I finish the last of my beer. ‘When I get back from the gents, how about a final pint at The Phoenix so that you shut the hell up?’
He signals a thumbs-up and I go off in search of the loo. I approach the counter and am about to ask when I look across and see Anna sitting alone at the bar. She is watching the band and her fingers tap along to the music. Of course she would be here, in a bar pitched at the quirkier end of Ashford clientele, and I wonder if my subconscious knew this all along.
It’s been sixteen years since I first saw her, but every time is like the first.
She is dressed in a short black dress with her hair pinned so that it falls down her back. She wears fancy earrings and looks far too well dressed for a hipster bar in Ashford.
My voice would never carry above the music so I reach out and touch her shoulder. She turns and her entire face smiles.
‘Nick, hey!’
It’s the first time we’ve spoken since those messages after I stayed at hers. Three months, perhaps. In that time, I’ve imagined her to be angry, so it’s disconcerting when she jumps down and plants a friendly kiss on my cheek.
‘You look great,’ I say without thinking.
‘Thanks.’ She looks me up and down. ‘Would never imagine you in a place like this,’ she shouts, cupping the words to shield them from a wailing guitar.
I lean into her ear and notice new piercings around the edge. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve come for the music.’
She puts her fingers in her ears and shakes her head. Her ring finger is still bare. There is something on every finger but that one.
‘What are you doing here then?’ I shout.
Anna looks at me then down at her drink, as if working out what to say. I’m still working out why she’s not upset.
She leans in and I catch a hint of her scent. ‘Actually, I’m on a date.’ Then she smiles at someone behind me, waiting in the wings.
He is tall and slim with glasses and good hair. Handsome. He smiles politely then mouths Ready? at Anna, who nods and steps towards him. I watch him take her jacket and hold it open for her. Definitely not a first date.
Now I know why she was so pleased to see me, and I look for a trace of smugness in her expression. She gives a friendly smile, says, ‘Good to see you, Nick’, and then he puts his arm around her and they walk out.
She could not have timed it better. It felt like being beaten in a cup final in the closing minute of extra time, when there isn’t a damn thing you can do but have another drink.
I walk back to the table. ‘Let’s go,’ I say, picking up my coat.
‘Phoenix?’ says Daz, pushing back his chair.
‘You bet.’
A Few Weeks Later
We are hanging wallpaper in the soon-to-be nursery. Or I’m attempting to hang wallpaper while Laura stands in the doorway, telling me what to do.
‘I think you’re getting it wonky,’ she says, cocking her head to one side and narrowing her eyes.
I’m at the top of a stepladder, my arms outstretched against the wall, and I’m dying for a beer. ‘Why not tell me how to fix it? I’ll do it however you want, just please make up your mind.’
‘I think you need to raise the left side by about a millimetre.’
‘How much?’ My arms feel like they’re going to drop off.
‘A millimetre.’
‘I hope you mean a centimetre, because if you’re putting me through this for what is effectively the width of the tip of a pencil, I’ll throw the roll out the window.’
‘Sorry, yes. A centimetre. Or maybe half.’
‘Right.’ I bite my lip and raise the left side hardly at all.
‘Perfect.’ She claps her hands. ‘Beer?’
When we bought the house, I went to B&Q and got a drill and a few power tools the sales assistant said I would need. The drill came in reasonably handy when we moved in and transformed the house into the IKEA catalogue, but ever since, it’s sat in its case on the shelf in the shed along with the other bits. We just seem to prop pictures now.
I brush the paper on to the wall, taking care to smooth out any bubbles. I enjoy this part, when my arms are free and I can work quickly and methodically. When there is nobody to tell me I’m doing it wrong.
Laura comes back in and hands me a beer, and I sit on the floorboards with my back against the wall and snap the ring-pull. It makes a satisfying tcht and then my thirst is quenched.
I feel a surge of pleasure as I look up at my handiwork. One wall done. Paul Mendoza would be proud. ‘Where else did you want it?’
Laura points at the alcove. ‘There. We’ll paint the rest a pale grey. I’m just deciding on the samples.’
I nod at the strips of brightly coloured owls and birds littering the floor. ‘You’ve got another roll, right?’
Laura puts her thumb to her mouth. ‘No. Just the one.’
‘You’re kidding? There’s nowhere near enough. I thought you’d said you’d measured it?’
‘I did. It’s a ten-metre roll and the total wall area comes to just over nine.’
I shake my head, staggered by her stupidity. ‘You always need more for wastage. Unless you want the alcove done with tiny remnants that don’t match up.’
‘Oh. Well, no. Obviously I don’t want that.’ She shrugs. ‘We’ll just have to go back and get another roll.’
‘Doesn’t work like that, Laura. You need to check it’s from the same batch or the pattern might sit differently.’ I take a smug swig of beer.
She puts one hand on her hip and the other rubs her bump. ‘Look at you. One YouTube tutorial and you’re an expert.’
I kick at the curling remnants on the floor. ‘You’d better go and get another roll now. Take a note of the batch number. I don’t want to have to set up again for that tiny section of wall. It’ll waste another Saturday.’
