Love, Unscripted

by Owen Nicholls

  “No, please,” I patronize, stretching out the word in another attempt to inflict pain, “tell me all about my emotional breakdown.”

  If she bites her lip any more, there’ll be blood.

  “So the last few months you’ve been fine, yeah? No problems at all with us?”

  “I was happy,” I mumble.

  She very nearly hits the roof, causing me to swerve a little. I get a honk for my driving.

  “Happy! That was you being happy. I’d hate to see you miserable, Nick. Moping around all day. Never doing anything. Never making plans. If I strapped a satnav to you for the last month we were together, I’d have seen a straight line from our house to the cinema, the cinema to our house. There’s more to life, you know.”

  “What about you?” I yell back. “You were pretty bloody miserable too those last few months.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry that my parents’ breakup left me a bit glum.”

  I’d forgotten that Ellie is the queen of sarcasm.

  “You could have tried talking to me about it.”

  She shakes her head.

  “Believe me, I tried. But recently—and I do swear this is only recently, Nick—any offer of comfort from you is just like your ten percent rule, completely full of shit.”

  A wanker in a white Audi flies up behind me and flashes his full beams. I pull into the slow lane and switch off the music so we can spend the rest of the journey in silence, bar the dull hum of the M25.

  * * *

  —

  I PARK UP. We unload the car. I take one suitcase, she takes the other. We wait for the bus alongside a group on a stag do. If I had to guess, I’d say Magaluf. The one in the mankini must be the groom-to-be. I wonder as to their reaction if I were to just break down sobbing, begging for Ellie not to go.

  I pray to God they don’t notice us, and for once my prayer is answered.

  * * *

  —

  “YOU GOT ME here on time,” Ellie says.

  “It’s one of the few things I’m good at.”

  For some reason known only to airport staff, once we’re in the terminal, our car fight is forgotten. It’s as if the glow of the departures board has a calming effect. Or perhaps it’s the realization that we are moments away from being three thousand miles apart.

  “We’ve time to spare if you want to grab some tobacco at the duty-free,” she says with a slightly smug Sherlock look about her.

  “How did you know?”

  “That you were smoking again? Just a hunch. Confirmed by your last sentence.”

  I forgot about that trick. She’s so good at that trick.

  “Do you know if your date smokes? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry. Please. Forget I said it.”

  She’s flustered, and Ellie rarely flusters. This does not bode well for either one of us keeping it together.

  “You gonna watch the plane take off?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Not gonna run down the gangway knocking over security guards, are you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good. Because after 9/11 they will just shoot you.”

  I smile as she takes her case from me.

  “Well, Nick Marcet.”

  “Ellie Brown.”

  We both have the same wet eyes and crack in our voices.

  “Oh shit. I nearly forgot,” she says as she swallows the emotion and reaches into her pocket to pull out another CD-R. This one is labeled A FRESH OUTLOOK.

  She continues, “These are songs you haven’t heard before. New songs. New bands. Unless of course you’ve discovered them in the last two months, in which case, well, here’s a CD of some bands you recently discovered.” Her voice goes higher and higher as the tears stroll down her face.

  “Thanks,” I say, wiping snot across my sleeve. “Any standouts?”

  “I think you’ll like Kishi Bashi. He’s a lot of fun.”

  We’re both barely intelligible to other human beings, but we understand each other’s every word.

  “Kishi Bashi, right,” I say.

  “Yeah, he has an album, 151a. It’s really good.”

  “I’ll check it out if I”—I hold up the CD as a prop; it’s already wet with salty splashback—“like the song on here.”

  To anyone watching us it would look as though one of us is dying. Maybe even both of us.

  “Sack off your date and come with me,” she says.

  “You know I don’t like disappointing people,” I reply.

  “Exactly,” she says, and we both laugh through the mucus.

  She throws her arms around me. I close my eyes and I am no more.

  When I finally open them, she’s gone.

  It could have been so different.

  When it came to life’s surprises—the ones delivered on an insignificant Tuesday when your guard was down—both the Boy and the Girl would find themselves wanting. The Boy would do his best to muddle through them but fail to give them the respect they deserved. The Girl would grow heavy with the weight of them, unwilling, and often unable, to share the load.

  It started with a text.

  Nick was standing in line at his second favorite cinema in Leicester Square when his phone buzzed. Rather than wait for Ellie and queue together, he’d made the call to get their seats, letting her know she could find him later. It was a move Ellie found increasingly irritating.

  The text read, I’m late. Which seemed to Nick an oddly literal thing for her to write, considering he could tell the time and she wasn’t where she’d said she’d be.

  He wrote back, I know. It starts in 5. I’m not missing the start. I missed the start of Meet Joe Black and didn’t understand why Brad Pitt was being so weird.

  Immediately she replied with You tell me that every time you think I’m going to be late. And I don’t mean I’m late. I mean I’M LATE. Can you meet me at the Costa on the corner?

