by Paige Toon
‘Are you going to see him again?’ he asks me listlessly.
‘James…I can’t not…’
‘I’m going out.’ He turns away.
‘James! Don’t!’ I follow him in dismay. He’s putting on his jacket by the front door and his face is drawn, white.
‘Please don’t go.’ I take hold of his arm but he shakes me off, slamming the door behind him.
Have I just lost my boyfriend? I ask myself wildly. How the hell did that happen? I sit on the sofa in disbelief. After ten minutes I try calling James but his mobile diverts to voicemail. Where has he gone? Maybe he’s on the tube.
When his phone does eventually ring, he doesn’t answer it and after a while he switches it off. Either that, or he’s on the tube again. I pray it’s the latter; that he’ll be home soon. But at 11 p.m., after an evening of confusion and anguish, he texts me to say he’ll see me tomorrow. I immediately dial his number to call him back but he diverts me, and the next time I try he’s switched his phone off again.
He doesn’t come home that night, and I feel sick to my stomach. It’s awful; on a par only with the flight to Sydney when I thought he’d cheated on me. I briefly consider calling Nathan but I can’t talk to him about this. I can’t talk to anyone–they’d only say I brought it on myself. In the end I cry myself to sleep.
At about ten o’clock the next morning, Nathan calls me himself, merrily saying hi until he hears my voice.
‘What’s wrong?’ His concern sends me over the edge and I start to cry again.
‘James…James left.’
‘Why?’ he asks. ‘What happened?’
‘We…had…an argument,’ I stammer, trying to breathe. ‘He didn’t come home last night.’
Nathan listens as I continue to cry quietly down the phone, neither of us speaking. I can’t let on that we were arguing over him. That’s the last thing I can do, which just makes me feel worse. As I calm down, I realise he hasn’t spoken for a good couple of minutes. God, he must think I’m a total wreck. I am a total wreck.
‘Nathan?’ I ask. Is he even still there?
‘Yeah. I’m here.’ I understand then that the poor guy just doesn’t know what to say. What can he say?
‘Are you okay?’ I ask him. ‘Did you get plenty of sleep?’
‘Yeah, yes, I’m fine,’ he says, brushing me off.
‘Is Richard there?’ I ask banally.
‘Er, no, he should be getting here around midday, I reckon.’ He’s evidently uncomfortable and I suddenly feel horribly ashamed that I sobbed down the phone to him. The silence is deafening. What must he be thinking? If anything was going to slam home the reality of my boyfriend, this perhaps is it.
‘What are you doing today?’ I ask, trying hard to act normal, but it comes out sounding weak, pitiful.
‘Um, I don’t know. Just getting ready for work tomorrow, I guess.’
‘Are you looking forward to it?’ I ask awkwardly.
‘Yeah, I suppose so,’ he answers. ‘Look, Luce…’ His voice trails off and I hold my breath, wondering what he’s going to say. ‘Why don’t I call you next weekend, hey? I’ve got a busy week at work and…’ My heart sinks with every word. ‘…you know, give you time to sort things out with…James, you know?’
‘Okay,’ I answer monotonously. ‘Okay.’
I wish him good luck at work and we hang up.
After that, I curl up into a ball and sob.
Well done, Lucy, you’ve probably lost your boyfriend of almost four years and now you’ve scared off Nathan as well.
I don’t want to lose James, though. Not yet. I don’t know about ‘not ever’, but definitely ‘not yet’.
When he walks in looking dishevelled and unshaven at two o’clock that afternoon, I rush out to greet him.
‘I’m so glad you’re home!’ I wrap my arms around him. He gently but firmly detaches me and heads towards the bathroom, shuts the door in my face and locks it. I gravely wipe the tears from my eyes and go through to the kitchen. I must pull myself together. We must stop this. We must sort this out.
When James comes through after ten minutes, I say that to him, firmly. He doesn’t answer.
‘Where did you go?’ I demand.
‘You don’t get to ask me questions like that.’ He speaks to me like I’m a stranger.
‘Can we talk about this?’ I plead.
‘Do you know what?’ He turns to me and eyes me malevolently. ‘I’m fed up with talking about it. Let’s just call it a day, hey?’