‘Didn’t realise decorating your baby’s room was such a chore.’
I take a deep breath. ‘It’s not a chore. But I’ll have to paint it soon, because you said you want the fumes gone by the time it’s born just in case they cause asthma, and we still need to order carpet. I work all week, remember? I’d like to manage the time wisely.’
‘Can’t we go together? Clean yourself up and carry on with it later. We can get lunch in the café upstairs?’
I had already spent countless hours in the baby department at John Lewis, nodding with my hands in my pockets while Laura pointed at cots and debated the differences between the shapes of plastic baby baths. She stood at the soap shelf and unscrewed the cap on every bottle, taking a sniff before thrusting it under my nose. I’d murmur in approval or make a face, then she’d replace the cap and turn over each bottle to study the ingredients, googling the scientific names to check whether any of them meant palm oil, which apparently was very bad.
I finish my beer and shake my head. ‘I’d rather not. You go and I’ll clean up, ready for round two. Maybe grab some lunch from the drive-thru?’
She gives a slow nod. ‘If that’s what you want.’ Her phone beeps as she walks out and there’s the sound of the bathroom door shutting. I hear her phone start to ring and the sound of her voice carries through the crack under the door.
‘Hey, babe. How was the trip? … I bet … It looked amazing. Did you ride on a gondola? … Ha, brilliant … Eh? … Oh my God, that’s wonderful! … One knee? … Perfect … Send me a pic of the rock! … You must be glowing … No, I’m definitely not glowing … Sick as a horse … Belly getting huge … Never mind … Listen, hun, I’ve got to go, but send me that photo, yeah? … So happy for you … Yep, let’s celebrate with the girls next weekend … Okay, got to go … Byeeee.’
She stays in the bathroom a while, then I hear the toilet flushing and the tap.
I begin to gather the scraps of paper and stuff them into the bin bag. When I turn, Laura is in the doorway, leaning against the frame.
‘Kate just rang,’ she says. ‘Tom proposed while they were in Italy. They’re getti
ng married.’
I raise my eyebrows, feigning surprise. ‘Good for them.’
She looks out the window and nods. I carry on clearing the floor. I know exactly what’s coming and consider climbing into the bin bag and throwing myself out.
‘Funny,’ she says, her eyes distant. ‘I should be jumping for joy when a best mate gets engaged to the love of her life. But all I can think is that they’ve been together for two years. And he’s already popped the question. But then, two years is a perfectly reasonable length of time to get to know someone, isn’t it?’
I grab the dustpan and brush from the side and start wiping at imaginary dust. ‘I guess it means different things to different people.’
‘Two years is about normal. Not like eight years, though. Eight years should be plenty.’
I straighten my back and sigh. ‘It’s too hot. I need another beer.’
Laura moves to one side as I walk towards her, and we pass without touching. I jog downstairs and into the kitchen, where I take a beer from the fridge. There is already a six-pack in the door, but I grab a few from the crate on the floor and make room for those too.
I look through the open window into the garden. The sounds of neighbouring children on a trampoline filter through. At the end is the fence panel with the hole that I’ve still not got round to fixing, despite it dropping into conversation at least once a week.
Laura appears at the door.
‘Are we going to talk about the fact you’re developing a drinking problem?’ she says as I take a long sip.
‘It’s a heatwave, okay? I’m doing DIY. I think it’s allowed.’
‘So what’s the excuse every evening? Or when you walk in from the train each day and your breath stinks of beer?’
I sigh. She’s right. I know she is right. I am getting worse. But I also know that it’s not the drinking she’s bothered about.
‘You’re never going to marry me, are you?’ She says it quietly and with a tone that betrays what we both know, that she already has the answer.
I turn to face her. She looks at her hands and I remember when someone else asked me this question, once in another life. When I told myself I was sure.
‘It doesn’t mean for me what it means for you,’ I say.
She folds her arms tightly across her chest. ‘But in that case, what difference does it make if you sign a piece of paper? We own a house together, we’re having a baby. Surely we’re committed? Aren’t we, Nick?’
‘Exactly. So why does it matter if we’re married?’
She pulls at the hem of her top. ‘It just does, somehow.’
I drain the can. ‘I don’t expect you to understand. You were very lucky with your 2.4 children upbringing.’
‘Please don’t make fun of my family.’
‘I’m not,’ I say. ‘It’s a beautiful thing, the example you were set. But it’s very different to mine. Listen.’ I step forward and take her by the shoulders. ‘I’m here, I’m wallpapering the room, I’m in a relationship with you. Why do we need a party to say that out loud?’
She looks up, a spark of hope in her face. ‘Is it the actual wedding day? Because we can just go to the registry office, if that’s what you want. I don’t need a crowd.’
I feel a stab of conscience as I realise I’m about to stamp on her again. But I’m getting tired of repeating myself. She knows what I want, and yet it’s like she wants me to hurt her again and again. ‘It’s not just that.’
Laura throws up her hands in frustration.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s say you convinced me. Imagine that after years of begging me to ask you, I finally did. Would you really be happy, knowing the only reason I asked you to marry me was so you’d stop going on about it? And would you really want me to do something that I didn’t want to do?’
