When Matt entered Daren’s office, Daren was standing at the window, looking out, in the manner of angry bosses on US cop shows. Matt took a seat. Daren didn’t move. Matt coughed. Daren still didn’t move.
‘What’s up?’ said Matt, eventually.
Slowly and carefully, as if he had just slipped a disc, Daren turned to Matt.
‘Precisely,’ he said.
‘Precisely what?’
‘I couldn’t have put it any better myself,’ said Daren, with a cryptic leer.
‘Put what any better?’
‘What’s up? You said it. And that’s what I want to know.’
‘With me?’ said Matt.
‘Yes, with you. Not with the fucking . . .’ Daren’s eyes scanned the room, searching for a prompt to complete his witticism, ‘. . . computer-repair IT person.’
‘Nothing’s up.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Matt.’
‘I’m not lying.’
‘I know you, Matt. I can read you like a magazine. And I know when you’re lying. Is it drugs? What did you take last night?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Well, a bit of coke,’ Matt lied, in order to sound normal. ‘But nothing unusual. Nothing I can’t handle.’
‘Is it something else? Is there some kind of family crisis? Yvonne tells me you’ve been taking calls from your mother.’
‘Er . . . there is a little bit of a family situation, but it’s not affecting my work. I promise.’
‘It better not be. Now listen to me. There’s plenty of people could do your job. I want you to get back into that meeting and show those guys that this magazine is in safe hands. Do you understand me? I want you to go in and get behind one of these two ideas before I begin to think you’re losing your judgement. Got me?’ At moments of stress, Daren’s mockney accent slipped a little, revealing the faintest trace of Surrey, the merest whiff of tennis lessons and cucumber sandwiches and rugger.
‘Sure. Sorry,’ said Matt.
‘And I don’t want any fucking apologies.’
‘OK.’
Matt opted for the taste-test. Pup never looked him in the eye again. Pup-made tea never tasted quite right, either, and after a while Matt stopped drinking it.
how to come across as vaguely socially acceptable
Just the way Julia said hello made his stomach lurch and his fingers clench tighter around his phone, which was so expensively tiny that it threatened to shoot out of his hand like an orange pip. The date, he could instantly tell, hadn’t done for her what it had for him.
‘So,’ said Matt, his mouth suddenly dry and claggy, ‘what have you been up to?’
‘The usual,’ said Julia.
Matt never had trouble talking to anyone. He was never tongue-tied. Except now. All she had said was ‘hello’ and ‘the usual’, and already he felt as if their conversation had run aground. He tried to mask his fear with false confidence.
‘So when are we going to have dinner again?’
‘Matt . . . it was a fun evening. And it certainly didn’t go how I thought it would go. I mean, you’re not nearly such a bad guy as I was expecting, but . . . we’re really not well suited. Nothing’s going to happen, and we’re not exactly cut out to be friends, either, so why don’t we just forget about it and move on?’
‘Why?’ he said, not even pausing to think before the word came out of his mouth.
As anyone over the age of thirteen knows, this was the most humiliating thing he could possibly have said. How it had popped out of his mouth he couldn’t imagine, but it had, and now it was out there he decided to let it hang. With that one word, he had instantly sunk too far to claw back any pride, so he decided he might as well wallow. Besides, he wanted to know the answer.
‘Why?’ she said, shocked to discover this arrogant man to be a wallower. ‘Are you asking why?’
‘I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t. It’s terrible, isn’t it? I feel like even more of a prick for asking why than I do for being turned down.’
‘So I don’t have to answer?’
‘No. Sorry. I was just surprised, that’s all.’
‘To be turned down? It’s that unusual, is it?’
‘Er . . . well, it is, actually. But I just meant by you. I mean, I thought we got on.’
‘We did.’
‘So why aren’t you interested?’
‘Why do you keep asking why?’
