by Jemma Forte
Hayley and I exchange frowns.
‘Oh don’t look like that,’ says Mum. ‘I had you girls so young I’m only just in my prime now, and anyway, you should be happy your mother’s in such a loving and intimate relationship.’
‘Oh god,’ I moan, no longer feeling skittish like Maria, but more like one of the despairing nuns at the Abbey.
‘Anyway, you can hardly talk,’ she says to me before winking conspiratorially at Martin who, having wiped his sandals on the mat, is now striding in towards the sink to wash his hands.
‘Oh please shut up Mum,’ I whine, like a surly fourteen-year-old.
Suddenly Andy appears, wearing his TGI uniform, about to head off for a shift. No doubt psyching himself up to devour three cheeseburgers upon immediate arrival. ‘Hey, what’s happening guys?’
‘Marianne here’s got herself a lover,’ says Mum, still winking away. Hayley collapses forward, giggling into the sofa.
It’s amazing how quickly a good mood can evaporate.
‘Oh yeah,’ says Andy a bit testily. ‘Well I just hope whoever the poor bloke is can cope with mood swings.’
‘Ouch,’ says Martin, though in a very jolly way.
‘Only joking,’ Andy adds quickly, when he sees me glowering at him, realising he may have over-stepped the mark.
‘Fuck off Andy,’ I bark viciously.
‘Marianne!’ reproaches Mum.
By now Hayley’s properly cracking up, and has abandoned all her nail paraphernalia so she can concentrate fully on the Andy and Marianne sideshow.
‘And I don’t know why you’re laughing,’ I end up saying. ‘Have you seen who’s on the front of the Radio Times this week?’
‘No,’ says Hayley, less cocky now. Her eyes looking around for Martin’s magazine.
‘Julian Hayes. Sing for Britain kicks off in a fortnight.’
Below the belt I know, but it shuts her and the rest of them up, which means I can go back to feeling ridiculously happy and pleased with the world. For today, I simply refuse to let anyone burst my Matthew bubble. We had such an incredible night together. After the pub we ended up back at his flat, and I won’t go into details other than to say that the earth moved. It was everything I hoped it might be and that, given half a chance, I could fall for him completely.
Three weeks later, however and my bubble has already burst, nothing has gone to plan with Matthew and I’m not feeling quite so cheerful. Before I go into that though I should let you know that so far Hayley has managed to escape public humiliation. The first episode of Sing for Britain only featured auditions from Glasgow and Manchester. However, this might well be her big embarrassing week because on tonight’s show they’re definitely going to be in London. The presenter, Sy, said so at the end of last week’s programme. And he should know.
More worrying than all of that though is the fact that Dad’s not looking great at the moment. There’s also a definite tinge of autumn in the air, which is terrifying. Dad’s initial six-month prognosis runs out in a matter of weeks. I feel like we’re living on borrowed time, and keep trying to find positive articles on the internet about people who have defied all medical expectation by living far longer than expected. These cases do exist and yet for every positive tale, there’s always another that simply reinforces the view that once you’re riddled with the horrible poison that is cancer, you will die because of it. Put simply, it’s not a case of if, but when, and there’s no getting away from the fact that Dad is looking more obviously ill than he has done before. His face has become quite gaunt and as a result of the weight loss, his teeth are starting to look a bit big for his mouth. Like bad veneers. He refuses to discuss what the hospital are saying in any detail but I can tell that the burst of hope he experienced around the time I went to visit the Royal College of Music has pretty much evaporated.
One vague silver lining – and this is probably desperation as opposed to positivity at work here – is that my concern for Dad means at least I haven’t been fretting as much about the Matthew situation as I normally would be.
I feel so stupid. One minute I was on top of the world and felt like I’d met the man of my dreams, the next I could sense something had changed, and Matthew reverted to acting like a polite stranger. This was unbelievably disappointing given the night we shared. In fact I’m still not convinced you can fake that sort of strength of feeling. Yet nothing changes the fact that with a growing sense of horror and alarm, the first time we spoke after we’d ‘got it together’, I realised he was making civil small-talk to the point where it honestly felt like I was on the phone to a friend of my mum’s or something. He even commented on the weather.
