‘Well, Sophie, you’re hardly poor. Look at this house, and you have savings. You don’t really think you’re going to suffer, do you?’
‘No, and I am one of the lucky ones. The other people who really need help have to put up with the idiots patronising them just to live.’ Sophie had her old compassionate look back.
‘I wonder if he suggests modelling to everyone.’
‘No, just me. I’m gorgeous.’
‘Yes, you are.’
Far too much so for gits like him.’ We laughed. The new Sophie would be just fine without gits like him.
After a couple of days, Sophie mellowed a bit, but she would only do things if you asked her nicely and if she wanted to. The lasting change in her was that she decided to become more independent, and independence meant that the Thesp had to go. I decided that independence was not what I wanted and the book had to go.
The Thesp had been good for Sophie. She admitted that. He’d rebuilt her confidence after the Porsche and he loved her. So it was hard for her to decide to let him go. Actually, there was no decision in it. As she didn’t love him – I think she had even stopped liking him, and he was getting serious – she had to put a stop to it. She told us one night, very matter of fact, that the Thespian was no longer to be part of her life. We were all shocked and relieved at the same time.
‘I can’t believe you’re going to dump him,’ I said.
‘Don’t say dump, Ruth; I hate that. I’m going to break up with him because I don’t love him and I never will. I’m grateful to him, he came into my life at a low point and really helped, but you can’t stay with someone out of gratitude. Besides, he’s a complete idiot.’
‘Are you sure you’ve thought about it sensibly?’ Sarah asked.
‘Yes, and I’m not happy about it, you know how I hate hurting people, but I’ve got to do it. I can’t just stay with him forever to avoid unpleasantness. I need my freedom. My career is taking off, and I need some time for me.’
‘You’re so right,’ Sarah said, as if Sophie had spoken the first words of truth she’d ever heard. The only person without an opinion was Jess, but Jess was busy being in love so it was probably just as well. We were worried, because despite the new assertive her, Sophie was so bad at hurting anyone that we knew this would be hard for her.
‘So when are you going to tell him, hon?’ I asked.
‘Tonight, in an hour. I need to do it quickly so I don’t chicken out. You know what he’s like, he’ll be really dramatic and probably cry and beg. I think I need a drink.’ Sarah got the wine and we practised with Sophie what she was going to say. It was going to be the most clichéd break-up in the history of the world. Friends, sorry, unfortunate, lovely guy, too good, etc., all cropped up and Sarah, being clever, told Sophie to treat this like an acting thing, which cheered Sophie up, because then she said how great actors draw on their own experiences and she could do this and it would strengthen her. She had another drink and I told her to slow down: I remembered what had happened with Julian.
She went looking lovely but suitably humble, not her best clothes, not much make-up, hair slightly greasy (nice touch). The rules on dumping are, if the guy is nice, like the Thesp, dress down. If he’s horrid, like the Porsche, then look as sexy as you can. But if you’re going to break someone’s heart, it’s important to be dressed suitably for the occasion.
Sarah and I waited for Sophie to return. Jess was singing, giggling and away with the fairies, so we ignored her. Then she phoned Jerry, and went round there on the spur of the moment, which was highly unusual because they always arranged their dates in advance. We waved her off.
‘Sarah, are you happy for Jess?’ I had to ask, now that we were alone.
‘Of course. I’m not such a rotten friend. It’s just, well, unexpected, I suppose.’
‘I know, I understand. Jess, well, she was like you. Mind you, it looks like you’ll have a comrade in Sophie now.’
‘I’m not sure about that …’
Sophie came back smiling. Sarah and I had tissues, wine and cigarettes lined up, but she didn’t seem to need them.
‘Why are you smiling?’ I asked. Maybe she’d changed her mind.
‘It’s amazing, I feel liberated,’ she replied.
‘What?’ Sarah asked.
