Dear Anybody

by Rosa Temple

  I put my head down. This time I’m the one who wants her hair to shield her face. I can feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Anger and a whole catalogue of other feelings have been burning inside me since that fateful night. I don’t want Carey to go on about it and make me reveal the whole truth. Damn she’s good. No amount of hiding my face can hide the fact that Carey has hit the nail on the head. There’s a lot I don’t want to face up to.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Carey asks after a while. I’m trying not to cry. I nod but can’t speak. ‘Forgive me if I’ve spoken out of turn but maybe it would help if you let go of everything still connecting you to Rob. Perhaps then you’ll be able to sever the tie.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I say and before I can help myself, I start crying. Tears stream down my face in Niagara Falls proportions. Sniffing and choking on my words, I blurt out the one thing I have never faced up to since I caught Rob having sex in our bed with another woman. The words pour out as if part of the waterfall of my tears. The reason my heart is just a battered mess is because of her. The woman I found Rob in bed with.

  ‘She was my best friend,’ I finally say aloud before releasing the longest and loudest exhale I possibly could. ‘It was Helena. Helena betrayed me. She’d been lying to my face for God knows how long. She didn’t even know I’d walked into the room. Just carried on shagging my boyfriend. In my bed. Only days after telling me how much she loved her fiancé. She wanted me to help her plan her wedding.’

  I get up and open the fridge, looking for another bottle of wine after piously having refused Carey’s offer to start a second one after dinner. I’ve been so good at slowing down on the drinking and trying to get healthy but just by mentioning her name, saying Helena out loud, I start the downward spiral I began that night. I need booze to recover from a spinning head and the feeling of nausea. I have told Carey something I haven’t even told my parents. Somehow I hadn’t quite admitted it to myself before and now that I’ve said it aloud I’m no longer in denial and it hurts. Badly.

  Carey was right about there still being something I hadn’t faced up to, something that prevented me from ever being able to move on from the breakup. Helena has been causing the sleepless nights as much as Rob has. The two people I love the most outside family. They did it. Both of them. They broke my heart.

  ‘Jesus, Sydney. I’m sorry,’ Carey says staring at me. I have a bottle opener in one hand but look down and see I’m holding a bottle of milk in the other, pulled out from the fridge in my hazy state.

  ‘Tea?’ I ask Carey as I hold up the milk.

  ‘Only if it will help,’ she says.

  ‘No it won’t help.’ I put the milk back. ‘Nothing will.’

  After a few moments of silence, Carey comes and stands beside me. I lean against a kitchen cabinet. She folds her arms leaning back too but says nothing at first. Then she turns to look at me.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what did this Helena person say when you confronted her?’

  Carey doesn’t know who Helena is, or was to me. She has no idea how highly I regarded her and that as my best friend I loved her. I hadn’t uttered her name until that moment.

  ‘I … well,’ I stutter. ‘I haven’t said a single word to her since it happened.’

  Carey’s brow knots up, but she allows it to smooth when she catches the look of exhaustion and despair in my face.

  ‘Okay so you haven’t talked since it happened but what about on the day you found them? What did she say?’

  ‘All we did was look at each other. I could read everything she wanted to say in her eyes and by the expression on her face. I suppose she felt the same way when she looked at me. There was no need for words. I was reeling, of course, and by the time I blinked, Helena had gone.’

  ‘And didn’t she call you after? Write to you at all?’

  ‘Not a word. I haven’t heard a thing from her and I haven’t seen her. That’s exactly what I wanted and maybe she sensed that.’

  ‘So, they didn’t carry on together after that?’

  ‘I have no idea. All I know is that Helena is engaged to be married. She has everything. The perfect job, the perfect home, the perfect body, the perfect hair. And if that wasn’t enough, she had to take away my perfect relationship.’

  Carey stands in front of me.

  ‘With all due respect, Sydney, your relationship couldn’t have been perfect and neither could Rob have been.’

