‘I mean, look at this. Hire of bicicletas in Maria Luisa Park. How the hell is that tax-deductible?’
‘Research, isn’t it? Needed the experience. And they’re not normal bicycles - they’re four-wheeled cyclos… lovely way of exploring the park and such a laugh. Have to take you one day.’
‘Yeah, but where d’you draw the line? You could put absolutely anything down - the cost of the experience of buying loo rolls, the cost of committing a crime and paying bail…’
‘Fair wear and tear on my mind and emotional well-being. You’re right, my whole life is just one big tax-deductible expense,’ he said. I groaned. ‘But the cyclo receipt shouldn’t really be there, I just had to keep it…’ He tapped at his Blackberry and held it out in front of me. A little film of him and Nando laughing like schoolboys on a tractor-size bike.
‘Oh my God, that’s so sweet.’
‘Sweet? D’you mind? This is hopefully the love of my life you’re talking about here.’ My phone rang. ‘And that’s probably yours.’ He picked up my mug and went over to the kettle, mumble-singing an old Chambao song involving a bicicleta.
‘Hola! Qué tal?’ I asked. I was aching from sitting on the floor, stood up and stretched. ‘Javi?’
‘Your voice…’
‘Well who else’s did you expect to hear, hombre? Hey, forgot to tell you, I’ve moved my Friday pupils so now I can turn up about the time you get back from the school.’
I thought he said ‘good’.
‘Can’t hear you very well.’ A pause. It sounded like we’d been cut off. ‘You still there?’
‘Listen, Yoli… you know how much I love you…’
A rush of pleasure. ‘Yes, and I—’
‘Remember this, because… Dios…’ He seemed out of breath.
‘Are you alright?’
He sighed. ‘Is difficult but…’ I couldn’t catch the rest; maybe it was in Spanish. A pause. Then suddenly he was almost shouting at me. ‘Entiendes, Yoli?’
‘No, what’s the—’
‘Is mistake… no sé cómo… too much wine…’
‘So now you’ve got a migraine. Have you—’
‘No, no! Violeta… pasó la noche aquí!’ He started sobbing.
Cold ice through the veins. But I wasn’t ready to believe it. Not of Javi. She’d spent the night - but surely on the sofa. Now he was going on, saying something about how she’d tricked him, taken him back in time… How sorry he was. How sorry she was.
But still I hoped. ‘You…’
More crying, more sorrys. ‘Did you…?’
Silence.
Then almost a whisper, but a sickening blow that pushed me onto the sofa. The rest was incoherent, or maybe I just couldn’t follow it.
I took my mobile from my ear and looked at it. I could snap-close the sobbing, but how could I get rid of the hundreds of texts, the hours of warmth and laughter I’d had with it in my hand?
‘No!’ The phone shattering on the floor. The sobbing transferring to me. Jeremy asking me something.
He picked up the phone. ‘Javi?’ He put it down again and grabbed his own.
‘Don’t!’ I said, but he was speaking to him in Spanish, listening, pulling me over.
‘He loves you, he made a mistake… come on.’ He tried to put the phone to my ear but I pushed it away. ‘Yol! He’s hurting as much as you are.’
‘How can he be, the filthy bastard!’
He took my shoulders. ‘Well he is. Just listen to him. He’s still Javi.’
I grabbed the phone. ‘Why? Why did you have to ruin everything!’
‘I don’t want that… Yoli I’m sorry, I’m sorry… never again… Please, nothing changes for me, I still only want you.’
Still Javi.
‘Yoli?’
How many times had I been through this? The pointless screaming and unanswerable questions. ‘I need some time… I can’t talk now.’
‘I understand. Tell Jeremy that I say to give you hug for me.’
His hugs.
‘Can I call you later?’ he asked. ‘When do you—’
‘No… I’ll call you.’
‘Today?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I am home all day.’ I imagined him tidying up the apartment, the bedroom… ‘I am busy… moving things… to make better for us the music room.’
The music room. On Friday night I could still be there, I thought, still trying to forgive - as I would for who knows how long - but there. My throat tightened again. ‘Yes.’
‘I love you Yoli.’
