Straight Talking

by Jane Green

  “This is a bit romantic, isn’t it?” I say finally, grinning at the irony, at the fact that, to a casual observer, we look like a perfect couple.

  “Don’t you like it?” Adam looks alarmed.

  “Of course I like it. I love it, it’s gorgeous. Thank you for bringing me here and I’m sorry I was on such a downer last night.”

  “I understand, Tash, it happens to all of us, even me.”

  “You never get depressed, Ad.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I never think that men feel sorry for themselves, that they have bouts of loneliness and insecurity, but perhaps that’s because they keep it so well hidden. I have the girls, and most women have a support structure, a network of friends who help them pick up the pieces when things go wrong.

  But men keep it inside. When they go out with their friends they talk of football, of “birds,” of anything other than emotions, which is why when men hurt, they hurt harder and longer.

  Adam looks away and all of a sudden I notice he’s fidgeting, which is most unlike him. He’s picking up the knife and examining it closely, before putting it down and playing with the table mat.

  “Ad, what’s the matter, are you depressed now?”

  “I’m fine, I just want everything to be perfect.”

  “I’m starving,” I say, looking at the menu because I don’t know what he’s talking about, except something in the back of my head tells me I do know, and perhaps I don’t want to know. Perhaps not. We shall find out.

  “The meze here is their specialty,” he says, sounding relieved at being on familiar ground, so we order their meze for two and sit there chatting about life, work, us, until the food arrives.

  A dozen small plates laden with taramasalata, hummus sprinkled with paprika and puddles of olive oil, eggplant, gleaming dolmades, tabouleh, spicy sausages, and a basket of pita bread arrive.

  We tuck in, and because it’s Adam I can scoop up dollopfuls of taramasalata with pita bread and not worry about being a pig. Because it’s Adam I can eat to my heart’s content and not worry about what he thinks of me.

  “If this was a date,” I say, mouth filled with rice and vine leaves, “I would never pig out like this. I’d sit here and push a lettuce leaf around my plate and say that I never eat very much.”

  Adam laughs before saying, “Isn’t this a date though?”

  “Nah. Ad, this is us,” I laugh, shoveling another stuffed vine leaf into my mouth.

  Adam puts down his fork and starts playing with it again.

  “Actually, Tash, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk about.”

  “OK, here we go again. Hang on while I put my agony aunt hat on. Let me guess, you’re in love with someone and she doesn’t love you back.” I’m joking of course, but the terrace suddenly becomes very silent, almost as if the passing cars have stopped, the people all around have become quiet.

  “Ad?” I say quietly, not feeling so bloody cocky anymore. “What is it, Ad?”

  Because Adam is sitting opposite me and I swear if I didn’t know better, I would say his face had turned white, with just a hint of green. The sort of color that would look gorgeous on your living room wall, but right now, on Adam’s face, looks bloody frightening.

  “Tasha, I don’t quite know how to say this . . .” He stops mid-sentence and all of a sudden I know exactly what he’s going to say, and I’m not sure I want to hear it.

  “Adam, maybe if you don’t know how to say it, maybe it’s better that you don’t.” My voice is gentle, but Adam shakes his head.

  “I have to and I’m sorry if it comes between us as friends, but you have to know, I’ve waited too long.”

  My knife and fork are sitting patiently on my plate, and my appetite has completely disappeared. I suspect, but of course I can’t know this for sure, but I suspect that my face is a very similar shade to Adam’s.

  “Tasha. Jesus. I don’t know how to say this.”

  There really isn’t anything at all for me to say, but I cross my arms, as if to protect myself from the words I’ve been dreading, the words that will change everything, that will undoubtedly spoil our wonderful friendship.

  “Tasha, I love you. I’m sorry, but I do. I love you and I’m in love with you and I want to be with you and I know you probably don’t feel the same way and it really doesn’t matter but I needed you to know.”

