by Louise Kean
I notice Jules stagger slightly in front of me and realize that I cannot count on her to keep me sober. I grab Nim’s hand, squeeze it tightly, and beg her, ‘Please, please, control my drinking.’
‘I will, don’t worry.’ She squeezes it back, wrinkles her nose and smiles. I am in safe hands.
The meal is uncomfortable, as I try desperately to take a sip of water for every sip of wine, and make small talk with one of Sarah’s brothers, while keeping an eye on the door in case Charlie arrives. By the time Jake is standing up to make his speech, Nim and Jules are both whooping and cheering, completely pissed, and I know that I am the only person to be relied on to keep me from getting trashed. If only we hadn’t booked a cab from here to the hotel, and I had agreed to drive back, instead of picking the car up tomorrow. What an idiot I am. I look around the tables one last time, and finally acknowledge that Charlie isn’t coming back, and as Jake asks us to toast his beautiful new wife, I neck my glass of wine. It’s going to be all downhill from here. I shouldn’t have worn cream.
Jake’s speech seems to go on forever, or for at least an entire bottle of red, which disappears into my glass and then into me by the time he is ‘wrapping up’. I try and focus on him standing at the top table, and listen intently to what he is saying, as my head becomes increasingly cloudy, and my eyes swirl.
‘And lastly, I would just like to say that I think we make a beautiful couple, in fact, to be honest, I think I make a fantastic groom, and I know I am going to do my damnedest to be the best husband I can. But I know that, working for the paper, there are going to be some nights that I will be home late, and I don’t want you to feel like I am not with you. Sooooo, I’ve come up with a reminder of this fantastic day, and more importantly, me on this fantastic day, that can keep you company on any cold night when I can’t get home to watch you fall asleep. Charlie, if you wouldn’t mind.’ I can see Jake looking towards the door, and I register Jake saying his name, and swing my head towards a new commotion and laughter that is emanating from the corner of the room. At first all I can see is two Jakes – one at the top table and one moving across the room to meet the first. But my drink-addled brain manages to register that it is in fact a life-size cardboard Jake gliding towards the top table, in his morning suit, holding a pint of beer aloft in front of him, and then I realize that the cardboard cut-out is on wheels, and being pushed by Charlie. I gasp, not only at the drunken realization that he is back, and how happy this makes me, but also at the realization that I am of course now very drunk.
The laughter dies down, and Jake continues, as Charlie takes a step back, and accepts a drink from a waiter standing to the side of the room.
‘So, cheers, darling, here’s to us.’ Jake raises his glass to his new bride.
‘And thanks to Charlie, a mate, for sorting this all out, and missing a good feed in the process. We saved you a canapé!’
All of a sudden everybody seems to be on their feet, and I push back my chair uncertainly to stand, steadying myself on the table, and make sure to raise my water glass, as we shout,
‘Cheers!’ and, ‘The happy couple!’
I down my water in one gulp, and sit down quickly. People seem to be moving about around me, up out of their chairs to talk at other tables, but I am reluctant to go anywhere. The only person I want to talk to is on the other side of the room, and I’m not sure if I’ll make it intact.
Neither Nim nor Jules appear to have registered that Charlie is back, they are hammered and giggling at something that I am sure is not funny.
‘Girls, girls, he’s back,’ I whisper too loudly.
‘Who is?’ Nim asks, wiping her eyes.
‘Charlie.’
‘Oh, where?’ Jules looks around wildly and then back at me, confused.
‘In the corner, for Christ’s sake, he just pushed the cardboard Jake thing in! How pissed are you?’ I look from one to the other, and they stare at me with glazed eyes.
‘I’m pretty pissed,’ Nim says after a silence.
‘So am I,’ Jules says seriously.
‘But you were supposed to be stopping me from getting drunk!’ I practically shout, aware that I have already forgotten most of the conversation we’ve just had.
‘Don’t drink any more then,’ Nim says practically, and takes away my glass.
‘That’s water!’ I say, and put my head in my hands. This is all going horribly wrong.
