Magic Sometimes Happens Read online

  ‘You need to eat,’ she told me as she brushed some streaks of chalk dust off my sleeve and fussed like Henny Penny.

  ‘Caroline and I, we’re always having family on weekends,’ said the dean. ‘If you ever feel like joining us, we’ll make you very welcome. If you got your kids, bring them along. As you know, our Rusty’s great with children – very playful.’

  Yeah, last time I saw that dog, he played with me so hard he almost took my fingers off. I wouldn’t trust him within half a mile of Joe and Polly.

  ROSIE

  I had to forget I’d ever met him.

  I also had to rent some office space and build a client list. I had to get my business booming, which in a stop-go recession promised to be challenging.

  It took me quite a while to find some office premises. I’d begun to wonder if I’d have to work from home, a shabby rented flat in a not-very-pretty part of Paddington. But then I found a tiny place in Camden, more or less convenient for town, but where it would be possible to park. That’s if you were lucky and aggressive and could squeeze into the smallest space.

  I needed parking. My Fiesta doubled as my handbag. Pat had been embarrassed by the mess inside his Honda. So, I thought, he’d probably have a heart attack if he could see my clutter-wagon, full of files and plastic bags and samples, sandwich boxes with half-eaten wraps rotting inside and empty coffee cups. The squealing noise I noticed when I braked – maybe I had rats? Pat’s SUV had squealed a bit, as well …

  But I mustn’t think about Pat Riley. He had been a blip – a wild, insane infatuation at a time when I was at my lowest and my most vulnerable. Now I had to get my life on track. Charlie would have hated to see me moping, pining, chasing after married men. I knew I had to start to live again.

  I bought some office furniture. I got myself connected. I ordered business cards and stationery. Then I went to see my former boss at her palatial office in a Georgian house near Marble Arch.

  ‘Darling, it’s so wonderful to have you back in Blighty!’ Fanny Gregory embraced me in a scented, lace-and-silk-upholstered hug. ‘It just hasn’t been the same without you, has it, Caspar, angel?’

  ‘Fan, it’s great to see you.’ I kissed Fanny on her perfumed cheek, then said hello to Caspar. The big black greyhound rubbed his handsome head against my hand, gazing up at me with his enormous amber eyes. I do love dogs. They’re faithful and they’re kind and, unlike some human friends, they don’t jerk you around. They don’t mess with your head. They don’t have wives and children. They don’t make you fall in love with them …

  ‘Rosie, darling, what’s the matter?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You’re a million miles away. So who did you see, who did meet while you were in America?’

  ‘I saw Tess and met her husband.’

  ‘You’re so silly, sweet.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think somebody’s made off with your heart. So come on, my angel, tell Aunt Fanny? I hope he’s young and charming, smart and witty? You could do with someone smart and witty in your life, someone who could make you smile again.’

  ‘Fanny, no one’s made off with my heart. I’m just preoccupied and jet-lagged.’ This woman had to be a witch. I’d always sort of guessed and now I knew.

  ‘I think you’re in love,’ persisted Fanny.

  ‘Well, you’re wrong.’

  ‘I’m never wrong, my darling, and you know it. What’s he like? I hope he’s handsome or at least attractive? I can’t bear ugly men. Their looks always reflect their personalities – grudging, warped and mean.’

  ‘Let’s get down to business, shall we, Fanny?’ I suggested. ‘I know your time is precious and I don’t want to impose.’

  ‘Oh – it’s don’t interrogate me, eh? Prickle, prickle, prickle, Mrs Tiggywinkle! But, my angel, I must ask you, how’s your darling mother?’

  ‘She’s okay.’ I shrugged. ‘Well, of course, she’s not okay. She’s never going be okay again. But she’s sort of coping, keeping busy, as is Dad. They loved the flowers you sent.’

  ‘I wish there was something I could do. I feel so helpless. When I think of all your lovely mother’s done for me—’

  ‘Fanny, please, not now?’

  ‘I’m so sorry, sweetheart, clumsy me.’ Fanny Gregory came as close to blushing and embarrassed as anyone as armour-plated and detached as Fanny ever could. ‘When you see her next, though, will you give her all my love?’

