by Zaza, Agatha
Holly was really pleased when Ovidia asked her how they met, but she’d have been happier to describe Jasper’s proposal. It had taken her by surprise. The night had begun like any other night at his parents’ house: they’d arrived, and his mother, as always, had warmly embraced her and stepped back to stand beside her husband, and dinner had followed soon after. Holly was a firm believer that that there was no truer proof of love than marriage. She had resigned herself to cohabiting, happily but not ideally, to being Jasper’s partner instead of his wife. Her own parents had been married for forty years. Yet, around her, both men and women appeared content to live together, never making make that ultimate commitment, content to never parade a ring upon a ring finger or wear a white dress in front of enraptured guests.
‘We met through work,’ Holly said with her glass in her hand, legs crossed, giddy with joy and leaning forward towards Ovidia. ‘Well, my friends, his work. I went to a party I really didn’t want to go to, and Saskia was like, “Oh, come on, please meet my friend, make him fall in love with you — I don’t think I can stand Mr Misery anymore, he used to be so much fun. And I know he’ll love you.”’ It didn’t occur to Holly to explain Saskia to her audience. ‘It was at a new place in Camden; it was pretty awful — it still smelled of paint.’
It had been one of those parties at which minor luminaries starred. The restaurant was dark and industrial — corrugated iron pinned to its walls and exposed ducts painted silver. A DJ played unknown jazz and funk, and guests were expected to queue up at the bar to buy their own drinks. There were whispers that one or two of the celebrities present would possibly make it into the Daily Telegraph since a minor scandal regarding a public slap was fomenting, and that a renowned celebrity journalist would make an appearance at the party. Every other person was in media, communications, or public relations.
When Saskia introduced Jasper, he had been leaning against a varnished wooden post holding a drink he hadn’t yet started, surrounded by a clutch of people who all seemed to doing exactly what he did for a living. Beside him stood ‘Mr Misery’, as Saskia had termed him — a work colleague who’d recently emerged from a ten-year relationship, broken. Holly had thought the two men looked ill, and Saskia looked bored.
The first half an hour was miserable for Holly. She and Saskia made polite conversation and endured the men’s long pauses and reluctant answers. Eventually Jasper, who seemed unable to stand Mr Misery’s company either, said to Holly, ‘Look do you want to stand outside or something? You look like you’re enjoying this even less than I am.’
Saskia had followed them. ‘God, Hector really needs to make an effort,’ she’d said once outside, lighting a cigarette and flicking back her shoulder-length box braids. Her dark brown lipstick left a stain on the cigarette. ‘I’m really sorry, Holly. I thought meeting someone nice might shake him up a bit.’
‘He was with her for ten years,’ Jasper had muttered.
‘I know, poor guy,’ Saskia had replied, ‘but I have to share an office with him, and I’m starting to dread coming to work every morning.’
‘You can’t expect him to just cheer up.’ Jasper was louder this time, more assertive.
‘I don’t. But couldn’t he at least try?’ Saskia had gulped her beer. ‘On top of that, I’ve got to deal with you. At least I know what’s wrong with him. You? You could be on crystal meth for all I know.’
‘Saskia,’ Jasper had interjected. Holly considered Saskia’s reference to drugs. It made sense looking at him.
‘No, really. And you know what? I’m the one who gets told “you really must make an effort with your colleagues,”’ she’d mimicked their director. ‘“We’re a family, we all need to support each other.”’ She’d briefly and quietly sucked her teeth.
‘You complained about me?’ Jasper had asked.
‘Yes,’ Saskia had replied and looked away.
Holly had watched. It was obvious that Saskia had been accumulating resentment against Jasper, and she was finally airing her emotions. Holly had seen the look of indignation on his face, that he’d almost turned to walk away. But she had still been watching him when he’d wordlessly seemed to acknowledge that what Saskia said was true. She’d seen when his chin had dropped, and he’d fixed his gaze to the floor. His face, despite its pallor, had flushed with humiliation.
