by Mike Gayle
Vicky had been saying stuff like this about ‘being happy’ and ‘how lucky she was to have me and William’ in her life on a regular basis since the night when I’d lost the plot coming back from Charlotte and Cameron’s. I explained it away at the time by telling her I was really stressed at work, which wasn’t hard to be convincing about as I was really stressed at work. Looking back, I can sort of see that the real reason for my episode came down to a simple truth of life: you can only manage a certain amount of holding in of things before the pressure builds up, finds a weak spot to exploit and finally makes an exit.
Melissa
Sitting in the darkness staring out of my bedroom window at the passing traffic, I thought about what Vicky had said about hiding myself away from my friends all this time. She was right. It was true. I was hiding. I wasn’t sure that I could face seeing him and Hannah. Not enough time had passed to ease the pain I felt. The memories of the night we split up were still my constant companions.
Returning alone to my flat that night I’d felt as though my whole world had ended. I just hadn’t known what to do with myself. I called Vicky and told her the vague details and in a matter of minutes she arrived in her car at mine insisting that I came back to hers so that she could look after me (even though, as I later learned, she’d had a few problems of her own to deal with that night.)
I came home the next day and set about writing the essay that I was supposed to hand in on the Monday but I didn’t get further than the title before I gave up, decided that a change was as good as a rest, packed a bag and caught the train to Swindon to see my mum and dad. I only stayed there a week. Just long enough to get myself together and try to put Paul out of my mind for good. It was wishful thinking of course. The second I arrived back at Piccadilly he was everywhere I looked, from places we’d been together that I passed in the taxi on the way home right through to the unread newspaper that lay on my bedside table, which he’d left the last time he had stayed over.
The thing that surprised me most was that he hadn’t tried to get in contact. From the moment that I’d left him standing alone in the middle of the street that night I’d expected a phone call or a text at least to try to bring me round but there was nothing. News about what he was up to was impossible to come by as even Chris, the closest thing he had to a best friend, hadn’t heard from him despite leaving dozens of messages on his voice-mail. None of us knew whether he and Hannah had got back together or whether they had split up for good. We were all completely in the dark. Then at the beginning of February, a few days before my thirty-fifth birthday, as I sat on a bench in Chorlton Park with Vicky and William attempting to enjoy the first signs of spring, I got a text message from Paul out of the blue. All it said was: ‘You deserve better.’
I didn’t text him back.
Thinking about that message now as I sat looking out on to the street, it occurred to me that he was absolutely right. I did deserve better. Much better. And that was the moment I decided that my first step towards my goal of getting ‘much better’ would be to stop hiding from both Paul and the world at large. Vicky had been right. It was Paul’s mistake, not mine. He should be avoiding me, not the other way round. I picked up my mobile and dialled Vicky’s number. She didn’t pick up so I left a message.
‘It’s me,’ I said. ‘Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. You were right. I do need to get out more. So if there’s still room in the car, there’s nothing I’d rather do than join you, Laura and anyone who is up for it in some of the cheesiest dancing the world has ever seen.’
As I put down the phone, I suddenly remembered that thanks to my focus on avoiding Paul, one particularly important fact about Cath and Simon’s party had slipped my mind: it was fancy dress. And now that I’d agreed to go I had exactly an hour and ten minutes to come up with something roughly approximating a costume that fitted the theme of the party: ‘Hollywood or Bust’.
Hannah
Paul’s mobile was ringing.
‘Aren’t you going to answer it?’ I asked when after four rings he hadn’t moved off the bed.
‘No need,’ he replied. ‘It’ll only be Chris to see if we’re coming tonight.’
‘So why not put him out of his misery and tell him that we are?’
Paul shrugged, picked up his phone from the bedside table and switched it off. ‘Job done.’
‘He’s probably just worried about you, that’s all.’
‘Well, I’m fine, so there’s nothing to say to him, is there?’
