by Olivia Ryan
Date: 24th June 2005
No, I didn’t seem to like him well enough when we were in Kinsale! You’re getting romantic notions all over the place, young lady, just because you’re in LURVE yourself! Just because he’s good-looking and charming and all that crap, doesn’t mean I have to like him. And I don’t.
Now, can we change the subject? How’s Conor? xx
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 24th June 2005
Can’t you leave it alone, Jude? Yes, I’m sure Conor has told you what he told me – that Harry’s always been a bit of a one with the girls, as you put it. And I’m very sure Harry has also said that he’s had enough of all that and wants to settle down now. That’s what they all say! Sorry – look, I’m just not interested – OK?
K. xx
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 29th June 2005
Help, Emily! I think I’ve upset Jude, and now she’s not talking to me. I wish I’d never said anything, but I was getting irritated with all the stuff about Harry – why didn’t I like him, he’s desperate to see me again, why didn’t I want to go out with him – Christ! I know he’s Conor’s cousin but that doesn’t mean I have to shag him just to please Conor, does it? Anyway I’ve gone a bit over the top now and I think I’ve offended her, and she’ll tell Conor and he’ll be even more offended because I’m slagging off his cousin. You know what the Irish are like about their families. I suppose now neither of them will ever talk to me again.
It’s been nearly a week and I keep e-mailing her and texting her and trying to phone her and she’s not replying. They’re coming over to London next week and now I suppose they won’t want to see me. That’s it; I’ve blown our friendship, over some stupid man. I’ll never forgive myself. I want to die.
Katie
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 29th June 2005
What do you mean, I’m acting like a drama queen? This is serious, Emily! Jude never ignores me like this. Can’t you offer anything more helpful than Are you more worried about Jude or Harry? For God’s sake! I couldn’t give a shit about Harry. There are hundreds of good-looking, charming, sexy, funny men around just like him – in fact almost every bloke I see round the shops in Leigh reminds me of him so he’s obviously not so very special. And, the whole point is – he’s not a very nice person. Even Conor told me that! If Jude can’t cope with me saying it, well, what can I do? Yes, OK, Jude’s right – when we were in Ireland I actually thought he was really, really lovely – the way he looked after me that night, when I was ill, and crying, and everything. I admit it – I did like him. And I did really think he liked me. But I am not ready to start seeing someone again. And especially not a dangerous sexual predator with a reputation for humping and dumping. Who needs that just after being cast off by her fiancé in favour of some middle-aged adventuress?
So what do I do about Jude?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 29th June 2005
Well, thanks so much for your help. Yes, very funny. I am not in denial about anything, especially not about him.
Talk to you soon.
PS: What’s all this about a barbecue at your place on Saturday? Special occasion, is it? What are we celebrating?
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Date: 29th June 2005
OH MY GOD!
You’re getting married?!!!!!
ABOUT THE TRUTH
They look so happy. She’s staring into his eyes as he stabs a chicken drumstick and drops it onto the barbecue. She’s got this kind of radiant glow. I’m bloody sure, looking back now, that I didn’t have it when I was planning to marry Matt. I think I had the hump most of the time.
‘You OK?’ Sean asks me, as he turns, fork in hand, to pick up his beer. ‘Don’t you want any wine?’
‘No. I’m fine, thanks.’ I force a grin. ‘I’m just feeling a bit …’
‘What?’ Emily comes over and links her arm through mine. ‘What’s up, honey?’
It’s not what you think. I’m not jealous. God, no! I’m so glad, now, that I didn’t get married. It would have been a disaster. Look at these two: they’re so right for each other. I’m thrilled for them, I really am.
‘Sure you’re all right? You look a bit pale.’
‘Yeah. It’s nothing, probably just the sight of all that chicken and steak. Sorry, no offence intended about Sean’s cooking, but I think I might become a vegetarian.’
‘Sean!’ shouts Emily. ‘Stick another veggie-burger on!’
‘Bloody hell!’ he complains mildly. ‘Half a dozen chickens and a cow have died in vain for you lot!’
Emily walks me into a shaded area round the side of the house, away from the heat of the barbecue, where we sit down in silence for a few minutes.
‘That’s better,’ I admit. ‘It was getting hot over there.’
It’s a beautiful July evening, seven o’clock and still a perfect blue sky, only broken up by a few little cotton-wool-ball clouds like infant-school children draw in their pictures. When I left Leigh-on-Sea today to come over here, after finishing work in the bookshop, there were still families playing on the beach, children paddling in the sea (all right then, the estuary), and queues forming beside the ice-cream vans. This is how English summers should be, as I remember them from my childhood, looking back through those rosy-coloured lenses that we all develop.
‘I’m glad it hasn’t put you off getting married, Em, you know – my disaster.’
‘No. If anything, it made me and Sean talk about the whole marriage thing, and decide we were definitely up for it. You and Matt had doubts. Sean and I realised we haven’t. Not a single one. We’re positive this is right for us.’ She laughs suddenly and adds, ‘I don’t think I’ll have the hen party in Dublin, though. Might be jinxed!’
