“You know my theory? He needs a nice, long, relaxing honeymoon. Where are you going?”
Oh no. Into free fall again. The honeymoon. I haven’t even booked one yet. How can I? I don’t know which bloody airport we’ll be flying out of.
“We’re… it’s a surprise,” I say at last. “We’ll announce it on the day.”
“So what are you cooking?” Danny looks at the stove, where a pot is bubbling away. “Twigs? Mm, tasty.”
“They’re Chinese herbs. For stress. You boil them up and then drink the liquid.”
“You think you’ll get Luke to drink this?” Danny prods the mixture.
“They’re not for Luke. They’re for me!”
“For you? What have you got to be stressed about?” The buzzer sounds and Danny reaches over and presses the entry button without even asking who it is.
“Danny!”
“Expecting anyone?” he says as he replaces the receiver.
“Oh, just that mass murderer who’s been stalking me,” I say sarcastically.
“Cool.” Danny takes another bite of cinnamon toast. “I always wanted to see someone get murdered.”
There’s a knock at the door, and I get up to answer.
“I’d change into something snappier,” says Danny. “The courtroom will see pictures of you in that outfit. You want to look your best.”
I open the door, expecting yet another delivery man. But it’s Michael, wearing a yellow cashmere jumper and a big smile. My heart lifts in relief just at the sight of him.
“Michael!” I exclaim, and give him a hug. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“I would’ve been here sooner if I’d realized how bad it was,” says Michael. He raises his eyebrows. “I was in at the Brandon Communications offices yesterday, and I heard Luke was sick. But I had no idea…”
“Yes. Well, I haven’t exactly been spreading the news. I thought it would just blow over in a couple of days.”
“So is Luke here?” Michael peers into the apartment.
“No, he went out early this morning. I don’t know where.” I shrug helplessly.
“Give him my love when he comes back,” says Danny, heading out of the door. “And remember, I’ve got dibs on his Ralph Lauren coat.”
I make a fresh pot of coffee (decaffeinated — that’s all Michael’s allowed these days) and stir the herbs dubiously, then we pick our way through the clutter of the sitting room to the sofa.
“So,” he says, removing a stack of magazines and sitting down. “Luke’s feeling the strain a little.” He watches as I pour the milk with a trembling hand. “By the looks of things, you are too.”
“I’m OK,” I say quickly. “It’s Luke. He’s completely changed, overnight. One minute he was fine, the next it was all, ‘I need some answers’ and, ‘What’s the point of life?’ and, ‘Where are we all going?’ He’s depressed, and he isn’t going to work… I just don’t know what to do.”
“You know, I’ve seen this coming for a while,” says Michael, taking his coffee from me. “That man of yours pushes himself too hard. Always has. Anyone who works at that pace for that length of time…” He gives a rueful shrug and taps his chest. “I should know. Something has to give.”
“It’s not just work. It’s… everything.” I bite my lip awkwardly. “I think he was affected more than he realized when you had your… heart thing.”
“Episode.”
“Exactly. The two of you had been fighting… it was such a jolt. It made him start thinking about… I don’t know, life and stuff. And then there’s this thing with his mother.”
“Ah.” Michael nods. “I knew Luke was upset over that piece in the New York Times. Understandably.”
“That’s nothing! It’s all got a lot worse since then.”
I explain all about Luke finding the letters from his father, and Michael winces.
“OK,” he says, stirring his coffee thoughtfully. “Now this all makes sense. His mother has been the driving force behind a lot of what he’s achieved. I think we all appreciate that.”
“It’s like… suddenly he doesn’t know why he’s doing what he’s doing. So he’s given up doing it. He won’t go to work, he won’t talk about it, Elinor’s still in Switzerland, his colleagues keep ringing up to ask how he is, and I don’t want to say, ‘Actually, Luke can’t come to the phone, he’s having a midlife crisis right now…’ ”
“Don’t worry, I’m going in to the office today. I could spin some story about a sabbatical. Gary Shepherd can take charge for a bit. He’s very able.”
“Will he be OK, though?” I look at Michael fearfully. “He won’t rip Luke off?”
The last time Luke took his eye off his company for more than three minutes, Alicia Bitchface Billington tried to poach all his clients and sabotage the entire enterprise. It was nearly the end of Brandon Communications.
“Gary will be fine,” says Michael reassuringly. “And I’m not doing much at the moment. I can keep tabs on things.”
“No!” I say in horror. “You mustn’t work too hard! You must take it easy.”
“Becky, I’m not an invalid!” says Michael with a tinge of annoyance. “You and my daughter are as bad as each other.”
The phone rings, and I leave it to click onto the machine.
“So, how are the wedding preparations going?” says Michael, glancing around the room.
“Oh… fine!” I smile brightly at him. “Thanks.”
“I had a call from your wedding planner about the rehearsal dinner. She told me your parents won’t be able to make it.”
“No,” I say after a pause. “No, they won’t.”
“That’s too bad. What day are they flying over?”
“Erm…” I take a sip of coffee, avoiding his eye. “I’m not sure of the exact day…”
“Becky?” Mum’s voice resounds through the room on the machine, and I jump, spilling some coffee on the sofa. “Becky, love, I need to talk to you about the band. They say they can’t do ‘Dancing Queen’ because their bass player can only play four chords. So they’ve sent me a list of songs they can play—”
Oh fuck. I dive across the room and grab the receiver.
“Mum!” I say breathlessly. “Hi. Listen, I’m in the middle of something, can I call you back?”
“But, love, you need to approve the list of songs! I’ll send you a fax, shall I?”
“Yes. OK, do that.”
I thrust down the receiver and return to the sofa, trying to look composed.
“Your mom’s clearly gotten involved in the wedding preparations,” says Michael with a smile.
“Oh, er… yes. She has.”
The phone starts to ring again and I ignore it.
“You know, I always meant to ask. Didn’t she mind about you getting married in the States?”
“No!” I say, twisting my fingers into a knot. “Why should she mind?”
“I know what mothers are like about weddings…”
“Sorry, love, just a quickie,” comes Mum’s voice again. “Janice was asking, how do you want the napkins folded? Like bishops’ hats or like swans?”
I grab the phone.
“Mum, listen. I’ve got company!”
“Please. Don’t worry about me,” says Michael from the sofa. “If it’s important—”
“It’s not important! I don’t give a shit what shape the napkins are in! I mean, they only look like a swan for about two seconds…”
“Becky!” exclaims Mum in shock. “How can you talk like that! Janice went on a napkin-arranging course especially for your wedding! It cost her forty-five pounds, and she had to take her own packed lunch—”
Remorse pours over me.
“Look, Mum, I’m sorry. I’m just a bit preoccupied. Let’s go for… bishops’ hats. And tell Janice I’m really grateful for all her help.” I put down the receiver just as the doorbell rings.
“Is Janice the wedding planner?” says Michael interestedly.
“Er… no. That’s Robyn.”
