Accidentally Together Page 2

  Before Lauren could announce her presence, the entrance door slipped from her grasp and closed with a bang. They turned in her direction.

  ‘Vikki, darling, you made it,’ he said, pushing off the wall and gliding towards her with open arms.

  ‘Am I too early?’ Lauren stepped into his embrace and gave him a tight squeeze.

  ‘You, my darling, could never be too early.’ Frankie drew back and, with one arm, gestured to several framed black-and-white photos adorning the walls. They were part of Lauren’s ‘Unseen Collection,’ due to be exhibited at the gallery in two weeks.

  ‘Well, what do you think? Impressive, huh?’

  Lauren gave a slow nod. She gazed at the images as if seeing them for the first time. Still haunted by the despair in the eyes of some of her subjects, she moved away from Frankie to stand before the photographs of individuals going about their daily lives in Paris—strangers who had been caught in the lens of her camera, totally unaware of her presence. The omniscient one.

  She knew that haunted look well. It was one she saw in her eyes often enough.

  ‘How’re you settling in the apartment?’ Frankie asked, breaking the spell.

  Lauren turned to him. ‘Better than expected.’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear.’

  ‘Renting through Airbnb is much better than staying in a hotel. It’s exactly what I needed.’

  ‘Good! But if for any reason you want a change of scenery, you can stay at my place, okay?’

  Lauren shook her head. ‘As soon as the show’s over, I’m going back to Paris. No two ways about it.’

  ‘Well the option’s there. Right, let’s grab some coffee and then we’ll get down to business. Molly, sweetheart,’ he called out to the woman he’d been speaking with. ‘Two coffees, please. One with milk and two sugars.’

  Molly nodded and disappeared through a set of doors at the back of the gallery.

  Frankie pointed to a stack of frames leaning against a wall. ‘If we can sort out which ones you want where, that’ll be half the battle. I have an art journalist lined up to interview you tomorrow, and—’

  ‘They’re aware of the rules, aren’t they?’

  ‘Of course, darling. They get the interview on the condition that they only print your work, no photos of you. It’s all sorted, don’t worry.’

  ‘I try not to, but I can’t be too careful.’

  Frankie gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I know.’

  ‘I had a run-in with someone from school on the way here.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘This guy called Mike. He’s the kind of person you always feel uncomfortable around, his eyes scan you like an x-ray machine.’

  ‘Do you think he—’

  Lauren wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Who knows? It could be anyone.’

  ‘You know you’re safe with me, right?’

  Before she could reply, the clicking of high heels on the tiled floor announced Molly’s return. She came into view, heading towards them with a mug in each hand.

  ‘Great. Here’s the coffee,’ Frankie said, clasping his hands together. ‘Shall we begin?’

  Lauren was grateful for the interruption. Frankie wouldn’t have been impressed with her answer. The truth was she didn’t trust anybody—not even him.

  Chapter Four

  Alex ordered three coffees without consulting anyone on their preferences. Emma stared at him blankly. She opened her mouth to ask where he got off treating them like children, but nothing came out. What was the point? The much awaited ‘lunch date’ had already been spoilt.

  ‘So what’ve you got planned for tonight, birthday girl?’ Hope asked.

  Absolutely nothing! ‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ Emma murmured.

  ‘What’s that then?’ Hope pressed, humour dancing in her eyes.

  Unfortunately, Hope wasn’t sitting close enough for Emma to kick her under the table for putting her on the spot, so she settled for throwing her a venomous glance.

  ‘Actually, Kelly and the girls are taking me out for drinks after work for an all-nighter.’

  ‘That’ll be nice. I don’t think I’ve met Kelly before,’ Stella said. ‘Is she one of your special friends?’

  Hope hid her mouth behind her hand, but not before Emma glimpsed her row of white teeth.

  ‘No, Mum, she’s not my girlfriend. Just a work colleague.’

  ‘If only you’d meet a nice young man, you could settle down and have children. I hate to think of you alone, especially at your age.’ Stella’s voice had turned arid.

