by Carmen Reid
‘I miss you,’ she said, putting all the love, warmth and feeling in her heart into those simple words.
‘Muuuum! You’re supposed to be having a great time, far too busy to miss us. What’s it like in LA? What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘I’ve been visiting art galleries, I’ve been to the beach a few times, I’ve been hiking… and I started dancing lessons with this really cool ballet teacher who lives in the building…’
‘You dancing? I’m trying to picture that.’
‘Yes, I know… but I’m getting better, honestly! I’ve had an amazing haircut. I am now a blonde. Natalie is gradually coming round to the idea.’
‘You are a blonde? Send a picture please, I can’t imagine that.’
‘I did,’ she said. ‘I sent it on “the fam” chat group. That’s the one you never reply to, or acknowledge in any way, shape or form…’
‘Sorry,’ he said, sounding quite genuinely contrite. ‘Sometimes those messages come at… well, the wrong times for me… and then I forget to look at them.’
‘Well, take a scroll now, you’ll see the new, improved, dancing, blonde mother.’
‘Sounds like you’re having a great time,’ he said.
‘Yes… I am. It’s different, very different being away from you all… but I’m enjoying it.’
‘I think you needed a change,’ he said.
And it was funny to hear these caring and perceptive words from him.
‘Yes… I did,’ she agreed.
‘You sound happy,’ he said, ‘and it suits you.’
‘What about you, my darling? Are you happy?’
‘I really am, Mum.’
Because they weren’t video calling, she paid close, close attention to his voice, took in every syllable. And he did sound bright and genuine, relaxed and happy.
‘Be happy, Mum, it’s really good for you.’
‘Yes, be happy, Alex. It’s really good for you too.’
There was a pause; she imagined them both smiling at each other down the line.
‘Well… I guess I better go,’ he said finally. ‘It’s been really nice talking to you, Mum.’
‘It’s been lovely talking to you too, darling. I love you and we could do this more often.’
‘Yeah… you take care.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye, Mum.’
And he was gone.
Be happy… that was a nice thing for him to say. And an unusual one too. Tess lingered on the screen of her phone as the photo of Alex, taken a few years ago now, was still there.
And then a message flashed up:
What a lovely evening. I hope we can do that again sometime soon. Nathan. Meanwhile, I have an urgent question for you, please give me a call.
And all the memories from last night came tumbling back to mind. That kiss on the terrace… that other kiss in the car park…
And now what?
38
As soon as River woke, she could register only one thing: she was going to throw up. She pushed the covers off and ran to the bathroom. After ridding herself of some of the toxic remnants, the night before came vividly back to life. Wiping her mouth, then splashing her face with much needed cold water, she first of all tried to remember what had gone well, in those long hours the party had lasted, because she was pretty certain that quite a lot had not gone well.
Franklyn and Phillip… focus on these guys, she told herself. They were the important ones. From what she could remember, her time with them had gone well. And the important thing was, they hadn’t stayed too long, which was good. Because now, she could smell smoke, a smell which seemed to be coming from her hair, her skin, every part of her, and it was making her retch into the toilet bowl once again, as she remembered a fire… jeeeezus, a big fire. And drama. And… Dave? She gave her face another sluicing over the sink. Dave? When she went back into the bedroom, she saw nothing unusual, nothing that didn’t belong to her. But wait just one moment… the second pillow on the bed had a head-shaped dent. And now she remembered a kiss. A long and passionate kiss… but nothing else. Surely nothing else?
She had to get downstairs and find water and headache pills and maybe coffee or juice or whatever it was that you were supposed to take to make all this pain and nausea go away.
Too old for hangovers, she told herself, far, far too old for hangovers. Even the glimpse of sun that was appearing around the edges of the blinds looked too bright. River fumbled about the room, found her sunglasses and put them on. No matter that it was ridiculous to wear sunglasses indoors. These were exceptional circumstances.
She came down the stairs very slowly, worried about what she might find down there. She approached the kitchen gingerly, expecting to enter a room of utter chaos and disaster. The fire hadn’t been in here, had it? Please, not in Tess’s beautiful kitchen. She opened the door slowly… but in fact, on entering, she saw that most of the major clean-up had already taken place. Four large garbage sacks were filled and neatly tied in the middle of the room. The surfaces were all wiped down and the kitchen floor looked slightly damp. There was still a vast collection of glasses by the sink and a heaped box of empty bottles beside the sliding doors to the garden; she didn’t really want to look into the garden because she was sure there would still be plenty of evidence of party damage.
The garden… that’s where the fire happened.
Just as River was trying to remember the details and wondering where Dave was, he came bustling into the room wearing yellow rubber gloves and with two large pieces of metal in his hands.
‘Oh hello! You’re up…’ he said brightly, but then he must have clocked her dark glasses, pale skin and ragged hair because he added quickly, ‘Sit down, honestly, pull up a chair and I will bring you coffee, water, medicine, watermelon slices… whatever you need to get you back on your feet again. In fact, sit outside… I’ve cleared a soothing little corner away from the shards of broken, twisted metal,’ he raised the pieces in his hands to demonstrate, ‘and trust me, the fresh air will revive you a little.’
