by Frances Vick
‘Well, yes.’ She nodded. She looked a little dazed. ‘That’s it. That’s the thing.’
Later, when Freddie thought about this evening, he pinpointed this as the moment Jenny and David fell in love. It was what he’d hoped for her – it was a fairy tale. It should have been lovely. It should have been something he’d allude to in his wedding speech: ‘I was there at the beginning…’ But… no. It wasn’t like that at all. It was more complicated than that.
Later still, in the months during which his mind worried at this memory like a terrier with a rat, his emotions changed, morphed into something more concrete. At the time though, he was just puzzled – what was wrong? Something was damming the natural flow of the evening, like a corpse caught in the weeds.
19
David offered to give Freddie a lift back to his flat. He insisted.
‘It’s out of your way,’ Freddie said doubtfully. ‘I don’t want to make you late; I know you have your mother to get back to.’
‘No, no, it’s raining. Please, let me save you the walk.’
When they were in the car, after the perfunctory conversation about where they were headed was exhausted, Freddie felt unsettled. David seemed stiffer. The relative easy candour he’d displayed in Jenny’s flat had gone. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Freddie grasped at one of the few things he knew they had in common.
‘So, have you heard from Ryan lately?’
‘No.’ David drove slowly, deliberately. His hands never wavered from the ten to two position, and his eyes never left the road. ‘I’ll probably see him at the school reunion.’
‘Oh, you went to school with him as well then?’
‘What?’ David slowed even further.
‘You went to school as well as university with Ryan?’
‘Oh. Yes.’ The car had now slowed to a crawl. ‘Both.’ There was a long pause.
‘There’s still a bit further to go,’ Freddie said eventually, nodding at the speedometer.
‘Sorry,’ David answered absently. ‘I drive like an old woman.’ He sped up fractionally, and the conversation died again.
Then Freddie’s phone rang. His latest ring tone – Barbra Streisand singing ‘Who’s Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?’ – had seemed hilarious when he downloaded it but, now he was alone with David, its volume and sheer inanity was just embarrassing. Unfortunately, because he was sitting on his coat, and the phone was in the inside pocket, they were treated to a whole verse and half the chorus, cutting off just after ‘Big bad—’
After a few seconds it started again, just entering the verse when the car suddenly swerved and David shouted: ‘Can you turn that off?’
‘I’m trying,’ Freddie told him. ‘Sorry!’ He unbuckled his seatbelt and managed to wrench the coat out from under his thighs, just as Barbra hit the high G. It was Jenny, but he rejected the call. He didn’t want to annoy David any more.
They drove in silence until they arrived at Freddie’s flat.
‘Sorry about the phone,’ Freddie said quietly.
‘No, it’s fine,’ David said seriously.
‘It’s a stupid ringtone,’ Freddie said. Then he waited for a few seconds to see if David would apologise about overreacting.
Instead he waved it off with a magnanimous gesture. ‘It’s really no problem.’
He smiled. It winked on like a bright light. Then, after a hesitation, David gave Freddie a rough, stiff hug. Freddie’s head only came up to his shoulder, and he found his cold cheeks being pushed into tweed. His father’s jacket? It had to be. It smelled old. ‘Good man,’ David said. ‘Nicetomeetyou.’
Then he let go, trotted back to his car, raised one rigid hand in farewell, and drove off.
Freddie could see his face, illuminated by a dim street light, the smile sliding, a sheen of sweat on his white face. Freddie walked into his building, locked the door behind him, and sat for some minutes on the sofa in the dark, feeling confused. Feeling… scared.
His phone buzzed – a text from Jenny:
Nice night, don’t you think?
He was about to call back, but didn’t. David didn’t like Barbra Streisand, that’s all. It didn’t signify anything. Millions of people didn’t like Barbra Streisand, annoying ringtones or polite chit-chat. Lots of people wore tweed. Lots of men got physical affection wrong. Jen was happy. David was nice. Freddie had Done A Good Thing by getting them together. Just… don’t overthink it.
