An Impossible Thing Called Love

by Belinda Missen

‘Surely you’ve got some friends there you can mingle with? What’s the worst she could do?’

  * * *

  Caroline flopped about on her workout mat, her body shuddering with laughter. Secretly, I hoped it was the small handful of drinks we’d scuttled at the local before sliding in the door of the gym with moments to spare. Experience told me, however, that is was me she was laughing at. Her rosy glow was not just from Mother Mojito, but from Eccentric Emmy and her Shitstorm Life, which had been explained very quickly and through much laughter as we split a plate of ribs.

  ‘I love you,’ she squeaked, pulling herself up into an impossible stretch to copy, before realising nobody wanted a remixed cocktail. She collapsed onto her knees. ‘So, what now?’

  ‘Look, if I can get through tonight without being knifed, I’ll be perfectly happy,’ I said in a loud whisper. The man in front of us swung his head about and glowered at me like an old leathery turtle. I flashed him a grin as he looked away in horror.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s not like you’re dating him, right?’ Caroline’s ankle disappeared somewhere up around her ear. ‘Plus, I’m always here.’

  ‘She has to know, surely? I mean, she caught us on the steps of his house, and there was no way we could have looked innocent.’ I blanched as something pinched in my back. I twisted back the other way and let out a slow, deep breath.

  In the end, I didn’t need to worry. As we settled into the first moments of meditation, Angela’s whine was nowhere to be heard. I felt the anxious flutter float away from somewhere under my ribs. As for her posse, they behaved like I didn’t exist at all. I was left to enjoy the painful stretching of my muscles in peace.

  There was a beautifully soft calm that came with languid movements and tempered breathing. For most of the class, I kept my eyes closed and cycled through the streets of my thoughts. For weeks, it had felt like there was fast moving traffic, blaring horns and tiny fender-benders, shouting drivers, and stop signs. But tonight, there was nothing but my tempered breaths and a friend by my side. If this was what I had to do to get some calm, clearly I needed to do it more often.

  What was the saying – no pain, no gain?

  Chapter 22

  For the first time in what felt like forever, I took myself on a breakfast date. No William, no Heather, just me, one almost destroyed store copy magazine, and a healthy appetite. My favourite café, the one with the cute blue-eyed barista, helped me out with a pot of coffee and a huge plate of breakfast. French toast, grilled banana, decorative flowers that nobody ever eats, and a heavenly dollop of cream. If I didn’t have to work, it would have been the perfect morning. I could’ve toddled right back off to bed to sleep it off, watched a bit of telly and relaxed.

  Except I couldn’t do that. I had to get on in there and process new patients, engage with older ones, who sometimes enjoyed nothing more than telling me chapter seventy of their lift story. Oh, and help open the door, it seemed. With his bag slung over his shoulder and a stack of papers wedged under his arm, William swore at the key as he wriggled it about in the lock.

  ‘Hey you.’ I grabbed at the pile of papers. Almost immediately, he stood a little taller.

  ‘This bloody lock,’ he grumbled. ‘I’m sure there’s some graphite inside somewhere.’

  ‘It’s in my desk. I’ll sort it.’

  He stopped still and looked at me, his pinched faced slipping with relief. He hoisted his bag strap higher up his shoulder. ‘Thank you. How are you? Are you okay?’

  ‘Good.’ I smiled. ‘Great.’

  ‘Really?’ He looked at me suspiciously. ‘How was your night?’

  ‘Excellent. I went out for drinks with a friend, then to the gym.’ I followed William inside the door, watching on as he disarmed the alarm. ‘I understand alcohol and exercise are generally mutually exclusive, but at least Angela wasn’t there.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I heard about your gym habits quite a bit last week.’

  ‘You did?’ I laughed nervously. ‘Why didn’t you mention something sooner?’

  William rolled his eyes. ‘I told you, you don’t need to go to the gym anyway.’

  ‘Because optimal health, good for the body and soul.’

  ‘I can think of a few other things that will help with cardiac health.’ He stepped backwards into the staff room. ‘You’re fit enough.’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor?’ I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘You should be telling me to exercise.’