‘You know, liberated. I was firm but nice. When he begged I still said no and he even asked me to marry him and I said no. I said he was lovely but I didn’t love him and I hoped we’d be friends and all the crap we talked about and when I left we parted on good terms he’d almost stopped crying anyway. I’m sorry for him, but I feel free and great and, well, if I do this a couple more times, I can play the bitch in any production, not that I was a bitch, but the power kind of felt good.’ She laughed. Sarah and I were dumbstruck.
Sometimes it seemed as if the world had gone mad, usually when familiar things changed. First Jess, then Sophie. I was confused. I looked at Sarah. ‘If you do anything out of the ordinary I’ll kill you,’ I said.
‘Me? Now, you know that’s not going to happen.’ The one thing about Sarah was that I could depend on her not to change. I loved her constancy and I loved that she was here in the midst of this utter madness.
Then I noticed that it was summer. One day I opened my eyes properly and it had been summer for some time. It was July, it was hot and it was sunny. I hadn’t noticed the sunshine before, not properly. I was too busy thinking about the future to look at now. I had forgotten to count the months, something I used to do. Actually, I used to count the days, but now I just let them merge into one. It didn’t matter to me when it was, or what it was. But it was summer and my friends had spent time sitting on Clapham Common, getting a tan. Apparently this had been going on for a while. How could I not have noticed the weather? I must have been concentrating really hard. June wasn’t that nice but July had been lovely, apparently. I couldn’t have told you that.
When I noticed summer I tried to join in with the fun. Jess, Sarah and Sophie were loving it, so I spent time with them outside, having barbecues in our small back garden. Thomas had finished his exams and he spent a lot of time with us, as did Jerry now that Jess really loved him. Summer brought a new light into the life of our house. That light even seemed to be shining on me. The common was packed – picnics, children playing football, frisbee, adults watching and getting a tan, dogs finding shade under trees. The streets were emptier, pubs, bars and cafés extending their space to pavements full of people being seen, sipping designer water, wearing sunglasses and looking beautiful. Clothes shrank to reveal almost translucent bodies (the English have no shame when it’s hot), and it was so hot.
Jess was so happy, it was lovely to see. She had her work cut out trying to divide her time between her job and Jerry, but I knew she wouldn’t have had it any other way. Sophie had got that part in the costume drama and was preparing to be a television star, which I was excited about. Sarah had been offered another job and she was climbing her ladder at a rate of knots. Katie seemed better now she had given up the idea of being a party girl and me, well, I was getting there too, wasn’t I?
Although I was better, one thing was not: I hated working more than ever, not because of the job but because of the way I had to get to it. The tube is a nightmare at the best of times: you take your life in your hands when you use it because people push and shove and kill to get seats. They insist on getting in when it’s too full so you have to be intimate with strangers through no choice of your own. You stand under people’s armpits, you get your feet trodden on, and people sneeze in your face. I cannot think of anything worse. But in the summer being packed inside a tube train is the most unpleasant experience I have ever had. The London Underground has a culture of its own. I often wondered what people visiting made of it, because I was a visitor in my own way and I found it strange. English people are renowned for queuing, but not on the tube. As soon as the doors open it’s a free-for-all, and inflicting pain is allowed. Of course, the aim is clear. The
tube is a mode of transport to get you from A to B, but it is so much more than that: it’s almost a war game. Once in the carriage the focus shifts to getting a seat. Seats on the tube are coveted more than your neighbour’s husband or wife. The prize is golden and people will go to any lengths to get them and keep them. One day, on a particularly nasty journey, I heard a woman, who looked tired and quite fat, say to a man with a seat, ‘I’m pregnant.’ He looked at her, said, ‘Congratulations,’ and returned to his book. It transpired that the woman wasn’t pregnant, just fat. There are no morals involved in the tube game. Jess should have loved the tube because sexual equality exists there. Men do not give up seats for women, or let them through the door first. There are no favourites there. Getting a seat on the tube in rush-hour is a bit like Musical Chairs: as soon as a seat is empty, you push and shove to get it. One day I was rugby-tackled for a seat by a normal-looking woman, who looked at her friend, slightly embarrassed, as I tried to maintain my balance, and said, ‘We have to do this.’ Who passed that goddamn law? That’s what I’d like to know. ‘Leave your manners on the platform, this train is about to depart.’ I decided that when I found what I wanted to do with my life, it definitely would not involve tubes.