‘I don’t know. Sorry. I just want you to tell me.’ Matt was beginning to feel like someone standing with one foot on land and the other on an unmoored rowing boat. He was clearly going in the water, regardless of whether he turned back or lunged for the boat, and since all dignity was already lost, he decided he might as well lose it in an advance as a retreat. ‘It’s stupid, but I can’t help wondering,’ he said.
‘You really want me to say?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Just so I can understand.’
Like water vapour forming into a cloud, Julia could feel a short, angry speech beginning to take shape in her brain. She knew precisely what was wrong with Matt. It was more or less the same thing that had been wrong with every other guy over the years who had bored her, betrayed her, let her down, or all three. And not once had she ever had such a good opportunity to speak her mind – to deliver her verdict. Now she was getting the chance.
It was unfortunate that Matt would be the one to hear it, since at heart he seemed less bad than most of the others, even if his job was a pinnacle of obnoxiousness, but he was asking for it, so why shouldn’t she give it to him? It would be cathartic. And he could take it. In the long run, if he listened, which was unlikely, it might even do him some good.
‘Well, OK,’ she said, trying to rein in the hint of glee in her voice. ‘If that’s what you want. But there’s no point unless I’m honest.’
‘Exactly.’
‘As in brutally honest. But you’re pretty impervious, aren’t you?’
‘Impervious?’
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m not impervious,’ said Matt, offended without quite knowing why.
‘I just feel like whatever I say, it won’t hurt your feelings.’
‘Of course it won’t.’
‘Exactly. You’re impervious.’
‘No, I’m not.’
‘You just admitted it. Before I’ve even said anything, you’ve already got this amazing confidence that nothing I could ever say might possibly upset or undermine you. That’s what impervious means.’
‘It’s not bad breath, is it?’
‘Er . . . this is a bit more fundamental, Matt.’
‘Worse than bad breath?’ Matt was horrified. His palms had become sweaty, and his tongue felt as if it had doubled in size.
‘I don’t know why we’re even having this conversation, because I’m really not going out with you again, and that’s not negotiable, and I don’t feel I owe you anything.’
‘But as a special favour, if I beg, you might be willing to explain why you think I’m a prick.’
‘You don’t have to beg.’
‘Good. Go on, then.’
‘Are you sure? I wouldn’t usually do this.’
‘Sure.’
‘OK.’ Julia took a deep breath. The question was not so much what to say as where to start. ‘You’re just one of those guys, Matt. One of those men who seem interesting and intelligent and witty while they’re talking about themselves and their world, then the minute they stop being the centre of attention, their personality kind of disappears. Someone at some point has taught you that you’re supposed to ask the odd question – that it’s bad manners to talk about yourself all evening – so you kind of go through the motions of showing an interest in other people, but it’s just something you do off a checklist of how to come across as vaguely socially acceptable. You don’t mean it. You don’t listen. You don’t give a shit about anything or anyone other than
yourself. Nothing really exists for you outside your own ego. You’re a toddler in a man’s body, which, let’s face it, is in the end just boring.’
Julia paused and listened to the silence on the other end of the line. She was perhaps imagining it, but the sound of his breathing seemed to have acquired a chastened, wounded air. The effect wasn’t due to Matt being an unusually communicative breather, but was because this was the first time she had said anything to him that had failed to engender an instant comeback. Or rather, it was the first time she had said anything to Matt on the topic of Matt that had caused this response. Every time she’d said anything about herself, there had been similar pauses before he’d been able to respond, but these silences always had a quality of daydreaming, not of reflection.
As the silence grew, she sensed herself beginning to feel sorry for him, though to an extent she’d felt sorry for him from the first moment they met. Perhaps she’d been too harsh. At heart, he wasn’t so bad. At least, he wasn’t any worse than other men. But she’d said her piece. She’d done a good job of shaking him off. If she tempered or qualified her judgement of him now, there was a risk he might latch on to her consolation and use selective deafness to launch a fresh attempt.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Don’t feel bad. I mean, it’s very common. And you’re quite good-looking. Anyway, have a nice life. Bye.’
