Charlotte Street

by Danny Wallace

  Still.

  Today was Sarah’s engagement party. Sarah was going to where she wanted to be. She was on the way.

  And all I had to do was turn up and wish her all the very best.

  I could do that.

  ‘What have you brought?’ I asked, suspiciously. ‘It stinks!’

  ‘Pamela recommended it,’ said Dev, holding it at arm’s length. Whatever it was was wrapped tightly in a blue plastic bag, and I was happy about that. ‘It’s some kind of cheese.’

  I smiled. ‘Pamela? You popped in to see Pamela, did you?’

  ‘She has a boyfriend, Jason.’

  ‘They won’t mind me coming, will they?’ asked Abbey, struggling into the straps of her backpack as we stepped off the bus. ‘I just sort of invited myself last night, didn’t I?’

  ‘I’m pleased you’re here,’ I said, which was true.

  Sure, the adult thing would’ve been to have gone alone, made polite chit-chat with semi-acquaintances or never-before-met family members who’d feel awkward when they discovered who I was. ‘Oh, you’re that Jason,’ they’d say, all rictus-grins and backing-aways. Far better for everyone concerned for me to have my own team.

  The party was at the Queen & Artichoke, just off Great Portland Street, in the upstairs room.

  There was Anna, straight away, in my face, backlit by a harsh sun through the window, dust dancing all around her.

  ‘It’s very mature of you to come,’ she said, not quite making eye contact, ‘although I suppose it is in a pub.’

  ‘Nice to see you again, Anna.’

  ‘I see you’ve brought your prostitute with you.’

  Abbey was standing in the corner, staring at the ceiling like it was confusing her.

  ‘She was joking about that,’ I said, a little unnecessarily. ‘I don’t really eat pies and cry.’

  She looked me up and down.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure about the pies,’ she said, smiling.

  I let her have that.

  ‘Brought some cheese,’ said Dev, shoving it straight in her hands, pleased to be rid of it. ‘You’re welcome.’

  I scanned the room as Anna backed away. Oh, there was Ben. And Chloe. And a host of other people I hadn’t seen in some time. I’d hidden away after Sarah and I broke up. Given up my friends so that she could have them. I’d just wanted it to be easy on her, and easier on me. And that meant never really confronting things. Why should it be so hard, seeing these people again? Was it just the shame, or was it that by seeing them again I was admitting my previous cowardice?

  A waitress slipped by and I reached for a vol-au-vent. Anything to look busy.

  ‘Nice spread,’ said Dev, chewing something. ‘Bet you can’t get a Prawn Ring in an Aldi for miles around here!’

  And then Gary was there.

  ‘Jason Priestley!’ he said, putting his hand on my shoulder and trying to make sure everyone could see he was putting his hand on my shoulder. ‘Not the one from the Beverly Hills programme, of course! Good of you to come. Sarah told me she’d invited you. I said it was fine.’

  He spotted Abbey. She was taking a picture of a potplant on her bright pink phone.

  ‘Is that your … friend? I can’t remember. You had a photo of her? Whitby and all that?’

  ‘No, that’s … another friend.’

  He winked at me.

  ‘Good work.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ I said. ‘She is literally a friend.’

  He winked again.

  ‘Understood,’ he said.

  ‘No, I mean it.’

  ‘Course you do.’

  He winked a third time.

  ‘So, how are things with—’ I started, but Gary had a piece of paper out, and popped his finger to his lip.

  ‘Speechwork,’ he said. ‘Better just work out what I’m going to say.’

  He sidled away, and in the corner of the room, there was Gary’s fiancée, glowing, happy, blooming. She was surrounded by her friends, excitedly chattering away at her, but after a moment I guess she sensed she was being watched, because she turned her head slightly, took me in, smiled a welcome, and raised her glass at me.

  Dev was suddenly by my side again, a plate of vol-au-vents in his hand, and two pints crushed up against his chest.

  ‘Here y’go,’ he said, as I took one. ‘Where’s Abs?’

  We looked around. She was nowhere to be seen. She’d probably been distracted by a fly, and followed it outside, or something.