‘Look, it’ll be fine, he doesn’t even seem to want to talk to you,’ Jules says, thinking she’s being nice, I am sure, but cutting into me like a butcher’s knife.
‘But what if I want to talk to him!’ I wail through my hands.
‘Do you? Oh, I didn’t realize.’ Jules takes a giant slug of white wine.
‘Well, I just can’t. I’m just going to have to keep out of his way. I’m nearly as hammered as you, it’ll all go wrong. I must look like shit,’ I wail again.
‘You look fine!’ Nim says into her glass.
‘You can’t bloody see, what would you know?’
‘This is true,’ she says, and necks her drink.
I push back my chair suddenly, and make two grabs for Nim’s cigarettes on the table.
‘Where are you going?’ they both shout at once, like a pair of drunken synchronized idiots.
‘I’m going to get some fresh air, and try and sober up.’
‘Well, take this,’ and Naomi tries to pick up the huge jug of water in the middle of the table.
‘It’s really heavy,’ she says, unable to lift it, and collapses forward onto the table, giggling, and Jules starts laughing as Nim’s hair dangles into some coffee.
I smile at the two of them, they are out of it, they can’t help me now, and it’s not their fault. I can take care of myself.
‘I’ll see you in a little while,’ I say, and stagger towards the marquee curtains, prodding them with my hand, trying to find a break in the material.
It is dark outside, and cloudy. I stumble away from the sound of music and laughter and towards the back of the house. My heels stick into the lawn heavily, and I get stuck twice, before I take them off and turn up my trousers, swaying dangerously with my head by my knees, trying to ensure my hems don’t get dirty but painfully close to falling over completely. I manage to make it upright again, and spot a bench at the bottom of the garden, before it turns into fields. When I get there, I survey it closely, trying to spot any evil mud marks, but it looks clean, and I slump down, my head spinning less, the air penetrating my eyes, my nose, sweeping through me. I am pissed, but not beyond help, this is a rectifiable situation. I just have to stay out here for another couple of hours, and I’ll be fine. I consider a nap, but know that in a cream suit on a garden bench that is a dangerous idea. I look back at the marquee, the dark shadows of people moving around outside of it, and the laughter reaches me again. I can faintly hear the music, an old eighties song, and I know Nim and Jules will be staggering around the dance floor about now, scaring the children, and getting disapproving looks from grandmothers. So what, we’re just drunk, there are worse things you can do. Besides, everybody does bad things. They aren’t hurting anybody with theirs at least. I realize the song has changed, and Lionel Ritchie has come on. I close my eyes quickly to see if I can without throwing up, and surprisingly the world doesn’t go into orbit. I start to sing quietly to myself, I can just sit here for a while, and sober up. It might be cold, and dark, and I might be sitting on my own in a stranger’s back garden, but it could be worse. I could be throwing up. I sing, not that quietly any more, and wait for my head to clear.
‘Alright?’
I snap my eyes open, and see Charlie standing in front of me, holding a beer.
‘Oh shit,’ I say before I can stop myself.
‘Nice, thanks,’ he says, and looks at his feet.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just, Christ, I’m really pissed, Charlie.’ I venture a smile, and he smiles back. His tie is pulled down from his neck, and
his top button is undone. He looks great, familiar, a little heavier since the last time I saw him, but great nonetheless.
‘Can I sit down?’ he asks quietly.
‘I’m hoping you will,’ I say, smiling again, closing my eyes so I don’t have to think about how much I have missed him.
We sit in silence for a couple of minutes, and I can hear Charlie taking sips of his beer. It is just bloody great to know he is sitting next to me; I feel like I’ve dreamed it.
‘That was a nice thing you did for Jake, the big cardboardy thing. Looked a bit scary to me, but I’m sure Sarah will like it.’
Charlie doesn’t answer, and I turn my head deliberately to look at him.
‘Oh, your sideburns have got long!’ I say in shock.
‘I’ve been cultivating them,’ he says evenly.
‘Well, they look good.’
‘Thanks. So how was South America? Got any photos?’
‘What on me? No. Only just moved out of that stage, mind. A week earlier and you would have had the slide show.’ We both smile, knowing it’s true.
