“I am fine, though, or at least I will be. Of course finding Jennifer like I did has upset me, but I’ll just have to get over it, won’t I?” I was trying not to sound irritated because I knew George’s concern was genuine. It wasn’t a subject I wanted to discuss with him, though.
“Finding something like that would do more than just upset you, I would have thought,” he continued. “But it’s more than that, anyway. I know how much you valued her as a friend, and as someone you could talk things through with. You shouldn’t be trying to deal with this all on your own.”
“George, I know you’re here for me if I need you, and I really appreciate it. But just at the moment there really isn’t anything to say.”
“Yes, well, I’m only protecting my investment, and making sure you don’t crack up on me,” he said gruffly. “Seriously though, make sure it doesn’t all get too much for you to handle. If you’d rather have a bit of time off, I’m sure the other two would be more than happy to cover for you.”
“Lets see how things are in the New Year,” I suggested, and we left it at that.
As the day went on, I found myself getting more and more nervous about the evening ahead. I hadn’t seen anyone in the three years since Liz, so counting back it was probably about 11 years since I had been on a first date with someone. Even then, it wasn’t exactly something I was skilled at.
At around six, Katie put her head around the door. “I’m ready to go when you are,” she announced.
“Just give me a couple of minutes to clear up and I’m all yours,” I answered, wondering why my stomach had suddenly done a quick impression of being on a roller coaster. “I’m not really going to make you sit and watch TV all evening. I thought perhaps we could go to the pictures together. Is that OK?”
“Sure, whatever you like. I am quite hungry though.”
“All the films seem to start at around eight so I thought we could go back to my place and eat first. We’ll pick up our tea on the way home. Is Chinese alright for you?”
“One of my favourites,” she smiled.
After we’d locked up, we strolled along the river towards the bridge. Across the water, house lights and Christmas lights shone in the assorted apartment blocks. Maybe it was just my lonely heart imagining things, but the air seemed full of expectancy; of possibilities. The feeling faded quickly thought as the thought occurred to me that I ought to be making entertaining conversation.
Before I had come up with anything intelligent to say, we arrived at the Chinese Restaurant. It was too early for the evening diners, so all the elaborately laid tables were empty, and a couple of the owner’s children were playing on the floor in the waiting area with a noisy electronic dog. As soon as they noticed us, they dashed around behind the counter and disappeared.
Katie and I sat together on one of the green leather couches, our heads almost touching as we read through our shared menu. For the next few minutes, we debated with each other on the number and type of dishes we wanted to try. We then moved on to discuss such vital questions as the relative merits of Kung Po as against black bean sauces, and whether chicken was better with cashew nuts or fried in a lemon sauce. I suppose it was as good a way as any to break the ice.
Once we’d finally placed our order, I accepted the owner’s offer of soft drinks and we began to wait.
“Are you nervous?” Katie suddenly asked.
“I am,” I nodded. “I don’t know why because I really enjoy being with you, but I am a bit. It could be that I’m very out of practice at this.”
“I am as well,” she commented. “I have a good feeling about this, but I get the feeling that you’re quite wary about it, and I don’t want to frighten you off.”
“You make me sound like a timid rabbit. I’m not that bad, you know,” I answered. “And please don’t think that it’s anything to do with you - I can’t think of anyone I’d rather spend an evening with. I guess I’ve just got used to being on my own – worrying that I won’t be very good company.”
She squoze my arm. “How about if we just try and relax and enjoy the evening together? We didn’t have too many problems being together at the dinner after all.”
The knot in my stomach loosened a little, and I nodded. “You’re right. How bad can it be?” I joked.
Back at my flat, we spread out the trays of food on the table, and as we shared the food, decided which film we were going to see from the guide in the local paper. The bottle of wine I’d bought wasn’t quite of the quality (or price) of the Chablis we’d shared at the dinner, but it was alright and we soon settled into a relaxed conversation.
Later, as I was clearing up, Katie wandered around the room looking intently at the contents of my bookshelves.
“Are you looking for something to read to pass the evening?” I teased.
“Oh, it’s much more important than that,” she answered casually. “I have a theory that you can tell a lot about a person by the type of books they read.”
“That sounds ominous,” I laughed. “Do I want to know what conclusions you’ve reached?”
“Well for starters, you read an awful lot. You read all sorts of books, but your favourites seem to be thrillers or books about lawyers. And you’ve got an enormous collection of Agatha Christie books.”
“Not bad,” I said. “Although I got all the Agatha Christie’s when I was about ten. I haven’t read them for years but I’m hopeless at throwing things out.”
She looked at me enquiringly. “That’s awfully young for a solid diet of murder. Didn’t they frighten you?”
“Not really,” I answered. “After all, the victims are almost always adults, and the baddie always gets caught at the end.”
Actually, that answer wasn’t the complete truth. There was one of the books which had completely terrified me, a less well known one called “Endless Night”.
