The Starter Home

by Bryony Fraser

  Stop, she thought again. Stop. She took another large swig, draining the glass. She was beginning to feel almost dizzy.

  But look at Jack’s face! She could do this. She had to do this. It was all going to be – Zoe swallowed – ok.

  ‘Ok,’ she said, aware of how Jack was looking at her. ‘Ok, let’s do this. Let’s marry each other.’ The words sounded strange. ‘Is that the right answer?’

  Jack blinked. ‘Really?’ he said. ‘Are you sure?’

  She swallowed again, and held her empty glass to her hot face. ‘Yes! Of course!’

  Jack whooped and bundled her into a huge hug, rocking her on their chair until they were kissing again. Then there was a bustle of movement, and a huge crowd poured out as one of the screenings finished. The bar was full, but Zoe and Jack slipped away with the crowds as they headed home.

  Neither of them remembered much of the journey back, although they would remember some of the things they did once they got home for quite a while.

  The next morning, Zoe awoke alone with a sore head, sitting up a little and shaking it, uncertain what it was she was trying to shake loose. With a crunching nausea, she remembered both how much they’d ended up drinking – Jack had thoughtfully placed two bottles of prosecco in the fridge for their return, both of which were now empty – and then, a beat or two later, why they were drinking in the first place. She remembered the bridge, the proposal, her acceptance.

  Well, she thought, collapsing back on the pillow. That was that then. She’d accepted and she couldn’t un-accept now. You accepted your fate – or your punishment – and it made you a better person, didn’t it? If she just kept her eyes closed and swallowed her medicine, she could get on with living her life around all this stuff, couldn’t she? She blew out hard, and tried not to taste her own mouth. She’d just keep her eyes closed, that’s what she’d do. It was fine.

  Just as she was nodding back off to sleep, having found a position where she could be lightly unaware of her tongue, her stomach and her head, Jack came bounding in puppyishly and dropped a tray of clinking glassware and crockery at her feet.

  ‘Breakfast in bed, fiancée!’ he called softly, giggling.

  Zoe opened one eye. ‘Please just give me some ibuprofen and then let me sleep for at least a week.’

  ‘Croissants? Juice? Bacon sandwich?’

  Zoe slowly slid one of Jack’s pillows over from the other side of the bed, then placed it over her own head. Within half a minute, Jack could hear her softly snoring.

  He took a bite of flaky pastry. ‘Hmm. We’ll continue this later, I think,’ he said, half to himself. He was too happy to wonder about any hesitation on Zoe’s part. He’d probably just surprised her, that was all.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Now

  Summer hit the city. Women filled the streets and the Tube in sandals and sundresses, and the parks bloomed with office picnickers. By the time I got home, eating a Twister from the corner shop, I was in high spirits, filled with the infectious optimism in the air, thinking about tennis games and summer lunches.

  Jack seemed to be waiting for me when I got in.

  ‘Hello! You look smart.’

  He was in a dark blue suit, flecked with cream nubs, with groomed hair and new glasses.

  ‘Twister,’ he said in response. ‘Nice.’

  ‘I didn’t know you were here – I would have brought one for you, too.’ On a day like this, it was all too easy to fall into familiar habits with Jack. But with last month’s kiss still seared onto my brain – and my lips – I didn’t want him to think there was anything other than Official Platonic Civility between us.

  He ruffled the back of his hair, leaving a tuft up at the top like Mr Majeika.

  ‘Cool, yeah.’ He’d stopped listening. My good mood popped.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s Jessica. At work?’

  I knew what was coming, but I couldn’t make it easy for him. Not after the kiss. I just looked at him.

  ‘You remember her? The CFO at Gillett – I think you met her at the …’

  My eyes widened.

  ‘No, sorry, not the point. Anyway. So … I think we’re seeing each other. Properly.’