‘Are you sure? It won’t be too bright out there?’ she whimpered.
‘No… I promise, I’ve made a dappled corner.’
‘Dappled… that does sound nice. Dave…’ she was looking at him more closely now, ‘you don’t have any eyebrows.’
‘No, I know, I think they got burned off. Now what would you like?’
‘Burned off… jeeeezus. Well… water, medicine, coffee… maybe watermelon… that all sounds helpful.’
‘Okay, go and sit, I will be right there.’
And he was.
River had been sitting in the promised dappled shade and within minutes, Dave appeared with a tray laden down with a cafetière of coffee, a little jug of milk, water, paracetamol and slices of watermelon.
Meanwhile, River lit a cigarette, inhaled and instantly regretted it.
‘Oh my God, I feel dreadful,’ she admitted, stubbing out the cigarette in the coffee saucer.
‘Yeah… I’ve definitely had better mornings myself.’
‘Thank you for doing all the tidying up.’
‘Oh… there’s still plenty to do in the garden. We’re going to be picking up bottle tops and fag butts for the rest of your time here. But right now, you should concentrate on drinking some coffee and feeling better.’
River drank the water and then some coffee. She swallowed the headache pills and considered re-lighting her cigarette.
‘Did you sleep in my bed last night?’ she asked Dave, because she felt it was important to get this out into the open straightaway.
‘Ermm… yes… not for long… I was confused.’ Dave looked embarrassed. ‘I went into the wrong room, out of habit. And…’
He paused.
‘And?’ she asked.
‘I have to admit that I kissed you, River. You were quite keen at the time to be kissed, but considering how much you’d drunk, it wasn’t very gentlemanly of me to take advantage.’
‘We had a very, very nice kiss… yes,’ Dave said, searching her sunglassed face for a reaction to this.
River continued to sip at her coffee and stared off into the distance through her dark glasses.
‘Well… these things can happen… and drunk kissing is… nothing.’
‘No…’ Dave said quietly. ‘I suppose not…’
He picked up the drained cafetière and took it back to the kitchen with the words: ‘We’re going to need more of this, I think.’
To his surprise, when he came back out into the garden with the fresh coffee, River was still in the chair, but her head was in her hands and she was crying hard.
‘What’s the matter… what on earth is the matter?’ he asked.
‘Oh God…’ the sound of his sympathetic voice, the fact he was crouching down to be beside her was making it all so much worse, ‘everything is such a mess,’ she blurted out, ‘everything! The script’s a mess, my money is in a mess, my apartment’s a mess, everything is just one huge, fucking hot mess!’
She was crying without any dignity now, big racking sobs, snot coming from her nose.
Dave put a hand on her back and patted gently, which again was such a nice thing to do that she cried harder.
‘It is…’ she managed, ‘it is all just such a freaking mess. Ever since Drew died. I just can’t get myself together. Every time I think I’m getting it together… I just fall apart again.’
‘I really, really hope I’ve not caused any of this…’ Dave said. ‘I’m so sorry if I did the wrong thing.’
‘No… no… you’re fine. You’ve been very kind to me…’
‘You’re really good fun, River,’ Dave said gently. ‘I really like hanging out with you. And if it’s any consolation, your apartment will definitely not be a mess any more. That’s one thing you don’t need to worry about.’
River managed something of a small laugh in between bursts of tears.
‘Oh God, the script…’ she blurted. ‘I just don’t know… I don’t know…’
‘Isn’t it always like this? You’re working on something so hard, you just can’t judge it any more…’
‘Probably… probably… ohhhh…’ a fresh round of tears.
‘I don’t know if it’s any consolation,’ Dave began, ‘but the older you get, the more hangovers come with a side helping of huge existential dread.’
River turned to him and put her wet face against his shoulder, then she put her arms around his back and just bawled.
‘You’re okay…’ he said, again patting her back and River considered what a kind man he was. He must be a lovely dad. This made her cry even more.
After several long, and for Dave’s shirt, damp minutes had passed, there was something of a break in the tears. He thought maybe this would be a good moment to get her a fresh glass of water, some tissues and top up her coffee.
‘Just stay right there,’ he instructed, ‘I’m going to be right back with supplies.’
‘Do you have Xanax?’ River asked.
‘No… but I think I’ve got some full-fat Cokes and it looks like that’s what you may need.’
River was left thinking: ‘Full-fat? What the freak is that?’
When Dave came back, he had a cold glass full of ice and he poured half a can of Coke into it.
‘Take a few sips of that,’ he instructed.
River did and as the sugar and caffeine rushed into her bloodstream, she did start to feel slightly better. She took the tissues he was offering too and mopped up under her eyes and gave her nose several hearty blows.
‘No matter how much you cry, the time to blow your nose always comes… you know, I think Simone de Beauvoir wrote that. It’s one of her lesser-known quotes, obviously. But I used to tell it to Natalie a lot, when she was younger.’
And for a dodgy moment there, Dave thought he might cry too. How was Natalie? How was she getting on in Spain? He really needed to have a long chat with her and find out. God… he was honestly in danger of letting his whole family fall apart. And he had to do something about it. But first… River needed his immediate help.
