Alphabet Weekends - Elizabeth Noble [31]
Lucy nodded distractedly. ‘Ed’s asleep, Bella’s reading. There’s tea and coffee, and some cake – we had a cake sale at school today, so you’re quite safe, I didn’t make it. Help yourself. And you’ve got our mobile numbers.’
‘Don’t worry about a thing.’ Cynthia put her hand on Lucy’s arm. ‘You just have a good time, the two of you, you deserve it. And kiss Patrick a happy birthday from his old mum.’
‘You can do that when we get back.’ Lucy smiled weakly. How the hell did Cynthia think she wasn’t going to worry? She had a husband with no job, who couldn’t make love to her, let alone talk to her about how he was feeling. She had a man, this guy, on the sidelines of her life, creeping further into her brain and her thoughts, and the urge to go to him was stronger every day. And she was in the middle.
Patrick had said he would meet her at the restaurant. He had mumbled something about having things to do, but she knew he hadn’t wanted to be at home when Cynthia arrived. He didn’t want to talk to his parents about it. She supposed there ought to be some crumb of comfort in that, but there wasn’t.
He was already there when she arrived, and stood up, formally, to kiss her. There was none of him in the embrace, though. He felt brittle and slight.
‘Happy birthday, Patrick.’
He shrugged. ‘Turning thirty-nine feels a bit like vinegar strokes – on top of everything else. I suppose I should be glad it isn’t forty.’
He’d already ordered some wine. And drunk half the bottle. He poured a glass for her, and a splash spread across the tablecloth. The waiter hovered anxiously, dabbing at the stain with a cloth, but Patrick waved him away. His laugh was hollow. ‘Don’t seem to be getting anything right, these days, do I?’
Lucy reached for his hand. ‘Don’t say that, love. You’ve had a knockback, a bit of bad luck. There’s no shame in it. It happens – it happens to all sorts of people all of the time.’
Her words seemed to make him wince. ‘It doesn’t happen to the best people.’
‘What?’
‘It doesn’t happen to the best people,’ he repeated, ‘only to the expendable ones. As soon as she came into the office, as soon as she put one of her dainty high heels on the carpet on the fourth floor, I became second best. My days were numbered.’
‘That isn’t true. You’re being far too emotional about it, Patrick. It’s business, sweetheart.’
‘The least I can do now is own up to it. It’s about the only thing I have left – my honesty.’
‘There’s a difference between honesty and the truth.’
He shook his head a little. ‘I don’t know what you just said.’
‘That’s because you’re tired, stressed and a bit drunk. We need to order some food and get you sobered up a bit so we can have a proper conversation.’
‘Second best.’
He hadn’t been listening. His eyes were down. His voice had become almost a mumble. Lucy wondered if they could stay there, with him like that.
‘Probably always have been. I was never as clever as Tom. Never as popular as Genevieve.’ He laughed. ‘Hey! Maybe I was third best at home.’
Lucy felt irritation rise into her throat. This was his birthday, and she’d tried, really tried. He was ruining it with self-pity, self-loathing and self-doubt, and although she told herself it was her duty to sit and listen to it, she didn’t want to. He was making himself look dreadful.
‘And I know I was second best for you. So that’s another.’
The irritation bordered on anger. ‘What in God’s name do you mean, Patrick?’
‘Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You’d still be with Will if he hadn’t buggered off. I was second best. Your safe harbour in stormy seas. Except I’m not so safe any more, am I? Bloody ironic, that, isn’t it?’
‘Did you have a drink before you came in here?’
‘A couple of pints. It was my leaving do, after all.’
‘Your what?’
‘Oh, yes, the human-resources department was very generous. They put money behind the bar at the pub next to the office. Don’t know how much. Enough, I suppose. The young came to drink as much free booze as they could get down them. The older ones came because they were grateful