I could tell that Paul wasn’t in the right frame of mind for this conversation, so I walked over to the long mirror on the wardrobe to examine my costume: a black dress and cape, red striped tights and a pair of flat red shoes. Paul had guessed ‘The Wicked Witch of the West’ the second I’d shown him what I was wearing but made no mention of the rather obvious joke that this was how his friends thought of me now that I had succeeded in taking him away from both them and Melissa.
Paul and I had been back together for a while now. He’d called me the evening after I’d told him I was pregnant and we’d talked on the phone for nearly three hours. He told me that he and Melissa had split up although he didn’t offer me any details and I hadn’t pressed him for any either. I said that it made no difference to me one way or another: I hadn’t contacted him with the idea of us getting back together, that I had contacted him because I thought he had a right to know.
Not once that night did he ask me if I was going to go through with the pregnancy. And not once did I seek to reassure him either way. The truth was I hadn’t known myself. I just wanted to do the right thing, whatever that might be, and to do it with as much dignity as possible given the circumstances.
I told Paul that I needed time alone and that I was going to stay with my parents in Malvern. I suggested that we meet up when I got back, by which time I hoped to have made my decision. Paul didn’t say much in reply. He told me that whatever my decision, he’d guarantee his support.
My parents were taken aback at having their eldest daughter back home again so soon after my recent Christmas visit and I could tell they sensed that something was wrong but they didn’t pry much beyond a small amount of cursory questioning.
It was good to be home. When I wasn’t helping Dad in the garden or being shown off to nearby relatives and friends by Mum, I wandered around the house in which I’d grown up, deliberately trying to evoke memories of my own childhood: the chipped figurine of a horse in the hallway damaged when my younger sister Jessica and I knocked it over during an impromptu wrestling match; the football stickers I’d stolen from my brother Tim and secretly placed on the rear of what used to be my bedside table; the sad-looking pink glazed piggy bank that I’d got for Christmas the year I turned eleven that I’d found abandoned in the garden shed.
By the time I was ready to leave I was in no doubt that I would continue with the pregnancy. I told my parents the real reason for the visit and although I could see that Mum was disappointed that I hadn’t done things ‘the right way round’, I felt that by the time I was due to get the train back home to Manchester they had come to terms with the idea that whether they liked it or not their little girl had finally grown up.
Paul came round the evening I arrived back in Manchester and we talked until the early hours. He admitted that he had made a lot of mistakes in his life and hurt a lot of people along the way. He said he wanted all that to end and that the baby would be an opportunity for a new beginning for the both of us. I told him that although I’d decided to keep the baby, we shouldn’t try to make any promises now but deal with each day as it arrived. Not once in all the time we spoke, did he mention Melissa. I guessed that he had his reasons and although I wanted us to talk it through I feared that somehow this would be a step too far. I could see that Paul genuinely wanted to make things right between us. Maybe we could be like we were before, I told myself. Maybe we could fall in love all over again. Either way I owed it to myself at least to give him the opportunity
to try.
I turned to face Paul who was still lying on top of his bed: ‘Do you think I make a good witch?’
He got up from the bed and put his arms around me from behind so that we could see each other in the mirror.
‘I think you make the best witch.’
I studied our reflection. We looked happy. We fitted together like two parts of a jigsaw puzzle. Maybe things would be different this time.
‘Let’s not go tonight,’ I suggested. ‘Let’s just stay in. Just the two of us. What do you think?’
Paul tried hard not to show the obvious relief he felt.
‘That’s a great idea,’ he replied. ‘Let’s order in something to eat, watch a bit of telly and get an early night.’
Cooper
It was just after eight as Laura and I pulled up outside Cath and Simon’s house in Altrincham having not said a single word to each other since Laura had raised the subject of us going travelling together. For most of the evening until we went out I sulked in the living room under the guise of listening to music. And the more I sulked, the more Laura stomped around the house as if she was in a bid to shake it down to its very foundations.
Laura turned to look at me.
‘Are we okay now or what?’
‘What do you think?’ I snapped.
