by John Eider
And so what did she think now about Jemima? Had she any right to judge? Not morally, but Sylvie still had a right to worry for her, to hope she wasn’t hurt. It could happen so easily: a pair who’d worked together for months or years, taken out of the office and suddenly seeing each other in a different light. It had happened quite quickly too, in the minutes they’d been left alone in The Singing Sparrow. But something would happen between the pair, Sylvie now felt certain.
And what of Jasper’s wife? Well, if she’d eyes then she’d know by now that her man was a strayer. So went Sylvie’s logic. If he was wandering now, then he had done so before. His wife would know the game. She would just have to work that bit harder to get his attention back. But Sylvie slumped inside: she might once have told herself such things and believed them, but tonight they sounded only so much cant, and brought her no comfort.
And did the evening’s mysteries stop there?
For not only had Finn not explained why he was so glad to see Jack well, but who was this woman they were headed to meet? So far Sylvie had only heard her referred to in the feminine pronoun, as though her real name were sacred, or in any case unnecessary. Someone previous in Finn’s life. Someone personal. And judging by the sort who caught his eye in the magazines he read in the canteen at lunchtime, Sylvie wondered if this was to be one of those women in tartan miniskirts who played in punk rock bands?
Jack led them back along the road they’d earlier come down – Sylvie was relieved to see the girl no longer waiting at the bus stop – before turning off down other similar streets. These all bore identical houses, photostat moods. Soon though the group arrived at a big house on a corner plot. It had trees along one side and a glazed outbuilding on the other, giving it its own imposing space. It would have been quite exposed though, being passed by cars from four directions.
‘Here we are,’ said Jack, ‘the house of all that is holy.’
Finn was instantly back there. The exterior was unchanged since he had known it. They approached and rang the bell, and it was answered – as he knew it would be – by the lady of the house. Mother, not daughter.
‘My dear boy,’ she said with apparently little surprise, and came onto the outside step to hug Finn. ‘And this must be your friend.’ The woman broke from Finn to take Sylvie’s hands in hers. ‘Hello, my dear. Come on in.’
Jack had been playing on his phone all the way there, Finn had noticed. He had clearly been text-heralding their arrival.
Inside too, the house looked little altered in Finn’s eyes. A new piece of furniture here, a wall repainted there. But still the same phone on the same hall table, the same ornaments on the sill of the window over the stairs.
And down those stairs then came the one they’d travelled there to see. She appeared in sequence, first as a pair of stockinged feet, then woollen skirt, then harlequin tank-top over puff-armed blouse. And finally the beaming face; and a fall of chestnut hair that Sylvie considered only a woman who hadn’t coloured, treated or thinned it since school could have maintained.
The daughter hugged her old ally as her mother had,
‘Finn. I can’t believe you’d just come back like this. And this is your friend?’
‘Sylvie,’ the friend volunteered. ‘We work together.’
‘They’re in town for a conference,’ added Jack. ‘At the Grand, no less.’
‘I’d have thought that place would have been rather distracting?’ she asked Finn. Then turned to Sylvie, ‘I’m Belinda. Come up.’
Chapter 18 – Belinda’s Secrets
It was the hair that transfixed Sylvie… who had shortened her own a few years year ago, and had been growing it back ever since. Finn’s thoughts at that moment were rather different though, for this meeting was the ultimate result of his experiment to visit home. He had made no conscious effort to be there, had not searched for old friends – they had found him. But now he was there, he knew he’d wanted it so badly.
It could have been so different: no one in the area might have recognised him. Jack might have been working away. Belinda might have been on holiday that week… or been gone for half-a-lifetime. It would have been the same difference.
Had any of these things been the case then Finn would still have visited his old streets, soaked up their ambience, and left – possibly for ever – without this meeting occurring. And without knowing what he’d missed.
Finn was taking it all in. This was a house where little had changed except for that which couldn’t be avoided. Whereas her mother had grown into late middle-age, so Belinda had matured, filled out, was nearing her prime. Biology though was harsher than aesthetics, and Finn knew that if she hadn’t children already then she wouldn’t have forever to think about it.
Belinda’s mother had disappeared to leave the young people to their evening. Out of forgotten learnt behaviour, Sylvie slipped her shoes off as she went upstairs.
‘I can’t remember the last time I went up to a friend’s bedroom,’ she whispered to Finn – not since her teens had her friends not had their own flats and houses.
‘It’s exactly the same,’ he answered, less with social awareness than simple amazement.
Belinda ran in and jumped on the bed, to face her guests as they entered. The room was large, the main back bedroom, and scattered with furniture: television cabinet, pot plant, wardrobe, dressing table, clothes rail, bedroom unit serving as a sideboard, and computer desk – at which Finn sat for want of space on the two-seat sofa. The pop posters he half-remembered were gone, replaced by frameless art prints. Yet the room was still in the spirit of those late-teenage bedrooms that become their own small apartment, a true bed-sitting room. At the computer desk however were binders and paperwork, professional-looking and full of numbers. Finn realised that the desk was no video game or social networking hub, but a place of serious work.
Still bouncing as she settled on the large bed – she’d always had a double-bed – Belinda began,
‘You know Finn, I did wonder if we’d ever see you again.’
