Before We Met: What Happens When You Fall For The Same Man Twice But Don't Even Know It

by Madeleine Cardell

  ‘Again? I’ll stop coming here if you don’t re-order it,’ Shane threatened, looking at him playfully.

  The waiter’s face went even redder than before, but trying to ignore the sudden flash of color, he dutifully told Shane that he’d ask his manager to order it and then walked away.

  ‘You embarrassed him,’ said Vera quietly, leaning towards Shane. ‘He’s not gay. Last time we were here, I saw him flirting with a female customer.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he’s straight!’ concluded Shane, pouring more champagne into his glass.

  Vera giggled.

  ‘You’re terrible! Do you remember the man you chatted up in Reading? The one you eventually turned gay?’

  ‘Vera … he was already gay,’ Shane said slowly, swallowing more champagne.

  ‘He wasn’t!’ protested Vera. ‘He had a girlfriend.’

  ‘He was gay! Anyway, babe how’s the coverage of the pasty festival going? You’re writing about that this week, aren’t you?’

  Vera gathered that he was only trying to get out of the subject.

  ‘Great’, she said quickly, trying to think what else to tell him. Shane was her best friend and she knew him well. Certainly enough to know that he had no interest in pasties. And she didn’t want to talk about her work either. But there was something she wanted to talk about.

  ‘Shane, do you think Tony still reads my stuff?’ She started slowly, looking at him with the facial expression that said - please say he does - but he wouldn’t budge.

  ‘Vera, darling.’ He leaned towards her with a weirdly apologetic face. ‘He never read it before, so why on earth would he read it now? The man worked like, eighty hours a week for God’s sake, so when would he find time? You said it yourself …’ He paused and raised his eyebrows in a dramatic manner. ‘He was “practically falling asleep on you” when you were together.’

  ‘But we’re not together anymore.’ Her voice sounded somehow more desperate. ‘So don’t you think that he would at least be curious about me, you know… about what I’m doing?’ She looked at him like a prisoner who was relying on him as the only hope of getting off death row.

  ‘Well, to be fair, it was you who finished with him, and I’m not saying that you had no reasons, darling. He was a commitment-phobe, and made no time for you at all. So maybe …’ He topped up his glass again. ‘Maybe it’s time to stop thinking about him.’

  A commitment-phobe. Vera repeated the word in her head. Served her right, she thought. She’d spoken of Tony’s commitment issues with Shane many times, and did get his sympathy. As for time? Yes, Tony worked all the hours God sent, but would still see her as often as he could. Even after a twelve-hour day at work he’d come to hers and sometimes do home improvements, no matter how tired he was. As for other things, like moving in together, he’d said that he ‘just needed time’. But Vera, offended by the fact the he wouldn’t jump at the chance, took that option away from him and ended their relationship immediately after he said it. She wanted to teach him a lesson, make him miss her. Yes, all things considered, it was a little unfair to call him a commitment-phobe before. But what good would it do to start defending him now? She’d only look silly in front of Shane.

  ‘Wouldn’t you want to know what your ex is doing? Even just a little bit?’ she asked him.

  ‘Personally no, I wouldn’t.’ He took a sip of his drink and looked away.

  Vera wanted to tell him that normal people did have the urge to know what their exes were up to. She quickly reminded herself that only last week she’d read an article educating heartbroken folk how to resist spying on their exes online. So, there’s the proof that people did that! she thought. She wished that Shane could understand this, because she could do with his moral support right now. But there was hardly any chance of him grasping how she felt.

  ‘Some friend you are!’ she said, looking at the table and half pretending to be offended.

  ‘Oh, come on, let’s have another drink, Vera.’ He took her hand and looked at her affectionately. ‘You mustn’t waste a minute longer on this looser – that’s what I think! There are so many gorgeous guys about - gorgeous guys, Vera!’ His eyes drifted away to the bar again, where he was trying to find the cocktail waiter.

