Going Home

by Harriet Evans

  Miles was in there, humming softly and pouring wine. There was something reassuringly familiar about his bulk. ‘OK there? Shall I take more glasses out?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure,’ said Miles. ‘They’re lovely. I found them in the back of the cupboard. Are they antique? Crystal? Where did you get them?’

  ‘Er,’ I said.

  Miles looked back at them too. ‘Oh, God, David gave them to you on your anniversary, didn’t he?’ he said. ‘Shit, Lizzy, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘They’re nice, and I never use them. Leave it.’

  ‘No way,’ said Miles, opening and shutting cupboard doors. ‘God, I’m an idiot.’

  ‘You’re not!’ I said. ‘Don’t – oh, OK. Yes, that’s it, there.’

  Miles emerged, red-faced, clutching a box. ‘Here we go. What vintage are these?’

  ‘Ikea, 2001,’ I said. ‘Bought twelve, only six left now, three pounds for six.’

  ‘Bargain,’ said Miles. He flipped open the box, plucked out the glasses, flung the wine from the old glasses into the new ones, and slipped the cut-glass lead crystal goblets David had bought when we’d been in Paris into the wrong box. I knew they would stay there, traces of wine still in them, for a long time. He crouched, pushed the box into the back of the cupboard and stood up. ‘Right, Captain,’ he said. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, and picked up the tray.

  And that was sad, too.

  ‘This looks lovely,’ Tom said, as I brought out the platter of forlorn-looking food that unfortunately constituted the elegant Friday-night kitchen supper. We all looked at the meagre plate in silence.

  ‘I ate some of it by mistake,’ I said. ‘Really, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. So I’m not that hungry. I’ll just watch you eat.’ I couldn’t have eaten a thing anyway.

  ‘Come on, Lizzy, that’s ridiculous. I’ll feel terrible,’ said Jess.

  ‘Honestly,’ I said, panicking. ‘Please.’

  ‘If David wasn’t here, there’d be enough,’ Tom said pointedly. ‘Very true,’ David said. There was a silence. He looked at Tom, then poured himself a glass of wine, sat back and reached into his coat, which he had kept on. He pulled out two bags of Mini Cheddars. ‘I brought along my own supper,’ he said. ‘I remember this happening before.’

  Miles frowned at him, but I knew what he was talking about. ‘The evening of the pie,’ I said.

  ‘Ye-es,’ said David, opening the bags of Mini Cheddars and pouring them into a mound at the side of the platter.

  ‘Oh, God, I remember!’ Tom said.

  ‘What happened?’ Miles asked.

  ‘Lizzy spent all afternoon making a pie – why didn’t it work, Liz?’ Tom asked.

  ‘When I put it into the oven all the pastry slid off and crumbled into the meat,’ I said, trying to make out like that was how cool people cooked pies.

  ‘So she threw it away, and – where did we go?’ Tom turned to David.

  ‘To that pub in Maida Vale with the Thai restaurant upstairs.’

  ‘God, yes,’ Tom said, punching David’s arm. ‘Anyway,’ he went on. ‘We got back to Lizzy’s after the pub, and some friend of hers from university – you were trying to set me up with her, weren’t you, Lizzy?’

  ‘No,’ I said, lying.

  David laughed at me. ‘You were, Lizzy,’ he said. ‘Marina. You said they’d be perfect for each other because they both loved US sitcoms.’

  ‘God, yes,’ Tom said, and shuddered. David chuckled, and patted him sympathetically on the back.

  I wondered whether he had been aware that Tom was gay all along, then knew, with a quiet, depressing certainty, that he had.

  ‘She draped herself all over David – she thought you were going out with me – and Georgy sat on the sofa and got pissed, and then Ash arrived with that girl he was seeing – Gemma? And then you threw the pie in the bin and screamed, and all we had to eat was the green salad she’d made to go with it,’ he finished, looking around the table.

  ‘Yes,’ said David. He nodded gravely at me, but his smile was amused. ‘And then you made me go out to the corner shop and buy some Twiglets and – ironically – some Mini Cheddars. So it was serendipitous that I brought some this evening, I think.’

