He dropped the mike and walked off stage, looking wobbly on his legs. I saw him pick up his pint and down it in one, hands still shaking, as he came towards us.
‘Why’s Mike on the floor?’ he said.
‘He’s pissed, or hopefully dead,’ I answered, booting Mike under the table to stop him contradicting me.
‘Oh. Right. I know that was awful, Sal. Singing is not one of my skills. But I meant it. Every word. I’m going to get Jake now, and we’ll be off early in the morning. You know where I am if you change your mind.’
I looked up at him and shook my head slightly. No going back. I’d made my decision, and all I craved now were the predictable rhythms of my old life coming back to me. I needed to heal, and move on, and stay safe. I couldn’t do that with him, no matter how much he meant it.
‘I’m sorry, James, I really am. But I won’t be changing my mind. I’m going back to my real life.’
He nodded once, said a curt goodbye to the others, and left, marching a little unsteadily towards the kids’ club. I felt a sickening lurch spread through my stomach. This might be the last time I ever saw him. Was I making the right choice? I never even wanted a choice. Why was life so fucking complicated?
I stood up and grabbed my handbag. It was time to go. I was tired. And sad. And worried that if I drank too much, I’d climb through James’s bedroom window in the middle of the night.
I headed back to our room through the darkened gardens, staring at my feet, lost in thought. My brain was hurting, which didn’t seem fair as I wasn’t even drunk.
I stopped and blinked when I realised there was somebody else in the garden with me. I could hear footsteps, and panting. I looked up and around. My mental health must be worse than I thought – there was a pair of fluorescent pink hands flying towards me in the dark. And a shiny pink head darting from left to right. Neither was attached to a body.
They were bobbing around in the blackness, like someone had chopped them off and attached them to strings. Yikes. Maybe Mehmet had taken the party-night cocktails to new extremes and started spiking them with acid.
The creepy head and the hands came nearer, and I realised they were in fact attached to Simon. He was dashing around like a parrot with its tail on fire, zigzagging through the trees, high-stepping for speed. His body was in darkness, but his head and hands were completely fluorescent. I could hear him screaming ‘Stop it! Leave me alone! It wasn’t what it looked like!’ as he ran.
Lucy was chasing him, shooting jets of pink spray from her aerosol, calling him names that would make a docker blush. When the stream of spray slowed to a jerky trickle, she threw the can viciously at his head. It crunched between his eyes and he fell to the ground, where she kicked him, hard, in the balls. He clasped his hands to his groin, leaving giant pink finger marks all over the crotch of his shorts.
‘You fucking unbelievable bastard!’ she said, going in for another kick. I grabbed hold of her arms and tugged her back, her legs dragging along the floor as she shouted obscenities at him. Simon stayed where he was, snivelling and wiping at his eyes with the corner of his T-shirt.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Calm down and tell me!’ I held her face steady in my hands so she was forced to look at me.
‘Him. I found him with Heather, that pneumatic tennis bitch. And he wasn’t practising his fucking serve!’
She tried to break free to get at him again, but I managed to keep hold of one arm and pull her back.
‘It wasn’t what it looked like!’ shouted Simon miserably, who’d struggled upright. He had two round white patches on his face where he’d managed to wipe his eyes. They stared out, blue and watery with tears. The rest of his head – including all his hair – was solid pink.
‘Really?’ she yelled back. ‘You had your hand up her skirt and your tongue down her fucking throat. What was it then?’
‘I…I…’ he stuttered. His brain couldn’t think up a lie fast enough, which was unlike him.
‘Lucy,’ I said firmly, ‘leave us alone.’
She scowled, and kicked a big clod of grass up with her Converse, then skulked away. Every now and then she looked back and stared at him over her shoulder. He winced every time.
I sat down next to him, passing him a tissue so he could wipe some of the spray from his face. He scrubbed away at it, but it was already dried on.
‘Okay, Simon. Time to be honest. I won’t kick you in the balls again, I promise. But I have to know. We’ve not made any commitment to each other yet, so you can still get away with this one. But don’t lie to me, or I’ll chop them off.’
