I shook my head. “I was thinking about how—or if—I was going to do that when I walked into that guy.”
“When you say ‘if’ . . . do you think you might not tell her at all?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “She’s got a right to know, obviously. I just don’t know what good it will do her. It might make her revisit the night it happened. That won’t be good for her at all.” I don’t know whether I was still too shocked to properly process how I felt about Amber, now that I knew the truth. It changed everything, of course, but at the same time it changed nothing. It had been an accident. I’d always known that. Did it really matter who had been behind the wheel? One thing I did know was that I hadn’t got the energy left for more years of pointless anger.
“Well, you know Alice better than anyone,” Babs said. “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”
“Well, I suppose it’s just . . .” I stopped. I looked down at where the puddle of water on the table was spreading. I thought again of crunching glass, the pool of blood. “Actually,” I continued, “I don’t think that’s really why I don’t want to tell her. I’m not saying it’s not part of it, but I think the main reason is . . . because I feel guilty.”
“Guilty?” Babs said. “How do you mean?”
I chewed my lip.
“Well, the thing is, I have spent years hating Joel. I told myself that it was because he ruined Alice’s life, but what happened in Edinburgh isn’t that far behind. Alice managed to forgive him before she’d even got out of hospital. Thirteen years old, her whole life turned upside down, and she was working out how to move past it all, even though she was still angry at him. But I was the one who’d make her sit through his TV shows and curse him and never let her forget the past, all because I needed him to be this villain, the reason for all my failures. I wasn’t prepared to admit that it was down to my own lack of talent that I didn’t succeed. So I think when I was walking along the bridge back there, I was trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t tell Alice the truth because it would be painful for her, but deep down I knew it was really because I’d feel so ashamed of what I’ve done all these years. I’ve built a fucking bonfire with all my hatred and self-pity, and made Alice sit around it with me, because it’s so much easier blaming someone else for everything that’s gone wrong. And now I know that the thing I used to fan those flames . . . it wasn’t even his fault.”
I took a long gulp of my drink, reflecting that me working out in real time what a selfish arsehole I’ve been my whole life, and telling Babs all about it in great detail, was another scenario that hadn’t made it into my top ten for when we bumped into each other. The thought made me let out a strange little laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Babs asked.
I didn’t even bother lying.
“I don’t think you’re an arsehole, Theo.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“Okay, I may have thought that at times, but I know you’ve got a good heart underneath it all. And, look, it’s just taken a punch in the face and half a Guinness with your ex and you’re already getting better.”
“Cheaper than therapy, I suppose,” I replied, and Babs smiled, and that made my heart hurt. I knew what I was about to say was a mistake, but I was past caring. “I miss this,” I said quietly. “I miss you.”
Babs sat back in her chair.
“Hey, come on,” she said, throwing her hands up. “I was having a nice time. Weird, obviously, but still nice.”
“Sorry. I just . . . losing you is my biggest regret—you do know that, don’t you?”
Someone behind me laughed very loudly. It was the boy on the date. Yeah, laugh it up now, you fucker, I thought.
“Do you really want to do this?” Babs asked.
“What?”
“Oh, you know . . . the big post-breakup chat. Because you know me very well, Theo. I’m not going to sit here and tell you it was a huge mistake that I ended things. And even if I did, would that actually make you feel any better?”
“No,” I admitted. “Probably not. But given that I’ve just been punched very hard in the face and come to the conclusion I’ve been an arsehole for most of my life, I’m not sure I could feel much worse.”
Babs put her elbows on the table and cradled her chin in her hands while she spoke. “I don’t know if you could tell, Theo, but it really, really, really hurt hearing your voice again when you called me the other night. But do you know why? It was because when you first started speaking, I pictured you when we’d just got together. The kind, selfless, silly you. The person who made me tea every morning in the dorms. Who made me feel better when I’d fucked up an essay by doing that stupid little dance you did, shaking your willy around.”
I blushed. The willy dance. How could I have forgotten that?
“That is the person I fell for,” Babs continued. “But then you started droning on about the TV show, and it was like we’d fast-forwarded a few years and we were in London, where all that bitterness and selfishness had taken hold of you. And I just remembered thinking what a shame it was that you chose to give in to all that—that even when you proposed to me, it was because you were scared of losing me rather than because you loved me. When I put the phone down, I felt relieved, because I’ve always worried that ending things was a mistake, but after speaking to you, I realized I’d done exactly the right thing.”
She sat back in her chair, clutching her wineglass, waiting to see how this had landed.
“Okay, you were right,” I said, after digesting what I’d heard. “I didn’t really want to hear that.” I tried to smile to show I was joking. But it was hard when I was hurting so much, and not just from the punch.
