The Difference Between You and Me

by Celia Hayes

  She hesitates, but soon after I find myself writing on my agenda: ten o’clock appointment with the witch.

  Ladies and gentlemen, I’ve done it!

  Mary leaves shortly afterwards, I send Rupert an email, then I take the phone and call Adam. Yesterday was really nice. I had a wonderful evening. Dinner, a walk in the moonlight, sparkling, cheerful conversation. I’m not in love – how could I be after what happened to me? – but it’s what I need now. I just want to distract myself a bit and I couldn’t have found better company because, unlike other people whose names I don’t even want to mention, I share tons of interests, goals, even lifestyle choices with Adam. We’re in complete harmony. We listen to the same music. We read the same books. Oh God, maybe not exactly the same books. But some… But anyway, that’s just a detail!

  What was I saying?

  Oh! Yes, Adam…

  “Hello?” he answers.

  “Are you free tonight?” I say, without beating about the bush.

  “I was about to call you and ask you the same thing.”

  “At eight?”

  “I’ll pick you up at home.”

  “Ok…”

  “Trudy?”

  “Tell me.”

  “What are the chances of you wearing something terribly sexy?”

  “Remarkably high.”

  “See you later.”

  Chapter 27

  It’s Not What You Think

  “No, now let me get this clear, why did you tell him I changed sex and was not living in Australia with a Cuban dancer?”

  “It must have been a slip of the tongue.”

  “Good morning!”

  “Er… Um … Good… Good morning.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.

  They walk past you, maybe they’ve seen you once in a shop or were in the queue behind you at the post office, and they feel compelled to say ‘hello’ while you, on the other hand, haven’t got the faintest idea who they are and stand there torturing yourself trying to remember, wondering whether it’s normal to suffer from dementia at twenty-eight years old.

  No. I’ll never get used to it, but now I have a good reason to gloss over my intolerance to neighbourly courtesies, so I go out of the gate and greet them to the best of my ability – a vague smile, awkward waves and an immediate escape down the path.

  I’m a little later than expected, but fortunately I’m not the only one. I can’t see Adam’s car, so that gives me fifteen minutes to get ready. I walk past Ethan’s door and go around the back of the house to get to my flat, as I do every evening. Unlike other evenings, though, I find him next to the stairs armed with a hammer and nails, trying to fix the railing.

  “Did it break?” I ask, approaching him.

  “I brought the TV up. I must have knocked it by mistake,” he replies, without looking at me.

  “Have they fixed it?”

  “Yeah – I’ve put it in the living room, but you can move it easily, it’s not very heavy.”

  I don’t trust him. For Ethan everything’s ‘not very heavy’.

  “Okay,” I reply, not wanting to admit my limitations, and I set off up the stairs, leaving him to his work.

  *

  What time did I get home? At eight? Twenty past eight? Well, at ten I’ve been ready for more than an hour and there’s no trace of Adam. I don’t want to seem desperate, but that’s long enough to justify phoning him: ‘hello, it’s me, remember? The one that’s sitting on the sofa in a silk dress and ready-to-be-torn-off panties waiting for you?’

  I dial the number and wait for him to answer, but he doesn’t. The rings go nowhere.

  Maybe something’s happened to him?

  Worried, I go downstairs hoping to find Ethan. He never goes to the pub on Tuesdays, but he’s started his nocturnal rendezvous with Chicken Thighs and Cookie again, so he might be busy or, alternatively, momentarily unavailable.

  I knock with conviction and, luckily for me, he opens the door quickly. He’s still wearing the worn jeans and Led Zeppelin T-shirt he had on earlier, but he’s no longer wearing his shoes. Maybe he was going to take a shower.

  “Am I disturbing you?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Not yet – what do you want?” he replies coldly.

  “Look, have you seen Adam? We were supposed to go out together, but he hasn’t come and he’s not answering his phone. Maybe he came, saw I wasn’t here and went away.”

