Love, and Other Things to Live For Page 9

  ‘Do you think Paul would’ve liked it?’ he asked, looking out of the window.

  His name still hit me like a sucker punch.

  ‘I think Paul would be very proud of you,’ I said, standing at his side.

  ‘I just don’t know how we managed to fuck everything up,’ he said.

  I laughed. ‘Me neither. But we’re getting better.’ I squeezed his hand as we stood together in the vast, empty room. ‘So, do you think I’m doing the right thing?’

  ‘I don’t know, Jess,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘I think you should do what makes you happiest. You can’t choose who comes into your life and you can’t choose when they leave, either, so stop taking so much of the responsibility. Because this is it, this life, there won’t be another. There isn’t some magical place beyond here that we’re rehearsing for. Well, I don’t believe there is anyway. It’s funny, when I used to think of what life would be like in the future, perhaps this very day was the one I was dreaming of. Would I have done things a little differently, loved a little less harder, if I knew that it was destined to end? No. Because I was introduced to feelings that I didn’t know I had, that for the first time had nothing to do with my own wellbeing. And now I know that it’s possible.’

  I wondered if he knew of his importance. That he wasn’t just a by-product of a terrible accident. I reached out and flicked the back of his ear.

  ‘Ouch!’ he said, pulling his head away.

  I looked over at him as we both crept into giggles.

  ‘Do you think it’s too big?’ he said, pressing his hand against the glass.

  ‘Yes, definitely,’ I said. ‘Miles too big.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit indulgent to be looking at a flat this size with it just being me here and no one else?’

  ‘Life’s too short,’ I said, relaying his own advice. ‘You’ve earned this one, Seany. You’ve earned every brick.’

  ‘Oh fuck it,’ he said. ‘Why not, eh? If the mortgage repayments bounce I can wait tables with you in my spare time.’

  I smacked him on the arm as we made our way back to the estate agent who was waiting patiently outside in the corridor. I took one last look at the view before I left. Being responsible for all of this: now that was certainly something to aspire to.

  I had arrived fifteen minutes early and had brought with me the maroon jumper he had lent me one chilly night, just in case he mentioned it and wanted to take it back. I was sat in the bar around the corner from Harry’s house: a neutral ground that didn’t harbour any memories. It was almost last orders, and ten minutes later he walked through the door and approached my small, round table by the window. I was already on my second diet coke and had been running through my head exactly what I wanted to say. I had thought about just telling him that it just wasn’t working, but then he was going to think that part of this was his fault. And it wasn’t. I waved as he made his way over to the table. He leaned over as he usually would and kissed me on the lips as he usually did.

  ‘Fancy another drink?’ he said.

  I shook my head.

  ‘I’ll be back in a minute then…’

  I watched him as he stood at the bar and then came back with a pint of lager. I knew I was bordering on insane for ending things, but I also knew that you can’t live, all the while pretending.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said, sitting down.

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ I said, lying.

  ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘I’m talking about your head, you said you had a headache last night when we left the club.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, it’s fine now,’ I said, lying again.

  ‘So what’s this all about then? Only I’ve got to be in the office early tomorrow and it’s not like you to want to meet on a school night.’

  ‘It’s not working,’ I said, my mouth running away with itself before I could stop it. It was insensitive and too easy to say.

  He took a deep breath and looked at me for about three seconds too long. ‘So that’s what this is about?’

  ‘I don’t want you to think this is about you. It absolutely isn’t – it’s all me.’

  ‘I know,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean you know?’ Perhaps it wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.

  ‘Jess, I’ve never treated anyone the way I treated you. I was there for you. I got involved with your friends, usually I’m not that keen but with you… I just dived right in.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I just don’t know what happened.’

  He reached out to hold my hand across the table: his were warm and mine were freezing.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been awful to you,’ I said.

  ‘Jess, please. Just give it some more time.’

  ‘Harry, I really like you, I do,’ I said, moving my hand away, ‘but time isn’t going to help anything.’