‘But it was good, it was great, really … good for me. It feels like I’ve been away forever.’
‘I know,’ Charlie says quietly, and we turn to look at each other.
‘I’m not in the City any more,’ he says, and I know that this is information that he is desperate to pass on.
‘Oh, right. Not in the West End?’ I ask, incredulous.
‘No, I’m training to be a teacher, well, I’ve just qualified actually. I am a teacher.’
‘Bloody hell!’ This is out of left field, and I am impressed, and floored, and massively surprised. No wonder he wanted to tell me.
‘And I’ve been seeing a counsellor, since about the time you left actually.’
‘Bloody hell!’ I say again, shocked. This is a lot of information to take in, drunk as I am.
I realize he is feeling open, uncomfortable, so I jump in. ‘Christ, so, Sir, what do you teach?’
‘P.E.’
‘Right, so not quite as worthy as it first sounded then,’ I say.
‘No, I generally tend to leave that bit out.’
‘All the girls will fancy you, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Only reason I’m doing it.’ And we both laugh slightly.
‘How about you? Have you gone back to work?’
‘No, actually. I’ve gone back to college. Got my first exams next week. Thought it was about time I tried something I really wanted to do.’ I am proud of myself, I can hear it in my own voice. I have moved on too. We haven’t wasted our year apart, Charlie and I.
‘Bloody hell! What’s the course?’ Charlie asks.
‘Social work.’
‘Jesus!’ Charlie looks amazed as well he should, social work is just so not me.
‘No, I’m just kidding. It’s philosophy.’
‘Right, not quite as admirable as it sounded then.’
‘No, that’s why I say social work,’ I say, and we both smile.
‘I’m really enjoying it, though.’ I run my hand through my hair, and feel myself sobering up slightly. But I am still pissed.
‘Are you seeing anybody?’ Charlie asks with his head down, his elbows resting on his knees, bottle in both hands. It seems like a mammoth question, and despite myself, and the way I thought I would feel answering this question, when Charlie eventually asked it, I am relieved to say,
‘No.’ We sit in silence for a second, as I wait for his reply, and only when it doesn’t come I realize I haven’t asked the question.
‘Oh. You?’
‘No. Haven’t met anybody. Well, not anybody that comes close to what we … had.’ Charlie turns his head to look at me sideways, and I meet his eyes.
‘I know what you mean.’ My nose scrunches up on its own, involuntarily. It’s true, I haven’t.
‘I was shocked, you know, that you went, and you didn’t even say goodbye or anything.’ Charlie cuts to the chase.
‘Oh God, I know. I feel bad about it. But it was a funny time. I just had to get away. And I told Jake to say goodbye to you for me.’
‘It’s not quite the same, is it?’ Charlie looks hurt suddenly, and we have both been doing so well to keep control.
‘I know, it’s not, you’re right. I’m sorry, Charlie.’
‘Was I really that bad? Actually, don’t answer that, I know I was.’
‘Charlie, it was me that was confused, you were sorting yourself out, but I was all over the place, and I didn’t know what I wanted … you weren’t that bad. By then.’
‘So do you know what you want now?’ Charlie looks at me again, and I realize he has just put his feelings on the bench between us, for me to crush if I want. He is being brave.
‘Yes,’ I venture quietly.
‘What do you want then?’
‘I want to be a philosopher.’
There is a second of shocked silence, and then he laughs loudly, at the relief of such a trivial answer to such a massive question.
‘Sorry, sorry, that was easy. Do I know what I want? I guess I do. It’s quite hard to admit it though.’ I understand what I’m saying now. The drink is still there, dissolving in my bloodstream, but my mind is clearing by the second. What is there to think about, really? When you fall in love, well, that’s it. It’s the thing I learnt. Everybody does bad things, you can’t expect them not to. I did a bad thing, so shoot me. I’m still allowed to be in love. It’s part of my equation.
Charlie is looking back down at his bottle again, and I get the feeling he is about to ask the last awkward question between us. Because when I answer, and we both know, we can relax again.
‘So …’ Charlie seems to be feeling the pressure. But I want him to ask it. It’s going to make me feel loved, and that’s what I need.
