Don't Marry Thomas Clark

by Celia Hayes

  ‘Actually, yes, I was,’ I tell him, leaning my hip against a side table. ‘But I had to come to London on urgent business. Particularly to express the outrage of my animal rights association at the lack of interest shown by your company in the long-standing problem of monk seals. If there are not substantial changes in the management policies of the funds for your charitable initiatives, you will be in danger of finding your offices picketed by hundreds of aggressive protesters,’ I threaten.

  ‘That would be very unfortunate,’ he says, scratching his chin thoughtfully. He gets up, gestures to the door and says, ‘Miss Price, I will give the matter absolute priority. Would you like to follow me to my office? I am sure we can find a preliminary agreement to provide a peaceful and prosperous future for these beautiful and extremely useful animals.’

  We leave the room, followed by the astonished gazes of the staff, and walk to a small office on the right. Initially we walk side by side, but the last few metres he drags me by my hand.

  ‘What’s this?’ he explodes, closing the door, when I let the coat drop to the floor to reveal an outfit so skimpy that it’s almost non-existent.

  ‘It’s my own personal protest banner,’ I explain mischievously. ‘The aim was to look convincing and intimidating. Was I successful?’

  ‘I should say so.’ He can’t stop looking at me. ‘Because I’ve just decided to agree to all of your demands…’

  We even discussed it during the wedding practice in the church.

  ‘Mrs. Wilson, have you seen Mr. Clark?’ the priest asks, looking around.

  ‘He was here just a moment ago. Wait, I’ll ask Miss Price. But… How strange, she was sitting here in the front pew,’ replies his assistant, looking about for me.

  And we’re discussing it at the moment, locked in the bathroom, with at least fifty guests waiting for us in the garden.

  ‘Can’t you keep still.’

  ‘Ow! You’re hurting me…’

  ‘Why don’t you ever wear a skirt?’

  ‘Because trousers are more comfortable,’ I say, trying to help him undo the fly.

  ‘I swear that tonight I’m going to throw them all out,’ he complains impatiently and I burst out laughing, removing his hands from my waist. ‘Wait, let me do it…’

  ‘Is that a nice way of saying that I’m not able?’

  ‘I think it’s jammed,’ I admit, sadly. ‘OK, I give up.’

  ‘No, that’s not an option,’ he says, trying the zip again.

  ‘Come on, there are fifty people in the garden. They’ll be beginning to wonder what the hell has happened to us,’ I say, in an attempt to convince him to give up. ‘Can’t you wait until they’ve all gone away?’ And I circle his neck with my arms, planting a kiss on his forehead.

  ‘No,’ he says, squeezing me. ‘I haven’t seen you for four days. I’m going insane,’ he whispers in my ear.

  For a moment I lose my spatial coordinates and find myself suspended in mid-air, but he takes my face in his hands and kisses me, bringing me back to earth. When we leave, I try to look elsewhere. It has created a strange atmosphere between us. Something that I wouldn’t know how to define.

  Intimate. The only word that comes to mind is intimate. It happens more and more frequently. Just a glance to see what the other is thinking and there’s no need to talk. A caress to illuminate a gloomy day. Little things. Instinctive gestures. If we sit next to each other, our hands reach out for one another. If something happens, our eyes meet. We’ve never talked about our feelings. I can’t work out his. Mine? At this point I think I’m completely and hopelessly lost, but I try not to worry about it.

  ‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ I say nonchalantly.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asks, sounding alarmed.

  ‘London. I really have to sign some papers for the bistro and then there’s Kelly’s birthday and I still have to pay Marie the rent,’ I reel off.

  ‘How long are you planning on staying there?’ he asks, stroking my forehead.

  ‘A week at most,’ I say vaguely.

  He seems disappointed, but doesn’t comment, only saying, ‘Let’s go back out there, shall we?’ as he walks off.

  I nod and follow him into the hallway.

  We spend the rest of the evening visibly striving to smile. We fall asleep in each other’s arms without mentioning it and the next morning we say goodbye with a kiss, agreeing that we’ll call each other when necessary. I think we’re both too busy to expect the other to call just to say that everything’s OK, or perhaps we don’t want to admit that we expect to miss each other.

