by Silver, Amy
Julian started laughing ‘Oh god, the one where she’s wearing that … er. … rather fitted top?’
‘Oh shut up,’ I said, giving him a kick under the table. I could feel the colour rising to my cheeks.
‘That’s the one,’ Dom said. ‘I thought she was gorgeous. And would you believe it, a couple of weeks later I’m at a dinner party thrown by an old mate from college, and there she is. He’d been a consultant on the programme.’
‘So it was fate,’ Alex said with a smile.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Dom replied, ‘but the moment I saw her, I was finished. Love at first sight.’
Alex and Julian laughed, Karl whistled, Mike stifled a yawn. I went from a gentle blush to puce.
* * *
After dinner, in the kitchen space I found Alex and Julian in the corner, gossiping in hushed tones. They fell silent as I approached. Alex handed me a glass of champagne.
‘So, rebound man seems nice,’ she said with a cheeky grin.
‘He’s not the rebound man!’ Julian said, feigning outrage. ‘Didn’t you hear? It was love at first sight!’
They both giggled, peering through an archway to get another look at Dom, who was attempting to engage Mike in conversation. At just five foot eight and slight of build, he looked almost childlike, dwarfed by Mike’s six foot something rugby player’s frame.
‘Honestly,’ Alex said, ‘he’s so sweet.’
I rolled my eyes at them. ‘He is sweet, and he is not a rebound man. It’s been two years since I split up with Aidan.’
‘And since then you’ve had how many relationships?’ Julian asked. ‘Oh, right, that would be none at all.’
‘Bollocks!’ I said, a little too loudly. Mike and Dom looked up from the table where they were having a rather stilted conversation about the prospects for Warwickshire in the county cricket championship. ‘There was Heath …’ I whispered.
‘I said relationship, not one-night stand.’ Julian corrected me.
‘… and Peter …’
‘… whom we never met. I’m still not convinced he actually existed,’ Alex said.
‘What about Clive?’
The two of them burst out laughing.
‘Oh my god, Clive!’ Alex exclaimed, snorting with mirth. I knew I shouldn’t have mentioned Clive. ‘Clive with the slip-on shoes? He was brilliant. Wasn’t he a trainspotter?’
‘A planespotter, actually. It’s entirely different.’
‘Didn’t he take you to Heathrow for your first date?’
‘It was the Renaissance Hotel, actually. In Hounslow. It’s one of the premier plane-spotting hotels in Europe.’
Alex and Julian clung to each other, helpless with mirth.
‘All right, all right,’ I said, stifling my own giggles. ‘I’ll admit, Clive was a bit of a low point. And okay, I haven’t had any real relationships since Aidan. But that does not make Dom a rebound man. He’s kind, funny and attractive. He’s a grown-up.’
Alex yawned.
‘Don’t be rude about him, Alex. You might just be looking at my future husband in there.’
‘Yeah, right,’ she said with a wry smile. She grabbed another bottle of champagne from the fridge and sauntered off into the living space, singing ‘Inbetweener’ as she went.
‘He’s not a prince, he’s not a king, he’s not a work of art or anything …’
‘Shut up, Alex,’ I warned her, beaming at Dom who was now discussing Gus Van Sant’s latest film with Karl. Mike was reading text messages on his phone.
Mike was a bit of a mystery to us all. It was true that Alex and I had never had similar taste in men, but in the past at least I’d understood the attraction. However, with Mike it was a source of persistent amazement to me – and to Julian – that he was still around. He had his good points, of course. He was good-looking, he had lots of money, he drove a very nice car, he lived in a flat in Chelsea. I could see how he’d be attractive for a brief fling, but more than that … I just didn’t get it.
Alex knew I didn’t get it, and we’d agreed to disagree on the subject.
‘He treats me well, Nic. He’d do anything for me,’ she told me. I believed her: he did treat her well, he bought her great presents, he paid for expensive holidays like the skiing trip they’d just been on to Verbier. But I never saw them laughing together. Plus, I couldn’t bear the way he felt it necessary to slap her on the arse every time she walked past him. Or the fact that he read the Daily Mail, and voted Tory and was forever complaining about ‘bloody immigrants’ despite the fact that he was about to marry one. The wedding was to take place in April and I was maid of honour. So I just had to grin and bear it.