They’d stood silently for a few minutes, then Saskia had cleared her throat and said, ‘Look, I’ll see you on Monday, okay?’ She’d patted Jasper on his shoulder. ‘You coming in, Holly?’ Without waiting for an answer, Saskia had extinguished her cigarette and returned indoors.
Holly and Jasper had found themselves alone.
‘If you don’t mind, I’ll just change subject.’ Holly had taken charge. ‘You said earlier you got food poisoning at a tapas bar — what happened? What on earth did you eat?’
Their conversation had plodded along for half an hour more. Then Jasper had thanked her for her company and went home. Holly had returned to the party, which now had more patrons, and its celebrity had arrived.
Holly left out most of the details of that evening, mentioning only the club, Mr Misery and Saskia, and the celebrity and his ensuing scandal.
She and Jasper didn’t see each other again for a month, Holly explained. Their second meeting was uneventful, a group Saskia organised for drinks at a club re-opening. Her conversations with Jasper were less stilted, and he stood beside her for most of the evening. The third time Holly saw him, she excused herself from her company and went straight to him, knowing by then that he excited her. She’d felt a flutter in her stomach when he walked in the room, and her heart pounded when he’d kissed her on the cheek and put an arm around her gently, as if unsure if he should.
That evening they’d been in a well-lit corner in a gallery in which it was impossible to hide from the light. Everything had been a reflective white and powerful lighting had made the room seem impersonal. It had begun to overheat with a swelling number of guests.
‘It’s great to see you again,’ Jasper had said.
She’d opened her mouth to reply, but his eyes were already flitting around the room.
‘Do you mean it’s genuinely lovely to see me again — or are you just being polite?’ Holly had surprised herself at how forceful she sounded.
‘Oh,’ Jasper had said, and he’d hesitated. ‘I’m just being polite.’
Her stomach had sunk, but then their eyes had locked, and she’d caught the spark of humour in his — something she hadn’t seen in him before.
‘But you knew I was coming.’ She’d wanted him to say he was interested in her, not to just infer it. ‘You could have called or sent a text — maybe invited me for drinks first?’
He’d smiled. ‘I was hoping you’d call me. I’m a bit slow at these things.’
‘Bad breakup?’ Holly had suggested.
Jasper had looked over her shoulder at an enormous installation behind her and focused on it for a moment. ‘Stuff going on in my head.’
‘Like depression or something?’ she’d asked, her eyes wide in sympathy. Occasionally, she looked back at that moment and asked herself if he had or hadn’t nodded. Had the almost imperceptible motion he’d made been in agreement? Or had she simply interpreted it as such? Depression made sense. Perhaps she’d found an explanation that suited her, so she took it.
‘So, would you like to go for a drink with me sometime?’ Holly had asked, just as Saskia joined in.
‘Oh my god! He’s smiling, like really smiling!’ Saskia had said. ‘Holly, you’ve saved my life!’ She’d elbowed her friend. ‘I’ll just leave you alone then.’
It still had taken another month before they were finally alone together. In that month, always in the presence of others, she’d learned that he could be funny at times, that he would listen as she spoke, exuding concern and interest. She had also learned that he could stare at the ceiling, oblivious to her presence, or snap at her, annoyed at an inconsequential joke or what she thought was
an exciting anecdote.
‘Then yesterday — a year and half later — he proposed, while we were at his parents’.’ Holly smiled at the memory of the hours that came afterwards in the room that had been his since he was a child. His childhood bed had long ago been replaced with a much bigger one, and the room was now decorated for an adult in hues of green and blue, mementos from his youth now on display in a glass-fronted cupboard in the corner.
‘On his knees, tears in his eyes, everything — according to the texts from our mother,’ Edmund interjected. ‘And he asked after dinner.’
Holly was pleased when Edmund spoke. She had been sure he wasn’t listening. He looked impassive, responding to the highs of her story with a nod. But she thought, happily, Jasper had probably told him all about her, and who likes to hear a story twice?
‘At least if she’d said no, you’d have already eaten. Nothing like rejection to ruin your appetite,’ Ovidia continued.