  ‘At my age? I’m not exactly a sixty-year-old spinster or a “failure”. And there’s no way on earth I’m going to settle down with a man just because I’m despera—I mean single.’

  Making a show of examining the binoculars, she mentally ticked off what she had achieved in her life: I own an apartment. I’m in a job I like—no, love. And? Her mind blanked. Come on, I must have more than two achievements. If she did, her stubborn brain refused to reveal them. Okay, I’ll have to come back to that, she told herself, convinced her memory just needed a jump start.

  Right, now for the things I still want to do. I definitely want to travel more. Fiji, New Zealand. Maybe get a furry companion? She questioned this and decided she wanted to wait until she upgraded her living conditions by moving into a house with a garden. I want to feel more than like I’m playing a role in life. I want to feel important to someone and be truly loved. An involuntary tightness gripped the back of her throat. I want to feel that excitement in my stomach, like I did fourteen years ago.

  Why did her mum always assume she was single by choice, as if it was her fault the women she met didn’t live up to the fantasy in her head? She cursed herself daily for this affliction, but her heart simply refused to settle for second best.

  Emma rested the binoculars on the table.

  ‘Anyway, I’d be more worried about Hope,’ she said in an attempt to divert her mother’s attention away from her. ‘She’s thirty-one and still takes her dirty clothes to the laundry for a service wash.’

  ‘Only because I have better things to do with my time,’ Hope responded.

  Emma’s face twisted into a sneer. ‘Like what, post selfies on Facebook?’

  ‘Now, now you two, stop bickering,’ Stella said.

  Hope stuck her tongue out at Emma then said, ‘We’re not bickering. It’s called banter. It’s what adults do when they’re too old to fight.’

  A waitress approached the table. Smoky grey eyes briefly met Emma’s, then without saying a word, she laid out three coffees on the table. Emma watched her swagger to the bar and whisper something to her colleague, who looked over at her. They’re probably taking the piss out of my binoculars.

  Alex picked up the receipt and scanned it. ‘Bloody hell, have you seen this, Stell? Three quid for a measly cup of coffee.’

  He took out his wallet and fished inside.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I’ll cover it,’ Hope said.

  ‘It’s all right, I’ve got it,’ he said. ‘Thankfully birthdays are only once a year.’

  Stella readily agreed. ‘I’m glad I only had the one child. How people afford more, I’ll never know.’

  ‘All those bloody benefits and what not the government doles out like sweets, that’s how,’ Alex said.

  Hope gritted her teeth. ‘Please, Dad. Do we have to have this conversation again? We all know your views on immigration and single mothers.’

  He cracked his knuckles, causing Emma to wince. ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it?’

  The conversation soon reached a stalemate. Stella broke the tense silence with chatter about her bridge club, while Alex kept a watchful eye on their cups.

  When Stella took her last sip of coffee, Alex said, ‘Let’s get out of here before they charge us for breathing the air.’

  He threw the exact money on the table to cover the bill.

  ‘Good idea,’ Emma said. She put the lid on the box, scooted her
chair back, and got ready to leave.

  Outside, standing in the middle of the pavement, Alex patted the pockets of his jacket and trousers. ‘Where’ve I put my sodding keys?’

  Emma drew in several long, deep breaths. Alex misplacing his car keys was such a regular occurrence that she had suggested he keep them on a chain around his neck. Preferably a tight chain!

  ‘Calm down, Alex. Check inside your jacket,’ Stella suggested.

  Alex did as she had advised, and after a few seconds, his hand reappeared with his keys in it.

  ‘Honestly, Alex, I don’t know what you’d do without me.’

  Alex pulled Stella into an embrace and kissed her on the mouth. ‘Wither away and die, my lovely.’

  Stella gave him a rueful laugh. ‘Oh, you’re such a charmer.’

  ‘That’s why you married me, isn’t it?’

  Emma glanced at her wristwatch. As much as she’d love to stand around and bear witness to their gushy display of affection, she’d prefer to be at work.

