This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad

by Ngontang Mba, Danielle-Claude

  I read the sheets she gave me. Not only have the songs already been cleared by legal, but the arrangements with the G Band have been decided as well. I don’t even know if my input is needed. These are very good ones. I shoot her a quick gaze. There is no hint of resentment or anger, just anticipation and eagerness. She’s waiting for my approval!

  “So…”

  “You did good, Luce,” I tell her with a reassuring smile.

  “Thanks! Their choices really.” She points at Beesly and Matt, “I just pulled a few favors in here and there, and got Tito and the guys to help me with this.”

  But not me.

  “Lucita is going to play the guitar or violin in all of those songs with us,” Tonio adds.

  Oh really? We don’t talk for a couple of days and she goes back to her old Lucita ways. “That’s…nice,” I tell Tonio, avoiding Lucia.

  “That’s bloody brilliant!” Matt says. “The G Band featuring Lucita on our album!”

  “Right, well; looks like I’ll be going home sooner than expected. That’s fantastic,” I tell them all. “Just…fantastic,” I say again, looking at Lucia. A very chatty and happy looking Lucia.

  Callia has been singing and dancing to the beat of the twenty songs for the past ninety minutes. Lloyd has been grinning the whole time. Matt is just plain smirking like he wrote the bloody thing himself. Beesly is holding Lucia’s hands and crying a little. The entire G Band keeps patting themselves on the back – literally. And Lucia; she keeps staring at me with real disbelief, mouthing, “We did it.” Yes we did. And the album sounds incredible; my best work to date. And this includes all of the albums I have produced for Mary. I still haven’t spoken to her.

  “This is incredible!” Lloyd finally says after the twentieth song ends.

  “Congratulation to both of you!” Callia adds.

  “And so much ahead of schedule!” Lloyd says. Two weeks to be exact, or six if we go with the original date. “We can now start talking about marketing, singles, tour…” Which means that Lucia’s and my jobs are officially finished. Time for me to go back home. To go back to London, where my life is. It has been a hell of a ride. One thing is certain, I’ll never work with or for Matt again. He’s one of my best mates and I love him but…never again.

  “Well, this is my cue to leave.” Lucia gets and walks toward the G Band, “I’ll see you later, ombre.”

  “Sure, Lucita,” Tonio says.

  I’ve been working with a very calm and friendly Lucita all week. After last Monday, I really thought that I would have to go through another round of the silent treatment, but it wasn’t the case at all. It was business as usual, like the past two months didn’t happen. Like we didn’t happen at all. And this shouldn’t bother me. After all, she looks happy. And gorgeous. And sexy. This shouldn’t bother me at all.

  “Dinner, my place,” she says to Beesly. “You can bring him,” she adds, laughing, looking at Matt. When did they all become such good mates? “Marcus?” She’s looking at me one last time before leaving the room. “Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye.”

  “I won’t.” I get up to leave as well. I have some packing to do.

  “Marcus, can I see you outside?” Beesly asks. She doesn’t wait for my answer and leaves the room before I do.

  “I think they need you in there, B,” I tell her.

  “They will be fine. They have Matt,” she says, looking at me with very disapproving eyes.

  “What now?”

  “Marcus Foster Allan Grant, what in God’s name is wrong with you?” she yells as soon as I close the door. She is not known for making scenes. Beesly Marsh doesn’t yell. So what the bloody hell is wrong with her?

  I quickly drag her to another meeting room. “Are you going mad, B?”

  “I’ve just had about enough with you! And don’t call me B. Lucia calls me B, not you,” she continues and free her arm.

  She has changed a lot this past five months. She stopped wearing all that heavy Californian makeup. No more strange hair length; just a plain, jaded, black one.

  “Did I miss something, Beesly?”

  “Understatement of the summer, Marcus! Tell me; how long have we known each other?” she asks me.

  “Six, seven years. A long time.”

  “And what do you think of me?” she asks.

  “Right…not falling for this, Beesly,” I cautiously say.

  That made her even angrier. “Excuse me? Well I think you’re one of my closest friends, but a real idiot with a really, really bad love addiction. And they say my husband is the bad one.”