Chapter Eighteen
‘Welcome to the brand new game show – Self-destruction’ (Pause for applause.) ‘And here’s your host, Bernie Butler.’ (More applause.)
‘Hello, ladies and gentlemen and welcome to the show. As it’s new, let me explain the rules for you. Everyone at home, please join in.’ (Cheers and applause.) ‘There are a number of options as to how you can win. You can either find a partner and let them take over or ruin your life. You can get hooked on drugs, gambling or alcohol, or you can get a bad job with a horrid boss who ruins your life. Or any combination of the three. The winner is the person who manages to ruin their life in the biggest and most destructive way.’ (Cheers and applause.) ‘And the prize for tonight’s winner is … a brand new car.’ (More cheers.) ‘I must warn you, though, if you don’t want to play this game, be careful. Choose your jobs, your partners and your drugs carefully.’
***
I couldn’t believe it was a year since my life had been torn from me. God, a whole year. I hadn’t done much in that time, but now I was ready to let it go. My aims had shifted. First, I had wanted Ben back, then I had wanted to avoid gainful employment, then I had wanted to find a man, then I had just wanted to find something. Now, my main priority was to become a better person. That was the only way I would improve my life.
Then it happened. It had been inevitable but I had pushed it to the back of my mind.
Ben was coming home. After he’d left, even when I stopped believing he would come back early I imagined our tearful reunion. He would tell me he was too embarrassed to express his real feelings for me but now he would like things to go back to the way they were. That was the reunion sketch I had played in my head, and part of me, even after all this time, still believed he would want me. Even though I wasn’t sure I wanted him. Actually, I knew I didn’t. The him-coming-back fantasy was just another excuse for me to bury my head. It kept reality at bay.
Thomas was at our house. I had been shopping with Katie and I returned to find them all sitting around the kitchen table with a bottle of wine. They went quiet when I walked in and no one would look me in the eye.
‘Hi, guys, what’s up?’ Silence greeted me.
Then Thomas spoke. ‘Ben’s coming back,’ he almost whispered. I can’t remember how I felt when he said that – maybe shock, followed by confusion because I was hoping that the news wouldn’t affect me. I sat down, poured a glass of wine and lit a cigarette. Then when I couldn’t bear the silence, the eyes boring into me, I spoke. ‘When?’ It was the best I could do.
‘Next week,’ Thomas said. I lit another cigarette and picked up Jess’s wine.
Jess was nudging him, Thomas looked embarrassed, Sophie was staring at the floor and Sarah looked ready to deal with an emergency.
‘He’s not coming alone,’ Thomas said.
I stood up. My heart sank as I picked up yet another glass of wine, I don’t know whose, and lit another cigarette.
‘I should hope not. I hope Johnny will be with him.’ I laughed nervously as my heart fell out of my body.
‘Ru, he’s bringing a girl.’ They all looked at me. I felt myself go very red and part of me wanted to cry, but another part of me remembered all my tears and I swear I took everything I could find inside myself, and more from God knows where, to keep my composure. I did a circle of the room picking up objects, I didn’t know what. Sarah followed me around taking them off me.
‘Who is she?’ My voice was steady, although I felt on the verge of tears. Of course, I should have known that dealing with fantasies was much easier. In my fantasy I heard Ben was coming back and I was strong, uninterested, nonchalant. But when I heard it I collapsed. Then, faced with the added shock of another girl, God, I was just watching my life again. I picked up Thomas’s beer, finished it, lit another cigarette.
‘She’s an Australian called Sam. He met her in Sydney. I’m sorry, Ru, but Ben says they’re going to live, together in London.’
So, he’s coming back with a girl and now he’s going to live with her. I decided not to think about that just yet. I managed a sort of laugh as I found a carving knife. Sarah grabbed it.
