Girl in Between

by Anna Daniels

  Joe looks at me, completely crestfallen, then turns around and walks away. I stand there watching him until his red jumper fades from sight. I feel so utterly miserable that if I weren’t halfway across Putney Bridge and risked being swarmed by social workers, I would sink to my knees and sob. Instead, I put one foot in front of the other, stare down at the Thames and tell myself over and over that I did the right thing, and that Joe will be happier in the long run.

  When I finally reach home, and fumble for my keys at the top of the steps, Rosie opens the front door and I collapse into her hug. She tells me she’s been worried about me and suggests we head down the road to Gourmet Burger Kitchen for a debrief.

  ‘I broke up with Joe,’ I say as we walk.

  ‘Oh shit, Luce.’ She sighs. ‘What happened last night? Oscar messaged Ben to say you were sick and that he was taking you home.’

  ‘Nothing happened with Oscar. He brought me back in a cab, walked me up the stairs, then left.’

  ‘Poor Joe,’ says Rosie.

  ‘I know—I hate that I’ve hurt him,’ I say. ‘But I couldn’t go on a holiday with Joe after seeing Oscar.’ I burst into tears again, picturing Joe’s devastated expression on the bridge.

  Rosie puts her arm around me and I explain that as soon as I saw Oscar at the pub I knew my feelings for him were just so different from my feelings for Joe. I can tell Rosie’s concerned I might be getting ahead of myself with Oscar, and she says how much she and Ben have come to like Joe over the last few months of hanging out together. I agree that he’s an awesome guy and say how I’d hoped what we had would be enough and she admits that she and Ben worried Joe was more into me than I was into him.

  I tell her what Oscar said at the hog roast stall and how he produced her top-five list from his back pocket.

  ‘No way!’ She laughs. ‘That’s classic, Luce.’

  After walking in silence for a while, she looks at me and says, ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Well, first I need to move out and find somewhere to stay,’ I say, the sadness of leaving Joe and our happy life in the Putney Palace now fully hitting me. ‘Then … I don’t know what will happen next.’

  I book into an Airbnb bedsit around the corner from work, where I have a truly horrific night’s sleep, worrying about Joe and feeling awful about hurting him so badly. The next day, just before I start Storytime, Rosie texts to say Joe has cancelled our flights to Spain and is on his way home to Scotland. She says to come around after work and she’ll help me pack up my stuff.

  Then, as I read Slinky Malinki’s Christmas Crackers to children sporting jumpers adorned with Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer and Santa Claus, my voice catches at the sight of strollers, which Joe always referred to as pushchairs. I don’t regret ending our relationship, but I do regret the sadness I’ve caused him. After Storytime, I discover I’d missed a call from Oscar with a sweet message saying he hoped I was okay. Although I instinctively want to call him back, I also know that I can’t just jump from one relationship to the next and follow Oscar back to Sydney. I need to put my own life in order, rather than relying on someone else to do it for me.

  During our lunchbreak, Margie and I share pre-packaged sandwiches from Pret a Manger and I tell her I’ve broken up with Joe. She gives me a hug and invites me to join her and her brother at their Clapham unit for a Christmas Day braai. She then admits, blushing, that she’s also invited Dennis but predicts there’s more chance of hell freezing over than him turning up.

  That afternoon I start searching for more permanent accommodation and am nearing Westbourne Park to look at a room advertised on EasyRoommate by Paul, one half of a ‘friendly Aussie couple with an adorable cat called Pepsi’, when he texts me to say it’s just been taken. I almost want to cry, but at least he’s let me know.

  I then change direction to inspect a ‘room’ in Acton, which turns out to be an electric cupboard, complete with swirly red windowless walls, a skylight and a massive hot-water system humming away in the corner. Perhaps more astonishing, though, is the trail of women who, after seeing the room, proceed to write their details on a clipboard proffered by two young guys, who are inspecting their potential roomies as closely as the women are inspecting the electric cupboard.

  After that I set off to Earl’s Court and dismally survey a single room with a dodgy cooking grill and dirty washbasin. It sinks my spirits so low I immediately turn and retrace my steps to the Underground, where I board the District line train to Putney. On the way, I conduct a Q & A session in my mind.