  * * *

  —

  FIVE MINUTES LATER, they were sitting in the corner of the coffee shop, hushed voices and hunched shoulders over two gargantuan Americanos.

  “How late?” Nick asked, burning his lip on his drink.

  “Over two weeks.”

  Ellie alternated between chewing on the corner of the nail on her left little finger and the one on the right. Nick was trying his best not to display his excitement bubbling under the surface.

  “It could be stress,” he said. “I’ve heard stress can delay a period, and work has been tough for you recently. Quite a few late nights.”

  She shot him a death stare and he knew what was coming.

  “Work hasn’t been tough. And I’ve worked late once in the last fortnight. If you want to have a conversation about my job, we can, but please can we sort the possible pregnancy thing first?”

  Nick raised both hands in surrender, sipped at his coffee, and burned himself again.

  “Just let it cool!” Ellie yelled loud enough for the other customers to turn and look at them.

  Once the stares had faded, Nick put his hand over hers and whispered, “I’ll go get a test. You can do it in the ladies’.”

  Ellie took a deep breath and put her other hand on top of his, making a hand sandwich. Then she removed both hands and tore at her cuticle with her teeth.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  —

  ALONE IN THE corner shop, Nick let his mind wander. What did it mean if she was pregnant? Would he propose? Would it be a boy or a girl? Would it have her skin and his ears? Having never seen Star Wars, would Ellie cotton on if he tried to name the baby Leia or Han?

  The possibility of being a father wasn’t something Nick had considered. He and Ellie had been together two years and he was certain that she was the fabled “One” he’d been looking f
or all this time. But a dad. Was he ready?

  His best friend Seb was. He’d been in his midtwenties when he and Tracy got pregnant with Sally, now two. They hadn’t batted an eyelid. Just got on with it. And sure, Nick thought, Seb wasn’t quite as much fun as he used to be. He needed a pass to get out of an evening, and had knocked the drugs and booze on the head, but there was no doubt he was more content with life. Even if his lack of sleep left him as tightly wound as a miniature Slinky.

  Nick found the medicine aisle and scanned the shelves for a pregnancy test. Each one claimed to be “99% accurate.” He’d know soon enough. He picked up one that had 50 percent off, reasoning that if they were all pretty much infallible he might as well save some pennies now.

  He counted out change and handed it over at the counter with a proud grin.

  * * *

  —

  ELLIE STILL HADN’T touched her coffee. She felt bad for shouting at Nick but was glad he wasn’t there now. She needed time to think. Time to get her head together.

  In this together head she compiled a list of pros and cons.

  Pros. I love Nick. He’d make a great dad. Someday.

  The cons list was longer. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I ever will be. Nick’s definitely not ready. Despite what I’ve just told him, work is stressful. But I love my job. This could change all that. We can’t afford it. At all. London with a kid? No way. I’m not ready. I’m not ready.

  She repeated this last phrase to herself as he reentered the café. And that was when she saw his elation, that happy nervousness that sometimes defined him. She knew she’d have to act fast before he got too carried away, before he started to imagine this perfect family life that they’d never be able to live up to. He wouldn’t be capable of imagining the sleepless nights, the fights that came with the exhaustion, the anxiety she was convinced he’d suffer trying to make everything “just so” when a child was the epitome of volatility.

  Instead, he’d fixate on holding his child for the first time. The first steps. Taking it to their first cinema trip.

  She hated this role. Having to be the unromantic, level- headed one. The killjoy.

  “Here you are,” Nick said cheerily.

  “Nick.” She matched his eyeline and even moved her head to make sure he couldn’t break contact. “Before I do this. If it comes back positive, that doesn’t mean we’re having a kid. It just means we have some stuff to think about. And a pretty big decision to make. You okay with that?”

  Nick nodded, but if you asked him honestly, he’d admit he shouldn’t have.

  * * *

  —

  THE WALK-IN CLINIC was packed with the ailing and the infirm. The fact that it was a Sunday in Soho only made things worse, with the inclusion of those who had partied much too hard the night before. The thirty or so little plastic chairs—alternating red and blue—were all taken, so Ellie and Nick joined the perimeter of the great unseated.

  The twenty-minute queue to get an appointment at some time in the next three hours had done little to help their mood. Their silent walk to the clinic, once the little plastic stick had confirmed Ellie’s fears and Nick’s hopes, was looming large. Ellie had decided it best to consult a medical expert to find out their options straightaway. The fact that this was not a conversation had riled Nick to the point of complete dead air.

  Now he pondered whether to ask Ellie if she’d like to play their fictional casting game, in which they selected members of the public to play shitter versions of famous characters, either from films, books, or history.

  It felt a little too much like he would be trying to distract himself for the benefit of himself, so he kept quiet.

  “Crap Gordon Gekko just walked in,” Ellie said, with a half-smile.

  The feeling of relief washed over Nick like a wave.

