by Freya North
‘Sod the frigging terracotta,’ Fen said sternly.
‘Hear bloody hear,’ Cat muttered, glowering at Pip.
‘If you’re in love with this Zac bloke,’ Megan asked coolly, needing to temper the inflammatory tone between the sisters, ‘why isn’t he in love with you?’
If I’m in love with him, why isn’t he in love with me?
A very fair question – and if Pip answers it astutely, all the reasons why he isn’t will provide all the pointers to how he could be.
‘Because,’ said Pip, ‘I have not treated him particularly well. I guess you could say I’ve led him on – led him to believe that I was up for it when I wasn’t, that I was someone who I’m not, that I wanted something I don’t.’
‘“Up for it”?’ probed Megan. ‘Are you talking just sex?’
‘More,’ said Pip. ‘You know – seeing each other. Hanging out. Spending time together. As well as sex. You know – do things. Stuff.’
‘A relay-shun-ship,’ Megan spelt out as if to a child.
Pip shrugged and nodded. ‘I just didn’t think him suitable.’
‘Why not?’ asked Cat who’d calmed down. She was intrigued. After all, her eldest sister was full of theories as to why her ex was so unsuitable.
‘Because of his baggage,’ Pip said with a defiant shrug that deep down she knew did Zac a disservice.
‘Baggage?’ Fen enquired.
‘His life,’ Pip said, sighing. ‘So much to deal with.’
‘Like what?’ Fen asked, thinking of all the stuff she herself was dealing with in her life.
‘Like he has a child,’ Pip exclaimed as if that should be enough. There was silence. She dropped her head slightly, eventually looking up at the three women rather meekly. They were standing in a semicircle around her, brandishing their brushes and rollers like weapons. She wasn’t sure whether they were standing guard around her, or closing in threateningly.
‘Is that a problem for him?’ Megan asked. She repeated herself because Pip’s pause was too long. ‘Doesn’t he like his kid?’
Pip felt very bad. Zac adored Tom, loved being a father, he had no problem with it at all. He saw it as a blessing. ‘He loves his child,’ she practically whispered. ‘Little boy. Six. Tom.’
‘Has he an ex, then?’ Cat asked, keen for clues. Pip nodded after another lengthy pause. ‘Does she cause him grief?’ Cat probed. ‘Is he not over her? Is the split hideously acrimonious?’
Pip thought back to Tom’s party on Sunday. She thought back to Zac and June sitting together in Out-patients. How he spoke about her. How she spoke about him. How Tom spoke about them. She shook her head. ‘They get along brilliantly,’ she mumbled.
‘So what do you mean by “baggage”?’ Fen asked to mutters of approval from Megan and Cat.
‘He has a kid and an ex and a complex history!’ Pip protested, stamping her foot. ‘For fuck’s sake!’
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Fen retaliated coolly, ‘it seems his history is your baggage, not his.’
Pip felt her eyes smart. Couldn’t they all just fuck off and leave her alone! Go on – sod off, the lot of you! No. She’d invited them here. She’d confided in them. She’d asked them to help imbue her life with colour. Painting walls was only one aspect of it. Cat, Fen and Megan were merely being honest. Covered in ochre emulsion. Doing as she requested. Helping her. Time for Pip to peel off the masking tape.
Pip was mortified. Fen, Cat and Megan considered the facts so far as if discussing a particularly good BBC drama. The only thing that didn’t make sense to them was why on earth the heroine hadn’t snapped the hero up and taken him off the market immediately.
‘He sounds a honey,’ Megan said.
‘He’s a sodding accountant!’ Pip remonstrated, as if brandishing the trump card. However, she was horrified that Megan, Cat and Fen should all nod approvingly rather than look dismayed.
‘Must be fairly solvent, then,’ Fen remarked.
‘I’m a clown!’ Pip cried, as if they were dense and missing the point altogether – though she no longer had any idea what the point was.
‘Too bloody right,’ Cat said firmly, ‘and you’ve lost the last laugh.’
‘Leave me alone,’ Pip sobbed. ‘Fuck off, the lot of you.’
‘No,’ said Fen, taking the paint roller from Pip’s hands.
‘No,’ said Cat, leading her eldest sister to the sofa.
‘No,’ said Megan, going to the kitchen to make cups of tea because her best friend certainly looked as though she could do with one.
