The Saturday Supper Club

by Amy Bratley

  ‘Pret a Manger sandwiches, eh?’ I said with a small smile. ‘What’s wrong with Gregg’s?’

  ‘There’s one by work, so I pop in there for a croissant at breakfast, then a sandwich at lunch,’ he said. ‘Then another sandwich at tea. They must think I’m incredibly unimaginative, but I just can’t be bothered with food right now.’

  He leaned with his back against the kitchen counter, the stack of papers behind him, with one arm folded across his chest, the other gripping a mug of coffee. He moved to turn down the volume on the Roberts radio I’d bought him, on which a woman was laughing raucously. He looked at me expectantly.

  ‘So,’ he said, clenching his jaw as if preparing himself for a punch. ‘What did you want to talk to me about?’

  I rummaged in my bag, dropping my lipstick and house keys on the floor. He picked them up and handed them to me, and I stuffed them back into my bag before pulling out the copy of the paper and flicking it open to the Saturday Supper Club feature. I gulped. Beyond the kitchen door came the noise of Joe’s dad banging on Jimmy’s bedroom door, shouting at him to get up. Anger crossed Joe’s face.

  ‘Oh, Joe,’ I said, cringing horribly. ‘I’ve been stupid, really stupid, and I’m so sorry about how this looks, because it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t like that at all. I just haven’t known what to say.’

  Joe’s eyes were as hard as stone when I showed him the feature. Watching him read and absorb the photograph of Ethan and me was like waiting to be beheaded.

  ‘He just turned up out of the blue,’ I garbled. ‘And the whole thing threw me into a state. But that picture and that headline, they make it look like there was something going on, which there wasn’t at all. It was just Ethan, he’s like that, you know he is, throwing himself at everyone, and seeing him again, well, it threw me a little bit, too, if I’m honest.’

  As I spoke, anger flickered across Joe’s face in waves, but he said nothing. He didn’t take his eyes off the pages. When I’d finished speaking, I sat down on a chair at the table and waited there, holding my breath, wringing my hands together, searching Joe’s expression for a clue about how he felt. I picked an apple from the fruit bowl and passed it nervously from hand to hand.

  ‘Is this why you said you didn’t want to get married?’ Joe asked, angling his head towards me slightly.

  ‘Ethan told me he still loved me,’ I said quietly, putting the apple down. ‘And that confused me. You know I never really knew why we broke up, so when he came back, saying he’d never stopped loving me, it was a complete head-fuck, even though I loved you, of course. I’ve moved on, haven’t I? But even so, it was a shock and that’s why I said what I said about not wanting to get married. I needed time to think.’

  ‘He said that, did he?’ Joe asked. ‘That he’d never stopped loving you? Then why did he go? Did you find out?’

  I stood up slowly and walked over to the sink. With my back to Joe, I turned on the cold tap and poured myself a glass of water. I didn’t turn to face him.

  ‘It’s all a bit grim, really,’ I said, taking a sip. ‘But I want to put it behind me, behind us, now, and get back to how we were. Can we? Nothing’s changed, has it?’

  Joe looked at me, his mouth set with anguish.

  ‘What’s a bit grim?’ he said, scowling. ‘Why did he leave you?’

  I sighed and put the glass down on the draining board, on top of a mountain of cups and plates and bowls. I turned round and leaned against the counter.

  ‘He slept with Daisy,’ I said, my voice breaking. ‘And, this is awful . . . he’s . . . he’s Benji’s dad. Can you believe it? Oh, Joe, even though he’s ancient history, it’s been awful. Ethan’s Benji’s dad! You have to admit that’s a lot to take in. But I don’t want to think about it any more. I just want it to be how it was between us, without this mess thrown in making everything ten times more complicated.’

  Joe was silent for a few moments. He tapped his front teeth with his thumbnail, then looked at me, his expression cold.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘When you found out that Ethan had slept with Daisy and fathered Benji, you decided to come back to me? And what if you hadn’t found that out? Would you be here now? Or in his arms?’

  I was taken aback by Joe’s cold response; I’d thought that news would provoke some kind of sympathy. He flicked the paper shut, stood from his chair and began to pace the kitchen like a caged tiger.

  ‘Would you be here now?’ he said. ‘Or with Ethan?’