  ‘Do as I say, not as I do.’ He dismissed with a cheeky laugh and a wave of the hand. ‘You’re chirpy this morning?’

  ‘Like I said, Pilates. Good for the body and the soul.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, you’ve mentioned that a few times.’ His voice was drowned out by the clanging of coffee cups and churn of the kettle.

  Good thing for that cheer, too. After the door lock, and the graphite exploding everywhere when I tried to loosen the lock a little, I was a little bit over it all. Then, as if I needed it, Frankie began calling. That in itself was not a bad thing. I loved talking to her, and I knew I was well overdue for a call, even though I’d been laying low all week. The problem was that she didn’t just call once, she called about ten times in the hour before we closed, and all I could do was watch as my phone lit up like a space rocket every few minutes.

  As I returned from filing patient records, my phone began ringing again. I picked it up with a heavy sigh.

  ‘Sorry, I’ve just finished work for the day,’ I opened.

  ‘Oh, so you still know how to answer your phone, do you?’

  ‘What?’ My eyebrows tripped over each other in confusion.

  ‘I have been trying to get a hold of you all week. No one has heard a damn thing from you, and we’ve been getting worried.’

  ‘You what? Why are you worried? I’m kind of on the other side of the world being busy and working and stuff.’ I grabbed at the waste paper basket. ‘As it is, I’m currently emptying the bin.’

  ‘Exactly. You’re on the other side of the bloody world and you just disappear. It makes it incredibly hard on other people. Think of someone besides yourself for once.’

  ‘Where is this coming from?’ My bottom lip wobbled like jelly. ‘I’ve been busy.’

  ‘And I’ve been busy worrying about you,’ Frankie snapped. ‘God, you can be so selfish when you want.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I squeaked, flabbergasted at this different tone of Frankie’s. ‘It’s just, it’s been busy, and things are happening, and I just … I’ve needed some me time this week.’

  ‘You needed “me time”? We need to know that you’re okay. Mum’s tried ringing you, too, in case you didn’t know.’

  I placed a hand across my eyes and sobbed openly. After everything that had happened this week, I did not need this. I burbled something about not being a child, which only set her off on one of her big sister lectures about how I was absolutely behaving like one, and that they consider my safety in a big city a priority. Because I obviously couldn’t look after myself.

  William peered out of his office, careful not to disturb. As if it would give me a hint of privacy, he shut his office door.

  ‘And what’s this garbage about Craig coming back to Sydney?’

  ‘We broke up.’ I snivelled. ‘I don’t know where he is.’

  ‘I’ll tell you exactly where he is, somewhere between Dubai and Sydney, probably chugging down an in-flight beer and trying to decide what crummy movie to watch. His mum called our mum like the bloody bush telegraph that they are, and it’s been crisis meetings at ten paces. They’re heading out this morning to console themselves over coffee and cake at that dodgy café down the street. I’m surprised the UN hasn’t been summoned yet.’

  ‘It wasn’t all me.’ I blew my nose.

  Frankie huffed and, somewhere in the background, a door closed. ‘Look, I know. It’s never just one person. Just tell me he’s lying about you sleeping with some guy you work with.’

  ‘Wh
at?’ I shrieked.

  ‘You heard me.’

  ‘I have not done anything like that.’

  ‘Alright,’ she said quietly. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Quite frankly, I don’t care if you don’t. I haven’t done anything wrong. I have friends. I love my friends. I love my life here, and I will not sit about waiting for someone to get home at some point before the sun rises.’

  Frankie was silent. A rare occasion, as anyone would agree.

  ‘Well, I’ll just go then,’ she said quietly.

  ‘No, don’t.’ I leant back on my desk. ‘Just, talk to me about life. Not him. What’s done is done. I will fill you in on all the gory details when I’m home next. We’ll make a day of it. Let’s talk about something happier.’

  My mother had started her own impromptu menopause support group. They met once a week to swill wine and whine; about men, about kids, about life, and their aging bodies. Ezra had disappeared into relationship bliss with his girlfriend. He was thriving as a stepfather and had stopped getting himself into trouble with his friends.