‘So, it’s not so warm today is it?’ I think was what he said. ‘Might even need to wear a jacket?’
I was so disturbed by this complete change of attitude and apparent cooling off towards me, that at the time I merely replied with a very lame, ‘Yes, though the weather man did say it would be nice again tomorrow.’
I know. Not exactly a conversation to inspire passion in anyone. Still, I let it go, but put the phone down feeling freaked out and worried, a feeling that grew over the next couple of days, during which time I heard nothing from him. I spent these painfully long days battling with panic while wondering what I’d done wrong, leaping on my phone every time it made a noise only to be confronted with an email from somewhere like Tesco or a text from Mum. Then finally he phoned again, only it went even worse than before and felt like he was merely going through the motions of a phone call, like when you’re phoning a relative you barely know to thank them for a Christmas present. This time I confronted him though.
‘Matthew, this is all very nice and everything, hearing about your day,’ I said. ‘But are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Yeah,’ he’d answered vaguely.
‘Right,’ I’d said, not convinced. ‘So, when am I seeing you? Do you fancy doing something on Thursday night?’
‘Thursday?’ he’d repeated. ‘Um, that would have been great Marianne, but you know I think I have to work late on Thursday. We could meet at the weekend maybe?’
‘Oh, OK,’ I’d said perkily, trying not to betray the fact that my mind was racing. Why did he sound so doubtful? ‘Well, I can’t do Saturday during the day because I’ll be at the salon, and Sunday afternoon I’m booked for a party, but my Saturday night is totally free.’
‘Ah,’ he’d sighed, and my heart had sunk. ‘Saturday night’s not great for me. I said I’d meet a mate for a few pints.’
‘Oh,’ I’d said, and so it continued in this lacklustre vein, with him sounding utterly half-hearted while dodging any opportunity to meet up, and me quietly suffering.
Later on, when I could stand it no more, I grew some balls – metaphorically speaking obviously – picked up the phone and called him again.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I said, going straight for the jugular.
‘Doing what?’ he said, sounding surprised.
‘Being like this. Answering anything I ask you with one-word answers and enquiring after my health and how my family is. You’ve been doing it for ages now and I want to know why you’re mucking me around like this when I had thought we’d had a great time together the other night. Didn’t we?’
‘We did, and I’m not,’ he sighed.
‘You are,’ I insisted, determined not to cave in, which went pretty much entirely against my very nature. ‘One minute we’re in bed and you’re saying lovely things to me and the next you’re being all weird and cold and polite on the phone and I can’t stand it.’
Matthew paused. I could tell he was debating what to say and in that second I regretted confronting him because suddenly I wasn’t so sure I wanted to hear the truth. Maybe I’d been absolutely crap in bed? Maybe he’d met someone else, or remembered he was married? Maybe, if I’d kept up the pretence that everything was OK I could have lived under the happy ‘ish’ delusion that we were a couple for a bit longer?
‘OK,�
� he said eventually and his voice sounded heavy, weighed down with worry. Not the greatest indication that everything was going to be all right.
‘I’m sorry, and you’re right. I should have been more honest about what’s been going on in my head.’
‘Oh god,’ I muttered.
‘That night in the pub, the night we … you know. Well, as terrible luck would have it, someone from the hospital was there. So unlucky, but there you go. Anyway, a colleague of mine called Jill saw us and asked me about you the next day at work. I didn’t want to lie so ended up telling her about you, and also about how I knew you. She was pretty shocked.’
‘Right,’ I muttered.
‘And I guess she gave me a bit of a reality check,’ he said, warming to his theme, ‘Which has left me a bit freaked out.’
‘Why?’ I demanded to know.
‘Look Marianne, I promise I’m not mucking you around,’ he said. ‘Or at least I don’t want to anyway. I really, really like you, more than I’ve liked anyone in a long time if you really want to know and god, going to bed with you was so amazing … but …’
I knew there was a ‘but’ coming. It had been brewing quietly for days.
