by Lisa Jewell
Her face softened and she sniffed loudly. ‘Do you think so?’ she said, and Dig thought to himself that tonight was the first time in a week that he’d seen the old Delilah, the tender, vulnerable, scared girl he’d fallen in love with all those years ago, the Delilah who’d leaned on him so heavily and needed him so much, and made him feel like a man even though he’d been only eighteen years old.
He felt strong suddenly and gripped Delilah’s hands even harder. ‘You want this baby, don’t you?’ he said. ‘You really want it?’
She nodded, snottily.
‘And you’re scared, aren’t you, scared that you won’t be able to love it, like you couldn’t love Sophie?’
She nodded again.
‘And like your mother couldn’t love you?’
‘Mmm.’ She blew her nose into her napkin.
‘Delilah—you’re not your mother. I sometimes find it hard to believe that you’re from the same gene pool as your mother. You are so full of love. You loved me, I know you did, and look how much you love Alex. You love your horses. You love your dog. You love your little brothers. And I think that deep down somewhere, you did love Sophie. I saw your tears today on her doorstep, I saw the way you looked at her. You love, Delilah, and you will be a great, great mother. Really.’
Delilah looked at Dig with watery eyes and he was moved to see the warmth inside them. ‘Thank you, Dig,’ she sniffed, ‘thank you. That means a lot. It really does. It means—it means—you know—Alex—he’d be such a wonderful dad.’ She started to brighten. ‘He doesn’t think he would. But he would be, I know it. And his parents have got this big treasure chest full of fancy-dress things and there’s china dolls and old teddy bears and so much land. We’ve got ponies and dogs and ducks and trees to climb and secret gardens to explore. Any child would be happy there, don’t you think? Even with an old bag like me for a mother!’ And then she laughed and Dig laughed, and he noticed that she’d picked up her cutlery and was spooning cubes of chicken tikka on to her plate, and he supposed that must mean that the crisis was over. But there was still something he wanted to ask her.
‘Don’t you ever want, you know—revenge? Don’t you ever want to kill him?’
Delilah stopped, her spoon suspended over her plate. ‘Who? Michael?’
Dig nodded.
‘No,’ she said, thoughtfully, ‘no. He’s going to spend the rest of his life with my mother. In that house. That’s punishment enough. That’s a life sentence.’ She cleared her throat and deposited some rice on to her plate.
‘I would have,’ said Dig, decisively, ‘I would have killed him. If you’d come to see me that night and told me what he’d done I would have gone straight round there and killed him. With my bare hands. Honestly.’ Dig stopped when he realized that Delilah was smiling at him. ‘What?’
‘Oh, Dig. You’re so lovely, aren’t you? So good.’ She patted his hand, which he’d unconsciously furled into a fist, and Dig blushed. ‘Why the hell haven’t you got a girlfriend? What are you doing wasting your time with all these young things when you could be making someone so happy? Someone real?’
Dig averted his gaze from hers and busied himself piling curry on to his plate, barely aware of what he was doing. His face was burning crimson. He wasn’t used to people telling him how lovely he was.
‘I mean,’ continued Delilah, ‘you’re hardly the archetypal playboy, are you? It’s not you. It doesn’t suit you. Don’t you ever want—more?’
Dig laid down his cutlery and rested his head in his hands, as much an attempt to cover his blazing face as to compose himself. Still feeling rather pleased with himself for the way he’d handled the whole drama-in-the-Lancer scenario just then, for having been able to dispense useful, helpful advice to a friend in distress, he now felt capable of doing the mature thing and opening up to Delilah.
‘Never even thought about it till you turned up,’ he said, frankly. He told her about the girl he’d slept with on his thirtieth birthday and the conversation he and Nadine had had over breakfast, which neither of them had taken at all seriously. He told her about his reaction to bumping into her in the park, how excited he’d been about their dinner date, how spellbound he’d been by her that night and blown away by their unexpected kiss in the back of the cab. He described the feelings of growth and change that her presence instilled in him, his sudden need to extend himself and expect more from life—more money, more success, more respect, more ambition and, most importantly, more love.