“Theo,” Babs said, leaning forward and taking my hand. “That version of you I fell in love with is still there. I know it is. It sounds like you’re starting to figure out a way you can be that person again—you just need to dig deep and keep going.” She squeezed my hand, and I squeezed back. Then, in two swift motions, she looked at her watch and reached up to tilt my chin to one side so she could inspect my bruise. “I’m supposed to get my train now,” she said, still examining my eye. “But maybe . . . Look, I could always get the sleeper train later or get a hotel or something. I don’t really like the idea of leaving you like this.”
“Oh, well . . . ,” I started. “I suppose . . .” I trailed off.
“It’s no biggie,” she said.
“Well . . . I don’t . . .”
“Look, I need the loo. If you decide you want me to stay, then mine’s another wine. And get some more ice for your bruise.”
I watched her walk away. The idea of spending a whole evening with her . . . what a bonus that would be. I’d barely asked a question about her own life. We could get to that over dinner. We could reminisce about old times and I’d do my best not to get sentimental. Now that she’d said it, I wanted so badly to show her that I could still be the person she fell for. But as my mind went into overdrive, Babs’s phone lit up with a message.
Can’t wait to see you tonight. I’ve missed you x
The background photo underneath the message was of Babs and a man with red hair and a fulsome beard. The photo was taken at arm’s length, at what I recognized as Arthur’s Seat in Edinburgh. In the brief moment before the screen went dark again, I realized just how happy Babs looked in the photo. It was the smile of someone in the fierce grip of new love. It was then that I recognized that the best way I could show her the old me, the one who still thought of others before himself, was to let her be happy—starting with making sure she got home tonight to the person lucky enough to be waiting for her.
“Are you sure?” Babs said when she came back from the loo.
“Yeah. But thank you again for, you know, rescuing me and everything.”
“Anytime,” Babs said. It looked like she was making to leave, but then she s
topped.
“Fancy walking me to the tube?”
Finally, a question I had an easy answer for.
“Absolutely.”
We walked along the embankment. As I looked down at the river, I couldn’t quite imagine how it would have felt to have got this far on the walk with Joel. It would have been weeks still until we’d got here onto the home stretch. I suspected in that time I would probably have found a way to mess things up, whatever Joel might have told me about what he was going through. That wasn’t a self-pitying thought. It was just the truth.
I wondered whether I’d ever see him again. Did it make a difference now that everything was out in the open? I just wished there was a way I could make up for what I’d done in Oxford, but time was against me.
As a police speedboat shot up the river, I realized there was something I’d been meaning to ask Babs, something which she’d glossed over but which had lodged in my mind to return to later.
“Earlier, you mentioned your cousin.”
“Yeah, Max.”
“Max, that was it. You said something about his friend having liver disease, and then you said, ‘I imagine Joel’s explored that.’ What did you mean?”
By the time Babs had finished explaining, I’d slowed down and come to a halt.
I apologized to her for the change of plan, but I had to go, and go now. We hugged good-bye and I ran to the road and flagged down a taxi. As we shot south over Waterloo Bridge, I felt more alive than I’d done in years, trying not to get my hopes up too much—a task made impossible now that I could imagine a distant future where Joel and I would start the Thames Path again, and that this time we’d make it to the end.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Joel
I’d forgotten what this felt like. The anticipation of that first sip. It would be like rain after a drought. I tipped the whisky bottle back and forth. The golden liquid seemed to glow despite the gloom. I was lying in the dark on the bedroom floor in my Peckham flat. Above me, I could just make out a spider in the corner of the room up by the ceiling. It was reeling in a fly that moved its wings hopelessly against the spider’s silk.
“Sorry, old chap,” I said, raising the bottle to the fly.
I’d tried calling Amber after I’d left the restaurant, but she didn’t reply. She sent me a message saying she’d get in touch again when she felt ready—her tone officious, like we were office colleagues who’d fallen out over a spreadsheet.
I had my clammy fingers on the bottle top. I could feel it giving way. At the sound of my buzzer going, I dropped it.
Shit. Amber had changed her mind.
I rolled the bottle under the bed. The buzzer went again. The button that opened the front door from my flat had long since broken, so I couldn’t let her up from here.
“I’m coming!” I shouted, though I doubted she could hear me. I yanked open my flat door and got to the stairs just as exhaustion hit me head-on. I hadn’t quite realized until now just how much the upheaval of the last few days had taken out of me. Hugging the banister tightly, I made it to the bottom, fighting past the spots that threatened to obscure my vision. I stood there for a second, trying to get my breath back, fearful at how angry or upset Amber would be when I saw her face. But when I opened the door, I was met by the sight of Theo—one hand pawing nervously at his shaggy curls. His right eye was swollen half shut, a dark red bruise underneath it. But I didn’t really care what had happened. I didn’t want to know why he was here. He wasn’t Amber, and so I didn’t fucking care.
“Sorry, Theo, not now, okay?”
I went to shut the door, but Theo jammed his foot in the way. We both looked at his squashed foot.
“Please,” Theo said. “It’s important. Just give me ten minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.”