  Right. Suspicions confirmed then. Ouch. I shuffled towards him, and held up one hand, numbly. ‘High five!’ I shouted. Jack reached up to softly slap my hand and we stood for a moment, palm to palm, saying nothing. I let my hand drop. Jack coughed.

  ‘So is this … ok? Are we ok?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure! Why wouldn’t we be! It’s fine! It’s cool!’ Jack looked like he was about to leave, picking up his bag, checking himself in the mirror, and I started to wonder whether he’d be out of the flat before I disintegrated into a thousand tiny shards of Zoe, scattered all over the floor. ‘Have a good night!’ I shouted, momentarily panicked that I would never be able to talk at normal volume again.

  As soon as he was through our front door and I heard the outer door slam, I whispered, ‘Fuck,’ kicked my shoes under the sofa, crawled into bed, and fell fast asleep.

  Kat had lured me into discussions about my love life on the promise of a free Saturday brunch.

  ‘Come on,’ said Kat. ‘Things can’t have been that bad with George. Why wouldn’t you give him another chance at a proper date?’

  ‘Are we seriously still talking about this? It was weeks ago. And I told you. It wasn’t bad. It was just …’ I tried not to think about my kiss with Jack only a month ago.

  ‘What. Impossibly sexual? You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen his photo.’

  I gaped at her.

  ‘What? It’s a public page on the school website. I’m not letting someone date my sister without me vetting them. Why did you think I was so eager for you to pass my photo on if you were opting out? Anyway, what exactly was the problem then?’

  ‘It just didn’t feel … right. I hate to have to keep reminding you of this, but I was getting married this time six months ago. So despite his face—’

  ‘And body.’

  ‘And body,’ I sighed, then collected my thoughts. ‘I just didn’t feel like it was the right thing to do.’

  Kat curled her lip and sat back in her chair. ‘The last thing you need, Zo, is a relationship that goes anywhere. You need a bit of fun, a slice of handsome to take your mind off all this shit.’ She gestured behind her, presumably at my marriage.

  ‘I don’t want to lead anyone on, Kat. I feel like I did enough damage doing that with poor Jack.’

  ‘You’re not leading George on. He’s just moved down here. He’s a couple of years younger than you. Do you really think he’s after The One? Listen: if he ever asks you again, just enjoy your time with him! Relax! Get your head back into dating, and you can decide later on how you feel about him. No one’s asking you to marry him.’

  I reached over and took the last of her pancakes, thinking about whether she was right. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if she should be giving me advice – besides those awfully suspicious photos with Chuck, I hadn’t seen her with anyone for years. On the other hand, she seemed more content than anyone else I knew: neither desperate for company nor smothered by anyone. Although that reminded me …

  ‘Jack’s got a new girlfriend.’

  ‘Has he!’ Kat screeched in grim delight. ‘That frisky son of a bitch.’

  ‘I’d suspected he was seeing her already. I just didn’t expect finding out to feel this bad.’

  She ran her finger through the maple syrup coating her plate. ‘I rest my case. Time to jog on, dear Zo.’

  Whether or not it was time for anyone to jog anywhere would have to wait – I had to find out about the pictures of her and Chuck. Somehow.

  ‘Listen, Kat, tell me about your work. Your night out together looked good fun.’

  ‘Not this again.’

  ‘I’m serious! You’re my little sister and I don’t know what the hell
you do at that office.’

  ‘It’s strategy, alright? Is that enough information? Zo, I’m not little anymore.’

  I felt queasy, hearing the echo of Chuck’s words in her defence. ‘I know you’re not. You’re super grown up and capable and don’t need your sisters worrying about you.’

  ‘Sisters, plural? What the hell have you three been chatting about behind my back? And what are you worried about?’

  ‘Kat, we’re not doing anything behind your back. We just want to know that you’re happy.’ She gave an ironic snort. ‘Does that mean you’re not happy?’ I probed as she looked away. ‘Is it Chuck?’