  “Adam? Ah… Yes,” he nods his head. “I bumped into him by chance when I got back.”

  “Ah… And did he say anything to you?”

  “I think he mentioned something about an urgent appointment, but I was busy and wasn’t really listening.”

  He doesn’t seem willing to continue our conversation, and crosses his arms with a hostile expression and goes back inside, shouting over his shoulder, “Close the door.”

  Does he really think he’s going to get away with that?

  With nerves on edge I follow him into the living room, forgetting my manners for a moment, and when I manage to catch up with him between the hallway and the bathroom, I intimate that he should stay exactly where he is.

  “Trudy, I need to have a wash. Unless you want to be dragged into the shower, get out of the way.” He accompanies his threat by placing a hand against the wall on either side of my head. I’m trapped between him and the wall with wide eyes and a powerful feeling that he’s about to put the threat into practice.

  “If you think that bullying me is going to make me fall into your arms, you’re way off track,” I say, my knees turning to jelly.

  He snorts in disappointment and walks away.

  “So you’re going?”

  How easily he gives up!

  “Will you tell me what the hell’s wrong with you? What have I done to you?!”

  No answer.

  “Look, I don’t want to argue with you, I’m just trying to understand what happened. What kind of appointment? Did he say he would be back?” I ask. “Come on, he must have left some sort of message for me!” I say, exasperated by his lack of interest.

  “He didn’t leave any messages. He just said that he was busy, then he went away. I guess he wanted to cancel the appointment.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me when you saw me?”

  “It must have slipped my mind.”

  “It slipped your mind?” I echo, increasingly infuriated.

  “Trudy, I’m not your personal assistant. Next time, use the phone.”

  “Okay, sorry… You’re right.” I can’t blame him. It’s not his problem and Adam really should have called me. “I’m going back upstairs. Maybe I can track him down,” I mutter, and depart.

  “What the hell… He could have at least have messaged me!” I grumble as I reach Ethan’s front door.

  He doesn’t follow me, and doesn’t say goodbye, and neither do I. I close the door behind me and walk away, retracing my steps. When I get back to my living room, I pick up my phone and try for the umpteenth and final time to trace my elusive date, who replies in an embarrassed and noticeably altered voice.

  “Adam, I’m sorry,” I begin, “but didn’t it even cross your mind to let me know? Why did I have to find out from Ethan that you weren’t coming?”

  “Err… Actually, I had thought of leaving a message on your answering machine, but it wasn’t on… and…”

  “Is it work? You’re not… Are you at a dinner or something? Is that why you can’t speak?” I ask.

  “Yes, something like that, more or less…”

  “Adam, is everything all right?”

  Something’s wrong. I don’t know what, but his evasiveness is making me suspicious.

  We both remain silent for a few seconds, then the embarrassment turns into reticence, and then into bad manners and he almost hangs up on me – he starts coming out with the most improbable excuses. Pretty much the only thing he doesn’t do is pretend that he’s got no reception.

  “Look, I really have to
go. I… I’m sorry, but…”

  “Okay, it doesn’t matter. If you’re busy it’s not a problem.”

  “Anyway, we’ll speak, okay?”

  “Anytime. You know my number.”

  “Unfortunately I’m going to be very busy from now on, but when I’m free…”

  I hate it when they insult my intelligence. If he had just hung up I might have forgiven him, but when they try and walk all over my dignity, I just can’t let it drop.

  “Okay, Adam, what happened? We’re too old for this nonsense and, I can assure you that I won’t be tearing my hair out if you stand me up. There are thousands of guys just like you and better than you and I doubt there are many women like me, but I’m sure you know how to adapt to the local wildlife. Please feel free to express yourself without being afraid of my reaction.”

  “Trudy, I really like you, but… I don’t think I’m ready for this kind of relationship. We just had some fun, that’s all. I work a lot, I really don’t have time for a serious relationship.”