  ‘Is there someone else?’ he said, looking me directly in the eye for the first time since he arrived.

  ‘No,’ I lied.

  And maybe that was the problem: with Harry, lies came spilling out effortlessly. I didn’t even have to think. I hadn’t lied to Charlie once. I couldn’t.

  ‘Well, if that’s it,’ he said, ‘I’m not going to say I’m not disappointed because I am but if that’s how you feel…’

  ‘It’s how I feel,’ I said, defiantly. I reached down and searched through the carrier bag wedged between my legs. ‘I brought back your jumper. It’s in here somewhere.’ I rooted through the bag trying to free it from under a large plastic bottle of water.

  ‘Keep it, Jess. I don’t need the jumper, for Christ’s sake.’

  I called off the search and raised my head above the table.

  ‘Look, I’d better go. Like I said, I need to be up early.’

  ‘But you didn’t even finish your beer?’ I said, suddenly wanting him to stay.

  ‘Take care, Jess,’ he said, standing up. And with that he walked out of the bar.

  I’d gotten what I deserved. I sat and watched the bubbles rise to the top of his beer. I felt terrible, cruel even. But it was the most honest thing I had done in months.

  An hour later, I opened the door to my flat to the sound of cheering and clapping from the room next door.

  ‘How did it go?’ Amber shouted from her bedroom.

  I threw my keys on the side and walked through the hallway to find her cross-legged, painting her toenails on the bed. I took off my coat and glanced at the loud chat show blaring from her TV screen in the corner of the room.

  ‘What are you watching?’ I said, yawning.

  ‘Just some American trash reality thing.’

  ‘How was dinner?’ I asked.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘It was a quiet one actually.’

  I sat down on the bed next to her and wriggled my shoes off.

  ‘How was your day?’

  ‘Sean is buying a flat and I’ve ended things with Harry.’

  ‘I gathered,’ she said, picking up her wet pieces of cotton wool. She leaned over to turn the lamp off as the room stayed lit by the glow of the television.

  ‘Move over,’ I said, wriggling under the covers. ‘You’re hogging my side.’

  We slept together that night, our legs entwined beneath the duvet, safe, secure, listening only to our dreams and the sound of the television.

  It was a Tuesday night and for the third time that week I scooped my hair up into a ponytail and tied my black work apron around my waist. I was running ten minutes late for my shift at Guido’s, having lost track of time at Cathy’s studio. As I desperately searched the locker room for a pen I could hear my phone vibrating in the side pocket. Give it two minutes, I thought to myself, and it will go to voicemail. I stared at my reflection, stark under the harsh lights above the mirror, and ran my finger over a pimple on my chin that hadn’t been there that morning. After a brief pause it started buzzing again. Flashing in big white letters was the name ‘Charlie’. I looked up the stairs to t
he restaurant. It sounded loud and bustling. I could hear a waiter shout for bread in the kitchen as I slid out of the staff exit and under the doorway of the smoking area.

  ‘What do you want?’ I answered, abruptly.

  ‘It’s Charlie, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. Look, I can’t talk, I’m at work.’

  ‘You’re at work? Where do you work?’

  ‘I work at Guido’s, the Italian place opposite the tube.’ I don’t know why I told him; the words had spilled before my brain had time to stop them.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ he said, ‘it’s important.’

  I could hear the lunch staff finishing their shift in the changing room and knew it was my turn to take over.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, desperately needing to leave. ‘I’ll ring you at 11 p.m., that’s when I finish.’ I paused. ‘I have to go.’

  As soon as I’d put the phone down I felt a rush of either regret or excitement. As usual with him, it was impossible to tell.

  I walked into the restaurant and was greeted by Maria and two of the locals.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ I said, hiding the state of panic I was in.

  ‘Slow down,’ Maria said, ‘the boss is away and I won’t tell him.’ She gave me a small smile and straightened the knot at the back of my apron.