I put down the phone. Jeremy put his arms round me, started to say how surely I could see this was nothing like what David had done, how having been married all those years it would have been easy to have…
‘Gone back in time, yes, that’s what he said, but…’
‘Specially as he was feeling… vulnerable.’
‘What?’
‘Well, about you being out with a wealthy ex-boyfriend.’
I sat up. ‘So you think this is my fault?’
‘Of course not, but—’
‘No, that’s exactly what you’re saying. Bloody hell, I don’t deserve this! Fuck you both!’
‘Yol—’
‘I need to be on my own,’ I said, shaking him off and going into the hall. But I’d left my keys in his flat, and anyway, did I really want to cry on my bed, yet again… I opened the front door and started striding down the street.
But Jeremy dashed out after me and took my arm firmly, his other round my waist. ‘You’re not going for a walk in this state.’
I let him take me back to my flat, make me a hot chocolate. We sat down and talked it through until instead of dwelling on what Javi had done, we were trying to work out why. I told him how I’d looked after a drunken Javi that first night, and about what had happened with Nuria. Jeremy thought he was insecure about me.
‘Think, have you ever actually told him that you want to live with him there?’
‘Er… perhaps not exactly, but…’
‘Maybe he doesn’t believe that you’ll ever move away from your Trio, the theatres—’
‘And you. Yes, I see what you mean. But that’s no bloody excuse for—’
‘Of course not, but it might make him more susceptible…’
‘Well I’m in no mind to give him any reassurance now.’
‘No, you need some time.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Can you face some lunch? I booked the window table at the Narrow Boat and we could still make it.’
I shrugged.
‘Come on then.’
We crossed the road, walked down the side street towards the canal. He yanked me out of the cycle lane as we heard a ting-ting behind us. A bike whizzed past.
‘Careful, Yol. The Maria Luisa Park this is not.’
‘No. Damn things. Healthy for them but bloody stressful for everyone else.’
We took the steps down to the canal.
‘Quiet, isn’t it? Suppose everyone’s gone off for the long weekend. Shame it’s not always like this,’ he said. We walked on, past our favourite barge and the fish-shaped seats. ‘You’ll have to bring Nando down here when it’s quiet during the week.’
‘I’ve told you, I’ll be working.’
‘Not on the Monday. You could have lunch.’
‘I’ve got other things to do than entertain him.’ It came out rather too harshly, but… bloody Spanish men. Bloody flamenco men: all passion and tenderness, then floating off as easily as the untamed melody over those strangely shifting chords.
Jeremy was looking at me. ‘I want you and Nando to be friends, Yol. I thought you were. But sometimes you seem a bit—’
‘Of course I am… we are. It’s just that I don’t want to spend too much time… I mean, even after all this - especially after this - I don’t want to upset Javi.’
‘No.’ He stopped, looked pensive for a moment.
‘Come on, we’ll be late,’ I said. But we couldn’t mov
e on; a couple of bikes were coming down the path, we had to wait before going under the bridge.
‘Yol, don’t get cross with me but… tell me the truth, did you—’
‘Of course I fancied him. Who wouldn’t?’
‘But it was more than that… you fell for him, didn’t you.’
‘Well a bit, as I owned up to at the time, but that was before Javi.’
‘Yes but… if you’re still in love with him—’
‘Oh for God’s sake Jeremy,’ I said, turning from him and walking on.
And then… it’s blurred. Not that I can’t remember what happened. But mostly I live with the sounds: ting-ting, shouting, screaming, the rip of my blouse as Jeremy grabbed my arm, a monstrous bang and whirring.
The whack of Jeremy’s head hitting the wall.
Chapter 22
mente f mind
Pavlova, call Emma, things into bag, get back. Maybe bath. Oh, and speak Duncan. And… something else possibly the most important - but what? Thinking difficult, should have written it down… but not easy either. I scanned his room for ideas… just as I closed my eyes on it the phone flashed at me. That’s it. Charge the Blackberry. I went through to the bedroom, connected it on the bedside table. Next to his pillow. Where his head goes. His head. I put my head where his head… just a few minutes… because got to get back…
‘I take it you haven’t eaten?’