  “Adam, who ever mentioned a serious relationship?”

  “You know how some things go. In your condition, as well…”

  “Condition?” I go pale. “What condition?!”

  “The baby, the divorce. I know it can’t be easy and please don’t think I’m angry with you. I understand that you prefer not to talk about it.”

  “Adam, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Look, you said you wanted the truth. Well, I’ve been honest. But let’s drop it. I’m sure you can build yourself a new life. I really hope so with all my heart. You’re a smart woman.”

  “What a noble soul! I’m really touched.”

  I could explain everything, but the fact is that at the moment I really don’t give a shit. The only thing I can think of is that duplicitous, immature liar who lives downstairs. I hang up without even listening to what Adam is blathering on about and set off angrily, swiftly assessing the possibilities that the kitchen offers.

  Serrated bread knife? No… I hate blood. Mixer? A bit too messy.

  Hmmm… Chinese cuisine recipe book? Not heavy enough. Can opener, corkscrew, jar of jam? There must be something I can throw at him that will put him into hospital for the next two or three months, surely?

  “Okay! This time I’ll use my bare hands,” and with this decision, I slam the door and march towards my intrusive landlord, ready to give him the worst fifteen minutes of his miserable existence.

  I knock.

  I knock again.

  Come off it, I know you’re in there!

  I knock again and the door opens.

  “Cookie, there’s a woman at the door,” meows a tall redhead with an intimidating chest and a vacant expression that perfectly matches the two ruby-red lips stretching towards me in an annoyed pout.

  Cookie, I mean Ethan, arrives shortly after. I peer into the living room and I see him trudging past the couch wearing just a pair of jeans, and not even done up at that. He puts a little effort into composing himself. He looks dazed – it must have been hard work tearing her bra off, I think, considering the impressive cleavage of the girl in lace panties and man’s shirt standing looking at me.

  At this point, a reasonable person would postpone the conversation for a few days, but given that at this time I’m anything but reasonable, I decide to take a more direct approach.

  “You… You wanker!” I hiss, with a scowl. I push the girl out of the way and barge in with long strides. “You fucking wanker!” I scream. “Who is she?” And I point to the girl at the door. “I said, who is she?” I shout, even more loudly.

  He stares at me, unable to react, then asks me, confused, “Trudy, what are you talking about?”

  “Me? Me? What am I talking about?” I continue, gesticulating as if I were possessed. “You swore it wouldn’t happen again and instead I go away for a couple of days and I find you in our living room with another woman.”

  “Ethan… What’s she talking about?” asks the girl behind me. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on,” he says angrily, but before he can say anything else I start up again, completely ignoring his angry glare.

  “Oh really? I don’t think so! So who is she this time? How many have there been this week? Wasn’t the girl who helps you in the pub enough?”

  “You’ve been seeing Allie?” I hear her shout, and turn round to see her ready to go for his jugular.

  “I don’t—”

  “Allie, Barbara, Margaret… even Terry” I invent. “And what was the name of the girl with the dog?” I face her, my hands at my sides and a resigned expression on my face. “Unfortunately, I have trouble remembering all the names.”

  “I knew it! I knew it! That’s why you didn’t want me to come and see you at work.”

  “Caroline, wait—”

  But it’s too late. ‘Cookie’ doesn’t seem to want to listen to any excuses.

  “Wait? I’ve been waiting for months. Months hoping you’d decide to get serious. Months of letting you treat me like a doormat.”

  “You filthy cheater!” I add out of the spirit of solidarity, shaking my head in disgust.

  “Caroline, it’s not what you think… Just give me a minute.”

  “And while I waited, you were shagging that bitch Allie.”

  And wham, she unleashes one of those backhanders that wouldn’t be out of place in a Jackie Chan movie.