  ‘It’s not serendipitous,’ Tom scoffed. ‘You’ve got a good memory, that’s all. You don’t go out with Lizzy if you want to stuff your face all day. Either she’s got there before you or she’s thrown it away.’

  ‘That’s not why I went out with her, certainly,’ David said, and laughed. It was a nice laugh, somehow acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation. As if he had said, ‘it was ages ago. Look how mature we can all be about it now.’

  And that was sad, too.

  After that it wasn’t awkward. I laughed and joked – we all did. Miles flirted outrageously with me, which was great, and Tom was friendly and nice to David. Only in the brief pauses, as someone passed the food or asked for another glass of wine, did the masks start to slip.

  As alcohol relaxed me I found my part easier to play. And Miles can rise to any social challenge. He has small talk in abundance, and can chat lightly on any subject under the sun.

  ‘So, Tom,’ he said, leaning forward, eyes glittering above his red wine, ‘had any dates lately?’

  We’d just finished the main course (a handful of Mini Cheddars each, some bread, one artichoke, and a minuscule slice of bresaola, alas), and had spent the last ten minutes arguing over Tom’s choice of stag night for Gibbo. He wanted to take him on a group outing to Singalonga Sound of Music, and we were trying to persuade him that this was a terrible idea, which he strongly disputed.

  Tom pushed his plate away, and dabbed at his mouth with a napkin (a square of kitchen roll). ‘Mind your own business,’ he said.

  ‘Come on,’ Miles pressed him. ‘I want to know you’re laying waste the gay scene in London, that you spend every leisure hour applying false eyelashes and glitter and rushing out into Soho.’

  ‘No,’ said Tom, shortly. ‘I was at work yesterday till one o’clock in the morning, and the night before that till three. Tell me how I’m supposed to pull when I’m working hours like that.’

  ‘You could always try trawling the men’s loos in the office – you never know what you might come across.’ Miles pursed his lips in a faux-camp way and smiled.

  ‘Shut up, Miles,’ David said.

  Tom didn’t seem to mind. ‘Is that how you get your dates, Miles? Good for you, my friend. Needs must, eh?’

  Miles laughed. ‘Fuck off, Walter.’

  Tom turned to David and said something about a bar in Soho that Jess had found recently and Miles swivelled to face me. ‘OK?’ he said, in a jokey tone.

  I glanced round to see if the others were listening. ‘I’m fine. It’s weird, though.’

  Under the table, he patted my hand surreptitiously. ‘It must be. Look, I’m so sorry about bringing him tonight. I forced you into a corner, I shouldn’t have done that whole thing with the plumber – it was really inconsiderate.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said, putting my hand on his. ‘It’s nice to see him again, under normal circs, too. Well, kind of normal circs.’

  The conversation from the other side of the table suddenly became animated and Tom said something funny to David, pointing his finger and laughing.

  ‘How are you feeling about it now?’ Miles asked. ‘Like it’s all for the best? Or like it was a big mistake?’

  ‘Er…Bit of both, really,’ I said noncommittally. ‘What’s done is done, and there’s no going back.’

  ‘And do you really think that?’ said Miles, quietly.

  The others erupted again. ‘You fell out of the cab!’ David yelled at Tom.

  Jess threw back her head and laughed. ‘He did! You’re right, he did!’ she said. ‘Lizzy,’ she appealed to me, ‘didn’t Tom fall out of the cab the night we all went to that cheesy Sloanes’ club in South Ken?’

  ‘I bloody
never did,’ said Tom, crossly.

  ‘You did, I’m afraid,’ said David, patting him comfortingly on the back and smiling broadly. ‘Let me refresh your memory. You hailed the cab and we all queued to get in, and you climbed in first and opened the other door and fell straight out on the other side.’ He turned to me. I sat up straight and Miles’s hand slid off my leg. ‘Didn’t he, Liz?’

  ‘You did, Tom,’ I agreed. ‘You rolled into some iron railings and you said, “Where am I?”’

  ‘I completely dispute that,’ said Tom.

  ‘Tough,’ said David. His eyes met mine. ‘We were witnesses. Lizzy had to take you back to our flat, remember? Her flat, I mean.’

  I nodded, smiling at them both. ‘That is also true.’ I slumped back in my chair, feeling slightly sick as I remembered how things had been and how they were now.

