down. ”Yes, I see....”
As Dan moved down her body, Laura closed her eyes, and the last thing she saw was the crumpled cover of the Guardian's travel section. ROAD TRIP: FLORIDA'S HIDDEN TREASURES, the front page declaimed. A road trip, she thought, and abandoned herself to something more immediate.
chapter four.
L aura worked for an inner-city London council as a schools and business coordinator. She loved her job, contacting local businesses, trying to get them to support their nearby schools, arranging volunteer reading programs-in which employees would go into the local schools and read with children-or school sponsors.h.i.+ps, which arranged for companies or individuals to sponsor a school, donate money, and feel good about themselves. She loved it because she could see how it made a tangible difference, how much disillusioned company secretaries enjoyed reading with a six-year-old once a week, or how much it benefited a school to have a thousand pounds for new computers that some corporation or anonymous donor could easily spare. She had been there for nearly four years now, and the previous year had been put in charge of the council's new fund-raising scheme and the volunteer reading program, which meant a lot more work, but she loved it. At least, she used to love it. Like everything these days, it seemed to have lost a little of its allure.
If Laura had stepped back from her situation, chances were she would have seen that she was behaving badly. The trouble was, her lack of perspective meant she couldn't see the main reason why she was in thrall to Dan, would do anything for him, no matter how degrading: He made her feel gorgeous. He made her feel devastatingly attractive, that she was so powerful to him that he had to have her, he couldn't control it. It made her feel just marvelous, and a little bit dirty, too. It was dangerous, because Dan was like all the others in that Laura had fallen for him hook, line, and sinker, without really stopping to think about it-only this time it was harder and deeper than with anyone before, and she had no control over the situation she'd got herself into, and there was no endgame in sight. It's a very powerful thing, to know you have that effect on someone-and having always thought of herself in the bottom half of the cla.s.s in terms of looks, attractiveness, and intelligence, not to mention sporting prowess, Laura still couldn't quite believe that she affected him this way.
Laura knew she wasn't working as hard as she should; she knew her boss, Rachel, was on her case about things. She knew she wasn't being a good friend, or daughter, or sister, since Dan had come along. She forgot birthdays; she was late for work; her mind wandered. But she consoled herself with the knowledge that this was a temporary situation and in a few short months-by the summer-they would have sorted it out and could be together. And then she would make everything all right.
He just needed a little push, that was all. Just a little something to let him know she wasn't going to wait around forever, that she had deadlines of her own. She had another life apart from him and she was neglecting it, he had to see that. But so did she.
The following Wednesday afternoon, Laura was in the office when the phone rang. It was pelting rain, which rattled on the windows of the shabby, drafty Victorian building where the education authority was housed in Holborn.
Laura looked up wearily from her e-mails and glanced suspiciously at the caller ID panel. A teacher from a primary school nearby, St. Catherine's, had said she would be calling to discuss a problem with the latest batch of teaching volunteers who'd just started at the school, once a week, helping individual children with their reading. The volunteers were from a firm of financial advisers, pretty big, called Linley Munroe, and it was something of a coup to have them involved-perhaps they might be induced to get involved in other ways. Laura didn't particularly like Mrs. McGregor, though she could see how devoted she was to the school and the children. She knew from experience that Mrs. McGregor was the kind of person who had her own worldview and couldn't be persuaded that anyone else's was admissible. Laura knew why she was ringing-she made the same complaint, along different lines, every year. Laura picked up the phone with a heavy heart.
”h.e.l.lo?” she said tentatively.
”Laura? Laura Foster?” came a slightly husky voice down the phone.
”Yes,” said Laura, resigned.
”Oh, Laura, I really must talk to you. I'm afraid this is a very bad situation, very bad indeed. Something's going to have to be done, it's a disaster. Catastrophe.”
”Yes, h.e.l.lo, Mrs. McGregor,” said Laura.
”Well, Laura...” And she was off.
”...I've told him,” the voice was saying five minutes later, ”'You may think you can come here and think you're doing something marvelous, helping these kids so you can sleep easy at night in your big banker's flat. Well, you can't behave like that and get away with it.' I'm not putting up with it anymore, really I'm not.”
”I explained the guidelines to him and all his colleagues, back in October,” Laura repeated. ”I'm sure this Marcus bloke's just got his wires crossed. I'll talk to Clare at Linley Munroe, tell her to have a gentle word with Marcus. But I really don't think he should be banned, Mrs. McGregor. He's obviously enjoying it, and-well, let's face it, all he did was tell this boy to shut it? They call each other the most horrific things on the playground, don't they?”
Her e-mail alert beeped and her eyes flicked instantly to the screen. She opened the message and read, her heart pounding.
”Do they?” Mrs. McGregor said. ”Not in my experience, Laura. Sure, there are rude words, but-”
Laura wanted to reread and reply to this e-mail she'd just got. She said shortly, ”Oh, come on, Mrs. McGregor. You know what I mean. f.u.c.k, b.u.m, w.i.l.l.y, vag. And...” She paused, realizing what she'd just said. ”Er. Well, we used to, anyway. That sort of thing.”
Mrs. McGregor was silent. Then she said, ”Well, I must say. Honestly, Laura.”
”It's an ill.u.s.tration,” said Laura briskly, marshaling all her inner resources and kicking herself ferociously on the ankle, while her coworkers Nasrin and Shana gaped openmouthed at her and started laughing. Laura flapped her arms at them to shut them up, and said, with what she hoped was an air of finality in her voice, ”I'm sure if Marcus Sussman used inappropriate language, he was doing so to try to communicate with them. But I totally understand what you mean, and I'll make sure it doesn't happen again.”
Mrs. McGregor droned on, but Laura didn't listen, only vaguely registering she had to get rid of her, reply to this e-mail.
”...have to speak to Rachel about this, Laura, yes, I will. Nasty man. Smooth young prat with cuff links who thinks he can treat these kids like dirt because he went to university and they didn't. It's vile. And I'm surprised at you for not seeing it.”
”Fine,” Laura said, finally losing her patience. ”Talk to Rachel, but I'm surprised you're being so blinkered. I always knew you were an inverted sn.o.b, but I didn't think you'd let it derail the volunteer program like this.”
”Oh!” Mrs. McGregor inhaled sharply. ”Laura Foster. You'll regret this, I promise you. Yes, you will.” And she slammed the phone down.
”Laura!” said Shana, her eyes sparkling with the unexpected office excitement. ”f.u.c.k, b.u.m, w.i.l.l.y, vag? What the h.e.l.l...?”
Laura put her head in her hands and moaned softly to herself.
”It was brilliant,” said Shana joyfully. ”Best thing I've heard in ages.”
”Oh dear,” said Laura, finally looking up at Nasrin, who put her magazine down and gazed at her. ”St. Catherine's again. Mrs. McGregor. Stupid old b.i.t.c.h, I hate her,” she said defiantly. ”I'm going to get in trouble, aren't I?”
”She always makes a fuss, every year,” Nasrin said placidly, picking up Pick Me Up again. ”Rachel knows that, don't worry. She's just a sad old rebel without a cause.”