‘This morning, when I left the flat to follow you, I was looking at all those people out and about, doing their thing, with their kids and their jobs and their responsibilities, and for the first time ever I found myself thinking, Yeah, I could do that, I could be like those people. You know, a nice woman, a kid, a dog—a nice, big dog—a proper flat instead of a shoebox, holidays twice a year, in-laws, anniversaries, early nights, all that. But then I realized something. It’s too late, isn’t it? I’ve left it too late. Basically, the foundation for all that stuff is the right woman—yeah? None of that is going to happen without the woman, that’s where it all starts. But all the women I know are in couples. Everywhere I look—couples. There aren’t any decent single women around. I thought you were single and look how wrong I was. All the good ones are taken.’
Delilah smiled and nodded. ‘You’re just saying what women of my age have been saying for years. But I don’t think it’s true, actually. This is about the age when a lot of relationships that started at school or college or whatever start showing the strain, start breaking down. There’s a whole seam of newly single men and women looking for someone, but the right person this time, someone they can spend the rest of their lives with, have children with.’
‘Desperate women, you mean. I’m not interested in desperate, last-chance-saloon women who are looking for sperm and—and—’ he puffed a bit as he ran out of steam and held his hands up in defeat.
‘What are you looking for, Dig? Who’s your ideal woman? Describe her to me.’
‘Well—she’d be you, I suppose, but without the husband and the baby and the dog.’
Delilah raised her eyebrows. ‘Seriously.’
‘Hmm. Well, seriously, she’d be beautiful, of course, and slim, definitely. Blonde would be good and nice perky tits. Sorry’—he shrugged—‘I’m shallow about that sort of thing—I live in London, I can’t help it. And—well—she’d be the same sort of age as me—or she could be a very mature twenty-two, I suppose.
‘She’d have to be intelligent, but not intellectual. Intellectual people scare the life out of me and you could never go to the cinema to see crap films or watch EastEnders. She’d have to have a healthy appetite, you know, really enjoy her food. Especially curry. And it would be great if she could cook.
‘She’d like pubs, have similar taste in music to me, be sociable, but sensible, too, if we’re going to have babies. She couldn’t be too much of a party animal. I’d want her to be someone who I could rely on, who’d be where she said she was going to be, not too flighty.
‘And…and’—he tapped his fingernails off his teeth as he considered—‘money would be good.’ He nodded. ‘I wouldn’t object to a woman with a nice healthy bank balance. A family girl would suit me, too—someone who’s as close to her parents as I am, who understands the little apron-strings I can’t quite cut off. And’—he clicked his fingers at the arrival of a new thought—‘tidy. She would absolutely have to be reasonably tidy. I mean, I wouldn’t expect her to be quite as over-the-top as me, obviously. But reasonably tidy would be good.’
‘So, you’re not too fussy, then?’ smiled Delilah, teasingly.
Dig smiled and leaned back in the banquette. ‘I guess,’ he said, ‘the most important thing is a girl who I can look at in bed when I wake up on a Saturday morning and just think—great, it’s the weekend and I’m with my girl, and whatever we do today it’s going to be great because she’s my best friend and I love being with her.’
Delilah w
as nodding and smiling. ‘Well, congratulations,’ she said, offering him her hand to shake, ‘that was the correct answer. You are, officially, mature enough to handle a grown-up relationship. But hmm…let me think…there’s only one problem, isn’t there?’ She was camping it up, rubbing her chin with her fingertips and feigning confusion. Dig wondered what the hell she was doing.
‘What’s that?’ he said.
‘Well, where on earth are you going to find a woman to fit those criteria. I mean, they don’t exist, do they?’
‘Exactly!’ said Dig. ‘Exactly.’
‘There’s just no such thing as a beautiful, intelligent, single woman who likes curry and pubs, who’s tidy and sensible and family-minded and who you could consider to be your best friend, is there?’ She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand in mock-exasperation. Dig was thoroughly confused by her strange carrying-on.
‘Not in my experience, no,’ he said, conclusively.
‘Oh, but wait! Silly me! I know just the girl. I can’t believe I didn’t think of her before. She’s perfect for you. You’ll love her.’ She leaned down to pick up her handbag and started ferreting around in it. ‘I’ll give you her number.’