  The words hit me hard as if Carey has dealt me a physical blow to my stomach. I’m winded. Despite the truth in what she has said, my relationship and Rob felt perfect to me. I was happy with what we had. I know there was room for improvement, things had changed but that didn’t mean Helena could come along and ruin my life like that. So mine might not have been as bright, exciting or as rich as hers but it was my life and I was happy with it thank you very much.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Carey says. ‘I shouldn’t really have said a thing like that. It’s not my place to judge your relationship with Rob. It’s just that, well, I have a few years on you and experience tells me there is no such thing as perfect. We might strive for perfection but we never really get there. Trying to be perfect is the thing that keeps us going. Sydney, don’t worry about perfection. Just work on trying to be happy.’

  ‘I thought I was, before …’

  ‘Look, Sydney. I understand how painful this is for you but you will be happy again. You might not be happy now, but you will be. One day. Your heart will mend and you’ll get there. It will happen in its own time. You’ll see.’

  ‘I hope you’re right.’

  My thoughts turn to Damian and my thus far scuppered attempts to get him to go out with me. I’m still not really sure if shagging the coffee shop owner is the thing that will make me happy but it’s a start.

  ‘Facing up to the things that prevent us from moving on can be the best therapy ever,’ Carey continues. I marvel at how good a therapist Carey would make. It’s almost as if she has been studying a book on how to solve people’s problems in a few easy steps.

  I can’t imagine facing Helena, though. Going to her super city flat by the river – the flat she says is a pain and too poky when it’s big enough to fit at least three of my Kilburn flats into it. Or to her brightly lit, swanky office knowing mine is a dark and old-fashioned room in an old house with what looks like mould growing by a draughty window. No, I can’t stand the thought of Helena looking down her beautiful nose at me as I wither into a heap on the floor, tears streaming, nose running, asking her, “Why? Why? You have everything and I have nothing. Why did you do this to me?”.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Carey says, as if reading my thoughts. ‘Maybe it’s something you can work up to or maybe you’ll just get through this without having to have that conversation.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I say. ‘But right now, I could really do with a drink. Do you fancy a trip to The Crown?’

  ‘Why not?’ She smiles, trying hard not to let me see the sympathy in her eyes.

  We wrap up in scarves and hats because there has been a cold snap lashing through Bridley for days. Anyone with any sense would stay indoors and drink hot cocoa. But I have lost all reason. I have lost my will to stay sober and Carey is allowing me to throw caution to the wind. It’s just what I need. I’ve got time enough to think about how much I hate Helena, so I’ll leave that for another day. Probably tomorrow, knowing me, but I’m determined to forget for at least one night.

  Chapter 24

  Carey and I make it as far as Frankie’s. It’s bloody cold out here and The Crown is too far to walk on a night like this. The windows at Frankie’s are all steamed up as we arrive but I’m expecting it to be empty because of the weather and it is Tuesday night. I’m wrong, though, because as I push open the door the place is almost full. Obviously, the people of Bridley are either all very hardy or, like me, they’re trying to escape heartbreak and a topsy turvy life. Everyone I know in Bridley is here. Everyone, including Damian, who I spot str
aight away at the very end of the bar with his head sinking closer and closer towards his lager glass. It looks like he’s taking part in some weird drinking game in which the drinker tries to summon the drink to their mouth without picking the glass up. Then it occurs to me that Damian is either falling asleep at the bar or he’s drunk. It seems odd for him to be in that state, especially since he’ll have to be up early to start baking.

  ‘Sydney, darling! How lovely to see you.’

  Alexandra wraps me up in a gutsy hug of lavender perfume and silk. I notice her pink lipstick is slightly askew and rubbing away. She has plied herself with an unhealthy amount of booze and is keeping her eyes open by will power alone. If I allowed her to, Alexandra would see to it I was suitably plastered within the next ten minutes.

  Carey grabs my arm and shouts into my ear.

  ‘I’ll get us a bottle of red. Come over to the bar, we’ll never find a table.’

  ‘Fine,’ I shout back, using my hand as a megaphone. The overhead music is loud and while Bruno Mars sings the Hallelujah’s in Uptown Funk, I respond with the Whoo’s and find my hips gyrating like Alexandra’s. She has her back to me now and is dancing with one of the football crowd I met on my first night here.

