convert to the Van Gogh army.’
‘Well, should you find yourself in Nottingham I’ll gladly return the favour,’ replied Phil, ‘although the best we can do is a statue of Robin Hood who might not even have existed.’
Sanne laughed. ‘Or we could get a drink if you’ve got time.’
‘But I thought you needed to—’ Sanne looked guilty and the penny dropped. ‘There was no friend in urgent need of a shoulder, was there?’
‘Oh, come on,’ protested Sanne, ‘don’t look at me like that! I met you in a queue outside a bar! I didn’t know anything about you!’
They walked across a wide, open area which Sanne informed him was known as Museumplein towards a large paddling pool crammed full of parents and young children splashing in the water. To the right of the pool was their destination, a café with a large terrace: and ducking inside out of the glare of the sun they re-emerged, carrying an iced coffee and a Coke and sat down at a table in the shade of a huge awning.
Phil tried to coax out more of Sanne’s personal history even though he was already aware of the salient parts of it. She was, he learned, currently working part-time as a dance teacher specialising in modern, tap and ballet but prior to that had worked in the music business over in the UK. These days as far as the singing went she gigged at clubs in and around Amsterdam doing what she described as ‘a kind of acoustic, twenty-first century Joni Mitchell thing’. Curious to see how reluctant she might be to tell him about her previous fame Phil attempted to get her to be more specific but all she would say was that the work had involved ‘music videos, backing vocals and the like’, and that although it had been fun at the time she had no regrets that this period of her life was over.
‘So what brought you back to Amsterdam?’ he asked. ‘Or is that too personal a question?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she replied. ‘My marriage ended and I felt the only place I might be able to heal would be back home.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ replied Phil, meaning it. ‘He must be an idiot, your ex-husband.’
Sanne smiled. ‘That’s kind of you to say so,’ she said. ‘But it was a bit more complicated than that.’
Phil just couldn’t help himself. ‘How so?’
‘You can’t really be interested.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ replied Phil. ‘Despite what you saw last night, I’m a lover not a fighter. So come on then, what was the reason?’
‘All the time he was with me he was in love with someone else . . . someone from his past.’
‘An ex?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, an ex.’
Phil’s chest tightened. ‘I know this is going to sound weird,’ he began, ‘but does this woman have a name? I’m just curious I suppose, I’m just trying to picture the kind of woman that would have that sort of effect on a guy.’
‘Helen,’ said Sanne quietly, ‘her name was Helen.’
10.
Phil was standing in front of the sink in the café’s gents’ toilets frantically splashing water on his face, like people do in films when trying to regain their composure after a shock. If this had been a film, maybe the water-splashing would have done the trick and allowed him to return to the table outside and act like a normal human being but as it wasn’t a film, but real life in all its Technicolor glory, he just managed to drench the front of his shirt and part of his tie, earning himself a number of odd looks.
Aiden Reid’s marriage had collapsed because of Helen . That had been the long and the short of what Sanne had said, hadn’t it? After all those years, after all that time, Helen’s ex’s feelings for her had remained so strong that they had overcome what he felt for Sanne, his wife. Did Helen know that Aiden felt this way? Had he tried to contact her after his marriage ended or even while they were still together? Phil tried to recall when he had read in the papers about Sanne and Aiden Reid separating. Last year? The
‘Well, should you find yourself in Nottingham I’ll gladly return the favour,’ replied Phil, ‘although the best we can do is a statue of Robin Hood who might not even have existed.’
Sanne laughed. ‘Or we could get a drink if you’ve got time.’
‘But I thought you needed to—’ Sanne looked guilty and the penny dropped. ‘There was no friend in urgent need of a shoulder, was there?’
‘Oh, come on,’ protested Sanne, ‘don’t look at me like that! I met you in a queue outside a bar! I didn’t know anything about you!’
They walked across a wide, open area which Sanne informed him was known as Museumplein towards a large paddling pool crammed full of parents and young children splashing in the water. To the right of the pool was their destination, a café with a large terrace: and ducking inside out of the glare of the sun they re-emerged, carrying an iced coffee and a Coke and sat down at a table in the shade of a huge awning.
Phil tried to coax out more of Sanne’s personal history even though he was already aware of the salient parts of it. She was, he learned, currently working part-time as a dance teacher specialising in modern, tap and ballet but prior to that had worked in the music business over in the UK. These days as far as the singing went she gigged at clubs in and around Amsterdam doing what she described as ‘a kind of acoustic, twenty-first century Joni Mitchell thing’. Curious to see how reluctant she might be to tell him about her previous fame Phil attempted to get her to be more specific but all she would say was that the work had involved ‘music videos, backing vocals and the like’, and that although it had been fun at the time she had no regrets that this period of her life was over.
‘So what brought you back to Amsterdam?’ he asked. ‘Or is that too personal a question?’
‘No, it’s fine,’ she replied. ‘My marriage ended and I felt the only place I might be able to heal would be back home.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ replied Phil, meaning it. ‘He must be an idiot, your ex-husband.’
Sanne smiled. ‘That’s kind of you to say so,’ she said. ‘But it was a bit more complicated than that.’
Phil just couldn’t help himself. ‘How so?’
‘You can’t really be interested.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ replied Phil. ‘Despite what you saw last night, I’m a lover not a fighter. So come on then, what was the reason?’
‘All the time he was with me he was in love with someone else . . . someone from his past.’
‘An ex?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, an ex.’
Phil’s chest tightened. ‘I know this is going to sound weird,’ he began, ‘but does this woman have a name? I’m just curious I suppose, I’m just trying to picture the kind of woman that would have that sort of effect on a guy.’
‘Helen,’ said Sanne quietly, ‘her name was Helen.’
10.
Phil was standing in front of the sink in the café’s gents’ toilets frantically splashing water on his face, like people do in films when trying to regain their composure after a shock. If this had been a film, maybe the water-splashing would have done the trick and allowed him to return to the table outside and act like a normal human being but as it wasn’t a film, but real life in all its Technicolor glory, he just managed to drench the front of his shirt and part of his tie, earning himself a number of odd looks.
Aiden Reid’s marriage had collapsed because of Helen . That had been the long and the short of what Sanne had said, hadn’t it? After all those years, after all that time, Helen’s ex’s feelings for her had remained so strong that they had overcome what he felt for Sanne, his wife. Did Helen know that Aiden felt this way? Had he tried to contact her after his marriage ended or even while they were still together? Phil tried to recall when he had read in the papers about Sanne and Aiden Reid separating. Last year? The
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