We Were On a Break

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘I think he’s OK,’ I nodded, without wondering whether or not it was true. I had too much else on my mind to spare any space for my dad’s commitment to the surgery, or lack thereof. ‘He hasn’t been around much but that suits me. I deal with the patients and he deals with the paperwork. I’d rather not see him while I’m upset, though. You know how my parents are.’

  ‘There has to be a happy medium between your family’s stiff upper lip and Cassie’s self-help library,’ she replied. ‘You know, like me!’

  ‘I don’t know how the human race has survived this long,’ I said, clinking my glass against hers. ‘Relationships are so difficult. It’s a miracle that both mine and Adam’s parents are still together. You’d think that would be enough for him to seal the deal – who has two sets of parents who are still together in one relationship these days?’

  ‘Did I tell you my dad’s on about going off travelling again? Without Karen?’ she asked with a pinched expression.

  ‘Is this divorce number three?’

  ‘Four.’ She paused as Bill Stockton walked past, throwing a wink in her direction. ‘You’re probably forgetting Lisa. A bit like he did.’

  I watched Bill cross the bar and take a seat with his friends. He looked back at Abi and then quickly shifted his gaze to somewhere vaguely over our heads when he realized I was watching.

  ‘Um, what’s going on with you and Bill?’ I asked, looking back at my friend to see her almost as red-faced as he was. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘There’s nothing I want to tell you.’

  We lived in a small village, not as small as it used to be but if you wanted to actually leave your house of an evening, there weren’t very many options. We had one supermarket, one chip shop-slash-greasy spoon and two pubs, meaning it was more or less impossible to keep any kind of secret here for more than fifteen minutes. Abi and Bill had been a thing when we were in the sixth form for almost a year but then Bill got off with Caroline Higgins round the back of the sports centre and Abi vowed never to talk to him again. As far as I knew, she had stayed true to her word for the last thirteen years but from the looks on both of their faces, they’d done more than talk to each other while I was away.

  ‘When there’s something to tell you, I’ll tell you,’ Abi informed me. I picked up my wine, unable to keep the smile from my face but didn’t push it any further. There was no point trying with Abs, she’d tell when she was ready. ‘Promise me you’ll think about what you want out of this break, not just sit around waiting for Adam to make his mind up.’

  ‘I promise,’ I declared, giving the Brownie salute another go. ‘I will.’

  ‘That’s still the wrong hand,’ Abi sighed. ‘I’m glad you’re not operating on my dog tomorrow.’

  Two hours later I hung my keys on the hook at the bottom of the stairs and collapsed onto my settee. A three-legged tortoiseshell cat unfurled himself from the armchair by the window and meowed loudly.

  ‘Hello, Daniel Craig,’ I said, reaching down to scratch underneath his chin before he leapt up onto my stomach, his little paws digging into my boobs as he walked up and down my torso, trying to decide where he wanted to settle.

  ‘It’s nice to be missed,’ I muttered, pulling my phone out of my coat pocket. I should have taken it off before I lay down, I realized, as Daniel made himself comfortable, right on top of my bladder. I should have gone to the loo as well.

  It felt so strange to be ending the day without Adam around. If I spent the night in my flat, it was usually because I’d worked so late I was so tired, I passed out the instant I walked through the door. Now I was here because here was the only place I had to be. It felt so wrong. I wanted to collapse on the sofa with my head in his lap while he stroked my hair and we told each other tales of our day. I wanted to turn down his offer of a glass of wine or a chocolate biscuit only for him to bring it anyway and tell me we deserved it because we worked so hard, even if we hadn’t worked that hard at all. I wanted to hear him, to touch him, to make him laugh. Not knowing when I would see him again made things even worse, I was trapped, slightly tipsy, in relationship limbo – was there a worse place to be?

  ‘Do you think your dad misses me?’ I asked the cat.

  Daniel opened one bright, sea-green eye and then slowly closed it again. I held my phone up in front of my sulky face with both hands.

  ‘I’ll take that as a no, then.’

  Abs was right. I needed to set some ground rules with Adam before I went insane. Telling me we’d talk without putting a specific date in the diary had already driven me over my two glasses of wine on a school night limit, I refused to let this evening end with my face covered in the emergency bar of Galaxy I kept in the back of the fridge.