I opened my eyes, almost expecting to see him leaning against the door frame. Found myself in front of the fridge. The moussaka we’d been going to have for dinner. Energy that might push me onwards through this strange new thick-aired world. But in a heavy thing that Ginny had bought. No way I’d get it out with one hand. With one eye, too: the other one had clouded over again. No, fuck, I can do this. I pulled the dish to the edge of the shelf, knelt down on my usable knee. But then reminded myself that it was real, three-dimensional; Jeremy would hate the mess and the waste. Even though he’d never see it.
I got up, closed the fridge. Tried to remember what I was doing. Needed to sit on the sofa to work it out. Looked at my knee. A schoolgirl playground knee, that’s what he’d called it when I’d slipped off the low wall at the beach in Cádiz… The flat turned watery. Can’t think of that now. Can’t think of anything now, just what I’ve got to do. Come on. Duncan, phone, food. Duncan? Why. Or maybe to do with the food and the phone. Perhaps he can help. I picked it up and called him. No answer. But then of course not, he was at work. It had been Sunday for a long time, but now it wasn’t.
Monday. I should be cleaning, ironing. Jeremy should be writing, telling me to leave the hoovering. I considered picking the receipts and bits of broken phone off the floor. But what was the point? And I needed to get back.
‘You need to eat, Yol.’ Still bossing me about. Hopefully always would.
Back to the fridge. Tomatoes. Strawberries. Too many red things. I closed it again.
Back to the bedroom. The Blackberry gratefully taking on energy.
Back to the kitchen. Got into the Ginger Thins with my teeth.
Back to the Blackberry. How long would it take? Maybe bath while waiting. But even then, would I be able to…? I had to. Somebody, anybody, would have to show me how. If there was anything I could do to make a difference, anything at all, please God, I had to do it.
Then the phone rang. I’d already ignored it twice: Andrew, the Winchester festival woman. But this time I made my way purposefully through the thick-air and picked it up.
‘Jeremy.’ I kissed his forehead, combed the blooded hair with my fingers.
Still. Except for the breathing that he wasn’t doing himself. But he may be able to hear you and feel your hand.
‘That’s it, you have a good sleep. You’re still beautiful, just two little holes to let out the bruise-blood. The doctor said it all went really well. And the crack will mend. Now you’ve just got to rest and get better.’
Silence. A brief two-tone bleeping I’d been told not to worry about, the nurse calmly changing a bag.
‘And you really need to. I’ve brought something to remind you why.’ I pulled out the Blackberry, tapped at it as the taxi driver had shown me and played the bicicleta film quietly in his ear. I put my head by his and could just hear Nando’s rapid Spanish, Jeremy’s protestations, the excited whooping as they sped away.
A twitch of an eyelid.
‘Yes, you twitch away, because guess what, he’s coming to see you. He’ll be here in about five hours’ time. But don’t worry, you don’t have to be awake, he’ll be here tomorrow too, and Wednesday morning. He loves you Jeremy, he really does. I can tell.’ I took a deep breath. ‘Almost as much as I do.’
I stopped. He mustn’t hear a whine in my voice. I quietly wiped my nose.
‘You should have heard us trying to communicate about broken heads and pipes. But I’ve got my dictionary with me and when he calls from the airport I’ll try and do better.’
The nurse tapped me on the shoulder.
‘See you later Jeremy, I’m off to the coffee shop. I’ll have one of those gross toffee-chocolate things for you.’ I kissed his forehead. Found a cool, smooth hand under the blanket and kissed that too. Walked into the corridor and let the tears stream. Let the angel-like Irish nurse take me into the interview room with its boxes of tissues and tell me how well he was doing.
I went down to the cafe and waited. It wasn’t the one that did the toffee-chocolate thing - that was in the other hospital. Where Jeremy had looked like he just had a simple fracture and would soon be home. Until I’d gone to visit him, panicked on finding his bed empty, and been told that he’d had an emergency transfer here.
