Still Thinking of You

by Adele Parks

  Greta had had enough of sitting alone at home. Alone, it was too easy to feel hurt and vulnerable. It was her belief that the manufacturers of telephones put something in the handset of mobiles and land phones which distorted conversations. Conversations that were supposed to be jovial and encouraging, or conciliatory and tender, some-how transformed into conversations which were pitted with snide jibes and hostile demands. Greta wanted to put a stop to it.

  It was a mistake for Lloyd to have come away without her. He was inclined to the maudlin and the sentimental. She understood that. He’d given a lot up to be with her, she knew that. And it wasn’t easy, not for anyone. Of course, he lived with regrets, everyone did. But Greta did not believe that Lloyd ought to regret leaving his wife for her. Greta loved Lloyd. She loved him, very, very much. And she would make him happy again, if only he would let her. If he ever stopped feeling guilty and allowed himself to be happy again, she’d be by his side. And even if he never stopped feeling guilty, she would still be by his side. Because that is what she wanted, and that is what Lloyd deserved.

  Greta knew that there was a reasonable chance that Lloyd would have called his ex-wife this week. He would have got drunk at some point (or, probably, at several points) and reasoned that it was a good idea to try to piece things back together with the mother of his child. He had said the same thing to her on a number of drunken occasions. That was the problem, when drink goes in, either truth or nonsense comes out, and it is sometimes hard to tell which is which. Greta knew that Lloyd wanting a reconciliation with Sophie was nonsense. Greta admitted that in a perfect world all marriages would be happy, enduring, fruitful marriages. The perfect world did not exist, not even in fairy tales. If it did, how come there were always so many step-parents in those old stories?

  Logic would dictate that it was easier the second time around, and it frustrated Greta, who had a supremely logical mind, that it was not. It was a lot harder. The blissfully ignorant are a recognized body; no one ever talks about the blissfully informed. Greta had hoped that once the divorce came through, Lloyd would believe that they had a clean slate, but he did not. He argued that the only way he could start again was to go back.

  He was wrong.

  It was impossible to turn back time or to push water back under the bridge. The English were so fond of their funny little idioms and sayings, yet they did not heed them. Greta walked purposefully into the lift and pressed the button for the second floor. She was here to tell Lloyd it was time to lay down his baggage and move on. While she was at it, she might mention that it was time for him to cut back on his alcohol units, too.

  70. Tash’s Advice

  When Mia first offered to share her room with Tash for the night, it struck Tash as bizarre. Only hours before she would have been surprised at Mia offering her a cup of coffee, let alone a lifeline. Tash briefly wondered whether she ought to feel wary of sudden friendships. After all, she now understood that Jayne’s intimacy was calculated and had never been born of genuine affection. Indeed, the opposite was true. Jayne had faked a friendship so as to be in a position to hurt Tash. It made her shudder.

  However, Tash’s embryonic friendship with Mia seemed very different. For a start, it was born out of months of hostilities, rather than seconds of attraction. Tash did not know why that should be a comfort, but it was. She did, at least, know something of Mia. In fact, after several hours of talking she believed she knew an awful lot. Mia spoke with dignified honesty and a sometimes painful but always indisputable clarity.

  Throughout the evening Mia indulged herself. She dredged up her and Jason’s history and paraded it in front of Tash for inspection. She had never treated herself to such girlie comfort before. She explained how they’d suddenly and almost inexplicably split up at college. Their break-up was precipitated by a breakdown in communication, more than anything else. Mia admitted that no one had ever come close to satisfying her emotional, physical and intellectual needs in the way that Jason had.

  ‘Jason’s never dated anyone seriously either, has he?’ asked Tash.

  ‘No, he’s a terrible tart.’

  ‘Or, it might be that he is also struggling to find someone who comes up to scratch, after you,’ suggested Tash.

  Both the girls were lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, which was illuminated by moonlight. There was a long silence. Mia weighed up the potential of Tash being right.

  ‘Do you think so?’ asked Mia.

  Tash turned on her side and propped herself up on her elbow.

  ‘Go and ask him, Mia,’ she encouraged.