  Should I head back to Rocky and hang out with Glenda and try to get work at Dymocks in Paradise Plaza?

  No, you shouldn’t, because Glenda has Dad now and you’re about to turn thirty-three. You are not eight.

  Well, if I can’t go home, where can I go? New York? Yes, maybe New York is the answer—I’ll go to New York!

  What would you do in New York that’s different from what you’ve done in London?

  Okay, maybe I should stick it out in London. Maybe it’s just hard at the moment because I’m unsettled, and I just need to hang in there a bit longer.

  A bit longer for what? It’s only going to get colder and you’re not saving anything on your bookstore wage. Penny and Margie will always be your friends. What’s the point of battling it out in London?

  What about Rio de Janeiro? It looked spectacular in the Olympics. Or Cape Town? Margie said I’m always welcome there.

  You’re just plucking locations out of the sky now, Lucy. This train of thought is not productive—and speaking of trains, your stop’s up next.

  In the evening, after I walk across Putney Bridge, I spot Ben stepping out of a pub on the high street. He crosses over and as we turn the corner towards the Putney Palace he says, ‘If I could just go through life with that two-beers feeling, everything would be perfect!’

  While Rosie and I are cramming my clothes into packing cells, Ben makes tea and sings Nick Cave’s ‘The Ship Song’ in the kitchen.

  ‘Here you go,’ he says, appearing in the doorway with two cups. ‘And yes, Rosie, I let the tea draw!’

  Rosie helps me lug my stuff back to the Airbnb room I’m renting and, after we’ve both lied through our teeth about how wonderful it is, we catch the Overground to Shoreditch. Between spoonfuls of Brick Lane butter chicken, I outline my plan to spend Christmas Day with Margie and the evening in Belsize Park with Penny.

  Rosie nods approvingly, saying she’s relieved I’ll have company. She and Ben had booked flights to Dublin for Christmas around the same time Joe and I were organising our trip to Spain.

  ‘Jeez, could you imagine sitting alone in that fucking awful Airbnb room on Christmas Day?’

  ‘Oh, man, it’d be the pits!’ I agree.

  Rosie then leans back in her chair and tells me, with considerable casualness, that she won’t be in London much longer.

  ‘Ben’s just killing time, figuring out what he wants to do next, but I know he’s also waiting to see what I’ll do next, and I want to be fair to him. He’s been talking about making a fresh start somewhere and keeps raving on about Darwin and a postgrad environmental management course he’d like to do at CDU. So I’ve told him he should apply.’

  ‘Darwin?’ I stammer, my heart plunging into my boots. ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Mmm. Tropical wonderland of the north, gateway to Asia, the final frontier … or that’s what Google says, anyway. It sounds like a place where I could have lots of new adventures. I reckon it could be fun.’

  ‘So, you’ll get work there?’

  ‘Yeah, three days a week would be perfect. I saw an ad on the ADA website for a part-time job at a dental practice called Fannie Bay Dental the other day, so I sent off an application. The plan is to pack up here and head to Rocky after we get back from Dublin.’ She is watching me closely as if to monitor my reaction.

  ‘Fannie Bay Dental. That—that’s gold,’ I stammer, floored at how quickly things seem to be moving and gutted that I’
m only hearing about it now.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you about this before,’ says Rosie, clearly guessing what I’m thinking. ‘You’ve had a lot going on. And, anyway, I thought if I debated the pros and cons with you I’d never make a move.’

  ‘So you’d leave London for Ben?’ I ask, posing the question out loud more as a statement for my consideration than hers.

  ‘Well, not just for Ben. I don’t think I’m cut out to deal with this ridiculous feedback thing they’ve dreamt up at work. Even when I’m totally fine about someone telling me what they think, everyone’s so bloody polite and reserved I can’t figure out half the time what they’re trying to get at! And I know some of them think I’m way too blunt. Can you imagine?’ She smiles. ‘Besides, I’m working full-time, Luce, and you know how much I love that. I didn’t move across the world just to join every other bugger in the nine-to-five rat race.’