He wrote back:
Lovely! Bit knackered call you tomorrow xxxx
Just clean your teeth, Fred, he thought. Clean your teeth, wash your face, set an alarm to wake you in time to get to the gym, ignore said alarm. Don’t go to the gym. Just a normal Sunday. He flossed, rinsed, gargled and retired to the dark quiet of his room and… thought about David. Good son. Kind to his mother. Just like Norman Bates. Shut up, Fred. Stop it now. But that photograph of Jenny? The one on her wall? Something about that stayed stuck in the folds in his mind like a splinter.
After a while he knew he wasn’t going to sleep without figuring out what it meant.
So, sighing, he got up again and got out his laptop, opened his photo folders, and found Turkey 2013. Jenny on the beach in Marmaris. Brown and blue and yellow stars. He placed one hand over her torso, leaving only the arm, the sarong, the splash of sunlight. That was it. That was it! It was the same picture that had been in the background of David’s profile picture. He was practically sure, almost positive.
What was David doing with a picture of Jenny that was taken before they even met?
Now, wide awake and fizzing with adrenaline, he found David’s Facebook page again. The blank silhouette profile was still up, but maybe his old one was in his picture folders somewhere? But no. There were no pictures at all, which was strange. Or not? Maybe David didn’t advertise his whole life online, like some people did. Like Freddie did. Stop looking for things to worry about. Go to bed. Just stop it now.
But when he finally managed to get to sleep, it was a thin, fitful rest, and he woke early to the sound of birds, with his mind still clogged with misgivings.
20
You Can’t Go Home Again
I’ve been thinking a lot about determination. On the one hand, we’re told that we have to follow our dreams, never give up *insert cliché here*, and on the other hand we’re told to put others first, Do-as-you-would-be-done-to and don’t make waves.
There’s a cognitive dissonance here that I’ve struggled with, and I know that a lot of you have too. I think the struggle is harder for people like us – people who haven’t grown up with self-respect, and have had to learn it on the way. If our early life experiences have told us that we don’t ‘deserve’ comfort and happiness, it’s hard to accept love and appreciation from others. We don’t ‘deserve’ it, or we’re suspicious of it.
All this is my overwritten way of telling you that I’m seeing someone, and it’s great and sweet and exciting and SCARY. You know that old Groucho Marx line – ‘I would never be a member of a club that would have me as a member’? Well that’s the thing that knocks me flat. If someone likes me, I find myself being facetious and glib – using all the usual tools to stay separate, stay safe.
I’m really trying not to do that this time though. I even managed (glibly, facetiously) to tell him how I feel. And here’s what he said: ‘I believe in you. I have confidence in you. If you can’t find those things within yourself, just borrow a little from me.’ And it was so beautiful, so kind, that I felt some of that tension inside me loosen.
If someone loves you and admires you, perhaps you can take it as read that you are loveable and admirable and act accordingly. Graft that onto yourself and assimilate it, learn to use it, like you would a donated organ.
Perhaps, just by having endured the pain of the past, you have earned what you want, what you need? Perhaps the rest of your life can be lived in fullness rather than lack?
Take care.
Jay XOXO
21
&nb
sp; ‘You’re sure it’s OK?’ Jenny looked over her shoulder at her reflection. ‘It’s not too, you know, severe?’
David shook his head. ‘Not at all. It’s smart.’
‘I quite like how 1950s it looks.’ She smoothed her hair back from her face. ‘It looks better if I get my hair out of my eyes. Fred?’
‘Weren’t you talking about getting it cut?’ Freddie replied.
‘Oh, I was probably talking about it, but I’ll never get round to it.’ She shrugged at him. Then, as David’s eyes drifted to the frizzy tendrils dangling over her shoulders. ‘Unless you really think I should get it cut? Should I, David?’
‘Well, you could probably do with it,’ he admitted. ‘Why not go to that hairdresser next door now and see if they can fit you in?’
Jenny frowned doubtfully at him. ‘That’s, like, a designer place; even if they have any space I couldn’t afford it after buying this. No. I’ll wear my split ends with pride! You’re sure the other suit won’t do?’ she spoke to them both, but David answered.