  Miles turned to me again as the others carried on chatting. ‘Anyway, my love, I’m going to take you out to supper next week to apologize for bringing my horrible brother.’

  ‘You don’t have to,’ I said.

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Miles said, ‘but I want to.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. It’s – well, it’s David’s fault, I suppose, then mine, and so on, but not yours, well—’

  Miles interrupted. ‘I insist. What are friends for?’

  ‘OK, then,’ I said. ‘Nice. Where?’

  ‘You are ticklish!’ Tom screeched. ‘Jess, you bloody liar, you so are ticklish! Everywhere!’

  ‘I’m so absolutely not,’ replied Jess.

  ‘This great new members’ club in Covent Garden I’ve just joined,’ Miles said, running his fingers up and down the stem of his wine glass, trying to ignore the others. ‘Ha. David tried to get in last year and they wouldn’t have him. Membership full. But I got in. He’s gutted.’

  ‘Revenge is sweet,’ I said, as David grabbed Jess in a neck-lock and tickled her till she screamed.

  ‘Does anyone want any coffee?’ I said after pudding (a few fondant fancies), as I pushed back my chair with a plate in each hand.

  ‘Peppermint tea for me, please,’ said Jess.

  ‘Coffee,’ said Tom, lighting another cigarette. I wedged the salad bowl under my arm. ‘Coming right up,’ I said. ‘David, how about you?’ I knew what he’d say, just as I knew he loved Colmans and hated grainy mustard. Just as I knew he loved ham and his favourite meal was steak with béarnaise sauce.

  He looked tired and a little drunk. Bearing in mind the lack of food and the abundance of alcohol this was no surprise. ‘Coffee, please. No milk,’ he said. He pulled the bowl from under my arm. ‘Don’t carry that, Lizzy.’

  I went into the kitchen, smarting at his patronizing ways. He followed me. ‘Thanks. I can cope you know,’ I said, taking the bowl out of his hands and switching on the coffee machine, which was one of the noisy ones that rattles and steams the moment you go near it.

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant…’ he pointed, ‘…you’ve got olive oil on your top now – there, look.’ He moved towards me and touched the inside of my arm lightly, then paused and looked at me. I froze, cheeks burning, heart thumping. I grabbed his finger and held his arm in front of me. The kettle whistled behind us. I looked up at him. My breath was coming in shallow gulps. Slowly, he bent his head and kissed me. And I remembered how our lips always met perfectly, as if by instinct. I remembered the taste of him, the feel of his skin on mine, the sensation that was like nothing else as he pulled me to him desperately.

  And then the doorbell rang. We sprang apart. David put his hand on my arm. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’ He cupped my chin in his hand. ‘Lizzy. Oh, God, Lizzy. Don’t you ever wonder…why this happened?’ His dark eyes were staring at me, with a mixture of fear and eagerness. The doorbell rang again.

  ‘Lisa,’ I said, coming to my senses. I stroked his hand one last time, to remind myself of how he felt. ‘Lisa Garratt, you remember?’

  ‘Is that really it?’ David said. And at that moment, Miles appeared in the doorway.

  ‘It’s a bloke called Jade on the intercom,’ he said. ‘I think he’s American. He sounds like a nutter. Shall I tell him to fuck off?’

  At the age of sixteen, when one is most vulnerable and prone to think one is the most hideous creature in all of creation, I was unlucky to be cursed with buck teeth and terrible skin. I also had a weird mullet, which meant that my hair, which is sort of wavy and past my shoulders, was cropped at the top of my head, and ballooned out, as if I was wearing hairy dumb-bells, to my shoulders. I played chess and the oboe and bared my top teeth, flaring my nostrils, when I concentrated.

  How I wish, therefore, I could have revisited that sixteen-year-old and told her the glad tidings of great joy that lay ahead of her: that a mere twelve years later she would be in the situation I was in when I heard Jaden’s tread on the stairs. Yes, there I was, about to kiss my ex-boyfriend in the kitchen when my current boyfriend rang the doorbell.

  ‘Lizzy,’ David began.

  ‘Sorry,’ I mumbled, and pushed him away.