  I’m about to say that since starting at Scribe I’ve become a convert to working part-time too, but she’s on a roll and I can’t get a word in edgewise.

  ‘And I forgot how dark it gets here in winter and how the sky seems so close. I’d even welcome a proper storm instead of this constant drizzle.’ She pauses and considers me over her beer. ‘I’ve loved being in London with you, Luce, but sometimes you just have to roll the dice again and go with it, you know?’

  ‘I feel like I’m getting too old to roll the dice again,’ I say. ‘I’m going to be thirty-three in a couple of months.’

  ‘Thirty-three’s not old,’ Rosie retorts. ‘We’re spring chickens!’

  I muster a weak smile. ‘This chicken’s good.’

  ‘Luce!’ she says, grinning at my sulky expression.

  ‘What?’ I reply, crossing my arms and fixing her with an exaggerated pout.

  ‘Luce! Ha!’

  ‘Bloody hell, Rosie, it’s just all a bit of a shock! Man, I’m going to miss you. Maybe I should come to Darwin too. I seem to be making a habit of following you around the globe!’

  ‘Well, I’d love for you to come to Darwin, but you’ve got to do what’s right for you,’ says Rosie.

  I sigh. ‘I don’t know what’s right for me anymore.’

  ‘Yes you do. Underneath it all you do, Luce.’

  We both pretend we’re not about to cry and then button our jackets and walk towards the Aldgate East Underground. I feel slightly ashamed of my earlier sullenness. Despite Rosie’s seemingly laissez-faire approach to life, in some ways she’s remarkably more level-headed than me.

  ‘Rosie?’ I say after a while.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What do you think I should do about Oscar?’

  ‘If you fucking love him, then fucking show him, Luce! For fuck’s sake!’

  ‘I really can’t understand why your workmates might think you’re too blunt,’ I reply. ‘Maybe I’ll develop a new feedback protocol for you too.’

  We both laugh and then Rosie tells me that Oscar confided to Ben that I don’t seem that interested in leaving London or in him, and that he’s resigned himself to putting thoughts of me to bed—a conclusion I find both promising and problematic.

  ‘You need to let him know how you feel, Luce,’ she says. ‘You’ve got him at sixes and sevens. You need to be clear.’

  ‘I just don’t think he should assume I’ll drop everything here and automatically move to Sydney because that’s where he lives.’

  ‘But have you really spoken about that with him?’ says Rosie. ‘He’s got that guy working for him now and he’s been spending a fair bit of time in Brisbane and Rocky lately. I’m sure he’d be willing to compromise if you talked about it. I think your issue is that you bloody like him and you’re scared out of your wits at the thought of being vulnerable again. I mean, holy shit, Luce, he’s put himself on the line for you, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘—He’s come halfway around the world to say he wants to be with you, and you still second-guess him and have doubts. I think you have to look at the bigger picture. Do you want to settle down with someone? Or do you want to meet another guy you’re not quite sure about and keep questioning everything?’

  I sigh heavily and she rests her red leather glove on my shoulder as we continue along the pavement in silence.

  It isn’t long before she starts up again. ‘Also, I know I’m not exactly a role model for what I’m about to say, but I think you could do with some good sleeps and three weeks off the booze.’

  I nod, knowing she’s right.

  Then, suddenly, she stops dead and grabs my arm. ‘Holy fucking shit, Luce!’ she exclaims. ‘Look at that!’ She points at a streetlight ahead of us.

  I follow her gaze and see a poster wrapped around the pole, emblazoned with a picture of Cher and listing dates for her upcoming ‘Lovers and Others’ world tour. We walk up to read it and see the tour is kicking off in London before heading down under.

  Wide-eyed, we focus on the date for Sydney—21 January.

  ‘Denise!’ says Rosie at the same time as I say, ‘Mum!’

  Before Rosie leaves for Dublin, I persuade her to chuck a sickie and we spend the day visiting our favourite London haunts. We start the morning with jam duffins and coffee at Bea’s of Bloomsbury near the British Museum, then catch the tube to London Bridge and sample our way around the gourmet food stalls of the Borough Market, before strolling along the South Bank promenade, past the Globe Theatre and the Tate Modern, across Westminster Bridge and into St James’s Park. After backtracking for lunch at the Westminster Arms, we catch a bus to Piccadilly Circus and join the queue outside the Prince of Wales Theatre for a matinee performance of The Book of Mormon.