  ‘But I can’t stop thinking about Tony’ she blurted out upset. ‘I don’t want to stop thinking about him! Shane, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him. Since I was a teenager I’ve been searching for that special connection.’ she closed her eyes. ‘That dynamic chemistry with a unique and beautiful soul who was open to the deeper dimensions of life. Someone to explore life with, but also to enjoy a day-to-day routine with.’ Vera opened her eyes again to look at Shane - only to find that his eyes were still glued to the barman. ‘Are you even listening to me?’ she fumed.

  ‘Sure, darling. I am.’ He focused his bleary eyes back on her. ‘So you were saying …’

  ‘I want someone to laugh with and share my dreams with. Be in a relationship where you challenge each other and discover new things together, and learn about life. Tony is that person, Shane! I know he is. I knew that when we first met - when I interviewed him for that gallery. We were only supposed to meet for one afternoon, but I instantly knew we met for life.’

  Vera paused. Suddenly she was crying. Shane passed her a paper napkin. She wiped her tears away.

  ‘As you can see,’ she continued - and she looked at him again with pain written all over her face - ‘I can’t just give up and no … I’m not going to just forget about him.’

  Shane leant forward, clearly touched by what she’d said. He handed her her glass and Vera sipped champagne through the tears.

  ‘If that’s the case, sweetie, why did you end it with him? And why don’t you just call him and tell him that you still have feelings for him, instead of torturing yourself, me, and everyone else with this breakup?’

  ‘Don’t you see that if I did that, then he’d know that he’s got me where he wants me!’ She raised her voice and spoke faster. ‘I’d never to be able to convince him to take our relationship to another level. But if I don’t contact him, he will eventually realize that he misses me, and he will come back, I know he will!’

  Explaining this to Shane, and not for the first time, was exhausting.

  ‘Don’t play games, Vera, not with your happiness,’ he said firmly. ‘For all you know he could be dating someone else already, thinking that you never cared about him. If you really want him, you have to call him and tell him that you’ve made a mistake. Tell him how you really feel.’

  The idea of Tony dating someone else put the fear of God in Vera. Shane sounded incredibly mature, and she knew he only had her best interests at heart. But deep down Vera was convinced that her way of handling this situation was the best, and no one could change her mind.

  ‘I’m not going to call him. I’m sticking to my plan!’ she said, and then blew her nose in the napkin.

  ‘Gross,’ Shane commented. ‘Can’t you do that in the bathroom?’

  ‘Okay,’ she replied, and quietly and dutifully left the table.

  When she came back, Shane was at the bar chatting up the waiter. After she sat back down on the sofa she didn’t call him over, she let him have his fun. But when he saw her again, he quickly returned to the table.

  ‘I see you’re not wasting time,’ she said.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ he asked her.

  ‘Sort of,’ she answered, not wanting to go into any more details. ‘So tell me about him ...’ she urged with a faint smile, indicating the waiter.

  ‘His name is Milan,’ Shane whispered in her ear, all excited, ‘and he’s from the Czech Republic.’

  ‘With a name like that, shouldn’t he be Italian?’ Vera turned around and looked at the barman. He had dark hair, brown eyes and was quite tanned; he looked rather Mediterranean. Shane watched her looking at Milan.

  ‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ he blurted, excitedly.

  Vera nodded her head in a
pproval.

  ‘There’s no denying that he’s handsome,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you ask him out tomorrow lunch time? And then you can come to mine in the evening and tell me all about how it went.’ Vera thought that perhaps getting Shane into a romantic mood would help him understand the anxiety she felt over her breakup with Tony.

  ‘I can’t. I’m going back to Dublin tomorrow, just for a day, to see my mum. Do you want to come with me?’ he asked.

  Vera looked at him, rolled her eyes and fidgeted.

  ‘Are you kidding? You know I can’t fly,’ she said, flustered.

  ‘Well, maybe it’s time to do something about that, Vera. There’s no better way than taking a short flight with me on board as your personal safety crew.’

  But Vera started shaking uncontrollably. The thought of flying - even with her both feet firmly placed on the ground right now - made her uneasy. And the thought of Shane being responsible for the safety of at least one hundred people somehow scared the life out of her. It was not the first time he’d try to convince her to get over her fear. They had been here before, and she’d told him many times that it was pointless. But he seemed persistent and wouldn’t give up.