Dig was suddenly all ears. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, ‘who is she? What’s she like?’
‘She’s like your perfect woman, Dig. She’s thirty, she’s beautiful, she’s successful, she’s sweet and she’s kind, and you’ll absolutely love her.’
‘Yeah but—will she like me? If she’s that great won’t she just think I’m a bit of a wanker?’
‘No,’ said Delilah, scribbling on a piece of Filofax paper, ‘no. She’ll think you’re perfect. You’re just her type, I promise you.’ She clicked the lid back on to her pen and slid the piece of paper across the table towards Dig. ‘Ring her,’ she said, sternly, ‘ring her right now.’
Dig picked up the sliver of paper and held it in front of his nose:
02074852121
His face creased in confusion. ‘But—but—I don’t get it. This is Nadine’s number.’
Delilah smiled at him.
‘Why have you given me Nadine’s number?’
Delilah frowned. ‘Blimey, Dig,’ she said, ‘no wonder intellectuals scare you. You’re not exactly bright spark of the month, are you?’
‘Oh,’ said Dig, smiling grimly, ‘oh, I see. You’re back on one of these matchmaking crusades. I get it.’ He shook his head and handed the piece of paper back to Delilah. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? This isn’t going to happen. Nadine and I are never going to be like that. If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now.’
‘Why?’ exclaimed Delilah. ‘I don’t understand. What the hell is the matter with you two? Why hasn’t it happened?’
Dig sighed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. ‘I dunno,’ he sighed, ‘it just wasn’t meant to be, I guess. I tried and she wasn’t interested and she’s never shown even the slightest sign of…you know?’
Delilah slapped her hand down on the table-top and made Dig jump. ‘So you have! I knew it! I knew that there must be something more than just this supposed platonic friendship bullshit. Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.’
Dig was starting to regret his candour—it was taking him places he had no interest in being. He took a breath and composed himself to tell Delilah the story of September 1987.
‘So,’ he said, afterwards, ‘Nadine didn’t want me, OK? She told me: “I don’t want you.” You don’t get the truth much plainer than that. She wanted more than me. She wanted a Man. She wanted sports cars and trendy clothes and life experience and brooding good looks. Not spotty little Dig Ryan with his Honda Civic and his crappy job and his skinny legs. And it took me a while to get used to the idea, you know. For months I found it hard to be around her without wanting to—you know—but it’s good now. She’s my mate. She’s a huge part of my life and I’m grateful for that. Life without Nadine would be empty and meaningless. But, Delilah—I know you mean well and everything, but forget it, OK. Because it just isn’t going to happen.’
Delilah was shaking her head. ‘God, Dig. I wish you could sit where I’m sitting just for a few moments, see what I see, what anyone can see when they look at you and Nadine. I wish you could see it, get over some stupid, childish shit that happened ten years ago and see it objectively.’ She sighed deeply and passed the piece of paper back to Dig. ‘Keep this,’ she said, folding it into his palm, ‘keep this bit of paper. Maybe one day you’ll find it in your wallet and you’ll remember this conversation and you’ll do the right thing. Yes?’ she said, beetling her eyebrows and squeezing his clamped hand.
‘Yeah,’ sighed Dig, ‘whatever.’
He slid the piece of paper into his coat pocket and set about trying to consume some of the food that was congealing on his plate.
What a day, he thought to himself as he masticated on a flavourless piece of lamb—why did food always taste so awful when he was with Delilah?—what a fucking unbelievable day. He suddenly felt exhausted beyond words. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t thirsty, and there was no way he could revert to smalltalk with Delilah now.
But the funniest thing of all was that in spite of the painful conversation they’d just had and everything that had happened in the past week, as he sat there contemplating his cold curry and absorbing the strange atmosphere, Dig suddenly realized that all he wanted in the whole world was to see Nadine.
THIRTY-NINE
Bang Bang Bang
‘Uuurgghh.’
Bang Bang Bang
‘Neuuughhh.’
‘Nadine!’
‘Oh. Jesus.’ Nadine peeled open one eye and then the other. The blurred images of textiles, bits of furniture and the watercolours on the wall that were forming on her retinas meant nothing to her.