  I dance walk over to the bar and wave to Jenna who is dancing frantically next to the window. She must have spent the afternoon at the hair salon. Her afro has been replaced by a full head of dark wavy hair extensions. A mix between Rhiana, Kelly Rowland and a 1970s beauty queen. Her new hair whips past her face and she beckons me over. I point to the bar. She nods, raises the hand holding a bottle of Grolsch and carries on dancing. I spot the rest of the magazine staff sitting at a table nearby. Beth looks out of place in her cardigan and plaits when all around her the room is buzzing and vibrating. I’m glad I’ve dropped in on what seems like a secret party. No one mentioned Tuesday night being club night at Frankie’s before.

  When I finally get to the bar, Carey tries to hand me a glass of wine but someone nudges her from the back and the glass of wine ends up down the front of my scarf and coat.

  ‘Oh no! I’m so sorry,’ Carey yells.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Pour me another one and I’ll make sure it hits the target.’

  Carey turns to the bar. She places my glass down and pours a second drink for me.

  ‘Thank you for coming out with me tonight,’ I say to her.

  ‘You deserve it. Let’s forget about our pasts and enjoy tonight. Work tomorrow.’

  She touches her wine glass to mine and I take a sip. Our pasts? I still have no idea what Carey’s past is. She has been a good friend, giving me room and board, listening to my woes, advising me. But it doesn’t seem as if I’m a good enough friend for her to confide in. Does that say more about me than it does her? I wonder if she will ever trust me with her secrets. There is at least one. A big one. Bigger than your best friend having it off with your boyfriend it would seem.

  Someone I don’t recognise pulls at Carey’s shoulder and they give each other a big hug.

  ‘Sydney, this is Father Patrick, a good friend of mine.’

  If Carey is friends with the local priest does that mean she has broken a Commandment or two? While shaking hands with Father Patrick, I’m wondering if Carey has confessed all to him. Of course, Father Patrick will be sworn to secrecy and I’d never get the truth out of him either. I can’t imagine Carey doing anything unholy. A past crime? Maybe she didn’t just abandon her husband, she murdered him, too. I try to focus. Father Patrick’s voice is not very loud but he is talking to me.

  ‘I’ve just been for a meal at the restaurant but the bar became a little too loud,’ he is saying.

  He shuffles past me, heading for the door and I make a mental note to bring up the subject of priests and confessionals with Carey. You never know, she might just break and admit everything if she’s religious. As I watch the young priest make his way out past the crowd in the narrow bar, I turn to find Carey has been accosted by another person from the village. Once again, I spot Damian. He is on his own, his fist supporting his chin as he contemplates the contents of his glass. I tap Carey’s shoulder.

  ‘Just going to say hello to someone,’ I tell her.

  ‘Okay, fine. Sorry. Catch up with you in a minute.’

  Taking off my wine soaked scarf and coat, I hook them over my arm and zig-zag the crowd towards Damian, carefully holding up my wine glass as I go.

  ‘Hi,’ I say in a loud breathy voice when I arrive. It’s supposed to be sexy but Damian doesn’t budge an inch or look up. Damn, he is asleep and I’ll have to nudge him awake which is very unsexy. I clear my throat, loudly, hoping the sound will wake him. Nothing. I pretend I’m turning around to look for someone and jog his elbow. Still nothing.

  ‘Damian!’ I shout.

  Damian stirs and turns to me and for a second I’m totally confused. The man looking at me with curiosity in his big blue eyes isn’t Damian but a dead ringer for him.

  ‘Ah,’ he says turning his whole body towards me. ‘You think I’m him. We’re not twins but people often mistake us for one another.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were. Him, that is. I mean Damian. Well who are you then?’ I am intrigued by this Damian-look-alike. He is slightly broader than my Damian and a lot less smiley.

  ‘Jed,’ he simply says and turns back to his lager. He wipes condensation from the sides of the glass but doesn’t drink from it.

  ‘But you must be related?’ I am leaning in so he can hear me.

  ‘Brother. Younger,’ he says with a quick glance at me.

  ‘What? You’re the younger brother or he is?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Sorry if I’m bothering you.’ I try to gather up my scarf and coat which are slipping off my arm but I lose control of them and they drop to the floor. Now I’m stooping at his side to pick them up while holding up my wine glass so it won’t spill.