‘You’re right there!’ I give her a hug. ‘I’m so happy for you!’
‘I know. Thank you, love. And you will be my bridesmaid, won’t you? Of course?’
‘Of course! Try and stop me! When’s the big day going to be, anyway?’
‘At the end of the year. We don’t want to wait, now we’ve made up our minds. It’s going to be a bit frantic, getting it all organised, but we’re thinking a Christmas or New Year wedding might be nice. What do you think?’
‘Oh! That soon!’ I glance back over at the barbecue. ‘Whoops! Better get a bucket of water, Em – Sean’s just set fire to the kebabs!’
We both make a dash for the kitchen, laughing, and it’s not till halfway through eating the burnt kebabs and veggie-burgers that she asks me again.
‘So – promise you’ll be my bridesmaid? You haven’t got anything else more important planned around Christmas time?’ she adds, teasing.
‘Of course not. What could I possibly have planned that’s more important than your wedding?’ I say with a smile. ‘Sean – you’ve cooked these veggie-burgers in the fat from the sausages and they’re absolutely gross!’
The new job’s going well. I’ve been there a week now, and I’m surprised at how busy it is; especially on Saturdays, of course. People pass the shop on their way to the supermarket or the post office and come in to browse. I’ve been helping with the window display today as there’s a new local history book that’s just been published, and we’re giving it prominence to attract passing residents and visitors. Of course, this time of year people are looking for holiday reading – paperback romances to take with them in their suitcases and read while they’re lying on the beach. Lucky devils; my holiday – honeymoon – to the Caribbean was cancelled along with the wedding, and I don’t think I’ll be able to afford anything else this year. I’ve been able to give these customers quite a bit of advice about the latest paperback releases of co
urse, and Mrs Blake’s been smiling a lot and telling me how glad she is that I’ve joined her. Poor thing, I think she’s had a hard time of it, running the shop on her own.
‘It’s nice to have some young company, dear,’ she says. ‘You remind me of my daughter.’
Her daughter, tragically, died about ten years ago in an accident, and I think she’s pretty lonely, what with the business of the husband and the niece and all. She’s quite a sweetie, really, and when the shop’s quiet and we have time to chat over a cup of tea, I find myself confiding stuff to her, too, like she’s my surrogate mum. Stuff that might make my own mum freak out a bit too much. Mrs Blake, who keeps saying Call me Felicity, dear, though I feel a bit awkward about it really since she doesn’t look anything like a Felicity and I’m worried I might giggle when I say it – Felicity doesn’t seem to turn a hair, no matter what I tell her, and it’s somehow kind of restful, sitting in the little shop surrounded by all the books and the silence of their closed covers. Like telling things to your priest, I suppose, in the confessional. I’ve only known her for five minutes but I feel better already for talking to her.
Jude finally phones me, two days before she’s due to arrive in London. I’d given up hope.
‘I thought you were never going to speak to me again.’
‘Don’t be so bloody silly. Sure I just had a lot on me plate, for God’s sake.’
I’m not going to argue. But whatever was on her plate in the past, she never ignored my texts and e-mails, did she?
I’m meeting her, with Conor and Harry at a pub near his flat. I’ve travelled up on the train after work; it’s been a hot day again and I’m feeling tense and a bit irritable. Someone steps on my toe accidentally as I’m at the bar, getting myself a drink, and I nearly smack him one.
‘Sorry!’ he says. ‘Oh – watch out!’ I’ve nearly spilt my orange-and-lemonade on him, too. And then: ‘Katie!’
Just to put the lid on it – it’s him.
We sit at a table on the crowded little patio outside the pub, to wait for the others. He’s wearing office clothes – a light grey suit and blue shirt. He throws the jacket over the back of his chair, loosens his collar and takes a long gulp of his beer. He looks even better than I remember. I have to bury my face in my orange-and-lemonade and fight hard to stay in control. To remember Conor’s warnings about him, and forget the night he nursed me on the sofa.
‘You off the booze again?’ he asks, smiling lazily into my eyes.
‘Yes.’
There’s a silence. He doesn’t look at all awkward, but I certainly feel it.
‘Anyway, it’s nice to see you again. I know you didn’t want to see me, but …’
‘This is only because of Jude,’ I retort, a bit too sharply. ‘I’m here for her, and Conor. That’s all.’
‘OK. If that’s how you feel. But let’s not make it uncomfortable for them, eh?’
‘Of course not. I do know how to be polite!’
‘Good. All right, then, Miss Politeness. How’s the new job going?’
He’s laughing at me. I wish he wouldn’t, the bastard. It’s making me want to smile.
‘It’s going well, thank you. I didn’t like commuting back to Romford after I moved. The shop’s just round the corner from where I live now and my boss is very nice.’ God, this is purgatory. I’m talking like someone being interviewed on the radio. I’ll never be able to relax in his company. I wish he wouldn’t keep looking at me as if he’s going to burst out laughing any minute. ‘Where are Jude and Conor?’ I add desperately.
‘On their way. I picked them up from the airport and dropped them at my flat while I went back to the office to finish a few things off. They’ve only got to walk five minutes down the road. They should be here any time now.’
