“How modern. I hope you didn’t Google my father to see what he does for a living. That would have been very twentieth century of you.”
“I didn’t know his name.” She looked at him deadpan. “But what does he do?”
“He’s a sex therapist.”
Christine almost spat out her mouthful of wine. “Are you serious?” she choked.
“No,” said Gavan. “He’s an architect.”
The restaurant started to empty out after midnight. When the staff began to sweep the floor around them, they thought they had better go. It was testament to the fun they’d had that none of them was keen to leave. Christine could feel Gavan’s arm draped around the back of her chair, his body leaning in towards her as he debated some rugby score with Jack diagonally opposite him at the table. She knew that he was letting her know that he was interested, and she liked that he wasn’t being too presumptuous. Her head was pleasantly fuzzy from the three big glasses of red that she had managed to finish. She felt her toes being stepped on, and she looked over at Emily who was sitting back in her chair with a self-satisfied grin on her face. Emily flicked her eyes over at Gavan, and winked at Christine. She too had drunk the most part of a bottle of wine, and was being less discreet than she thought. Christine stamped her back, glaring.
“Ow!” The boys looked up and Emily recovered herself. “Well guys. Should we go?”
The waiter who had been hovering nearby took his opportunity and dived at the table with a small dish containing four mints and the bill. Gavan took it immediately.
“Let me.” He glanced at Jack.
“No, Gavan.” Christine lifted her bag. “We’ll split it.”
“Please.” He looked straight at her. “I’ve had a great night. I’d really like to get this. Maybe,” he handed the dish back to the waiter who didn’t care who paid as long as he could finish cleaning and go home. “Maybe we can do this again soon? And you can get the next one. Promise.”
Christine felt her cheeks redden. She liked that Gavan wanted to pay. She liked that he obviously wanted to see her again. And she liked that he clearly didn’t want Jack and Emily to accompany them the next time.
“Thanks Gav.” Emily stood and Jack helped her with her jacket. “Next time we should meet at Christine’s place. We were just discussing earlier how it would be fun to have you guys there for food some evening. It’s got a great balcony overlooking the bay.”
“Great!” Christine swatted her friend. “Or you could invite us over to your place? Or do your parents let you have friends over?”
“Ugh, don’t.” Emily looked at Gavan. “It’s just temporary, Gavan. I’m not actually living with my parents. My lease was up, and my flatmate was moving to London, so I’m just back home until I find someone to share with. My best friend,” she turned to Christine, “won’t share with me. So I’m doomed to trawling through the personals until I find someone who does want to live with me. Hopefully, they won’t turn out to be a serial axe-murderer.” She smiled. “I’d hate Christine to have that on her conscience.”
“Maybe you’ll find someone else you know who’s looking for a flatmate.” Jack was obviously trying to be nonchalant but failing badly thanks to the chianti. Emily looked at him and her cheeks flushed.
“Come on, you two.” Gavan nodded towards the waiter who was holding the door open for them now, evidently bored of being decorous. Jack put his arm around Emily, and they walked out followed by Gavan and Christine. The waiter closed the door behind them, making quite a show of bolting the locks on the inside. For a moment, the four of them stood on the pavement, Emily nervously looking from Christine to Jack and back again.
“So. Great night guys.” Jack tried to break the awkward silence.
“Yes. Thanks again Gavan.” Christine knew she had to take control of the situation. “I’m gonna head home. I guess you guys are going back to Jack’s?” She looked at Emily.
“Oh yes.” Emily gushed, and then seemed embarrassed at her own eagerness. “I mean, I’m certainly not going home. I can’t have a hangover there. They’d give me no peace.” She looked at Christine. “Unless you want me to come home with you?”
Christine knew that Emily didn’t mean that, but she played along with the little charade.
“No, no. Not at all. I’ll be grand.”
“I can walk Christine home,” Gavan said, looking from Emily to Jack. “It’s sort of on my way anyway.”