  For the next few hours I tried to focus on the table numbers, the food, the wine, the specials, but I couldn’t shake the thought of Charlie from my mind. Every face of every man that came in seemed to look like him. I was angry, angry towards him for taking over my life again and angry towards myself for letting him.

  The restaurant was busy and the central heating had made the lower part of the restaurant feel like a furnace. I could feel the sweat trickle down the back of my neck. It was five consecutive hours of constant running, the type of distraction that my mind so desperately needed but that had sent my body into spasm. By the end of the night, after placing the last chair upside down on top of the table, I sat down gently on the cold, floor tiles.

  ‘Jess,’ Maria said, in her thick Italian accent. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ I said.

  She turned to me and handed me a small loaf of bread wrapped in cling film. ‘For breakfast tomorrow,’ she said.

  I smiled. ‘Thanks, Maria.’ I took off my small black apron and made my way down the stairs, glancing back briefly to give her a wave. A look passed briefly between us. Perhaps she knew.

  I sat down on a rickety chair in the locker room and tried to assess the situation. I had two choices: I could block him out and forget the past year had even happened, or I could face him and ultimately get the answers I needed. I took my coat and my handbag from my locker and left. The cold metal steps dug into my shins as the ring started. A tingling sensation ran through my hands as he answered.

  ‘Charlie, it’s Jess,’ I said.

  ‘Thanks for calling back. How was work?’

  ‘Fine. Quite busy, but fine.’

  ‘I didn’t even know you had a job. How long have you been working there?’

  ‘Three months. But then, you don’t really know much about me these days do you?’

  ‘No. I suppose not,’ he said, softly.

  After months of rehearsing this conversation in my head, I was struggling to find the words that I wanted to say.

  ‘So what’s this about then?’ I said. ‘Because I’m outside and it’s cold and I just want to go home.’

  ‘I miss you,’ he said.

  We sat in the pause where neither of us spoke.

  ‘How was your night out last week?’ I said, diverting the subject. ‘It was strange bumping into you.’ I tried to keep things factual, beating off the emotions with my imaginary iron fist. All the while a secondary voice ran through my head telling me to keep it light. Don’t get drawn in. Just. Keep. Things. Light.

  ‘I really miss you, Jess.’

  There was another pause from both of us.

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘I just don’t believe you anymore.’ I said it in the way a newsreader might deliver bad news, almost professionally.

  ‘I know I made a mistake, but if you could just understand that I didn’t mean to hurt you, Jess.’

  ‘But you did.’ I hesitated. I could feel myself welling up inside but tried to disguise it by clearing my throat. ‘Look, I’m not sure what you’re trying to prove, Charlie, to me or to yourself, but please don’t. Don’t use me as some form of entertainment because you’re bored with your girlfriend… or whatever it is you call her.’

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend, Jess.’

  ‘Charlie, I don’t care…’

  ‘I just want you,’ he said.

  I could feel my hands start to tremble.

  ‘There’s something I think you should know,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry too.’ The lightness in my voice had all but gone as I succumbed to the weight of what I wanted to say. And the words just flooded. ‘I’m sorry things didn’t work out between us but now it’s time to start again, with this job, with everything. These past few months, everything has just become a bit of a mess. It’s my own fault, I know. But I just need to focus on turning things around now.’

  ‘I see…’ he said.

  ‘And by doing this, by turning up out of the blue, well, you’re not helping me to do that.’

  I could hear him breathing at the end of the phone. ‘Well, I wouldn’t want to be the one to stop you,’ he said.

  I sat there, on the stone-cold steps of the fire escape. ‘I love you, Charlie, and I hope that you find what will make you happy.’

  And with that I hung up the phone.

  They say that it is far easier to forgive someone you hate than someone you love, and it was true that even after all he had done, I did still love him. But like that kite I had worked so tirelessly to create, he had cried ownership, but I had been given the skills to make it.