‘I think you’re being a complete and utter idiot about this.’
‘Cheers, thanks for letting me know.’
Laura tutted under her breath. ‘I hate it when you’re like this.’
‘When I’m like what? You mean not giving in to your every whim?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’
‘No, go on. Cooper. If you’re going to have a go at me at least be man enough to say it to my face.’
I really didn’t want to go there. It was time to defuse things like I always did.
‘Look,’ I began, ‘I’m sorry, okay? I was just a bit annoyed, that’s all. I thought I was doing what’s best for us but you’ve obviously got other ideas.’
‘And that’s your idea of an apology?’
‘Well, it’s all you’re going to get.’
‘Fine.’ Laura climbed out of the car and slammed the door behind her. ‘Just so long as we both know where we stand.’
Melissa
The second I saw Cooper and Laura through the window of Chris and Vicky’s car I could tell that they had had some kind of row. We all kissed our hellos and I watched as Vicky and then a few moments later Chris picked up on the tension between Cooper and Laura. In a bid to lighten the mood I suggested that we all try to identify each other’s costumes, so we started with Laura who was wearing a cropped checked shirt, tied up high over a red bikini top, home-made denim hotpants and a pair of seventies-looking wedge heels.
‘Daisy Duke from The Dukes of Hazzard,’ said Chris straight away as Laura gave us a twirl.
‘I should’ve known you’d get it straight away.’
We then all looked at Cooper who was wearing motorcycle leathers that clearly didn’t fit him and holding a toy rifle.
‘Is it the cop from the Village People?’ asked Chris grinning.
Cooper, offended, protested it wasn’t.
‘I haven’t got a clue,’ said Vicky.
‘He’s Australian,’ said Coop offering up a clue.
‘The guy from Mad Max!’ said Chris.
‘You should’ve known that,’ said Cooper. ‘It was our favourite film when we were kids.’
Next up was Vicky. Her outfit was strange to say the least. Under her cream coat (which wasn’t part of her costume) she was wearing a pink T-shirt, pink jeans and pink shoes.
I guessed Alicia Silverstone in Clueless and Cooper guessed Little Bo Beep in Toy Story, but we were both wrong.
‘You’ve got to think whole film rather than a single character,’ prompted Chris.
With that I got it straight away. ‘Pretty in Pink !’
Next for our scrutiny was Chris who looked completely normal until he opened his jacket. He was naked from the waist up and across his torso were various words and sentences scribbled in black marker pen.
‘That’s a no-brainer, you’re the bloke out of Memento.’
‘Got it in one,’ replied Chris. ‘Which means you win tonight’s star prize.’ He threw his arms round me and squashed my face into his naked chest until I screamed.
‘So what about you?’ asked Cooper once Chris had finished torturing me. ‘Who have you come as?’
As I straightened myself out my friends looked my ensemble up and down: a shirt, tie, waistcoat, cream wide-legged trousers and flat black shoes.
‘You look like a clown,’ said Cooper. ‘Are you Charlie Chaplin?’
‘First off,’ I replied sternly, ‘no, I do not look like a clown and secondly, Charlie Chaplin’s got a moustache.’
‘Julie Andrews in Victor/Victoria,’ suggested Laura.
‘Never seen it.’
‘Barbra Streisand in Yentl,’ guessed Vicky, ‘or possibly Barbra Streisand in What’s Up Doc?’
‘Wrong on both counts.’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Chris. ‘Give us a clue? Are you supposed to be male or female?’
‘I’m saying nothing until somebody guesses.’
‘If Paul was here,’ laughed Chris, ‘I bet he’d get it straight away.’
Everyone looked from Chris to me and back again and Chris looked as though he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him.
‘Look, it’s fine,’ I said as everyone waited for my reaction. I looped my arm through Chris’s. ‘We all know he’s right: Paul probably would guess it in a second but . . . you know what? I don’t care. For the first time in a long while I feel really good and whether Paul’s here with Hannah or whether he doesn’t turn up at all it doesn’t matter. All that does matter is that I’m here, I’m with my friends and no matter what it takes I’m going to have a brilliant time.’