  Adam fidgets with the fork as he says this in one breath, and when he’s finished he exhales loudly and runs his hand through his hair. I feel a burst of affection for him, followed swiftly by a canyon of disappointment.

  These are the words I’ve longed to hear. For years I’ve dreamed of being in this situation, of sitting on a terrace, lit by candlelight, facing a man who I love, who tells me he loves me too.

  But this is Adam. Yes, he is a man I love, but a man for whom I feel no attraction whatsoever. I love Adam, but I don’t want to feel his arms around me. I love Adam but I don’t want his tongue in my mouth, his hand on my breast, his body in my bed.

  I love Adam but I am not in love with Adam, and I, I who am never lost for words, I am rendered completely fucking speechless.

  Adam reaches over to take my hand, and I watch it for a moment, resting in his, and then I slowly pull it away.

  “God, I’m sorry, Tasha. I’ve ruined everything. But say something, anything. Please.”

  The silence gets thicker and thicker and I look up and say, “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “It’s not what I want you to say. It’s what you want to say.”

  “I don’t know, Adam. In all the years I’ve known you I never expected this. I mean, I’m hugely flattered and everything, but . . .”

  “For Christ’s sake, don’t say that, Tasha, say anything but that.”

  “OK, I’m sorry. Adam, you know how I feel about you, you know I love you more than anyone else in the world, but I’ve never thought about it as anything more.”

  “God, if you knew the times I had.”

  Curiosity gets the better of me and I can’t help but ask when, when he decided, when he knew.

  “When you were with Simon, that night you came to me in a state and wanted to know whether Simon was with me. You were wearing pajamas with a big coat, and you looked so vulnerable. I think I knew then, but you were Simon’s girlfriend and I would never have done anything.

  “You’re so different from how you were then. You were so tough and cynical, but you’re much softer now, and I’ve kept these feelings in for so many years, I had to tell you.”

  “Adam. There is nothing in the world I want more than to be able to tell you that I feel the same way, but I’m not sure I can. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “But Tash,” he says urgently. “I’m not expecting you to say that you love me too, I know that right now you don’t feel the same way. But maybe you could. I mean, we would be so good together. I know you better than anyone and I love you for who you are, not this tough person you pretend to be. Time isn’t a problem for me, I can wait, I can wait for you to change your mind.

  “All I’m asking is that you think about it. That you think about us. You know how you’re always banging on about When Harry Met Sally and how that’s your dream situation? Well, that’s what we would be. We could be them.”

  I can’t help myself. Despite the seriousness I laugh. “What? When Adam met Tasha?”

  He blushes, bless him, and says defensively, “Why not? Jesus, why the hell not?”

  I don’t know what to say, so we sit there not saying anything. My appetite disappears and I search my mind, desperate to change the subject, to fill the silence which is becoming increasingly uncomfortable.

  “I just don’t know,” I say eventually. “If you want me to think about it I will, but I can’t promise anything. This is such a shock, I never expected this, never dreamed you felt like this. I need some time.”

  “That’s fine,” he says. “I just needed you to know.”

&nb
sp; Silence descends once again, and I look at the table-cloth, at the half-eaten meal, at the traffic rumbling past the restaurant, and eventually Adam breaks the silence by asking for the bill.

  We drive home in silence and as we pull up outside my front door I say, “You’ll understand if I don’t invite you in for coffee,” and I grin falsely, which comes out like a grimace.

  Adam smiles faintly, then puts both hands on my cheeks and moves his head toward mine. I freeze, terrified of the physical contact from the one man I’ve been able to trust, but he doesn’t kiss me on the lips. He plants a soft kiss on my forehead and then looks me in the eye and says, “Call me when you’re ready.”

  Walking into my flat, I’m in a daze. I can’t think about it, even walking in and sitting on my sofa, staring into space, I can’t think about what happened tonight, it’s too momentous, too much to take in.

  Mel’s not home yet, so I wait for a while, needing to sort out my own thoughts, getting them in order to share with her when she walks in the door.

