Our Stop

by Laura Jane Williams

  A black Prius pulled up alongside the kerb.

  ‘Daniel?’ the driver said through the open window.

  ‘All right mate, just a minute,’ Daniel said. Turning back to Lorenzo he continued, ‘Come on, she’s in no fit state. Let me cancel the cab and we’ll find the others and they can make sure she gets back okay. I think she lives with one of them.’

  ‘Mate,’ Lorenzo said, almost in air quotes. ‘She’s fine. The cab’s here now. Let’s just go.’

  Daniel hesitated. He thought he was going home alone and now Lorenzo was there with a woman who should not, on any terms, be going anywhere except her own bed. But what was the worst that could happen? Surely Lorenzo would pass out as soon as she did anyway. And it’s not like he thought Lorenzo would do anything stupid, but … well … Daniel resented having to bear witness to it. He stepped aside and let his friend open the car door. This wasn’t his call to make, he reasoned.

  ‘She’s not gonna be sick, is she?’ the cabbie asked, and Lorenzo told him she was fine.

  Daniel climbed into the front seat.

  ‘Evening,’ he said to the driver.

  ‘Evening.’

  The four of them drove in silence, with Daniel vaguely aware of slurpy kissing noises coming from the back seat. He didn’t want to turn around, or worse, get caught staring in the rear-view mirror or the dark glass of the car, but he was increasingly uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right to him that Becky was so drunk she could barely speak, and Lorenzo was obviously taking her home to have sex with her. Did she even know where she was? He regretted having let Lorenzo get her in the car. If that was his sister, or one of his girl mates …

  ‘Hey, Becky – you okay back there?’ he said eventually, to which he got a mumbled reply that, in his book, meant she couldn’t be far away from either passing out, or throwing up. He stole a glance in the rear-view. Lorenzo was looking out of the far window, sleepily, but his hand was far up Becky’s leg, his long fingers stretched out so that his thumb reached into the crevice between her legs.

  They pulled up at home, and the two men had to practically give Becky a fireman’s lift up the stairs to their flat. It was weird. It felt like being a caveman who had clubbed a cavewoman over the head and dragged her back.

  ‘She can have my room,’ Daniel said, as they opened the front door. ‘And I’ll take the sofa.’

  Lorenzo laughed. ‘She’ll come in with me, stupid.’ Becky slumped into the armchair Daniel normally reserved for watching TV.

  Daniel looked at her. ‘Listen, Lorenzo.’

  ‘Don’t “listen, Lorenzo” me.’

  ‘You can’t … you know. Get consent.’

  ‘Woah! Who said I was going to fuck her?’

  ‘Nobody. I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Fuck you, man. What are you fucking saying?’

  Daniel held up his hands, in surrender. ‘I’m saying I’ll get my duvet and sleep in here, and she should go in my room with a pint of water and fully clothed. That’s all.’

  Lorenzo’s face flashed purple with rage. ‘I’m not some fucking creep. What do you think I’m going to do?

  ‘Nothing …’ Daniel tried to sound calm. Emotionless. Non-judgmental. He kept his voice level. ‘Lorenzo, you’re drunk. Just go to bed.’

  Lorenzo pushed Daniel’s shoulder. ‘You’re drunk!’ He pushed Daniel’s shoulder again. ‘Fuck you!’

  Daniel pushed him back, instinctively. ‘Don’t push me.’

  Lorenzo pushed him again. ‘Don’t push me!’

  Daniel wasn’t sure how it happened, but one of them lunged at the other – he’d say tomorrow morning that it was Lorenzo who’d forced his hand, but he couldn’t be sure, they were both drunk and angry – and Daniel could only remember a feeling of almighty pain, the sensation of liquid running down his cheek. There was screaming. Oh god, there was screaming.

  ‘Stop! Ohmygod! Stop!’ It was Becky. She was crying – sobbing. Really, really, sobbing. Daniel adjusted his focus and saw Lorenzo lying on his side, groaning. He touched his hand to his face and then looked at his fingers. Blood. They’d beaten the living daylights out of each other.

  Becky continued to cry – a weird, confused cry, but a cry that indicated she’d sobered up. The cushions were pulled off the sofa, the coffee table had dragged the rug underneath it into a ball, and Daniel wasn’t just breathing deeply but panting.

