by Kelly, A. S.
“Well, the other night…”
“Didn’t we agree not to bring that up again?”
“Sorry, you’re right. Let me buy you an apology drink – what do you say?”
She lifts one eyebrow.
“Ah, right. It’s against the contract.”
“Exactly.”
“The tournament is in three weeks. And it’ll last a month. I can’t wait that long.”
“First you have to win.”
Is she challenging me?
“Besides, I’m sure you’ll lose interest in the meantime.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Because that’s how it works for you. Right now, you only want this,” I say, gesturing to the two of us, “because you know you can’t have it. You’ll get bored as soon as you find something better.”
I stand there in silence. Her words have cut deep.
“See you later, Coach Kerry,” she says, before turning on her heels and leaving me alone in the school gym.
Jordan’s right: I am exactly as she described me. Apparently this woman knows everything about me. I chase after things I can’t have, and as soon as I have them, I totally lose interest. That’s what happened with Mary Hannigan, and with Skylar’s mother, and pretty much every woman I’ve ever been with. I saw them as challenges, people who didn’t want anything to do with me. I had to convince them otherwise, and when I did, I moved onto the next one, in search of something more exciting. But Jordan is exciting – in all senses of the word – and I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this game. Maybe because I haven’t got everything I want just yet. I wanted her to fall to my feet, to give me just one more night. I wanted her to ask me to stay. But she didn’t. She got rid of me as soon as she could, and it threw off my balance. I have to set everything straight before the rest of me disappears.
Three more weeks of training before the tournament: a tournament I’m going to win. Then Jordan will be mine – whether she believes it or not.
“I need you to take me somewhere.” My daughter says as I’m opening the fridge in search of something to drink.
“Where?”
“Somewhere that sells paint.”
“Are you repainting your room?”
“This weekend.”
“Okay.”
“But I don’t know where to go. I don’t know the city.”
“Sure, I’ll take you. Can we go tomorrow after school?”
“Done.”
“And maybe…” I clear my throat. “Maybe we could, I don’t know, go and get something to eat somewhere?”
Skylar stiffens right away, already throwing her guard up.
“School finishes at four. The place we need to go is out of town. There’s another shop there, too, that sells furniture and stuff. They have nice desks and bookshelves – maybe you want to have a look there, too?”
“Are you trying to buy my affection, Kerry?”
“Why, is it working?”
“Maybe if I were five years old, and you were offering to buy me a pony.”
I consider this. “A pony, eh?”
“Don’t even think about buying me a pony.”
I lift my hands in surrender. “I just want to help you feel at home.”
“This isn’t my home.”
“I know. That’s why I want you to feel like your bedroom is yours.”
She studies my expression for a moment.
“Besides, we can be back in time for dinner. I just thought it might be nice to stop off somewhere.”
“You and me?”
I nod hopefully.
Skylar looks at me carefully, as if she’s trying to work out the real reason I’m asking her to have dinner with me; as if I had some ulterior motive. What motive could I possibly have, other than trying not to piss her off? That seems like the only thing I am capable of doing at this point: I don’t think she’d ever let me close enough to do more. Not in this lifetime.
Jordan
I step into The Harbour on Quay Street, one of the town’s only restaurants, and I shake off my rain-soaked jacket. It’s just a short walk from the bay.
“Welcome back, Ms Hill.” The owner – and father of one of my final-year students – ushers me warmly inside.
I feel at home here. I come here almost every week for dinner, either on Friday or Saturday, depending on my mood.
“Thank you so much for squeezing me in at the last minute.”
I only called half an hour ago. I still hadn’t decided yet whether or not to go out – in the end, I needed some fresh air and some good food, cooked by anyone but me. I wanted to chat with someone. It’s good for me to get out.
Anya doesn’t particularly like going out for dinner. She prefers bars and pubs with a dance floor; she begrudgingly lets me drag her out for lunch on a Saturday, if she’s not too hungover from the night before. So now, I don’t even bother to call her and see if she wants to join me. I just go out by myself.
At first, I was embarrassed to eat at a restaurant alone. I was married for ten years; it’s not easy to get used to single life again. But it’s been a year, now. I’ve signed the divorce papers, pushed Steven – and all men – out of my mind. I have a cat, I eat alone on Friday nights. I don’t really think I need to add anything else.
I sit at a table next to the wall, close to the door, and take off my jacket, hanging it on the back of my chair.
“The usual?” he asks, lighting the candle on my table.
“A large. Thank you.”
He smiles and hands me a menu before heading towards the bar. I open it up, but before I can look at the options, I glance quickly around the room to see who else I’ll be dining with. I love to watch people, especially when they’re eating. I think that everyone should be happy when they have a good meal – and if they’re not, it means that something’s wrong: something serious. If I could’ve seen myself through someone else’s eyes during those last few months with Steven, before I discovered his affair, I’m sure I’d have realised sooner. I’d have known how unhappy I was, how unhappy we both were. I’d have sensed that we had run out of love – that we’d reached the end of the line. I thought we could salvage our marriage. I thought that ignoring what I wanted would have saved the small amount of love that was left.
