Happy Endings

by Jon Rance

  ‘I know, love, and we do have to move, but with me not working at the moment and you at the coffee shop, I don’t know what we’re going to do. I’ll try and get something quick like a commercial and maybe my parents could help us initially,’ I started but Jack leapt in, his face more determined than I’d ever seen him before.

  ‘I’m going to sort this out,’ he said. ‘One way or another, I’m going to support us and give us the life we need. We don’t need your parents. I’m going to be your husband soon and a father and I’m going to do this,’ he said and all I could do was smile and play uneasily with my cutlery.

  ‘Emma?’ said a voice suddenly. I looked up and there was a waiter dressed in the restaurant’s black and white stripes. He was handsome, probably in his early twenties, and had striking cheekbones and piercing deep blue eyes. He looked vaguely familiar. ‘Sorry, Stephen Croft. I’m in The Hen Weekend, just a lowly old friend of a friend, but we had a line together. Shit, you don’t remember me, so embarrassing, I’m sorry . . .’

  I did remember him. Suddenly his face came back to me. We’d gone over our line at the mansion the day before I left. Young Stephen Croft, fresh out of university, desperate to be an actor and exactly like me ten years before. He had the world at his feet and nothing was going to stand in his way.

  ‘Of course I remember you, how’s things? How’s the film?’

  Suddenly Stephen was going on about the film and who was in line to replace me and script changes and rehearsals. As he was talking and I could see how completely wrapped up in it he was something fell over me: a blanket of calm, because I realised I didn’t care anymore. The film was my past and even though I’d moved on, a part of me had still been worried that somewhere along the line, I’d regret giving up my big chance and having a baby. Stephen went on for ten minutes before his manager gave him the evil eye.

  ‘Must go, great seeing you again, Em. See you around,’ he said, but as soon as he said it, I thought to myself that he probably wouldn’t.

  ‘You OK?’ said Jack, reaching across and placing a hand over mine.

  ‘Yeah, I am,’ I said with a smile, but it wasn’t forced and I meant it. I really was going to be OK. ‘You do realise what this pregnancy means?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I’m going to be an absolute whale at our wedding.’

  To: Kate Jones

  From: Emma Fogle

  Subject: Re: Oz

  K,

  I was just reading back the first email you sent me – shit that feels like a lifetime ago now – and you were right, this is strange. I also read the last one and then I started thinking about how everything is changing and it’s scary, Kate. Don’t get me wrong, things are changing for the better. I’m super excited to be a mummy (I know Jack will call me a yummy mummy!) and you’re off travelling the world. I guess I was just thinking how as you get older changes become scarier because they mean so much more. It’s like you said, when we were kids, having fun, kissing boys, none of it felt like a big deal. But now everything seems so important and that’s terrifying.

  I’m sorry to hear about you and Ed. I can send Jack on a scouting mission if you want. Check out the lie of the land? I’m sure you’ll work it out though. I mean the man proposed to you not that long ago. Surely that means something, right? It must be hard being so far apart. I can’t imagine being that far away from Jack. The important thing though is that you enjoy yourself and worry about Ed when you get back. Remember what you used to always tell me whenever I didn’t get an acting part? Only worry about the things you can control and let everything else go. You were right then, Kate, so take your own advice!

  I feel so boring now. Just a pregnant woman. I sit at home watching daytime television and reading pregnancy books – such a cliché! I haven’t managed to get any acting jobs yet. My agent is trying, apparently – I think he’s still quite pissed off about me getting pregnant. Oh well. I hope the world’s largest sand island was fun. I look forward to seeing some more photos and hearing about the rest of your A-mazing adventure soon!

  Love Em X

  April

  Kate

  ‘I feel like death,’ said Orla.

  She had on her big sunglasses, a hoodie top and definitely looked a lot like death. I didn’t feel much better myself. Not quite death, but maybe a severe cardiac arrest, still in critical condition. We were sitting at a café across the street from our hostel in Cairns. Our east coast trip was almost up. After Byron Bay we’d visited Brisbane, camped on Fraser Island, spent a few relaxing days on lovely Magnetic Island, sailed around the Whitsunday Islands on a catamaran and rented a car and driven to Cape Tribulation. Cairns was our final stop. Our last hurrah. We checked into Gilligan’s backpacker resort and last night, even for us, had been a big one.