  I’m starting to understand where this is going. Oil and water. Mary and Beesly. Those two have hated each other since the second they met.

  She sits in one of the chairs. “At least he has always been upfront with me. I remember this to be your idea.”

  “Beesly, I think you’re one of the best people I know. If not the best. This is about Mary, isn’t it? The two of you really need –”

  “Mary is a bitch, an evil, self-centered witch, who has been putting her spell on you for the last decade. I don’t even think she’s ever loved you!” Now she’s going too far. But she’s not done. “She broke your heart four years ago. I was there. And that fucking cunt keeps doing it!”

  I sit next to her, more shocked than anything. “Just let it out. Please don’t sugar-coat it for me.”

  “Luce didn’t deserve this, Marcus,” Beesly lets out almost as a plea.

  I’ve been dreading this conversion for a week. No way to get around it now. “It isn’t the way it was supposed to be.”

  “I know it isn’t, but she seems fine about all this,” I tell her. She looks skeptical. What does she mean by supposed to be? “What did you mean by ‘supposed to be’?”

  “Fine about all this? Obviously you haven’t been eating a wedding cake every day for the past eight days!” She’s purposely avoiding my question. I think she’s crying a little. “I found her in the kitchen that morning, Marcus. She was baking. She had been doing it for hours. She looked exhausted but just kept going. A four-tier, red-velvet cake! Icing and decorations – all of it!” she says. Tears are now fully rolling down her cheeks.

  “Beesly –”

  She holds up her hand to stop me. “I put her to bed. The poor thing didn’t even realize what was going on. She was on auto pilot. I gave her something to help her sleep, but she kept mumbling,” she continues, wiping the tears. “Then the tears came and they kept coming for an entire day.”

  “I didn’t realize… Really, Beesly?” I say. I feel like a total prick.

  “I don’t even think she did, until it was too late. You’re her first, you know…heartbreak. You fucking asshole!”

  “Okay, Beesly. I get it. I fucked up.” I’m not sure I like this new, vocal Beesly very much.

  “No, we fucked up. Her eyes got infected by her contacts. Too much crying and rubbing. You were supposed to fall in love! She’s perfect for you!”

  “Again with the supposed to. What did you do, Beesly?” It’s my turn to be the skeptic.

  She lowers her head but I can hear her snuffling. “I hate Mary and I don’t hate anyone. I hate the person she is, but mostly the way she treats you. It took me over a year of information gathering to find Luce and Noël-Sarrow. “

  “What? I’m not following?” I’m really not.

  “She’s the female you, but a better version; her emotional brokenness is so genuine. Yours is…self-inflected. And Mary Gillis is the infection.”

  “So…you signed here for Lucia…for me? Does Matt know? Does she know?” Talk about a twist. I’ve been manipulated by Beesly.

  “He knows…enough. She doesn’t know and we’re not telling her!”

  “So, you put us through all this with Matt and his rubbish so we could get together? What were the chances of that happening?”

  She looks at me and laughs. “You’re kidding right? You couldn’t even keep your hands off her hours after you met.�
�� She gets up ready to leave. “Which wasn’t my part of the plan. You were supposed to meet here and unite against Matt.”

  “Poor Matt; you really counted on him to be a dickhead,” I tell her.

  “No, just himself. And Lucia knew how to take care of herself. You’ve caused most of the damages, seeking and lying to her on her birthday,” she says. She’s almost at the door. “And then about Mary. “

  “You told her about Mary. You’re caused this…mess,” I accuse, knowing it’s not the truth.

  She stops walking but doesn’t turn around. “I thought she knew. You were both so happy. However, I was wrong. Maybe you and your precious Mary deserve one another. But I’m sure you don’t deserve my Luce. ”

  “So, how is she really?” I ask before she closes the door.

  “I don’t know,” she says then pulls it shut.

  “So Beesly did all this just so you could finally be rid of Mary?” Patrick asks again via speaker phone.

  “Yes,” I say while packing my bags. After our talk last week, I haven’t had the opportunity to speak to her or Matt again. She moved out of Lucia’s flat earlier this week and went to see her family in Chicago. She’s avoiding me. “Can you believe it?” I add.