They all laughed except Jasper. Holly hadn’t considered refusing. The moment Jasper had lowered himself onto one knee, her heart had begun racing and knees trembling. She’d blushed and felt her stomach begin to churn as she began to understand what he was doing. When he’d taken the ring from his pocket, fumbling with the little box, she’d clasped her hands over her mouth and shrieked, ‘Oh!’
It had been simple, nothing forced, nothing contrived, but Holly knew she’d remember it for the rest of her life. The proposal came as an affirmation that, regardless of his silences, his sudden bursts of emotion, and occasional disappearances for which he didn’t want her company, Jasper wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
His parents had watched, their eyes wet with tears, and his mother had fumbled with her phone trying to record the events to send to Edmund.
When he’d risen, she’d leaned against his shoulder and listened to his heart beating, and tears had slid down her face.
‘Well, if you’re going to cry about it, I can get a refund on the …’
She’d laughed and cried simultaneously, gently smacking him on the shoulder and telling him not to ruin the moment.
‘Next stop — babies,’ Holly said, looking around at her audience. ‘Wedding first, of course.’
‘Oh god, Jasper as a father,’ John said, and they all laughed along.
‘And you two are married?’ Ovidia glanced at Anne. Holly was taken aback at how quickly Ovidia changed the subject but then realised she’d been detailing her and Jasper’s relationship for quite a while.
‘Nine years together.’ Anne sipped her wine and asked, ‘You?’
Holly watched Anne pre-empt John with the question. She’d known them long enough to see that John was impatient, eager to find out more — the way his eyes flitted from Edmund to Ovidia and back again. Holly watched him take in every detail of them, looking at their shoes, smiling at their words. Right now, Holly guessed, he was waiting for Ovidia to repeat, ‘No, I live across the road.’ Then he’d challenge her, he’d joke and say something like, ‘You seem very familiar for someone who lives across the road. You won’t catch Mrs Bancroft using my shower on a Saturday morning.’
To Holly’s surprise, Ovidia and Edmund looked into each other’s eyes.
‘Four years?’ Edmund said after the briefest of pauses.
Holly, like the others, gasped.
‘Just over,’ Ovidia replied, with a slight smile that told Holly that she was thinking back to when she and Edmund first met.
After she spoke, Jasper lurched forward in the cushioned sofa, his foot, from where it had been crossed over his right knee, slammed on to the floor. His eyes wide. ‘Four years? Four years and you’ve never said anything to me. Nothing. Ever?’
Holly’s hand instinctively went to Jasper’s arm as if to restrain him. How could Edmund have been in a relationship for four years? It wasn’t possible.
When describing his brother, Jasper said he’d have known if Edmund was in a serious relationship. Jasper had complained on a few occasions that he was the one who bore the brunt of Edmund’s ostensibly inactive love life. He was the one always saying no when repeatedly quizzed by their curious and worried mother and by their father, whose latent distaste for homosexuality meant he wanted proof of his son’s heterosexuality.
She looked at Jasper, who now appeared frozen, staring at his brother.
‘Well of course I didn’t say anything.’ Edmund offered in way of an explanation and then sipped his wine.
Holly saw as the brothers’ eyes locked, and Edmund smiled back faintly — a brief, almost uncertain smile.
Jasper rolled his hands into a fist and then unfurled them, stretching out his fingers. ‘So, what, she’s married?’ he asked, as if Ovidia wasn’t right beside Edmund.
‘No. She’s not, and neither am I, for that matter.’
Holly could see Edmund’s response aggravated Jasper even more.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Jasper demanded, louder.
‘You know why,’ Edmund replied.
Holly would have liked one of them to say why. Instead, the brothers seemed to silently agree that they couldn’t discuss it any further in front of the others. Jasper leaned back into his chair and Edmund mirrored his brother’s movement, leaning back into his own chair, but more slowly.
Holly shifted in her seat, unsure of what to do next. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were meant to be talking about the future, dresses, children, perhaps a dinner party, so they could celebrate properly with Edmund.
The brothers were no longer locked in a standoff. Jasper’s head was down, his fist against his forehead, and Edmund’s hands were restless, flying from his face to his thighs, back again, and rubbing against his knees, before he took hold of his glass and only then stopped.