  ‘I know what you mean. I don’t know if I can eat this,’ I said, looking down at a plate of bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, hash browns and toast. I was already on my second coffee and itching for a third.

  ‘Get it down you; you’ll feel much better.’

  I grunted back. I wasn’t so sure.

  We only had one more night together and that was it. One more night and then Orla was staying in Cairns to find a job and I was flying to Melbourne. I’d been with Orla for just over two months in total. In backpacker terms we’d been friends forever. We’d been drunk so many times, shared every facet and side street of our lives and now we were about to go our separate ways. Maybe we’d never see each other ever again. The strange transitory nature of backpacker relationships never failed to surprise, delight and depress me.

  ‘Before we go, I have to ask you something,’ said Orla as we neared the end of our breakfasts. I was faring better than expected, but still couldn’t stomach the mushrooms, which had a sickly brown look about them and a snail-like juice that ran and mixed with the tomatoes.

  ‘Anything as long as it doesn’t involve alcohol. I don’t think I’m ever going to drink again.’

  ‘How many times have you said that during the last few months?’

  ‘Not enough, apparently.’

  We giggled and then Orla looked at me with a solemn, thoughtful face.

  ‘Why is it you love Ed so much?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why do you still love him? Maybe it’s just me, but it seems like you’re travelling on your own, falling for hunky, young traveller guys in Thailand . . .’

  ‘Guy,’ I corrected her.

  ‘All right, guy. It sounds to me like he’s holding you back, making you feel guilty and miserable and yet you still claim you love him. Why?’

  I felt a dull pain in my stomach every time I thought of Ed. I didn’t know what it was. Guilt, perhaps, or sadness? It felt like I had a football sitting in my stomach. Did I still love Ed? It was a question I’d asked myself a hundred times since Byron Bay. Of course, after I got off the phone with Ed, I spent the rest of the day crying with Orla, telling her every last detail of my relationship with Ed and my feelings for Jez. Orla listened and then we went out and got hammered – her idea, not mine. I’d spent every day since going over and over in my mind the conversation with Ed, trying to fathom how we’d arrived at that point and what it meant to my future. To our future.

  So when Orla asked why I still loved him, the truth was, I wasn’t entirely sure. I did though. I loved him. We’d been through too much together and shared too much to just stop. Relationships and love didn’t come with brakes, brakes that worked anyway.

  ‘It’s complicated,’ is all I could say.

  ‘No offence, Kate, but people only say it’s complicated when what they really mean is, I don’t know how to finish it.’

  Was she right? Was Ed just a habit I didn’t know how to quit? Was Ed just like smoking and all I needed were some Ed patches and then everything would be all right?

  ‘Well, that isn’t the case with us, I can assure you. If I wanted to finish it, I would,’ I said, not sure whether my performance was
that convincing or if I even believed it myself. ‘Like I said, it’s complicated.’

  ‘As long as you’re sure,’ said Orla with a supportive smile. ‘I just want you to be happy.’

  ‘I’m sure,’ I said. ‘Now how about a hair of the dog?’

  ‘I thought you weren’t drinking ever again?’

  ‘And how many times have I said that during the last few months?’

  ‘Not enough, apparently,’ said Orla with a huge grin.

  As we got up, the stomach-football sank down and disappeared for a moment, but I knew it would be back. I really didn’t want to drink again, but it was the only distraction I could think of. Maybe alcohol would help uncomplicate things or at the very least take my mind of it for a few hours.

  ‘He isn’t your usual type,’ said Emma.

  ‘What do you mean? I don’t have a type,’ I replied.

  ‘Oh, come on, Kate. You definitely have a type. Slackers, bohemians, arty types. Tall, good-looking and usually dangerous. They’re always a bit alternative, but he is just very . . .’