Christine felt tingles up her neck. “Well, okay. If you’re sure?”
Jack wasn’t sober enough to play any games. His sole objective was to get Emily back to his place without delay.
“Great,” he said. “Well, thanks again Gav. My round next time. Bye Chris.” He kissed her cheek.
Emily hugged her hard. “Text me later,” she whispered into Christine’s ear, before being steered off down the road towards the city centre by Jack.
“This way, right?” Gavan pointed in the opposite direction and Christine nodded, and they started walking towards her southside apartment.
The night was almost balmy. Christine carried her jacket and bag in folded arms. Gavan walked with his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. The street was busy with people hailing cabs, heading home. Others were standing outside bars, smoking. Christine and Gavan walked in silence. The realisation that both of them were trying to avoid the holding hands issue made Christine want to laugh. She would be twenty-nine in ten days, and here she was, walking down the street with a guy, hoping he’d curl his fingers around hers. It felt a little like the past fifteen years had been a dream, and she was walking home from school next to Alex Mosse, their bags on their backs, arms swinging by their sides, she willing his right hand to touch her left hand by accident on purpose.
“What are you grinning at?” Gavan was looking at her with a smile on his own face.
“Nothing. Sorry. Ever been in there?” She pointed towards a pulsating bar just ahead.
“No. Do you want to get a drink?” He stopped outside. A smart looking doorman acknowledged them.
“No. No thanks.” She smiled at the doorman who nodded graciously. “Unless you do?”
“Not really.” He looked down at her. He was tall. “Maybe a coffee would be nice though?”
Christine looked at him. She was too old for messing about. She liked Gavan. She wanted him to come back to her place. That was all. There was no need to think further than that. She did her best to ignore the nagging thoughts rapping on her head, like little old ladies trying to get in.
You don’t know him well enough.
You’ve only met him once.
You’re going to look like a tramp.
What would your mother think?
She muffled them all out with the help of the three glasses of chianti.
“I have coffee at my place.”
He smiled. “Great. Let’s do that then.” His voice was distinctly husky. He took his hands from his pockets and put an arm around her shoulders. For a second, Christine thought he was going to kiss her there on the street. But he just turned and started to walk again, this time quicker, holding her to him. The butterflies in Christine’s stomach suddenly started dancing, and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She stopped suddenly and took a deep breath.
“You okay?” Gavan looked concerned.
“Fine, sorry. Fine.” She boldly moved closer to him so he would put his arm back around her. He seemed relieved. Then a loud noise behind them made them turn their heads.
“Whoa, cheers mate!” A dark-haired man almost fell through the door of the bar and out onto the street. He was followed by another well-dressed bloke in his twenties and a couple of skinny, sequinned girls in very high heels. They laughed loudly at the first guy, as he stumbled and grabbed onto the doorman for support. The doorman, who had apparently learned his trade at a Swiss finishing school, smiled obligingly at them all.
“Oh no.” Christine looked away.
“What is it?” Gavan looked back o
ver his shoulder as Christine ushered him along as best she could in her own heels.
“Christine? Christine, is that you?”
“Oh Christ,” she muttered to herself, glancing at Gavan as she turned and waved at Craig.
“It is you!” Craig was trying unsuccessfully to light a cigarette, which he then let fall from his mouth, resulting in a roar of laughter from his posse. He decided to ignore the cigarette, and walked towards Christine instead, arms outstretched.
“Christine! Princess!” As she was being hugged, Christine could see the doorman stooping to pick up the cigarette sullying his pavement. “Are you out for the night? Is, eh, what’s-her-name, Emily with you? And who is this?” He looked from Gavan to Christine and back again.
“Gavan, Craig. Craig, Gavan.” She looked at Gavan apologetically. “Craig works at CarltonWachs.”