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, alarmed. ‘You don’t mean…split up?’
‘No.’ He laughs, and for a second I see a flash of my gorgeous boyfriend, but his laugh turns sour. ‘I just mean, let’s not talk about it anymore. I’m sick of talking.’
Thank God. ‘Please, can we…’ I go over to him, wanting him to wrap his strong arms around me and hold me tightly. He touches my arm with his hand.
‘It’s alright, Lucy,’ he says, and wipes the tears creeping down my face. ‘It’s going to be okay.’ He takes me in his arms and squeezes me so tightly I can barely breathe. I bury my head against his neck. After a moment, he pulls away. I’m expecting him to lead me to the bedroom but he doesn’t. ‘Let’s go and see what’s on the telly,’ he suggests instead.
We spend the rest of the afternoon in a strange, surreal silence, trying our best to forget the painful last twenty-four hours.
The next morning I don’t want to go to work. My eyes are still puffy and my face is blotchy from all the crying I did over the weekend. I consider calling in sick, but James is heading into the office as normal so I force myself to perk up.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Chloe asks, wide-eyed, the second I arrive at my desk. I’m twenty minutes late. I shake my head at her, and don’t answer. A few minutes later, when my computer has warmed up, I receive an email from her.
WHAT’S UP? NATHAN OK?
I don’t want to talk about this now. I type back:
TELL YOU LATER
I avoid her gaze throughout the day and do my best to be as normal as possible. On my way back to my desk at one point I see Chloe and Gemma whispering; they break away as soon as they see me. I ignore them.
Towards the end of the day I send Nathan a text:
SORRY BOUT YESTERDAY. HOPE FIRST DAY OK?
A torturous half an hour later he writes back with:
YEAH GOOD
He doesn’t mention our phone call. It makes me feel queasy.
‘Did you call him today?’ James regards me later, over dinner.
‘No,’ I answer truthfully. I look up at him, cautiously. ‘I did text him to say I hope he had a good first day, though.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lucy.’ He slams down his knife and fork and pushes his chair out from the table.
‘I had to!’ I exclaim. ‘He doesn’t know what’s going on; it would have been weird not to acknowledge him in some way.’
James gets up, leaving his half-empty plate. He slouches down on the sofa and switches on the flatscreen, turning the sound up loudly. I watch him in dismay. That bloody TV. I can’t finish my meal, so in the end I clear the table and wash up the dishes. He doesn’t broach the subject again, and we sit and watch a wildlife documentary in silence. Eventually I go to bed and he follows me soon afterwards. The space between us is vast. I fall asleep feeling utterly miserable.
Tuesday isn’t much of an improvement. I don’t contact Nathan again and he doesn’t contact me. I don’t know what’s going to happen here; it’s a bloody disaster. Again I curse myself for revealing to James how I feel about Nathan. But there was nothing I could do. I shouldn’t have bloody well fallen asleep in his room! Why did I do that?
But this was going to happen sooner or later. You knew that, didn’t you, Lucy?
The girls try to get me to go out with them on Tuesday for lunch but I’m so busy with work that I do have a proper excuse. Chloe pesters me again by email, wanting to know if it’s about Nathan
, but I deflect her questions. I’m going to have to tell her sometime, but I really, really don’t want to talk about it now.
By Wednesday, I’m feeling a bit better. James and I have settled into a slightly uneasy truce. He asked me if I called Nathan yesterday and I could deny it, honestly.
The girls try again to take me out for lunch but I fob them off with work excuses. That evening when I leave the office at 6.30, Chloe runs after me.
‘Lucy! Wait up,’ she calls. I pause. ‘What’s going on? Why are you so unhappy?’ she pants, when she’s caught up. ‘Is it Nathan? Or James?’ she persists.
‘It’s both,’ I answer.
‘Will you come for a drink?’ she asks and I waver. ‘Come on,’ she encourages.
In the dark, gloomy pub we take our Pinots to a table and I fill her in. She listens patiently.
‘Bloody hell,’ she says, when I’ve finished. ‘What a nightmare.’
‘Mmm.’
