How I Lose You

by Kate McNaughton

  Carmen and Henry were now verbally sparring with each other about something or other, which usually would have made Georgie nervous, but she didn’t seem to be noticing it: she was looking intently at Eva, somewhat unnervingly. Then she leaned over towards her.

  ‘Why – I’m sorry, obviously you don’t have to answer this if you feel I’m being indiscreet – but why are you going?’

  Eva was disarmed.

  ‘Um. Well. No, I mean, it’s fine, you’re not being indiscreet at all. I suppose – Berlin was such an important part of Adam’s life, you know, he absolutely loved it there, was fascinated by it. And I never got to share that with him – through my own fault, by the way, it just never seemed the right time to go, and well … You never know how much time you have, do you?’

  Georgie gave another of her weirdly wise, sympathetic nods.

  ‘And so. Well. It feels important to see that now, to understand what it was that he loved so much. It feels – this is probably going to sound really insane – but it feels like a way of keeping him alive, or, I don’t know, the memory of him alive. That probably doesn’t make any sense …’

  ‘No, it does. It does.’

  Georgie stared mournfully at her untouched vodka-tonic, ran a perfectly manicured finger along the side of the beer mat underneath it. She seemed to be wandering off into some worrisome train of thought.

  And Eva wondered what an honest response to her question would have been. Why was she going to Berlin? There were so many factors, too much complexity to come up with an answer even for herself, let alone for Georgie. She thought of Adam, the shine he used to have in his eyes when he came back from one of his trips there, and how she used to deliberately ignore it, how she wouldn’t let him take her there, and how guilty she felt about that now. And she thought of her mother’s voice on the telephone when she had called to announce her departure, the barely concealed fear as she tried to dissuade Eva from going, claiming it would be too much for her right now, grieving alone in a foreign land, and the resignation that replaced this fear when she understood that Eva was not going to be talked out of it, and anyway Berlin was hardly entirely foreign, the place half her family was from, and at this Eva felt a twinge of excitement, of curiosity, and this too she felt guilty about, because it was exactly that excitement that Adam had wanted to share with her. And also she felt guilty about the name hovering in the back of her mind, Lena Bachmann, and the accusation of Adam it implied, and was this trip, were all these supposed other reasons for going, just excuses for a green-eyed poke around in Adam’s affairs?

  Georgie cleared her throat awkwardly.

  ‘Eva …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Can I ask you something? I mean …’

  ‘…’

  ‘I … how are you going to live? You haven’t been working for so long now – where are you going to get the money from?’

  She said it with such urgency, such passion. Of course. Because what else could be on Georgie’s mind right now than the money, where the money would come from?

  ‘Oh, er …’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m being horribly indiscreet again. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, of course.’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine … Actually, money is the least of my problems – I have quite a few savings, and, well, Adam, being Adam, had taken out life insurance, so I’m kind of fine for a while …’

  ‘Oh. Oh good. It’s good at least that you don’t have to worry about that.’

  Eva wondered if that was a flicker of envy she’d just seen in Georgie’s eye, just before it darted over to Henry.

  Henry beamed at his wife.

  ‘All well, my love?’

  Georgie smiled wanly.

  ‘And you, Eva? Feeling ready for the Krauts?’

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I am, I think.’

  ‘Well, prost to that, I say.’

  ‘Prost.’

  ‘…’

  ‘…’

  ‘You’re very jovial this evening, Hennes.’

  ‘Oh, well. You know. No point in moping about, is there?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Now that it was just Eva and Henry doing the talking, Carmen and Georgie had sunk back into oddly similar positions, eyes lowered, discreetly wringing hands.

  ‘Any news on the job front?’

  ‘Oh, it’s an unmitigated disaster. The whole system has seized up – basically, no one’s hiring any more, and as you can imagine there are thousands of people like me vying for any opening that does come up … No, the golden age of finance is over, I’m afraid. I’m thinking of trying something completely different, actually.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet – there’s this fast-track teacher-training programme they might be opening up, apparently, or maybe I’ll look into getting a job in the charity sector … Give a little back to the community, you know?’