They let her sulk. They let her slurp her tea and bolt her biscuits. They let her sob. They let her sniff snottily. They let her sigh. They let her rub her eyes and bury her head in her hands. They let her proclaim half-sentences like ‘and then of course’ and ‘but anyway, it’s all so’ and ‘also, the fact remains that’. They let her sit still for as long as she wanted to. And she sat there, in a world of her own, for quite some time. They let her mind whirr and ruminate without them probing into what she was thinking. Ultimately, they simply let Pip be. But they held her hands and stroked her hair and patted her knees as she did so.
Eventually, she blinked. The tension in her shoulders subsided, her face softened and she looked around her, as if some fog had lifted.
‘I like the colour,’ she said. ‘Good choice, girls.’
‘Did you like Caleb?’ Cat asked.
Pip looked for the answer in her lap, then at her socks, without success. She looked from Cat to the others, though she couldn’t maintain eye contact for long. She gave a shrug. And then a sigh. ‘In fact, you know what? I did,’ she revealed. ‘I tried to kid myself for ages that he was just a hot shag. But actually, I think I did like him – or the idea of winning him over. Maybe it was because he was a little enigmatic, slightly ambivalent, and that can be oddly seductive. I guess I had a fair few hopes pinned on him or on myself, rather. That he’d fall for me. Sounds a bit clichéd, deluded, arrogant even.’
‘What happened?’ Fen asked.
Pip smiled to herself. How differently she would have answered such a question in the past. ‘You know what?’ she said. ‘It turned out that it was me who was just a shag to him. He had a girlfriend I didn’t know about. He presumed I was up for some no-strings action. And the thing is, I thought I was – in theory. But in practice, I realized that I wasn’t.’
‘Bastard!’ Megan spat, rallying to Pip’s side.
‘No,’ Pip corrected her, ‘no. You know what, Caleb is simply someone with a different outlook on love and sex than me.’ Privately, Cat, Fen and Megan each wondered whether they could ever be as magnanimous in such a situation. ‘His morals are on a different plane. Not incorrigible or cruel – just different. He’s as at ease with his morality as I am with mine. Ultimately, I felt a fool – yet he never set out to make a fool of me.’ Privately, Fen, Cat and Megan all thought Caleb sounded like a cocky wanker. But they respected the peace Pip had found in the situation and so said nothing.
‘Alex?’ Cat asked. ‘What was all that about?’
Again, Pip smirked to herself. ‘I was drunk,’ she shrugged, ‘and I’d just slept with Zac for the second time and run away from him for the second time. I thought Alex would take my mind off things. Prove to me that Zac was just a shag. That he wasn’t worth pursuing, that relationships were too much like hard work and simply not preferable to a nice little gratuitous one-night stand.’
‘And?’ Cat asked.
‘I was wrong,’ Pip declared, ‘once more.’ She sighed. ‘God, I don’t mean to sound crude – but if pursuit of orgasm is what it boils down to, you’re better off with a vibrator. Believe me.’ How could such self-awareness and revelation make one feel as though a weight had been lifted and yet also so heavy with fatigue?
‘And Zac?’ Fen asked.
‘Every time he’s attempted closeness, I’ve fled,’ Pip revealed quietly. ‘He’s been friendly and flirtatious in his unique oddball way for months. Way before C
aleb. I resisted him, telling myself he was a weirdo. And when I found my fondness growing I told myself he was too complex and burdened to be worth my while. And when I slept with him and woke up next to him I told myself it was a bad idea and I ought to scarper.’
‘Does he know about Caleb?’ Megan asked.
‘Yes,’ said Pip, ‘and he came to the rescue when it all fell apart.’
‘Does he know about Alex?’ Megan asked.
‘No,’ said Pip, ‘no. We haven’t really spoken since I left for France.’
‘What do you mean “haven’t really spoken”?’ Fen asked.
‘Last Sunday,’ Pip informed them all, ‘his ex booked me to perform at their son’s sixth birthday.’ She fiddled with a KitKat wrapper. ‘Unbeknown to Zac, of course.’
‘Jeez,’ said Cat.
‘Fuck,’ said Megan.
‘God,’ said Fen.
‘He paid me,’ Pip said quietly. ‘For my services,’ she added. ‘In cash.’ It sounded as abhorrent as it had felt.