  ‘I should call him, shouldn’t I?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, Emmy, you should,’ Frankie said. ‘He would be thrilled. He asked about you the other night at dinner.’

  Dad had taken up boating with one of the neighbours. They’d sunk a small amount of cash into a boat, bought themselves some fishing gear, and disappeared each Saturday morning for what they referred to as ‘Hunter Gatherer Time’. Oh, and Frankie’s baby was baking away nicely.

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘I’m really glad.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘Anyway. Thank you for finally answering. I can tell our parents you aren’t dead.’

  ‘If I were, I’d let you know.’

  ‘Yeah, kind of doesn’t work like that,’ she chuckled.

  ‘Anyway…’ I spun around in time to catch William leaving his office, bag slung over his shoulder and ready to go. ‘I’ve gotta go. I need to lock up.’

  ‘Promise me you’ll do better.’

  ‘I promise I will do better.’ My head lolled about like a dashboard doggie. ‘You sound like Mum.’

  ‘I’m practising!’ she said, with way too much enthusiasm for that to even be considered a joke.

  Eventually, I hung up, but not without a dozen more promises. I did have a few things to post her, I just hadn’t had the chance to post anything on the back of my recent six-day working weeks. I tossed my phone aside and looked up at William, who held out a brochure for an open-top bus tour. I stood and took it from him.

  ‘Doing anything this afternoon?’ he asked.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I thought we might pick up a bit of a bus tour. I know we’ve done one already, but this one comes with audio in sixteen languages.’

  Right now, I could have listed a thousand reasons why that was probably not the best idea ever. A slideshow of images popped into my head. Craig, the picnics that became nit-picking, the arguments, and the breakup. They were followed down the waterslide by William, his wife, and that kiss.

  ‘Really? After the week we’ve both had?’ I asked.

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ he said. ‘Isn’t it what we always do on Saturday afternoons?’

  I groaned. ‘Are you sure? I don’t think that’s a good idea.’

  ‘Why not?’ His eyebrows crowded together as if I’d spoken a second language.

  ‘Because we spend too much time together.’

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ he said disbelievingly. ‘We do this once a week for a few hours at the most.’

  ‘And maybe that’s what was wrong,’ I said. ‘Maybe this is my fault.’

  ‘Maybe what is your fault?’

  ‘Craig flew home this morning.’ I swallowed down the knot in my throat. ‘We broke up.’

  ‘If he can’t handle that, then screw him, he deserves to leave.’

  I glowered at him. This time, despite the fact he’d just thrown my hurt in my face, I refused to get emotional.

  ‘What?’ he asked. ‘There are no lies in that statement.’

  ‘And, what, you’re just gonna slip in and take his place?’

  ‘Why is that such an awful idea to you?’ he asked. ‘We both know it would work.’

  ‘Not right now, it won’t,’ I said. ‘Do you want a list?’

  ‘Sure.’ His hands clapped against his legs. ‘Why not add it to my shit list.’

  ‘It’s not a shit list, William. Think about it. Craig has flown home today, still a little raw, sausage on barbecue style. You are still married. Your wife, no offence, is not someone I want to be on the wrong side of. So, until that’s over for you, and I’ve worked through my own mess, then that door is shut – as it rightfully should be. Right now, I don’t need another boyfriend. I just need a friend.’

  ‘Then fucking hell, Emmy,’ he shouted through laughter, hands tossed above his head, ‘let me be a friend at least. I mean, isn’t that what I’ve always been? Or is that out the window now, too?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem? Let’s go.’

  ‘Fine!’ I shouted, hands slapping against my sides. ‘Fine. I’ll go on your stupid bus tour.’

  ‘Okay. Get your things, I’ll lock up.’

  ‘I’ve got my things.’ I patted my sides down.

  William looked around for the handbag I usually carted everywhere, his brow furrowing when he came up empty. ‘Where?’

  ‘In my dress.’ I bounced on the spot.

  ‘In your dress?’ he asked.

  I thrust my hip out at him. ‘It has pockets.’

  Chapter 23

  Friends. It seemed like such a tame word to use after everything that had happened between us, but it’s exactly what we did. And do you know what changed? Nothing.