  She grabbed her bag from the table and stood up. ‘It means, Zo, that you really need to trust me, alright? I’m not a little kid. Just let me look after myself.’ And before I could stop her, she was gone.

  I’d managed to avoid Jack for almost two weeks, since he’d told me about his new significant other. He was coming home late and leaving early, and I wondered if we could keep that up for the remaining five or so months. If only. I got home from school one Friday soaked from a flash summer rainstorm, shivering and dripping onto the carpet, shoes squelching. Jack’s keys were on the hall table, so I wondered why there were no lights on, no music or TV. Then a two-headed beast rose up from the sofa, resolving itself into Jack trying to do up his flies, and a woman, Jessica, desperately struggling back into a blouse that had turned itself into silken fusilli.

  ‘Zoe! Christ, what time is it?’

  ‘Good to see you too, Jack.’

  The woman spoke. ‘I’m really sorry, we didn’t know …’

  It was nice to be on the moral high ground, for once. I reverted to my most formal British manners. ‘It’s fine. I’ll … be in my bedroom. Nice to meet you.’ I couldn’t quite bring myself to say her name, even though none of this was her fault. This should have been in a year’s time, Jack and I each happy with new partners, both of us impeccably dressed for a double date at a pub, all four of us able to laugh and talk together like the impossibly modern metropolitan millennials we undoubtedly were. Not like this. Not in my living room, not with them half dressed, not mere days after Jack had even told me of her existence, not with me dripping from my hair to my now wrecked brogues. This was not how Moving On was meant to look.

  As I swaddled myself up in a towelled bathrobe and hair wrap in my room, I deflated further. Our kiss now seemed ancient history, to be discussed only by historians in heavy, dusty tomes – not our immediate, neon present. I took small consolation that I’d managed not to shout ‘WE WERE KISSING RIGHT HERE LAST MONTH’ directly into the new couple’s happy faces.

  I sat in front of the mirror. A bedraggled, blotchy face stared back at me, hair poking from her wrap, mascara down her cheeks, lipstick smudged at one corner, mouth turned down at the corners, pouting and pitiful. ‘Oh, stop,’ I whispered to my reflection, almost laughing at how pathetic I looked. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and let all the air out. I sat up straighter. I cleaned my face, toned, moisturised, fluffed out my hair, painted my nails and shaped my brows. Nothing in this situation was a disaster. I’d asked for this divorce. I’d wanted it. Him getting a girlfriend was – as any divorcée would tell you – probably the best thing that could have happened to me. He’d be agreeable, make the whole thing easy; he’d act like a grown-up.

  But it didn’t mean I had to do the same.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Two years earlier

  On the train to Norwich, Jack glanced at his phone as he heard it beep. He read the message, his face screwing up in bafflement.

  ‘Dad says there’ll be four of us for lunch.’

  ‘Who’s the fourth?’ Zoe flicked through a magazine and sipped her paper cup of coffee. And they said the age of luxury train travel was dead.

  ‘He doesn’t say. Captain fucking Mystery. Can I have a sip, please?’

  ‘Of course. I got a large with extra whipped cream to give us energy for the day ahead.’

  ‘Ooh, you’re good. Thank god for you.’ Jack pulled off the lid and took a big glug.

  ‘Who could it be? A friend? A relative?’

  ‘He doesn’t have any friends, at least none that he’d invite to lunch with his son and his son’s girlfriend. Sorry, fiancée.’ Jack chuckled. ‘I still love that. It makes me feel really old school.’

  ‘You sure he wouldn’t be planning any kind of engagement celebration?’

  Jack pulled an incredulous face. ‘He might, but then I’d be asking what that man had done with my real father. That kind of thing was always Mum’s job. I don’t think Dad would even know how to go about planning a party. Anyway, he did say it’s only one extra person. Oh my god, but can you imagine though, if we turn up at this gastropub and Dad’s filled a room with all his masonic drinking buddies?’

  ‘Is your dad in the Masons?’