He stared off into the night for a moment. His luminous head was glowing in the dark. He sighed and his pink shoulders sagged lower.
‘I did…kiss her. I was drunk and happy and she’s always so sweet to me and tells me how good I am at tennis. Which sounds so pathetic now I’m saying it out loud. I didn’t plan it. I was only going back to the room, and she was there, on the way to hers, and…God, Sal. Lucy’s right. I’m just an arsehole. But I’ve felt so bad about myself since we’ve been here. Since he’s been here. I know you’ve said you’ll think about us trying again, but you don’t really want to, do you?
‘I know you’re fond of me, but you jump away every time I try and touch you. And I see the way you look at him. You still want him, more than you want me. I’m never going to win, no matter how much we both try. We’ll just end up friends who sleep next to each other. That’s not enough for me, even if it is for you. I don’t want to be second best, my ego’s not tolerant enough. I’m so sorry. Do you understand?’
I stood up and looked down at his face, shining up at me like a wide pink moon. His glowing hands were gripping his knees, and he was crying again. I recalled how easy it had been to snog a random cabbie after a few drinks, and how little it had actually meant to me. Recalled kissing James in these very gardens just nights ago. Was I really in a position to judge?
‘Yes. I think I do understand,’ I said. ‘And maybe you’re right. But I wish you’d held it together till we’d got home. Now I’m going to have to sit next to you on the plane looking like that. And Simon? I was lying.’
‘About what?’
‘About this.’
I left him groaning in the grass, and walked off to the stairs feeling very odd indeed. Satisfied with the kick, hurt at his betrayal, and overwhelmingly relieved that it was finally all over. That Simon’s natural inclinations had stopped me from making the wrong choice. Saved by the bell-end.
Lucy was waiting for me in the doorway.
‘I saw that,’ she said, ‘nice one. He won’t be pissing straight for days. Look, Mum – you’ve got to get rid of him. I know you’ve been thinking of taking him back, but you can’t.’
‘And why not?’ I said, letting us both into our room. ‘You just can’t bear the thought of him living in our house again.’
‘That’s not true! I’m off to Liverpool next month, and I’ll have better things to do with my spare time than visit you losers! How selfish do you think I am, anyway?’
‘Do you really want me to answer that?’ I said. She glared at me, stormed off into her own room, and slammed the door behind her.
‘I’m going out again!’ she yelled through. ‘I’ve got things to do – and you were a lot more fun when you were fucking James!’
Chapter 58
When I woke up the next morning, Simon’s long, pale body was stretched out on the bed, legs spread, one hand stuck down the front of his white boxer shorts. His head was still bright pink. He looked like a masturbating matchstick.
I felt an unexpected rush of warmth towards him as I watched his leg twitch, like a dog dreaming about rabbits. He might be a macho fuckwit incapable of keeping his penis in his pants, but he was right – I didn’t really want to try again. I was only doing it because I was a great big wuss using him as a human shield.
When I’d heard he’d been locking lips with Heather, I’d been angry and hurt. For about thirty
seconds. Because he didn’t have the power to hurt me any more – I didn’t care enough. I’m no expert on these things, but that didn’t seem like a solid basis for a life partnership.
I sat beside him on the bed and gave him a little shove.
He opened one eye, still bloodshot from Lucy’s attack. I smiled and gave him a quick kiss on one very pink cheek.
‘Hi,’ he said, ‘are you all right? You were dead to the world when I got up here last night. What time is it anyway? Am I still pink?’
‘It’s early, and yes, you are. Look, I want to thank you, Simon.’
He looked shocked, perplexed, and a little hopeful. I swear there was an extra twitch in the boxers as I said it. For goodness’ sake. Did they really never think about anything else?
‘For what?’
‘For being so good to me this last year. I wouldn’t have got through it without you. You saved me. But you were right last night – it’s not going to work. It wasn’t fair of me to lead you on, and there would always have been a Heather at some point down the line, wouldn’t there? We both deserve better than second best. So let’s call it quits and try and be friends. How does that sound?’
