FIFTY-SIX

Jude

MONDAY, APRIL 23, 2012

Jude was doing her roots—painting out the gray with a color she’d bought at the local chemist—and thinking about which dress to wear. She might put on the black velvet one—if she could squeeze into it—but she’d have to buy tights. And nail varnish. She felt girlish for the first time in years. She was going on a date.

Will had rung again. She’d almost not picked up the phone. She hadn’t recognized the number and thought it might be a cold call or a crook, trying to scam her out of her money. Well, it was, in a way.

“Hello, my lady, how are you?” he’d said.

“Fine, Will,” she’d said, hearing the simper in her voice.

“Thought I’d give you a call to see if you’ve transferred your donation to the university centenary fund? We’re almost halfway to the total.”

She’d forgotten. That’s why he’d rung in the first place. Not for her. For money. She’d pushed the ungenerous thought to one side. “Sorry, Will. I’ll do it today. It is lovely to hear from you again.”

“Lovely to hear you, too. You don’t sound a day older, Jude,” he’d said. And she’d felt happier than she had for weeks.

“Where are you living these days?” she’d asked. “Still in Clapham?”

“No, moved when I retired. I’m in a little village in Kent. Bucolic retreat. Dead as the grave, actually.”

“You sound in need of cheering up,” she’d said. “Why don’t you come up to town and we can go for dinner.”

He’d hesitated and she’d felt ridiculous for having asked, but before she could make an excuse, he’d cleared his throat and said, “That would be a real treat.”

The date had been set for Monday at one of their old haunts in Victoria. “Handy for the trains,” he’d said.

•   •   •

Tonight’s the night,” she told herself in the mirror as she fastened her earrings.

She arrived first, leaving home early so she could walk slowly with her stiff hip, but he appeared in the plate-glass window minutes later and peered in.

God, you look old, she thought as she caught sight of his face.

He swept through the restaurant and bent to kiss her, then held her by her shoulders to get a proper look.

“Still beautiful, Jude,” he said.

“Still a smooth talker,” she said.

“Yes, but it’s all talk these days,” he said and they both laughed.

Ice broken, they cantered through decades of life during the tricolor salad starter. Shorthanding their experiences, hooting with laughter at shared memories, and skirting round the reason they hadn’t seen each other for almost twenty years.

But, halfway through the melanzane alla parmigiana, Will asked about Emma. She’d wondered when he’d venture there.

“So,” he said, as the waiter poured more wine, “did Emma ever get back in touch?”

“Yes, actually. A couple of years ago. Out of the blue.”

“I see. So how is she doing these days?”

“So-so. Married to a man old enough to be her father.”

“Right,” he said. “Working?”

“Yes. She got herself together in the end. Took a while, but she went to university in her twenties. She’s a books editor. Working from home. Commercial rubbish, most of it, but she does it well.”

“Do you see much of her?”

“Yes. Well, sometimes. I told her you’d been in touch.”

“Did you?” he said, his hand jerking and flicking a gobbet of tomato sauce off his fork. He rubbed it into the tablecloth with his finger. “What did she say?”

“Not much,” Jude said, remembering Emma’s frozen expression. “Well, it must be difficult for her. She probably still feels guilty about coming between us.”

Will carried on chewing.

Jude knew what he was thinking. Will had tried to understand Emma’s moods and descent into teenage angst, but she had been impossible to read some days.

“You used to say she’d grow out of it. But, of course, she left before she could,” she said, disarmed by the wine and his proximity.

Will looked up quickly.

“I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we’d got married back then, like we planned, Will,” Jude added. She wasn’t sure what she expected him to say, but she longed for a glimmer of the intimacy they’d shared. For old times’ sake.

“Hmm,” he said. “Me, too.”

She didn’t believe him. He was humoring her.

He looked up and she tried to smile but it got stuck on her teeth.

Will reached out a tomato-stained hand to pat hers.

“Look, it was a difficult time for all of us,” he said. “I loved you, Jude, but Emma had soured everything.”

“She had been gone for six or seven years when you left,” Jude said quietly.

“Well, the damage had been done, I suppose. I had to get out of there,” he said, wiping his mouth with the napkin.

“Yes,” she said. And sleep with anyone with a pulse, she thought.

She didn’t think she’d have a pudding.