  It was three in the morning. The girls had talked all night. Hostilities had halted, and new allegiances had been formed. They were behaving as though they were in a Cabinet room at a time of great crisis. They had no concept of time and little concept of reality. Everything seemed to be topsy-turvy. That night, opportunity had turned into probability. Love had turned sour. Mistrust had turned to friendship. Anything was possible.

  ‘What would I say to him?’ Mia asked.

  For the first time, for as long as she could remember, Mia wanted advice. She was at sea and wanted to get to dry land. She hoped and thought Tash had the skills to get her there.

  ‘Just be honest, Mia. Tell him that the baby stuff was real, but not absolutely considered. Tell him you want to give it a go. Tell him you want to be a conventional couple. The way I see it you have already wasted years, what more have you got to lose?’

  ‘Precisely nothing,’ said Mia, as she climbed out of bed and pulled on her clothes.

  ‘Good luck,’ said Tash, as Mia quietly closed the door behind her.

  Friday

  71. Something Blue

  Tash was relieved to see Mia go. Not only did she believe that Mia and Jason had a genuine chance of making one another happy, but also, from a more selfish point of view, she needed the space. It had been useful to stumble across Mia’s confusion and for Tash to dive into her problems, rather than have to face her own terror. But now, at precisely three fifteen on the morning of what ought to have been her wedding, Tash wanted to think about her own situation.

  She ought to have been asleep dreaming of the best day of her life. Or, if she was awake, it ought to have been because of giddy excitement, not the crucifying ache that throbbed in her gut which was keeping her awake now.

  How could he have done it to her? How could he have lied and cheated? And exactly what had he done to her? Was he having an affair as Jayne claimed? Or was it something in his past, still terrible but perhaps not quite so insistent? What did he mean when he said the kiss and the grope meant nothing? How could a kiss and a grope mean nothing? Was he referring to the kiss in the cinema that Mia had seen? Or was there another kiss and grope? The questions fell in and out of her mind. They jostled with one another, demanding consideration. Each question she answered only pushed another to the front. What sort of man had a ten-year shag-buddy? What was it about Jayne that made Rich go back and back? What was it about her that meant he never wanted to stay? Why hadn’t he told her about Jayne? Was she his back-up? Did he love Jayne? Did he love her? Did she love him? Did it matter either way?

  Tash finally fell asleep at six in the morning, only to be awoken by Mia’s alarm clock at seven. There was a split second when Tash’s heart sang. It was her wedding day. Oh, my God, she was the happiest woman on the planet, and then almost in the same instant she remembered where she was sleeping and why, and her heart broke all over again.

  She dragged herself out of bed and into the shower. She needed to eat breakfast. She didn’t feel much that way inclined, but she had to call the Registrar and cancel the wedding and she had to talk to the chef and the maître d’. Rich wouldn’t think to cancel the arrangements; he’d had so little to do with making them. Too busy getting his end away. Bastard.

  The shame and disappointment overwhelmed her. Tash started to weep, but there was no one to wipe her tears, so they washed down the plug hole with the soapy suds.

&nbs
p; Lloyd was waiting for her in the breakfast room.

  ‘I’m very sorry, Tash,’ he said, as he leapt up to hug her. Tash leant into his chest, grateful for the hug and the warmth of another body.

  ‘Does everyone know?’

  ‘Rich is in a very bad way. He came to my room last night to look for you.’

  ‘I was with Mia.’

  ‘I guess he didn’t think of that.’

  ‘No,’ smiled Tash, ‘I don’t suppose it was expected.’

  ‘Sit down. I’ll get your breakfast.’

  Lloyd scuttled to the buffet table and piled a number of pastries on to a plate. He grabbed a yoghurt and ordered some toast and fried breakfast from the chef. He wanted to be a help and would have been mortified to realize that he was appearing insensitive as he whistled the tune of ‘Oh What a Beautiful Morning’ under his breath. A song long banished to the deepest recesses of his mind, as long ago as junior school.

  ‘You seem very perky, Lloyd,’ said Tash, as she accepted the plate of pastries.

  ‘Do I?’ Lloyd was stricken. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Tash grinned. ‘I’m not one for spreading misery. Hit me with it, what’s going on in your life?’