  “No, I can’t,” my brother says. Finally someone on my side. “I can’t believe you’re only telling me all this now,” he adds.

  “Patrick, come on. There was nothing to say. She lives here and I live in London. We both knew that there was no future,” I tell him. We never spoke about that, or what would happen after the Second Coming, and we spoke about everything else.

  “And this excuses your behavior how?”

  “It doesn’t.” I loudly close my last suitcase to make a point. My flight is in less than four hours. “I should have told her, alright. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “God no! I want to hear why you didn’t tell her. She forgave you for being an idiot once. You should have just fessed up, mate.”

  I check the en suite one last time. I’m going to miss John and Nella’s company and this flat.

  “No one likes Mary anymore. She’s too much –” Patrick adds.

  “Like your wife?” I laugh. Sally has been making our lives miserable for the past decade. That woman! You can’t trust a vegan.

  “Leave her out of this. What time are you supposed to arrive?”

  “Eight. But I can take a taxi.” I close the en suite door. I pick up my mobile and take him off speaker. “How long are you in town for?”

  “A few more days. I’ll see you tomorrow; I’ll be the handsome bugger with a grin on his face. Just like old times,” Patrick says before hanging up.

  Just like old times, I think, smiling. I drag my suitcases outside where John is waiting for me. Nella is here too and hugs me goodbye while putting something in my pocket. “I found it last week,” she whispers. It’s Lucia charm bracelet. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine. She must have forgotten it here,” I tell her. I look around one last time. The sofa, that bloody sofa; I can’t help but smile. “John, we need a quick stop.”

  “Marcus, are you even listening to us? Son, where’s your head at?” Tommy asks me and puts another drink in front of me. “It’s bird trouble again? This should make you feel better. It always does when Arlene is…” He takes the shot and drinks it. “Well, when she,” he adds laughing.

  Tommy and Jeff Clark, even good old Nigel Applebee, made it to our favorite pub tonight. “The Terrors from Manchester” we’ve been calling ourselves since we moved to London more than ten years ago. I haven’t hung out with them this year at all. It’s always nice to be reminded of all your childhood mistakes, being the youngest one of them all. However, this gathering was more for Patrick than me. He’s the one still living in Manchester; he’s the one who has been shacking up in my flat for the past two weeks.

  “What’s her name? She must be something if she stops you from drinking your favorite beer,” Jeff asks.

  “Jeff, they have it in Canada too. I’ve not been missing it,” I say. I fill my glass. “Johnny knows the best pubs in Toronto. I think he spent his first year searching for them.” I’ve been back for almost two weeks and it just feels like nothing has changed, like London stopped or paused while I was away. It was raining when I left and it still was when I got back. My neighbors were about to become parents and five months later, somehow, they’re expecting again. Tommy Clark was cursing the day he met his wife of six years, Arlene, and again tonight he will get sloshed just thinking about it.

  “Seriously, mate! What’s her name? You’ve been smiling like an imbecile for the past five minutes,” Nigel asks this time.

  “I’m not thinking about her,” I tell Patrick who was more than ready to say something. “Just realizing how much nothing has changed,” I say to all. I turn to Tommy. “Look at Tommy. Who’s taking that shit-faced bugger in tonight? Because we all know Arlene won’t,” I add, laughing.

  “The hell with her!” Tommy yells. Uh-oh he’s almost there.

  I turn to Nigel. “And you, my dashing lad,” I joke. He dramatically bows. “What is your next or latest scheme?”

  “Hey,” he whines, not offended at all. “I’m a trader, not a crook. But if you’re asking, I’ve heard something very good about –”

  “Piss off, Nigel!” Patrick jokes and we all laugh. Right, nothing has changed. “Her name is Lucia and she saw though our little Marcus’ rubbish.” And Patrick still has the biggest mouth.

  “A Canadian? Really?” Jeff asks. Jeff, as always, is only for Great Britain; even Wales and Scotland are excluded with him. “Better than that Irish one, I guess,” He takes another sip.

  “Oh, she’s British and –” Patrick continues.