‘What are you going to do?’ she asks. ‘Will you still see Nathan?’
I shrug my shoulders, weakly. ‘I just don’t know.’
‘Lucy! Talk to me! Stop clamming up,’ she demands. ‘What’s going through your mind?’
‘What’s going through my mind is that I’m completely and utterly fucked!’ Here we go; I’m off on one, now. ‘I’ve fallen for a twenty-three-year-old, sorry, twenty-four-year-old surfer, builder, whatever the hell he is, who may as well be from another fucking planet! I don’t trust my bloody boyfriend and I don’t know why. And that’s just fabulously ironic, isn’t it? Because I’m the one who’s thinking about CHEATING!’
‘Jesus,’ she says, backing off with wide eyes.
I take a deep breath and look at her woefully, my head collapsing onto my right hand.
‘Hey.’ She reaches across the table to give my other hand a reassuring pat. ‘It will be alright.’
I don’t respond. She hesitates.
‘You’re not really thinking about cheating on James, are you?’
‘No.’ Yes. Maybe.
‘Good. Because that will only make matters worse, I assure you.’
‘I know.’ Of course I know. But I also know that if Nathan had kissed me in Sydney, I sure as hell would have kissed him back. Acknowledging that fact doesn’t make me like myself very much.
On Thursday, Gemma and Chloe defiantly drag me out through the door to take me to lunch. I keep telling them I’m too busy but they insist. We sit in a café and order our sandwiches from a waitress. Finally they turn to me, with odd expressions on their faces. I suddenly sense something’s wrong.
‘What is it?’ I’m nervous.
They glance at each other, sideways.
‘What?’
‘Um…Does James have a sister?’ Gemma asks me.
‘No, he’s an only child. Why?’
‘It’s just that…’
‘What? Tell me!’
Chloe speaks. ‘I’m sorry, I should have said something last night, but I just couldn’t. Gemma saw James on Primrose Hill on Sunday morning with a tall, dark-haired girl. They looked kind of…together.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He had…’ Gemma starts, and I nod hastily, encouraging her to go on. ‘He had his arm around her. They were on a bench…’
I feel like someone has punched me in the stomach. ‘What did she look like?’
‘Tall, slim, long dark hair…’ She fills me in, hesitantly.
‘I kind of thought…’ Chloe speaks.
‘Yes?’
‘I thought it sounded a bit like the girl at his office drinks that time?’
‘Zoe? But she’s got a boyfriend!’
‘That’s what I thought!’ Chloe slaps her palm down on the table. ‘It’s probably nothing. It’s probably nothing to worry about,’ she adds. ‘But I–we–just thought you should know, with all that, you know, all that’s going on.’
‘Does Gemma know about Nathan?’ I ask Chloe.
‘Um…’ she shifts uncomfortably.
‘It’s okay.’ I smile at them both, tightly. ‘Thank you for telling me.’ I know it’s no fun being the bearer of bad news.
That afternoon drags by like no afternoon at work ever has. I don’t want to call James; I want to see his face when he explains what’s going on, and then at least I might have a better idea about whether he’s lying his bloody arse off.
At half past four I can stand it no longer and ask Mandy if I can leave as I’m not feeling well. She’s not too pleased because we’re very busy at the moment launching a new PR campaign for a hot young jewellery designer and I shouldn’t even have taken a lunch hour, but she doesn’t try to stop me.
I can’t handle the tube or the walk at the moment, so I catch a cab, spending money I don’t really have and adding to the guilt I already feel over leaving work early. Brilliant.
When I arrive home I text James and ask him to come home as quickly as possible because we need to talk. He texts back:
WHY?
I don’t reply.
He walks through the door at seven o’clock with an odd look on his face.
‘What’s up?’
‘Where were you on Saturday night?’ I ask him, trying to read his expression. He laughs uncomfortably. ‘Answer the question.’
‘I told you, you don’t get to ask—’
‘Answer. The. Fucking. Question.’
He walks past me to the kitchen. ‘James!’ I am hot on his heels. ‘Who the hell is she? The brunette? Primrose Hill?’
He turns to face me. ‘Zoe,’ he answers tonelessly, and I look at him, wild-eyed. I expected him to deny everything.