‘So?’ I ask.
‘So, I’ve moved on, I teach football now,’ he laughs slightly. ‘And you’ve moved on, you … wear black, sit and think in cafes or whatever.’
‘Oi!’ I shove his leg with mine, and it is the first time we’ve touched for over a year.
‘Well, you do whatever philosophy students do, and we both seem to know …’ he trails off again. He is finding this hard-going. And his insecurity makes me feel loved enough, his complete inability to form the words. I don’t want to make him suffer.
‘I think I know, Charlie, I mean, as much as I can.’ I reach out, feeling the nerves in my arm as I try to hold his hand, and he lets me, and studies our hands together for a second. And looking at my hand, he says,
‘God, I really, really fucking missed you.’ He says it in bewilderment, as if he never knew he could.
‘Thanks. I missed you too.’ I pull his hand slightly, and he sits up.
‘Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m going to do this. I feel like one of your class. I feel like I’m bloody fifteen again.’ I gulp, and hope I’m not too flushed by the drink, not clammy and cold and horrible-looking.
Charlie leans in, and I lean in, eyes open, and our lips touch each other’s while my heart seems to bang about in my chest. I can’t believe how amazingly, overwhelmingly happy I feel to be kissing him again. Gradually, softly, I feel his tongue and I put my hands on the sides of his face, feeling the cultivated sideburns. I feel his hand in my back. It is a slow kiss, and we pull apart slightly. We are sitting face to face.
I breathe out my nerves with a sigh, and flex my neck slightly, shrugging my shoulders free of the tension.
‘Limbering up?’ he asks quietly, and I laugh in surprise.
‘So is this a clean slate then?’ I ask, suddenly scared that it might not be.
Charlie wipes a strand of hair off my face, and whispers,
‘Completely.’
Epilogue – After All That
Soho Street, 11.15, Wednesday night.
The queue for POP, a late night dancing bar.
Charlie, six of his mates, a boys’ night out.
‘Charlie, check it out.�
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‘What, mate?’
‘Check it out, over the road, the blonde.’
‘Where?’ There’s a sense of urgency in Charlie’s voice.
‘Over the road, mate, by Starbucks. The blonde, mate, the blonde!’
Charlie spins around on one foot, and spots the blonde.
‘Nah, mate, look at the conk on her – druids worship that nose every solstice. And I’d like to check her cuffs – bet they don’t match the collar.’
The boys laugh. The blonde looks over self-consciously, and knows they are laughing at her. You can always tell who is laughing at who. The boys are taking no care to be discreet. She pulls her jacket a little closer around her neck, and puts her head down slightly, trying to shrink her nose into the shadows. It is always her nose. She’s going to get the surgery, she’s sick of this shit.
Charlie turns back to the queue, bored with laughing at the blonde. Slapping his hands together, he dances on the spot to the music coming from the pit of the club, seeping out into the night. If only they could be down there. The anticipation of the queue. He knows he doesn’t need to be queuing, he could slip the bouncer a fifty, and they’d be in, but it’s a warm night. The women may be downstairs, shaking their tits and arse in bikini tops and tiny skirts, and the bar may be downstairs, with all the ingredients for his favourite cocktails. But for the moment Charlie is content to get this last breath of street air before descending into the heat of the club for the next four hours. And they’re in no rush, there are women on the street as well.
It has been an unnaturally hot May for London.
You can feel the heat not just in the air, but in the people. A restlessness presided over the city’s singles. The girls wore their clothes like smooth silky invitations for sex. Shirts clung to torsos, skirts stuck to thighs, faces shone and heels clicked through offices beating out a thrusting rhythm as they went. The mornings were filled with a clean promise, in a much needed early shower, who knew what these strange days would bring, after sweating out another night under the sheets, with whoever he had brought to his bed, familiar or unfamiliar, Nicola, or somebody else. More often than not, somebody else. Walking the streets to work, watching the air rise from the streets, and the day begin, everybody wearing relieved smiles, that the sun had decided to stick around for another day at least. And so what if you had to be in the office? There was always the weekend. And Bank Holiday season was underway.