  ‘No!’ I said in exasperation. ‘I don’t want anything to do with him. He’s a nightmare. This just goes to prove what I already knew, doesn’t it? Please, Joe, can we forget he ever came back? I really, really want to forget he ever came back. It makes my head hurt. I want it to be us. You and me. I want us to get on with things.’

  My words were rushing out of my mouth in an attempt to convince Joe I wasn’t a disloyal, unfaithful person. I flushed red.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said moodily. ‘In that picture you look so . . . so . . . excited.’

  His voice was flat, hurt, disappointed. I closed my eyes briefly. I couldn’t deny what I looked like in that photo, but I had to make Joe understand I’d been swept up in a moment.

  ‘I was in shock,’ I said. ‘It’s that picture, I can’t believe Dominique let it go, she must have known that you would be upset by that. Isn’t she meant to be your friend?’

  It felt good to be blaming someone else, but I knew I didn’t have a leg to stand on. Of course Dominique would pick that picture. Far better than an image of my blackened fisherman’s stew. Joe picked up the article from the table where he’d put it and chucked it into the rubbish bin with disdain, staring down at it for a long moment, his back to me.

  ‘I’ve never trusted Dominique,’ he said without turning round. ‘I can’t believe she’d do this.’

  I didn’t dare breathe. I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince – himself or me. My shoulders relaxed just a tiny bit. Was he trying to say that he believed me? That he had decided to believe me? Was it easier for him to think it was all Dominique’s fault?

  ‘I know,’ I said quickly. ‘What a bitch.’

  Joe gave me a wary look, as if to tell me not to push my luck. I hated that the article existed. Even though Joe was putting on a brave face, I knew he must be gutted inside.

  ‘Look,’ I said. ‘I’m so sorry for all this, it feels so “not us” to have to deal with something like this. I’ll do anything to make you realize that I love you, that I feel awful to have put you through this . . .’

  ‘Anything?’ Joe asked.

  I breathed out. Was he going to ask me to marry him, even after everything I’d said?

  ‘No,’ Joe said, reading my mind. ‘I don’t mean getting married. You’ve made it quite clear you don’t want to get married and after this, well, I think we need time. I need time, too.’

  Just then, the kitchen door swung open and Joe’s dad stomped into the room. He collected his jacket from the back of a chair and stomped out again, without so much as a hello.

  ‘Eve’s here, Dad,’ Joe called after him. ‘It would be polite to say hello to her, you know?’ Then he muttered, ‘You old git,’ under his breath. ‘God, I wish he’d just leave.’

  ‘She’ll break your heart, you fool!’ his dad called. ‘Just look at those eyes!’

  He slammed the front door and Joe looked at me, crushed, yet trying not to show it. I wanted to make him feel better.

  ‘Let’s move in together,’ I said quickly. ‘It’s stupid us both having flats when we spend all our time together anyway. Why don’t we just have one place?’

  ‘Really?’ Joe said, a grin breaking out over his face like a sunbeam. He laughed suddenly, joyously. ‘You know I’d love that. God, I’d love that.’

  ‘Great,’ I said, laughing too, with relief. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard in days.’

  ‘There’s just one condition,’ Joe said, suddenly serious.

  ‘What’s t
hat?’ I said.

  ‘You don’t see that arsehole again,’ he said. ‘Ever.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, nodding. ‘OK.’

  Joe put his arms around me and kissed me passionately. I kissed him back, ignoring the small voice in my head asking me what the hell I was doing. Just yesterday I’d been talking to Isabel about how I needed time, how I’d had something with Ethan I couldn’t find with Joe. But I wanted, so badly, to make things right with Joe, I told myself I was doing the best thing. I wanted to make him happy and we were virtually living together already. What was the big deal? When all this had died down, we’d be fine again. Better, probably, because I wouldn’t be wondering why Ethan had deserted me those years ago. Finally, I’d have resolution.

  ‘Oh, Joe,’ I said, smiling at him, feeling the warmth of his arms around my waist. I was amazed at how easily and quickly he’d forgiven me for not telling him the truth from the start. ‘I was frightened you’d never speak to me again. I’m glad you’re happy.’