  ‘Not exactly a rocking party, is it?’ said Dev.

  ‘It’s only three o’clock. I’m not sure it’s supposed to be rocking.’

  ‘What happens at these things then? We just sort of stand around, do we?’

  ‘We do. We just sort of stand around. It’s the being seen that counts. We’re here to be seen, because when we’re seen here, we’re seen supporting.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Dev, disappointed. ‘So, there’s no, like, bridesmaids or anything?’

  ‘Not at an engagement party, generally, no.’

  ‘So what is it, just like, vicars and shit, yeah?’

  ‘If that helps you, yes.’

  Dev nodded, and looked around the room.

  I guess I should’ve started mingling, but to be honest I didn’t feel I’d earned the right. I could only be a minglee.

  I could sense Anna in the corner of the room, already spreading whatever gossip she could, all plaintive nods and subtle glances. She’d already have told people about bumping into me with Abbey, how young she was, how immature that made me, how she’d always thought I’d had deeper problems, deeper issues, how lucky Sarah was to have met Gary, how there’s always a silver lining. Some people mask negativity so well, just by coating it with a clingfilm-deep layer of concern.

  ‘All right?’ said Abbey, suddenly there, as another waitress slid by, carrying a pompous tray of tiny muffins.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’

  ‘Kitchen,’ she said. ‘What’s been happening? Has anyone got off with anyone else yet?’

  I checked my watch.

  ‘Five past three now. You’d think it’d have happened.’

  Abbey giggled. She’d seen something. I followed her gaze but didn’t get it.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, and giggled again.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘I had an idea. I’ll tell you in a bit.’

  My God, Gary could talk.

  ‘Taking Sarah to Florida next month,’ he said. ‘She was like, “Save it for the honeymoon!”, but the world is there to be travelled, y’know? We’ll just go somewhere better for the honeymoon.’

  I felt a childish need to compete.

  ‘I’m going hot-air ballooning soon,’ I said. ‘And also to Silverstone. But first I’m going hot-air ballooning and we’re going to drink champagne in the air.’

  Gary looked at me like I was mental.

  ‘Also, I’m taking on the SAS soon at paintball.’

  He continued: ‘Thing about Florida is, you’re never unsure what the weather’s going to be like. My parents are moving out there soon, so we’ll be able to stay with them every year, you know, with the little one.’

  I smiled. Rocked back on my heels, nodded. Gary paused a second and looked at me, sadly.

  ‘You two never think about having kids?’ he said.

  Oh, Gary, don’t, please.

  ‘Nope,’ I said, as matter-of-factly as I could. ‘Never the right time.’

  Sarah hadn’t told him. Why would she? It was history. Today was about the future.

  ‘Oh, there’s never a “right time” for kids, Jason!’ He laughed, like he’d coined the phrase, like he already had hundreds of children. ‘Until it happens. Then it’s the right time.’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘She’s starting to show now,’ he said, wistfully, and we both looked over at happy, beautiful Sarah.

  She was starting to show. And for just a
second it was all too much.

  The thing I’d never told her, what I always wished I had but now never could, was that I’d wanted it, too. Once I’d got over the shock, once I’d vanquished those confused, selfish thoughts, I’d wanted what she wanted. And when I’d messed it up, when Sarah had gone and left me and I’d been forced to just keep my head down and convince myself I was okay, that if I just ploughed on I’d be fine … I felt like I’d lost two people, not just one. I felt like I’d lost a family, because a family is what we could’ve been and nearly once were.

  I’d lost a whole other life.

  ‘She looks amazing, Gary,’ I said, and then, not out of engagement-party banter but because I painfully, truthfully meant it: ‘You’re a really lucky man.’

  Outside, by the bins, I sat and toyed with my phone.

  I was fine, really. I just needed a moment. To be confronted with the truth of it all – that I’d stayed where I was when where I was wasn’t all that great, while others had moved on – was hard enough. When they’d moved on so well, it was a quiet moment of torture.

  And then Sarah came out and sat down next to me.

  ‘It was good of you to come, Jason.’