  ‘Thomas,’ I shout to him before getting into my rented car.

  ‘What?’

  He stands there with his hands in his pockets and a peaceful expression on his face.

  ‘What are we?’ I ask doubtfully.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What is there between us?’

  I don’t know why I ask. I shouldn’t have. I promised myself I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t know how to answer that, I just know, now, that I’m here and I want to hear what he thinks, with my heart pounding in my throat and my hands starting to sweat. I don’t look at him. I can’t. I don’t want him to notice my mood.

  ‘You know,’ he replies.

  ‘If I ask you, maybe it’s because I don’t know if you feel the same way. We said we would go and see Frank to find an agreement, but you haven’t wanted to speak about it since… We said it would be a matter of a few days, but it’s September and…’

  No, that was not what I meant. Damn.

  I look up at him. His face has darkened and he’s staring at the pavement over my shoulder. ‘Don’t worry,’ he says, emerging from the awkward silence into which we have sunk. ‘I’ll call him over the next few days and we’ll go and see him as soon as you get back. As for the other thing, I thought you liked it too. You’re not obliged, you know,’ he says with an icy tone.

  ‘I didn’t mean that I don’t like it,’ I say, afraid of offending him. ‘I just don’t understand where all this is taking us.’

  ‘I’d say nowhere,’ he concludes. ‘I’ll take my things to my room.’

  ‘Thomas, wait…’ I try to hold him back by his arm. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you.’

  ‘Hurt me?’ he asks, amazed. ‘Why should I be hurt? It was fun while it lasted, but now the date of the wedding is getting closer and we really ought to pick up the threads of our own lives.’

  I don’t say anything else. Giving me a weak smile, he walks off, and my heart breaks into a thousand microscopic pieces, there near the fountain with cupids.

  Chapter 29

  ‘Have you any idea how much I’ve missed you?’ I ask Rufus as I squeeze him tightly.

  We’re standing at the bar in Pearl’s. I arrived in London in the early afternoon – just enough time to sort out the flat, pop to the bistro, grab a pizza and have a quick shower, and then I ran here, where I had a date with the others. In my absence Rufus has met a girl. Her name’s Milly. Not very tall and a bit on the plump side, but a real character. I’ve never laughed so much before, and her good humour is infectious. They are really sweet together.

  ‘Be generous with the gin – the Countess is paying!’ teases Kelly as she joins us. The bartender doesn’t need to be told twice and tips the bottle into the glass, filling it right up to the brim. We take our drinks and walk back over to the table where Debby, Patricia, Nicolas and a couple of Nichola’s friends are waiting for us.

  After we’ve merrily toasted the upcoming opening of the bistro, a jazz band takes to the stage and the room is filled with syncopated music.

  ‘So? How’s it going with Thomas?’ Debby asks as she settles down next to me on the sofa.

  ‘Same as usual,; I say vaguely. ‘But it’ll all be over in a month.’

  ‘I thought you two were going out together,’ she says, stunned.

  ‘Yes,’ I say, trying to keep my emotions under control and sticking my nose in my glass. ‘But
it was just a silly little fling.’

  ‘Look who’s here!’ whispers Kelly, nudging Rufus.

  ‘Who?’ Jennifer asks, looking around the room.

  I’m curious too, so I look over my shoulder and my eyes fall on a familiar face, one that seems to reciprocate my curiosity.

  ‘Sandy…’ exclaims Mike, looking both amazed and happy.

  He looks so cool in his jeans, grey T-shirt and open plaid shirt. I thank God I chose this electric blue dress rather than the jumper. Nothing’s ever going to ever happen between us, but I’d still rather be remembered like this rather than as Bridget Jones.

  ‘Mike…’

  We embrace affectionately, like two old friends meeting up again. There’s no tension or embarrassment about our last phone call, only the desire to share this moment.

  ‘When did you get back?’ He has to move closer because of the loud music.

  ‘This morning,’ I say, doing the same.

  ‘What?’ he asks again, unable to hear.