‘I love my job and I worked bloody hard to get through medical school so can’t risk being struck off. Jill made me see that this could happen. It does happen to people who get involved with patients, or with relatives of patients, and it seems crazy to risk my entire career.’
Bloody Jill, I thought petulantly, though deep down I knew what he was saying was true, even if it did feel over-dramatic. I mean, who the hell were we harming?
‘Marianne, are you there?’
‘Yeah, I’m here,’ I replied softly, biting my lip.
‘I need to wait until your dad isn’t in my care any more,’ Matthew said steadily and at this point I could tell he had it all worked out and that this wasn’t up for debate. I’d wondered why he couldn’t have just told me what had happened days ago, rather than leaving me alone with only my over-active imagination for company, to figure out what he might be thinking?
‘Your dad is still my patient, but …’
‘He won’t be for ever,’ I whispered, helping him express what we both know he’s getting at.
‘Yes,’ Matthew replied hesitantly, and I could hear the turmoil he was in, trying not to upset me any more than was necessary. ‘So, what I’m hoping is that, if you feel the same way as me, you won’t give up on me.’
‘Fine,’ I’d said, sounding anything but. ‘Only maybe it would have been nice if you could have manned up and told me that without me having to drag it out of you.’
‘Ouch,’ replied Matthew. ‘But I’ll let you have that. I’m sorry and you’re right of course but probably the only reason I haven’t broached the subject is because really I don’t want to have to put things off. Apart from anything else, who knows who might snap you up in the meantime?’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ I said flatly, unable to resist a watery smile.
‘So,’ said Matthew, sounding nervous. ‘Will you wait?’
‘I don’t know,’ I replied, surprising myself with my answer.
‘Oh,’ Matthew had said and he’d sounded so fed up that my heart positively ached with mixed emotions.
‘I’m not trying to be mean, or to get you back for having spent the last few days half-torturing myself, but if you’d just told me what was going on then of course I would have waited. After all, what you’re saying is perfectly reasonable.’
‘But?’
Ah, now he knew how that bit felt.
I swallowed. ‘But what’s upset me is that I have spent my whole life putting things off and sticking my head in the sand about everything, and I can’t do it any more. I’m also not sure I can be with someone who’s like that themselves. Life’s just too bloody short and too precious.’
This speech comes as a surprise even to me, but I realize then that I really mean it. What’s happening with Dad has affected my whole outlook. I like Matthew so much but just can’t afford to be anything but more dynamic and more decisive with every aspect of my life going forward. I’ve been sleep-walking for too long.
‘Right,’ said Matthew, sounding pretty dejected at this point.
‘I’m sorry,’ I’d said sincerely, feeling monumentally disappointed and a bit stupid to tell you the truth. I felt like such a fool for having spent the last week pining for him and fretting, when in his head we’d been over before we’d even properly begun.
‘Don’t go like this,’ said Matthew. ‘Let me do what I should have done in the first place, which is to take you somewhere and explain.’
‘No, there’s no point,’ I said. ‘I totally get what you’re saying and I’m not saying I don’t ever want to see you again. I do. But maybe we should have a bit of a break and just see what unfolds with no pressure on either of us?’ I said, and that was that.
I’ve been analysing it all ever since of course, wondering whether I played it right, but the truth is he really hurt me by not being honest from the outset. It pissed me off. Though deep down I also suspect I may have been lashing out just the tiniest bit. You know, railing against the world because of what’s happening with Dad. However, I can’t do much about that. It’s all very confusing.
Anyway, here we are, it’s Saturday, I’m at work, and am looking forward to/dreading an evening of Sing for Britain.
‘So, are you coming round or what?’ I said to Dad on the phone during my break.
‘I don’t know. Is Hayley’s downfall something I really want to witness?’
‘Probably not, but we don’t even know for sure whether she’ll be on, and if she is we can cheer Hayley up after. She’s saying she’s not going to watch but you know she will. I’ll pick you up after I’ve finished work. Roberto said I can finish early.’