  I’m not having much success co-ordinating balancing wine and gathering up a bulky coat and scarf when I feel the glass slipping from my hand. I look up, wincing and expecting to see a gush of red wine falling into my face. Instead I see Jed holding my glass, a serious look on his face.

  ‘Didn’t want you to spill this one, too.’

  ‘Oh, thanks.’ I get up, get a hold of my coat and scarf and try to reclaim my wine glass but Jed pulls it away.

  ‘You know my name, rank and serial number, what’s yours?’ he says in a flat tone.

  ‘Oh, right. I’m Sydney. I’m new around here. Editor on Bridley Green.’ I look intently at the glass.

  ‘Isn’t that a man’s name?’ he asks.

  ‘Actually, it’s a woman’s name, too. Or, there are women called Sydney. I’m one of them.’ I sound defiant but I don’t mean to be. Something about Jed unnerves me. I need a sip of wine but he is still holding my glass. ‘And isn’t Jed short for Jedidiah?’ Why did I ask that?

  ‘Jared, actually. Damian could never say it when we were kids.’ For a second I think I see something of a softening in his eyes, but the hard stare quickly returns as he hands me my glass of wine. I tentatively take it and began to drink, our eyes lock as I down the whole glass without pausing for breath.

  ‘Thirsty?’ Jed asks. ‘Or just alcoholic?’

  ‘Probably both. I don’t know. Look, I need to find my friend.’ I look over my shoulder. ‘This was supposed to be a bit of a girl’s night out, so …’

  ‘And yet you were seeking out my younger brother. Why?’

  ‘Er. I was just being friendly. Coming to say hello. I thought you … I thought Damian looked a little out of place and I wanted to say Hi. That’s all.’

  ‘I see. Well, Hi, on his behalf.’

  I hesitate for a few moments. He is so curt I think this Jed person has dismissed me. I am tempted to either salute or curtsy but I’m not sure he’ll get the humour behind it.

  ‘Are you ever going to finish that drink or are you going to spend the rest of the night staring into it?’ I ge
sture to the three-quarter way full glass of yellow lager on the counter. Jed leans back in his chair, looks at me for a few seconds then looks to the glass of lager.

  ‘Probably flat,’ he says and stands up. Jed towers over me. He’s a lot taller than his brother. As I stand there like a big twit watching him pull on his khaki jacket and turn up the sheep skin collar, Jed stares directly into my eyes. He zips up his jacket, pushes past me without an ‘excuse me’ or a ‘farewell’ and leaves. Arsehole.

  I hurry after him, not to catch him up but to get back to Carey. She appears to be having her ear chewed off by the person I left her with, making polite nodding movements and sipping her wine.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say, cutting into the monologue. ‘I need to borrow Carey. It’s a matter of utmost urgency.’ I grab Carey, who is holding the remainder of our bottle of red in one hand and her wine glass in the other, and pull her through the crowded bar towards the door.

  ‘What do you know about Damian the baker’s older brother?’ I say trying to see what direction he headed towards through the steamed-up glass door.

  ‘Only that I didn’t know he had one. Why?’

  ‘I just met him. So weird. And rude as hell. Sexy too. But rude as anything. So, is he visiting, I wonder?’

  ‘I have no idea. All I know is that you and I haven’t done nearly enough drinking as we should.’ She tops up our glasses and plops the empty wine bottle onto the tray of a passing waitress. Just then Jenna calls over to me.

  ‘Want to dance?’ I ask Carey.

  ‘Why not?’ she says. ‘Drunk dancing. The perfect way to forget the past.’

  We put our wine glasses onto a table next to Jenna who is busting some crazy moves. I notice her fiancé beside her for the first time. She shouts some introductions and he nods, shyly, in my direction. I didn’t quite catch his name but it doesn’t matter. Jenna grabs both my hands and shakes me so that I break into a few dance moves of my own. I look around for Carey who is dancing elegantly, as I’d expect, in a world of her own behind me. She sways from side to side in an unbuttoned coat. I shove my soggy coat and scarf under the table where the rest of the magazine crew sit then turn my attention to the music as I try to out dance Jenna, pulling Carey into our space. Behind the steamy windows I dance away my past. Half the time my mind is on Jed and the other half is spent pondering the expression on Carey’s face and wondering what it is she’s trying to dance away.