  A pause. A silent nod from us both. I stared straight ahead while she clinked the ice around in her glass, the noise somehow louder than the buses and cars and bikes of London.

  ‘I’m being a dick,’ I said, powerless to come up with anything more convincing than the truth. ‘I just needed a moment. It was hot in there and—’

  ‘The thing you need to remember,’ she said, ‘is that you didn’t want any of this. So don’t mourn it.’

  ‘I’m not mourning it. I’m celebrating it, not mourning it.’

  Actually, I was mourning it. But that’s what the selfish do. We mourn what we have, and we mourn what we lose when we realise that we’re no longer the centre of attention, or even just a part of things.

  ‘We’ll always sort of love each other,’ she said. ‘We were part of each other’s lives. We still can be.’

  I faked a small smile. Was that true? I mean, really? Things had changed, and soon they’d change further.

  ‘You know I always wanted kids one day,’ she said. ‘It’s happening sooner than I’d thought, but you could always choose to be happy for me.’

  ‘I am happy for you,’ I said. ‘Honestly, Sarah.’

  ‘But you never wanted them.’

  ‘I never knew what I wanted. I’m only finding out that I do. And anyway, we never talked about it. How do you know what I wanted?’

  ‘I could tell. Do you think someone can’t tell if their boyfriend wants kids one day? Look … when we nearly had what we nearly had—’

  This was how we’d always described it. The truth had always been too raw and too difficult to tackle head on. When we nearly had what we nearly had was our way of couching it in something, creating some distance between the pain and the present.

  ‘—well, it was pretty obvious, Jase. I could see how you felt. There was a coldness there.’

  ‘You never asked me.’

  ‘You never told me. You didn’t need to. And then you did what you did and everything was clear.’

  And then you did what you did. Our other pain-limiting catchphrase. Do all couples develop these? These ways of dealing with the horror of it all?

  ‘When I did what I did … it wasn’t because of what we nearly had. I wanted what we nearly had, too. It just took me a little time to realise.’

  ‘But Jason, you didn’t not do what you did.’

  She was speaking tenderly now, like I was fragile, precious, breakable.

  ‘You did what you did despite what we nearly had. You did it despite everything we already had. You did it. And it broke my heart. Not for ever, but for a while, because, as obvious as it sounds, I loved you.’

  I looked at her for the first time. Her eyes were pricked with tears and something jolted in my heart and I just wanted to fling my arms around her. But how would that look? The evil ex-boyfriend making one last pass at someone else’s pregnant fiancée? She knew, because she always knew, and she smiled a faint smile.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Sar,’ I said, and then I could feel the tears, too.

  When I walked back inside, Dev was on me in an instant, pouncing like a tiger.

  ‘I’ve got a great name for a band!’ he said. ‘Thought of it just now. Shall we start a band?’

  ‘What? No,’ I said, looking over at Sarah, now back in the corner, laughing away like nothing had happened. We’d walked in separately, for obvious reasons, and I’d grabbed the first drink I could and all but skulled it. ‘Why? What’s your great name for a band?’

  ‘It’s “Great Name for a Band”! That way, we could shout, “We’ve been Great Name for a Band”, and everyone would be, like, “That’s a great name for a band!”.’

  ‘Yeah, okay, sure, let’s start a band.’

  ‘Who’s starting a band?’ said Abbey, suddenly there.

  ‘Me and Jason,’ said Dev, proudly. ‘Do you want to be in it?’

  ‘Me? God, no. I have little to no talent.’

  I blinked and remembered last night. The CD poking slyly out of her bag. Abbey’s Songs.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Dev. ‘I was stuck here this whole time talking to that thin man.’

  ‘I was talking to Gary,’ she said, turning to me and smiling, broadly. ‘And also to Anna.’

  Her smile didn’t leave her face. I wasn’t sure what to say. But it was clear she wanted me to say something.

  ‘And … was that nice?’ I tried.

  She just kept smiling.

  So I looked over at Gary. Now he was talking to that thin man, and balancing a little paper plate on his wrist. So far so normal.

  And then I went a little white.

  ‘What the fuck did you do?’ I said, quickly, and her smile only broadened, delighted I’d noticed. ‘Oh, God, Abbey, what?’