  ‘And that’s all doable, financially?’

  ‘Well, depends on how you look at it, doesn’t it, George?’

  Henry gave Georgie’s back a rueful pat. She looked broken, Henry radiated buoyant good humour. Perhaps adversity was what he needed: after all, Henry came from a line of men born with silver spoons in their mouths, who only really came into their own once they had been thrust into the malarial swamps of the Raj.

  ‘What Henry means is that it’s doable if we sell the house.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘…’

  ‘Hang on – which house?’

  ‘Oh, the cottage definitely has to go. But, I mean, we’re barely ever there anyway, are we, darling?’

  Georgie nodded slowly, bravely, as though giving the go-ahead for an axe-man to hack through her neck.

  ‘The real question is what we do with our house here. We may need to downsize, I’m trying to work it all out at the moment. Basically, in the manner of all the rest of this bloody crisis, our entire assets rely on lines of credit that all lead back to my now non-existent annual bonus.’

  ‘…’

  ‘But, you know. It’s only stuff, at the end of the day.’

  Perhaps it was mourning for Adam that had made Henry so resilient – or refocused on what he viewed as important in life. And yet, Eva was surprised to find she couldn’t hold it against Georgie that she was so distressed by this turn of events – after all, her pain was real, whatever the cause. She too had had the foundations of her world pulled out from underneath her. She was losing her home, her nest, the kingdom which she had built up for herself, and without which she was turning into a quivering, lost little girl, a far cry from the harpy Eva and Carmen used to mock.

  How broken they had all become.

  ‘Isn’t it weird …’

  ‘…’

  ‘…’

  ‘…’

  ‘Hm? Eva? You were starting to say something?’

  ‘Just … That it’s so weird … how Adam doesn’t know about any of this. That – I mean, that all of this stuff has happened since he died, this huge crisis, everyone talking about the world never being the same again, wondering if this is the end of capitalism … And there was nothing of that before. It’s like he was living in a different world.’

  Eva wasn’t explaining it very well. Henry was looking at her quizzically, Georgie was looking away – reverting to her usual form of seeming a bit embarrassed when Adam was mentioned, as though it had been poor form of him to have died so young. Only Carmen was nodding at her slowly, understandingly.

  ‘Yeah. It’s weird.’

  Eva thought of what it was she did mean: that Adam seemed like an innocent, a bit naïve, almost, placed at an unfair disadvantage by his ignorance of current events, like medieval people not realizing that the Earth revolves around the Sun, or that bloodletting is not, on the whole, very good for you. That time, or history, was still letting them in on what happened next, whereas he would never know. And it gave the thought of him a kind of extra evanescence, the milky-white sheen of
the innocent, the pure, the ghosts who no longer have to dirty their hands with this messy business we call living.

  ‘OK, SO – NO, move that way a bit, there’s a road over there.’

  ‘This way?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Adam takes a few steps to the left.

  ‘Yeah, OK, that’s good, I think we’re good.’

  ‘Right.’

  Adam holds up her coat as wide as he can. Eva does a final check: he is more or less blocking the view from the road – otherwise, it’s empty fields behind her, a grey barn in front of her. It’ll do. She makes sure the bag is within easy reach, then starts undoing her shoe laces. She is wearing trainers, jeans, a loose T-shirt and two sweaters of increasing thickness: the comfortable, easily modulable outfit she favours for long-haul flights. Adam wolf-whistles as she slips off her trousers.

  ‘That is not helpful.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Can you double-check there’s no one coming? I need to change my bra, too.’

  Adam glances over his shoulder.

  ‘The coast is clear.’