She attempted to stand up. ‘Oh, Jesus!’ She started to panic. She couldn’t move her legs. She didn’t have any legs. She was crippled. She was paralysed. She was…oh…she was all twisted up in the bedcovers.
‘Nadine! Are you in there? Are you all right? Let me in.’ Bang Bang Bang.
It was Pia. It was…she was…oh, God. Nadine’s head was like a…like a…a horrible thing, just a horrible, horrible, horrible thing. Where was she? Where the hell was she? What was this place?
She opened her mouth to try to shout something through the door, but nothing left her lips but foul, sticky breath. Uuugghh. She was going to have to get to the door somehow. It was dark, the only light coming from a tangerine streetlight just outside her open curtains. Barcelona, she suddenly remembered—she was in Barcelona. But what day was it?
She finally managed to extricate herself from the bedclothes and crawled across the carpet towards the door. ‘Coming,’ she managed to croak, as she dragged herself along on hands and knees, ‘I’m coming.’
She hauled the door open and blinked into the bright light. Looming above her was Pia and, on either side of her, two enormous Spanish men wearing black jackets and concerned expressions.
‘Christ, Deen,’ squeaked Pia, crouching down and putting her skinny little arm around her shoulders, ‘are you OK?’
‘Mmmm,’ grunted Nadine, shielding her eyes from the light and the gaze of the two huge men above her, ‘my head. My head. What day is it? How long have I been asleep?’
‘It’s still Saturday night, Deen,’ said Pia, stroking some hair out of Nadine’s face. ‘It’s nearly half ten. You’ve been gone two hours.’ She turned to smile at the two men behind her, one of whom, Nadine could now see, was carrying a large bunch of keys.
‘Looks like it’s OK,’ she grinned at them, ‘sorry to have dragged you all the way up here. Muchos gracias and everything.’
‘The señorita is well?’ asked the man with the keys.
‘The señorita’s going to be just fine,’ she soothed.
‘We get room service maybe, to bring up some coffee?’
‘That,’ grinned Pia, ‘would be absolutely smashing. Make it two
. Multo gracias!’
Pia clicked the door closed behind them and lay down on the floor next to Nadine’s prone figure. They lay and contemplated the ceiling for a moment.
‘You know your phone’s off the hook, don’t you?’ said Pia, turning towards Nadine, who had covered her face with her elbow and was groaning under her breath.
‘Shit,’ she moaned, ‘fuck.’
‘When you didn’t come back from the toilet, we tried to phone you, and when it was engaged we just assumed you must have run up here to phone Dig. After two hours we started thinking that even you couldn’t spend that long on the phone. So, did you? Did you call Dig? Were we right? Were we right?!’ She rolled over on to her stomach and faced Nadine, holding her chin on her hand.
Nadine nodded. ‘Mmmm,’ she mumbled.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed Pia triumphantly. ‘I knew it. Jesus—that Sarah really opened a can of worms, didn’t she, coming out with all that stuff about you and Dig? You should have seen your face, Deen—it was priceless! So—what did you say to him? What happened? Did you declare undying love, or what?!’
Nadine rolled on to her side. ‘Got to hang the phone up, Pia, it might still be—you know—what’s the word? Attached. No…no…that other word—you know? Urrgghh.’
Pia leaped to her feet and strode towards the telephone. She put the misplaced receiver to her ear and listened. ‘No,’ she said, replacing it, ‘it’s all right. You’re not connected.’ She perched on the edge of the bed. ‘So. Tell me. What happened?’
Nadine pulled herself to a sitting position. It was all coming back to her now. Oh yes—it most certainly was. Oh bloody hell. Oh bloody bloody hell. Blood rushed to her head with the shame of it and her face creased up with mortification. ‘Oh no,’ she muttered, ‘oh Pia. I can’t believe what I did. It’s too awful. I can’t tell you.’
Pia’s face blossomed with excitement. ‘What?’ she screeched. ‘What have you done?’
‘Oh no. Oh no. I’m never going to be able to face him again. Oh fucking hell.’ She cradled her head on her knees and began rocking back and forth as she remembered every last detail.