  ‘Of course. So, Fan—’

  ‘So, angel, I shall give you these accounts,’ said Fanny, handing me a USB stick and a dozen files. ‘You’ve worked with all these people. So they know and trust you and they’ll be very happy to transfer their business to your new company. They’ll be more than happy, I imagine. You won’t charge as much as me!’

  ‘Thank you, Fanny.’ I was touched. I knew she would encourage and support me while I was getting going. But she didn’t have to give me these accounts and we both knew it. ‘This is really kind of you.’

  ‘Oh, darling, it’s my pleasure. While you’ve been in America, I’ve been recommending you to everyone I know. So now I’m going to have to watch my step or I shall do my lovely self out of a job. I’ll be flogging The Big Issue outside Marks and Spencer. Caspar will be sleeping on a verminous old blanket underneath a railway arch. He won’t like that at all. He’s used to elegance and luxury.’

  ‘It’s never going to happen, Fan.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, my angel. So what did you do in Minnesota, darling girl, apart from meet somebody very nice?’

  ‘Fanny, please – don’t let’s start that again.’ But I knew I had to give her something, anything before she would shut up about who I had met or hadn’t met. ‘I met the famous novelist, Ben Fairfax.’

  ‘I know you did, my love. But I meant men, of course.’

  ‘Tess says Ben’s a bloke and she should know.’

  ‘But he’s not available.’ Fanny glanced at me, her blue eyes narrowed. ‘Or is he, darling heart?’

  ‘Ben’s not available.’

  ‘So he and Tess are desperately in love?’

  ‘I don’t think Tess is desperately in love, at least with Ben. But she adores his Amex card.’

  ‘I hope she’s buying the right things. Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, they’ve always been a girl’s best friends, you know. They’ll come under personal chattels when she gets divorced.’

  ‘You’re such a cynic, Fanny.’

  ‘I’m a realist, darling. So you tell Tess from me – earrings, bracelets, necklaces, the settings aren’t important, but buy the biggest stones you can afford and always go for quality. The clarity and cut are more important than the size, unless we’re talking rocks as big as hen’s eggs, obviously.’

  ‘Ben’s already bought her a few diamonds, but I’ll mention what you said about the cut and clarity for if she gets some more.’

  ‘You mind you do,’ said Fanny. ‘Personal accoutrements, that’s what she should be buying. No judge in an American divorce court would make her give them back, no matter what. But darling, you look tired, are you well?’

  ‘I’ve not been sleeping much.’

  ‘It’s not surprising.’ Fanny’s gaze grew gentle. ‘But you mustn’t blame yourself, my love.’

  ‘It was my fault.’

  ‘It wasn’t, and you know it. So you must stop beating yourself up, even though we always ought to do what we do best, and you’re especially good at that. Darling, are you moisturising? You have crow’s feet coming at the corners of your eyes.’

  ‘I’ve been out in the sun. It was hot in Minnesota when I first arrived. I went for walks, did some exploring. I climbed up rocks and stuff.’

  ‘It looks like you forgot the factor forty. Angel, I must let you have some samples. I’ve been sent this lovely range of wonderful new creams and serums. You shall try them out.’

  ‘Thank you, Fan,’ I said. ‘It’s very strange – I’ve known you all my life, but you never
look a minute older. What’s your secret? Alchemy, black magic, a portrait in the attic?’

  ‘Sun and water, angel – keep away from both of them,’ said Fanny. ‘I haven’t washed my face since I was twelve.’

  Fanny called everybody angel, but she was the angel.

  She helped me get my business going, sent me leads and introduced me to all sorts of people who might give me work, and she generally looked out for me.

  If I could stop dreaming about Patrick Riley, if I could stop fantasising about getting Patrick Riley’s shirt off then running my hands down Patrick Riley’s lovely chest, I thought I might have a chance of getting back to normal.

  Of course, I’d probably never be quite back to normal – there was all the Charlie stuff and other stuff to sort before I could start thinking about normal. But as October turned into November, I was hopeful I might manage almost-normal soon.