Click.
Never had a dialling tone sounded so hollow or mournful. Matt hung up, slowly. What was the word for this? For this emotion. Not since he was a desperate teenager failing to get a dance partner for ‘Careless Whisper’ had he felt anything even vaguely similar.
Crushed. Yes, that was it. He was a grape; Julia was a foot. This was the balance of power, and she had chosen to step on him.
The last time his heart had beaten this fast was during a World Cup penalty shoot-out. In fact, the mix of emotion was curiously similar to a lost penalty shoot-out: a strange soup of rapture and despair.
His misery at her rejection and her damning verdict of his character was comprehensible enough, but the masochistic pleasure that went with it was more mysterious. Perhaps it came from the excitement of rediscovering lost emotions, or of finding a new depth of feeling. That he could feel this upset, that he could be brought so low by a phone call with a woman he had only knowingly met once, was somehow a confirmation that he was fully alive, and that a part of him he thought might have died was in fact in full working order.
There was a novelty and a perverse gratification to rediscovering this lost chamber of pain in his heart. Poets and artists lived in there; until now, he’d lost the key and forgotten where the room even was. It wasn’t a place he’d want to hang out for long, but just knowing where it was, and that the lock hadn’t rusted over, was on some level a relief.
But there was also another thrill. The words ‘not negotiable’ always excited Matt. To his ears, they meant the opposite. Negotiating the non-negotiable was his favourite sport. Julia hadn’t really turned him down. She had set him a challenge. Something about the way she had told him he was good-looking made him wonder if the whole thing was a joke. Or not exactly a joke, but a provocation. She was, perhaps, simply trying to take her revenge on his magazine, on what she thought he stood for. Maybe she didn’t really mean any of it, but was setting out to treat him the way she thought he treated women. Her behaviour was quite possibly just a bad impersonation of a sexist man. All along, this could well have been her plan: not just to look her enemy in the eye, but to feed him a dose of his own medicine. Which was admirably feisty, and even quite amusing, now he understood what she was up to, but to let her get away with it would be to acknowledge that she was right about him, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.
He couldn’t force her to like him, but he could refuse to be beaten so easily. It was a matter of pride to let her know that he understood her game, and to explain (again) that she was wrong about him.
He picked up the phone and called her back.
‘Hi, Julia. It’s Matt.’
‘Matt?’
‘Yeah. How are you doing?’
‘I’m fine. Did I imagine the conversation we just had? Did it not really happen?’
‘We always have fun, don’t we?’
‘Do we? What are you talking about?’
‘You’re honest with me; I’m honest with you. You said yourself that you’re never usually this honest with anyone, and the funny thing is, that’s exactly how I feel about you. It would be crazy to just throw that away, wouldn’t it?’
‘I was honest enough to tell you I don’t like you, it’s true, and that is a bit unusual, but it’s not really a good basis for a love affair.’
‘Or is it? I think we should meet up again and talk about it.’
‘What is there to say?’
‘We should get to know each other better. I feel as if we’re on to something.’
‘That’s nice for you, but I’m afraid I don’t.’
‘Julia, I find you really exciting. I haven’t felt this way about anyone for ages. I don’t know anyone like you. We’re from different worlds, and there’s lots about us that clashes, but I think we’re striking sparks. I think this is good. If you gave me some time, I think you’d find you don’t know anyone like me, either.’
As he had dialled her number, Matt’s intention was to mimic Julia’s aloof, game-playing tone, but again, without knowing why he was doing it, he found himself gushing at her with a catch in his throat, straining to hold back the whining, begging tone that threatened to take over his voice every time he thought about the idea that he might never see her again.
‘But I know lots of people like you,’ said Julia. ‘I’m temping at a PR firm. I’m surrounded by people like you every day, and I don’t like any of them.’