“Gavan!” Craig hugged a surprised Gavan tight. “So. So, so great to meet you Gavan. So?” he elbowed Christine. “You’re the dark horse. I’ve never heard about you Gavan. She keeping you a secret?” He suddenly look hurt. “Christine, I’m offended that you never told me about Gavan. And he’s such a lovely bloke!” He smiled at Gavan like an adoring little brother. “And tall! He’s tall, Christine!” He beamed at them. “Christine.” Another bear-hug.
Christine could see that one of the sparkly twins waiting for Craig was beginning to look a little peeved. “So, we’d better go?” She looked wide-eyed at Gavan.
“Yes. Great to meet you, Craig.”
“Aww. And you Gavan. Christine.” Another attempt at a bear-hug. By now, Sparkly was pulling Craig’s hand in one direction, while Gavan had taken Christine’s and was pulling it in the other.
“I’ll see you Monday.” It sounded like a threat.
“Can’t wait, Craig.”
As they walked away from the bar, and the street became quieter, Christine realised that Gavan was still holding her hand. It felt nice. She tried to look at him without catching his eye. So nice. But meeting Craig. How unlucky was that. Although she knew that Craig frequented that bar. It was just his style, all plush and modern, and the staff treated the customers with fake respect. They’d had office drinks there once, a few months back, on his recommendation. Now the office would be full of chat about Christine’s new boyfriend on Monday morning. She knew her love life was the subject of some discussion at the coffee machine. She’d never brought a date to an office do. She’d resisted the advances of a couple of the dealing desk early on, and had never had an office snog, even at the Christmas party, where they were almost a pre-requisite. She guessed half of the guys thought she might be gay. She didn’t care. She had no interest in sharing the details of her love life with her colleagues. It suited her much better for them to consider her unattainable. Now Craig would be mouthing off to everyone from the cleaning staff to the board of directors on Monday. Her only hope was that he was too drunk to remember. Sod it. She wouldn’t think about it now. She focused instead on the feeling of Gavan’s hand around hers.
“CarltonWachs seems like a fun place,” Gavan said as they walked along. “You like it there?”
“Sure. It’s okay. The guys are, for the most part, good fun. It can be stressful though.”
“Well it sounds like you have an important job.”
Christine couldn’t help feel a little pleased. She did have an important job. But she remembered Emily’s advice from earlier. She let the comment go. They kept walking, leaving the sounds and smells of town behind them as their surroundings got increasingly suburban. The road brought them closer to the sea, and the summer smell of the salt water was evident on the warm breeze.
“So.” Gavan eventually broke the silence.
“So.” She smiled at him.
“Why don’t you and Emily share a place?”
Oh God. How could she answer that without sounding like a freak.
“I just,” she waited as a loud rumbling bin lorry passed them by on its nocturnal business. “I just like living alone. Emily understands that. I had enough of sharing when I was in college in England.” She looked up at him to see if he believed her. “I like having my own place.”
He didn’t seem to question this. “So it’s not that you’ve got some weird habits, like insisting that all the towels are hanging exactly in a row or something.”
Or waking, hysterical, in the middle of the night, she thought. Or sitting for hours on a regular basis, crying on the sofa in the dark. “Of course not,” she said.
“Or vacuuming naked,” he laughed. “Although, that’s not necessarily a bad habit.”
“Gavan!” She giggled at him. He was looking straight ahead with a smile on his face. She could tell he was picturing her with her Dyson. As they walked along, she tried to plan her strategy. They would be at her apartment in a couple of minutes. What did she want? He was definitely coming in. At least that had been decided. She knew the apartment was tidy. She also knew that she had semi-subconsciously left it that way, hoping the night would go well and that Gavan would walk her home.
She wanted this. She felt safe with Gavan. And it had been too long. She had to at least try to move on. She decided she would pour some wine when she got in. Coffee was not what she needed right now. If she sobered up too much, she might deflate. They walked past a terrace of double fronted, single story Georgian cottages, separated from the pavement only by iron railings and postage stamp front gardens. At the end of the terrace, an old stone wall rose from the ground.