  ‘Right, Mum, Alex, am I seeing you at Easter?’

  Stella stepped forward, put her arm around Emma’s shoulders, and pulled her close. ‘We’ll let you know if we haven’t made plans.’

  Emma stiffened and eased out of Stella’s embrace. ‘Yeah, well, let me know in advance, ’cause I might have plans myself. Have a great afternoon you two.’

  ‘We will. I’ll get Stell to email you some pictures,’ Alex said as he opened the car door.

  ‘Thanks,’ Emma replied, only half listening. ‘I look forward to it.’

  Emma and Hope watched from the pavement as their parents’ blue 4x4 Mercedes disappeared down the street.

  ‘Thank God that’s over,’ Hope said.

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I can’t believe how insensitive your mum can be sometimes.’

  It was nothing new. Why it still pissed Hope off, she didn’t know. Emma had been relegated to the backseat when her mum and Alex married fifteen years earlier. Their once close mother-daughter relationship was no longer.

  ‘It really doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter?’ Hope planted her hands on her hips. ‘It’s your thirtieth birthday and she couldn’t spare you an hour. Then to add insult to injury, they gave you some old toot my dad found in his garage, and you’re saying it doesn’t matter?’

  Emma’s brows drew together. ‘It’s the thought that counts, I suppose.’

  ‘The thought?’ Hope nudged her with her shoulder. ‘Be honest. You’re fuming inside, aren’t you?’

  Emma opened her hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘Okay, okay, just a little—’

  ‘A little?’

  ‘All right, a lot then. It’s not so much the gift. I can’t believe my mum didn’t want to spend time with me.’

  ‘If you gave me a pound every time you said that—’

  ‘Yeah, I know, you’d be a millionaire,’ she finished for her.

  ‘Exactly. So where’re you going for drinks later?’

  ‘Nowhere.’ Emma could admit the truth now that her mum was gone. ‘But thanks for needling me about it. Some great stepsister you are.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be pissed off with me. You should be calling out your mum on her behaviour. She treats you like a distant relative she’s obliged to make time for.’

  ‘Come on, she’s not that bad. You’re making her sound like—’

  ‘The bitch she is?’ Hope suggested.

  ‘She’s not a bitch. She’s just wrapped up in your dad, that’s all. I’m glad she has someone and isn’t alone.’ Unlike me!

  A strand of dark hair fell onto Hope’s forehead, and she brushed it away with the back of her hand. ‘I must have been born inside the wrong body or something, ’cause I’ll never understand women for as long as I live.’

  ‘There’s nothing to understand. It is what it is.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Hope said, looking wholly unconvinced.

  Dark, heavy clouds amassed, blackening the sky. A droplet of rain fell on the tip of Emma’s nose. Why did her birthday have to fall right in the middle of January, when the weather was absolute pants? It was either raining or … well, raining.

  ‘On that note, I’d better get going.’ Emma swung her bag over her shoulder and started down the road.

  ‘So what’re you really doing tonight?’ Hope called after her.

  ‘Flaking out in front of the telly with a bottle of wine.’

  ‘Fancy some company?’

  Emma turned around but continued walking backwards. ‘Sure.’

  ‘We can stargaze with your new binoculars.’

  ‘Don’t you mean cloud gaze?’ she said, feigning an enthusiasm she was far from feeling. ‘Can’t wait.’

  Chapter Five

  The rain hammered the pavement as Lauren arrived at her apartment building. The day had been productive, and she was happy with the way the exhibition was shaping up. After a gruelling few hours of indecision, she had finally worked out the placement and order of the images.

  Shaking out the umbrella Frankie had lent her, she bypassed the lift in the lobby and headed straight for the stairs.

  Before ascending, she peeked between the gap in the stairwell, looking and listening for anyone coming down. Satisfied she was alone, she bounded up the carpeted stairs two at a time, slowing her pace at each landing to listen for anyone descending.