  ‘Shane, it would be more trouble than it’s worth,’ she said, remembering what happened when she was last on board a plane. In her mid-twenties she had spontaneously decided to visit her aunt who lived in the south of France, and a week later boarded a plane to Nice from Luton airport. As soon as she sat in her seat, the thought of going up into the sky terrified her and she knew she couldn’t do it, but the door of the aircraft had already been closed. She panicked, and shouted to the air stewardess that she wanted to get off. The stewardess then fed the news through to the cockpit, but by then the plane was already taxying along the runway. The pilot had to request permission from traffic control to go back to the gate. Vera remembered getting off, to many sniggers and laughs, and recalled the terrible embarrassment she felt. She also later imagined the departures board in the main terminal:

  Barcelona: gate closed

  Moscow: taxied at 13.31 hours

  Nice: delayed, unusual activity observed on the runway …

  After that day she decided that she wouldn’t put herself through that horror again. Not in the near future, anyway. But maybe when she and Tony got back together … who knew? She tried to find an excuse, and all this time Shane was still looking at her awaiting her answer.

  ‘You go and enjoy yourself, and send my regards to your mum,’ she finally said.

  ‘Ok, sweetie, let’s leave it at that.’ Again Shane had to resign himself to the fact that getting her on board was still ‘mission impossible’. ‘Should we have another drink?’ he then asked, swiftly changing the subject.

  ‘Why not?’ she answered.

  Suddenly it didn’t matter if he understood her heartbreak, her need to connect with Astrid, or even the situation with flying. They had a few more drinks and a couple of hours later they left the bar, arms linked, singing into the night, and feeling good about themselves, their friendship, and their considerable drunkenness.

  CHAPTER 2

  A night out with Shane always ended in one of two ways: either he found some gorgeous guy and booked Vera an early cab home for a night of TV repeats of Family Guy, or they’d spend the evening getting drunk together so she’d always look and feel like shit the following morning. Last night was the latter of the two, and this morning she was indeed feeling terrible. Her submission deadline for the article about the food festival was fast approaching, so there was no time left to sleep off a hangover in bed - she had to complete it today. But when she started writing about Cornish pasties she felt considerably worse. Any other day the thought of them (or any sort of food) would make her mouth water, but right now it made her feel queasy.

  She tried hard to concentrate, but the headache and the dodgy stomach was not making this an easy task at all. At one stage Vera went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and scanned it for Lucozade; there wasn’t any. So she was resigned to the fact that unless she dragged her feet to an express supermarket outside her apartment, she was stuck with a bottle of still water that had been open for at least two days. Clenching it in her hand on the way back to the living room, Vera walked past the big mirror in the hall and stopped to see her own reflection. She didn’t like what she saw. Her long dark hair was flat and greasy at the top, and she thought that she really needed to change the style. She’d been sporting this do for over a decade, and now she pondered if a few blonde highlights would brighten up her face, but she needed to find a good hairdresser first. She instantly though about Shane’s friend - he worked in a posh saloon in Mayfair and did Gwyneth Paltrow’s hair when she was in town. Then her eyes wondered from her hair to her face. She was still wearing make-up from last night – correction – the remains of the make-up she wore last night, with the addition of dark rings under her lower lashes. Her lips were slightly chapped and unusually pink - the effect of her lipstick getting under the dry skin. Her green eyes lacked sparkle and looked almost grey.

  She had committed the cardinal sin against beauty - not taking her make-up off before going to bed, and realized that on top of that, the alcohol had opened her pores. She examined her completion and speculated that she’d need at least three separate beauty treatments to get them back to the desirable size. Then she stood sideways on and tried to breathe in to make her bloated stomach look thinner. Then, out of the blue, when she was still standing in front of the mirror, she heard a familiar beep coming from her phone: she had a text message. Her heart jumped. It could be Tony! She had almost forgotten about him! Vera instantly forgot how bad she felt and ran to the phone with her heart racing. She was hoping to see Tony’s name on her phone, instead she saw Shane’s. She pressed the button and read the message without any of the feeling of enthusiasm she felt only seconds earlier: Turned up late for my flight. Have to take another in an hour. Feelin' fucking shite! Serious drooth. I’m blaming you and your stupid ex. Important: You have a hair appointment with Alban tomorrow at Muse at 5.00pm.

