by Rosie Walsh
Jo remained silent.
‘I mean, look at my career. It was never enough for her that I was a personal trainer. I’m quite certain she only subsidized my business because she wanted to tell people her partner ran a sports consultancy.’
Jo picked at her coat, until Tommy leaned over and stopped her.
‘Listen to me.’
‘Listening,’ Jo said gruffly.
After a moment Tommy laughed. ‘I can’t believe we’re having this conversation with Harrington in the room. This is . . . No offence, Harrington, but this is awful.’
‘No offence taken. And for what it’s worth, I think it’s lovely. If not a bit strange.’
Jo hadn’t yet relaxed. ‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s scary for me. I’ve . . . I’ve got more to lose than you.’
Tommy picked up one of her hands. ‘No, you haven’t. I . . . Oh, for God’s sake, will you look at me, you madwoman?’
Reluctantly, she looked.
‘I’m here , Jo. In this. With you.’
The adrenaline had wound down. Suddenly I was sitting in a room with my two oldest friends who were telling each other they were in love with each other, and suddenly it made perfect sense. I thought back to those months we all had together in California and wondered why I’d never thought about it before. Those two spent hours together, they went on trips, they surfed, they mixed hideous cocktails in Tommy’s parents’ garage. Perhaps I hadn’t seen it because I’d been too deeply buried by grief and guilt. Or perhaps it was simply because I couldn’t think of a less likely match than these two people. But love didn’t work like that, as I’d come to realize. Here they were, sneaking around: clumsy, helpless, vulnerable. In love and unable to do anything other than be together, in spite of the risks.
‘Well,’ I said slowly. I smiled, and my smile turned into a yawn. ‘This is going to take a while. But I’m happy.’
Jo stared down at Tommy’s hand, folded tightly around her own. ‘That’s what I want, too,’ she said. ‘To be happy. That’s all I care about these days.’
My heart cramped. Jo never spoke like this.
I wasn’t anywhere near warm enough, sitting in just my running shorts and vest, but in that second I wanted this moment to go on and on. I loved these two people. Loved that they loved each other in ways I’d never know. Loved that they’d been so desperate to see each other they’d smuggled Jo in here after I’d gone to bed.
‘I’m going to have to go and finish my packing,’ I said. ‘I wish I could stay.’
‘OK.’ Tommy yawned as I pushed back my stool. ‘ Although . . . Sarah. I have to ask. Do we need to worry about you?’
‘I . . .’ My voice trailed off. ‘I have kind of scared myself a bit lately.’
‘Us too,’ Jo said. ‘You’ve been pretty weird, babe.’
‘I assume you know about the football?’
She nodded.
I raked my hands through my hair. ‘When I walked into that changing room, I had a horrible moment of realization. It was like I was finally back in my own skin. And I was scared.’
Jo said, ‘Maybe you should go and talk to one of them therapists.’
Ferapists. I smiled. ‘Maybe. There’s no shortage of them in LA.’
Tommy’s eyebrows softened. ‘You’ve never done anything unbalanced like this before,’ he said. ‘Remember that.’
‘But maybe that’s because I didn’t own a mobile phone when I met Reuben. Maybe it’s because the Internet barely existed back then.’
‘No – you’re not crazy, Sarah. If even half what you’ve told us is true, Eddie should have called you.’
I walked round the kitchen island and hugged them both. My friends, the lovers. ‘Thank you, my dear Tommy, my dear Jo. Thank you for not deserting me.’
‘You’re my closest friend,’ Tommy said. ‘Aside from Jo,’ he added quickly.
They were still there when I reappeared forty minutes later with my suitcase. Eating toast made of sliced white bread, the sort Zoe would never tolerate. They looked like they’d been together for years.
I parked my suitcase by the door. ‘Right, then. ’
Tommy stood up. ‘Hey, look, Harrington. One last thing before you go. I . . . well, I have to say, I’m still suspicious about Eddie.’
‘Oh, you and me both, Tommy. You and me both.’
He paused. ‘I just . . . It just seems like an enormous coincidence that you met him in that place, at that time.’