I started to feel sick again, but the vomiting in sympathy had to stop - another order into my head from Jeremy. I picked up a cereal bar and ordered a drink, sat down on a squishy sofa that threatened to drag me down into sleep. Got out the dictionary and struggled to look up some words…
Eventually the call came. I told him all I knew. He listened, asked questions. Not all of which I could answer. But I told him how Jeremy’s eyelid had twitched when I’d played him the sounds of him and Jeremy in the park. He couldn’t reply for some time, then said he’d find me in the cafe, I should try to sleep. To do that I needed to stop Jeremy’s phone buzzing in my pocket; I spoke to a shocked Andrew and asked him to deal with the Winchester woman, called a tearful Emma and gave her Kirsty’s number and those of my pupils. Then sank back into the sofa and was soon dreaming of being on Jeremy’s, cuddling up with him and watching Strictly Ballroom…
He’d sat down next to me, and was pushing stray hair and a soap-sticky plait off my face.
‘Ay, pobrecita, you not say,’ he said, looking at my injuries.
‘I’m fine, it’s a nuisance that’s all.’
‘I can help you now. And Jeremy, how he is? When we see him?’
I looked at my watch. ‘Soon. They said seven o’clock.’
‘Okay. We eat something, have to be… strong for him, no?’
I looked over at the sandwich display. It went double. I got out a tissue and removed a jelly slick from my eye.
‘They not give…’ He made a cover shape with his hand.
‘Only for one day. I’ve got some drops but I can’t get the top off.’
‘Dámelas.’
I got them out of my bag. He made me put my head back on the arm of the sofa, leant over me - like he had done before… but that all seemed so long ago.
‘Abre.’
‘That’s as open as it goes.’
He pulled down my lower lid and squeezed in the cold drop. I squealed. Briefly heard myself laugh.
‘We do… four every day,’ he said, examining the box.
People were looking over, seeing an intimate couple rather than two people who loved the same man.
We ate our sandwiches, I asked about the show. Almost like nothing was wrong, and nothing wrong had ever happened between us.
Then at half six, when we were count
ing the minutes, the Blackberry rang in my pocket. ‘Yolande? It’s Deirdre in ICU. D’you want to come now? He’s started to come round.’
‘Yes!’ I said, and closed the phone. ‘He’s waking up.’ We grin-wept at each other and picked up our things, linked arms as we walked towards the lift.
We reached the buzzer and I warned him of a wait, but Deirdre opened it almost immediately.
‘We took the tube out - he wasn’t tolerating it - and couldn’t work out what he was trying to say, over and over, something like “you’re…”,’ she said, beaming. ‘And then I suddenly got it, didn’t I? I said to him, “Yolande?” and he nodded.’
Nando squeezed my arm. ‘Oh no, I’ve got to stop this,’ I said, grabbing a tissue. ‘Mustn’t see me crying.’
‘No. And he’s still very drowsy and needs a lot of rest. Just a few minutes - perhaps just you at first and then your friend.’
The antibacterial stuff. The plastic aprons. ‘Okay. Do I look alright? Don’t look weepy, I mean.’
‘You’re fine. Go and see him. He’ll be asleep but if you talk to him he’ll open his eyes. Keep it simple, he’s still very confused, and just a few minutes, remember.’
He looked calm, beautiful. The pain gone. But hopefully not too much Jeremy gone, or not forever. I sat down next to him, took the hand without the wires. ‘Jeremy?’ A whisper, not wanting to alarm his bruised mind.
He opened his eyes. A slightly delayed recognition, or perhaps just unsure as to whether I was real or not. A weak smile. ‘Yol.’ He squeezed my hand. ‘You’re-right?’
‘Of course. How are you feeling?’
‘Mm. But…’ He nodded at my bound hand. ‘Middle one’s broken. But it’ll be okay.’
‘Come-ere.’ I shuffled to the edge of the chair and leaned forward, a bit worried about the wires. ‘No, here.’ I stood up and put my face in front of his. Smiled. Desperately tried not to cry. ‘Eye?’
‘Just a scratch.’
‘Wha’ been doing?’
Oh God. He obviously didn’t remember. I should have asked Deirdre what to say. ‘Um… well, you and I had a bit of an accident. But we’re all okay.’ He looked puzzled for a moment. Then weary, as if trying to remember was a strain. ‘You just need to rest and get better.’ I kissed his forehead, his cheeks. ‘And you’ve got another visitor. Nando’s here.’
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