When We Were Young

by Richard Roper

  “All I think about,” Theo interrupted, his voice growing louder, “is how I’d give anything for you not to have been there. Yeah, I’d have taken a beating, and more afterward. I’d still have been the weirdo in the stupid clothes who everyone hated, but at least I’d not have had those years trying to hang on to the coattails of someone who obviously didn’t want me there. At least my sister would . . . would . . .” He was crying now, the tears mingling with the rain. An ambulance came flying past, siren wailing.

  Maybe it was the booze, maybe it was because Theo’s words and the anger behind them had left me reeling, but in that moment, hearing him mention Alice, all I wanted was for Theo to know the truth.

  “You know I’ll never forgive myself for that night,” I said, “but there’s something you need to know about what happened to Alice.”

  Theo was wiping his tears away roughly with his sleeve. At the moment he heard me mention his sister, he stopped, stock-still, just staring at me. The city seemed to melt away. It was just us and the rain and the swirling wind.

  “What do you mean?” Theo said.

  “I’m . . . It was . . .”

  I tried not to picture Alice smashing onto the bonnet. The awful noise it made.

  Theo clenched his fists.

  “What, Joel?”

  But I couldn’t do it. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t.

  “I’m just so sorry,” I said.

  Theo waited for a moment, presuming there was something else I had to say. When it was clear that there wasn’t, he shook his head slowly from side to side. Then he looked me up and down as if trying to quantify just how much he hated me.

  “Well, thanks for that,” he said, his voice hollow, all the fight gone out of it. “But it doesn’t change anything, I’m afraid. So, please, can you just promise me one thing?”

  I knew what he was going to say, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear.

  “Never come near me or my family ever again.”

  With that, Theo was gone, cutting a path through the jostling tourists.

  Fireworks were exploding above the castle, purple and green sparks splintering the gloom. But I barely registered them. I was imagining what might have happened if I’d gone through with it—if I’d told Theo the truth. That it hadn’t been me behind the wheel that night. It had been Amber.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Theo

  I squelched back to the spot of my unexpected bath. The bike and my belongings had been completely consumed by the river, and I didn’t much fancy diving in to retrieve them. The only thing I still had was my phone, which had been in my pocket when I fell, and which appeared broken beyond repair. I realized that the bit of paper flapping in the breeze on the grass was Joel’s note. I stooped to pick it up.

  I supposed the sensible thing to do would be to use my remaining cash to buy a train ticket home. But then what? Carry on with my life as if the whole trip had been a dream—forget about Joel and what he’d told me? It was unthinkable that I could just go back to how things had been before. But then again, what other choice did I have?

  I was beginning to shiver again, so I started off on the path as if I were still following the route. As long as I kept walking, I wouldn’t have to make any sort of decision about anything. I was just putting one foot in front of the other, and that was all that I would concentrate on. Before I knew it, I’d got to Abingdon, where the river opened up wide, like arms stretching out, inviting me in. Even though a pair of painful blisters had formed on my heels, and I was in desperate need of a hot meal, I kept on going. The moment I stopped, I’d have to face everything again, and I wanted to put that off for as long as I could.

  By the time I got to the village of Clifton Hampden, it was so dark I could barely see my hand in front of my face. My feet were killing me. Each step was agony. I’d managed to draw out some emergency cash by phoning the bank from a pay phone in Culham, but I just couldn’t bring myself to trawl the B&Bs looking for a room, trying to explain my appearance. Instead, I found a rowing boat moored on the side of the river and managed to climb underneath the layer of tarpaulin which covered it, where I lay shivering, occasionally drifting off into fitful sleep.

  * * *

  It was in Henley-on-Thames where I finally broke. It had taken me two days of nearly continuous walking to get there from Clifton Hampden. I was exhausted, but every time I stopped, even just for a moment or two, my thoughts would turn to Oxford, and Joel angrily marching away from me, so I kept on moving. But after another night half freezing to death hidden on a boat, hammered by torrential, film-set-style rain, my legs had completely seized up, and so I admitted defeat and decided to go to the pub instead.

  I found a place that looked grotty enough that they wouldn’t care about the state I was in, and bedded down in a corner to nurse a Guinness. A TV was on in the corner showing snooker. What a tedious game this is, I thought. Who actually watches this rubbish?

  Two hours later, I couldn’t believe that Higgins had missed such a regulation black off its spot at such a nail-biting moment in this pivotal frame. The coverage came to an end, a welcome distraction gone.

  “Another?” the barman asked.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I said.

  He brought a fresh pint over and I deposited a lot of dirty coins onto the table, which he swept contemptuously into his hand. A memory came to me of Rex—the boy from halls—paying with a similar pile of shrapnel for a pint of snakebite on my first night at uni. What was he doing now? I wondered. He was probably a banker or something. My derision burned hotly for a second—a brief, satisfied sneer at what a sellout he’d be. But then another thought hit me. Yeah, he’s probably got a young family, too. A nice house just out of town. Friends. And what the fuck had I got?