  ‘Becky,’ he said, sounding as authoritative as he could under the circumstances. ‘I’m going to call you an Uber, okay?’

  Becky made eye contact with him and nodded through tears that were now stunned and silent.

  ‘Come on.’

  It hurt Daniel to stand, and looking in the living-room mirror he understood why: there was a bruise shining brightly at the top of his right arm, which he could see because his shirt had popped open and been pulled down, and there was another shiner below his right eye too. He looked sweaty and dirty and bloodied and a mess. ‘Where’s my phone?’ he asked, and Lorenzo silently handed it to him from the floor, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground. He looked almost as bad as Daniel did.

  ‘Get your bag, Becky. We’ll wait outside.’

  Daniel and Becky waited outside, neither of them knowing what to say. The Uber pulled up, and Daniel opened the door for her.

  ‘Get home safe.’

  She nodded.

  Inside, Lorenzo had tidied up the mess they’d made. The cushions were back in place and he’d sorted out the rug and coffee table. There was just a single lamp on, and his bedroom door was closed. Daniel thought about knocking on it, but didn’t know what he’d say. He wasn’t sure what had just happened, really. He just knew he was relieved the girl wasn’t behind that closed door with his flatmate. He just … Lorenzo shouldn’t have brought her home, and that was the end of it.

  He leaned in close to the mirror, and even in the dim light he could see the bruise, already deeper and brighter. It hurt to touch.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said quietly, a sentiment he’d continue for the next four days, when the bruising looked worse before it looked better.

  33

  Nadia

  Nadia had ended up seeing Eddie earlier than planned, on the Saturday instead of the Sunday. They’d texted all of Friday night, with Eddie giving Nadia a blow-by-blow account of what he thought about first You’ve Got Mail, and then when Nadia said she was going to watch Sleepless in Seattle because she loved Meg Ryan, he timed it so that he played the same movie in sync with her from his house. They messaged back and forth, unpacking the plot in real time, talking about their lives and cracking jokes in between talking about the movie. It was 2 a.m. by the time Eddie had said: This is nice. You. Me. Us.

  And it had been. Eddie was good company, even via a phone screen, and in the end Nadia took a breath and typed, Hey – I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow, are you?

  For you I might be … he’d said back, and so at 11 a.m. the next day they’d met for coffee at Granger & Co. in King’s Cross, and coffee turned into brunch, and brunch turned into a slow meander down to the Wellcome Collection, which neither of them were particularly bothered about, but it was an excuse to be together, to keep talking. After the exhibition they walked some more, and Nadia hadn’t realized she was guiding them towards the direction of her flat, until it was 4 p.m. and Eddie had said, ‘What now?’

  ‘We could stop at Tesco,’ Nadia said, ‘and then go cook at mine?’

  Eddie pulled her in for a kiss, then – the first time he’d done so all day, to the point where Nadia had found herself wanting it to happen and convincing herself that she’d misunderstood and they were only spending time together as friends. Or strangers who’d slept together once. Their hands had brushed as they’d walked, and it hadn’t gone unnoticed when Eddie had found the exact spot of the curve of her hip to guide her around the corners of the gallery. Knees had knocked as they ate and he’d put his arm around her neck, across her shoulders, a few times. But until then, no kiss. Body contact but no
kiss, and when it finally happened Nadia found herself wanting more of it.

  They’d got supplies for a simple pasta and pesto dish at the Tesco Extra on the corner, and a bottle of wine and some fizzy water, and kept kissing as they drank on her patio, and boiled water for the noodles, and once they’d eaten the kissing got deeper, and deeper, and then, come Sunday morning, Nadia woke up next to him again, convinced he was the guy for her. You might have been right … she texted Emma, to no reply. He’s pretty awesome …

  They’d spent all Sunday together, going out to read the papers over breakfast like they’d been a couple for years, and this was their normal, weekly routine, before taking the overground across the city to take a big walk up the heath and stopping for roast beef in the beer garden of a pub nearby. It was nice to belong to somebody for a whole block of time: not to be hurtling across London to do a workout with one friend and then lunch with another and head home alone after somebody’s Saturday-night birthday dinner or drinks. Nadia felt rooted that weekend, spending time with one person – a person who seemed to like her an awful lot. The ‘couple behavior’ that had bugged her on Friday, by Sunday night felt comforting and welcome.