‘What do you mean? Why Zoe? Is she the one who sent me that text?’ My voice increases in urgency and volume with every question.
‘No, she’s not!’ he denies forcefully. ‘I told you that was the blokes at work. Zoe’s just a friend.’
‘I didn’t know you were friends with her?’ I push, confused.
‘Yeah, of course we’re friends. I work with her, don’t I?’
‘Did you stay with her on Saturday night?’
‘I crashed over there, yes,’ he replies, a touch defensively.
‘Where was Jim?’ I ask, and I just know what’s coming.
‘They broke up.’
Surprise, surprise.
I laugh at him, bitterly. ‘You are full of BULLSHIT!’
‘Lucy, calm down!’
‘Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! My friend saw you! You had your arm around her! Don’t tell me she’s just a friend because I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!’
‘She is just a friend,’ he tells me steadily, but keeps his distance.
‘Liar!’
‘Lucy, calm down.’ He comes towards me, his face contorted with frustration. ‘She is Just. A. Friend,’ he insists. ‘I was comforting her because her boyfriend, you know, the one you thought was such a nice guy in Spain, fucking CHEATED on her!’ His voice becomes angrier with every word that comes out of his mouth. He runs his hand through his hair and turns to me, coldly. ‘Do you realise how lucky you are?’ he asks. ‘Do you? I had to sit there at Zoe’s house on Saturday night while she bawled her eyes out because Jim is a lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch. The poor girl was beside herself. So, do you, Lucy? Do you realise how bloody lucky you are that I wouldn’t do that to you?’
I look at him, unable to work out if he’s lying or not. I want to believe him. I do want to believe him. But he doesn’t try to convince me. He’s waiting to see what I say.
‘I don’t want you seeing her anymore,’ is what I come back with.
‘What?’ he asks, confused.
‘I don’t want you seeing her anymore,’ I repeat determinedly.
‘Lucy, that’s ridiculous.’ He laughs hollowly. ‘I work with her. We’re friends. I’m not going to not see her.’
‘Do you fancy her?’ I ask him.
‘No!’ he exclaims.
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t!’ he insists. ‘This is about Nathan, isn’t it?’ he asks, and I look at him meaningfully, but don’t answer. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ he says.
‘He’s just a friend,’ I tell him bluntly. ‘Just like Zoe. He hasn’t done anything wrong.’
‘It’s not the same.’
‘Yes, it is,’ I respond firmly, and he doesn’t speak for a while. I add, ‘Maybe the four of us should go out sometime, just as friends and see how we get on?’ He’s clearly not keen on that idea. ‘Seriously,’ I continue, ‘I think you should meet Nathan. You’d get on with him. And he is my friend, James,’ I say, my voice softening. ‘I really do want to be friends with him. Just friends.’
‘Okay,’ he speaks finally. ‘But if he ever tries anything on with you I’m going to knock his fucking block off.’
Chapter 22
The girls try to persuade me to join them for Friday-night drinks, but I’m determined to have a quiet night in. I attempt to explain James’s behaviour on Primrose Hill with Zoe but, even as I’m saying it, I know it sounds lame. Although they probably don’t believe his excuse, they make a reasonable show of pretending to. While I don’t like the fact that Chloe and Gemma doubt him, there’s nothing I can do.
James goes out for a big night with his work, even though I ask him not to stay out too late. When, at about 10 p.m., I text him to ask where he is and he doesn’t reply immediately, I call him. There’s no answer so I call him again. And again. Eventually he picks up and the noise from the crowded bar he’s in is deafening. I shout down the phone but he can’t hear me. I shout as loudly as I can, worrying about the neighbours, and ask him to go outside so we can talk. He shouts back that he’s leaving soon. And that, unfortunately, is that.
An hour and a half later he comes home, by which time I’m in bed, trying to sleep. I sit up and ask him groggily if she was there.
‘Was who where?’ he answers, trying to sound less pissed than he obviously is.
‘You know who I mean,’ I snap. ‘ZOE!’
‘Shush, Lucy, ow!’ He stumbles, putting his hand to his ear.