‘Except I’m not like them. That’s the whole point. That’s what I’m trying to say.’
‘Because your job’s beneath you?’
‘Yes. No. That sounds terrible. I just mean I have broader interests.’
‘Do you? Like what?’
‘I . . . I’m not going to give you a list of hobbies on the phone. This isn’t a job interview.’
‘You have hobbies?’
‘No! Yes! Look – this is a ridiculous conversation.’
‘So you’re not really talking about interests? You’re saying the other people in the office are beneath you in some other way?’
‘Not beneath me. I’d never say that about anyone.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘THAT I LIKE YOU! Is that such a terrible thing to think?’
Realising that he had shouted, Matt looked up from his desk and noticed that he had forgotten to shut his office door. Daren was at that moment handing a message to Yvonne, his head turned towards the sound of Matt’s raised voice. Daren stared at him, frowning, his expression a mixture of concern and admonition. Matt looked away and stretched out his leg to push the door shut.
‘Right. OK,’ said Julia. ‘Thank you. I knew that, anyway.’
Another silence opened up between them. It was Matt who eventually broke it.
‘So why are you tormenting me?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Julia. ‘It just seems like fun.’
‘Oh.’
‘And why are you pursuing me when I’ve already told you I don’t like you?’
‘Because everything you said about me is right. The me you don’t like is the me I don’t like, either. But there’s another me you haven’t really met, and that’s the me you’ll like. I think maybe I’ve got stuck being someone I don’t want to be, and you’re the only person I know who wants me to be the real me.’
‘I don’t want you to be anything. It’s none of my business. And what do I get out of this, anyway?’
‘You get to torment me. What could be better? Everyone wins. Let’s meet tonight, and you can torment me over dinner.’
‘I’m working tonight.’
‘So skive off early.’
‘I am skiving off early. To go home and work. Write an essay.’
‘Tomorrow, then.’
‘I can’t write it in one evening.’
’Saturday. No one should stay in working on a Saturday night. ‘
‘Maybe. Call me on the day.’
‘I’ll need your home phone number.’
‘You can have my mobile. 07929 378223,’ said Julia, astonished to hear the numbers rattling off her tongue.
‘What?’
‘Did you miss it?’
‘I got the first half. Say it again.’
‘You were too slow. Bad luck.’
‘WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?’
‘I told you,’ she said. ‘It’s fun. And it’s kind of interesting.’ She meant it, too. For all his flaws, she did enjoy talking to him. It brought out an acerbic side to her character that only rarely got taken for a spin, like a racing car kept under dust-sheets in the garage. Talking to Matt, she felt funnier and sharper than she did when she was talking to people she actually liked, which, strangely, made her like him. He was a sport she had discovered she was good at. She wasn’t stupid enough to let herself become his girlfriend, but seeing him again wouldn’t necessarily be an unpleasant experience.
‘Why?’ bleated Matt.
‘Well, the more I do it, the more you seem to like it. It’s just very weird that you haven’t told me to piss off.’
‘It is weird, I know. I’m having trouble figuring that out myself.’
‘You must enjoy it. Do you have a domineering mother?’
‘I don’t think it’s anything to do with –’
‘Oh yes, you do have a domineering mother. I’ve met her. Oh, God. Perhaps this whole thing is unhealthy. Maybe we should forget it.’
‘STOP DOING THIS. PLEASE!’
‘378223.’
Then she hung up. This time he had a pen ready.
Helen and Paul
a nice big stone
Helen’s eyes snapped open at seven o’clock. She felt alert and excited. She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up feeling this way, like a child, immediately ready to leap out of bed and start the day.
The house was still and quiet. She showered and grabbed a quick breakfast. As she began to hear the first footsteps upstairs, she slipped into her coat and dashed out of the house. This was no day to lounge around chatting. She had things to do. She wanted to be in Oxford Street, outside John Lewis, ready for them as soon as the doors opened.
Otherhood Page 20