  I like how this feels, she’d told him, snuggled into his neck on her sofa in front of a David Attenborough documentary.

  And she did.

  Train Guy who? she smiled to herself. In three days, her life had changed completely. Now that she’d let herself entertain the idea, Eddie was actually almost everything she wanted.

  On Monday morning, when she saw Train Guy had written back to her in the paper, she decided to ignore it.

  I screwed up, Coffee Spill Girl. I left, and I shouldn’t have, and now I’m worried I blew it. I know you don’t get a second chance at a first impression, but how about a first meeting on the second try?

  No, she thought. Not when there’s a man right here who shows up when he says he will. Sorry, Train Guy.

  34

  Daniel

  On Monday, when Daniel got home from work, he hesitated at the door before he put his key in the lock. Lorenzo was home. Daniel didn’t want to see him.

  Pushing open the door, smells of garlic and salmon wafted through the hallway. Daniel’s first thought was that if Lorenzo was hosting a date in their living room – a date with no warning, no less – he’d go straight back out again, probably to his mother’s. His second reaction was to think, How dare he impose on the house this way? In theory Daniel didn’t care who Lorenzo had over, but it was fucking poor form to have somebody over two nights after they’d thrown punches at each other over his treatment of another woman.

  In so many ways Daniel had had no right to get involved with him and Becky, but … he just knew it wasn’t right. He knew that Lorenzo would have taken Becky into his room if Daniel hadn’t have stopped him, and that was just wrong. Daniel had saved Becky from doing something she probably wouldn’t remember doing, but he’d saved Lorenzo from doing something he’d never be able to un-do too, no matter how blurred the line was. Daniel’s conscience told him there were no shades of grey here, even if Lorenzo would’ve argued for them.

  Lorenzo had been gone all day Sunday and come home after Daniel had locked himself away in his room, but in the forty-eight hours since it happened, Daniel had convinced himself that he was absolutely right to have stood up for Becky that way, whether she knew it or not. Whether Lorenzo knew it or not.

  ‘Hello?’ Lorenzo yelled, appearing at the kitchen door. ‘Oh, hey man. I’m, erm … making pasta al salmone.’

  Daniel nodded, and searched for clues as to who else was there.

  ‘I got in a bottle of Malbec too.’

  Daniel scrunched up his nose. For him? Was this for him?

  ‘I’ll open it,’ Lorenzo said.

  Daniel took off his jacket and threw it over the arm of the sofa as he heard the pop of a cork easing out of a bottle neck, and the sloshing of liquid against a glass. Lorenzo reappeared with two glasses and handed one over. Daniel took it.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d be hungover,’ Daniel said. ‘Still.’

  ‘I think you knocked my hangover out of me,’ Lorenzo said. If that was a joke, neither of them laughed.

  They sipped their wine. Eventually, Daniel moved to sit at the table. He wasn’t sure what there was to talk about, really. There was nothing he really wanted to say.

  ‘I know the other night was stupid,’ Lorenzo said, awkwardly hovering by the table. ‘I … I know that. I was a twat.’ Daniel listened. He had been a twat, yes. It was good that he understood that. ‘And I texted Becky, and obviously she’s …’

  He kept letting his sentences trail off. Daniel almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

  ‘She’s told me not to text her again. Which, erm, you know.’ And then his bottom lip wobbled and he burst into tears. A grown, thirty-something-year-old man with a bruise on his face and a glass of red wine in his hand let out a low guttural noise, like an animal in a trap.

  ‘Oh mate, I don’t know what happened,’ he said, wiping at his eyes and trying to pull himself back together. ‘We’d had sex before and I thought she was up for it. But she said …’

  He trailed off.

  Daniel’s resolve to stay angry softened – but only slightly.

  ‘I’m at a bit of a loss for words to be honest, mate,’ Daniel said. He took a sip of his wine, measuring out what he wanted to say. ‘I didn’t think you were like that. Like – pervy.’

  Lorenzo nodded, his face scrunched up. ‘Are you gonna call the police?’

  ‘The police?’