  I broke away from them and started to pace towards Gary. I could see Sarah in the corner of my eye looking over concerned, like she thought she’d dealt with me but now here I was, determined to cause a scene. I slowed down, instinctively, but as I got closer …

  ‘Now that’s a cake,’ said Gary. ‘Wotcha, Jason.’

  ‘Wotcha,’ I said, which I won’t be trying again. ‘What, um … so, what are you eating there?’

  Over his shoulder I saw Anna. She had one, too. She was staring at hers like she didn’t like it much, but was munching it down nevertheless.

  I felt a little tug on the back of my shirt and I turned to look at Abbey, shocked.

  She was smiling in anticipation, her eyes sparkling like she was getting ready to cry laughing, Dev next to her, looking confused.

  I turned back, slowly.

  ‘Teacake, I think,’ said Gary. ‘Bit dry. But delicious, too.’

  Oh dear God.

  I grabbed Abbey, moved her to one side, as Gary asked Dev how ‘the good ship Nissan Cherry’ was doing.

  ‘What have you done?’ I said, and that was when she cracked. And a second after she cracked, the dam burst.

  She laughed, and laughed, and she had to grab a six-foot dragon plant to steady herself, but when that rocked about, she just laughed even more.

  I moved her into the hallway.

  ‘Are you high?’ I said, my teacher voice suddenly back in play from who knows where.

  ‘No!’ she spluttered, and laughed even more.

  ‘What the fuck have you done?’ I asked, and she might as well have exploded at that point. ‘Do you know how dangerous that is? Do you realise how irresponsible you’ve been?’

  ‘Come on!’ she said, between breaths. ‘This is funny. This is funny. You’re at your ex’s engagement party with some of the most boring and sullen people on earth, one of whom thinks you have a drink problem and the other who just patronises you all the time. How else were you going to enjoy it?’

  ‘I didn’t come here to enjoy it! I came he
re to show how mature I am! And now you’ve given Gary and Anna some spacecakes.’

  Abbey took that in. Thought again of what had happened and who they’d blame, and exploded again.

  ‘Jason, if you and Svetlana are ready,’ said a stern Anna, leaning through the doorway, all judgement and scorn, ‘we’d like to begin the speeches. But take your time. This is your day, after all.’

  I looked again at Abbey, shook my head the way I’d done countless times as a teacher, took a breath, and strode back into the room.

  Oh, God, this was horrible.

  This was like a time bomb. A really formal time bomb where you’re not allowed to mention the time bomb.

  Twenty minutes later, I was standing between Dev and Abbey in this crowd of maybe forty people and my nerves were wracked.

  Please let it have been weak stuff, I kept thinking. Please don’t let there be any noticeable effects. Please let Abbey have been terribly ripped off, or incapable of basic cookery, or just plain wrong.

  I was sweating. Dev was oblivious. Abbey kept shaking slightly as she stifled her laughter, and leaning into me to steady herself.

  I felt sick.

  Sarah was up first. Start the speeches, I kept thinking. Or cancel them! Cancel the speeches!

  I looked over at Gary, but all I could see was the top of his head, and Anna was leaning against a wall. Is that what people do? I thought, panicked. Is leaning against a wall the first sign of spacecakes?

  ‘Just to say, thanks so much for coming,’ said Sarah. ‘It means the world to both Gary and myself. God, I should start calling him my fiancé!’

  Polite, well-meaning laughter. That was my chance to look around.

  Anna was on her third cake.

  ‘Anna’s had three,’ I hissed, desperately, and Abbey burst out laughing. ‘How many did you give her?’

  ‘Three. Don’t worry, that’s it now. I said my nan made them. She said “how lovely” but then looked at me like I couldn’t afford Waitrose ones or something, so I felt like giving her more.’

  ‘DON’T!’ I said, as loudly as you’d imagine. I made an apologetic face to the dozen or so people who turned to stare at us. Sarah carried on.

  ‘Christ, Abbey.’ I whispered. ‘I’m all for free spirits, so long as there are sensible limits in place. There need to be rules for free spirits.’