Cat, Megan and Fen repeated their expletives in hushed tones. They all sat on the pea-green candlewick bedspread, lulled by the soothing ochre surrounding them. They all wondered what to say. What could be done.
‘Could you woo him?’ Cat suggested.
‘No,’ said Pip, thinking of Juliana and ranking herself such a frumpy second place that even attempting a duel would be complete humiliation, and futile, anyway.
‘Confide?’ Fen said. ‘You know, divulge your own fear of intimacy and stuff.’
It was only now Pip realized that to reveal how her own mother had run off with a cowboy from Denver when she was a child could be quite persuasive. But of course, she had already made up that whopping lie about her kith and kin being paragons of closeness and the last word in conventional family values. ‘No,’ said Pip.
‘Could you just phone him to say “hullo”?’ Megan asked. ‘Text him to say how r u? E-mail? Snail mail? Simply say “sorry”, and ask for another try?’
‘Not much point,’ Pip said darkly. She flicked the scrunched KitKat wrapper carelessly into the centre of the room. ‘He now has a girlfriend six feet tall, glam and gorgeous. And he’s simply not interested in me.’
‘He has a girlfriend,’ Fen repeats.
Cat says, ‘Shit.’
Megan says, ‘Damn and blast.’
‘He has a girlfriend,’ Pip confirms, ‘and he’s simply not interested in me.’
THIRTY-ONE
Philippa McCabe feels as though she’s at journey’s end. Her baggage is heavy and uncomfortable. She needs to dump it, to move on. However, she has no idea in which direction she ought to travel next, or how to go about unpacking because it will mean choosing what she’s happy to forsake, what she wants to carry with her. She has spent most of her adult life firmly in the driving seat, resolutely behind the steering-wheel, deciding precisely where she will allow Fate to take her and what she will permit Future to hold for her. For the time being, though, she’ll just have to stand still awhile, surrounded by ochre and terracotta walls (and a fuchsia-coloured ceiling in the bedroom). For the time being, Fate and Future are simply not up to Pip. Though they could well be down to Ruth and June.
‘The thing is, we can’t tell him what to do,’ said June late at night to Ruth over the phone, ‘believe me! I tried it – and we split up, remember!’
‘You’re too right. Zac has to feel that he’s made the choice,’ Ruth said. ‘We can but sow the seeds of Suitability in his mind by planting the tiniest niggles in his conscience.’
‘Ultimately, he has to feel he’s made some ground-breaking, life-altering decision,’ June agreed wholeheartedly.
‘I mean, you and I are undoubtedly High Priestesses of Manipulative Malarkey,’ Ruth mused, ‘but we’ll have to use all our cunning to stay hidden in the wings while we pull the strings on this one.’
‘I rather think it shouldn’t come down to Zac making the choice between one and the other,’ June said. ‘He’d be so concerned about hurting the one or the other that he’d very probably decide to go without either.’
‘You’re right. First things first. We’ll have to assist in giving Juliana a subtle shove in the direction of the exit,’ Ruth said. ‘She goes back to South Africa soon,’ she elaborated, ‘ish.’
‘Agreed. But we’ll have to act fast – we can’t let geography provide an easy way out,’ June said. ‘Zac has to want to dump her.’
‘Not just want to – he has to,’ said Ruth.
‘How?’ June asked. ‘I mean, he seems perfectly content with the way things are going.’
‘I know,’ Ruth admitted reluctantly. ‘There must be a way. How indeed?’
June and Ruth barely knew Pip. And it wasn’t as if they really knew Juliana either. But they did know Zac inside out, being his ex and his sister-in-law, after all. They cared about him supremely, being his ex and his sister-in-law, after all. Yet they couldn’t truly say that Juliana was wrong for Zac. The point to Zac is his great consistency – his personality remains steady and untainted regardless of the woman he is with. Or women. Or lack of. You simply never know with Zac unless you ask, and sometimes he won’t say, anyway. He’s always good old Zac, whether he’s single or spoken for, or spoken for by three women at once, or two women together.
Some people positively shine under the direct influence of another person being part of their lives. Some wither. Some become worryingly remote. Or upsettingly out of sorts. Or downright disagreeable.