  Good grief! That must have hurt…

  Her anger vented, she turns on her heels and stalks towards the door, destination unknown. I doubt that there’s much chance he’ll be able to sweet talk her back into the bedroom. Not without using a Valium air freshener first.

  “Trudy, I swear I’ll kill you!” he threatens me as he runs after her. He chases her through the garden and the argument resumes. I miss the beginning, but once I arrive, they’re practically at the epilogue. She, in tears, keeps hitting him, and he is trying to calm her down, but failing. Not knowing how to get rid of him, she kicks him in the shin, forcing him to retreat momentarily.

  Wow, what a show!

  “You’re a horrible person… Horrible,” she says, deeply upset.

  What a distressing scene.

  “I don’t want to see you, Ethan. Don’t ever call me again.” And she leaves.

  I take a few steps towards the gate, watch her climb into a metallic grey car and then I let out a sigh.

  I hate soppy endings.

  “What a pity. I liked her…” I say half-heartedly.

  Ethan, sitting beside me on the grass, lets go of his sore leg and stands up, towering over my slender figure and looking burning daggers at me.

  “Might I know just what the hell you were thinking of?” he says bleakly.

  I cross my arms. “Is it possible that Adam might have heard from you that I have a husband and children?”

  He sees immediately where I’m going. “I… might have said something like that,” he admits.

  “And may I know the reason?” I probe, impassively.

  He smiles.

  “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  “No, Ethan, I don’t think it is.”

  “Whoops… I suppose I must have mixed you up with someone else. I hope it’s not a problem, is it?”

  He limps away and leaves me in the garden.

  I return to my flat.

  After that day, the morning ‘hello’ has become first a grunt, then an ‘I’m in a hurry,’ then silence – and, yesterday, finally, I told him very politely that I hoped he’d fall down a manhole.

  Chapter 28

  The Wastelands of the Tartars

  “What do you think?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No.”

  “Sure, sure?”

  “No.”

  “Not even if we add a brownie?”

  “NO!”

  “I knew you’d change your mind!”

  Ok, let’s do a quick r
ecap.

  I don’t have a boyfriend, I don’t have anyone to go out with at night, I still haven’t got my job back and I still live in Turriff, pending the expiration of my contract.

  Forgotten anything?

  Ah, yes… I’ve been arguing for almost eight hours with the most shrewish, unbearable pain in the arse in Europe!

  “May I know what’s wrong now?” I ask in exasperation, tossing the latest draft of our agreement in the air.

  We’re sitting in her living room in front of tea and pastries, looking askance at each other and hoping for immediate mutual death.

  “You can’t really think I’m going to start selling products door to door, can you?”

  “Mrs Cox, perhaps you’re unaware that you will have nothing to do with the companies we are talking about. We will just buy shares of large corporate groups to benefit from the profits, taking advantage of the fluctuations in market prices. Today you will have ten per cent of Smooth, tomorrow you will replace it with twenty-five per cent of Maloon Inc.,” I explain.

  “Smooth?! A stain remover is not sufficiently respectable, given my position!” she says, unhesitatingly frustrating all my attempts.

  “Mrs Cox, we have excluded all companies which produce products harmful to the environment, all those that offend public decorum. We have excluded manure, fertilizers, agricultural products, farms. Please tell me, what’s left?”

  “There’s the arts—”

  “Wait, hadn’t we decided that pop music and films are the tools of Satan?”

  “Art, Miss Watts, not entertainment. Sculpture, painting, literature – do you follow?”

  “Okay, fine, but considering the way things are going in the publishing sector, will you explain where I can find a corporation on the stock exchange which deals in sculptures – preferably ones that are dressed and which don’t allude to procreation in any way?” I ask with a hysterical shriek. “Now,” I take a deep breath, “let’s try and be rational – our aim is to avoid bankruptcy and unnecessary lawsuits with your three children. How about being a little more flexible?”

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “Mrs Cox, this is the fourth draft we have binned. If we carry on like this, we’ll never finish.”