  Just then I looked up at the TV to see the familiar opening credits of The Tooth Hurts. It was a repeat of last year’s Christmas special, a particularly farcical episode where Karen and her boss, Nigel, go abroad to present at a dentistry conference in Italy but get picked up at the airport by the wrong driver and find themselves having to cook Christmas dinner for the Mafia. I’d read the synopsis in the paper, but for some reason it was the first episode I hadn’t been able to bring myself to watch.

  There was no sound on the TV, but the subtitles were on. “[Audience laughs]” kept coming up, which seemed almost sarcastic, even though I had to admit that this was one of the better episodes, mainly because of how self-aware it was about its ludicrous premise. In fact, I became so invested in it that when two old lads at the bar started arguing good-naturedly with each other, I looked around and glared at them until they were quiet. The episode seemed quite different in tone the longer it went on. A lot of scenes were played straight, following the tradition with sitcom Christmas specials where they go quite dramatic. I remember boring on about this to Joel. He didn’t seem to be listening at the time, but maybe he was after all.

  We’d reached what seemed to be a climactic scene. Amber’s character, Karen, had phoned her sister, Meryl, for her advice, because—as the audience has known all along, but she’s only just realized—she’s in love with Nigel despite being married to useless, boring Brian. I tried to picture Joel writing all this. Had he got an office somewhere? Had he just done it in his flat? Perhaps he was watching the rerun now.

  On the screen, Karen was crying.

  “What am I going to do, Meryl?” she sobbed.

  “Listen, Kaz,” Meryl said. “This world’s a funny old place. You, me, everyone—we’re told when we’re kids how our lives are supposed to go. Get a good job. Buy a house. Get married. Have kids. Settle down. But there isn’t really a plan for after that, is there? You don’t plan for falling out of love with the person you marry. Or your kids hating you. Or your job going to shit. I mean, Christ, look at me, I’m like a walking advert for how not to live your life. But you know what? The only regrets I hav
e are for the people in my life I’ve cared for who slipped through my fingers. Because those people you have a proper bond with—the ones who turn everything from black and white into Technicolor—they’re the ones you should never give up on. I remember this friend I had from school—Chloe, her name was. We were inseparable. Never went anywhere without each other. But then we got a bit older and fell out, and we stopped speaking. And you know, it’s been twenty years, but I still think about her. I wish I’d fought harder for that friendship. I wish I’d told her I loved her. So when it comes to Nigel—”

  But the rest of Meryl’s speech would have to wait. I was up, making my way to the exit, my drink untouched, and then out into the night, the chill of the evening rippling through me. I’d barely moved a muscle since Meryl had mentioned the people who “slip through your fingers,” but now I was walking on purposefully, the pain in my feet dull and distant. I didn’t know whether Joel had deliberately written that scene in the hope that I’d see it, but either way, each word that flashed up on-screen had felt like an electric shock. Earlier, I’d already felt myself sliding back into my usual warm bath of regret and self-pity, because wasn’t that so much easier than refusing to accept that this could be my fault and—more than that—that I could still actually do something about it? Well, I was done with that way of thinking.

  I’d just enough cash to buy a train ticket to London. I didn’t know how much time Joel had left, but there was no way in hell I was going to let the last conversation we ever had be that argument in Oxford. I was going to make things right between us, whatever it took. I just hoped he’d let me try before it was too late.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Joel

  In Laurie Lee’s memoir As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning, he leaves his Gloucestershire home in summer 1934 and walks all the way to Spain, via London, with nothing but the clothes on his back, a violin, and a stick. Ninety years later, I was waiting for a taxi to take me to the train station where we’d travel to Gatwick before getting a flight to Lisbon, with nothing but a new iPhone, a laptop, chargers, European plug adaptors, two pairs of sensible shoes, multi-weather clothes—because you could never really tell, could you?—a laminated travel and accommodation itinerary, a travel pillow, a backup travel pillow, noise-canceling headphones . . . and my mum. Truly, Lee and I were kindred spirits.

  Mum had come down to Peckham the previous evening. Her train had been delayed and we ended up going to the pub on the corner for a late dinner—every single detail of which, from the square plates to the water glasses, Mum had categorized as “posh.”

  Our taxi to the station arrived shortly after seven the next morning. It was a cold, gray day, with mist drifting over the park opposite my flat. I had to ask the taxi driver to wait as Mum told me she was going to the café on the corner to buy a sandwich and a coffee. At first I thought they were for us, even though we’d had breakfast, but then I saw her cross the road and put them at the end of a bench where a homeless man was curled up asleep.

  As we got into the taxi, Mum reached across and held my hand.

  “Now, I know I promised I wouldn’t ask again, but are you sure you’re up to this?”

  Her eyes were wide with concern, searching mine for signs of any reluctance. I smiled and told her I was feeling fine, even though the nausea had been particularly bad that morning. I was dreading the flight.

  I rested my head back against the seat and looked at my watch. Amber was probably on her way to rehearsals already. She was back from Italy to record this year’s Tooth Christmas special. I could sense her patience was close to the breaking point when I’d called her the previous day to tell her I was taking Mum away for a few days to see if that would finally lift her spirits.