A bird tried its first woolly song in the tree outside Zoe’s flat.
‘What do you mean? Do you know something I don’t?’
‘Of course not! I just mean, think about what you were doing the day you met him. Marking the anniversary of the accident, walking along Broad Ride. I think you need to ask yourself why Eddie was there, too. On that day, of all days.’ His eyebrows had taken on a life of their own. ‘Has he got something to hide?’
‘Of course he . . . No. No, Tommy.’
I gave the idea a minute or two of my time and then dismissed it entirely. There was no way. No way on earth.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dear Eddie,
I’m writing to say I’m sorry.
I ignored all of your signals and instead I bombarded you. I should never have written, and I should never have called you. And I certainly should never have turned up at your football match last night. (I’m guessing you’ve been told.) I cannot tell you how embarrassed I am. I know it won’t make any difference to anything now, but the tiny speck of pride I still possess urges me to tell you I really don’t behave like that normally.
For reasons I don’t fully understand, our meeting and your subsequent silence seem to have brought up a lot of old feelings connected to the car accident I was in nineteen years ago. I think that’s contributed to my insane behaviour.
I’m at Heathrow, about to board a plane to LAX. The sun is shining and I am desperately sad that I’m leaving like this, knowing that I will never see you again, but relieved to be going back there, where I have a busy job, friends, a shot at a new life as a single woman. I will work on whatever happened, and why I behaved the way I did around you. I will fix this. I will fix me.
Still, it would be remiss of me not to say that I found you cowardly and disrespectful for going silent on me like that, and I hope that you will think twice before doing that to another woman. But I accept that that’s what you chose to do on this occasion, and I accept also that you must have had your reasons .
Finally, I wanted to say thank you. Those days we had together were among the brightest of my life. I will remember them for a very long time.
Take care, Eddie, and goodbye.
Sarah x
Chapter Twenty-Eight
DRAFTS FOLDER
Please don’t go. Don’t leave.
I stopped writing there to call you, only I couldn’t.
You’re probably in the air now. I’m going outside to watch the sky.
Eddie
✓ Deleted, 10:26 a.m.
PART II
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Welcome home!’ Jenni shouted, as she opened her front door.
In all the years I’d been flying across the Atlantic I still hadn’t mastered jet lag. The bursting pressure in my chest as I emerged into blinding sunshine and cement-like heat, the zigzags skirting my vision as I sat in a taxi on the 110. The first time I’d flown out here, in 1997, I’d been convinced for the first two days that I was very seriously unwell.
‘I’ve missed you, Sarah Mackey.’ Jenni pulled me into a brisk hug. She smelled of baking.
‘Oh, Jenni, I missed you too. Hello, Frap,’ I said, stroking Jenni’s dog with a tired foot. Frap – short for Frappuccino, one of Jenni’s vices – tried to cock his leg on me, like he always did, but I jumped sideways just in time.
‘Oh, Frappy,’ Jenni sighed. ‘Why are you so determined to urinate on Sarah?’
I leaned forward and clasped her elbows. ‘Well?’
‘The pregnancy test? Wasn’t it today?’
‘No, tomorrow.’ She turned away. ‘I’m super-nervous, so the less said about that, the better. Come in, get yourself on that couch.’
I stepped into a haven of cooled, chocolate-scented air and noticed that Jenni had bought another piece of artwork. This one was an abstract silhouette of a pregnant woman made up of thousands of tiny fingerprints. A coach she’d been seeing had recommended positive visualizations during the IVF process; this must be part of her response. The picture hung above the easy chair Javier used from 5.15 p.m. until he went to bed at 10.30 p.m. On the counter separating the living room from the kitchen, there was a two-layer chocolate cake, and a bottle of sparkling rosé in a bucket.
I smiled, exhausted and close to tears, as Jenni went into the kitchen and started throwing scoops of ice cream into the blender. ‘Jenni Carmichael, you are very kind and very naughty. We don’t pay you enough to be buying champagne and cakes.’
Jenni shrugged, as if to say, How else would I welcome you home?