  Upon reaching the twentieth floor, she used the wall to steady herself as she walked down the hallway, panting. The building was thirty stories tall, and she was relieved she hadn’t rented the penthouse like she had initially intended.

  As soon as she entered the apartment, she walked straight into the kitchen. Though it wasn’t very large, it had all the mod cons a kitchen needed: microwave, double oven, and most importantly, a dishwasher. She grabbed a bottle of water from the integrated fridge and took several gulps between breaths, her lungs burning with the need for air.

  Lauren discarded her jacket and strode into the homely L-shaped living room. Prints of Banksy artwork hung on the walls and fluffy pink cushions were piled on a large fabric sofa. Passing by a glass dining table with four leather high-back chairs, she slid open one of the huge double-glazed windows, parted her lips, and drew in a mouthful of cool air. She inhaled for three seconds and exhaled for five until her breathing levelled out, but she remained at the window, drinking in what she could of the London skyline. To the left, the MI6 building—a post-modern concrete and glass Aztec temple—stood tall and imposing. Its presence was strangely comforting. The thought of all those spies close by added a sense of safety. My very own James Bond on call—if only.

  Straight ahead stood an apartment building identical to hers.

  Movement in one of the rooms directly opposite caught her attention. Squinting, she could just make out a woman with long plaited hair. She was folding laundry and piling it in a stack with her back to the room. Lauren watched as a dark-haired man snuck up behind her, and the woman spun around, knocking the washing to the floor. The man brought forth a spray of flowers from behind his back, and the woman fell into his arms. Seconds later, they left the room, holding hands.

  Lauren next saw them in the bedroom. The man walked over to the window, loosening his tie, and closed the blinds. The loving scene reminded Lauren of Fiona. Had they looked that happy and in love to onlookers? She spat out the strands of blonde hair a clammy wind had blown across her face. However we looked together doesn’t matter now. As of seven months ago, Lauren and her ex were through. Done, dusted, finito!

  How did it happen? How could a woman declare her love for you, whilst seeing someone else behind your back? Fiona’s excuse for cheating was that she needed to find herself. She needed time.

  Time. That’s exactly what Lauren had given her when she packed her bags and ended the relationship. Now all Lauren wanted was time for herself and lots of it. She should have known better than to think a relationship with someone as selfish as Fiona could have worked. But s
he’d been smitten with the tall, dark-haired, athletic woman, and she had ignored the red flags telling her things wouldn’t work out. Was I ever being realistic to think they would?

  Her phone buzzed, and Lauren groaned when the caller ID lit up. Knowing Fiona wouldn’t give up if she didn’t answer, she connected the call. Swishing her hair aside, she put the phone to her ear.

  ‘Yes?’ she answered, letting her irritation ring loud and clear.

  ‘C’est moi.’

  ‘I know.’ Unfortunately.

  Silence.

  ‘’Ave you been avoiding my calls?’

  Lauren rubbed her temples with the tips of her fingers. She was certain Fiona had lost the plot. ‘Avoid your calls? Why on earth would I do a thing like that?’

  ‘So you’re okay?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’ve never been better.’ Especially since I threw your cheating arse out of my life.

  ‘Look, we need to talk.’

  ‘No, I’m busy.’

  ‘Unpacking?’

  ‘Yeah, unpacking.’ She glanced at the unopened suitcase by the sofa. Ready to go, just in case.

  ‘Dibs is pining for you. ’e misses you.’

  Lauren pictured Fiona’s scruffy, wire-haired Jack Russell and the corners of her mouth turned up despite herself.

  ‘I miss him too,’ she mumbled.

  ‘What about me?’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Do you miss me?’

  ‘Fi, it’s been seven months. You need to stop this. I wish you would accept it’s over and move on with your life like I have,’ she said in a monotonous, but firm voice. Fiona had hurt her in the worst possible way, and Lauren hated being hurt, by anyone.

  ‘N’importe quoi!’

  Lauren disconnected the call. Immediately, the phone rang again. Pressing the power button, she turned it off and threw it on the sofa.