“I’m in here.” She pointed over the wall at a modern block of apartments which were tastefully lit from the outside. There was little traffic on the road at this hour, and they could hear the sea swell just beyond the building.
“Great setting.”
She noticed his hand felt sweaty in hers. Was he nervous? Or was it her own hand that was sweating?
“There was an old house here years ago. The apartments were built on the same site. That’s the original garden wall.” She could hear herself talking too fast, the pitch of her voice too high. She exhaled and filled her lungs with the salty air. They came upon a wrought iron gate, modernised by an electronic key pad. Christine pressed some buttons, and the gate clicked open.
“After you.” Gavan held the heavy gate ajar, and they passed under the stone archway and into the manicured grounds. Christine rummaged in her bag for her keys, and they made their way up to her apartment on the third floor without another word.
FourDespite her best efforts, Christine was running late. She had risen early enough, showered and had given herself plenty of time to get into the office ahead of everyone else. She liked to be one of the first in on Mondays, and this Monday in particular, she had wanted to catch Craig before he got to inform everyone of her private business. But just as she was eating her cereal, her laptop started to ring.
Aggie.
She considered ignoring it for a second, but her sisterly sensibilities won her over and she reached for the mousepad to answer. In the couple of seconds it took for the video screen to open, she looked at the kitchen clock and did a quick calculation. Seven-thirty AM. It would be four-thirty PM in Sydney. Aggie would be just in from her shift at the hospital, settling down to a nice Australian evening. Sure enough when the picture came on she could see her sister, sitting in her living room, bouncing the string of a tea-bag up and down in a steaming glass mug.
“Hey Chris. Can you see me?”
Christine disliked having a conversation first thing in the morning with someone who had finished work of the day and was in wind-down mode.
“Hey Aggie. You look good. How was Monday? Anything I should be aware of?”
“Eh, no.” Aggie looked a little confused. “No news. You must be on your way out to work? Have you five minutes?”
Christine looked at the clock again.
“Sure. I have five minutes. Is everything OK there? How’s Jamie? Is he on a trip?”
Jamie, Aggie’s husband, was a pilot based at Sydney Airport
. His work meant that he was often away, and Christine and her father worried about Aggie being alone so much in what was still, to them at least, a strange country.
“Yeah, he’s in Perth tonight. He’ll be back tomorrow, late. He’s fine.”
“And how’s work? Everything okay?” Christine knew it was unlikely that Aggie had phoned to discuss work with her. Her job in the laboratory of a local hospital seemed far from taxing, and was probably beneath her, but her sister appeared to be content with it. Aggie would never have liked to have a job that was more important or profitable than her husband’s. That was just how she was. Christine was momentarily reminded of Emily’s Saturday night pep talk. Maybe they were both onto something.
“Work’s fine.” Aggie drank from her mug. “Look Chris, I know you’re rushing. I just wanted to ask you something. About Dad.”
Christine held her breath. She could guess what was coming.
“What do you know about this Grace woman?”
Christ. She knew her Dad had mentioned Grace to Aggie in passing. Without really discussing it, he and Christine had somehow come to an understanding that it would be best for Aggie to be aware of him having a new friend called Grace, but that it was unnecessary for him to inform Aggie of every occasion that he and Grace socialised. Christine had felt a little guilty about it, but she just kept reminding herself that it was Aggie’s choice to move to Australia, and there were consequences to that choice. She could no longer expect to be included in every little family event or decision.
“Grace?” She stalled as best she could. “Not much. She and Dad have gone out a couple of times. To the cinema and stuff. I think he made a few friends at that computer course.” She knew she was being a bad sister, but she was trying to be a good daughter. And she felt a little defensive of her Dad. It was easier to move on when you physically remove yourself to another continent. It wasn’t so easy when you were still living in the same house you had spent your whole married life in.
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