  She rapidly unclasps it, slips it off, dives into the overnight bag Adam packed for both of them, pulls out her frilly, special-occasions one, and just as she is straightening up, bare-breasted in the countryside chill, the barn door swings open, releasing a tangy whiff of warm, grassy excrement, a chorus of grunts and shuffling, and a lanky, prepubescent boy. Finding himself nose-to-nose with Eva, he stops, stammers.

  ‘Uh. Uh. Sorry, sorry …’

  For a few seconds he seems unable to move, then his eyes flicker down to her breasts and he quickly turns away, busies himself with closing the door behind him. He walks away from them, a painful-looking red spreading up from his throat.

  Adam bursts out laughing.

  ‘Well, someone will be having some colourful dreams tonight …’

  ‘Shh! Oh my God, how embarrassing … Poor kid.’

  ‘Poor kid? You’ve just made his day.’

  ‘Stop giggling and do up my dress, will you?’

  ‘I can’t wait to tell Henry and Carm about this …’

  ‘Right, let’s go, I’ll switch shoes in the car, I won’t be able to get through this mud in my heels. Oh my God, the shame.’

  They pick their way across soft clumps of upchurned earth back to the rental car, Adam looking at once ridiculous and it has to be said quite sexy in his waistcoat and cravat, Eva’s movements restricted now by her tight dress, so that she has to be careful not to lose her balance as she skips over the larger puddles of mud.

  The drive takes them through a picture-perfect English countryside, narrow lanes lined with high hedges and the occasional glimpse, past a gate or a turn in the road, of fields rushing downhill and rolling up again, dotted with cloud-like sheep or naughty-looking ponies. And all so green, green, green and pleasant. Yesterday she was in a world of yellow dust, asphyxiated bushes stretching claw-like twigs to the sky.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Mm-hm.’

  ‘Tired? You must be tired.’

  ‘I feel all right, actually. Apart from I wish I’d had a chance to have a shower. Do I look manky?’

  ‘You look great. That dress is fantastic.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re sure you’re OK for us to go straight there, though? I don’t think anyone would notice if we took a quick break, gave you a chance to, I don’t know, register the transition …’

  ‘No, don’t be silly, we’ll be late if we do that.’

  ‘Well, sod it, we’ll be five minutes late then, what’s the big deal?’

  ‘Adam, you of all people cannot afford to be late.’

  ‘Well, I mean, OK, but …’

  ‘Honestly. It’s fine. I had time to mull over things on the plane, anyway.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘…’

  ‘…’

  ‘That boy, though … the one who came out of the barn …’

  ‘Our goggle-eyed friend?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He – he kind of reminded me of. You know. The kid. The kid I saw.’

  ‘…’

  ‘…’

  Maybe she is just seeing his face everywhere. Or maybe there was something similar about them both, a certain swing in their limbs, or maybe it is something common to all boys that age, the unease of manoeuvring a body grown long and unwieldy overnight.

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want us to stop and talk about it?’

  ‘No, really, it’s fine. Besides, we’re almost there.’

  And indeed, after another few hedgerowed curves, they come to the church, a beautiful, modest English country church, grey stone walls weathered by centuries of rain and frost, into which is being ushered a swarm of morning suits and fascinators.

  ‘Shit. I should have brought a hat.’

  ‘OK, so hang on, they said there’d be somewhere to park on the left-hand side of the church. Oh, look, that man is waving at me, it must be over there.’

  ‘I am literally the only girl here without a hat.’

  ‘I’m sure that can’t be true.’

  ‘Look around you!’

  A riot of feathers, flowers, ribbons, precariously perched on blindingly glossy coiffures, bob along from the car park to the church.

  ‘Look, Carmen isn’t wearing a hat.’

  Eva leaps out of the car.

  ‘We are literally the only girls here without hats!’

  ‘Oh hey. You guys actually made it in time.’

  ‘O ye of little faith.’

  ‘Where’s Adam?’

  ‘Just over there – he’s parking the car.’

  ‘Ah, OK. And you – all good? You must be destroyed.’

  ‘Nah, I’m all right.’

  ‘How was Iraq?’