  In the weeks that followed, we still went on our Saturday afternoon post-work excursions. We went to art galleries and took in special exhibitions of touring artists. Wesat in Potters Field Park and had picnic lunches made up at short notice of homemade sandwiches, cakes, and a thermos of coffee. We caught a matinee on the West End. The afternoon William argued for his bus tour, I dozed off, nestled up at the very front of the top deck of the bus in afternoon sun that was warm enough to be comfortable, but not hot. William woke me up somewhere by Buckingham Palace and pushed me off the bus.

  I visited him on Sundays when I got bored of housework and listening to Heather and Josh argue about wedding plans. It was either spend time laughing with William or listen to whether fuchsia was out, and navy blue was in, and whether kids were invited or not. I turned up one afternoon to find his shoes spread about by the front door and covered in damp green grass, and the front door wide open. I found him on the sofa in the front room, sound asleep.

  With one arm covering his eyes, and a hand stuffed between his legs, his shoulders rose gently with each breath. He looked so crumpled and comfortable, and the idea of curling up with him all too inviting. It would have been all too easy to do. We could have wriggled about and made room, but I left before I had a chance to act on that thought. I locked the door behind me and returned home.

  Heather was pacing about the kitchen, muttering under her breath, and typing out some rapid-fire text messages. A polite disagreement with Josh about wedding venues became a niggle and, before you could say ‘Do Not Throw Confetti’, he’d taken a walk to calm down and clear his head before they dropped bombs on each other.

  ‘You okay?’ My keys jangled as I dropped them on the table. ‘You look stressed.’

  She clutched at her forehead and paced again. ‘I am so stressed; this bloody wedding. We can’t agree on a damn thing, and we haven’t even had the engagement party yet.’

  ‘I just…’ I thought twice about telling her where I’d been or trying to offer the advice of the recently consciously uncoupled. ‘Do you want to get coffee?’ I asked. ‘Let’s get out of here, away from the magazines and colour swatches, clear your head for a while. Come on.’

>   Reluctantly, and only after the promise of cake, she grabbed a light coat and her keys and followed me out the door.

  Cake turned into a shopping expedition when Heather decided she had to have a coat she saw in a glittering Regent Street window. It was still early enough in the afternoon that we could find a few shops open and, when she was done buying her coat, shirts, and shoes for a business meeting during the week, I forced her onto a cheap and cheerful Thames cruise.

  In the boat’s lower level café, Heather slid a tenner across the counter and scraped up her change. I collected the wobbly, over-heated takeaway cups and followed her back to the top deck. After weeks of saying I would, I was excited to finally be on a cruise, even if it was just a short jaunt to Greenwich and back. That was enough. A sunny Sunday was all the excuse I needed. Thinking ourselves near enough to locals now, we dodged a few tourists and wayward kids, and wrangled the last of the empty seats in the back row. Heather spread her shopping out beside her in the hope that no one would try and join us.

  ‘So.’ I held Heather’s cup while she shook two sugar packets into her coffee. ‘What seems to be the problem?’

  She sighed heavily, her body trying to fold in on itself. ‘I want Sydney, somewhere on the bay. He wants one of those Agatha Christie, everyone-gets-murdered-in-the-end, manor houses outside of London.’

  I pushed my bottom lip out and considered the options. While both venues sounded appealing, one would have more people travelling than the other. Still, it wasn’t my wedding, so it wasn’t my choice. ‘There’s a lot of variables, isn’t there?’ I asked. ‘Aunties, uncles, cousins, kids, parents, grandparents, all coming over here. Whereas, having a wedding in Sydney would mean what?’

  ‘About thirty or forty friends travelling to Sydney, some with their kids.’

  ‘You could do both.’ I sipped on my coffee. ‘If you felt like it. Have the ceremony at home and a party here. I would love to help organise a party here.’

  ‘That’s because you’re a social butterfly.’ She smiled. ‘But I do like that idea. It’s not so bad, is it?’

  I wasn’t sure about the social butterfly thing. I could count my friends on one hand recently. William, Heather, Josh, and Caroline, who was quickly becoming my post-Pilates food and drink buddy.