‘I…’
She continued, ‘I know, I know. It is quite possible to always intend to come back some time… but always tomorrow, eh?’
Finn nodded, but wasn’t sure he had ever intended to come back ‘tomorrow’ or any other day.
‘I always knew you would though, deep down. I always knew you would.’
At this point the door clanked open, and Belinda’s mother entered with a tray of tea things,
‘Oh, Mum, you shouldn’t have.’
‘Don’t be silly, dear. It’s not every day an old friend calls.’ She beamed Finn the broadest of smiles. Mother and daughter then faffed around setting the tea tray on Belinda’s magazine-strewn unit.
‘Well, I’ll leave you young people to your evening,’ the mother said eventually. This left her daughter free to pour and hand out the cups. Not that Belinda let this interrupt her questions,
‘So, Finn, what have you been doing with yourself?’
‘What, since leaving?’
‘Of course since leaving.’
‘Well, I don’t know what to say. I found a flat and a job, and then another job, and then I ended up here.’
‘Honestly, you men.’ She looked to Sylvie momentarily for sisterly understanding. Before looking back at Finn, ‘Is that all you have to say for fifteen years?’
It might have even been longer than that, thought Finn. But he would allow her to shorten the span of separation if it helped her to feel the absence less, or the years passed fewer.
He fumbled, ‘Well, what do you want to know?’
‘Details, anything,’ she asked. ‘Just something of what you were up to.’
Sylvie understood exactly where Belinda was coming from: for she remembered reading in a magazine how women thought in terms of situations, men in terms of acts. Men spoke of what they did, but not the why, when, where, or what they were feeling at the time. As Finn was amply demonstrating.
Chapter 19 �
� Working Histories
Finn was trying, but was in one of those situations where an emotional weight could find no words to express itself, and so remained there in the background, acknowledged by all. He ploughed on as best he could,
‘Okay, well my first job was at a bank, at the counter window. But I found it hard to concentrate on every customer in turn, and you don’t get a minute to yourself. Some staff loved it though, the human contact, the hundred life-stories a day. But back then I needed time to think, and so I moved to the back office. That was fine for a time, it gave me space. But later I did need people around me, so I found a job in Insurance. Working on claims, dealing with customers, you know?’
Belinda didn’t; but Finn continued,
‘Anyway, I’ve moved around the floor a few times, shuffled among teams – it’s how it goes in big offices – until this latest one…’
‘And how long were you in each of these jobs?’
‘Longer than I care to remember.’
‘Oh, don’t say that.’
Finn had noticed before how his self-depreciating humour could upset people, and over time had tried to rein it in. But with all that day’s distraction, he had forgotten his own rule.
Jack helped him out though, saying to Bel,
‘I guess we all feel a little like that after a few years in the workplace.’ He smiled then, as if to say, ‘Don’t worry about Finn, he’s fine’.
Reassured, Belinda continued, ‘And this latest job, that’s the one you’re in town for?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it’s at work where you two met?’ Bel’s eyes flickered then between her visitors.
‘A few jobs before this one, yes,’ answered Sylvie.
Although not a part of the reunion, Sylvie felt herself to be a source of fascination for their hostess, who kept giving her inquisitive looks. And so she settled in, determined to learn all she could from the encounter. She was sat next to Jack on the two-seat sofa, though was relieved to find him making no incursions in her direction.
‘And you moved jobs together?’ continued Bel in her information gathering. ‘That’s so sweet.’
‘Well, it was more an office reorganisation,’ answered Finn, flinching.
‘And what is this new job? It sounds mysterious.’ At this Belinda wore a Nancy Drew expression of excited enquiry.
Sylvie jumped in, ‘Well, we’re not sure we’re going to stay in it.’
Finn turned to Sylvie as much with pleasure as surprise. For all her recent sympathy, he had hardly dared count on her support. At root she was a practical person, always the one to say, ‘You need to find a new job before you leave the old one,’ or ‘We ought to be thankful we have a job at all, when some people don’t even have a roof over their heads.’ And then it occurred to Finn that even with all their recent work-woes he hadn’t heard Sylvie use that last line. And of course she couldn’t, for their job was now to take the roofs from over people’s heads.
‘You don’t enjoy it?’ asked Bel, baffled.
‘We’ve hardly even started it!’ answered Sylvie.
‘Well, what on God’s earth is it?’
‘Financial services.’
‘Loans?’
‘Mortgages.’
‘Helping people buy homes?’
‘More like taking them away.’
‘Oh, no.’ Bel shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’d like to do that.’
Chapter 20 – Women’s Talk
The conversation broke down for a while. The wealth of what needed saying remained unsaid, with people instead fussing over tea and biscuits.
Sylvie looked around the spot-lit abode. She spotted vases, paintings, Buddhas, brass and glass-work in every available space around the large, full room,
‘You have lovely things.’
‘Thank you,’ answered Bel. ‘In another world I’d have my own place and could fill a whole house with it. But for now I’m content with my little treasure trove up here.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Jack, putting his cup down and getting up from the sofa. ‘Let’s have a proper drink, toast Finn’s return!’
