by Austin, Lucy
‘I have tried to get hold of you since I got back you know. You didn’t pick up your mobile. Couldn’t find you on Facebook. I left messages with your flatmate too.’
I think for a second. ‘Hang on, yes she did tell me, but I didn’t get a name,’ I say, banging my forehead. Bloody Claire! She has somehow made me look unavailable and aloof. Right now, I want to kiss the girl.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ he grinned and I feel agitated.
‘Was there anything in particular you wanted to say?’ I ask him. Pleasantries aside, surely there was some small significance as to why the universe made sure he got back in touch with me?
‘Not really, I just thought I’d hook up with some old friends,’ he shrugs. And there it is – this overwhelming need to punch him in the face, pull his ponytail and stamp on his feet.
Suddenly, the autopilot that has been shoring me up and keeping me in aloof mode is now wavering from too much emotional exhaustion and three glasses of fizz too many. I have to say goodbye first.
‘Listen. Great to bump into you but it’s been a long night and I must go.’ I say cheerfully, walking away.
‘We’ll have to catch up,’ he shouts after me.
Turning around while continuing to walk backwards, I shake my head vigorously in the exaggerated way you do when you’ve had a few too many. ‘Seriously Joe, no need.’ I say. My eyes may be going a bit blurry but I’m feeling bold and full of Dutch courage. ‘Really, it’s okay.’
I stand in the lift just long enough for Mabel to walk over to Joe and tower over him as he whispers something to her. With an incredulous expression on her face, she points over at me. ‘No way, you two were a thing?’ She looks absolutely gobsmacked. ‘What a small world! You know all about Kate, she was that girl I worked with,’ before doing an exaggerated whisper. ‘You know the one who sent me that email.’ The lift door closes on them both and I breathe out a sigh of pure relief.
CHAPTER 23 - AFTER THE PARTY
Preoccupied. Spaced. Drunk. Yet, I’m like a pigeon and know all the connections I need to make it home. If I stand closer to the right end of the Tube platform, I’ll stand a chance of grabbing a seat. If I walk up the right hand side of the escalator, I might just make the final train. Getting on the packed tube, I hang onto the pole and stare at my own reflection in the glass, deep in thought. Given how events unfolded, I think I conducted myself pretty well.
Contrary to the advice of the self-help book, Getting Over the Man Who Never Called You His Girlfriend 10,000 miles away, there is no chapter for if the ‘ex’ suddenly reappears and you can’t actually remember what you saw in him. Regardless of whether he galloped off on horseback in your mind, he might just turn up again and you might not react the way you thought you would. You might not hold dear the romantic memories of old, because when you think about it there weren’t actually that many. Instead, you might realise that the fact it couldn’t be properly defined is probably the very thing that made it difficult to get over, as there was no closure to be had, no standard blueprint to learn from.
All of this new found clarity has now given way to annoyance that I have chosen not to move onto greater things since. All that time I could have been looking forward – the jobs I could have gone for, the bad dates I could have gone on, the men I could have slept with! All that time wasted pining for Joe – or rather, the idea of Joe.
Perhaps I’m one of the lucky ones though. Instead of being tormented at the sight of the ex, I’ve had the opportunity to realise that whatever he meant to me at the time seems inconsequential now. It turns out that I am over him – totally, one hundred percent over him and I can’t tell you how sweet that feels. It’s like a burden has been lifted and I can think clearly about all the possibilities for the first time, without relating every single thing back to him.
While my head might be full of drunken hindsight, boarding the train to Broadstairs I soon sober up, courtesy of the stench of vomit and beer in the air. Walking through the packed out carriages, my only choice is to park myself down next to a rather sweaty looking girl who has practically set up camp as though it was her front room. Her ripe feet are out on the seat in front getting an airing and her shopping bags are spread out over the sticky floor but she doesn’t seem to care at all. She’s too busy stuffing her face with a chicken burger. Those fancy canapés feel like a long time ago though and despite being repulsed by the sight of fat dripping from her chin, that burger smells rather nice indeed.