  ‘Very what?’

  ‘Straight. If your history of boyfriends was Take That, you’ve finally landed Gary Barlow.’

  I looked at Emma and we giggled, but inside the mechanisms started to turn and my usual doubts and worries started to grind away. I really liked him, but I also knew Em was right: he definitely wasn’t my usual type.

  ‘Well, maybe I’m ready for Gary Barlow.’

  ‘After Dan, you mean?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, looking down briefly at the table, feeling that same mixture of regret, embarrassment and anger I’d felt every day since we’d broken up.

  ‘He was definitely a Robbie.’

  ‘But the worst version of Robbie. Post-Take-That-break-up Glastonbury Robbie.’

  ‘You’re well shot of him, and maybe this Gary Barlow wannabe is just what you need.’

  ‘I don’t think he’s a Gary Barlow wannabe, Em.’

  ‘Then what is he?’

  ‘He’s an Ed.’

  It was a few weeks after Ed and I met in the student union and things had been moving quickly. Tonight he had to pass the best friend test and Emma was a harsh critic. We were in the Bird in Hand pub, just around the corner from my student digs. Ed was at the bar getting in a round and Emma was giving me her opening argument. Poor Ed didn’t know it yet, but this wasn’t just a casual drink, as I’d sold it to him, but a litmus test that would determine whether our relationship would continue or sink into oblivion. I valued Emma’s opinion perhaps even more than my own. She’d warned me against getting serious with Dan and she’d been right. The excitement and constant partying that was fun at first had quickly sunk into cocaine-fuelled arguments (him on the coke, not me) and nursing his hangovers and mood swings. His roguish good looks, laddish charm and the possibility that I could change him had kept me around far too long.

  ‘Here you go,’ said Ed, returning with three drinks and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

  ‘Thanks,’ Emma said warmly.

  Ed smiled and sat down next to me. I reached across and put my hand on his leg. We all sat in silence for a moment and sipped our drinks.

  ‘Ed, Kate tells me you’re from Slough.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  I could see the tension suddenly tighten the muscles in his face. He didn’t like talking about his family. In the past few weeks I’d managed to drag a few pieces of information out of him, but it had been like pulling teeth. The general consensus seemed to be that he was embarrassed and wanted to forget where he’d come from. I just hadn’t found out why.

  ‘What’s it like there?’

  ‘Pretty awful.’

  ‘There was that John Betjeman poem wasn’t there? Something about dropping bombs on Slough. I always thought that was a bit harsh. It can’t be that bad.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ said Ed.

  Another pause in conversation. I squeezed Ed’s leg under the table.

  ‘Ow, what was that for?’ said Ed, looking at me a little shocked.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, hoping he would get the hint and ask Emma a question or say something. Another pause.

  ‘Ed’s going to start his own business,’ I finally said, jumping on the ticking bomb myself.

  ‘Oh, really, what sort?’ said Emma enthusiastically. She was really trying, bless her.

  Ed took a long sip of his pint before he answered.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ he said in his best Gary Barlow voice. ‘Probably something online.’ This wasn’t going well. I felt bad for Ed because he didn’t know this was an interview. He’d turned up fully expecting to already have the job in the bag. He didn’t know it was still up for grabs. It wasn’t his fault he was a bit quiet around people he didn’t know well. I was sure if Emma got to know him, he’d open up and she’d love him. Question was, would he get the time?

  ‘Oh, right, sounds good,’ said Em.

  Just then the door opened and in walked Dan, completely off his face. The signs might not have been visible to the average punter, but I knew him. We’d dated for the best part of a year and I could tell from his slightly off-kilter walk and the glazed eyes. Unfortunately, before I had the chance to do anything, he saw me and his face lit up.

  ‘Fuck me, if it isn’t Kate Jones,’ said Dan, walking over and almost straight into the table.

  I hadn’t told Ed about Dan, mainly because I was trying to forget about him myself.

  ‘Hello, Dan,’ I said coldly.