‘No. This is the suit you should get. Definitely.’
When she went back into the changing rooms, David turned to Freddie. ‘Will you tell her to get her hair cut? Let it be my treat?’
‘She won’t let you,’ Freddie told him. ‘And I couldn’t make her either. I can’t make her do anything. Don’t even try. That way madness lies.’
Jenny called from the changing room. ‘I’m just trying on these shirts too! Listen, you guys go to the pub and I’ll see you there in ten minutes.’
Both men nodded and smiled awkwardly. Both David and Freddie had assumed they were would be spending the evening alone with Jenny, and they were feeling the strain of the other’s company. They’d arrived separately to meet her from her placement at only to find her tiredly confused and apologetic. ‘God, I must have double-booked, sorry! I thought I was meeting Fred tomorrow and you today… But listen, let’s go out together for a drink? I have to do some shopping before though. I need a suit for this interview? With the council? I told you about it, didn’t I? God… my memory is terrible. Too much going on.’
They walked stiffly to The Bristolian – a pub over the street – David held the door open so that Freddie had to duck and scuttle under his arm. It gave him a disagreeable feeling, as though he was being treated like a child.
They found a booth by the door. David frowned at the walls plastered with posters, at the wide, horseshoe-shaped bar. One finger tapped on the table, picked at the varnish that had bubbled with age. It was Freddie who broke the silence.
‘I haven’t been in the place in years.’ He looked around. ‘Believe it or not, they’ve tidied it up a lot. It used to be a kind of punk place. Gigs on and all that.’ David nodded politely, and tore a stretch of varnish off the table. It curled like flayed skin. ‘So, how’s your mother?’
‘Fine. Well, not fine, but, you know.’
‘Is she mobile? I mean do you need help in the house and—’
‘What I can’t work out is how she’s going to keep working at the – what is it called – illness centre—’
‘Oh, you mean Jenny? It’s the Wellness Centre.’
‘“Wellness Centre”.’ David’s voice was ever so slightly tinged with vitriol. ‘As well as working full-time and keeping up with college. How will she manage it?’
‘She’s very resilient you know,’ Freddie told him. ‘She’ll just make it happen, that’s all, even if it means hardly sleeping, and working all the hours God sends. It’s a real vocation.’
‘I just can’t see how she can do it.’ David shook his head. ‘She’ll collapse.’
Freddie smiled reassuringly. ‘She won’t though. She knows what she wants now, and she knows how to get it, but you know, there’s sacrifices to be made on the way, and that’s what she’ll do. She’s very determined, very tough when it comes down to it. So, don’t worry about her too much, OK?’
David made a noise, somewhere in the middle of dour cynicism and impatience, and Freddie’s attempt at establishing a rapport, already terminal, died there.
When Jenny swung through the door, both men were mightily relieved.
‘OK, so, that’s the suit I’m going to get!’
‘Where is it then?’ Freddie asked.
‘Aha, I have A Plan,’ she told him. ‘So, I tried it on in the shop to see what it looked like, but I’ll actually buy it on eBay for loads less money. You see?’ She tapped her head. ‘Always thinking.’
‘You’re a rara avis my love,’ Freddie said.
‘I’m a skint rara avis. But I can still buy you each a drink, what’ll you have?’
‘No, I’ll get them – David?’
‘Anything. No. No, just a juice.’ He got up distractedly. ‘I just need to go out for a few minutes.’ And he shouldered his way out of the door.
‘I think it’s his mum,’ Jenny said after a pause. ‘He’s worried about her. He’s left her today with an agency nurse, and had a few nightmares with them in the past, and Catherine doesn’t respond well to change, and so strangers in the house… they throw her.’
‘Have you met her?’
Jenny hesitated, nodded. ‘I have. Last week. She’s lovely. It’s really sad.’
‘You didn’t tell me you’d met her.’
Jenny winced apologetically. One finger tapped the torn bubble of varnish. ‘David is… private. I think it’s been so hard taking care of her, harder than he thought it would be, and he feels a bit guilty that he finds it hard. I asked to meet her because I thought it might help him if he shared his feelings a bit. It’s lonely, looking after a sick parent, and David… well, I don’t think he confides in many people. He doesn’t have a Freddie.’