‘Well, is that what you guys have been fussing about all day? I mean, I got over Ben, remember? Really. Remember Mark? Trust Ben. I bet he had her doing his laundry while they were backpacking. How funny.’ Where did that come from? I picked up the kettle. Sarah took it from me. I was wandering around the room, picking up things, having them taken from me, drinking everyone’s drink, discarding cigarettes God knows where. I needed to calm down. My friends were looking at me oddly. Perhaps it was because I was talking absolute bollocks. But to hold it together I needed them to humour me, to pretend they believed I didn’t care. It was the only way I could cope. But still no one spoke.
‘Well, we’ll have to have a welcome-home party.’ I took my seat again.
‘Yeah, well, you don’t have to see them, none of you do.’ Thomas thought he was being sweet, but he didn’t understand. I knew nothing then but that I needed to see him, and her, or just him. I really did.
‘Of course I want to see them. I mean, it’s been a year, a long time, we could be friends. I know, we’ll have a dinner for them here.’ Looking at the faces of my friends, I could tell they thought it was a dreadful idea, but my false bravado was still necessary and I needed to see him, here in my home. I had to do it. I put a demon look on my face. ‘Don’t you all think it’s a wonderful idea?’ It was really more of a command than a question. I picked up Sophie’s wine, drank it, then drank from the bottle and lit another cigarette.
‘You don’t have to,’ Sophie said. She looked appalled.
‘A pub might be easier,’ Jess suggested. She looked frightened.
‘Do you really think it’s a good idea?’ Sarah asked. She looked in shock.
But I wasn’t going to listen to anyone. I couldn’t really hear them anyway. ‘I’ve made up my mind. When Ben and this girl have recovered from jet-lag or whatever, I insist they come here, with Johnny. It’ll be like old times.’ With my final word, I took my last shred of dignity, opened a new bottle of wine, took it into my room and cried my heart out.
Please do not ask me to explain why I was like that with my friends. They had seen me cry many, many times. But I just couldn’t fall apart again, not in public. It had been a while since I had cried over Ben, and I had truly thought I never would again. And there was the added problem of the girl. Not only had Ben reappeared in my life, but he’d had to bring some Australian with him. He shouldn’t have come back into my life like this. If he was in love then I should have been too. I was the hurt one, I deserved it more than he did. I was angry and jealous, and I wished so much that, just for once, I could have had the upper hand. I remembered when he left me: he tol
d me we were too young to settle down, but now, a year later, he was suddenly old enough. Old enough to fall in love with another girl. I hated her. She had taken my love, she had taken my Ben, she was about to take my flat. I should be moving in with him – I should have done it a year ago. How could he replace me? I had loved him. I emptied the bottle and threw it at the wall.
Anger had come. I had never felt so angry. This girl had stolen my destiny and, instead of killing her, I was inviting her to dinner. I was pathetic. And did I still want Ben? I didn’t know. Maybe I just couldn’t bear the thought that he couldn’t love me but he could love someone else. That hurt, it really hurt. For the first time in ages, I cried myself to sleep thinking about Ben.
***
For the next few days I was on autopilot. If anyone mentioned Ben I changed the subject. I wasn’t strong enough to talk about it. I hadn’t told Katie. She knew something was wrong, but she knew better than to ask. My friends didn’t question me, and I arranged the dinner party, or told Thomas to do it as planned. It was necessary. Ben was staying with Thomas and looking for a flat for himself and his hussy.
Apparently when Thomas invited Ben and Sam to my dinner, Ben was shocked, and reluctant, but Thomas said I was insistent, which I was. Thomas, bless him, did a good sales job. He said that Johnny was looking forward to it, as were we girls. Ben, still unsure, told Thomas he’d call me. This freaked me out a little. I went back to Mark mode and sat by the phone for a while. I was scared. When he did call, and I heard his voice, it triggered emotions in me. I couldn’t stop them.
‘Hello, Ru, it’s Ben.’
‘Hi, Ben, how are you?’ I ripped up the telephone pad.
‘Fine and you?’
‘I’m really good. How was it? Did you have a great time?’ My voice was holding up, but I was making the oddest faces.
Rubber Gloves or Jimmy Choos? Page 31