  ‘And the gorgeous Emma.’ Dan pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. He stank of beer and cigarettes.

  ‘And Dan the twat,’ Emma said without missing a beat.

  ‘Fair play, fair play. And who’s the stiff?’ He nodded at Ed.

  ‘Ed,’ said Ed, offering his hand, but Dan ignored him.

  ‘Don’t suppose you fancy buying me a pint?’ Dan asked. ‘For old times’ sake?’

  ‘Just leave it, Dan, eh.’

  ‘What? Don’t you want to drink with your old—?’

  ‘I said, leave it,’ I half-shouted, and felt Ed stiffen up. My face was burning. I was mortified.

  ‘Old what?’ said Ed, suddenly looking across at me.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ I said coyly.

  I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up whole. I was embarrassed, guilty and I didn’t want Ed to know anything about me and Dan.

  ‘Oh, fuck me, she didn’t mention me, did she?’

  ‘No she didn’t,’ said Ed.

  ‘We dated. For a year. Only broke up a couple of months ago. Apparently, she couldn’t handle the drink . . .’

  ‘And the drugs. Don’t forget the drugs, Dan,’ I snapped.

  ‘At least it wasn’t the sex, eh. That was fucking mental, wasn’t it, Kate, eh?’

  I went red. Very red and felt a heady mixture of loathing and resentment towards Dan. Why did he always have to ruin everything? Ed was probably going to do a runner as fast as he could after this and who could blame him? I hadn’t had sex with Ed because I wanted to take things slowly, make sure before I committed myself, and there was Dan making out I was some sort of voracious sex addict.

  ‘I think it’s time you left,’ said Ed suddenly.

  ‘Oh, the fucking stiff’s not dead after all,’ said Dan, standing up. Despite being off his tits, Dan was still big. A lot bigger than Ed.

  ‘Come on, mate. Just go and let us have a quiet drink,’ said Ed calmly.

  I felt the blood rushing through my body. Excitement, fear and a sudden affection for Ed. I didn’t care that he was more Gary Barlow than Robbie. Dan was a dick and the last boyfriend I would have that would treat me like shit. Ed wouldn’t ever treat me like that. He was decent, honest and not afraid to stand up for me.

  ‘And what you going to do about it if I don’t?’ said Dan, a smarmy grin on his annoying face.

  ‘Just leave it will you and go!’ I shouted, standing up quickly.

  ‘Oh you can fuck off
too,’ said Dan. ‘You fucking bitch!’

  I don’t know what happened, but the next minute and Ed had punched Dan and Dan was lying on the floor, blood dribbling from his mouth.

  ‘No one talks to my girlfriend like that. I don’t want to see you around here ever again, understand?’ Ed said, standing over him as the barman came rushing over. I’d never seen that side of Ed before. The Ed I knew was composed and rational. He never so much as looked angry or even slightly annoyed and here he was punching out my ex, a good four inches taller and three stone heavier. There was obviously a lot more to Ed than I’d originally thought.

  Dan looked at Ed with a blank expression before the barman escorted him to the door and kicked him out.

  ‘You all right?’ Ed asked.

  ‘I am now,’ I replied.

  ‘Our hero,’ said Emma, with a smile and a wink. I knew from that moment on that he had her approval.

  As Orla and I walked towards the pub, I thought about all the moments from my past and all the times with Ed. It wasn’t that he’d punched Dan, but what it represented. I knew from that day on that I loved him. He kept me safe and made me feel something I hadn’t felt with anyone else before: content. With men like Dan I had been trying to fill a gap. The hole left by my useless father. With Ed, I didn’t feel like that. Ed wasn’t a daddy stand-in. Ed was a proper boyfriend, a man who made up for all the losses I’d felt since I was a kid. In one swoop he’d made me complete.

  The problem I had now was trying to work out if he still made me feel that way. I knew why I loved him, knew what he meant to me, but the only thing I didn’t know was whether it was still enough.

  ‘Beer o’clock?’ said Orla, standing outside a pub.

  ‘One last time,’ I said and we disappeared inside.