‘We can’t, we’re driving,’ cautioned Bel, jumping up to speak to him as he walked out onto the landing.
‘Well, just for our guests then,’ he answered. ‘No, I’ll get them. You talk to Finn – you don’t know when you’ll have another chance.’
‘But you need to talk to him too.’
‘But you’ve more to cover.’
‘You don’t mind if I use the Little Boys Room?’ asked Finn. All the drinking he’d been doing had suddenly caught up with him.
‘Not at all. You remember where it is?’ Which of course he did.
Left alone with Sylvie, Belinda moved to join her in admiring the artwork hung above the bed: a low-lit Vettriano print of a woman being gazed at by her man.
‘So, what do you think?’ asked Bel.
‘He seems to be enjoying it,’ answered Sylvie, in appreciation of the effect the woman’s half-off evening dress and black stockings were having on her suitor. ‘Do you ever dress like that for Jack?’
‘You’ve guessed that we’re together?’
‘He walks around like he owns the place.’
‘Yes, I suppose it’s obvious. The thing is, we were really trying not to make too big a thing of it.’
‘For Finn?’
Belinda nodded.
‘He doesn’t know you’re together?’ guessed Sylvie.
‘Oh no, I think he must do – it was me who wrote to him about Jack’s illness. It’s just…’
‘What?’
‘He’s never said?’ asked Belinda.
‘I’ve never heard a word of you people before tonight!’
‘God, he could always be so secretive.’ Belinda said this with infinite sadness. ‘It was always his downfall. Well, as it’s you I trust you not to slap me… You see, Finn asked me out. A long time ago. And I turned him down, flat, just like that.’
‘For Jack?’
‘No, no. I hardly knew Jack then. In fact, I don’t think Finn remembers that Jack and I weren’t friends when we were kids, we only knew each other through him.’
‘Is that why Finn left?’ asked Sylvie.
‘I’ve always thought so. We couldn’t go back to how we’d been. I grew up with him, remember,’ added Belinda, again assuming Sylvie knew their lives. ‘But anyway, all water under the bridge. Think of the good times.’
Belinda looked to the painting, and then to Sylvie’s charcoal dress,
‘So, what about you? Is this you dressed up for Finn?’
‘We haven’t gotten that far yet.’
‘No, I didn’t think so.’ Belinda spoke in a motherly tone and with a hand on Sylvie’s arm. ‘Though don’t go leaving it forever, will you.’
Chapter 21 – Sylvie’s Thoughts
‘We haven’t gotten that far yet.’
The words had popped out from nowhere, yet Sylvie found she was glad she’d said them. For in saying them she was broaching a psychological threshold: that she and Finn could be a couple, or at least soon might be. She was learning that a relationship could happen, and that she would let it. For something had happened that strange day that had changed the way she thought about the pair of them. Something which she didn’t yet fully understand. Sylvie took a moment to enjoy this feeling, and then made conversation,
‘This charcoal dress is me dressed up for a meeting we didn’t get to – long story.’
‘How long have you worked together again?’
But then Finn burst into the room to make unexpected eye-contact with Belinda.
‘You pair need to talk,’ said Sylvie. ‘I’m in the way.’
‘No, no, no,’ answered Belinda with genuine warmth. ‘I won’t hear of it. And anyway, I want to get to know you too. In fact, I’ve got something to show you both.’ Belinda leaned over from where she was sitting, to open a draw beneath the mirror of her dressing table. She rumma
ged among the contests for a moment, before pulling out a small transparent key-fob that held a single photo-booth snap. She passed it first to Finn, ‘Remember this?’
‘The Post Office,’ he recalled, ‘when you were getting your Young Person’s Railcard.’
‘And you jumped in for the fourth picture.’
‘Look at my hair,’ he remarked.
‘Your hair was lovely, you should grow it back.’
‘But a centre-parting…’
The image was passed around to Sylvie, who saw the playful, squashed-together teenage versions of the people sitting before her: Finn with his floppy hair and denim jacket, Belinda’s hair exactly the same – she knew it! – and in a white blouse. Sylvie looked at Finn’s expression in the photo – had she ever seen him so carefree? It suddenly seemed her life’s mission to one day make him so again.
At the sound of another clanking coming up the stairs, Belinda got up to move the tea things for Jack to place the ice box.
‘You know that they’re a couple, right?’ Sylvie asked Finn in a whisper in the seconds they had alone.
‘So that’s what you were talking about when I was out of the room?’
‘Don’t be mad,’ she asked him. ‘It’s good I know, I can help you through it.’
Finn shook his head, but not in disagreement,
‘There’s nothing to help through. I’ve known for years that they were together. I don’t know what they’re worrying about. I mean, they’re not even sitting by each other.’ Finn uttered this with utter bewilderment. As if saying that if it was hard for a woman to map the undercurrents of this present ocean, then how could a poor simple-souled man possibly manage?
‘A toast to Finn’s return.’ From across the room, Jack cracked open the first bottle of beer, before being shushed by Belinda. The visitors pretended not to hear their hosts whispering.
‘They’re not together,’ began Bel.
‘I told you they weren’t,’ answered Jack.