  But the minutes tick by as I sit and think about nothing, an unwitting form of meditation, and finally I sigh and get up to go to bed. Why is my life always so fucking complicated?

  15

  I wake bleary-eyed at ten A.M. and stumble into the kitchen to make some coffee. I woke briefly last night, just in time to hear Mel softly shutting the front door, and I fell back into a deep sleep, too tired to even get up and ask how her date went.

  I feel like shit. I should be elated, someone is in love with me, the most wonderful man in the world desires me, but I feel like hell, and I have never needed to talk to anyone more than I need to talk to Mel now.

  I make two cups of instant coffee, stirring two heaped teaspoons of sugar into Mel’s, and walk up to her room, putting the cups down to knock softly on the door.

  No reply. “Mel?” I say softly as I push the door open. “Mel, I’ve brought some coffee, wake up.” But she has woken up and she’s not there. Her bed is already made and the curtains are drawn, and there’s a note lying on the bed.

  Darling Tash,

  Had the most amazing time last night—walked and talked for hours on Primrose Hill. Sorry I was so late—didn’t have a clue what time it was until I got home!!! Don’t worry, didn’t misbehave at all, he’s just so nice!!

  Meeting him this morning to help him buy a sofa. I’ll be at lunch, though, so see you there. Hope you had a good time with Adam.

  Big huge kiss,

  M xxxxxxxx

  Oh God. Please don’t tell me I’m about to lose my best friend to love. I’ve never had to worry about it in the past because when Mel was with Daniel she always put me first. But now she’s met someone new, will she disappear?

  Not literally, but I know so many women who forget their lives, their friends, themselves the minute they meet a man they could love. You suddenly realize you haven’t heard from them for a while, and when you phone it takes them two weeks to return your call.

  They’ll never agree to see you at night because that’s when they’re with their new man, so occasionally if you’re lucky you snatch a quick cup of coffee together. And you sit there and look at this friend who used to be so entertaining, so full of life, and all she wants to talk about is her man.

  Every sentence is punctuated with the dreaded word we, and you leave with a mix of envy and regret while she promises to invite you over for dinner to meet him, except you know you’ll never receive the invitation because she only mixes with other couples now.

  And eventually, when it’s all over she’ll be back on the phone as if she never left. And you, being the understanding soul that you are, welcome her back and make her promise she won’t abandon her friends the next time. She promises, and she keeps her promise. Until the next time.

  And don’t be fooled into thinking it’s only women who do this. Once upon a time I had a friend called Jamie. Pre-Adam, pre-Mel, Jamie was my best friend. We met when we were children, and we grew up together, fading in and out of each other’s lives until we were seventeen, by which time we were firm friends, and swore we’d never lose touch again.

  And we didn’t until Jamie got his first girlfriend at twenty-one. He lived with her for two years, and although he still called me all the time, I hardly ever saw him. When I did he’d bring Kathy along, which always made me feel slightly awkward and uncomfortable.

  But after Kathy, when he was single again, he said I was more important to him than any woman, and I relaxed, I trusted he meant it. Then he met Mags, and I never saw him. I still invited them both to every party I had, every dinner I organized, but three years later, I realized I’d never been invited out with them. That I hadn’t even met a single friend of theirs. That I’d never seen the inside of the flat they shared.

  I forgave him again, grudgingly this time, but by the time Sarah came along I had had enough. I abandoned our friendship, and when, after six months of not speaking, I received an invitation to his thirtieth birthday party, I ignored it. Large impersonal thirtieth birthday parties are for everyone, small intimate dinner parties are for friends, and I had never been invited to one.

  I missed Jamie desperately until Simon, when I was too busy becoming the sort of woman who does things in couples and abandons her friends herself. But Mel I’ve never had to think about, and I pray she doesn’t do this. I need her. We all need her.

  And I need her now. I need to ask what I should do, whether I could make myself fall in love with Adam. Because I want to, you see, I really want to feel passion for him, but I’m not sure I ever could. I’m not sure friendship is enough.