I was so wrong. About everything.
One of the waiters brings me my usual glass of wine, almost full to the brim: just how I like it. I hate when they give you a half-filled glass. What’s the point? Etiquette? Good manners? So that people don’t assume you’re an alcoholic? Because wine is supposed to be sipped at? Maybe when you’re only on your first or second date, like the couple sitting to my left; or maybe when you can’t handle your alcohol, like the woman sitting at the table across from me, with a glass of water sitting next to her wine.
When you’re a thirty-eight-year-old woman and you’re alone, with only a cat for company – a female cat, at that – you don’t have much choice. You drink the entire glass of wine in one gulp, then you order another. And, come on, it’s wine! It’s not like it’s one of those colourful cocktails Anya makes me drink.
I take a sip of my wine – or ten sips – and pick up the menu. I could recite the whole thing by heart, but I like to flick through the options, take my time; delay the moment I have to go back home alone. I usually have a book with me, but the one I’m currently reading is…er…let’s say it’s a little too hot to read in public. There are some chapters that are better read in the solitary darkness of your bedroom. I would’ve brought another, but I don’t like to read more than one book at once. I prefer to finish the one I’ve got before throwing myself into a new story. Sometimes it takes me a few days to recover from a novel before I pick up another one – sometimes it takes me a whole week. That’s what happens when I find something that flips my heart upside-down; but it’s been a while now since that happened to me.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asks, reappearing at my table.
�
��Oh, yes. I’ll have the salmon with Guinness soda bread, then…the steak sandwich special.”
“Anything else?”
“No, I think that’ll be enough.”
I pass him the menu and he disappears towards the kitchen door. I relax into my seat and take another sip of my quickly-diminishing glass of wine.
I turn my gaze out the window and towards the door to the restaurant at the very moment it swings open. If I had a whole bottle of wine on my table, I’d have whacked myself over the head with it to knock myself out. Anything to drown out the scene playing out before my eyes.
Steven has just walked in, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of his fiancée, Terry. My eyes dart around, looking for another door – a way of escaping before he sees me, sitting in a restaurant on my own on a Friday night. But it’s too late: he notices me as he lovingly removes his girlfriend’s jacket from her shoulders.
A wave of bitterness and regret laps at my stomach, so strong that tears being to spring to my eyes. I try to resist, not to crumble in on myself. I won’t let myself cry in front of him, to unmask the betrayed, abandoned wife I am – but it’s too late. The pain has come back, and along with it an overwhelming disappointment; the knowledge that I could never be enough for any man.
Steven whispers into his fiancée’s ear and she turns towards me. He kisses her on the cheek, then weaves his way over to my table; but before I collapse in front of everyone, bursting into tears in front of the entire restaurant, two hands are on my shoulders, spinning me around. When his mouth presses delicately against mine, my tears and all my remorse miraculously disappear. I close my eyes and lose myself in his hot breath.
Niall
I park in the road and switch off the engine, ignoring my daughter’s protests.
“You promised,” I remind her.
She scoffs and throws open the door. “Fine. Let’s go and have this stupid dinner.”
She climbs out of the car, slamming the door behind her. I take a moment to remind myself that I can do this, before joining her in the street. She follows me, dragging her heels along the pavement, as I gesture at her to hurry up. We’re twenty minutes late for our booking, and I don’t want them to give away our table.
We stayed out shopping a little later than planned, but it was the first time we’ve done something together, and I didn’t want to rush her as she chose the new colour of her bedroom. Red, in case you were wondering. Not a nice, bright red, but a darker, more intense shade, which makes you think of destruction. Of the apocalypse. I didn’t say a word; I promised her that she could do whatever she wanted to that room – apart from tear it down – so I kept quiet. She seemed relaxed, almost as if she was having fun with me. She also picked out a desk, and said she’d think about a bookshelf. I have no idea whether or not she likes reading, but I didn’t want to bombard her with questions on our first trip out together. I’ve promised myself to come up with more reasons for us to spend time together – I want to make the most of every moment with her.
I managed to wangle this dinner out of her – which I’m scared she’ll find a way to pay me back for, later. I don’t know why but I have a feeling that, little by little, she’s actually starting to like the idea of coming out with me – even though she tries very hard to hide it.
I open the door to the restaurant and she passes me and walks inside, rolling her eyes at my show of gallantry. I’ve always been polite; the fact that I’ve slept with a lot of women doesn’t automatically make me an arsehole, or mean that I treated them with disrespect. I’m a gentleman, especially between the sheets. No one has ever said otherwise.
A waiter comes to greet us as I’m looking for somewhere to shake the rain from my leather jacket. My daughter stands there, sullen, her red checked shirt soaked through.
“Kerry,” I tell him. “I made a booking this morning, but we’re a little late.”
“I’ll go and check on your table right away,” he says, scurrying off into the room.