I had to grin and bear the wedding chatter, too. Over dessert we’d covered dates for the final three (three!) fittings for my bridesmaid’s dress (‘Just in case you put on weight,’ Alex explained. ‘Or lose it,’ she added diplomatically); the choice of vehicle to carry Alex to the church (‘Classic Roller or something more sporty? Or should I just go full-on princess and get a horse-drawn carriage?’); and had a lively debate on the pros and cons of a tian of prawn and crab versus classic smoked salmon as a starter. Now she’d moved onto speeches.
‘I think Nicole should make a speech,’ she announced, as I choked on my wine.
‘No …’ I spluttered. ‘I really don’t think that’s a great idea.’
‘Women don’t make speeches,’ Mike said. ‘It’s not traditional. And women are never very funny, are they? How many great comediennes do you know?’
‘I think they’re just called comedians now,’ Julian said. Mike harrumphed.
‘Mike’s absolutely right,’ I said, to looks of amazement from Julian and Karl. ‘Women should be seen and not heard. They’ve no place giving speeches at weddings.’
‘You’re just chicken,’ Alex muttered.
‘I’m a traditionalist,’ I retorted, prompting disbelieving laughter all round. ‘But I tell you what, if you move the wedding to Cape Town, rather than Sussex, I’d be prepared to cast aside my conservatism and write a few lines …’
‘Exactly!’ Julian said. ‘I can’t believe you’re getting married in some cutesy English village rather than giving us an excuse to go on holiday to South Africa.’
‘Yes, well,’ Mike said gruffly, getting to his feet, ‘not everything about this wedding revolves around Alex’s friends.’ And with that he headed off in the direction of the bathroom.
Alex pulled a face. ‘He’s a bit touchy about the whole Sussex thing. Everyone’s been complaining that we’re not going to South Africa. I think he’s feeling a bit hurt.’
‘It’s understandable,’ Karl said diplomatically. ‘If I were going to get married, I’d probably want to do it in my home town.’
‘If you were to get married?’ Julian asked him with a smile. ‘Not very likely, is it?’
‘Well, maybe not a full church wedding, but they are going to allow civil partnerships here shortly, aren’t they? So why not?’
Julian sighed dramatically. ‘Christ, I always thought one of the great things about being gay is that you don’t have to get married. Why would we want to pretend to be heterosexual? It’s a horrible way to live. Homos have much more fun.’
Alex and I exchanged a familiar glance: a look of affection, tinged with just a touch of envy. We’d spoken about Karl and Julian’s perfect relationship before. It couldn’t be improved upon. They never tired of each other; they never bickered. They backed up each other. They adored each other. And, so Julian told me, they had great sex together. They were absolutely right for each other. It was incredibly annoying.
* * *
At a few minutes to midnight, Karl opened yet another bottle of champagne, poured us each a glass and tinged his flute with a fork.
‘Right. Since we’re not allowed to share our resolutions because that’s Julian and Nicole’s thing and they’re completely weird about sharing their little ritual, despite the fact that everyone on the planet does
it, I think that to ring in the New Year we should all say something we’re grateful for.’
‘Like Thanksgiving?’ Mike suggested.
‘Exactly.’
‘I’ll go first then,’ Mike said, getting to his feet. He cleared his throat and raised his glass, turning to face Alex. ‘It’s pretty simple, really. And pretty obvious. I’m thankful that the most beautiful girl in the world has agreed to marry me.’ Alex smiled coyly and fluttered her lashes at him ‘And the thing is, the thing people don’t realise, is that her beauty isn’t even the best of her. She’s generous and kind, she’s going to be a great mum …’ There was a little ‘oooh’ at this point from Julian and Karl. ‘And I love her, and I’m so happy we’re going to be together. That’s it.’
And in that moment I caught a glimpse, as I occasionally did, of how lovely Mike was with her, and of how much he loved her, and I chastised myself, yet again, for allowing my liberal feminista sensibilities to prevent me from embracing my friend’s husband-to-be.
Alex, wiping a tear from her eye, got to her feet next. ‘Can I be grateful for two things?’ she asked.
