by Paige Toon
‘I’m coming back on Tuesday,’ Lukas says in a quiet voice.
‘Are you?’ He isn’t supposed to return until Saturday. ‘Why?’
‘There’s no point in me staying.’
‘Are you okay?’ I ask hesitantly.
He sighs. ‘I’m fine. I’ll speak to you when I get home.’
I feel uneasy and tell him as much.
‘It’s okay,’ he tries to reassure me. ‘It’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m just exhausted, that’s all.’
I’d like to blame his work and the hours he does, but I have a feeling this exhaustion is emotional. The tone of his voice reminds me of when he returned from Germany at the beginning of the year, after Christmas. He seemed mentally fatigued. I suspected his parents had put pressure on him to fix things up with Rosalinde. He didn’t deny it when I brought it up. I still haven’t met his father or the rest of his family. His mother hasn’t come back to England and I haven’t been invited to Germany. I should feel slighted – I do feel slighted – but I actually have no inclination to go there when I know the reception I’ll receive. They don’t – and probably never will – approve of me. Maybe now Rosalinde is out of the picture, Lukas will get some respite. A few months ago they tried to persuade him to return to Germany to live and work. His father had lined up an interview for a research position in the Faculty of Physics at Munich University. Lukas point-blank refused. I’ve never seen him so angry. He’s usually so composed, but on this occasion he lost it. I still remember the sound of his mobile constantly ringing, and him refusing to answer it. He was so cross with them for trying to run his life and not accepting the choices that he had made.
He didn’t even go back to Germany this summer. He only went to the wedding because he had a point to make. He wanted to show Rosalinde – and everyone else – that he was happy for her. That there were no regrets, no hard feelings. Like I said, maybe now we can all get on with our lives.
I call Jessie after speaking to Lukas.
‘Are you up to anything tomorrow night?’ I ask him hopefully.
‘Twice in one week?’ he exclaims. ‘I’ve never felt so popular.’
‘No,’ I say awkwardly. ‘It’s just that Lukas is coming back on Tuesday . . .’
We were supposed to be going to the movies on Friday night, but with Lukas being back early . . .
‘Oh,’ he says flatly. ‘Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. We can go tomorrow night, instead.’
‘What time do you want to go?’ I ask. ‘Seven? We could go to Wagamama first?’
‘Good plan. See you downstairs.’
He’s already there when I arrive. I notice him checking his watch.
‘I’m only five minutes late,’ I chide.
‘I’m starving,’ he says, leading the way inside and up the stairs. There are six people ahead of us in the queue.
‘How’s your job?’ he asks.
‘Oh, my God, I have been dying to tell you!’
‘What?’
‘Do you remember the china boy?’
He looks confused, then suddenly: ‘Oh! From the punt?’
‘Yes!’ I’m referring to the boy who called vaginas ‘chinas’ and consequently made me lose my concentration and bump my head on the bridge.
He laughs. ‘How could I forget? What about him?’
‘He’s in my class!’
‘No way?’
‘Yes way! He’s a right little character. I couldn’t work out why I recognised him, but it came to me this afternoon.’
‘Hilarious. So you’re enjoying it, then?’
‘Definitely.’
‘You don’t miss punting?’ He gives me a sideways glance.
‘Yeah, of course.’ He should know this. It actually feels strange to walk past the river now. My eyes kept welling up during my last tour. Jessie tried to convince me I could go back to work during the school holidays, but once I became a fully qualified teacher, in my heart I knew that that part of my life was over. ‘I still miss everyone,’ I add.
‘It’s not the same now that you guys have all left.’ I presume he’s talking about the other students, like Chris, who only finished his Masters in June. ‘It’s weird to think that none of you are coming back after this summer.’
‘You’ll have a fresh crop of students to torment before long.’ I try to reassure him.
‘Nah. Won’t be the same.’
A couple of people in front of us are led away to be seated. We wander forwards in the queue.
‘You seem a bit down.’ I look up at him.