‘So… who is Drew?’ he asked gently.
For several moments, River’s lip trembled as if she was trying to decide whether she was going to talk or cry.
‘More Coke,’ Dave instructed and River took a long gulp.
‘That is helping,’ she said afterwards.
‘Yeah… we used to call it the red ambulance at college.’
River even managed a slight laugh at this.
‘Drew…’ she began, a little unsteadily, ‘he was the man I loved… so much…’ tears slid down underneath her sunglasses, ‘after Franklyn. And he got cancer… and he cheated on me… and he killed himself.’
‘Dear God…’ was all Dave could come up with, ‘he really packed it in.’
And even though River was still crying, she was laughing too: ‘Yes, he fucking did. What a fucker.’
‘The fucker,’ Dave repeated… not really sure what to say.
‘Fucking fucker,’ River said and took another long gulp of her icy cola. ‘That was the exact sequence of events: he got cancer… testicular, you know, not pleasant, but not the end of the world. You lose a ball, you have to have chemo… and then he cheated on me with an actress, of course, because they’re all such insecure bitches, who’ll sleep with your boyfriend like it’s having a cup of coffee with you… and then he kills himself. Saved up all his meds for weeks and took everything all at once having emailed the police station beforehand, and having left the apartment door unlocked so that someone with proper training would find him. Not me…’
‘Dear God…’ Dave repeated.
He was right beside River, his hand on her back, holding her tight, hoping he was helping in some way. Good grief, hangovers were vicious… barbaric at this age. He wasn’t feeling too incredibly top-notch himself. Any minute now and no doubt his very own existential life crisis would arrive.
River added: ‘And everyone thought… “Oh, what a relief, he had cancer, and he killed himself, so he was spared a horrible death”… but his cancer was not terminal. He could have done the chemo, and been cured. He could have had a full and normal life.
‘He didn’t kill himself because of the cancer…’ she went on, holding a balled tissue to her face, ‘he killed himself because no one was enough; nothing was enough. There weren’t enough good reasons to live for him. And he just couldn’t find mental peace. He was a writer like me and he was always churning, running and re-running over everything, fretting, overthinking and this was a way to finally get peace.’
River had wrapped her arms around herself and was rocking gently: ‘I never saw it coming, Dave, I never saw it coming…’ she started to cry again. ‘I’ve gone over and over and over the day before. We spent that day together; we were over the cheating, that was behind us. He was so happy that day, called every member of his family and all his favourite friends, he was so fucking happy… We were so happy. It was one of our best days. We got drunk on fizzy wine, we were dancing to Lou Reed… Transformer… remember? Perfect Day…’ She gently sang the famous line.
‘My favourite album,’ Dave said. ‘I like Satellite of Love…’
‘Mine too… but I can never listen to it again because the next day… the day after our best day ever, he’s fucking dead… fucking dead.’
River began to cry again, loud, keening, heart-rending cries.
‘I’m so sorry…’ Dave told her. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He just stayed there, holding onto her, even though his knees were killing him and he could really quite do with a red ambulance himself, not to mention a pee… and jeeeezus, the state of the garden. He would have to get some professional help to put it right before Tess’s return.
When the crying had abated, Dave found himself asking: ‘Do you think Drew was the love of your life?’ He didn’t even know
why, he hoped it would help her to talk about him more, but he had no idea… he was completely out of his depth here.
‘Oh shit, I don’t know…’ River pulled tissues out of the box and blew her nose again, which Dave took as an encouraging sign.
‘Sometimes I think you never love anyone as much as you love the very first person you love… that first love, it’s so intense… so pure. But no one ever takes it seriously. Everyone thinks you’re going to get over it. But sometimes, two young people just see straight inside each other’s souls, don’t they? And the whole world doesn’t get it. The first time I fell in love – it was huge… took me years to get over it.’
‘Sounds like something you should be writing about.’
River gave a weak smile at this.
‘Yeah… maybe they’ll ask me to do the Romeo and Juliet high school musical next. And then Hamlet, that’s an obvious one… I’m seeing a whole series.’ She managed another slight smile.
‘Probably the script is going okay,’ Dave said gently. ‘And you have time, plus peace and quiet here to get it done.’
‘Yeah…’
‘Maybe you should go back to bed for a bit?’ he suggested.
‘Yeah… probably a good idea.’
Once River had downed the rest of her Coke and headed back into the house, Dave continued to deal with the garden carnage. He had bin bags and despite the oppressive heat and the thudding of his own head, he steadily worked over the lawns, flowerbeds and bushes picking up glass, pieces of metal, charred chunks of wood, paper plates, cigarette butts, and all the other pieces of debris from last night’s extravaganza.
As he approached the summerhouse, he saw the pile of paintings and felt his stomach churn. He’d drunk a lot last night, but not enough to have blotted out that memory. He shook out the bin bag in his hands and knew exactly what he was going to do next.
As he crouched down over the pile of his work, the phone in his back pocket began to ring.
He was surprised to see it was Tess.
‘Hello! What are you doing phoning me? Isn’t it very early over there?’