  Vera laughed out loud. The cheek of him! She had a momentary feeling of joy and relief that she wasn’t in his shoes and didn’t have to leave the house today, but then her stomach made a noise, clearly demanding a fizzy, sugary drink. She put the phone back on the desk, slowly sat back at the computer, and pondered whether she should go to the shop. After she’d made up her mind, reluctantly she got up and went to the corridor to put on a pair of trainers. Her new pair of Sophia Webster’s were lying on the floor among many other pairs scattered in front of the shoe cupboard. She walked through the mess and grabbed her trench coat. In the foyer, one of her neighbors handed her some mail - amongst the bills there was a letter from Emma.

  CHAPTER 3

  Howdy! (The letter read.)

  How are you? I hope you’re well. I’m so sorry for the very late reply! You won’t believe the things that have happened since my last letter.

  Emma then described in great detail exactly what had been happening in her life, and Vera smiled and sympathized as she read. But then Emma acknowledged her waffling, and asked about Vera.

  So much for my stories. (Emma continued.) I’m dying to hear about you though? Are you back with Tony yet? Or still sticking to ‘no contact’? Did you read that book on manifesting? I believe this stuff a hundred percent. And I believe Vera honey, that you and Tony will get back together, if it’s what you both want. It is still what you want, isn’t it? And please, stay away from snooper-netting. It won’t do you any good darling. Even the most obvious things you see online can be staged, especially on social networking sites.

  Gotta go now, babe! Make sure you write back soon to update me on what’s happening your end. We’re going on holiday to Bali next month, so please get back as soon as you can, so I can get your letter before we’ll leave.

  Look after yourself,

  Em

  P.S. With all that went on, I haven’t had the time to make a c
opy of that picture of you and Tony you asked me to send. I will post it to you in my next letter, promise!

  Vera put the paper back in the envelope. Emma was so lovely and compassionate, and the only person who seemed to understand that Tony and her were meant to be. When Vera talked about Tony these days, everyone else looked at her as if she was a complete nutter. But not Emma. She was supportive and carrying - no wonder she’d chosen a career in teaching. She’d also always advised Vera to follow her heart.

  Vera never expected that their friendship would last so long. As a seventeen-year-old teenager she’d responded to Emma’s pen pal request from Teletext - she wasn’t even looking for a pen pal - she was just intrigued about someone who lived so far away. They were both the same age and both in high school. Three years later, they went off to their respective universities and she thought that they’d lose touch, but it turned out that there was even more to talk about. Their friendship continued after they graduated and both got their first serious jobs - and even when Emma got married and had her kids. And, against all odds, even now, when their lives couldn’t have been more different, it was still going strong.

  Despite the development of digital technology - Facebook, Twitter and other online networking sites - they had never changed the way they kept in touch. When Skype was first launched they made a decision not to use that either, and instead agreed that one day they would meet in person. But that was easier said than done. Shortly after Emma got her U.K. visa, and was about to come to teach at the primary school in Gospel Oak, she met Matt, fell in love, and decided to stay put. Then Leanne was born, and Lucas soon after. As for Vera, she would have loved to have visited Australia, but her fear of flying prevented her from doing so. And so they continued to write.

  To Vera, their friendship was special, and she was sure Emma felt the same. Every time a letter from Australia arrived, it would make her day. She treasured it almost as much as the things she kept in the middle drawer of her dresser: the vintage Omega watch her dad bought for her mum in Switzerland in the eighties, two pairs of designer sunglasses, her first Marc Jacobs wallet, her maternal nana’s gold engagement ring with a black pearl, a Chanel bag with a gold chain, and the diaries she wrote in her teens …