He doesn’t meet my eyes. ‘I am a bit.’
I turn to face him. ‘Everything okay with Emily?’
‘Yeah, yeah, she’s great. Wish I got to see more of her.’ He glances at me. ‘We’re talking about getting a flat together.’
‘Really? That’s great!’
He grins. ‘Yeah.’
Emily moved out of Jessie’s parents’ house as soon as she graduated, but she didn’t go back to Scotland. Instead, she went to London. I wondered if that would be the end of their relationship, but they’ve seen each other most weekends, either in London or in Cambridge. She’s working for Social Services in the Child Welfare department.
‘Hang on . . .’ My mouth drops open. ‘Are you moving to London?’
‘I think so.’ He shrugs. ‘Alice,’ he prompts, nodding behind me. I turn around to see the waitress standing there, ready to take us to our table.
He doesn’t call me China anymore. I didn’t notice at first. Now I try to avoid calling him by any name at all. It makes me feel sad to think that we’ve grown out of our nicknames. Not that I’d ever admit that. I don’t know why he stopped. Perhaps we just don’t see enough of each other to harness that familiarity.
The restaurant is busy, and there is another couple seated directly to my right and Jessie’s left. The girl is chattering away ten to the dozen. Jessie rolls his eyes at me, but I can’t smile.
‘You alright?’ he mouths.
I nod and look down at the menu. I can’t believe he’s moving to London. The waitress comes back and we place our order. The girl is now regaling her date with a story about something immensely boring that happened to her at work.
‘Have you heard from Lukas?’ Jessie asks.
‘Yesterday,’ I confirm.
‘How did the wedding go?’
‘He didn’t really talk about it, but it went well, I think.’
‘Why’s he coming back early?’
I glance at the girl. I’ve never heard anyone talk so loudly. It’s very off-putting.
‘I don’t know, exactly,’ I reply. ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
The girl gets up to go to the toilet. I exhale loudly, glad of the peace and quiet.
‘Do you ever think about Joe?’ I’m instantly tense again.
‘Of course I do,’ I tell him.
‘Do you ever consider trying to contact him?’
I shift in my seat. ‘I wouldn’t know how to start, anymore.’
‘You don’t want me to call the pub?’
I look up at him sharply. There’s something in his expression.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
He looks uneasy and a terrible sinking feeling settles over me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, glancing up at me. Jessie rarely apologises for anything.
‘What for?’
‘I don’t know why I did it . . . I guess I was just curious . . .’
‘What?’ I say again. The girl returns and strikes up another loud one-way conversation, but I’m barely aware of her.
‘I called the pub a few months ago,’ he admits.
My heart skips a beat and my insides fire up with hope. ‘And?’
‘His parents don’t work there anymore.’
The flames in my stomach are instantly snuffed out. ‘Where did they go?’
‘Manchester, apparently.’
They were my last link to Joe. While I couldn’t stand them, j
ust knowing they were there gave me some comfort. Now I have none.
‘What made you call?’ I ask flatly.
He looks awkward. ‘It was after that night of your birthday . . .’
A chill goes through me. We’d all gone out to a club, but Lukas didn’t want to be there. I was drinking lager, which I know he hates. He considers it unfeminine, but it was my birthday and I was intent on doing as I pleased. Anyway, I got a bit too drunk and Lukas had to carry me home. The next day Jessie sniped that Lukas had ‘dragged’ me out of there. That was the way he put it. We had a huge argument – Jessie has always had it in for him, without anywhere near enough justification. I didn’t speak to him for a week after that.
The waitress brings our food, but I’ve lost my appetite. I can tell Jessie regrets bringing Joe up.
‘What do you want to see at the movies?’ He tries to change the subject.
I feel numb. ‘Don’t care.’
‘In that case, how about Strike? It’s a documentary on kick-boxing,’ he explains when I don’t react.
Normally I’d make some sarky remark about how riveting that sounds, but now I just say: ‘Whatever . . .’