Laura shakes herself free from my hands and looks at me, her eyes moving from one side of my face to the other. I have seen that look before, on her and other people. They are looking for answers and words that I’m not sure I have within myself to give.
Somewhere in another garden, a happy child screams.
A Few Weeks Earlier
I don’t know what took me to her door, but five pints of beer and a barrel of hurt pride could change the world.
I’d left Daz after our final drink at The Phoenix. He was at that tricky point of either getting emotional or balling his hands into fists, and I wasn’t in a fit state to play wingman to either. I got him into a taxi and gave the driver a twenty.
I stood outside her house in the corner of the square and looked at the church clock. It was after midnight, forty-five minutes since she’d left the bar. Her windows were dark and it seemed like there was nobody home, but perhaps the lights were off for a reason.
I kicked a loose cobble on the ground.
I took out my vape and had a quick drag. I needed soothing and this was the fastest route, a chemical hit straight into the bloodstream.
It had only been a few weeks, but they were no match for the fags. Not just in terms of the buzz. Cigarettes at least have the looks and allure of a glamorous past, a hint at something rebellious and dangerous beneath the skin. James Dean wouldn’t have posed with a vape. It felt sad and pathetic, chewing on a piece of plastic. Like an addict with no control.
I did a few circuits round the cobbled square, throwing a sideways glance at her windows when I passed in case I detected movement.
When I was halfway through my fifth lap, a figure stepped out from a side street and I knew instantly it was Anna.
I stumbled and quickened my step. She seemed to pause and throw a halfway glance over her shoulder before picking up her pace, then I realised how it looked, how she thought I was a danger.
This filled me with dread and I heard a drunken Hey! issuing from my mouth. At this, she left the path and pushed through the churchyard gate before starting to run. She must have been trying a short cut.
‘Hey,’ I said, running after her. ‘Hey, stop! Anna!’
She looked over her shoulder at the sound of her name, scared. When she saw me, she stopped and steadied herself against the church wall, closing her eyes and catching her breath.
‘My God,’ she said, her hand on her heart. ‘You scared me to death.’
‘It’s just me,’ I said.
‘What the hell are you playing at?’
‘What the hell am I playing at?’ I drew myself up, puffing all the air I could into my lungs. ‘What the hell is your boyfriend playing at, allowing you to walk home alone at one in the morning?’
‘I’d say you can hardly call him out for being ungentlemanly. Don’t you dare shout and run after a lone woman in the dark.’
‘So he is your boyfriend?’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Piss off.’
‘You are still angry at me then.’
She laughed. ‘You don’t want me, but you don’t want anyone else to have me.’
I swallowed. ‘That’s not true.’
‘Really? Why are you here then?’
‘You don’t understand.’ I shoved my hand into my pocket.
‘No, you’re wrong.’ She straightened herself and smoothed down her dress. ‘You sleep in my bed, you tell me you want to be together, that you’ll break it off, then you change your mind and are too much of a coward to put it into words. Typed or spoken. Don’t worry, I understand perfectly.’
‘You think you do, but you don’t.’
She threw up her hands in exasperation. ‘Maybe what you think I think isn’t actually what I think. You realise humans don’t have access to each other’s heads? That’s why they invented language. To tell others what they’re thinking. Try it sometime.’
‘You know how I feel about you.’
She leant back against the church wall and sighed. ‘Two-beer Nick is tender and beautiful and everything I knew he could be. The other is a master in avoidance and speaks in silences, and is a reminder of why this never went anywhere.’ Her voice grew quiet a
nd she looked away. ‘I always thought that was down to religion, but actually, I left my entire life for someone before you. I would have done it again.’
I felt a tightening around my heart, like being slammed with the back of a shovel.
‘It’s sort of perfect, actually,’ she said, smiling to herself. ‘We started in a heatwave, and we ended in one.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
She looked at me, her face soft. ‘That’s what’s so hard. I know you are. You want to speak the words but don’t know how.’
I rubbed my face with my hands. ‘You get me in a way that no one else does.’
‘But I’m not nineteen any more, Nick. I’m thirty-goddamn-five with a kid. I don’t have years to waste.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, so you said.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Do you know the maddening thing? That time I asked if you’d ever just pick me up and screw me against the wall – I asked whether you would ever do it, because I knew in my heart you never would. Not unless it came from me first. You have no agency. Life just happens to you.’
‘Laura’s pregnant.’
I saw a flash of something across her face, shock or pain or maybe revulsion, and she looked down at her feet. ‘Oh,’ she said.
‘I didn’t know how to tell you without sounding like a dick. Although you thought that anyway.’
‘Congratulations.’
I took a step towards her. The green moss-stained graves took on a strange glow in the orange lamplight. ‘Maybe this is more realistic. Life doesn’t have happy endings, does it?’
Anna glanced up at the church and smiled. ‘I’m starting to realise an end is just the beginning of something else.’
‘You know we’d have driven each other crazy.’
She looked at my face and then down at my body, making a careful study of my features. ‘You often say that,’ she said. ‘Is that really what you think?’
I ran a hand across my head and held it there. ‘Don’t you?’
Another Life Page 28