With seconds to spare, Andy Happy walks into the carriage. What is this – the nightmare ex night? He’s looking as tired as I feel, wearing a rather shiny suit that looks like it could go up in flames, holding a briefcase that looks suspiciously like there’s nothing in it, like those soap stars that pretend to drink a hot beverage on screen. As soon as we clock each other, I sober up slightly and with little choice but to sit diagonally across from me, he looks positively terrified. He’s judged it correct as you can bet I’m in no mood to see him. I’ve not only seen my friend have to go through pregnancy on her own, but I’ve also had to contend with his angry ex-wife for the last year being passive aggressive with the TV remote.
‘Well well, well,’ I say in my scary voice, channelling arch-nemesis Mabel all the way. ‘If it isn’t the man who walked out on his pregnant girlfriend.’ There are audible gasps around the carriage, followed by complete silence as everyone continues dribbling over their McDonalds.
‘Listen, it wasn’t what you think,’ falters Mr Happy looking mortified, bypassing the pleasantries too and getting straight down to business. ‘Liv said she wanted to have a baby and I told her that I didn’t. I told her that the reason why Claire and I broke up was because we were too young and had never been with anyone else. I said I wanted to be casual. The next thing I know, she announced that she was pregnant.’
It never once occurred to me that he would have his own version of what happened. Knowing Liv’s state of mind when she first arrived in the UK – on the rebound from Chip/Chad/Chuck or something – his story seems quite plausible too.
‘Okay, but even so, now you are in this situation, surely you don’t want this baby growing up without a dad?’ I say doing an enormous hiccup that comes out like a belch. The fellow travellers are now straining to listen over the sound of crunching paper bags for his response.
Mr Happy looks at me. ‘Listen, Andy is not ready to settle down,’ he says determinedly, pointing to himself.
‘Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?’ I say, shaking my head at him in disgust as any sympathy I had for him promptly disappears. Deciding I would rather forgo a seat than chat a moment longer to a man who thinks he’s The Fonz, I leave him and his self-pity behind and stumble through the carriages.
What has revealed itself tonight is that things are never quite black and white are they? It turns out that Mr Happy is like the rest of us, trying to figure it all out – he’s just doing a piss poor job at it. He got married too young to Claire and then somehow, his new girlfriend got herself knocked up and decided to go ahead with or without him. And just like I did holding a torch for Joe all this time and blaming him for my own poor decision making, Liv decided to be the victim here – you know, put all the blame on Mr Happy.
I wake up with a jolt just as the train pulls into Broadstairs. One minute I was openly staring at all my fellow passengers’ reflections through the train window, the next I was snoring and dreaming of having arrived home. Walking down the high street in the dark, trying to peel lumps of mascara off my lashes, I let the phone ring and ring. And the longer I let it ring, the more I think that perhaps returning Stan’s call so late wasn’t such a good idea. I’m just about to leave a long rambling message about the night I’ve had and the re-appearance of you know who, when a female voice picks up.
‘Kate?’ It’s Anna and she sounds a little off. ‘You okay?’ I am embarrassed, as I’ve clearly woken them both up. ‘It’s bloody late darling. I’m...still at the theatre,’ s
he says. I then feel compelled to ask an obvious question. ‘Oh, I err managed to lose my phone charger so Stan leant me his mobile for tonight. Did you try to get hold of me? Bless you, you must have panicked.’
As I walk past Divine Beauty, the latest picture of a tanned and plucked Claire in a bikini looms up at me in the dark. I look at the time. It’s now getting on for two o’clock in the morning. What was I thinking?
‘I thought your play was closing down,’ I say, puzzled. ‘What you doing?’ Re-writing the script?’ My question is met with silence, so much so that for a minute I think she’s hung up on me.
‘In the world of performance, as I evolve so does my work,’ she says in a clipped voice. ‘There is nothing wrong with having a tweak.’ Thinking that there’s everything wrong with the word ‘tweak’, I then hear a man’s voice in the background.
‘Is that Stan?’ I ask, trying not to sound nosey as the voice sounds familiar.