In the end, we decide to see The Last Kiss because Strike doesn’t start until Friday. But we could have gone to see anything, because my thoughts are elsewhere.
I’m at work when Lukas returns from Germany. It’s starting to drizzle so I cycle home as quickly as I can. He opens the door before I’ve even pushed my bike up the garden path.
‘Hi!’ I say. He comes outside and engulfs me in a hug. ‘Are you okay?’ My voice is muffled by his shoulder.
‘I missed you,’ he murmurs, stroking my hair.
I pull away and look at him. He seems anguished. ‘What’s wrong?’ I ask.
‘Nothing.’ He shakes his head vehemently. ‘Not now.’
I smile at him and glance down to see that he’s in his socks. ‘Your feet will be wet through!’ I usher him back inside. He tries to hug me again, but I tentatively step out of his grasp.
‘Why did you come back early?’ I ask, searching his face. He presses his lips to mine. I resist for a moment, but as his kiss becomes more passionate I gently, but firmly, put my hands on his chest and push him away. His behaviour is freaking me out a bit. He’s only been away five days. He stares at the carpet, looking crestfallen.
‘Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?’ I ask, because I don’t know what else to say or how to handle him. He hesitates, but then nods. I hurry into the kitchen.
He’s in the living room when I return, sitting in an armchair and staring out of the window. I place a cup and saucer on the table next to him and sit on the sofa, facing him.
‘Thanks,’ he says.
‘Are you alright?’ I ask anxiously.
Then he looks up, right into my eyes, and there’s an intensity there that I don’t recognise. ‘I want to marry you.’
‘What?’
‘I want to marry you,’ he says, more fervently.
‘What? When?’ I splutter.
‘Now. As soon as possible. I don’t want to wait any longer.’
‘But, Lukas . . .’
‘Don’t you love me?’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Joe.
‘Then why not?’
‘I’m only twenty-two!’ Joe.
‘It doesn’t matter! It shouldn’t matter!’ He gets up and comes to sit beside me. ‘I want a life with you. I don’t want to wait any longer. I’ve had enough of my parents trying to control me!’ His tone turns to anger. ‘I don’t want to wait any longer,’ he says again.
Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe, Joe. It’s like a chant repeating over and over in my mind.
‘Say something,’ he demands.
‘I . . . I can’t . . .’ I shake my head, hopelessly, and my eyes fill with tears.
‘You can’t what? Can’t speak or can’t . . .’
‘I can’t marry you. Not now.’
‘Why not?’ He takes my hand, pleading with me. ‘Why not?’
‘I’m only twenty-two,’ I say again in barely a whisper.
‘We’ll wait a year. We’ll get married next summer.’
‘I’ll only be twenty-three!’ I find my voice. ‘I don’t understand what the rush is.’
‘I don’t understand why you won’t consider it,’ he says coldly.
‘It’s not that I won’t . . .’ My voice trails off. ‘I . . . I . . .’
‘What?’
I take a deep breath and wait a moment before speaking. ‘Rosalinde was your first love.’
‘Well, yes.’
I feel shaky as I look out of the window. ‘Joe was mine.’
‘Who’s Joe?’ He’s confused.
‘A boy I met in Dorset, the summer before I came to university.’ I meet his eyes. ‘He was my first love. My first . . . everything.’
He stares at me, understanding. And then he returns to his armchair, resting his chin on his hand as he gravely regards me. ‘Tell me about him,’ he commands.
And so I do, fully aware that my words might drive him away. Accepting that fact, knowing that I might lose him, but unable to keep quiet any longer.
He listens without comment, calmly observing me as I tell him everything.
When I’ve finished he doesn’t speak for some time. The silence is deafening.
‘So let me get this straight,’ he says eventually in a cold voice. ‘You’re still in love with a boy who broke his promise to you, who you’ve fruitlessly searched for, who you will likely never see again, and you’re willing to lose me, all for the sake of a dream that will never come true?’
I stare at him, not speaking.