‘She’s so greedy,’ Julian tutted.
She giggled. ‘I’ll be brief. Number one, I’m thankful for my amazing husband to be …’ she held out her hand to him and he kissed it, ‘… and number two, I’m thankful for my bloody amazing job!’ Alex had just been promoted to the head of marketing at Scribe, the little publishing house where she worked, quite an achievement for a twenty-six-year-old. ‘I really am a very lucky girl.’
Julian was next to his feet. ‘I could go on about new opportunities and new horizons and of course I’m thankful for that, but obviously the two things in the whole world I am most thankful for are the love of my life, who I found three years ago today …’ he stopped to give Karl a kiss, ‘… and the best friend I’ll ever have, who I found thirteen years ago today. Lucky for some,’ he said, raising a glass to me.
Karl went next. ‘Well, I know I’m supposed to say I’m thankful for Jules because we’re all being all lovey dovey and things, but really right now I’m most thankful for my fabulous new apartment,’ he said with a grin. Everyone gave a little cheer. ‘And of course for the fact that I sold four paintings this year, which is four more than I sold last year.’
There was a little round of applause and then silence fell as Dom got to his feet, blushing before he even started speaking.
‘Dom shouldn’t have to do this,’ I objected, ‘he doesn’t even know you all.’
‘Oh yes he should!’ came the chorus from the rest of them.
‘I’m grateful for the opportunity to spend the evening with you all,’ Dom said diplomatically, ‘and of course I’m grateful to have met Nicole. And for Radiohead. Hail to the Thief is a fucking work of genius.’
I breathed a sigh of relief as he sat down. I wasn’t quite ready for another declaration of love.
And then it was my turn. ‘Well,’ I said, feeling faintly ridiculous as I got to my feet, ‘I’m thankful for us. For all of us. It feels like … things are coming together for us all. We have good jobs, we have great lovers, some of us have fabulous apartments … so I think that’s plenty to be thankful for. And now I think it’s almost midnight so I think we should all drink our champagne and snog and stop being so fucking cheesy!’
And with that we counted down to midnight, and more champagne corks popped, and cheesy or not I did feel like things were coming together for us, for Julian, Alex and me. And for the tiniest fraction of a second that made me nervous. And then Dom kissed me and I forgot all about my nerves and realised that for the first time in ages I didn’t really have anything to worry about.
After midnight, Julian grabbed a blanket from the mezzanine that served as the bedroom space, and he and I snuck away, back up to the roof, to exchange resolutions. We sat side by side on the deckchairs, the blanket draped over our knees.
‘Well,’ Julian said, ‘obviously I’m going to quit smoking.’
‘And I’m going to lose half a stone.’
‘I’m going to start keeping a journal.’
‘Oh a journal. Not just a diary.’
‘A journal, darling. To form the basis of my memoirs.’
‘Excellent. And I am finally going to get my refugee pitch ready for the BBC.’
‘That’s brilliant, Nic, it’s about time.’
There was a noise behind us, a clattering, as someone else climbed up the fire escape. Then there was a thud, the sound of someone falling, followed by soft cursing.
‘Jules? You up here?’
My stomach did a little flip. I’d know those soft Glaswegian tones anywhere.
‘Julian?’ the voice called out again.
‘Oh shit,’ Julian said, getting to his feet. ‘I’m over here.’
I turned around and saw Aidan swaying through the darkness, a hip flask clutched in his hand.
‘Happy New Year,’ he said when he saw us, raising the flask to his lips, before breaking into a tuneless version of ‘Auld Lang Syne’.
Even in the firelight, I could see he didn’t look good. Paler, thinner, haggard almost. Even more dissolute than usual. He smiled at me.
‘Hello, Nic,’ he said. ‘You look pretty. Don’t I get a kiss?’
‘I’m going back down,’ I said to Julian. I climbed over the pot plants and pulled my arm away when Aidan tried to grab hold of me as I went past.
‘You never wrote back!’ He called out after me. ‘You could have at least replied.’