  I went to bed that night without a single feeling of regret. And woke up the next day as someone who had been hurt, but was still striving forwards, carrying that feeling with me instead of hoping it would go away. I had finally forgiven him and at the same time, and more importantly, maybe I had forgiven myself. And did I regret the heartache? No, because if there was one thing I had learnt, it was that forgiveness is possible.

  Chapter Nine – Goodnight, Head/Good Morning, Heart

  There was red wine, two glasses and single white rose left on the glass coffee table. This time he had really made an effort, Amber thought, as she took off her coat and waited for her boss to arrive. She looked around at the hotel room and took in the surroundings. It was an affair. There was no getting away from it. In fact, they were bordering on a cliché. She looked down at the pamphlet resting on the pillow, the prices of room service listed. Although she knew it would be charged as a business deal, she couldn’t help but feel pleased with herself about her worth. And that’s just what it was. A deal. She got the setting where the price of scrambled egg reached double digits. And he got, well, her.

  As she walked into the bathroom her sense of pride for handling him in such a way was monumental. By all account he was falling for her. A rapid development that she could feel was on her side. She was running the show and, as always, the ball was most definitely in her court. She could hear his key turning in the door and smiled. She knew it wasn’t real. He was the equivalent of an invisible friend, someone who existed between the two of them, but not in the real world.

  ‘Amber,’ he shouted through the door.

  She always waited a few minutes before she replied. It felt nice to be wanted. She slid off her dress in front of the bathroom mirror and stood confidently assessing the new black underwear she had bought. It had taken her longer than usual to pick it. With him she needed something classic and elegant. He wasn’t into the cheap nylon twin sets that seemed to appeal to her own generation. He was older, and to Amber’s delight, much harder to please. She sprayed three squirts of perfume and rearranged the t
hin, black stockings around her thighs. She was ready. She wanted more. And he didn’t stand a chance.

  ‘Listen,’ he said, cautiously. Just two hours later and she lay in his arms as he stroked the top of her arm gently. ‘There’s something I really need to talk to you about.’

  ‘What is it?’ she replied, sitting up so she could see him.

  ‘This whole thing is really very lovely but we still need to remember to be careful. I noticed that you said “see you later” when you left the office today. Now, that may have just been a slip of the tongue, I know, but we really need to be doing a better job of hiding things.’

  Amber looked at him, her neck flushed. She snapped herself out of the feelings creeping in. ‘Yes, yes of course. I’m sorry.’

  He saw the look on her face and ran his hands through his grey hair nervously. ‘Because this is fun, Amber, but I’m married. And that’s very important to me.’

  She could feel a burning heat rise towards the top of her back. Maybe she didn’t have this worked out after all. But maybe it was too late. ‘You could’ve at least waited and had this conversation whilst I was wearing clothes,’ she said, pulling the bed sheet around her. ‘Might’ve made me feel like less of a prostitute.’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Amber. I just don’t want you thinking this could be anything more than it can be. Don’t make me the bad guy here, there’s two of us in this bed.’

  As she felt his hand on the small of her back she wondered, quietly, how she had got here. His words, spoken in shame, had hurt her. It was only supposed to be a bit of fun. But her heart had caught fire and she had gone up in flames.

  Although my social media might tell a different story, I have very few friends. When I was four years old I made my first friend. Her name was Lucy and she was my best friend: a nursery school partner in crime disguised in a denim blue dress and pigtails. She moved to Canada before we’d reached the age of ten, before real life had got in the way of seeing who could do the best handstand or who had been the first to spell their own name, before the teenage years of boys, periods and fallouts over borrowed clothes. After several failed attempts to search for her on social media, I don’t think I’ll ever know what happened to Lucy, where she is now or the person she became: just a tiny friendship in a large passage of time. And, of course, it would be totally inappropriate to invite her round to play – though I wish I could. Now I spend my days gossiping with Cathy or Maria, both of whom are over the age of sixty, trying to explain to them that yes, I do have 643 friends on Facebook, but no, I don’t have anyone to go to the cinema with on a Friday night.