Second Chance - Jane Green [58]
She was making coffee when Fred kissed her. He came up behind her and put his arms around her – such strong arms, so very different from George’s – and she tensed slightly, unsure of what to do, how to stand in this unfamiliar position, when he took the decision out of her hands by turning her to face him and leaning down to kiss her.
What a wonderful night it was. And now… what? Morning. Isn’t this when it is supposed to be awkward, difficult? Isn’t he supposed to wake up and be cold, regret what happened, get out of the flat as quickly as possible?
Olivia gets up and goes to make coffee in the kitchen. Under normal circumstances it would be Nescafé Gold Blend, instant of course, but – and yet another clue that this outcome isn’t altogether unexpected – she has fresh ground coffee to put in the cafetière and huge buttery croissants in the fridge.
‘Morning.’ Olivia jumps, turning to see a dishevelled Fred sleepily padding through the kitchen in his boxer shorts. God, she thinks, taking in his chest, the muscles in his legs. He is just so completely delicious.
‘Morning,’ she says, a touch frostily, but only because she is not sure where this is going and doesn’t want to be humiliated by coming on too strong when he may be getting ready to cold-shoulder her and walk out of the door, never to be heard from again.
‘So, Saturday morning, huh? What do we have planned today?’ And he comes up to her and wraps her in his arms, bending down to kiss her on the lips, and Olivia folds into him feeling warm and secure and oh so very, very good. She has forgotten, in fact, quite how good this can feel.
‘Thank you, God,’ she whispers, as she hands Fred a towel to take a shower. ‘And thank you, Tom,’ she grins at the ceiling, ‘he’s pretty great, after all. You did good,’ and when Fred hollers at her to join him, she slips her robe off her shoulders and opens the steamed-up door.
Chapter Twelve
‘Hellooooo?’ Olivia pushes open the front door and her niece and nephew trip in behind her. ‘Holly? Anyone here?’ She follows the sound of a television and walks through to the living room where Daisy and Oliver are comatose in front of a cartoon.
‘Hey, guys,’ Olivia says, as her niece and nephew move like zombies towards the sofa, planting themselves next to the other kids without taking their eyes off the screen for a second, without even saying hello.
‘Where’s Mum?’
No answer.
‘Where’s Mum? Oliver?’
‘Upstairs.’ He gestures feebly with a hand, and Olivia sighs and goes to find Holly.
The problem with grief is that it doesn’t go away. As time ticks on, the rawness dissipates somewhat, and you find yourself settling into the pain, becoming accustomed to it, wearing it around your shoulders like an old, heavy scarf.
And life has to go on. There are children to look after, meals to cook, cards to illustrate, playdates to arrange. Grief has to be filed away, compartmentalized, allowed out only when the rest of your life is sufficiently organized, when you can have time to yourself to give in to the pain.
Both Holly and Olivia allow themselves that time for grief, but as the weeks go by they are finding they are bound less by their shared grief, or indeed their shared history, but more, in fact, by a true friendship, by respect, admiration and a delight in one another’s company. A delight that led them to find each other, and to swear they would be best friends for ever, all those years ago.
Holly hears the footsteps on the stairs and quickly minimizes the email she was writing, so what is left on the screen is an innocuous picture of a ladybird.
‘Hey, you!’ Olivia walks over and gives her a hug. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Oh I just had some bills to pay online,’ Holly says. ‘I know, I’m a horrible mother sticking my kids in front of the TV, but it’s the only way I can get anything done.’
‘Do you not think Jen does that about a million times a day?’ Olivia laughs. ‘And she says she also feels horrible but frankly when the au pair is at language