  ‘I’ll send him an email,’ I told Daniel Craig, who was happily purring himself to sleep on my belly. ‘I won’t be a dick about it, I’ll just send him an email to let him know what I think and then I’m going to turn off my phone and go to bed.’

  Daniel raised his head, meowed loudly and then went back to the serious business of sleeping. I took that to mean he supported my actions.

  ‘Hey Adam …’ I tapped out the message. ‘No, too casual. Just “Adam”, no “Hey”.’

  I corrected the message, squinting at the bright screen above my nose and started again. ‘Adam. Hope you’re OK.’

  Daniel yawned.

  ‘Do we hope he’s OK?’ I asked.

  He did not reply.

  ‘Hope you’re OK. Wanted to clarify some stuff RE: the break. Agree it’s a good idea to think about things but would appreciate some sort of timeframe.’

  I stared at the message for a moment. Was I writing to my boyfriend or my bank manager?

  ‘An email is ridiculous,’ I decided. ‘I’m going to text him. He is still my boyfriend after all. I think.’

  Opening my messages, I scrolled down to Adam’s name, finally finding it all the way down at the bottom of my inbox. Usually, we texted constantly, stupid links, sweet messages and there was a certain gif of a St Bernard slapping a man in the face that we’d sent back and forth at least a hundred times but now he was underneath Abi, Cass, David, my mum, my dad, my hairdresser and that man who came round to the surgery trying to sell me pirated DVDs. It felt wrong.

  ‘Hey,’ I began, poised to write something brief, friendly, clear, to the point, unambiguous and constructive.

  Then I hiccupped and deleted it.

  ‘How is it possible,’ I said, staring at the blank white screen, ‘that I cannot think of anything to say to a man I have talked to every day for the last three years?’

  There were a million things to talk about in this world. The weather, the price of bananas, Jon Snow theories, but when it came to Adam, I had less than nothing. I didn’t want to be too formal but I couldn’t be too casual. If I was too jokey he might think I wasn’t upset, but if I was super serious it didn’t feel right. On Monday he was asking my opinion on whether or not I could see his penis through his trousers and by Wednesday I couldn’t say so much as a simple hello.

  Leaving my phone on the floor, I sat up slowly and moved Daniel Craig to a cushion at the end of the settee. After one displeased yowl, he rolled over, showing me his belly and tossing his head from side to side. I shrugged myself out of my coat and tickled him until he reared up and nipped my wrist with his sharp little teeth. Cats were so fickle.

  ‘Just like your dad,’ I told him, staring at my phone and willing him to respond. But I got nothing.

  ‘Oh, sod him,’ I announced loudly to the living room. ‘Abi’s right. I’m not going to sit here and feel shit while he gives me the silent treatment. As of right now, I will not feel sorry for myself, I am taking control of this situation.’

  The cat looked at me, seemingly supportive for a creature that had just bitten me hard enough to draw blood, and waited for me to do something.

  ‘Only I do feel a bit sorry for myself,’ I admitted quietly.
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  Adam was everywhere and I didn’t just mean in the framed photos on the wall. I saw him building the cat bed he’d bought for Daniel, puffing up the cushions on the settee before we lay down for a solid night of Netflix. One of my dining chairs was still in the corner of the room from where I’d made him sit and think about what he’d done when he deleted the Downton Christmas special off my Sky+ box in August. I dropped my head between my knees, already regretting that last glass of wine, and saw the unwelcome corner of a secret bridal magazine peeking out from underneath the settee. I pulled it out slowly, the Post-it notes I’d stuck on my favourite dresses rustling.

  ‘Maybe I feel really sorry for myself,’ I said out loud, turning the pages of the magazine slowly, running my fingers over the beautiful gowns. DC stretched out his back leg until it was touching my knee. He got it.

  ‘And maybe I could open the Galaxy and just have a little bit.’

  Daniel yawned again, cocked his one remaining back leg over his head and began his nightly cat bath.