  Lloyd felt a little shamefaced in light of Tash’s personal problems; on the other hand, he really, really wanted to tell someone. And Tash was the someone he wanted to tell.

  ‘Greta flew in last night.’

  ‘Wow!’

  ‘Exactly. She flew all this way to see me. She said she was missing me.’

  ‘And from the look on your face this morning, you’ve clearly missed her.’

  ‘Yes, I had. I was confused for a while. I knew I was missing something. Grieving over a lot of things, but I didn’t know exactly how much I missed Greta, not until last night.’ Lloyd beamed. ‘I thought I wanted Sophie back.’

  ‘I’ve wondered whether that was the case.’

  ‘I just wanted a fresh start, but Sophie won’t give me that.’

  ‘Or can’t,’ pointed out Tash.

  ‘Yes,’ conceded Lloyd. ‘But Greta can, and she wants to. It’s not that I’m swapping one woman for another.’ Lloyd broke off and looked apologetically at Tash. He wanted her to understand the nuance of emotion.

  ‘You’re just trying to be happy, Lloyd. Good for you. Nothing would ever be fixed if you stayed unhappy and regretful for ever.’

  ‘That’s what Greta said.’ Lloyd beamed again.

  Tash realized that this was the first time she’d seen him throw out a genuine smile. It was so wide you could have driven a truck through it.

  ‘We had a “big talk”.’ Lloyd pencilled inverted commas into the air with his fingers, clearly embarrassed.

  ‘That is so great,’ smiled Tash. ‘I’m only sorry there won’t be a wedding for her to join.’

  Lloyd’s beam vanished. ‘You can’t forgive him?’

  ‘I can’t bear him.’

  Tash thanked the waiter that had brought her toast and fried breakfast, and immediately picked up her knife and folk. She started to cut a sausage, but then dropped the cutlery. She didn’t have it in her. You needed spirit to eat a hearty fried breakfast, and right now she was overwhelmed by just the toast and tiny pots of jam.

  She hurt.

  ‘He’s so sorry. He really hasn’t been having an affair.’

  ‘Why didn’t he tell me about her, then?’ demanded Tash.

  She knew she was being unfair. How would Lloyd know? She didn’t. Tash didn’t understand it. It seemed that, for the majority, being honest with those they loved most was the hardest thing to be.

  ‘Jayne’s gone. She left by train.’

  ‘I wish I’d thought of that,’ muttered Tash.

  ‘I talked to her last night. She’s really screwed up, but she did admit to me that they aren’t having an affair and that she’d wangled an invitation to the holiday just to split you up. She said that she’s been making a play for Rich and that he has resisted.’

  ‘Except for the snog and the grope, presumably,’ spat Tash.

  Lloyd winced. Even he thought it was a shame that men couldn’t treat women better and that they were so frequently ruled by their third eye. ‘He is so sorry,’ Lloyd repeated.

  ‘Well, why isn’t he here now, telling me himself?’ challenged Tash. She hated herself for wanting this, but, quite simply, she did. She wanted to see Rich. She wished there was a way that he could satisfactorily explain his actions, but she knew there wasn’t.

  ‘He’s gone to see the Registrar and he talked to the chef and maître d’.’

  ‘He has?’ Tash was stunned that Rich had behaved with even an iota of responsibility.

  ‘He didn’t want you to have to face that. Jase and I tried to persuade him not to be hasty. Not to cancel everything. We hoped you’d change your mind, but he said there was no chance of that.’

  ‘He was right.’

  ‘Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure you can’t forgive him?’ asked Lloyd.

  He was speaking as a man who was newly coated with hope. Greta loved him. Greta loved him despite his mistakes and misgivings, and that made the world pretty damn fine as far as he was concerned. He wanted everyone to wear the same armour. He was also speaking as a man who had flushed chances away. A man who had broken a heart and a home, and he knew that was an incredible waste.

  Lloyd knew that hope, and love, and trust could ebb and flow. The path of love wasn’t a linear, progressive road. It was full of obstacles. Everyone encountered some bloody big boulders and deep, dark pitfalls. He thought Tash and Rich had what it took to scramble over and under, up and around, any impediments. He didn’t want to stand by and watch them waste their chances.