She added more ingredients to the blender – few of which resembled food – and switched it on, yelling over the noise. ‘I had Javier go play some pool with his friends, so we could catch up,’ she bellowed. ‘And I couldn’t have you come back here without a sugar binge. It’d be wrong.’
I fell into her enormous couch, with its mallowy spread of cushions, and felt relief so sharp it was almost like a pain. I would be safe here. I would reflect, recalibrate, move on.
Jenni switched off the blender. ‘I went for bubblegum flavour.’
‘Jesus Christ. Really?’
Jenni laughed. ‘I’m not messing around today,’ was all she said.
A good couple of hours later, when we had drunk our thick shakes, eaten several slices of the gigantic cake and binged our way through a large packet of pitta chips, I lay back and belched. Jenni did the same, laughing. ‘I never burped before I met you,’ she admitted .
I poked her foot with mine, too bloated and heavy to move. ‘This has been a magnificent feast. Thank you.’
‘Oh, you’re welcome,’ she smiled, rubbing her tummy. ‘Now, Sarah, I shouldn’t have a drink, but you must try some pink fizz, OK?’
I eyed the bottle and felt a strong, physical sense of dread. ‘I can’t,’ I said. ‘Thank you, darling, but I got a bit too drunk with Jo last week and I haven’t been able to face booze since.’
‘Seriously?’ Jenni looked shocked. ‘Not even a little glass?’
But I couldn’t do it. Not even for her.
Then I told her everything. Even the awful bits at the football ground when, at the same moment that I’d been confronted by a stranger’s backside, I had also been confronted with the immutable fact that I had lost my mind. Jenni awwwed and tutted and sighed and even, when I showed her my final message to Eddie, welled up. She did not mock me for any of it. She did not even raise an eyebrow. She just nodded sympathetically, as if my actions had been entirely understandable.
‘You can’t let a shot at love slip through your fingers,’ she said. ‘You were right to try everything.’ She eyed me. ‘You did fall in love with him, didn’t you?’
After a pause I nodded. ‘Although you shouldn’t be able to fall in love after only—’
‘Oh, quit it,’ Jenni said quietly. ‘Of course you can fall in love after a week.’
‘I suppose so.’ I picked at the hem of my top. ‘Anyway, I want to get back to what I know. I want to win that hospice pitch in Fresno; I want to get George Attwood on board in Santa Ana. It’s time to move on.’
‘Really?’
‘Really. There’ll be no further attempts to reach Eddie. In fact, I’m going to remove him from my Facebook friends. Right now, with you as witness.’
‘Oh,’ Jenni said, unenthusiastically. ‘I suppose that’s for the best. But it’s so sad. I thought he was it, Sarah.’
‘Me too.’
‘To have met him on that date, in that place – it was just so perfect. It sent shivers down my spine.’
I said nothing. I’d been trying to forget what Tommy had had to say on this matter. Jenni’s explanation, on the other hand, was more comforting. A big, romantic coincidence; an incredible piece of timing. That worked for me.
I glanced over at her. ‘You OK?’
She sighed, nodded. ‘Just sad for you. And full of hormones.’
I flopped back down next to her as I waited for Facebook to locate Eddie from within my friends list.
My stomach turned over.
‘He’s unfriended me,’ I whispered. I reloaded his profile, in case it told me a different story. It did not. Add friend? it asked.
‘Oh, Sarah,’ Jenni murmured.
The freezing pain returned to my chest, as if it had never gone away. The bottomless longing, a well down which a pebble could fall forever.
‘I . . .’ I swallowed hard. ‘I guess that’s that, then.’
At that moment Frappuccino exploded into life as the front door opened and Javier strode in. ‘Hey, Sarah!’ he said, offering the weird salute he always offered in place of a hug. Javier did physical only with Jenni and cars.
‘Hey, Javier. How are you? Thank you so much for giving us some time alone tonight.’ My body felt droopy and unformed.
‘You’re welcome,’ he told me, mooching off to the kitchen for a beer. Jenni kissed him and passed through to the bathroom.