  “Did you see Huw Edwards’s much worse brother earlier?” he replied, safe in the knowledge he was definitely allowed to join in.

  “I think that actually was Huw Edwards.”

  “Oh. Christ. Either the BBC News makeup department is worth every penny of the license fee, or he’s in a bad way.”

  Ellie made a “yeesh” face.

  “How long did she say it would be?” Nick asked.

  “At least an hour. If you want, you could go for a wander. I’ll be okay.”

  “It’s cool. I’m good here.”

  He took her hand and scanned the room for another Shit Celebrity™ as a thirty-year-old Mick Jagger wannabe stepped out of the gents’.

  “That one’s too easy,” Ellie said.

  Their attention quickly moved to a young couple, younger than them, with a baby girl in their arms. Nick and Ellie could hear the infant wheezing from across the room, and variants of the same thought went through their minds, and those of countless others in the waiting room.

  Please, let her be okay.

  That thought, however, hadn’t made its way into the brain of a middle-aged City boy wearing chinos and a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, who, when he saw the frightened parents take their rightful place ahead of him, loudly complained that he’d been waiting for ages.

  Ellie was in no mood for this.

  “Wind your neck in,” she snapped, much to the man’s displeasure and the surprise of Nick, who had always made it his life’s mission to avoid confrontation of any sort.

  “What did you say?” came the angry reply, the man sitting up and forward for the first time, after spending most of his time slouched with his legs wide open, as if his crotch needed to see all the world had to offer.

  “You heard her.” A booming male voice came from behind them. “And while you’re at it, you can stand up too. You’ve been in that chair all morning, huffing and puffing every time someone gets seen before you. There’s elderly people and pregnant women who have been too polite to say anything. I’m not that polite.”

  Nick and Ellie looked with awe as the hero of the hour hovered over the City boy, making it abundantly clear that if he didn’t stand now he wouldn’t be able to later.

  Meekly, but with a pissy lament of “This country,” the villain moved and took his place in the corner of the room. Ellie and the hero exchanged complimentary nods as an octogenarian took the offer of the seat and a smattering of applause filled the room.

  “Where did that come from? Wind your neck in?” Nick whispered, grinning.

  “Weeeeell,” Ellie replied, “the guy was a prick.”

  Nick reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers in hers.

  “Our baby is giving you superpowers.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head before throwing his hand off and storming out. City boy piped up again as Nick followed her out. Nick pretended he didn’t hear him.

  * * *

  —

  OUTSIDE IN THE wet spring air there was five feet between them but much more distance. His apologies hadn’t been accepted and neither had her requests to be left alone. So now they stood in a standoff on either side of the double doors as patients entered and exited the building.

  Eventually, after a lungful of calming cool air, she stepped toward him.

  “Nick. I don’t want to have a baby with you.”

  He didn’t respond and she stood her ground. She knew this scenario and well understood that the more she said, the more he’d have to work with and the more he could come back on. As cruel as the words might sound without a follow-up, it was the best way forward.

  Eventually he responded. “Ever?”

  Ellie looked at him warmly and put her arms around his back, drawing him in.

  “Just not now.”

  It was his turn to pull away, to break their connection, and she could see by his expression that he had an angle ready. She waited patiently for the bus to hit.

  “Okay. I get that right now might not be
the best time. But this has happened now. The last thing I’m being is all sanctity-of-life, I get that it’s just a few cells on from being nothing, but…but it isn’t nothing.”

  “I’m not getting into a debate about what it is and what it isn’t. This isn’t something I’m taking lightly. Nobody does. Nobody wants to have an—”

  “What about Gabby?”

  Ellie rubbed her temples, more to access some well of strength than anything else.

  “What about Gabby?”

  “You know she and Andrew have been trying…”

  “Jesus, Nick. Are you kidding?”

  “They could give it a great home.”

  She felt like screaming. She felt like hitting him. There was an anger inside her she hadn’t experienced before. A compelling desire to rip him apart and rip apart anyone else who had the audacity to presume to tell her what to do at this precise moment. Her blood flew around her veins and she could feel her forehead tightening.

  Breathe, she told herself. Breathe and count.

  In her head, she counted back from ten thousand. It was a technique she’d learned in counseling as a child. Nine times out of ten it worked, and her senses soon returned, her pulse slowed.

  “I’m going back in now,” she said, composed. “I’ll talk to the doctor about what the next stages are. If you want to join me, you can.”

  Her offer was genuine but came with no physical placation. No hand on his. No soft, gentle stroke of an arm. Nick watched her walk back inside and berated himself privately, unsure of how he’d let his intentions be so misunderstood.

  * * *

  —

  THE JUNIOR PHYSICIAN’S name badge said DR. HANNAH SWIFT, and she had lived up to her surname in the taking of Ellie’s information. Blood pressure (a little high but nothing to worry about), weight, height, family history. She’d asked Ellie to pee on a stick not dissimilar to the one she’d taken into the Costa coffee loo, and Ellie had obliged.