  Jack laughed. ‘No!’ Then he looked thoughtful. ‘Would he be allowed to tell us, even if he was?’

  ‘I think you’re thinking of Fight Club.’

  ‘Maybe. No, it’s just some Rotary organisation or something – middle-aged men drinking in pubs with the excuse that they’re planning the same charity event they’ve done for the last two decades, that kind of thing. Grainy photos of them holding up three-digit cheques for a cancer charity to pad out the local paper.’

  ‘Someone’s very needlessly cynical this morning.’

  ‘Sorry. I know. Sorry. They’re all really nice guys, of course they are. I just don’t know if I’d want to celebrate my engagement with them.’

  ‘Jack. Listen. Name one person it could be. Focus.’

  ‘Yes, right. One person. One person? I honestly don’t feel like Dad knows “one person”. Not that he could invite anywhere. He knows me, you, his ex-wife, his gang of drinking buddies …’

  ‘Colleagues?’

  ‘Same, not that he’d invite out.’

  ‘I don’t think we’re going to guess this one. He clearly wants to be a bit Dark Horse about all of this, so we’re just going to have to wait—’ Zoe looked at her watch ‘—forty more minutes until we can solve the mystery, ok?’ Jack was staring out of the window, frowning. This would be the most time either of them had spent with Graham in two years, since Linda had left him; every other meeting had been a snatched coffee in a train station when Graham was on his way to somewhere else. He hadn’t been prioritising time with his son since finding himself alone.

  Zoe rummaged in her bag. ‘Jack.’ She waved a book at him. ‘Crossword with me?’

  Even though they’d agreed to meet Jack’s dad – and now his surprise guest – at the pub, he was there waiting for them on the platform. Jack saw him from the train window and turned to Zoe with sudden light in his eyes. ‘You don’t think it’s Mum, do you? That must be why he didn’t tell us! That’s the surprise!’

  Zoe put her arm through his, gently saying, ‘No, I don’t think so. Linda would have told us she was coming, Jack. It must be someone else.’

  Jack turned away from her, and watched his dad through the window again. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘S’pose so.’

  As they got off the train and approached Graham, he looked different too, in a similar way to how Linda had looked so different in that airport, but with some kind of undertone that Zoe couldn’t quite put her finger on.

  ‘Hello,’ he said, waving at them both, fingers waggling. He clapped Jack briefly on the back, smiled and nodded at Zoe, and headed off towards the car park. Zoe and Jack looked at each other, Zoe amused, Jack incredulous, before hurrying after him.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes, I know I said we’d meet you there, but we were passing anyway and I thought I might as well pick you up.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Yes.’ He stopped by his pristine car, and the passenger door opened. ‘Jack, do you remember Christine? Used to work at your primary school?’

  ‘Not really.’

  Zoe put her arm back in Jack’s.

  ‘W
ell, she’s joining us for lunch today.’

  Christine stepped out, all cashmere waterfall cardigan and perfect neutral lipstick. Zoe could tell – her neatness, her adults-only knitwear, her brittle, practised smile – that Christine hated children, and could tell from Jack’s reaction that he had known it for years. But they weren’t children now.

  ‘Hello, I’m Zoe.’ She walked towards her, hand out, and Christine’s smile became brighter, harder.

  ‘Hello Zoe, I’ve heard so much about you.’

  They both turned to Jack, who was completely speechless, but after a moment raised a hand in greeting. Christine’s smile faltered, but she caught it and turned it back on. ‘Hello, Jack! Lovely to see you again after all this time.’

  They stood in silence for a while, four of them around the car, Jack looking shocked and Christine looking uncertain, Graham beaming at them all. Finally, Zoe said, ‘What time is our reservation for?’

  Then suddenly they were all action, Christine saying, ‘Right, you young ones can have the back seat to yourselves,’ while Graham started the engine before any of them were even inside, and Zoe was looking at Jack and his frozen face.