“It’s a nice place. I’ve been here a few times. The food is amazing, and Grandma said that the service is always good, too.” I’m trying to make conversation, but Skylar doesn’t do small talk. I fall quiet, thinking about something I can talk about at dinner that will spark her interest.
I glance around the room; they’re pretty full tonight – well, I guess it is Friday – when my gaze lands on the last person I should see here. But she was also, somehow, the only person I really want to bump into.
“Oh, Jesus,” my daughter says as she follows my gaze. “Is she eating on her own?” she asks, giving voice to my own doubts.
I look towards her again, trying to work out whether she’s here with someone, but I only see one glass of wine and a table set for one.
“Wow,” she says, nodding. “That’s badass.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you kidding, Kerry? She’s having dinner on her own, on a Friday night, in a restaurant full of people – people she knows will gossip about her tomorrow morning. That takes balls.”
I hadn’t thought of it like that. I don’t think there’s anything weird about it.
“I told you she was alright.”
“Yeah, you did,” I agree, smiling, before turning my gaze back to her. This time, I notice her drawn expression, the shock on her face. Following her eyes, I see that idiot Steven Hill helping a woman take her jacket off. I imagine it’s his latest conquest – who, by the looks of it, is about half his age.
“What an arsehole,” I say, capturing my daughter’s attention.
“Who?” she asks, suddenly interested.
“That guy over there,” I say, nodding subtly towards him. “Her ex-husband.”
“I don’t like him. He looks like a dickhead.”
“Couldn’t have said it better, myself. But don’t say that word, please. Even though you’re right.”
“Oh, no,” Skylar says. “He’s heading towards her.”
I look back at Jordan, who seems as if she’s about to collapse onto the table, then look at my daughter.
“Go on. What are you waiting for?”
I move quickly, trying to reach the table before Steven does. I approach her from behind, grabbing her shoulders. She just about has time to work out who I am before my mouth is pressed against hers.
Jordan lets me kiss her, weave my fingers into her hair. She lets me stroke the back of her neck, breathe her in, and taste her bitter tears with my tongue.
“A woman like you should never be left alone,” I tell her, when I pull away from her lips, my heart heavy.
She flashes me a small smile, her eyes shining with gratitude.
I straighten up to see Steven Hill standing next to the table, an expression plastered across his face that tells me our kiss didn’t go down too well.
“Do you mind if we sit with you?” I turn back to her.
“We?”
I gesture towards my daughter, standing at the entrance.
“Oh my God, you’re with your daughter.” She tries unsuccessfully to compose herself.
“Relax, she doesn’t mind.”
Jordan sighs.
“Just one dinner, Jordan. My daughter will be here. What do you think is going to happen?”
“Well, you’ve kissed me in front of the whole restaurant,” she says, pretending to be annoyed about it. But her glowing cheeks give her away.
I gesture at Skylar to join us, as Jordan’s hand rests on top of mine, on the table.
I look back at her.
“Thank you.”
Her deep, clear eyes grow suddenly deeper.
“I really wasn’t in the mood to talk to him tonight.”
My daughter appears at the table.
“What about us? Are you in the mood to talk to us?”
“I’d really like that.”
Niall
Jordan immediately asks the waiter to take our order. She’s already ordered, but kindly asks if all our meals could be served together.
“I hate it when someone has to wait and everyone else already has their food,” she says, laying a napkin over her lap. “It’s rude.”
“Well, thanks for thinking of us.”
She waves my gratitude away, before grabbing her nearly-empty glass. I nod at the waiter to come over, and ask him for a bottle.
“Oh, why not?” she says, lifting her hands in defeat. “I walked here. I’m sure I’ll be able to get home okay. I’ve lived here my whole life.”
I laugh, and my daughter smiles next to me. I can tell that she likes Jordan being here.
I was worried about sitting with her – but not because of that stupid agreement, or what anyone else might think. I just didn’t want Skylar to think that I didn’t want to be alone with her.
When Jordan gets up to go to the toilet, I ask her.
“Why would I care?”
“Because this evening was supposed to be for us.”
“I don’t mind her.”
“Well, I’m glad you don’t hate everything.”
“I don’t hate everything – just the people who piss me off.”
“Such as your dad.”
“You’re one of those people, yes.”
I take it on the chin and carry on.
“You don’t think I did this so that we’re not alone together, do you?”
My daughter dips a fried prawn into her garlic sauce, then looks at me.
“I think you did a nice thing, tonight.”
“S-seriously?” I need reassurance. I had prepared myself for a flurry of insults.
“He keeps looking back over here.”
“He does?”
“That kiss obviously didn’t go down well with him.”
“Fucking bastard.”
“Nice language, Kerry.”
“And you shouldn’t repeat it.”
She rolls her eyes as she chews her prawn, then continues. “You can tell he’s a dick.”
“Really?”
She nods, dipping another prawn into the sauce. My spicy chicken wings, on the other hand, are wilting away in front of me, waiting.