  ‘I said this morning,’ I repeat, louder.

  ‘Can we go outside for a moment?’ he says, disturbed by the noise coming from the amplifiers. I nod, grab my jacket and follow him out.

  We smile at the bouncer and settle in a sheltered corner, under a lamp post. He looks different to the way I remembered now that I can get a good look at him. His eyebrows are a bit messy, he has a few wrinkles around his eyes and there’s a rather large mole on his chin. How did I manage to miss these details? And to think that I’d spend whole days fantasising about those eyes. I shake my head and smile, realizing that he is waiting for me to say something.

  ‘Well?’ he asks.

  ‘Here I am!’ I reply.

  ‘Yes, so I see!’ he says, pursing his lips. ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thank you…’ I answer with a blush, adding, ‘So do you.’

  ‘I never expected to see you at Pearl’s. You’ve been missed,’ he admits. ‘Have you sorted things out in Canterbury?’

  ‘Not yet. In fact I’m only here for a week, then I’ll have to go back,’ I tell him, as I push my hair behind my ears.

  ‘You’re just passing through, then?’

  ‘Yes. But I’ll definitely be back soon.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘In November. Mid November, to be precise.’

  ‘Not that long, then. Are you glad?’ he asks.

  ‘Definitely,’ I say, lying to both of us, continuing with a grimace, ‘I’m sick of all that green.’ He laughs, pulling a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans.

  ‘Want a fag?’

  And he hands me one.

  I’d actually quit, but I can’t stop myself and I snatch it out of his hand. At the first drag my head starts spinning, but by the second I’ve stopped feeling dizzy and am trying to look like a woman of the world. Ahhhh, nicotine… how I’ve missed you!

  ‘You know,’ he resumes, ‘I was upset when you left.’

  His confession takes me by surprise. ‘Really?’

  He seems embarrassed. He scratches his head, smiling, then turns to look at me and continues softly. ‘I’d been wanting to ask you out for months. When I finally got up the nerve, you ran off. At first I thought it was an excuse. You always seemed so aloof. I thought it was your way of telling me to keep my distance. Then the girls told me that you were away on business, and…’

  I’m in shock.

  ‘Are you kidding?’ I blurt out. ‘I wasn’t distant at all, I… I just thought you weren’t interested,’ I tell him, feeling dazed.

  I don’t believe this. It can’t be happening. Tell me that this isn’t happening.

  ‘Honestly,’ he confirms. ‘And I can’t pretend that I’m not really happy to see you again. Really, really happy…’

  ‘Oh…’

  What the… Bloody hell, Sandy, is that all you can say? Sometimes I could just strangle myself.

  ‘…But I guess it’s too late to ask you out again, right?’ he says, smiling.

  Actually yes, because I’m hypothetically taken by someone who can’t wait to get rid of me. I’m coming out of a complicated situation. I need a bit of time to reflect. To sit down and have a long, hard think about my life.

  ‘No. It’s not too late,’ I say, demonstrating the total inconsistency with which I’ve navigated my life since birth. Anyway, Thomas made it clear how he felt: it was fun while it lasted, but now we both have to get on with our lives. It just so happens that this was my life before he turned it upside down, and I don’t know if fate will ever give me another opportunity so it’s only fair that I take advantage now.

  ‘Listen…’ he says, less uncertainly than before. ‘A mate of mine is having a party tomorrow. Nothing pretentious. Drinks, rubbish music, dirty jokes. Stuff like that. Would you like to go with me?’

  ‘I’d really like to go with you.’

  And from that moment on we spend the next five evenings together, each of us giving the other a second chance. We rent stupid films and watch them while eating an Indian takeaway on his sofa, or we go out for a walk and end up in some small local theatre watching ramshackle cabaret acts.

  I haven’t heard anything from Thomas, which convinces me that I did the right thing ending our relationship, whatever it might have been. At first I was checking my phone all the time, hoping to find at least one message, but after a while I gave up. I let it go and started enjoying my well-deserved week off.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Mike asks me, when we reach the front door of my house. We’ve been out to a really nice Italian restaurant, then had coffee and wandered aimlessly for a while, swapping memories of secondary school.