‘No, just one of the gang, there’s a load of us here. You know me, I’m such a social animal,’ she says hurriedly. ‘Anyhow, I’m in the zone as it were so I have to go. See you when you are next up? You can fill me in on job news.’
‘I’m not coming up to town for a bit,’ I falter, as there’s never a right time to tell Anna I’m not doing what she wants. ‘In fact, I’m putting the London job hunt on hold for the time being. I’m exploring other options.’ Now firmly in unchartered territory, I’m trying this new me on for size and seeing how it feels. Hopefully, at some point soon, I’ll be able to effortlessly fend of these kinds of enquiries without a moment’s thought.
‘What are you doing Kate?’ Anna snaps. ‘You know my thoughts. Don’t kid yourself. You are just being incredibly unproductive.’ Unproductive huh?
I’m too tired to say anything by way of defence, so I cut to the chase. ‘I do have something else to tell you though,’ I say, knowing I’m going to regret this confession in the morning.
‘You do?’ She’s now sounding a little more alert.
I stand outside my flat and rummage around my bag for keys. ‘Guess who I bumped into tonight?’ I whisper, half expecting her to play ‘Guess Who?’ but she doesn’t.
‘Joe,’ I volunteer, waiting for the standard thespian ‘no f-ing way!’.
Instead, I get an indifferent ‘so?’ coming out of her mouth. So? So? Slowly, I feel my stress levels creeping back up, as they increasingly do when speaking to Anna these days.
‘What do you mean so? I thought he was in Oz.’ I say in a rather snappy manner as her blasé reaction has thrown me. This is big news in my little world and she knows that. As I put the key into the lock of the building, that’s when the penny drops.
‘Anna, have you known that Joe was in the UK all this time?’ I ask, tip-toeing inside the foyer.
‘I heard a rumour,’ she replies. ‘How is he?’
With the lights not working in the hall, I find myself walking up the stairs, bumping into bicycles and then Linda’s flat tyre.
‘He’s fine thanks Anna,’ I say tersely. ‘But that’s not really the point is it?’ Then I ask the other question that now comes to my mind. ‘Does Stan know too?’
‘Yes,’ comes the reply and I stand still in shock leaning against the door.
‘Oh.’ I say, as my brain tries to take in what she is saying. Without warning, Claire suddenly opens the door and I fall to the floor, with all the grace of a bird poo landing on a car windscreen. She looms over me fully dressed.
‘Kate, you have to come. Liv’s gone into labour!’
Without saying goodbye, I leave the mobile where it landed. Yes, for the first time in my friendship with Anna, I hang up.
CHAPTER 24 - NEE NAH NEE NAH
Upon hearing that my friend is about to push the equivalent of a watermelon out of her private parts, I am suddenly wide-awake. You see, in a weak moment, I agreed to be her birth partner, thinking that the date was really far off and by then, I’d be used to the whole sight of blood thing. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t touched to be asked, but truth be told my game plan was to just stay firmly up the head end, encourage her to swear to her heart’s content and hope to God it didn’t get too gory. As I adopt the stance of a woman who potentially has the weight of the world on her prosecco-soaked shoulders, I follow Claire out to her car.
‘Excuse the mess,’ she says, a little embarrassed. ‘I wasn’t expecting visitors.’ No Shit Sherlock. Claire has got every kind of rubbish in this rusty excuse for an automobile – half opened cans in the drink holders, dog-eared copies of magazines and bags of beauty samples – all spilling out onto the floor. This car doesn’t need to run on petrol, it could run on bacteria alone. All of this seems a little out of keeping with her persona as a hygienic beautician who flosses every five. Still, having taken public transport tonight what’s a bit of dirt? I sit down, instantly feeling something bulky and uncomfortable that I’m required to remove from between my buttocks – a hair-extension no less.