‘It sounds awful. And it’s not what I want. But you’re probably right, and I’ll try. But…what about him? Are you going back to him? Please be careful, Sal. Remember what he did to you last time.’
No need to ask who ‘him’ was, or why I needed to be careful.
As for whether I was going back to him…it was an excellent question. The one I’d stumble on in Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. I’d already tried the 50-50, and there wasn’t an audience.
Could I go back to him? Could I ever forgive him, or feel safe enough to try? It was easier to hate him.
But I knew, deep down, that Lucy was right. I was a lot more fun when I was fucking James. Because I’d been happy with him. I’d loved him. I still loved him.
If I didn’t even try to make it work, I’d be living life on half-power, always wondering how happy I could have been in a parallel universe. He’d made a mistake. A huge one. But he’d apologised a million times, and I’d never let myself listen. I’d sent him away last night as if he was peddling life insurance on the doorstep. As though he didn’t matter. He did matter, and if I let him walk away now, I’d be the one making a huge mistake.
I was a coward, and James had never been that. He’d tried to work things out with Lavender for the sake of his little boy. He’d told me he loved me over and over. He’d helped me deliver a baby. He’d sung on the bleeding karaoke. And still, I’d hardened myself to him, convinced myself that Simon was the safer bet. The better bet.
And that’s why I thanked Simon. For showing me how wrong I’d been, on all counts. Simon wasn’t a safe bet – and who wanted safe anyway? I wanted James.
I looked at my watch. I still had my nightshirt on. It was short and white and had patterns of tiny red Scotty dogs all over it. But who cared, really?
Without answering his question, I scooted to the door, opened it, and dashed out. I galloped barefoot down the stairs, jumping the last three and landing with a heel-jarring wallop on the concrete floor. I ran down the corridor, out into the gardens, and followed the path to reception.
Panting and exhausted, I ran inside. Tarkan stared at me, wild eyed and half dressed, and smiled cautiously.
‘You okay, Sally?’ he asked. I caught my breath and shook my head.
‘No. Yes. Maybe…have they gone?’
‘Have who gone?’
‘The Dublin people, of course!’ I yelled, angry at his lack of psychic powers.
He nodded, and looked nervous. I wondered if he kept a syringe full of elephant sedative behind the counter in case he needed to control crazy English chicks in Scotty-dog nighties.
‘Yes. A while ago. Their flight leaves in maybe one hour.’
Shit. I collapsed on to the floor of reception, feeling the cold stone chill against my thighs and spread all through me. He’d gone. And I wouldn’t blame him if he never spoke to me again. I was dimly aware of Tarkan dashing over and trying to lift me, then giving up and dropping me to the floor again. He ran out for help, looking terrified.
‘Sally! What’s up? What’s wrong?’ said a voice from the doorway.
Marcia. He’d found Marcia. She was always an early riser, needing to get a head start on her nicotine consumption. She lifted me up as though I weighed as much as a chihuahua and sat me down on the bench.
‘Are you ill?’ she said, feeling my forehead with the palm of her hand to see if I had a temperature.
‘No! But he’s gone!’ I wailed, tears rumbling up and erupting down my cheeks.
‘Oh. You mean James?’
‘Yes! Who else would I mean?’ I sobbed, which wasn’t quite fair.
She nodded her understanding, then grabbed Tarkan by the arm and shook him. The poor man had gone rigid with fear at all the female hysteria.
‘What time does their flight leave?’ she asked. When he didn’t reply, she shook him so hard his moustache wobbled.
‘In about forty minutes!’ he said, glancing at the clock.
‘Come on – we can make it,’ she said, pulling me to my bare feet and giving me a shake as well. It bloody hurt, and she left vivid red fingerprints in the flesh of my arms.
‘Sally, stop blubbering. And you, Tarkan, give me the keys to your motorbike. Move it, we haven’t got all day!’
He jumped like he’d been blasted with an electrified cattle plod, and fished around in his pockets. Marcia grabbed the keys from his hand, and dragged me outside to the courtyard.