He speaks in a low voice. ‘I have alienated my family, lost the woman I was meant to marry, committed to a life in this country . . . For what? For a girl who I thought loved me. A girl who I thought was mine. But you were never mine, were you?’
Out of the blue his eyes fill with tears, and it’s so shocking to me because I’ve never seen Lukas cry.
‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ I scramble over to hold his hands as tears roll down his cheeks. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why he’s still so much on my mind.’
‘Don’t say that!’ His face contorts with pain and I feel distraught for hurting him.
‘Please . . . I’m sorry.’ My heart feels so full of love for him. Joe did break his promise to me. I must be insane for waiting around for him. It’s been four years, for crying out loud! What is wrong with me?
He lets go of my hands and roughly brushes away his tears. I climb up onto his lap and press my face into his neck. A moment later he puts his arms around me and holds me tightly. We stay like that for a very long time.
That Christmas, Lukas takes me to Germany to meet his family. His mother sends their chauffeur to collect us from the airport. I was kind of hoping it might be Klaus – I think any familiar face would help settle my stomach – but apparently he now works in Berlin.
‘Don’t be nervous,’ Lukas says to me in German, squeezing my hand.
‘I’m trying,’ I reply, also in German. For the last two months we’ve attempted to converse in his language as much as possible. I’m not too bad. I wouldn’t say I’m good, mind you, but at least I should be able to understand a little bit of what’s going on.
Lukas’s family live in a stately home on a lake south-west of Munich. By the time we reach it we have already driven through some of the loveliest countryside I’ve ever seen, past multi-turreted castles and tall pines capped with thick, fluffy snow. Now, in front of me, at the end of a long driveway, is a majestic cream-coloured mansion punctuated with row upon row of arched windows. Snow is melting on the roof and I can make out occasional flashes of red tiling underneath. The lawn and flowerbeds are covered with snow, but nonetheless, after our trip to Wimpole Hall all that time ago, I know that the lawn edges will be perfectly trimmed, with scissors.
‘It’s beautiful,’ I murmur in awe.
&nb
sp; ‘It’s home,’ he says drily.
The driver pulls up and comes around to open my door. I step onto the snow-crusted gravel and look up at the enormous house. I see movement at one of the windows, but when I look harder there’s no one there. I shiver inadvertently. It’s cold and I took my coat off for the journey. Lukas joins me at my side of the car and guides me towards the door. I’ve had my hair cut – although it still comes to well past my shoulders – and a hairdresser blow-dried it straight this morning before our flight. I’m wearing a long, chocolate-coloured woollen skirt, with brand-new brown leather boots that Lukas bought for me especially for this trip, along with a designer coat and scarf. He wants me to look my best, but I’m under no illusions that his family will fall for my charms.
The door opens before we reach it. A man in his forties, smartly dressed in a black suit, bows and welcomes home ‘Herr Heuber’ and his guest. We step into a grand, double-height hall. The ceiling glints with gold and I look up to see figures carved in stone around the edges. I feel like I’m dreaming.
Lukas speaks in German, but I understand that he’s asking the whereabouts of his parents. From what I gather, they’re joining us for tea later. We follow the butler – if that’s who he is – up the sweeping staircase and along an opulent gilded corridor. He opens a door and I’m taken aback to see that my suitcase is already in the room. The driver must’ve taken a short cut through another part of the house. Lukas says something to the butler and he bows his way out of the room. I hurriedly thank him in German before he closes the door.
‘Wow,’ I say to Lukas, sinking down onto the bed. ‘Where’s your bag?’ I ask with confusion.
‘I’m in the family wing at the other side of the house.’
I instantly feel a pang of homesickness. I’ve been here only five minutes, but I already miss him.
‘Are these the guest quarters?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘Are we not allowed to sleep in the same room, then?’ This feels like a lonely place to be.
‘No. Not until we’re married,’ he says poignantly.
Since that day, back in September, he hasn’t spoken of marriage. At first it was a relief, then it just felt surreal, almost as though the conversation had never happened. He hasn’t brought up Joe, either.