  Afterwards, we buy some tea for Rosie’s mum at Fortnum & Mason, then head to Battersea and walk across beautiful Albert Bridge, before coming to a stop in front of The Ivy on King’s Road. I tell Rosie that as her Christmas present, I’ve booked us in for afternoon tea and we take selfies of us enjoying champagne and courgette frites among the flowers and finery.

  Later that evening, on Putney High Street, I hug Rosie goodbye with a heavy heart and head back to my Airbnb bedsit. Preoccupied, I don’t spot Oscar on the front steps until I’m about ten metres away.

  ‘You look a fright!’ he says, hopping up as I approach.

  ‘A fright?’

  He grins. ‘I’m trying out a few British phrases.’

  ‘I don’t know if that’s the right one to use on a girl!’ I reply, feeling infinitely brighter for seeing him. ‘Still, I suppose you’d better come in.’

  ‘Nice digs,’ he says, when we reach my room.

  ‘Ha! It’s awful, isn’t it?’

  He shrugs and walks into the grotty kitchenette, where he inspects the sad-looking excuse for a kettle before filling it up.

  We’re quiet for a while as the tea brews, then after he empties the last of the milk into my mug and hands it to me he says, ‘Tell me everything you’re worried about.’

  ‘Well, for starters I’m worried about you Simpson boys’ ability to make tea,’ I say, looking down at the three-quarter-filled mug he’s given me.

  ‘What?’ he asks, puzzled.

  ‘Tide’s half out, Oscar!’ I say, tilting it towards him.

  He laughs and sits beside me. ‘Right, go,’ he says.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Come on, tell me everything you’re worried about.’

  ‘Really?’ I say.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Okay. I need to get my hair cut.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And find somewhere to live.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘I’m running out of shower gel.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘There’s no milk left.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Keep going,’ he urges and puts his hand on my shoulder.

  I take a deep breath. ‘I want to have kids. I don’t have much money. Sometimes my left knee catches on me and my hip hurts. I often ha
ve trouble sleeping.’

  He starts rubbing my back and my eyes fill with tears at his kindness. ‘I’m worried the Aussie publishers will reject my manuscript,’ I say in a shaky voice. ‘And it worries me how much I love you.’

  Ever so gently he angles my body towards him and wipes away my tears. ‘Luce, you are the most ridiculous, gorgeous, confounding person I’ve ever met! Nothing could be simpler than us.’ He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. ‘I love you, you annoying little wandering vagabond. At times you make me want to tear my hair out, but you also make me feel so alive and content. When I’m with you, I don’t want to be anywhere else and that’s why I’ve felt so restless back home. I’ve missed you something chronic. When you’re not around I don’t laugh half as much and that’s what I want to be—laughing through life with someone. I love how you’re always dreaming and always surprising, and I want to have kids too, Luce, I—’

  ‘Oscar,’ I say, every fibre of my being in love with him, ‘I was sort of hoping you’d say you’d get milk.’

  We then kiss like those attractive people captured in photographs on New York street corners, and I feel almost all of my worries melt away.

  My best Christmas present, apart from waking up next to Oscar in the irresistible moose-patterned long johns he bought for five quid from M&S, is Margie’s expression when she looks up from chopping potatoes to see Dennis walk into the kitchen. He smiles at her as he puts two bottles of wine on the bench and then leans down to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, and it’s all I can do to stop myself from applauding.

  Heartened by their sweet exchange, I think of my last Christmas in Australia, sitting with Glenda in the back of Mum’s car listening to a CD of Michael Bublé singing carols blaring on the way to visit relatives in Gracemere. Mum and Dad had bickered for a good half-hour about Dad’s latest Christmas present offering, a white wire laundry hamper with castors. Ironically, the horror vision of my parents arguing to ‘Deck the Halls’ makes me yearn to talk to them, so as Margie’s brother and Oscar clink beers on the patio, I duck into Margie’s lounge room and call home from the couch.