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ I say cheerfully. But if I’m honest, I feel a strange heaviness inside of me, and I can’t think what’s causing it.

  ‘You’ve been looking a bit distant all evening. Is it that you’ll be leaving soon?’ he asks, sounding concerned.

  ‘Maybe,’ I admit, playing with a button of my black coat.

  ‘Do you really have to go?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’ Suddenly I feel very blue, but for reasons I can’t explain to him and that he would only misunderstand.

  ‘I’d rather you stayed here with me.’

  He takes me in his arms and I don’t resist. Besides, wasn’t this what we both wanted? But a wave of panic washes over me as he leans his forehead against mine. We haven’t actually kissed before tonight.

  ‘I’ll be back to bother you before you know it,’ I say.

  Mike smiles at me, then bends downs and puts his mouth on mine.

  He’s perfect. But the kiss is terrible. Thomas’s lips are soft and fleshy, but his are thin and hard and awkward. He pushes in, pulls back, then comes back again. I’m tempted to ask where he thinks he’s going, but there are some things that you just can’t say. I try to play along, and give him a clumsy hug. But that just makes him feel entitled to tickle my tonsils with his tongue, and at that point I can’t take any more. I pull away, putting my hands on his chest.

  ‘I can’t,’ I say, hoping I never have to go through that again.

  ‘Wh… What?’ he reacts with bewilderment.

  ‘This.’

  ‘Don’t you want me to kiss you?‘

  ‘I’d really rather you didn’t Mike. I’m sorry, but I’m in love with somebody else.’

  ‘What?! Then why have you been going out with me? Why’ve you been leading me on like this?’ he asks.

  He’s right, and I feel awful. Like a horrible little worm squirming in the mud.

  ‘I didn’t mean to, honestly. I really liked you. I liked you a lot. But things have changed. I wanted it to work. I hoped that acting as though the last few months had never happened would have been enough, but it wasn’t. I’m sorry.’

  I feel awful, and I sincerely hope he’s able to understand.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, give me a break!’ he says, leaving me standing there as he stalks off towards his motorbike.

 
; Nope, he definitely wasn’t able to understand.

  ‘Mike…’ I whisper, but it’s useless. He gives me a last resentful look, then pulls on his helmet, kickstarts his bike and roars away.

  I stand there, contemplating the asphalt and wondering what the future holds for me.

  I shouldn’t have done it. I should have given him a chance. Maybe it was just a matter of time, but I let my instinct guide me and now I find myself with a lifestyle I can’t afford and a past life that I don’t want any more.

  I get back home feeling more miserable than I would have thought was possible and jump into bed without even getting undressed, hoping to sleep.

  I hardly recognize the smell of my sheets, I find it hard to get used to the shape of my pillow again, and everything in the room seems strange. I open my eyes one last time and look vaguely at the photos hanging on the walls, the posters, the books and the curtains on the balcony. Face down under the covers, I try to find some calm and drive away the uneasiness I feel, but I fail miserably. I tell myself everything will be fine, but it’s useless – I can’t sleep.

  I decide to watch a film, but even before I manage to get out of bed, the phone starts ringing and I rush to answer it. It might be Mike: he deserves an explanation. Or it might be my parents – maybe something has happened.

  ‘Hello?’ I say without looking at the screen.

  ‘What if I get in the car and come and get you?’

  It’s Thomas.

  ‘Do you know what time it is?’

  My voice sounds angry, but I could scream with joy.

  ‘Were you sleeping?’

  No, and I probably won’t now, thanks to you.

  ‘Yes,’ I murmur after waiting for a few silent seconds.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  ‘Don’t worry. Goodnight.’

  ‘Don’t hang up,’ he says.

  ‘Why?’ I ask him, but he doesn’t answer.

  ‘I thought you wanted to end it,’ I remind him, and can’t hold back a tear, which I wipe away with the back of my hand.

  ‘I lied,’ he replies, with disarming sincerity.

  ‘I’d say that it’s a bit late now for us to be having this conversation. We’ll talk when I get back.’ I try to maintain a detached tone.