  November

  PATRICK

  I checked my inbox daily, hourly, by the minute, hoping for a message, even one as staid and formal as the one she sent when she came back to the UK.

  Come November, you’ll be back to normal, I assured myself. But whatever normal might have been, I knew I wasn’t it. Unless lying awake all night and wondering what Rosie might be doing, thinking, saying, who she could be seeing and if she might be with some guy and, if this was indeed the case, how I could kill him by just willing him to die, could ever pass for normal.

  By November, far from being back to normal, I was getting desperate.

  You could write the girl yourself, perhaps?

  But what would I say?

  Does it matter, idiot? All you need to do is get in contact and say something – anything!

  Okay.

  I clicked compose.

  Now write something casual, informal. But don’t be too familiar because she won’t like that.

  Say hi, how are you doing?

  Yeah, but also let her know you’re thinking warm, affectionate thoughts. You got it?

  Yeah, I got it.

  FROM: Patrick M Riley

  SUBJECT: Missing You

  TO: Rosie Denham

  Hi, how are you doing?

  I think about you day and night. You’re in my head and in my heart.

  Rosie, we should be together. It’s so bad to be apart.

  What the hell? Did I just write that piece of rhyming shit? What was wrong with me? Did I need some form of medication?

  I clicked delete and opened up an article for which I was doing a review and then I gave the author a hard time.

  I felt like I was kind of in a holding pattern.

  I went on trying to act normal, or what I hoped was normal.

  I headed out to work and came back home to the apartment, which was now a library since Lexie wasn’t there to kvetch about the papers, books and magazines. I saw my kids and did a ton of stuff with them. I’d started a new outreach programme on a reservation in Northern Minnesota and it was going well.

  But emotionally I felt like I was frozen, that a part of me was in suspended animation in a cryogenic tank. Contrariwise, I also had this feeling it would take one single spark to cause a Three Mile Island-style explosion.

  You could say that I was still confused.

  Lex had quieted down considerably. Maybe Mr Wonderful was so exciting and inventive that he wore her out? I guess it was a possibility.

  The kids had settled into a routine. I read somewhere that kids of separated parents can be quite adaptable. They can learn and grow and love, develop all the social skills that kids whose parents are together do, and it looked like Joe and Polly fit this paradigm.

  I adapted and I fit it, too. Monday through Friday, I picked my children up from Angie’s, pre-school, school, wherever. I took them back to the apartment, gave them dinner, read to them a while, we watched a DVD or two.

  Once or twice a week they helped me cook. Joe showed quite a talent for making chocolate cupcakes and for decorating them. Polly showed a talent for eating decorations. But Polly was a vital member of our team because she was our quality control. Yeah, we had the process all sewn up. Girl Scout cookie makers, give way to the serious contenders in the home baking stakes!

  Later, Lex would pick them up and take them back to Mr Wonderful’s real house with its real yard. When I saw them on weekends, we did a bunch of stuff I never thought to do before. We glued. We crafted. We made crazy stuff like wizard wands and monster masks. We had no one saying, don’t you guys get paint on that new rug, eat up all your carrot sticks and then go take your bath.

  The travelling to Europe, Dubai and Singapore had not been mentioned since Lex said she was leaving. So I kind of hoped it wouldn’t happen.

  Did they get their passports?

  Yes, and Joe was beyond proud. Lexie let him bring it to show me and The Terminator. As we sat together on the couch and Polly watched a candy-coloured DVD about a fairy princess, he read out all the noble precepts printed at the top of every page. I have to admit I was impressed. I didn’t know George Washington said all that stuff about repairing standards, which as you can guess had Joe confused.

  He added that he was the only kid in his whole class to have a US passport. ‘So I guess that means I’m kind of special?’ he suggested shyly.

  ‘You always were and always will be special.’

  ‘Do you have a passport, Dad?’

  ‘No, I never needed one.’

  ‘Mom and Polly, they got passports. Maybe you should get a passport, too?’

  ‘Yeah, perhaps,’ I said. ‘Hey, Joe – did you see The Terminator savage that zucchini? I swear he ate the whole thing in one bite!’