It’s a book without any of the usual detectives in it, narrated by a man whose rich wife is killed in the book. It’s only at the end of the book that you realise that he is the killer, and that in killing the woman who he had genuinely come to love, he has destroyed his one real chance of happiness.
Reading it, at the age of ten, was like taking a peek into the abyss and feeling it reach out to engulf me. I couldn’t say why it so scared me but even though I’ve never read the book since, or even managed to bring myself to pick it up, big chunks of it are printed indelibly in my brain.
The title comes from a poem by William Blake, “Auguries of Innocence”, which contains the lines;
“Some are born to Sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.”
The narrator of the novel has to face the horror at the end that he had a moment when he could have chosen sweet delight, but had failed to. Now he was condemned to endless night. I never got the chance to talk about the book with Jennifer, but in that instant I understood why the story had had such an effect on me.
To a child whose central experience in the first years of his life were those of hatred, abuse and pain, it was as if those lines from the poem reached into my soul and named me. I saw myself in the tortured main character. Clearly I was one of those who had been born “to endless night”, and my childhood experiences were therefore thoroughly deserved. The only choice left to me was to whether or not I would let the void at my core drive me to hurt others.
The deep sadness that came with this insight almost swamped me. Fortunately, Katie had turned back to the bookshelves and appeared not to have noticed. She turned back around, holding a thin notebook.
“Is it alright for me to have a read through this?” she asked.
“You can if you want,” I told her, “but you won’t be very impressed.”
Jennifer had said that writing was a good way of getting in touch with your feelings. From time to time since, I’d had a go at writing poetry in the notebook that Katie was now flicking through. No-one had ever read them though, and I wasn’t sure what Katie would make of them.
She stopp
ed suddenly, and began to read aloud. I recognised with a wrench that she had homed in on the most personal of the poems.
“I shan’t go out today, it’s raining.
In childhood the rain seemed full of hope;
refreshing, cleansing, new life.
Like all childish dreams
the reality
is cold, and wet, and empty.
At Sunday School the same hope;
a rain of love to wash me through,
to heal, to make me new.
If I stood in that rain from now until eternity,
could enough water fall
to cleanse me from what I’ve done,
to give me life,
to make me whole.
Dare I step out and try,
and risk more pain,
more disappointment,
more despair.
I shan’t go out today, it’s raining.”
She stopped at the end of the poem, and gazed at me. She did that magic trick of hers again with her eyes; they melted and became pale green with concern.
“That’s so sad,” she said. “But it’s beautiful as well.”
I tried to disperse the emotional intensity of the moment. “I have a nagging feeling that I’ve stolen it from somewhere, that I must have heard something like it before and just copied it. Obviously it was on one of my more morose days.”
Katie clearly sensed that it was better not to press the subject. “I liked it,” she said lightly, putting the book back on the shelf behind her. “Anyway, isn’t it time we made a move to the cinema? I’ll drive if you like.”
The rest of the evening was great. It was as if we’d both regressed to being teenagers again. The film we’d picked to see was supposed to be quite tense, and as soon as the title came up, Katie slipped her arm inside mine, and leant her head on my shoulder.
“Just in case you get scared,” she whispered to me.
I smiled back in response. It felt wonderful to have her snuggled up to me. There was no doubt that I was really enjoying being around her.
After the film, we went for a drink and I was struck by a sudden impulse.
“How long are you staying at your parents?” I asked.
“I’m going this Sunday and, unless we fall out too much, I’ll be there for a week.”
“What are you doing on New Year’s Eve?”
“I’m going to a party with Becky in the evening, but that’s about it. You could come along if you liked.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to gatecrash. But I was wondering if you fancied having lunch together and going to the pantomime in the afternoon.”
Katie looked amused and raised one eyebrow. “The pantomime? I haven’t been to a pantomime since I was a little girl. Aren’t they a bit naff?”
“Not this one,” I promised. “In fact, I guarantee that you’ll enjoy it. What do you say?”
“OK then, I’ll try anything once. You’re still welcome in the evening though if you change your mind about it.”
Soon after, she pulled up outside my flat. “I’ll see you on New Year’s Eve then,” she said. “Have a good Christmas.”
“You too,” I answered. “Thanks for tonight, I’ve had a really good time.”
She looked at me again, and then her head suddenly bobbed forwards and she kissed me. As I felt the press of her soft, warm lips, the strength of the feelings it produced was immense. My hands came up to her face, and I kissed her back. The kiss deepened, and the moment seemed to stretch on and on. Finally, reluctantly (at least on my part), we moved apart again.
“I’ve not had too bad a time myself,” Katie murmured. “I’d better let you escape for now though.”
On the pavement, I watched her drive away. Even though it was going to be hard to wait to see her again, my heart felt lighter than it had in a long, long time.