Chris
I’m not sure that any of us really believed Melissa’s little speech, least of all Melissa herself, but we all nodded and agreed with her anyway. Collecting the booze we’d brought with us from our various cars we made our way to Cath and Simon’s three-bed semi and rang the doorbell. Within seconds the front door was flung open to reveal Cath in a big white flouncy-looking dress which, according to Vicky, made her Maria from The Sound of Music. Simon greeted us wearing a black hooded top with a grey T-shirt underneath, ridiculously tight jeans and white Adidas trainers. I hadn’t clue who he was supposed to be but then I noticed the black stick-on moustache he was sporting and the toy pistol sticking out of his back pocket. ‘You’re Axel Foley from Beverley Hills Cop,’ I pronounced triumphantly.
Cath and Simon then took their turns guessing our costumes. But when it came to Melissa’s they too were stumped.
‘One last go,’ demanded Simon, whose guesses so far had ranged from Melanie Griffiths in Working Girl through to Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada. ‘Is it Stan Laurel?’ Melissa scowled and informed Simon in no uncertain terms that she was not ‘Stan-sodding-Laurel’, and that if people weren’t going to guess properly she was going to go home.
Relieved to have got all of the guess-who stuff out of the way for the time being, Cath invited us to head to the kitchen for a drink. I’d been about to go along with everyone else when Vicky pulled me aside.
‘What’s up?’
‘What do you mean “what’s up?”.’ she replied. ‘Didn’t you see how Cooper and Laura were?’
‘I’m guessing they’ve had some sort of row. And?’
‘Well, aren’t you worried?’
‘About what?’
‘About what they’ve been fighting about?’
‘No, not really.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m sure at some point tonight Laura will give you a blow-by-blow breakdown of everything that happened.’
‘Well, don’t you think you should find out Cooper’s side too?
Make sure he’s okay? Don’t you remember how he was after he split up with Angie?’
Angie was Cooper’s last proper girlfriend and the reason he left Derby to join me in Manchester. They were sort of childhood sweethearts who were together from the age of sixteen until they both turned twenty-eight when she left him for some guy that she had met at work. It had taken him years to get over her and even now there were times when I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure that he had fully recovered.
‘I’ll have a word with him later, okay? Come on, this is a party, isn’t it? So why don’t we just try to enjoy ourselves?’
Melissa
For the first couple of hours at the party I really did try my best to have a good time. Initially I stuck with Vicky and Laura while they circulated catching up with all the usual suspects but I barely contributed anything to the conversations. For the most part my mind was focused on whether or not Paul would arrive with Hannah and how I would be when I finally saw them face to face.
Leaving Vicky and Laura exchanging work anecdotes with a group of Cath’s friends I was about to go in search of Chris when out of the corner of my eye I saw a face that I recognised. It was Billy, the young guy who had tried to chat me up at Ed and Sharon’s New Year’s Eve party. He waved and came over to talk to me.
‘Annie Hall,’ he said with a grin.
For a second I was confused but then I realised he was talking about my costume, and gave him a round of applause.
‘Finally,’ I replied in relief. ‘I’ve been here since eight and you’re the only person that’s got it right. You wouldn’t believe some of the guesses I’ve had. When I was getting myself a drink some guy actually asked me if I’d come as Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie. Can you believe it? Tootsie ? I can tell you they got a kick in the shins for that one.’
‘They must be mad,’ laughed Billy. ‘First off, Dustin Hoffman in Tootsie was a bloke dressed as a woman and second, you look nothing like Dustin Hoffman dressed as a man either. Annie Hall should have been easy. I mean, isn’t it in everyone’s all-time top ten films?’
‘Well, the answer to that is obviously a big fat no. If it isn’t, I must have come up with the worst fancy-dress costume in living history.’