‘Put this on!’ she said, thrusting the spare helmet into my hands. She straddled the bike, and stared back at me.
‘Well, get on. Do you want to see him or not?’
‘But I’ve got no pants on! And how are you going to drive this thing?’
‘Piece of cake – I used to be in the Hell’s Angels, you know. Leatherhead branch. Now come on!’
I climbed on, wincing slightly at the feel of cool leather on my overexposed nether regions, and grabbed hold of Marcia’s waist. The tyres spun and kicked up a dust cloud before we zoomed off and out into the road. We skidded, and swerved so low we almost came off. Hell’s Angels, my arse. The woman could barely ride. And she was probably pissed as well.
We flew along on to the main road to the airport, overtaking trucks, vans and possibly Formula One racing cars. There was a lot of honking of horns and swarthy Turkish lorry drivers leaning out of their cabs to get a better look, at both Marcia’s driving and my bare backside.
In the end we made it in under forty minutes instead of the usual hour and a half. Thanks to Evel fucking Knievel in front of me. Marcia skidded the bike to a screeching halt right outside the terminal.
‘Go on,’ she said, ‘I’ll wait for you.’ She pulled a packet of Gauloises out of her pocket and lit up. I saw the security guards eyeing her suspiciously and hoped she’d be okay. They had guns and everything.
I ran into the building, which was jam-packed with crispy-fried tourists waiting to go home. Everywhere I looked there were family groups like mine: bored teens, stressed mums, dads reading the sports pages. Babies crying. Toddlers screaming.
After several failed attempts at finding the right screen, I pushed my way to the front of a small crowd studying the departures board. One of them made noises like she was going to object, but took one look at my bare feet, Scotty dogs and fright wig and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble.
Dublin flight, Dublin flight, where the fuck are you? Manchester, Milan, Azerbai-effing-jan…where was Dublin? My eyes flickered over the list three times before I spotted it. My heart was racing as I scanned across the find-the-gate-number, even though I had no idea what I was going to do then. Scream my everlasting love from passport control? Tell the Customs guards he had a kilo of cocaine packed in his pants and get him strip-searched?
In the end I didn’t need to. Because there was no gate number. There w
as only one word: departed. It was gone. I was too late. I’d missed him, despite risking life, limb and a severe chill to the cheeks to make it.
I wandered through the crowds over to the viewing window. I squashed my face and hands against the glass, wondering if by some freaky coincidence his plane was out there, and whether he’d miraculously turn round and see me. Making pig faces and steaming up the window.
I had no idea which plane was his, and watched forlornly as they lined up to taxi down the runway. Next to me, a concerned mother shepherded her young child closer to her legs, away from the scary lady.
Well, I thought, turning back into the noise and bustle of the airport. That was the end of that stupid idea. I walked back towards the exit, noticing for the first time that my feet were bleeding. It didn’t hurt at all in comparison to the fierce ache in my heart, and the sense of depression that was settling on my shoulders.
I spotted Marcia in the car park. She was leaning against the bike, smoking a ciggie and drinking from a hip flask.
She looked up expectantly and I shook my head. She passed me the helmet and I got back on. Marcia was a woman who always knew when to stay quiet.
Tarkan was waiting for us when we got back, his dark eyes huge with worry. I thought he might cry with relief when Marcia handed him the keys back.
‘We need to go and get ready for our own flights, Sally. You tried. And if you want me to tell him that, I will.’
I nodded and hugged her, and started limping back towards my room. I saw Mike at the bar, reading a paperback and supping a refreshing morning pint of lager.
‘Aren’t you supposed to have gone home by now?’ I asked, sitting down opposite him. He looked up, assessing my sartorial state and raising an eyebrow.
‘I’m not going home,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to go back for just yet. Maybe ever. The business ticks over without me these days. Max doesn’t have to be at college till October. And Harry’s invited us to stay at the pub with him – so we are. What have you been up to? You look like you’ve been attacked by a flock of rabid seagulls.’
The Birthday That Changed Everything Page 29