‘How do you know what time I went to bed? You were out with your new workmates until irresponsible o’clock.’
‘Well, I might as well go out with them and be irresponsible as stay in with you like some boring elderly couple. We’re thirty, Sam! Finally getting a bit of ourselves back now the kids are all at school. I’ve got the whole of my twenties to catch up on, and I want to make the most of it. I’d quite like a husband who wants to do it with me.’
Sam, who was the only person on this planet who knew exactly how to handle Orla, stuck his drink on the coffee table and yanked her down onto his lap, ignoring her squeals. ‘You’re the one who’s acting like an old woman, nagging me all the time. Now stop moaning so I can drink my coffee and go and play with the wonderful children you gave me.’
3
Cooper
‘Come on, Cooper, you’ve faced worse.’ Patrick Charles Cooper straightened his tie in the reflection of the entrance door, flicked the rain off his black mass of cropped curls and took a deep breath. It was true, he’d faced a lot worse. He just couldn’t fathom why it would be helpful to remind himself of any of that at this moment.
‘Are you going in or not?’ an older man asked impatiently from behind, and Cooper turned to see a group of four or five people squashing under an enormous umbrella, their suits and evening dresses poking out from beneath raincoats.
‘Uh, yes. Sorry.’ He pulled open the heavy glass door, gesturing to the group to go ahead, before ducking in behind them. He gave his name to the member of staff, along with his sopping coat. Noting his position on the seating plan – good, right in the back corner with the other nonentities – he followed the crowd into the grand ballroom of the Nottingham Castle Hotel. Making his way past the banqueting tables, keeping his head down to avoid any of the IPD team, he reached the safety of the bar and tried to figure out for the hundredth time what he was doing here.
Ah yes, the lack of a job, that was a pretty good reason.
Having recently resigned from his research position at IPD, the top neuroscience research company in the UK, if not the whole of Europe, Cooper was currently well on his way to becoming broke, homeless and, more importantly, driven out of his mind with boredom. With no late-into-the-night working, impossible deadlines and the continual drive to justify his position at the company with the one thing that mattered – results – he had time to think about other things. And that was a dangerous and unpleasant road to head down. Cooper had worked very hard to make sure that he had no space left in his life for other things.
Now, they were laughing in his face when he woke up every morning, sneering at him from the other side of the sofa as he flicked mindlessly through the horror of daytime television, or scrolled through hours of drivel on the Internet.
Free time was Very Bad.
Bad enough that Cooper had swapped his faded joggers for a suit and prepared to endure the annual Henry Munch Conference Dinner, attended by some of the brightest and best in the world of neuroscience, psychology, behavioural sciences and other related fields, all hoping to scoop one of the awards given out on the night. While he wouldn’t begrudge applauding most of the award recipients for a job well done, knowing that the ex-research partner who’d stolen his results had won one made his guts contract like a dying snake.
He forced his way through the meal, his rankings in the proceedings confirmed by the PhD students sitting to his left, and retired psychology lecturer on the other side. It became apparent by the end of the pumpkin soup that no one on the table could offer any potential job prospects. Unless the retired lecturer needed someone to cut her grass and fetch her prescription, that was. Which might end up being his best option. No, if Cooper wanted to leave here with some sort of a job lead, he was going to have to go looking for it.
So he did, weaving his way through the tables once the lemon tart had been served, not having to try too hard to avoid the IPD table, given that it was in the opposite corner to his own (in prime position, in other words). He paused to catch the eye of a few people he recognised, but most of them quickly turned away, or simply ignored him, not even bothering to pretend they’d not seen the disgraced golden boy.
Ouch. It had been a long time since Cooper had been shunned en masse. It felt as crap as when he’d been that kid with the stinky clothes and unwashed hair, lugging his school books in a worn carrier bag.
But then he saw her.
Cooper’s battered and broken heart froze for a long moment before stuttering into life for the first time in four years.
He’d known she might be here – his rational brain thought it was more than likely; if anything it was a more compelling reason to come than needing a job.
And –oh, Cooper, you are in trouble now– she looked, if possible, even more breathtaking than the last time he’d seen her. To be fair, that day she’d been chasing his car down the street in a dressing gown and koala slippers. But, honestly, Bridget Donovan could wear his manky old school uniform and she’d still be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
Her hair was shorter, a wavy, mahogany cut that didn’t quite reach her shoulders, but her smile as she chatted to the other people at the table, the way her dark eyes glinted as she threw her hands about to emphasise a point, one of them still clutching a spoon – it was exactly the same.
He stood there, soaking her up, not even needing to approach, until a waiter carrying an oversized coffee urn politely asked him to move out of the way. At that point, as he shifted his gaze to avoid causing an accident, he felt her notice him.
This was confirmed by the sudden lack of oxygen in his vicinity. It was doubly confirmed when she stood up, waving the spoon even harder, and shouted, ‘Cooper? COOPER! I can’t believe it. This is amazing. Hang on, don’t move, I’m coming over. Stay right there.’
As if he could have moved, even if he’d wanted to.
Tottering up to him, she grabbed his arm (yep, her touch still sent shivers of electricity careening through his nervous system) and dragged him through a pair of double doors into a corridor.
‘Cooper! I can’t believe it’s really you, you’re really here!’ She poked him a few times in the chest, as if to double check, face beaming. Cooper swallowed painfully. It almost felt worth the whole past six weeks – giving up his job, his reputation, the six-figure salary – simply to make her smile like that, in this moment. Except, that would have been a meaningless gesture, as pretty much everything made Bridget smile.
He’d forgotten how perfect her teeth were.
‘I mean, how? Why? Who are you here with?’ She scanned around as if that would provide the answer.
Come on, Coop. Open your mouth and hopefully something sensible will come out.
Knowing that if he didn’t say something soon, he might end up bending down and kissing her, he smiled back. ‘Hello, Widget.’