Cat and her ex would put on a very good impression of togetherness whenever they were in company. Lots of hand holding and declarations of future plans. Those around them cringed. It was depressing. It was so painfully transparent. Cat’s eyes were dulled and her smile, when it was seen, was far more painted than any Pip gave Dr Pippity or Merry Martha. Friends soon stopped inviting them out as a couple. That their nothingness could be so visible was upsetting. Their façade was flimsy. The show they put on was upsetting for all. It was horribly obvious that before they arrived, or as soon as they left, they would succumb to either aggressive silence or full-on warfare.
Since Megan and Dominic have been together, however, Megan’s bubbly personality has fizzed over into infectious effervescence. She’s herself but even more so; as if Dominic has provided a luscious glossy top coat over her already colourful disposition. And Dom’s friends give credit to Megan for the ease with which he now socializes. He was always part of the party, but invariably it depended on the number of pints. Now he chats and jests so energetically, he hasn’t the time – or the inclination – for the volume of liquor he once leant on.
Zac, though, simply never seems to change. Which is why he’s such a trustworthy and dependable mate. Which is why his friends often don’t know if he’s seeing someone or not. Which is why his friends feel confident in presenting their friends to him. He’s so nice, he’s so much fun, he’s so sorted. He has manners and values and strength of character. You’ll be safe with him.
However, Ruth and June weren’t really thinking of how Pip might benefit from Zac – of course she’d be happy and fulfilled and treated with respect. Like all the others. No. Ruth and June’s drive was Zac himself. Both women – and it surprised them – had an inkling, a drift, a hint, a taste, that Zac’s life could be surprisingly enhanced by the presence of that weird and wiry girl who paints herself peculiar, does things with balloons for cash on a Sunday and makes sick children feel just a tiny bit better on Tuesdays and Thursdays.
‘Juliana may well not be wrong for him,’ Ruth said over coffee in the O2 centre where Tom and Billy were rampaging around the soft-play gym, ‘though I’ll admit that her svelte limbs and general gorgeousness cause vile sensations of spite in me! It’s just that Pip might well be more right.’
June laughed. ‘I so totally agree!’ she said. She pondered, while she stirred and stirred the excessive foam on her coffee with the wooden stick given in lieu of a plastic spoon. ‘Our reasons are wholesome, aren�
��t they?’ she asked. ‘I mean, I have nothing against Juliana – apart from her aforementioned physical attributes which are more my problem than her achievement. It’s just – I don’t know – I do seem to have something for Pip.’
Ruth considered this whilst thinking to herself that recently Stardust’s cappuccino had become all froth and no substance. Where was the coffee? Blimey! All the way down there. A bit weak, lukewarm. But it would do. Whatever. She’d rather settle for it than have the hassle of taking it back and making a fuss. The parallel with Zac and Juliana struck her. Juliana looked the part, but was there that much to her? Below-the-surface details? Did it really bother Zac? Knowing him, he’d avoid hassle, reason that she was fine. Whatever.
Ruth picked out a couple of blueberries from their stodgy muffin cladding. It suddenly struck her. ‘Essentially, all we’re doing is food combining, June,’ she declared. ‘Great chefs know which ingredients will work even better when brought together, than when taken on their own merits, however high.’
‘Bagsy be Nigella Lawson, then,’ June laughed, ‘because you are so Gordon Ramsay!’
‘Fuck off!’
‘See!’
‘Strawberries and cream,’ mused Ruth.
‘Sherbet and a lollipop,’ June suggested.
‘Roast potatoes and gravy,’ Ruth added.
‘Rocket and parmesan,’ said June.
‘Better plan a menu, then,’ said Ruth. ‘Here’s to a recipe for success, and happy endings.’ They chinked their coffee mugs. ‘I’ll give him a call.’ She phoned Zac. ‘Hullo, it’s Ruth,’ she said. ‘Fine, fine. You? Great. Work? Cool, cool. Oh, he’s fine. I’m out with the girls Thursday so I’m sure he’d be happy for some company. Yes. Sure. Cool. Listen – Friday night – do you have plans? No? Would you like to meet for dinner, then? You and Juliana? Deal’s off, otherwise. No. Pardon? Not at all! Whatever gave you that impression? I think she seems really – nice. That’s why I’d love to see her again. Great. Just let me know. Ta-ra.’