Holly looked quickly at John, who nudged Anne as if passing along the responsibility for continuing the conversation.
‘So how did you meet?’ Anne intervened. John looked relieved and put his hand on Anne’s lap.
‘She hit me thinking I was an alien,’ Edmund said as Ovidia opened her mouth to begin. He said it without a smile or other hint of humour.
Holly thought she’d heard incorrectly and turned to Jasper, whose brow furrowed as he looked uncomprehendingly at his brother.
‘Meaning?’ Anne choked as she tried to suppress a laugh. She coughed, and John gently and ineffectively patted her back, his eyes transfixed on Ovidia.
‘I’d just finished my first and, I thought at the time, last sixty-mile ultra …’ Ovidia began.
‘And you’ve lost me right at the beginning,’ John joked, as Holly shook her head in disbelief.
Ovidia continued. ‘I’d been running all night, and all I wanted to do was collapse. I was absolutely exhausted. I felt like throwing up. My feet felt as if they’d fall off … But basically, everything seemed perfectly normal until I saw this alien thing walking towards me. And I thought, oh my god, I’m under attack, and I got the idea that I was going to save the universe and tried to knock him out.’
Holly chuckled, an odd gurgling sound.
‘The alien went “Ouch!” in this really annoyed voice,’ Ovidia went on. ‘I didn’t know what would happen next. Would its rocket come down and fetch it? But then I had to lie down, and I didn’t notice that there wasn’t anywhere to lie down, and I just dropped — onto the ground. Then the alien started turning human, and it was just looking down at me and rubbing its arm. He was probably expecting me to get up and carry on, but there was no way I was standing up. After that, a perfectly normal human being asked if I was okay. I said yes, fine, and sorry, I was just saving the planet — and then I threw up all over his trainers.’
‘In my opinion, she should have sued the organisers. Absolutely no one in sight,’ Edmund said.
‘So you were hallucinating?’ John asked slowly.
‘Forgot to say. Yes,’ Ovidia continued, ‘I knew nothing about this until I looked it up afterwards. Some ultra-marathoners say they hallucinate on, or af
ter, long runs, and not just the classic desert races or being dehydrated. I’d have thought it was complete nonsense if I hadn’t experienced it myself. One woman said how she’d spent half the race talking to someone beside her but there was no one there.’
Holly covered her mouth as she laughed uncontrollably, while Anne and John sniggered. Holly tried to say something about it being the funniest first meeting she’d ever heard of, but she couldn’t stop herself from laughing and leaned against Jasper and felt his arm come to rest around her waist.
15
Ovidia told the story just as Edmund first noticed she used to speak: fast, without her hands — her fingers resting on her thighs. She accompanied the story with movements, slumping her head to one side as she ‘just dropped’ and lurching forward as she ‘threw up all over his trainers’.
In fact, that had been their second meeting. Their first having become one of those memories that a couple mutually files away — an inconvenient recollection.
Edmund smiled at the memory of their story. It was the first hint of real joy he’d felt in what felt like never-ending misery. Though he knew that Jasper must be hurt, Edmund allowed himself to savour the warmth that remembering stirred inside him and, feeling stronger, he raised himself in his seat.
He and Ovidia had never planned to hide their relationship from his brother. It had taken years to happen, but it had been inevitable that Jasper would find out. The truth just seemed to escape being told. He and Ovidia socialised, they travelled, they did many things together, but rarely in the context of being partners. It was easier than it seemed. The people with whom they mingled were not the kind to ask without a prompt of some kind. He knew that many looked at them through glasses tinted with prejudice — Ovidia’s bright flamboyant clothes, her apparent youth, her colour. Few people made the connection with him, his dark formal clothing, his business-like demeanour. He’d once asked his PA what she’d meant, when upon realising that Ovidia was his partner she’d blurted, ‘I’d have never guessed!’ She’d stammered and said, ‘Well, Olivia,’ she’d called her ‘Olivia’, ‘is so, so — colourful.’