Since my birthday, our temporary truce has settled into something more permanent. Somehow, we have found a middle ground, an unsaid understanding, albeit a slightly uneasy one. I won’t lie though; I still find Claire beyond irritating most of the time. All the same, we’ve noticeably stopped being quite so argumentative with each other, as though we are both making a concerted effort to change the record. And now I’m on the receiving end of her niceness, I’m also noticing her positive qualities too. For, it turns out that Claire is far simpler than I ever imagined. Once she has decided she likes you, she’s kind and inclusive and makes you feel part of something. Still, given our rocky track record, I’m touching wood every day and am cautious about prodding these improved relations too much. This is a delicate cease-fire. One day at a time.
‘She wasn’t due for another two weeks!’ I groan, as Claire pulls out onto the road, with not so much as a Mirrors Signal Manoeuvre.
‘I know, but she started to get contractions halfway through karaoke with Linda, Wayne and me,’ she says. ‘Wayne’s gone with her.’ Karaoke? Who what why when? Then again, if I heard Scary Linda murder Bryan Adams like she did at my birthday last year, I think I would probably start dilating.
‘So how did this evening come about?’ I’m trying to sound casual but what I’m really thinking is that when on earth did Claire start socialising with Liv? She’s openly resented her ever since Liv started up with the ex-husband.
And as for Wayne, I had no idea Claire and he taken anything any further since my birthday. Last time I saw them, she was trying a little too hard to impress him and he was a bit bemused at the attention. The tide has clearly turned.
‘I had arranged to meet Wayne at the pub,’ says Claire, putting in a cassette that instantly makes that chewed up sound so she switches on the radio instead. ‘Don’t worry though. I’ve not been drinking. I’m fasting at the moment on just 500 calories a day. It’s left me a little light headed but I’m fine to drive.’
My anxiety about Liv is fast being overshadowed by my fear of Claire getting dizzy at any moment. I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s never been near a motorway, but when Claire is not going straight across roundabouts, she is feeding the wheel like a seventy-year old and driving in third-gear the whole time.
‘Okay, you know Wayne came over for your birthday. You’re right you know. He’s not actually as bad as I remember. He’s really quite nice. So yesterday, after my shellac nail boot camp, I went into the travel agency to enquire about flights for a girls holiday to Las Vegas – not that I’m going on one but I needed an excuse.’ Okay, I’m starting to get the picture. Finally, the daft cow is revising her options about the nice boy at school she never gave a chance. ‘Wayne was really helpful and one thing led to another. Before I knew it I had made arrangements to meet him after my waxing class. And then Linda joined us.’
At three in the morning, this story is not exactly gripping and with my attention span on the wane, I need Claire to either get to the point quicker, or at lea
st make up some drama. I’m about to fall asleep. ‘So anyway, after the pub, we saw Liv walking really slowly in the same direction. In fact, she was going so slow we caught up with her in no time. What a lump.’ Claire says the last word very slowly, having been clearly dying to offer her opinion on Liv’s pregnant body shape for some time.
‘Anyhow,’ she continues, swerving the car like we’re in the Dukes of Hazzard. ‘We ended up going back to ours for karaoke. And Liv came with us.’ Now, while Claire may quibble the heating bill, her singing aspirations mean we are the owner of a very expensive, all singing, all dancing karaoke machine that gets a regular airing from her – and generally, a rather negative reception from the neighbours below. ‘Liv, she went nuts for karaoke,’ Claire continues. ‘In fact, it was really annoying as she hogged the machine for the next hour! Not as good as me mind but she wasn’t bad. Anyhow, halfway through a duet of ‘Love Shack’ with Wayne, she started breathing funny – around that bit in the song where they shout about a tin roof rusting.’ As I take in the evening’s developments, I’m holding onto the dashboard for dear life and trying not to yelp in fright as my life flashes before me. ‘So Liv went to the hospital with Wayne. He offered to go with her. He was really kind you know. Saying that, I hope he doesn’t turn back into the boy he was at school – you know, a wet blanket,’ laughs Claire.
I then take full advantage of her being a captive audience. ‘Claire, Wayne is no longer handing out chocolate bars to girls,’ I say. ‘He’s actually a really cool guy. You’re the one who needs to change.’ Here I am, in the dead of night, feeling strangely protective of an old friend, as though I’m representing a very large group of people, myself included, who still find themselves shaking off their school personas.