by David Belbin
I realise we’ve spent several minutes without talking, barely eating.
‘Got to go,’ I say.
Aidan glances at me with his stranger’s eyes, then gets up to see me to the door. There’s no hug, no intimate moment to indicate that we were once, however briefly, lovers. Despite this ambivalence, I kiss Aidan on the cheek. His skin smells antiseptic.
As I drive through the Mersey Tunnel, I ask myself why I didn’t tell Aidan about my own depression. He would have scoffed, possibly. Your cat died, your mum had a stroke and your boyfriend dumped you because he prefers fucking someone else? Big deal. Try killing someone. But I’d never been dumped before. And I hate where I’m living. And my friends weren’t there for me. And, come to think of it, when were you ever there for anyone, Aidan? When are you going to grow up?
Maybe the discussion would have gone the other way. We’d have bonded over how bleak the world is, how suicide is the one act that makes complete sense and only a kind of lethargy keeps us from doing it. But neither of these imagined responses convince me. I can’t see me and Aidan having a heart to heart. I can only see him evading the conversation again and again.
By the time I’m on the M1 I’ve decided that I don’t want to be Aidan and Zoe’s maid of honour. However, this hardly matters, for I am more and more convinced that the wedding will never happen.
On Albert Grove, a familiar looking guy stares at me. When I park, he crosses the street. I work out who he is, and consider rushing into the house, unloading the car later. But I have never been a coward. He is older than I thought, in his mid-thirties, and wears a brown v-necked sweat shirt beneath a black leather jacket. He has a receding hairline and rimless glasses. I smile at him. He smiles back.
‘How are you?’ he asks.
‘Better now,’ I say.
He looks inside the car. ‘Want a hand with your stuff?’
‘I’ll be all right, thanks.’
He’s interested in me, concerned about me. He wears no ring and he’s seen me naked. Possibly he fancies me. But he’s nervous. He’s long out of the learn-from-your-mistakes period and I’m definitely a potential mistake. Close up, I don’t fancy him. He’s too old and glasses are a turn-off for me. Maybe if he had laser eye surgery. But he wouldn’t be living round here if he could afford laser eye surgery.
‘I’m Robert.’ He offers me his hand. I shake it limply.
‘Allison.’
‘See you around.’
When he’s gone, I wonder if I should apologise for freaking him out over Christmas. But being open about your problems is not the English way. Later, as I’m unpacking, I see him sitting at his computer in the room across the yards. The table has moved and the machine is now side on, so that he can glance over towards my room at any moment, at any time of day.
That’s it, then. I really have to move.
What Happened
‘Maybe it’s a plot to get us back together,’ Mark says.
‘The best man’s meant to screw the bridesmaids, not the maid of honour.’
‘I thought the maid of honour was a bridesmaid?’
He’s right, so I change the subject. ‘At least Aidan didn’t ask Steve to be best man.’
‘Who knows, Aidan might have asked him first. Seen Steve lately?’
‘Not since he moved out. You seeing much of Helen?’
Mark shakes his head. ‘Going away with her at Christmas was a mistake. We were at each other’s throats half the time. I used to think, however bad things got between us, it was worse when we were apart. Now I think, fuck it.’
‘Yeah. Fuckit’s my philosophy of life, too.’
‘Let’s go and spend the rest of our days on the distant island of Fuckit!’
As we laugh, our bodies brush against each other. I’m living in a small flat that is within my budget. The city has a glut of student accommodation and, halfway through the academic year, rents drop to tempting levels. Posters all over town read Just because you’re a student doesn’t mean you have to live like one. It’s the final year of my degree and I’ve bought into the advertiser’s dream.
We discuss the wedding.
‘How did Aidan ask you?’ I want to know. ‘I can’t imagine Aidan asking you.’
‘Actually, it wasn’t Aidan who asked. It was Zoe. She said he felt shy about it, or something.’
We both laugh again, but not in a good way.
‘I tried to get Aidan to put it off until the autumn,’ I tell Mark. ‘But he wasn’t having it.’