‘All right,’ Dad says. ‘Obviously it means I’ll have to cancel all the hot dates I had lined up for tonight, and I’ll have to inform the nightclubs I won’t need to be on the guest list any more, but for you, I’ll do it.’
I laugh but only half-heartedly because my head is busy spinning, trying to work out whether or not to ask the next question. I know I shouldn’t but I can’t resist. I have to know.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes babe?’
‘Have you heard from Matthew at all?’
‘No, why? Ain’t you?’
I haven’t told Dad much about what’s gone on between Matthew and me, so I think he thinks we’re seeing each other.
‘Course I’ve heard from him,’ I manage eventually. ‘It’s just I wondered if you’d seen him. That’s all …’
‘I saw him … when was it? Er, the day before yesterday when I went in for a check-up and blood tests and stuff. He was quite busy with other patients so we didn’t chat much. I’ll be seeing him on Monday at the hospital again though. Why? He ain’t giving you the run around, is he?’ he asks, his voice weaker than usual, the timbre less gruff.
‘No, no. It’s all cool,’ I say hastily, not wanting to burden him with my angst. ‘Well, see you later then.’
As I put down the phone I sincerely wish I wasn’t at work so that I could do some thinking in peace. Home’s always full of people and it’s difficult enough finding the time to practise my violin let alone do any proper fretting. So of course all of that ends up happening when I’m lying in bed at night. At three o’clock in the morning it always seems crystal clear that of course what I should do is ring Matthew and tell him I’ve been a total fool. That of course I’ll be waiting for him, for the rest of my pathetic life. When morning comes however, the situation always seems a bit less straightforward again.
‘Oi, daydreamer, when you’ve got a sec, would you mind shampooing my lady’s hair please?’ interrupts Jason.
The next few hours pass in a haze of dullness and before I know it, it’s time for me to sweep up and leave.
‘Will you be watching tonight then?’ I ask Jason, as I mano
euvre my broom around his second to last customer of the day, knowing he’ll know what I’m referring to – even if there wasn’t the possibility that Hayley was to be appearing on it tonight, Sing for Britain fever has already gripped the majority of the population.
‘Yeah,’ he says, looking sheepish for a second. ‘In fact, I’m coming to yours as it goes. Hayley asked me to come over, to give her a bit of moral support in case she’s on. I can’t wait. She’s being all modest about it but I reckon she’ll be brilliant’
‘Oh right,’ I say, feeling rather left out of the Jason and Hayley gang. Neither of them have said anything to me, but I think they’ve been hanging out with each other quite a bit.
‘Actually, hang on one sec Marianne.’ ‘So, is that all OK then?’ he says to his lady, producing a mirror with a flourish in order to show her the back of her newly coiffed hairstyle.
‘Ooh yeah, that’s lovely thanks,’ she says.
Jason helps her out of her gown and once she’s picked up her handbag and gone to pay, he takes the broom out of my hand, thus forcing me to look at him and says, ‘Listen, I’ve been meaning to say this for weeks now.’
I think I know what’s coming. He’s about to officially tell me he’s fallen for Hayley. It’s predictable and I would be happy only I worry Hayley will dump him as soon as her ego has mended itself.
‘I just wanted to say that I wasn’t bullshitting when we used to slag off Hayley. I genuinely thought she was a knob.’
‘Bit harsh?’
‘At the time, not really, no,’ he grins.
‘Can you stop gassing in the middle of the shop-floor please?’ says Mark, one of the senior stylists and Jason’s cousin.
‘Come outside,’ says Jason, and obediently I follow. He pushes open the fire exit and once outside lights up a cigarette.
‘What was I saying?’
‘You were insulting my sister,’ I remind him.
‘Oh yeah, Hayley. I was saying I used to think she was a total knob, only recently I’ve got to know her a bit and what I’ve realised is that underneath all that make-up is a surprisingly lovely girl. Anyway …’ he hurries on, sensing that now I’m eager for him to get on with it and to get to the punchline.