  ‘To report me.’ Daniel thought he meant about the fight, which obviously he wasn’t going to do because he’d been just as much to blame. But then Lorenzo countered with, ‘To report what I did to Becky.’

  Daniel opened and closed his mouth, settling on saying: ‘No. Of course not. Nothing technically happened, mate. But like – what if I wasn’t there? You know? That’s what’s …’ Now it was Daniel’s turn to struggle to finish full thoughts. He wished he’d never gone on Saturday night. He wished he’d stayed home, like he’d wanted to. He didn’t want to be having to explain the basics of consent to Lorenzo.

  Lorenzo nodded. ‘I know. I feel sick about it. Because if you hadn’t – I mean, I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong. But Becky says I should’ve known better. Her text was pretty brutal. She didn’t pull any punches. And she’s right. And I’m really fucking embarrassed.’

  ‘Not to sound like your dad or anything, but I’m proper disappointed in you.’

  ‘I know.’

  Lorenzo sat down in the armchair across the room. Daniel drank. Lorenzo stared at the floor.

  ‘It’s just not that hard, you know? She doesn’t have to say no for it to not be a yes.’

  ‘I know,’ said Lorenzo, shaking his head. ‘I know that now.’

  Daniel didn’t know how to end the conversation. He was so, so mad that his flatmate could be so stupid.

  Ah, that’s interesting, he thought to himself. You called him flatmate and not friend.

  And just like that, Daniel had inserted the emotional distance between him and Lorenzo.

  ‘I’ll go and plate up this food,’ Daniel said, eventually. ‘I appreciate you cooking.’

  35

  Nadia

  Weeks passed. Nadia saw Eddie a few times a week and spent most weekends with him. He’d met both Gaby and Emma only once, since they both seemed increasingly hard to get hold of, but they’d liked him and said encouraging things, and yes, Gaby had texted afterwards to say: Listen, he’s wonderful, but before you get in too deep I really do think you should meet Sky Garden Guy! Like, really, really!!!!!

  Nadia had texted back a GIF of one of the Real Housewives of Atlanta shaking her head and saying, ‘Nooooo, thank you!’ and neither of them had brought it up again. Nadia just needed Gaby to understand that she was fine as she was. She’d said herself Eddie was a good guy. What was she supposed to do? Forever believe that good
was not good enough, and that she had to strive for amazing or earth-shattering? No. Nadia was happy with Eddie, who was everything a boyfriend should be. Kind of. Probably. Okay, she was forcing it a tiny-weeny bit, but what choice did she have? This man was very into her, and she’d be crazy not to be into him too. And she did love his company. Her heart would catch up with her mind.

  She did want to see her friends more, though. She wondered if it was her fault that it had been a few weeks since a brunch, or lunch, or drinks. That she’d been sucked in to the early throes of passion, of romance, and had maybe neglected her friendships a bit.

  She’d started going into work later, choosing to have five more minutes with Eddie’s lithe frame curled around her own, snuggled down under the duvet as the leaves on the trees outside of her window turned from bright green to golden around the edges, September pulling in. Arriving at the office later often meant working through lunch to make up the time, so she didn’t get to walk to the market with Gaby for burritos. Not being home alone meant not being able to sit in front of the TV with her phone in her hand, texting Emma about their days, or what they were watching, or about the dates they’d just been on or had planned.

  Nadia made the decision to book in a friend date – she didn’t want to be that girl. The girl who let her whole life slip away from her because of a man. She didn’t feel trapped or like she had to shrink her life in order to make room for Eddie. With him, it was more like he was fun to be with, and she liked being around him. She loved being part of a two. Finally, she was with a man who was caring and generous and sensible and knew his own mind. It would be weird if she didn’t want to see a lot of him, wouldn’t it? Plus, she liked who she was when she was with him: she laughed a lot, and said witty, funny things.

  ‘Babe,’ she said, one night at his place, down in Peckham. ‘Do you mind if I bow out of movie-night Thursday?’

  In less than a month they’d settled into a routine that meant they went down to the Rio in Dalston for the 8 p.m. showing of whatever was on and then walked to her flat. They’d made a silent pact that it didn’t matter what it was – they’d go. Nadia got the tickets, and Eddie paid for the popcorn, gleefully pouring a bag of Maltesers into it so that halfway through a handful they’d get a surprise chocolate boost.