‘You tried to tell Aidan what to do? What got into you?’
‘Zoe’s parents were worried about everything. And they’re right. She’s rushing into it. Marrying Aidan could be a disaster.’
‘Promise you’ll stick with me at the wedding,’ Mark says. ‘The whole thing could get seriously weird if you’re not around.’
‘If they really do it at Easter, can I stay at yours? I’m meant to be staying at Zoe’s but I don’t think I can handle the intensity.’
‘I’ll get my mum to sort out the spare room for you. We’re meant to be staying at a hotel for the wedding itself. Can I tell them to give us a double room together? I don’t want to share with anybody else.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll do that, then. Better get going. Work to do.’
He kisses me on the forehead. We’ve sort of agreed to sleep together at Easter, but Mark remains firmly in big brother mode.
I’m glad he’s been in touch more lately. Maybe Zoe told him how down I’ve been. Right now, I need a big brother more than a lover. Until he gets a new girlfriend. The big brother bit only works when he’s single.
February is such a crap month that they have to keep it short. Most days I do nothing but work. I am up to date with my assignments and nearly on target with my dissertation. I did drop in at Moxy’s to pick up my wages from before Christmas. I wasn’t upset when they told me I’d been replaced. You don’t need much money when you don’t have a social life.
I’m trying to be better with my mates though. I email Vic with my new address and get a friendly reply but no visit, no phone call. I see Steve in campus coffee bars a couple of times. Once he’s with a tall woman who might be his new friend. I’m not bothered. He’ll have worked his way through several women since dumping me. I can’t believe I went out with Steve. What does that say about my self esteem? But the sex was good. When I get a new boyfriend, even if he’s inexperienced, I’ll be able to tell him what to do, train him up to please me before he pleases himself.
I study twelve hours a day. When I’ve finished studying, I watch crap on TV. I don’t drink much. Sometimes I smoke a little hash to relax me at the end of the evening, but only on nights when I need something to help me sleep. I make sure I have a clear head in the morning.
February becomes March. Easter is early this year. Zoe hasn’t been in touch for a while and I hope that the wedding has been postponed. I don’t want to ring Zoe and put her on the spot about what’s going on, so I send an email apologising for not being in touch. I ask how things are, if there’s anything I need to do, explain how busy I am preparing for finals.
Zoe doesn’t reply. Maybe I should visit her for the weekend. I haven’t seen Mum for ages. Only what if Aidan’s messing Zoe around? I don’t want to get sucked in. I have to protect my head until the exams are over. I’m being selfish, I know. We all have to be selfish from time to time.
I decide that a break from Nottingham would do me good. I want to go to West Kirby but Mum’s house is in no fit state. I’d rather stay at Mark’s than with Zoe or my dad. I’d rather spend time with Mark than anyone else I can think of but don’t want to get carried away with that thought. I text him, suggesting we meet so I can sound him out about going to West Kirby together. When he doesn’t reply, I text him again. Need 2 talk. When he doesn’t reply to that, I decide to go and see him.
Mark lives in a big old house on the edge of the Arboretum, at the end of Gill Street, by the tram line.
At dusk, these streets are spooky. There’s a vast graveyard on one side of the road and gothic university buildings on the other. A tram, long and shiny, filled with illuminated people, climbs the hill.
I’ve been in Mark’s house once before. It’s a rabbits’ warren, with rooms on several floors. Most of the fittings look fifty years old. You ring a bell and wait to see if somebody answers the door. There are a couple of lights on, so I know that there are people home. But I also know that most people don’t answer unless they’re expecting a visitor. I ring the bell twice, each time holding it down for five seconds. An Asian student lets me in as she’s going out. We don’t exchange a word.
In the dark hallway, I check the pigeon holes. There’s no mail in Mark’s slot, so he’s probably in Nottingham. If he isn’t home, I’ll leave a note. A handwritten note will guilt him out for not replying to my text.