  Tash sighed, ‘He’s ruined everything. From now on, the world would always be that little bit worse.’

  ‘I understand what you mean, but it doesn’t have to be that way.’

  ‘It does.’ Tash wanted to explain, ‘You know when you want a new top, say, something special to go with the skirt and boots and bag that you’ve already bought. And you search and search, and although you know exactly what you are looking for – you might have seen it in a magazine – you can’t find it. And then you do. You find the perfect top. And you try it on. And it fits. And you look a million dollars, better than you’ve ever looked before. Better than you imagined you could look. Well, Rich was my top.’

  Tash grinned, sure she’d been lucid.

  Understandably, Lloyd looked confused. He’d never hankered after a garment of clothing in his life. He bought the same shirts from M&S every year. Tash saw his confusion and wondered if she should have picked cars for her analogy. She rushed on, hoping she could make herself clear.

  ‘And you wear that top every day because it suits you so perfectly and your friends say that you look fabulous in it. They’re even a little bit envious. But then something gets spilt down your top. And you need to wash it, but you wash it on too hot a wash and it shrinks. Or when you iron it, it stretches in a funny way. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

  Lloyd wasn’t sure he did.

  ‘It never looks quite as good again, it no longer suits you properly and every time you wear it all you can think about is how perfect it used to be. All the top is fit for then is the jumble bag.’ Finally, Lloyd got it.

  ‘No, Tash, you don’t put that top in the jumble. It becomes your old favourite. It’s worn in, not out.’ Lloyd paused. ‘I thought you loved him, Tash. I thought you knew about love.’

  ‘I do.’ Tash shook her head. ‘I don’t think he deserves me any more.’

  ‘Thank God, love has very little to do with deserving. Isn’t loving someone about loving them even when they don’t deserve it?’

  Tash looked at Lloyd. He was full of hope and hesitancy. His eyes radiated determination, and there was no sign of the previously debilitating doubt.

  ‘Since when were you so wise?’ asked Tash.

  ‘It’s a very recent thing. I
imagine it will only be temporary,’ smiled Lloyd. ‘More coffee?’

  72. Fresh Tracks

  Tash put on her brand-new red snowboarding jacket. Even if there wasn’t going to be a wedding, she could still wear her bridal outfit, that was an advantage to not having chosen a long, white, silk number. Not one she had foreseen, admittedly.

  Tash needed to be in the mountains. She needed to board between the tall, alpine trees, bejewelled with fresh snow and morning sunshine. She needed to breathe in the clean air and dash across the powder bowls and easy wide flats. It was not a day for big cliff drops or tricks of any kind. She had had her fill of tricks. She wanted to be absorbed into the scene which on her arrival had appeared entirely make-believe. A world of marshmallow mountains, pretty twee chalets with chimneys and wooden shutters, and quaint picturesque scenes that looked as though they had been designed by children. She wanted to luxuriate in the abundance of space, to find horizons that oozed serenity, so that she could succumb to the magic. She wanted to be alone.

  She would ignore all the other skiers and boarders. She would not notice the laughing gangs of friends. She would disregard the snail trails of school children learning to weave their way down the slopes. And she would certainly not pay any attention to the smiling couples who darted through the snow together, laughing and cheering and generally canoodling, as though they were trying to personally insult her.

  Tash planned to put Rich and Jayne completely out of her mind. She would not dwell on every conversation that she had ever had with Jayne. What was the point in examining them for clues as to why Jayne wanted to trick and betray her so completely? Wasn’t it enough that Jayne was shagging her boyfriend? Did she have to pretend to be Tash’s friend, too, so that the betrayal was magnified? Tash tried not to think about the number of times when she had encouraged Rich to be nicer to Jayne. When she had told him to dance with her in the club and buy drinks for her in the bar. She felt an utter fool that she had, on at least two occasions, insisted that Rich sit next to Jayne at dinner so that they could get to know one another. To think she had been extolling Jayne’s virtues when all along Rich was indecently familiar with everything Tash could highlight, and more.