  ‘Hm. Yeah. I’ll tell you about it later, it’s not exactly festive material. But, you know, fine. I mean I’m fine.’

  ‘OK …’

  ‘Hey Carm!’

  ‘Hi Ad. You got the rings?’

  Adam taps his breast pocket.

  ‘Right, well. We’d better get you into position, hadn’t we?’

  No sooner are they in the church than Henry appears, booming greetings at all who cross his path, before whisking Adam off to the altar. Carmen and Eva watch from the back of the church as Henry points things out to Adam, demonstrates taking a few steps forward, kneeling, turning. Adam nods seriously.

  ‘Henry looks happy, doesn’t he?’

  It’s true, he does. He stands tall and straight, clapping a sturdy hand on Adam’s shoulder when he wants to show him where to move to, breaking now and again into a confident, excited smile.

  ‘Yeah, he does.’

  Adam is the one who looks nervous, following Henry’s every word and move, as though to miss a single one of them might spell disaster.

  ‘Shall we sit down? I think Henry’s reserved some seats for us at the front.’

  ‘Yeah … But … I mean … Carm?’

  Carmen turns round, her willowy body twisting with feline elegance under her long blue dress. She looks inquisitively at Eva.

  ‘You’re – I mean – you’re OK?’

  Carmen smiles.

  ‘Yeah, of course I am.’

  They make their way to their seats at the front.

  ‘It is weird, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘I mean – all this. That it’s happening. Actually happening.’

  ‘It’ll be you and Adam next, Eva. You’ll see.’

  Eventually the church fills up, the chatter settles, organ music bursts out around them, and Georgie appears on her father’s arm, beautifully wrapped up in intricate layers of white silk and lace, like an expensive Christmas present, and looking on the brink of tears until her eyes meet Henry’s beaming gaze and she does actually start to cry, but also to smile, and, awful as the woman is, even Eva has to recognize there’s something q
uite sweet about the moment, that this is love, after all. She glances over at Carmen, who also has a tear in her eye, but it seems a happy tear, a tear caused by the obvious emotiveness of the situation, rather than by anything else.

  The service drags on rather interminably under the leadership of an uncharismatic priest, and Eva finds it hard to focus, finds her mind wandering back after all to the past week, the earth and sand colours, ochres and varying shades of yellow, the persistent smell of burning, an acrid stench of rubber and gasoline that follows you everywhere you go, lodges in the back of your nose, and she can smell it again now just thinking about it, and the ceaseless noise, dry rat-a-tats and bangs of uncertain provenance. And above all, how eerily life goes on in a warzone; people still need to do their shopping and send their kids to school, it turns out, even with snipers guiding their crosshairs on to their heads.

  Only Adam awakens her interest: how awkwardly he moves in his stiff, rented tailcoat, how he fumbles when he has to hand over the rings and almost drops one on the floor, and it all seems like such a game, like they’re kids playing with a plastic tea set, but no, think of the legal ramifications of that ring slipped over that finger, of those words ‘I do.’ They are all so grown-up, all of a sudden. And she supposes Carmen is right, she and Adam probably will go through the whole rigmarole themselves in not too long, because that’s what people do, isn’t it? Even in a warzone, that’s what people do, they are just a bit more likely to be interrupted by a suicide bomber or a stray missile.

  At the reception, Adam and Eva find themselves separated from Carmen, Adam’s role as best man having earned them pole position right next to the table where Henry and Georgie are sitting with their families, while Carmen has been relegated to a more backwatery section of the room – which shouldn’t really be much of a surprise, given that Henry is unlikely to have had much say in the seating plan.

  The guests try to identify their seats, squinting at the placeholders. So many people, each with their own name, their own piece of cardboard telling them where they need to be. Eva watches Henry embrace old ladies, slap young men’s backs. So many people. So many parts of her friend’s life she was not aware of. The room is like a map of Henry’s relationships, each person a fragment of his life, his past, his personality – shards of his exploded self.