  “She’s in Toronto and I’m here with you,” I say. She’s with her precious Greg and they’re dancing to the sunset. No one had mentioned his return to me. I thought he was touring until late September. What? He has some special powers sensing Luce’s vulnerability.

  “She blew him off for a dancer,” Patrick adds.

  I look at him shocked. So much for being my brother. The traitor!

  “Pat, just stop talking. She didn’t blow me off for a dancer,” I explain. McMullen is so much more. That prick; seeing them dancing then made me a bit uneasy and he knew it. But that afternoon, he saw me and didn’t stop. On the contrary…

  “I stand corrected; a choreographer,” Patrick says out of the blue. He’s having a good time making fun of me.

  “Alright, are you done having a laugh at my expense?” I ask them. Which makes them laugh even more. I take my mobile out and show them a picture of Lucia. Yes, like any other stupid man, I took pictures and I’m not above showing off. That will do the trick. It’s one taken at the studio about a month ago, when she was playing with the G Band with Lucita. “She didn’t blow me off.”

  “Marcus, you daft daft bastard,” Tommy gives the mobile to Nigel.

  “And she’s British. Mate, she’s bloody gorgeous!” Nigel says, giving it to Jeff.

  “So why didn’t she blow you off?” Jeff asks, giving it back to me. “And please don’t say the M word; she’s not welcome in this circle.”

  Because I left without saying goodbye. Because I found her and McMullen again, laughing and dancing like a couple in love who haven’t seen each other for weeks. And because, once again, I felt like the intruder. She must have been feeling much better than Beesly thought after all.

  “It wasn’t like that –” They all stop me. Have I been saying that a lot throughout the years? “It just wasn’t meant to be,” I say with a wicked smile. “Unlike Arlene and Tommy.” We all burst out laughing and I realize that this is the first time in days that I’ve seen Patrick this relaxed.

  I stare down at the plate Patrick put in front of me. I’m not sure what that mush is supposed to be. According to him, it’s shepherd’s pie. He has been here now for three weeks, rearranging my furniture and unsuccessfully trying to cook every meal. Sally an
d the kids are in Melbourne for another couple of weeks. Why doesn’t he join them? He could sneak out and eat meat there like he has been doing here – anything but inflecting his awful cooking on me. The last shepherd’s pie I ate was Lucia’s on Canada Day. It didn’t look or tasted the same.

  I take another sip of the merlot he graciously bought to drink with his dish. “Well this was…something. You really don’t have to cook for us,” I tell him.

  He, on the other hand, polished off his plate. “You really don’t like my cooking? When did you become such a food snob?”

  “The same day you traded your doctorate in medicine for an interior design one,” I snap back. We stay quiet for a moment. “Sorry. Just stop moving my things around. I live alone for a reason.”

  “Yeah, your fiancée dumped you before she even saw the house,” he quietly says.

  Bastard! “Touché. But you have both a wife and a home of your own. Pat, what’s going on?”

  “I told you before; I’m on holiday! Sally went to see her parents and I came to see you. It’s never bothered you before,” he says. He gets up and takes my plate away.

  There, I’ve done it again. I’ve been walking on egg shells these past weeks. Patrick just refuses to tell me what’s going with him and Sally. In the past when he would come to London for a much-needed break, we would have a blast seeing our mates and going out. But he has been very moody and tight-lipped since I got back from Toronto. However, he painted my living room, reorganized my disc collections, move my piano out of the music room. Yes, I now have a music room with no visible instruments in it. I’m very proud of my three-storey townhouse. It’s located just off St John’s Wood station. I bought and renovated it to what it is today; I even have a small garden in the back. And without anyone’s help; not Mum, Dad, Patrick or even Mary. She wanted a more posh-looking place. I wanted a little bit of the countryside in the city.

  “I’m just worried about you. You’ve been…nesting. Are you and Sally pregnant again?” I ask him in the kitchen. I love my kitchen but I barely use it. Lucia would have found it great as well. I could see her waking up in the middle of the night and going through one of her midnight cooking frenzies. She would be wearing nothing but some sexy boy shorts, a small tank top, with bare feet, her glasses on and her hair completely pulled back. I would be entertaining her between…batches.