  It’s a pain in the ass getting dressed today. All I can think about is the conversation last night, and as I’m pulling on clothes and putting on makeup, I talk out loud into the mirror, replaying what happened, what I should have said, what he should have said.

  But of course the conversation doesn’t make sense because I haven’t got a clue what I should have said, or how I should have said it.

  I check my watch before I leave. One twenty-five, five minutes before we’re due to meet and I’m determined not to be the first to arrive this time. It takes me ten minutes to get there and as I walk in I spot Mel, sipping a cappuccino and smiling to herself as she gazes into space, her chin resting on her hand.

  Her eyes light up when she sees me, and, despite feeling like a miserable fucker, I can’t help but smile at her excitement. Particularly when I see she’s wearing makeup, except she hasn’t quite got the hang of it and her cheeks look like Aunt Jemima’s—round red blotches of color.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t at home this morning,” she says in a rush. “Did you get my note? I had such a great time last night, Tash, he’s so nice.”

  I laugh, “I know he’s so nice, Mel, that’s all you keep saying. So where did he take you until the early hours of this morning, hmmm?”

  “We went to this pub in Primrose Hill and we just talked all night. When the pub closed neither one of us wanted to go home, there was still so much more to say, so we went to sit on Primrose Hill and finally he walked me home.”

  “From Primrose Hill?”

  “Yes, it was miles but I hardly even noticed, I just had such fun!”

  “And did he try and kiss you?”

  Mel blushes. “Yes, and we did and it was really nice.”

  “Jesus, Mel, I’m going to have to teach you some more adjectives. What do you mean it was nice?”

  “It was weird, kissing someone else when I’ve only kissed Daniel for years,” her face only clouds slightly at the mention of his name, “but it was, I don’t know, it was exciting, and comfortable at the same time.” She sighs happily. “We feel like we’ve known each other for years. It’s just so easy being with him and he was so nice to me. He told me I had beautiful eyes!”

  “You do have beautiful eyes, Mel.”

  She looks flustered, so unused to compliments. “But no one’s ever told me that before, and even though the kiss made me think of Dan
iel, the conversation made me think that this is what I’ve missed. I loved it when he complimented me, I loved it that he made me feel special and in some way it’s helped, because Daniel never made me feel like that, not even at the beginning.”

  “I’ve always said you deserve better. Maybe now you’ve found it . . .” I smile.

  “I don’t know,” she shakes her head. “I have to take things slowly, I’m really not ready for a relationship, but I had fun, both last night and this morning, we didn’t stop laughing in the furniture shop.”

  “I’m so happy for you.” I am, I really am, but Mel doesn’t miss the tone in my voice that says all is not completely well. All is, in fact, completely fucking screwed up.

  Mel takes my hand and looks me in the eyes, “Something’s the matter, isn’t it?”

  “Oh shit, Mel,” I say, “it’s all gone bloody wrong.”

  “What has?”

  “Adam. He told me last night he was in love with me and I don’t know what to do.” Mel’s expression is one of total shock, but before she has a chance to say anything Andy breezes in and kisses us hello, while Mel never takes her eyes off my face.

  “Good Lord. Oh sweetie, what are you going to do?”

  Andy pushes the hair off her face with her sunglasses and reaches into her bag for the omnipresent pack of Silk Cut Ultra Low. “What are you going to do about what?”

  “About Adam. He told me last night he was in love with me.”

  “You’re joking.” Now both Mel and Andy are sitting there in shock.

  “Yes, I’m joking,” I say, “I wish. I wish I’d woken up this morning and found it was all a bad dream, but unfortunately it really happened.”

  “I knew it,” says Andy, slapping her thigh to reinforce the point. “I always knew he was interested. What did you say?”

  “What the hell could I say? I mean, it’s Adam, I’m not in love with Adam, I’ve never even thought about it.”