I climb two flights of stairs. Before I reach Mark’s floor, a timer turns off the light. I grope my way along a corridor. The place smells musty. I couldn’t live here. I’m surprised Mark can. But he’s probably got a new girlfriend. He’s not bothered about this place because he spends all his time round there. Probably. I wonder what proportion of their time people our age spend being single. For some people, it’s so scary, not having a partner, that they jump from one relationship to another without taking time to get comfortable with being themselves, alone.
I’ve so convinced myself that Mark’s not here that, even when I see a trickle of light coming from beneath his door, I assume he’s left a lamp on by mistake. Except, when I knock, the door opens at once.
‘Allison, I was about to call you. I’m so sorry.’
He pulls me towards him into a deep, smokey hug, acting like I’m a long lost friend. It’s only been a week.
‘Have you spoken to Zoe?’ he asks.
‘Not for a while.’
‘You don’t know how she’s taking it?’
‘I don’t...’ I hesitate, seeing the awkward empathy in Mark’s face give way to confusion. ‘Taking what?’
‘Oh shit, you haven’t heard.’
For a few seconds, I’m relieved. The wedding’s off. Aidan must have backed out. She’s better off, I’ll tell her.
‘Aidan took an overdose yesterday. He died.’
I go numb, then shock gives way to flashes of irrational guilt. For I am sad, but I am also, in a way, relieved. Ought I to be crying?
‘When did you...?’
‘His mum rang an hour ago. She assumed, because of the best man thing, that we were close. They found him this morning. It wasn’t spur of the moment. He’d been saving the pills for weeks.’
‘Did he leave a note?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I have to ring Zoe.’
‘Wait. Give yourself a little time to get over the shock first.’
He’s right. I have to sit down. Someone I know well, someone I have slept with, is dead. People our age aren’t supposed to die.
My phone rings. Zoe. I try to gather myself.
‘Sweetheart, I’m with Mark. I only just heard.’
‘How could he? He didn’t even write me a note.’
‘Nothing at all?’
‘His mum said he’s scribbled sorry for everything on his repeat prescription pad. She said she knew what he’d done when she found the bedroom door locked. She said she’s been expecting it since Huw... but nobody said anything to me. Did you think he’d do this, Allison? Did you?’
‘No. If he was going to, I’d have thought he’d have done it ages ago. Not now, when he was about to get...’
‘How could he do this to me, Allison?’
‘It wasn’t about you,’ I tell her. ‘It was about him.’
There’s more, but she’s crying a lot and so am I and we’ve already said all that can be said. I promise that Mark and I will see her soon.
‘I have to get out of here,’ I tell Mark when the call is over. ‘Can we go for a walk?’
We head down the hill, along the tram line, and before we get to town, turn in to the Arboretum, which is a big, public park. We walk aimlessly, circling the bandstand, pausing by an ancient cannon, hardly talking. Mark asks about my mum.
There’s no change. I don’t want to think about what’s happening to her, so I say what’s on my mind.
‘I don’t think I can forgive him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We haven’t got the right to take our own lives. It’s cowardly.’
‘When you’re gone, you’re gone. What does it matter?’
I try to explain. ‘He did something stupid, something thoughtless, but he didn’t do it on purpose. He cared about what he’d done. Now he’s hurt more people. He should have found ways to atone, to live with his guilt.’
‘He tried, didn’t he? But he couldn’t forgive himself.’
‘None of us can forgive ourselves. That’s not how it works.’
‘You getting religious on me?’
‘I wish I could.’
He puts his arm around my waist and we carry on towards the other side of the park, passing office workers at the end of their day, school kids with sports bags coming home from posh private schools further up the hill.
‘I spoke to his step-dad,’ Mark tells me. ‘Keith reckoned the healthier Aidan got, the more guilty he felt. He tried church, but it made him feel worse. The marriage thing was his last throw of the dice. Poor Zoe.’
We walk in silence until we’re nearly at the park entrance on North Sherwood Street.
‘I don’t want to be alone tonight,’ I tell Mark.