* * *
Theo sat at my kitchen table while I made tea. As the kettle boiled, I went into my bedroom and retrieved the whisky from under my bed. I took it to the bathroom and poured the whole lot down the toilet.
When I got back to the kitchen, Theo was prodding gingerly at his eye.
“Got any ice?” he said.
I looked in the freezer but all that was in there was some supermarket-brand chicken nuggets. A grim reminder of my time here during the breakup. I held the bag up and raised my eyebrows at Theo, who shrugged and nodded. I chucked the bag over and he pressed it to his face.
“I’m sorry for tricking you into coming to see us,” he said as I handed him his tea. “I’d got my wires crossed with Amber. She was convinced you were off on a bender.”
“So I gathered. Actually, I was reading poetry on holiday with an old-age pensioner.”
Theo winced. Then winced again at the pain this caused his eye.
“You going to tell me what happened?” I asked.
“Well,” Theo said, “I walked out of the restaurant having found out that, you know, my best mate hadn’t in fact been the one who’d paralyzed my sister, and I wasn’t really looking where I was going and ended up shoving a man the size of a grizzly bear, who then punched me very hard in the face.”
It was my turn to wince.
“It gets worse,” Theo said, adjusting his medicinal nuggets. “Someone came to my rescue.”
“How is that worse?”
“It was my ex. The one I was telling you about.”
“What, Babs from Acorn Antiques?”
“The very same,” Theo said. “Whereupon we retired to a pub and had ‘the Big Post-Breakup Conversation,’ which largely involved me realizing what a prick I’ve been, all the while looking like this.” He briefly removed the nuggets and gave me a sarcastic double thumbs-up. “How about you?” he asked. “What happened after I left?”
“Hmm. Not a huge amount better. Amber pointed out that lying to her was probably just about the worst thing I could have done, then left, saying she needed some time to think. So I decided to walk home, which made me feel dreadful. And then I bought a bottle of whisky . . .” I stopped.
Theo looked worried. “Did you . . . ?”
“No,” I said. “Poured it away just now. Stupid, really.”
“Have you not got a sponsor, or whatever they are?”
“No. I’ve thought about it. But doesn’t seem much point now . . .”
Theo lowered the nuggets and slid them away.
“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about, actually,” he said.
“It’s all right,” I said. “You don’t have to apologize about Oxford. I should have just been clear about everything from the start. I shouldn’t have lied about the show. It was stupid.”
Theo sat forward. “It doesn’t matter—I still reacted how I did. It doesn’t excuse that.”
“But—”
“Please, just let me finish.” Theo clasped his hands together tightly on the table. I nodded at him to continue. “When I was with Babs earlier, and I told her what you were going through, she mentioned something about her cousin whose friend had the same thing. But her cousin was able to help.”
I went very still as Theo talked. If this was going where I thought it was . . .
“They had all these tests,” Theo continued, “and they were the right sort of match, and the cousin became something called a living donor. They cut a chunk of his liver out and used it to replace his friend’s, and it worked, and he’s better now.”
It made me want to smile, hearing Theo explain this in the most Theo way possible. He made it sound like a story a six-year-old had written rather than a relatively recent result of incredible advances in surgery—and the thing that my mum had been on at me about ever since the doctor mentioned it: plan B.
“So,” Theo said, “what I’ve come here to say is . . . well . . . that’s what we can do, isn’t it? I mean, I can do that. For you. Become your donor.”
I looked at my old fri
end, with his half-closed eye, his mad mop of hair, his earnest, hopeful face.
“When the doctors told me about that option,” I said, “I made a promise that I’d never ask anyone.”
“Why on earth would you do that? That’s insane.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
I put my hand over the top of my tea. Kept it there until steam dripped from it.
“I’m not prepared to ask someone to go through all that when it’s my fault for being so reckless with the drinking.”
Theo frowned. “I thought you said it started with that time when you fell down the stairs.”
“Yeah, well . . . it probably wouldn’t have escalated if I’d not drunk so much.”
“But even so, the drinking—that’s an illness in itself, isn’t it?” When I didn’t reply, Theo continued, haltingly. “Addiction. That’s not your fault, either.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I have to face the consequences. I’m not going to ask someone to go through something so life-changing. It’s months of recovery. Horrible trauma on the body. And”—I raised my voice over Theo’s—“it might not even work.”
“But that’s the point: you’re not asking anyone,” Theo said. “I am here”—he jabbed his finger into his chest—“and I am offering. So let me help you.”
I felt a tiny flame of hope, long since extinguished, flicker back into life.
“You do realize that it’s not guaranteed that we’d be a match,” I said. “If we’re different blood groups, say, then it’s over already.”
“I know,” Theo said. “I was googling it all on the way over. But we don’t need to worry about the blood type, do we?”
I looked at him blankly.
“Don’t you remember that biology lesson with Mr. Barnes?”
I rubbed my eyes. “Funnily enough, no.”
“You do—the one where he cut the lesson short and called us ‘quite the little double act.’ ”
When We Were Young Page 26
