Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 44 Olive

Chapter 44

Olive

A ndrea’s . Of course. It was the perfect name for Jack’s restaurant, the sign beautifully crafted in her favorite colors of burgundy and gold, the perfect way to honor his wife. So why did it upset me so much? How, after all this time, did Jack still have such an effect on me? Why did I still have feelings for a man who, infuriatingly, didn’t have the same feelings for me?

I had no claim on Jack. I’d made that clear when I decided not to tell him I was pregnant with his child, and now that he had met Lucy and I’d still not told him, I had potentially made everything much worse. I felt sick with nerves whenever I saw him, unable to find the words or the courage to tell him. Besides, his heart was clearly still with the only woman he would ever truly love.

I tried to put Jack out of my mind as I made my way to Leicester Square to meet Peter. He’d suggested dancing, and I’d suggested the theater. We’d compromised and settled on matinee tickets for a new musical film.

Peter was already waiting outside. He looked irritated, as if he’d waited a month for me to arrive.

“Sorry I’m late!” I called as I hurried toward him.

He gave me a half-hearted peck on the cheek. “I’d honestly be surprised if you turned up on time. What kept you today? High tea at Highgate? A crisis at the castle? I could write the headlines for you at this stage.”

Peter found my role as assistant royal reporter highly amusing.

I ignored him. “I was with Jack, actually. He was showing me the new sign for the restaurant.”

“Restaurant? Pile of rubble, isn’t it? If he ever opens it will be a miracle.”

He was so dismissive of Jack’s ambitions, but I didn’t have the energy to argue with him. “Shall we go inside?”

I adored the film. Peter fell asleep. As I glanced at him slumped in his seat, I found myself wishing Jack was sitting beside me instead. Jack wouldn’t have fallen asleep. We would be laughing about something funny we’d both noticed.

The unavoidable truth was that the more time I spent with Peter, the more I realized we had almost nothing in common. It had been a fun year of roses and cocktails and shows in the West End, but I’d never lain awake at night thinking about Peter. I never wondered what he was doing when we weren’t together. Perhaps most telling of all, I’d never dreamed of being intimate with him. There was only one man who occupied my thoughts that way: Jack.

As the tumultuous love affair played out on the screen in front of me, I felt as if it was my life the actors were portraying. Why was I with Peter when I was thinking about Jack all the time? Why couldn’t I forget about Jack and be happy with Peter? I was gripped by a sudden sense of panic. What was I doing?

When the film was over, Peter suggested we go to The Thirsty Dog. It was strange to be back there, the empty spaces in our conversation filled with memories of the gang of friends laughing and joking, making wild plans for our future, but also tainted by the memories of how suddenly it had all ended for me.

I took a sip of my lager and lime. It tasted bitter and flat. “I think the barrel needs changing.”

Peter took a sip and declared it to be fine.

Maybe it wasn’t just the barrel that needed changing.

Suddenly, I couldn’t bear to be there any longer. I made an excuse about wanting to get home.

“Lucy had a temperature earlier. I’d like to get back to check on her.”

“Now? We’ve only just got here.”

I could tell Peter was irritated. “I’m sorry. I’d feel better if I went home.”

“Fine. I’ll walk you to the tube. There’s always something with that kid, isn’t there? Always something to be worried about.”

His words cut through me. “I’m her mother, Peter. It’s my job to worry about her.”

I’d been careful to keep Lucy separate from my relationship with Peter until I was certain it was going to last. He’d never seemed particularly interested in spending time with her anyway. He liked me a lot, but not enough to take on what I brought with me.

We stepped out into the rain. For a long time, neither of us said anything.

We stopped at the entrance to the tube station.

Peter pushed his hands into his coat pockets. “I’m sorry, Olive. I forget sometimes that you have a kid to get home to.”

He spoke about her as if she were a new puppy I’d recently brought home.

As I looked at him, his face lit by the streetlamps, I felt nothing.

“We don’t have to do this, Peter. If it’s all too much? You know, with the kid .”

“I do care for you, Olive. It’s just... I’m not sure I’m cut out for this.”

“Then maybe we should both take some time to work out what it is we are sure of.”

“Maybe we should.”

I made my way down the steps to the underground, careful not to slip on the tiles that were slick from the rain, and all I felt was a sense of relief. The illusion of happiness I’d tried to create with Peter over almost two years of casual dates, with long intervals between, had finally been revealed for what it was.

Peter had been a distraction, a smokescreen.

Suddenly, I could see clearly.