Chapter Fourteen
After the evening that began it, I suppose that the weekend couldn’t be anything but an anti-climax. It passed uneventfully, and on the Monday morning, I went into the office. As it was Christmas Eve, we’d agreed that Barbara was off unless too many emergencies came in at once. George had said that he’d be in at some stage, so I was anticipating being on my own for most of the day. Christmas is usually a very busy time at the Centre, but it tends to be the days following Christmas and New Year, rather than before.
I went and got a couple of files from the cabinet and was heading back into reception when the front door opened.
“Morning Jack.” Ian Jacobs greeted me. “It’s getting cold out there. Is George in yet?”
“Not yet. Is he expecting to meet you here?”
“I’d said I’d call in and we could review how the fundraising’s been going over the last week or so. I’m quite a bit earlier than I’d expected though.”
He stood thoughtfully for a minute, and then lifted up his briefcase.
“I’ve actually got quite a bit of work I could get on with in here. Would it be alright for me to wait in his office?”
I showed him through, and offered to go and get him a drink. By the time I got back with his cup of coffee, he had files spread all over George’s desk, and was typing furiously into a lap-top.
“Thanks,” Ian smiled.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said. “Just give me a shout if you need anything.”
At the end of the year, each of the counsellors has to do a report for the board of trustees, reviewing their years work. Using the files and my diary, I tried to make a start on it by working out how many new clients I had seen during the year. An hour or so passed very quickly, until finally George arrived.
“Hard at work, I’m pleased to see,” he began. I interrupted him before he could carry on.
“Ian’s here,” I told him. “He’s been in your office waiting for the last hour.”
“Blow!” he exclaimed. “I’d forgotten I’d arranged to meet him today. The last thing we need at the moment is to upset him.” With that he rushed off down the corridor and into the office. Judging by the jovial greeting he got from Ian, there wasn’t any ill feeling.
Some time later, the two of them emerged.
“You can be the first to hear the good news,” George beamed. “We’ve already picked up extra donations for next year to the tune of twenty thousand pounds.”
“And there’s still quite a few companies to visit in the New Year.” Ian added. “It looks like what you and Katie said at the dinner really did the trick.”
“We wouldn’t have got anywhere without your help though,” I replied.
“That’s quite true,” George agreed. “We just can’t thank you enough for your support and help, Ian.”
Ian waved this praise away. “It was the least I could do. To celebrate the good news, how about if we have a party at my house in a few weeks time. I know my wife’s dying to meet the people that I’ve talked about so much.”
“That would be great,” George said. “If you’re sure that your wife really wouldn’t mind.”
“I’m sure that it will be fine, but I will check with her before we finalise it. Now I’d better go and do a bit of last minute Christmas shopping. Have a good Christmas, both of you.”
Once he was gone, George turned to me.
“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to come over for lunch tomorrow? You know that Edna would love to have you with us.” When I assured him that I had other plans, he continued. “I’ve got to get off, as well. Don’t you stay here all day, just put the phone through to your mobile and go home. And remember that I’m at home most of the time if you need anything.”
To my surprise, he then gave me an awkward hug.
“You take care of yourself, Jack. Try and get some rest over the next few days.”
“I will,” I promised. “Say “Happy Christmas” to Edna for me.”
Alone again, I carried on working through lunch. As expected, it was turning out to be a very quiet day. At about three, my mobile phone rang.
The voice on the other end was the last one I would ever have imagined.
“Hi Jack, it’s Liz.”
I guess the long moments of silence that followed gave away how surprised I was. Liz and I had been apart for three years and, once the divorce was complete, tended to only keep in touch by cards on birthdays and at Christmas. I couldn’t dream what would have made her ring me up on Christmas Eve.
“Jack, are you still there?” The voice in my ear pulled me out of my reverie.
“Sorry, Liz. I was just surprised to hear your voice.”
“There’s no law against phoning your ex-husband at Christmas is there?” she said sharply.
“No, not at all.” I said quickly, trying to smooth things over. “It’s nice to hear from you. Is everything OK?”
“Yes, we’re fine. I was just ringing because I’ve got to come up to York on business this Friday, and I was hoping we could get together.”
This was even more unexpected. We hadn’t actually seen each other for nearly two years.
“That would be nice,” I said, my brain still whizzing frantically. “Is Peter coming up with you?”
There was another silence for a minute. “I’m not sure yet,” she said. “If he does, I won’t bring him with me when we meet. I just wanted us to have the chance to talk about things.”
How does conversation become so stilted and formal with someone you used to build your life around?
“Are you sure everything’s alright?” I asked again.
“I already told you,” she said, sounding irritated. “I’m fine, Peter’s fine, everything’s fine. I’m just going to be in York, and I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently. There are some things that I need to say to you – some ghosts that need to be put to rest if you like. Please.”
Shaping the Ripples Page 10