‘Good.’
‘Katie …’
‘Please. Let’s just keep it … polite.’
‘But I need to tell you something.’
‘I don’t think I want to hear it.’
‘You don’t know what it is yet!’ He’s smiling at me again. ‘Listen. What Conor told you, in Kinsale …’
‘Was none of my business.’
‘But look – I never pretended to be an angel, exactly.’ He’s not smiling now. He’s leaning forward across the table, looking at me earnestly. I don’t like that earnest look. I don’t trust it. ‘OK, so perhaps I haven’t always treated my girlfriends fantastically well. I’m not an Irish Catholic like my cousin, brought up to … to treat women like you treat your mother, and if you don’t, you have to marry them. I’ve played around a bit. But I’ve had enough of it. I don’t want to do that any more.’
‘Just like that? Suddenly you’re different?’
‘Yes.’ He looks straight into my eyes. ‘Suddenly.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘I just wanted you to understand, Katie …’
‘What? Like I said, it’s none of my business what you do, and there’s nothing for me to understand.’
And thank God. Here are Jude and Conor.
It’s amazing. The transformation of Judith Barnard is absolutely incredible. She’s like a completely different person – confident, happy, laughing, full of life and enthusiasm. Any fool can see she’s in love.
There seems to be a lot of it about.
‘Katie!’ she cries, grabbing me and hugging me hard. ‘Sure it’s great to see you looking so …’
Yes, you might well tail off a bit there. So pale, sick and tired-looking? Don’t beat about the bush.
‘Lovely to see you, too, looking so loved-up and happy!’ I tease her. ‘How’s it going?’
‘It’s going great, thanks! Brilliant!’ She sits down next to me and pulls her chair closer. ‘Look, Katie, first off I’m sorry I took a while to get back to you. About himself over there,’ she adds in a whisper.
‘What about him?’
‘It was difficult to explain over the phone, or in an e-mail. But Harry …’ she glances over at the two guys, who are chatting together about the comparative price of a pint of Guinness in London and in Cork. ‘Look, I know what Conor told you about him. But Harry’s been back over to Kinsale for a weekend since you were there, and even Conor admits he’s never seen such a change in anyone. He spent the whole time talking about you. Never looked at another girl – didn’t even want to go out for a jar or two with Conor. Just moped around, asking me all kind of questions about you.’
‘Questions?’ I can hardly talk for the hammering of my heart. ‘What kind of questions?’
She sighs.
‘You know. What you were like when you were a little girl. What your favourite colour is. Whether you like rock music, or horror films, or holidays in the sun. Katie – he’s totally crazy about you. I don’t think he’d mess you around. But how are you ever going to know, if you don’t give him a chance?’
‘I don’t want to give him a chance, Jude. I’ve had enough of men, at the moment, and I just need to be on my own for a while. I’ve … got my reasons.’
She looks at me for a moment with her head on one side.
‘OK, Katie. So, do you want to tell me?’
Of course I do. This is Jude, after all: my oldest, dearest friend in the whole wide world. The only person I dared to tell about my wedding being cancelled. I’ve always told her everything – and she’s always supported me.
This time isn’t going to be any different.
ABOUT THE FUTURE
How does it happen? How do we move from a point of complete resolution, to beginning to have doubts, to caving in catastrophically? I suppose, looking back, perhaps I always knew I was going to change my mind eventually and give in. I was always going to go out with Harry in the end; I just needed time.
We see a lot of each other over the weekend that Jude and Conor are over. To be fair to him, he couldn’t be nicer. He’s kind, friendly, polite, charming; but he keeps his distance. He doesn’t put any pressure on me – other than the smiles he gives me, the w
ay he catches my eye and holds my gaze, the way he touches my hand briefly without making a big deal of it. I begin to feel a bit like an iceberg – on the surface I’m gradually thawing but there’s a huge frozen mass of me hidden from sight. It’s going to take a bit more than friendly smiles to get this shifted.
After Jude and Conor go back to Ireland, he stays in contact with me. Again, it’s light, friendly, bantering stuff but there’s an underlying message all the time: So – you still don’t fancy going out for a drink one evening? Just as friends? As we seem to be getting on so well?
It’s another month before I finally agree to a date, and then it’s only on condition that it’s strictly platonic. I tell myself that it’s only to stop him keeping on at me, but I know I’m kidding myself. I can’t wait to see him again – but just as a friend, you understand.
He comes over to Leigh-on-Sea on a Sunday and we go out for a pub lunch. He’s not drinking.
‘I want to stay completely sober,’ he says so solemnly that it makes me laugh, ‘So that I can remember every moment – every single detail, every single word you say.’
‘Don’t be daft!’
But it’s nice, isn’t it? It’s flattery, of course, and I’m not getting taken in by it. But it’s been ages since I’ve been taken out, treated like I’m somebody special, or had someone looking at me as if they’d found what they’d spent their whole life searching for.
‘If I promise not to kiss you,’ he says when he takes me home afterwards, ‘can I come in for coffee? I don’t want to leave you yet. I’m greedy. I want another half an hour.’