‘You been looking after my girl?’ he asked. He sat down in his chair and opened the beer.
‘Well, she’s mostly been looking after me,’ I admitted. ‘You know what she’s like. But I’ll be here for her tomorrow, Javi. I can be here all day if she needs me.’
Javier took a long swig of his beer, watching me with guarded eyes. ‘Tomorrow?’
I looked at him. Something wasn’t right. ‘Er . . . yes,’ I said. ‘For the test result?’
Javier put his beer bottle down on the floor, and I knew, suddenly, what he was going to say.
‘The test was today,’ he said shortly. ‘It didn’t work. She’s not pregnant.’
Silence echoed between us.
‘I guess she wanted you to be able to talk about your own . . . ah, problems . . . first,’ he said. ‘You know how she is.’
‘Oh . . . Oh God,’ I whispered. ‘Javi. I’m so sorry. I . . . Oh God, why did I believe her? I knew it was today.’
I glanced at the kitchen door. ‘How’s she been?’
He shrugged, but his face told me all I needed to know. He was lost. Out of his depth. For years, there had remained avenues of hope, and keeping Jenni plugged into them had been Javier’s job. It had shielded him from the lead weight of her fear, given him an active role. Now, there was nothing, and his wife – whom, for all his emotional limitations, he loved with every cell in his body – was in a deep well of grief. He no longer had a role, or any hope to offer.
‘She has not said too much. Silence in the clínica . I don’t think she is letting herself think about it. Not yet, anyhow. I thought she would tell you and then she would cry, let her emotions come, you know? That’s why I went out. Normally when she can’t talk to me, she talks to you.’
‘Oh no. Oh, Javi, I am so sorry.’
He swigged his beer and sank back into his chair, staring out of the window.
I looked over at the door. Still nothing. The clock on their kitchen wall ticked, bomb-like.
Several minutes passed.
‘She went to the bathroom on purpose,’ I said suddenly. ‘To hide. She knew you’d tell me. We should . . . we should go and get her.’ I got up, but Javier was already up. He strode across the kitchen floor, shoulders hunched.
I hovered uselessly in the kitchen as he knocked at the bathroom door. ‘Baby?’ he called. ‘Baby, let me in . . .’
After a pause the door opened and I heard it: the desperate sound of his wife, my loyal friend, who’d postponed her own grief so she could look after mine
, gasping for breath as tears and despair erupted savagely from within. ‘I can’t bear it,’ she wept. ‘I can’t bear it. Javi, I don’t know what to do.’
Then the unbearable sound of raw human misery, muffled only by the flimsy cotton of her husband’s shirt.
Chapter Thirty
When the hysterics had finally subsided, Jenni had sat on the couch between me and Javier and methodically binged her way through everything we hadn’t already eaten. I’d ignored the scream of jet-lag tiredness and stayed with her until midnight, eating the odd sliver of cake to keep myself awake.
Now morning was here: the bright hot morning of which I’d dreamed, my first back in LA. During my final week in England I’d become certain that this first morning would bring with it renewal and hope: a sense of perspective I’d been unable to find in London or Gloucestershire. I would be happy. Purposeful.
In reality I was bloated and uncomfortable, and far too cold after a night with the air-conditioning at super-freezing. I curled up in Jenni’s spare bed, too exhausted to get out and turn it down. I stared at myself in the mirror across the room. I looked puffy, white, unwell. Before even realizing what I was doing, I reached out to check my phone in case Eddie had replied to my farewell message. He hadn’t, of course, and my heart ballooned with pain.
Add friend? Facebook asked, when I looked at his profile. Just to check. Add friend ?
An hour later, still awaiting serenity, I left the house for a run. It wasn’t yet eight, and Jenni and Javier – for once – were still in bed.
I knew that running wasn’t kind, after a transatlantic flight and an evening of emotional tumult. Not to mention the sleepless night I’d had in London the night before, or that the thermometer on Jenni’s deck was already scorching its way to a hundred degrees. But I couldn’t sit still. Couldn’t be with myself. I needed to move so fast that nothing could stick to me.