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes then,’ I said, heading straight for the fridge, determined not to end another night in tears. I’d never cried so much in one day and that included the time me, Abi and Cass watched Beaches, The Notebook and Titanic all in the same day when we were supposed to be studying. ‘I’d love it if you could stop licking your bum when I’m talking to you. The human Daniel Craig would never do that.’

  Or at least I assumed he wouldn’t, but if I’d learned nothing else from the last few days, I at least knew you shouldn’t make assumptions about anything in life.

  7

  ‘What do you think of this one?’

  I held the jacket up in the air, waving it around to get Tom’s attention.

  ‘Nice,’ he replied, hands shoved deep inside his jacket pockets. ‘Blue.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I considered the shirt again. It was blue. Too blue? I hung it back on the rail and flicked through the alternatives. ‘Hmm.’

  It was Saturday and I’d driven down to London for the day, desperate to get out of the village. Three days of radio silence from Liv was deafening, and with every passing second Long Harrington felt as though it was closing in on me. As far as I could see, I was the one who was owed an apology. Yes, I’d been out of order when I dropped her off at home but I’d apologized, I’d brought flowers, I’d done all the things I was supposed to do. Whether her silent treatment was punishment or she was truly angry with me, I did not know but if I knew one thing about women, it was that until she picked up the phone, all I could do was steer well clear.

  Thursday and Friday I’d been able to concentrate on work, finalizing designs with the owners, literally forcing myself to sit in my workshop until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, but by Saturday I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed a break from my break.

  ‘Got a big occasion coming up?’ Tom asked. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a suit outside of a wedding or a funeral.’

  I shuddered involuntarily at the ‘W’ word.

  ‘No,’ I said, frowning at the suit section. He was right. I hardly ever wore a suit. ‘Just looking. I’m broke.’

  And after several terse exchanges and threats of Mexican lawsuits from Pablo the events organizer, that was true. I was fairly certain his case wouldn’t hold up but there was a chance I’d want to go back to the country without having to worry he was waiting at the airport to break my legs.

  ‘Right, well, do you want to look later?’ Tom leaned against a display case full of cuff links, jumping back to his feet when he realized it wouldn’t take his weight. ‘I’m dying of thirst over here.’

  ‘Can I help you?’

  A tiny redhead with a name badge appeared at my elbow, a deliberate pout on her pretty face. ‘Looking for anything in particular?’

  ‘No,’ I picked up another jacket and immediately put it back down, ‘not really.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Tom added on my behalf. ‘He’s not sure what he’s looking for.’

  ‘I could help if you like?’ the girl offered. I tried to check her name badge without looking at her chest but since she was wearing an insanely low-cut T-shirt and had pinned her badge directly at cleavage level that was near enough impossible. Rebecca. Her name was Rebecca and she had a fine pair.

  ‘If it’s a suit you’re after, I’d definitely go with something slim fitting, single-breasted. Maybe a dark charcoal or a midnight blue rather than a black? We’ve got some really nice options for taller guys actually. You would look so amazing in a Paul Smith or – oh, there’s a new Tom Ford suit just in that would really just hug your shoulders.’

  ‘There you go, Ad,’ Tom said elbowing me in the ribs. ‘You need a Tom Ford to hug your shoulders.’

  ‘I don’t wear suits all that often,’ I told the sales assistant as she looked me up and down slowly before picking two shirts up and throwing them over her arm. ‘I’m just looking.’

  ‘I would really like to see you in the Tom Ford,’ she insisted, stroking the lapel in a manner that suggested what she would actually like to see was me out of a Tom Ford suit. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I would also really like to see him in the Tom Ford,’ Tom agreed, utterly gleeful. ‘But you know, he never listens to me.’

  ‘Oh.’ Rebecca’s eyes widened for an instant and her face relaxed into a wide smile. ‘Oh. Well, he should listen. I love your shoes.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Tom looked down at his brown leather lace-ups and then back at the girl with a goofy smile on his face. ‘They’re my favourites.’

  ‘I don’t have a lot of call for suits,’ I told her, keen to get out of the shop and into the pub. I wasn’t sure what had possessed me in the first place. I hated shopping. ‘I’m a carpenter.’