‘Not sure he wants a Freddie.’
‘Everyone wants a Freddie.’ She twinkled at him.
‘I think he’s a bit pissed off that I’m here,’ Freddie admitted. ‘I think he wanted you all to himself tonight.’
‘Well, maybe I was a bit economical with the truth,’ she admitted. ‘I kind of deliberately double-booked you. I just wanted you to get to know each other in a more casual way, not at dinner or anything like that, just, oh, hey, let’s have a quick drink – that kind of thing. Don’t tell him that, though, will you?’
Freddie shook his head. ‘It’s backfired then. He doesn’t seem very comfortable with me.’ Jenny nodded soberly.
Jenny nodded soberly. ‘I thought that might happen, but it’s shyness, honestly. He really likes you; he told me. And he knows that wherever I go, you’re there too.’
‘Like an evil twin?’
‘Exactly like an evil twin.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t get paranoid. He’s... he’s a bit stiff, but he really is lovely, you’re lovely, and that’s it. Right!’ She slapped the table. ‘I’m going to get drinks.’ And she disappeared into the lounge bar, where the bar staff lurked, and reappeared ten minutes later with a tray of drinks and two packets of crisps clasped in her teeth that she dropped on the tabletop.
‘David not back?’
‘Nope.’ Freddie tore the crisp bags open and arranged them fussily on the table.
‘I’ll give him a call… oh, wait, he’s texted me.’ She frowned at her phone. ‘Oh, what?’
‘What?’ Freddie said through a mouthful of crisps. ‘Is he all right? He’s not gone home has he? I told you he didn’t want me here.’
‘No, he’s not gone home, but I tell you what he has done.’ She looked up from her phone. ‘He’s bought me that suit! And booked me an appointment to get my hair cut!’
‘Bloody hell!’
‘I know!’ She stared at the phone again. ‘How lovely is that?’ Then she sat down. ‘I can’t accept it though. I can’t. Can I?’
‘Why not?’
‘It was £200, that’s why not.’
And at that moment, David came through the door, so boyish and charming that Freddie found himself smiling back. He swung three carrier bags onto the tabletop, and wagged one finger at Jenny.
‘Now don’t tell me off. I couldn’t let you buy a second-hand suit, it’s just not right. So,’ he opened the first bag, ‘here’s the two that you liked – you can’t just have one suit, can you?’
Freddie opened his mouth, tried to catch Jenny’s eye, but she was stroking the suit, eyes soft, cheeks pink with happiness.
‘And obviously you needed shirts, so I bought these three – I think the shade is perfect for you, and they’re nicely fitted. I asked the saleswoman and she agreed that, with your colouring, you can wear blue. Any kind of blue looks lovely on you!’ His voice rose with excitement. He handed Jenny a bag filled with boxes. ‘And here are some shoes. Again, I thought it would be best to just buy all three pairs. I looked at them, and they were all perfect and they all work well with each suit. And these,’ he handed her a wrapped box, ‘I just thought they were special. They’re just for fun. Hope you like them.’ He sat back, still with that smile on his face, looking like an expectant puppy.
Jenny opened the box, her mouth fell open, her cheeks pinkened.
‘What is it? Show me!’ Freddie leaned over. ‘Jesus.’ He stared at the shoes, stared at David. ‘I’ve seen enough drag shows to know they’re Louboutin.’
David flinched ever so slightly, but kept his eyes on Jenny. She didn’t say anything, so he asked anxiously: ‘I did get the right sizes in everything, didn’t I? I can go back and change things if—’
Jenny drew out one of the Louboutins, turned it over, and watched her reflection swim back at her from the red lacquer. ‘Wow.’
‘Do you like them?’ David asked eagerly.
‘They’re gorgeous. It’s all—’
He interrupted her. ‘So your hair appointment is in half an hour. And after that why don’t we have some dinner? Not here, obviously.’ He looked around at the pub with visible distaste. ‘But anywhere you’d like really. Somewhere nice.’