  ‘Do you know what I’m going to do?’ he said. ‘I’m going to go to the shop and buy a bottle of champagne.’

  I pulled my mobile phone out of my back pocket.

  ‘But it’s not even ten o’clock yet,’ I said, a smile on my lips.

  ‘We can chill it and take it to the park later for lunch?’ he said, checking in his wallet and pulling out a £20 note. ‘I’m so happy. I’ve hated these past few weeks. Absolutely hated it. I’ve missed you.’

  Joe held me and gave me a lingering kiss. He walked out of the flat and the front door slammed shut, leaving me in silence. I pottered around the kitchen for a few moments, then picked up Joe’s copy of the paper, stuffing it into the dustbin along with the other one.

  ‘Stupid article,’ I thought. ‘How dare Dominique let that picture go?’

  I needed to forget about all that now, forget that Ethan had ever turned up like he had. Fleetingly, I thought of Ethan and Daisy together, but I pushed them from my mind. Then I noticed Joe’s laptop on top of the fridge, open with the screen glowing. I walked over to it and pressed the space bar. It was open on his Yahoo mail, which he used for work stuff. My eyes ran down the list of names in his inbox and I saw Dominique’s name. I decided to send her an email and tell her what I thought of her antics. When I’d signed up to take part in the Saturday Supper Club, I was doing her a favour by stepping in at the last minute. What thanks did I get? She knew I was with Joe. I wanted her to know exactly how she’d made Joe feel by using that picture. I clicked on her email and my eyes flitted through the email conversation between her and Joe. The first had been sent when he had been freelancing on her desk. It was entitled Saturday Supper Club. I opened it and read.

  Hey Dominique, I’ve picked three contestants for this month’s Saturday Supper Club, from the pile you gave me to sort through. They’re Andrew Evans – a wine merchant, Maggie Mitchell – a window dresser, and Ethan Miller – an actor. Photos attached. I thought my girlfriend, Eve, could be the fourth contestant if you approve? She really wants to do it. Her picture is attached too. She’s a great cook, is about to open a cafe so will be grateful for a plug. Will these do? They’re all free on the dates you suggested. I’ll do the article about money laundering after lunch. I only have tomorrow left in the office, so will get it all finished before I go. Cheers, Joe.

  I frowned and read the message again. I read the message for a third time, then, with my heart beating rapidly, read the rest of their conversation, disbelieving. I gasped. I was amazed. I rubbed my eyes and read the email again. It didn’t make any sense, but the truth was slowly dawning on me. I screwed up my face in disbelief. Joe had lied to me, lied all along. He’d known all about Ethan. Worse, he’d set this up. He’d arranged for Ethan to come to my house. He knew. Joe knew. My stomach turned over and I felt sick. I stared at the computer screen until my eyes hurt, at Joe’s words to Dominique, not hearing the door open and close behind me.

  ‘Eve?’ Joe said quietly, from behind me. ‘I’ve got the champagne. What are you—’

  Suddenly he was there, at my shoulder, where I was still reading the email to Dominique. Bleary-eyed with tears, I turned and lifted my chin, searching his stricken face.

  ‘You set this up?’ I asked stupidly. ‘You knew all along about Ethan? What? Why?’

  ‘Fuck,’ Joe said, throwing his keys on the table. He placed down the carrier bag, twisted round the bottle of champagne. His skin was the colour of mist.

  ‘Why?’ I said, incredulous. ‘I can’t understand how you . . . did you really do this? Why would you do such a thing? I would never, in a million years, expect you to do anything so conniving, so deceitful, so treacherous. You bloody hypocrite, watching me apologize like this, letting me sweat . . . and you, all the time, you’re sitting there, trapping me, my God, I feel sick!’

  I pushed my hair back out of my eyes and held my hands over my mouth. Joe didn’t look at me. He sat numbly on a chair, his head bent, eyes closed, his thumb and forefinger pressing on his eyelids.

  ‘How dare you!’ I shouted, trembling, kicking his foot. ‘Answer me!’

