by Mike Gayle
How good had their ‘coffee date’ been? Amazing. Initially they talked about their various jobs but then the conversation had flitted this way and that from school days to current affairs and from current affairs through to the current plight of Man City (which was a surprise) but for Adam the real eureka moment, the tipping point at which this ceased to be a battle to make a theoretical change of heart and when he actually thought seriously about kissing Steph in the way that he might have kissed a hot-looking girl in a very short skirt, was when she told him she really had to go and he realised they had been talking for an hour and that Steph possessed something he had never encountered before in a date prior to this moment: a personality. From that moment forward he was officially smitten.
Groaning at the thought that he was suffering from an overdose of oestrogen, Adam decided to take action. Reasoning that even the right kind of girls observed the ‘wait three days before re-establishing contact’ rule, Adam had opted to add an extra couple of days into the mix just to make it clear that he was a busy man with a busy life, and now there was nothing stopping him from making the call.
He dialled Steph’s number and waited. Steph’s phone rang out for half a minute or so before clicking on to voicemail. Adam didn’t really do voicemail on the grounds that it was seriously uncool but it would be far less cool for Steph to see his number as a missed call and draw the conclusion that he was the sort of person who worried about leaving voicemail messages because they were uncool.
‘Hi Steph, it’s me Adam . . . y’know . . . Bachelor . . . from your school days . . . y’know just in case you know any other Adams and you’re finding this message confusing. Anyway I just wanted to say that I really enjoyed that coffee the other day and would love to catch up with you again when you’re free some time. Hope all is good with you. Let’s speak soon. Oh . . . do you like tapas? I’m pretty sure everyone does. Anyway if you do there’s a new tapas place just opened on Wilbraham Road that had a great review in City List if you fancy that . . . and no offence if you’re not a tapas fiend . . . after all each to their own, right? Anyway . . . this is turning into a bit of an epic message . . . I’m worried that this thing is going to run out of space . . . Anyway . . . whatever . . . hopefully I’ll see you soon . . . oh, by the way this is . . . was . . . Adam . . . as in Adam Bachelor from school. Bye.’
As Adam pressed the end call button on his phone and placed it carefully on the table he pushed his chair back to make space for himself to get down on his knees, curl up into a ball and with fists clenched let out a loud groan that was sixty per cent gut-wrenching embarrassment, forty per cent pure anguish. How could a universe exist in which a man as impossibly cool as he was could leave an answerphone message of such buttock-clenching awfulness? Had he entered a parallel universe where the laws of normal human interaction didn’t apply? Didn’t the people of this parallel world know who he was? That he had a plaque on his mantelpiece bearing the inscription ‘the second best-looking bloke in Chorlton’? Didn’t they know that he was definitely not the kind of bloke who left rambling voicemail messages? What was wrong with this world? And more importantly, what was wrong with him?
Adam got to his feet and stared at his phone as though it might ring at any second. When it didn’t he went to the loo but in the process of washing his hands he imagined that he heard his mobile and rushed downstairs with wet hands only to discover that it was just his imagination. As he was about to leave the room for something to eat, his phone actually did ring but it turned out to be a cold caller trying to sell him new kitchen units.
Annoyed and more than a little agitated, Adam went in search of food and once again found himself thinking about Steph and what she might be doing/thinking/saying. He created a scenario where Steph (little realising that her life was about to change) was microwaving her evening meal while looking forward to an hour or so of work to fill her empty evenings before settling down for a glass of wine or two while she watched repeats of Sex and the City. He imagined the look of delight on her face when she retrieved his message, heard his voice and realised (probably for the first time) that her life was about to change for ever.
The phone rang.
Dashing back into the living room Adam grabbed the phone and looked at the screen. There it was: Steph’s name.
‘Steph! How are you? I’m glad you’ve called back.’
A short pause. ‘Really? Er . . . thanks.’
‘So how have you been?’ asked Adam, trying to temper his earlier enthusiasm.
‘Good, thanks. How about yourself?’
‘Great,’ said Adam breezily.
There was a silence.
‘Listen, Adam . . .’ began Steph, ‘it really was lovely to bump into you the other day—’
‘I know,’ interrupted Adam. ‘It was really good, wasn’t it?’
‘Still, I think what I’m trying to say is that even though it’s always nice to bump into people that you went to school with there’s not always a need to take things further, if you know what I mean.’
‘Further?’
‘Yes, further.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Adam. ‘Are you saying that you don’t want to meet up?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ replied Steph. ‘I just don’t think it would be a good idea.’
‘Because . . . you’ve got a boyfriend?’
‘Erm . . . well no, actually. As it happens I’m single but . . .’
Adam was incredulous. ‘I don’t get it. You’re saying that you’re single but you don’t want to go out for a drink with me? How does that even make sense? It wasn’t just me, was it? The two of us did have a moment the other day when we went for coffee, didn’t we?’
There was a long silence. Adam knew he ought to let this go but he couldn’t. ‘Look, just so that we’re both clear: you do realise that I’m asking you out on a date?’
