Page 78 of The Way We Are Now

‘I do like it, I do, but you haven’t answered my question.’ I glanced out of the large floor-to-ceiling windows offering views of the River Thames.

‘Why do I come here when I profess to be a socialist?’ Michael smiled, obviously mulling it over. ‘Do you think, Anna, one’s aim to want disadvantaged members of our society to have an equal share of what this country has to offer rules out my asking a fascinating woman for dinner and sharing a bottle of champagne?’

I burst out laughing at that. ‘Are you wanting to share the champagne with me, or the man settling himself in for the night down there?’ We both glanced out of the window on the fading light of an April evening.

‘With you, Anna, definitely with you.’ I took in the dark cropped hair, the blue eyes, the navy suit, the blue striped shirt and felt my heart shift in a way it hadn’t for almost the past twenty years. Oh, there’d been lovers, one relationship that had lasted a year, but my only interest was my work, and I preferred to be alone than lonely with some man I couldn’t connect with.

And there was definitely a connection here.

‘You’re staring, Anna,’ Michael said gently and I had to shake my head and reach for a breadstick.

‘Sorry!’

‘Goodness, don’t be. I’d have you stare at me at any time.’ He paused and took my hand, stroking the fingertips slowly. ‘You know, I actually sat at the back of court when you were instructing Marianne’s barristers. Marianne had told me so much about you – I wanted to see you for myself – see you in action.’

‘Well, defending lawyers like me don’t get much of a say in Crown Court. We just do all the legwork beforehand.’

‘I know that, but as I sat in the gallery, watching you with Marianne before she went in the dock to be grilled, I just knew I wanted to get to know you.’

‘That was over three years ago,’ I said. ‘You took your time.’ I downed half a glass of champagne to hide my embarrassment at what I’d just said.

Michael laughed. ‘I wasn’t in any position to… to…’

‘To hit on me?’

‘Are you always so direct?’ he asked.

‘’Fraid so,’ I said. ‘Northern trait. Or a family trait. Or probably both.’ I saw the faint white line on his ring finger. ‘You’re separated?’ I asked.

‘Divorced,’ he replied.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. It was a rough time going through it all, but we’re not openly hostile to each other any more.’

I drank more champagne than was probably wise and, at the end of the best evening I’d had for many years, I went back with Michael to his apartment in Putney.

And we’d been together ever since.

25

Forty! How on earth was I forty? Where had the last twenty years gone? I stood at the French window, gazing through the dusky March evening down my tiny garden, admiring the daffs and myriad pots of burgeoning spring bulbs that Dad had helped me with on his last visit in October. I was showered but not yet dressed, and I pulled my cotton robe around myself, continuing to gaze out at the garden, reluctant to leave the past, not yet ready for the evening ahead – to come to terms with being forty years old and what I guessed Michael was going to ask me.

My thoughts came back to my time at Leeds, as they often did, recalling my final year where I did very little except get my head down and study like the mad woman I think I’d probably become. On my return from my year out at the NUM, students had appeared a lot more involved in political activism than when Fliss and I had joined Frank to organise the Reclaim the Night march. Now, they were heavily into anti-apartheid action, even picketing Leeds Chamber of Commerce, as well as an anti-fascist demonstration which led students to petition and organise against the inclusion of a National Front supporter in a local media phone-in. I’d little heart for any of it – particularly the picketing which brought back so many bad memories of Orgreave and Theo’s injuries – and I’d turned down Frank’s invitation to accompany him there.

I did take time out to organise a demonstration against domestic violence, as well as volunteer at the university union’s safe place for women who’d been sexually assaulted. Roddy McClellan had long since left high office, and, according to rumours, was now clean-shaven, wearing a pinstriped suit and wielding his Filofax along with the other young bucks in the big city. I’d never come across him here in London, so maybe that’s what it was – mere rumour. It was a good story anyway, and I smiled as I continued to reminisce. Being back in Leeds for that final year had reminded me so much of both Fliss and Theo – the library, the park where Fliss and I had run, Len’s Bar where Susannah had told me Theo would break my heart – that I’d been more than relieved to leave both Leeds and Rothersley and head to London.

‘You ready? You were miles away!’ Michael had arrived armed with flowers and champagne and was now opening the bottle while I continued to stand at the window.

‘Yes, yes, I’m good.’ I turned, smiling, and he passed me a glass.

‘Happy birthday, you gorgeous woman.’ Michael clinked his glass with mine and kissed me. ‘Are you OK? We don’t seem to have seen much of each other lately.’

‘We’re both so busy,’ I said. ‘If you’re not in the Commons, running the country, or out of the country, you’re sleeping it off at your place.’

‘And you’re constantly in your office or at court. You do know our work/life balance is non-existent? I just think we should try and spend more time together.’ Michael hesitated. ‘One has to work at a relationship, you know – I know that to my cost with Rebecca.’

‘How is she?’