After Paris, I’d seen him only once, when I went back to the flat on Queenstown Road to pick up my stuff. He tried to talk to me then, but I refused, I ignored him as best as I could and when he wouldn’t let me be, when he insisted that we talk, I screamed at him and shoved him out the door. A couple of months later he wrote to me, telling me how sorry he was, how much he’d loved me, how – as he’d told me on the boat that night – he’d never meant to fall for someone else, he’d never meant to hurt me. He told me how I’d always hold a special place in his heart. That made me gag; he could at least have tried to avoid cliché. I never wrote back to him. I didn’t think he deserved it. I kept his letter though, and every now and again, when I was feeling low or had had too much to drink, I got it out, just to torture myself. Like picking at a scab, I wouldn’t let the wound heal.
Downstairs, Karl was hovering near the front door looking nervous.
‘I didn’t know what to do,’ he said to me when he saw me. ‘I’m sorry, Nicole, but I couldn’t exactly tell him Julian wasn’t here …’
‘It’s okay,’ I said, giving him a hug. ‘He’s just a bit pissed. I’m sure he’ll leave in a bit.’ Dom was sitting on the sofa, looking at me questioningly. I shook my head as I approached.
‘It’s nothing,’ I said, but my hands were shaking as I picked up my glass of wine. I looked over at Alex who mouthed, ‘Okay?’ at me.
There was a clattering from outside, they were coming back down.
‘I’ll put some music on, shall I?’ Karl said brightly, and everyone agreed, a little too enthusiastically. Outside, in the hallway, I could hear Julian trying to persuade Aidan to leave.
‘We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? Later today, whatever.’
‘But I want to see your new gaff …’
‘Not now, Aidan. It’s not a good time.’
‘Just a quick peek …’ And there he was, reeling through the door. ‘Fucking hell Jules! What did this place cost? It’s a fucking palace!’ Craning his neck to get a look at the height of the ceilings, he stumbled into the room, knocking over a lamp as he went. Julian put an arm out to steady him, he brushed it away. ‘All right, Karl!’ he called out, ‘All right there, Alex? And er … I don’t think we’ve met?’ he said, holding out a hand to Dominic.
Dom got to his feet, introduced himself, shook Aidan’s hand. Aidan was standing there, swaying slightly, trying to focus.
‘You the new guy are you?’ he asked Dom. My heart fell ten storeys.
‘I’m sorry?’ Dom replied politely.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay,’ he said, waving a hand in Dom’s direction. ‘You’ve done well, mate. You’re a lucky man.’ Dom gave me a quizzical look; I just shrugged helplessly.
‘All right, Aidan, I think that’s enough …’ Julian said, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the door.
I went immediately to Dom’s side and slipped my hand into his, whispering ‘Sorry’ into his ear.
‘So that’s the ex is it?’ he asked softly. ‘Seems … interesting.’ He was smiling but there was a tautness about his jaw and a colour to his cheeks that betrayed his irritation.
‘He’s just drunk,’ I said, slipping my arms around his waist.
‘Aah, look at that. Aren’t you two cute?’ Agonisingly, Julian still hadn’t managed to manhandle Aidan out of the flat. He was standing in the doorway, looking back at us. ‘I mean it, mate. You’re a lucky man. She’s gorgeous, isn’t she? Isn’t she gorgeous?’
At last Julian pushed him out of the door and closed it behind him.
Chapter Thirteen
28–29 December 2011
WE’RE IN BED by eleven. Dom falls asleep with The Economist on his chest at about eight minutes past. I have terrible sleep envy with Dom: he passes out almost instantly and will sleep a solid eight hours without waking every night. The sleep of a man with a clear conscience, I suppose. No surprise then that it always takes me ages to drop off, and once I do I always seem to wake up forty minutes later busting for a pee.
I try to read for a while, but I just keep getting to the end of the page and realising that I have no idea what just happened, because I’m not really reading, I’m running over the events of the day in my mind. Dad, Mum, the argument with Dom … I turn off the bedside lamp, roll onto my side and lie there in the dark, watching him sleep. I love him so much, the thought of anything happening to him, just the thought of him being sad or hurt, makes me feel physically ill, and yet I still don’t feel that I love him like I ought to. Can you just make a decision to love someone the right way? Is it just a force of will? If I could just let go of everything else, I could be happy. Happy enough, anyway. Contented. Isn’t contentment enough to be getting on with?