  I should get a passport? Why? I didn’t think it likely that when Lex and Mr Wonderful went jetting off to Europe or elsewhere, I would be asked along.

  So Lex and I, should we be getting a divorce? Lexie didn’t mention it these past few weeks and I didn’t care to think about it. I had too much work stuff, children stuff and other well-you-know stuff on my mind to sit around in lawyers’ offices, chase paperwork, do all the tedious shit you had to do to get divorced.

  ROSIE

  My weeks were beyond hectic.

  I was still setting up the business, and this meant chasing clients, making phone calls, sorting advertising, chatting up the editors of magazines and newspapers and taking various people out to lunch. I hoped it wouldn’t be too long before prospective clients, editors and advertisers wanting me to help promote whatever they were selling started chasing me.

  While I’d worked for Fanny and while I was in France, a salary had turned up in my account as if by magic. But that wasn’t going to happen now. I had joined the ranks of the ridiculous, the stupid, the cross-eyed optimists, the likely bankrupts. I was self-employed.

  I worked myself into a stupor. But still I couldn’t sleep. Then I couldn’t stand it any more. I sent an email.

  FROM: Rosie Denham

  SUBJECT: Winter

  TO: Patrick M Riley

  SENT: 18 November 15.45

  Any snow yet?

  Rosie X

  FROM: Patrick M Riley

  SUBJECT: Snow

  TO: Rosie Denham

  SENT: November 19 09.32

  Only flurries.

  Pat

  So much for emails, the conduits of the soul and spirit – right.

  PATRICK

  Only flurries.

  Yeah, succinct and to the point and – well done, Riley – meteorologically precise. But it was not the message I had meant to send, had wanted to send Rosie.

  FROM: Patrick M Riley

  SUBJECT: Snow

  TO: Rosie Denham

  My darling Rosie

  The first snow fell last night.

  It swirled around the trash-mobile in big white flakes, hitting on the windshield as I was driving home from JQA. It looked like fairies dancing. It was so graceful and so beautiful it made me think of you.

  I want so much to see you, kiss you, hold you in
my arms and never, ever let you go.

  I don’t know if you feel the same?

  I doubt you do.

  So I …

  FROM: Patrick M Riley

  SUBJECT: Us

  TO: Rosie Denham

  My beloved Rosie

  I hope you’re okay?

  I guess you’re very busy and that’s why you don’t have any time to write long emails. But nowadays it’s getting kind of desperate with me. So if you have a moment …

  FROM: Patrick M Riley

  SUBJECT: Must see you

  TO: Rosie Denham

  I can’t go on like this. It’s killing me. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. I never needed anyone as bad as I need you …

  Delete. Delete. Delete.

  ‘Come by for Thanksgiving, Pat?’

  Ben was calling on his cell and he was at his most persuasive – or insistent or annoying, I could not be sure. It’s so hard to tell with someone who is the original Mr Charm. ‘You don’t want to be alone on Thanksgiving,’ he added.

  ‘I won’t be alone. Lex is going to Chicago with her Mr Wonderful and leaving Joe and Polly home with me. So we’ll be fine.’

  I was surprised when Lex announced her plans for Thanksgiving. I’d thought she and the Limey would want to do the whole Thanksgiving-happy-family bit, turkey, pumpkin pie and all, would want to show my children how it was going to be. But it seemed Mr Wonderful was taking Lexie someplace where children were not welcome. So I would get to see my kids, which suited me just fine.

  I would fix a real Thanksgiving dinner, I decided. I’d go to Trader Joe’s, get quality. We’d have organic-farm-raised, free-range turkey, home-made stuffing, cranberry jelly, green beans, sweet potatoes, followed by my own home-made dessert, not store-bought pie.

  When Lex and I first married, I often cooked. I always loved to bake up cakes – still do. I’d make triple chocolate brownies for this holiday. The kids could lend a hand. Then we’d all lie on the couch and stuff ourselves while watching the usual holiday garbage on TV. Or our DVDs of Shrek again, again, again. My children couldn’t get enough of Shrek. I must admit I like those movies. I even got the jokes, or most of them.