  ‘Just like Jesus!’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, glancing back at Tom who was struggling to hold himself together. ‘Only, you know, not.’

  She cocked her head to one side and pulled a comically sad expression. ‘It’s such a shame,’ she reached out a hand and squeezed my forearm. ‘Everyone needs a suit, you know. Even if you’re not wearing it while you’re working, you need one for best. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘One hundred per cent,’ Tom nodded, flipping the arm of a shirt hanging beside him back and forth. He was starting to get bored, I could tell. The pub really was calling.

  ‘Maybe if you tried a suit on, you’d see how amazingly sexy you look and we could convert you,’ Rebecca said. ‘What do we think?’

  Tom failed to stifle a laugh while I shuffled on the spot, staring at her long, pointed bright-blue fingernails. ‘I think you should try one on,’ he said. ‘I definitely want to see how amazingly sexy you look.’

  ‘There you go, your better half has spoken,’ Rebecca said, clapping happily. ‘You’re so lucky to have such a fashion forward boyfriend. Let’s start with the Tom Ford.’

  ‘Actually, we have somewhere to be and we’re running late.’ Tom stood up straight, the smile vanishing from his face. ‘Come on, Ad.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, throwing Rebecca and her blue nails a wave as I chased my friend out of the store. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘At least she said you were the better half,’ I said, catching up with Tom as he marched down the high street as fast as his legs would carry him. ‘I know for a fact you’ve been called worse.’

  ‘What made her think we were gay?’ Tom complained, adding an out of character swagger to his stride. ‘It’s that haircut. You need a haircut.’

  ‘Maybe it’s your “favourite shoes”,’ I suggested. ‘You could not have sounded more camp.’

  ‘They are my favourite shoes,’ he replied, defensive. ‘Maddie bought them me for my birthday. They’re Church’s.’

  I looked at him and didn’t say a word.

  ‘They’re nice shoes,’ he muttered. ‘Shut up.’

  Minutes later, we were in the pub with two pints, two packets of crisps, and the Arsenal game Tom had made vaguely interested noises about pla
ying on a screen above the bar.

  ‘They are nice shoes,’ he said again, sticking out one leg to admire his lace-ups. ‘I wear them all the time, they’re not gay.’

  ‘She didn’t think we were gay because of your shoes,’ I said, opening my crisps with a satisfying pop. ‘But I don’t think it helped when you called me amazingly sexy.’

  ‘Brad Pitt, George Clooney and then you,’ he replied, stacking his hands one above the other over the table. ‘And then probably David Beckham. He’s a good-looking bastard.’

  ‘I am better looking than David Beckham,’ I confirmed with a thoughtful nod. ‘That’s fair. George Clooney though? Really?’

  ‘I’m a mug for a silver fox,’ Tom said, craning his neck to check the score.

  ‘Just as well.’ I pretended to squint at his temples while inhaling salt and vinegar crisps five at a time. ‘Going a bit at the temples there, son.’

  ‘I am not.’ He looked back at the TV, brushing his hair when he thought I wasn’t looking. ‘I’m not sure what we were doing in that ridiculous shop in the first place. Have you come into some money or something?’

  ‘Just looking,’ I replied, wincing at a particularly nasty tackle. ‘Bored with everything in the wardrobe and I haven’t bought any new clothes for ages.’

  ‘I know I’m supposed to hate shopping,’ Tom scooted his chair closer to the table, as though he were about to impart a great secret, ‘but I actually really like it. Maddie won’t even go with me any more, we have to go our separate ways as soon as we step foot into Selfridges.’

  ‘And you wonder why she thought you were gay,’ I said, brushing crisp crumbs off my jeans and accepting the punch in the arm as due course. ‘I’m joking, I’m joking. I don’t hate shopping, I don’t have the time or, quite frankly, the money.’

  ‘How are things going with work?’ he asked. He tore open his packet of crisps as I folded my empty bag into a neat square and wedged it underneath the condiment holder. ‘Not that busy?’

  ‘Busy enough,’ I replied. ‘But there’s only so much I can do on my own and I can’t afford to pay anyone else full-time. I’m doing the interior design and build for a new bar not that far from here, actually. We can have a look on the way back to the car if you want?’