‘Oh, Adam,’ sighed Steph. ‘Do we really have to do this?’
‘Yes,’ replied Adam, ‘yes we do. Because I’ve got a terrible feeling that you’ve not fully grasped the fact that I’m asking you out.’
‘Will you listen to yourself? Anyone would think that you’ve never been turned down for a date the way you’re acting. But as clarity seems to be something of an issue for you: one, no we did not have a moment the other day; two, I only agreed to have coffee with you because I thought it was the easiest way to get rid of you; three, you seem to have forgotten the small fact that you made my life hell when we were at school; and four, even if points one, two and three weren’t true I still wouldn’t go out with you because one thing that was abundantly clear in the short time that I spent with you in the newsagent’s and talking over badly made, overpriced coffee, is this: you, Adam Bachelor, are completely and utterly the wrong kind of guy for me.’
‘You think I’ve let you down.’
The following weekend Luke and Cassie were on the motorway in Luke’s Honda singing at the top of their voices to ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’.
They had driven up to Harrogate on the Friday night to spend time with Cassie’s family. Desperate to make the best of the weather on their arrival Cassie’s dad had fired up the barbecue and they had all enjoyed an alfresco meal featuring chops and burgers and salads of every description in what remained of the dying sun. The following morning had seen the arrival of Cassie’s sister Rebecca, her husband Tom and their two kids; the entire family had decamped to Valley Gardens. A brass band had been playing which the kids had adored and when they stopped to take a break everyone headed over to the already overrun kids’ playground. Cassie took Poppy on the swings and Luke pushed Lucie on the roundabout. Whenever the kids got bored they just swapped activities, moving from the climbing frame to the slide and from the slide to the roundabout. The kids never stopped smiling the whole time they were there. At lunchtime the family headed en masse to an upmarket pizza restaurant on Albert Street and were joined by two of Cassie’s aunties and a now eighteen-year-old
cousin who Cassie hadn’t seen since he started secondary school. Not only were the Shergolds by far the biggest group in the restaurant but they were also the most raucous, with Cassie’s dad regaling the table with boisterous anecdotes about his time in the navy. It was some time after four as the kids’ batteries began to wear down and people started to make their excuses that Luke and Cassie finally said their goodbyes before heading back out towards the M62. Luke slipped on a compilation CD that he had made specifically for the journey. It was full of stuff he knew they would both love singing along to and was a hit from the first track onwards as they both gave their all in tuneless harmony to every song from ‘Sympathy for the Devil’ to ‘Billie Jean’. Half an hour from the outskirts of Manchester (and directly after Bonnie Tyler) Cassie had turned off the music and they had segued into the kind of light-hearted conversation that was their staple: daft observations about the places they were passing through, jokes about the day they had enjoyed, gentle teasing about each other’s foibles and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Cassie turned to Luke and said: ‘I want us to start a family.’
‘You want us to do what?’
‘I said I want us to start a family.’ She clarified her position. ‘I don’t mean right now. I mean after we’re married. Very soon after we’re married. I want us to have kids.’
‘What brought this on?’
Cassie didn’t reply and Luke knew the reason. No matter how even his voice, the question had sounded like an accusation. To all intents and purposes it had been. Luke kept his mouth shut, willing the subject to just go away. Maybe she didn’t really mean it. Maybe she was saying the words out loud to hear what they sounded like. He thought how much fun they had been having and how carefree they had been. He wanted that feeling back. He didn’t want it to disappear and be replaced by reality.
Luke prided himself on the fact that he had been honest with Cassie from the start. If it hadn’t been on their second date then it was definitely by the time of their third that he’d said: ‘I think there’s something you should know about me. I never, ever want to have more children and I’m never going to change my mind about it. I can’t do it. I won’t go through all that again. I’m sorry if that sounds harsh but it’s the way it is.’
At the time Cassie had said that she understood. She knew all about Jayne and Megan and the hurt that Luke had endured but even so she had listened patiently as Luke had recounted relevant parts of the story. The love he had for his daughter, the hurt that his ex-wife had inflicted, the tears shed every year by his mum around the time of Megan’s birthday. He was firm in his intention. No matter what happened in the future, no matter how deeply they fell in love, he wasn’t going back there. Not now, not ever.
‘Why does this feel like I’m letting you down?’ asked Cassie. Her eyes were fixed on the road ahead. ‘Why does this feel like it’s all my fault?’
Luke didn’t utter the words but his immediate thoughts were there all the same: ‘Probably because you are letting me down,’ came the internal voice. ‘Probably because this is actually all your fault.’
Time and time again Luke had gone against his deepest instincts for self-preservation in order to revisit the subject and allay his fears that Cassie might have simply been telling him what he wanted to hear. On their six-month anniversary he took her for a weekend in Prague and raised it as they waited to board the flight back home. Her response had been to laugh and tell him that she knew the rules: ‘No babies!’ and then she had kissed him passionately, oblivious of the passengers who surrounded them. Months later when the first of Cassie’s group of friends became pregnant Luke had asked if she was having second thoughts as they stood in Mamas and Papas in the Trafford Centre searching out a set of lilac baby blankets and she had assured him it was nothing of the kind. The last time had been a little under six months ago when Cassie had come to him in tears, clearly suffering from a case of pre-thirtieth-birthday blues. ‘What would make things right for you?’ he had asked, well aware that the reply could be one that he wouldn’t like. ‘The words: “I will always love you,” plus a simple kiss would do right now.’ Luke’s sense of relief had been immense and without a moment’s hesitation he had told her that he would always love her.