  ‘Lizzy!’ David said again, his voice urgent. ‘Will you listen to me?’ he said, speaking fast, as if he knew time was running out. ‘Lisa and me – it meant nothing, OK? You’re overreacting. You don’t have to be so bloody brave all the time, you know. It’s—’ His shoulders slumped. ‘Oh, forget it.’

  I could hear the front door opening.

  Right, I thought. Let’s skim over the part where David calls sleeping with someone else (a) nothing and (b) me overreacting. I didn’t know how he could have done that with someone else after all the promises we’d made to each other. Was that stupid of me?

  And I realized I could fall for him again at the click of two fingers, flick of a button. That having him in front of me was still what had made me happiest in my life. And that was why, if I stood any chance of getting over him, I had to walk away.

  Jaden picked that moment to come into the kitchen. He’d been with Ash all day, working on rewrites. His hair lacked its customary gelled care and there were faint dark circles under his eyes. At that moment he seemed more human to me than he ever had before. He stood in the doorway and looked at the pair of us. ‘Lizzy, I’m sorry if I’m intruding,’ he began. ‘You said it might be OK for me to come over after Ash and I were done and…’

  He knew, of course. He wasn’t judging me but he was jumping to conclusions about what was going on here and I couldn’t bear him to think that. I walked towards him, and imprinted myself on him, pressing myself to him, suddenly glad of his comforting presence in a strange evening. I kissed his lips and ran my hands through his hair, then stood back and smiled into his eyes. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ I said. ‘I thought you might have gone straight home.’

  ‘I found a plumbing guy for you,’ he said, stepping back a little.

  ‘You what?’ I said, aware of David glowering at me. I reran the words in my head. ‘A plumber?’

  Jaden nodded. ‘Well, it’s been bugging you, so I just asked around. He’s great. I got him to come over tomorrow. Simon – the director, you know? – recommended him. So, that’s my contribution to human happiness for the week. And now – oh, I’m so sorry.’ He turned, obviously realising he must acknowledge David because I wouldn’t. ‘Hi there,’ he said, holding out his right hand, while the left rested gently on the waistband of my jeans. ‘I’m Jaden Adler. We met last year, but I don’t expect you remember. It was at a party for Lizzy’s work—’

  David started, as if he’d been miles away. ‘Yes, of course I do,’ he said, came forward and shook Jaden’s hand. ‘Nice to see you again.’ He stood back and regarded him with a strange expression. ‘You were writing a screenplay about a co-dependency workshop in Silicon Valley, I seem to remember. How’s it going?’

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s not really a current project,’ Jaden said, as I squirmed inwardly. ‘I’m over here for a little while, working. With this girl here.’ He squeezed me to him.

  ‘Yes, he is,’ I ad
ded half-heartedly, and squeezed back.

  David looked at us. ‘That’s great. Lizzy, I was about to say—’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry,’ Jaden interjected. ‘Did I interrupt?’

  ‘No – God, no,’ David said lightly. ‘Don’t worry. Miles and I were just leaving. What I wanted to say, Lizzy, was…’ he turned to put his glass on the counter, then back to me, ‘…have you heard from Mike lately?’

  ‘Mike?’ I said blankly. ‘Oh, Mike. No, not for a while. Why? I have been wondering where he is actually.’

  ‘Me too,’ said David. ‘Never mind, just asking. I’ll call him when I get back to New York. Anyway, thanks for a lovely evening.’

  Don’t go, I wanted to say. Or, Do you remember the last time you were here? The night before you left for New York. When we stayed up till dawn. And at the last minute you gave me that ring, and told me you loved me. And do you know how many times since then I’ve cried about you, in this flat?

  Perhaps I might have said something if we had been alone, but we weren’t, and I felt incredibly tired. I blinked and smiled at him, and he looked at me, then Jaden. Silence fell upon us.

  Thank God for Miles: as if by magic he appeared in the doorway from the sitting room, where he, Jess and Tom had been lying about chatting, or pretending to while they were earwigging on the scenes in the kitchen.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, shaking Jaden’s hand and dispelling the awkwardness that lurked among us. ‘Nice to see you again, Jaden. Right, then.’ He looked at his brother and, all of a sudden, David seemed distant to me again, a stranger.

  ‘Are you ready to go now?’ he asked Miles, almost rudely.