  “Of course,” she said, though the disappointment was clear. I couldn’t exactly blame her. She had come home to work, a granite-gray London, and an empty house, while I was suddenly off in the opposite direction, to clear skies and sun-warmed cobbles. I was hoping that a week in the sun, resting and recovering from the walk, would help bring some color to my cheeks—to slow my decline even a little. But I knew that when I got back at the end of the week, I was going to have to tell Amber the truth. As the taxi pulled away, I closed my eyes, wondering if the conversation would be more or less hard than the one where I thought I’d lost her forever . . .

  * * *

  I might not have realized it, but the four years after that night on the bridge with Theo in Edinburgh had seen me in ever-quickening freefall, and I was about to hit terminal velocity. On the surface, that may have seemed unlikely given how well things were going for my career, and how much I was living the high life as a twenty-five-year-old—out most evenings with a revolving crew of industry people hanging on my every word, my profile having grown and grown. But the truth was, having a drink in my hand was the only time I wasn’t miserable. In the mornings, when I was sober, I could feel nothing but dread waiting to assail me as soon as I opened the front door. It was the same feeling as when you realize the tide’s coming in quicker than you think, and you know you need to act fast not to get cut off. When I got that first pint in, it was like being back on dry land, the spitting, foamy waves forced into retreat.

  Amber had wanted us to move out of the Morden flat and find our own place, now that we were both earning good money, but I didn’t really want to. It felt like too much responsibility. I think there was part of me that still liked being in the slightly shitty digs with our now regular flatmates—a Norwegian couple called Emil and Markus, and a stoner called Chris—because they were my age but still wanted to drink and get high all the time, and it gave legitimacy to my behavior.

  Amber was now being regularly cast in proper TV roles—and was steadily building up her reputation. It meant that she was away a lot filming. Before, when that had been the case, I’d found it hard to be apart from her, but at least then it was mostly because I missed her, whereas now it was solely because I needed her. It meant I’d feel resentful when she went away—spiteful, too—and those were the times I’d really hit the drink hard.

  There was a month when Amber was off in Cardiff shooting something where I was on an almost continuous bender, aided by some coke that Markus had picked up. Things came to a head the night Amber came back. Normally I would have made sure to stop drinking the day before she returned, but I must have got my timings wrong. I was woken by Amber letting herself in. I came to with a start. I was sitting at the kitchen table, head on my arms, still in last night’s clothes. My mouth tasted vile—cold chips and vomit. There were empty cans and bottles everywhere. My credit card, covered in white powder, was next to my hand on the table. I tried to hide it, but Amber saw. She stood by the counter, arms folded.

  “What, no ‘Hey, honey, I’m home’?” I said, aiming for humor but landing on bitterness.

  “Do you want to tell me what’s been going on?” Amber said, like a teacher coming across a group of students up to no good.

  I scratched at the back of my head, feeling the grease in my hair.

  “Oh, you know—just been entertaining a few acquaintances. Anyway, tell me of your adventures. Is Cardiff as wonderful as they say?”

  “Please don’t try and breeze past this. You’re not half as charming as you think you are. I mean, look at the state of you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. I got to my feet, trying to force a smile onto my face. “Look, okay, I’ve had a bit of a big one, but I’ll clean up and then let’s go out for a meal. Somewhere fancy.” I made to go toward her, but Amber took a step back.

  “I don’t want to do that. I don’t really know what I want anymore.”

  I could feel panic rising inside me. “Hey, come on, there’s no need for that. You’re overreacting.”

  “Don’t tell me what I’m doing,” Amber said. “You’re acting like this is a one-off. But this has been every night for god knows how long now.”

 
“Okay, now, that really isn’t fair,” I said. “Look, why don’t you go and have a bath and I’ll get everything tidied up, and then we can go out.”

  “I can’t do that, because the bath’s filthy. In fact, the whole flat’s filthy. It’s like I’m living in a teenager’s bedroom.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “I said I’d clear up!”

  “That’s obviously not the point I’m making, is it?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know what’s got into you.”

  Amber looked around the kitchen again, daring me to follow her gaze, to see the state of it. “Is this always what happens when I go away?”

  I sighed and slumped back into the chair. I nearly reached for an open bottle of vodka but just about managed to stop myself.

  “Joel, tell me the truth.”

  I felt anger overriding the panic. I didn’t like being interrogated like this. When it was clear I wasn’t going to answer, Amber grabbed her keys and made for the door, stopping at the last second and turning to face me.

  “I can’t stand seeing you like this,” she said.

  She was closing the door behind her when I muttered, loud enough so she could hear, “Yeah, that’s right—go off and leave me again.”

  She threw the door back open. “Oh, I get it now. I understand. This is all my fault. That would be so much easier for you to believe, wouldn’t it? Well, you know what, I am so tired of being your carer, Joel. This hasn’t been an equal relationship for a very long time. I think . . . I think I need some time away from you. Don’t try and contact me, okay?”

  I felt a great weight clamping down on my chest, a tightening vise.

  “Wait, no,” I said, getting back to my feet, “don’t say that—please just give me a chance. I’ll get my shit together, stop all this—I promise.”