‘Me neither.’
We go back to my flat, where I make us both a sandwich. We split a beer and watch the news on TV. Later, Mark borrows my toothbrush and sleeps beside me in the narrow bed. We’re both in our underwear. Nothing sexual happens.
But it will, sometime soon, I’m pretty sure of that. Aidan has brought us back together. We hold each other tight, all night. Neither of us sleeps much. The bed is too small and we are both preoccupied.
Where is Aidan now? Aidan was religious, while Mark is sort of agnostic. Some days, he goes on about the stupidity of all religions. Other times he says that atheism is arrogant: he believes in a vague form of reincarnation. As far as I’m concerned, there is no god, no heaven or hell. Only what we do here on earth. This is where it counts. Believing this makes the worst of our crimes worse, even more unbearable.
But what if I’m wrong and Aidan has just compounded one mortal sin with another, consigning himself to eternal darkness? How could he kill himself if he believed that? Maybe he only made himself believe in God because otherwise he would have had to kill himself sooner.
Somewhere around four or five, it is very still and quiet. I can tell that Mark is wide awake, as I am, but I ask, just in case, and he whispers back, ‘Yes.’
‘Do you want to talk?’
‘Please. I’ve missed you. Tell me what I’ve missed.’
And I tell him what happened to me over Christmas and he holds me tight and apologises for not being there for me and for being so fucked up the night we went out for that meal. Then he tells me about what happened with Helen over the holidays and how she was always threatened by my relationship with him and what was said when they agreed to break up for good. Later I ask if I ever said about what happened with Bob Pritchard when I was seventeen.
And he says ‘no’. And I tell him, all the time holding him tight, feeling him breathe. And, although we don’t say it tonight, we have said it before and meant it and for once I’m sure that I do still love him and he does still love me and even if he doesn’t or if he does but we don’t end up staying together, we will always know that we have been loved, that we have been as close to somebody as it’s possible to be and that if love can happen once, it can happen again, so the world must be a place where it’s worth staying, no matter what.
This is how we pass the long, cold night, holding each other close and talking s
oftly until it is no longer dark and we are ready to face a new day together, to get out of bed and find out what happens next.
A Note from the Author
Many chapters of this novel first appeared as short stories in magazines and anthologies over the last twenty years. It was only when I became a part-time university lecturer and began to look back on them that I realised I had most of a novel. I am grateful to Nottingham Trent University, where I teach Creative Writing, for the research leave during which I rewrote and added to these stories.
Some chapters first appeared in anthologies edited by students on NTU's MA in Creative Writing. ‘Nets’ first appeared in Inkshed magazine. The chapter ‘Eating Out’ first appeared in Sunk Island Review 3 as ‘Scenes In Restaurants’. Thanks to Mike Blackburn, its editor, for tracking me down a copy. The opening chapter also appeared in a Five Leaves anthology of Young Adult stories by East Midlands authors, In The Frame.
In addition to the work included here, there are two more Allison stories that first appeared in Ambit magazine, 'I Think We’re Alone Now' (Ambit 125) and 'Different Ways Of Getting Drunk' (Ambit 128, also in Heinemann’s Best Short Stories Of The Year: 1993 and the Minerva Book of Short Stories: 6). Both take place after graduation and have different continuity, so didn’t belong here.
Also by David Belbin
The Pretender
‘A gripping writerly thriller that pulls you in from the first page, and keeps you turning the pages, The Pretender is pacey and smart’ - Jackie Kay
From an early age, Mark Trace shows a remarkable talent for literary forgery. A gap year in Paris sees his skill exploited by an unscrupulous manuscript dealer. Hurrying home, Mark fetches up in London, working at one of the UK’s oldest literary magazines. That’s when the trouble really starts. Hemingway and Graham Greene are only the beginning. What starts as a prank soon becomes deadly serious. In this literary thriller David Belbin writers about originality, desire and literary ambition in the voice of a character with the capacity to deceive everyone, including himself.