Luke glanced over at Cassie; he thought she might be crying.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked. ‘Look, before, what I said. I shouldn’t have said it. It was wrong of me.’
‘Not really,’ said Cassie keeping her eyes fixed to the road ahead. ‘That’s what you think, isn’t it? That I’ve let you down.’
‘No, no, of course not.’
‘You’ve never left me in any doubt as to your position on this. You’ve always said it would never change.’
‘So why bring it up now?’
‘Because I love you.’
‘And you didn’t before?’
‘Of course I did.’
‘Then what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying that this is different. I’m saying I love you with everything I have to give and more. And when you love someone like that, you want to see that love made flesh. That’s what kids are, aren’t they? They’re two people put together. Why wouldn’t I want that for us? Why wouldn’t I want to bring someone into the world who’s made of our love? I know how much you’ve hurt at times. I’ve been there with you and wiped away the tears, but Luke, you can’t let the past rule the future. I’m not Jayne and I never will be. I’d sooner hurt myself than hurt you like she did so you don’t need to protect yourself from getting hurt any more because I’m here and I love you and nothing bad is ever going to happen to you again.’
Back in Chorlton Cassie helped Luke unload the car but once the job was done she disappeared to the bathroom, locked the door behind her and ran a hot bath. It was an hour before she emerged and then she went straight to their room and closed the door behind her.
When Luke (who had spent most of his hour alone waiting for Cassie to emerge so that they could call a truce) heard the bedroom door close he froze. He wanted to go up and see Cassie. He wanted to say, ‘Look, I’m sorry, babe. You’re right, I’m wrong, of course we should start a family,’ but the words just weren’t in him. Nothing Cassie had said to him had changed his feelings about having children and though he was aware that the situation had the potential to snowball into something more lethal than a simple tiff, there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. He took a deep breath, made his way upstairs and knocking on the bedroom door (why he wasn’t quite sure) he entered the bedroom to find Cassie sitting on the edge of the bed in her pyjamas doing her hair.
‘Are you hungry? I was thinking of doing fish fingers and chips or something.’
‘No thanks.’
‘So are you going to bed then?’
‘I’m tired. It’s been a long day.’
‘I thought we were going to watch that DVD you borrowed from your mate.’
‘You watch it if you want to,’ said Cassie, picking up the brush beside her.
Luke had had enough. ‘So this is how you want to leave things? This is so typical.’
‘Do you know what really hurts?’ said Cassie, seemingly oblivious to Luke’s accusation. ‘That you couldn’t even find it in yourself to say that you’d think about it.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘Of course it’s what I want!’
Luke couldn’t believe it. She might as well ask him to lie to her face. What was the point of agreeing to think about something when he was one hundred per cent sure that he wouldn’t change his mind? Wasn’t that just offering hope when there was none? Wasn’t that just dishonesty dressed up as pragmatism? But because this was what Cassie wanted to hear, he said (mostly because he loved her and partly because he just wanted this to be over), ‘Then fine. If it’s what you want I’ll think about it.’
‘You know I don’t dance.’
The following Friday night, Russell and Angie were sitting in a bar on Thomas Street for their usual hey-it’s-the
-weekend-let’s-drink-ourselves-silly meet-up. The bar was more packed than usual but fortunately for the pair as soon as they had stepped through the doors a large group of students sitting on the worn leather sofas in the corner stood up and before they had even put on their jackets Angie had slipped in behind them, handed Russell a crumpled ten-pound note and ordered him to get her a double vodka and Red Bull by fair means or foul. Now they were firmly ensconced in their favourite spot.
For the most part they talked about two items currently highest of Angie’s list of things that were bothering her. The first was the fact that now Aaron had moved out of the flat it would only be a matter of a few months before she couldn’t afford to carry on living there. Russell had suggested that perhaps she should go into a house share but Angie had looked at him in a withering fashion as though he had suggested that she take up part-time prostitution. Next Angie had brought up Aaron again, this time in relation to the recent news that he had apparently been seen by a mutual friend in the company of another (female) mutual friend with Angie declaring that ‘the fat bitch can have him if for all I care him it’s the sneaking about like I give a toss that really gets under my skin.’ Russell didn’t bother challenging this because it would only annoy her.
When they had exhausted Aaron-related topics Angie firmly set down her glass and demanded to know what was ailing Russell.
‘Who says there’s something ailing me?’ said Russell, taking a long sip from his pint by way of diversion.
‘I do,’ laughed Angie. ‘First off you’ve barely said a word all night and what’s more you’ve called me three times this week to check I’m coming out tonight. Not even my mother calls me that often.’