  When Joe looked up, tears were trickling down his cheeks. He rarely cried. The sight shocked me. The radio prattled on behind us.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done it,’ he choked. ‘God, I wish I hadn’t! But . . . but . . . when I was freelancing, Dominique asked me to sort out four contestants for the Supper Club. When I saw, just by chance, Ethan had entered, I felt sick. You told me he was in Rome but I knew he’d come back. I’ve always hated that you loved him so completely, absolutely hated it. When we first got together you spent so long talking about him, I wondered if I could ever get you for myself. Every time I propose, you put me off. I know it’s because of him. It’s been driving me insane, because I can feel this distance between us, no matter what I do. I thought, if I threw you two together, you’d sort out how you felt once and for all. You’d see that I am the one for you. You’d put his memory to rest. A risky strategy, but it would get results fast. I’d know. I wouldn’t spend my life fearing you leaving.’

  I stood still, as the words rushed out of Joe’s mouth.

  ‘I can’t believe that you’d do . . .’ I started, incredulous. ‘It’s so controlling, so . . . so manipulative—’

  ‘I regretted it straight away,’ Joe said forcibly. ‘I didn’t know what to do. Part of me just wanted to tell you what I’d done, but I couldn’t find the words. And all the time, I told myself that this way I’d find out if it really was Ethan holding you back from loving me. I’m a fool, I know, a massive eejit. I don’t deserve you.’

  He stood up from the chair and walked across to the radio, which he switched off. His hands were shaking. I watched him pour himself a glass of whiskey from a bottle that probably belonged to his dad. He gulped it down.

  ‘I know I don’t deserve you,’ he said, pouring and gulping down another before emptying the rest down the sink and clanking the bottle in the bin. ‘Maybe I’ve known that all along.’

  Joe moved to the open kitchen window and leaned up against the wall and looked out. The sky was clear blue. He bit his bottom lip, turning to face me. His shoulders slumped forward. He seemed so vulnerable. He was fourteen again. A kid with a hopeless dad. I saw Joe as my oldest friend, my sweet Joe. I had to try to understand him.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ I said. ‘It’s not about whether you deserve me, or vice versa. This is about being deceitful, about not trusting me, when I’ve never given you any reason not to.’

  I was aware of the hypocrisy behind my words. I thought of everything that had happened with Ethan, which I hadn’t told Joe. My eyes drifted to the dustbin. I suddenly felt deflated.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Whatever you think about this stupid little scheme, I was doing it because I love you and I wanted to find out if you really loved me too or if you’re with me because we’re old friends and it’s easy.’

  ‘This isn’t easy,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘In fact I can’t believ
e how difficult this is becoming.’

  ‘I’ve always worked hard to get what I want,’ he said. ‘But with you, no matter how hard I work, I can’t quite get you. Even when I’m lying next to you in bed, you’re somehow out of my reach. I want to know why. I thought, this way, I might find out.’

  ‘I think I’m just like that,’ I said vaguely. ‘Maybe I’m just like this. Maybe I keep something back for myself, that’s just how I am. Can you not live with that?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, his whole body seeming to wilt. ‘Of course I can . . . it’s just . . . oh, I don’t know, I feel like such an idiot.’

  ‘I’m sorry I made you feel so insecure,’ I said. ‘I should have realized how I’ve made you feel. I know how that feels and it’s not nice.’

  Joe looked up at me in surprise. I smiled. I hated him looking so defeated. Joe was usually such an ebullient person, so in control. I couldn’t believe that he had orchestrated the whole meeting with Ethan, but I knew Joe. He wasn’t trying to hurt me. He was trying to get an answer, to move his life along, to get what he wanted. Moving towards me, he took my hands in his.

  ‘I should never have done what I did,’ he said. ‘I can’t force you to love me as much as I love you. But, ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this safe place in my head and heart where I imagined a perfect relationship, with no betrayals, distrust or jealousies. I’ve been trying to make you and me into that fantasy, but it’s ridiculous. I’m sorry. All I want to do is get life right and to do a better job than my dad has done. When I look at his life, I want to do everything I can not to be like him. But this, this is probably the kind of paranoid, bizarre thing he would do, isn’t it?’

  I hugged Joe tight, looking over his shoulder at the computer screen still glowing with his email to Dominique. My heart ached.

  ‘You are getting it right,’ I said. ‘You’re nothing like your dad and you don’t have to apologize for wanting commitment. We all have pasts that make us who we are, don’t we?’