Turning Thirty

by Mike Gayle

  I knocked on her bedroom door. ‘Are you decent?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said. ‘Come in.’

  I pushed open the door with my shoulder. Ginny was sitting on the edge of her bed in her dressing-gown, hair-dryer in hand. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Beckford?’

  ‘Cup of tea for you, m’lady,’ I said. ‘No sugar. No milk. Not too strong. Not too weak.’

  ‘Just how I like it,’ she said, then looked puzzled. ‘What’s this in aid of?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I told her. ‘It’s just a cup of tea.’ I paused. ‘Maybe it’s in aid of having such a nice landlady.’

  Ginny narrowed her eyes at me. ‘You want to borrow some money, don’t you?’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘Although if you’re giving it away, I’ll have some. No, I was just thinking how nice it is when someone does stuff like this. I can stop if you like and be a miserable arse like your good self, if you want.’

  Ginny laughed. ‘No, I like this considerate-Matt persona. Is he staying for long?’

  ‘Dunno. I’m not sure how much mileage there is in being nice.’ I took a sip of my tea.

  ‘I don’t know how Elaine ever let you out of her grip, you know.’

  I smiled. ‘Did the phone ring while you were in the bath?’

  ‘No,’ said Ginny, rubbing her head with a towel. She stopped and thought again. ‘Actually, come to think of it, yeah, it did. I was so exhausted that there was no way I was getting out to answer it. Was it something important?’

  ‘No,’ I lied. I just wanted to check whether she’d heard from Ian. ‘It was just a message for me. My parents. I just wondered what time they’d called. No one else phoned?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge,’ she said. ‘Anyway, enough of telephone messages. Ask me how my day was.’

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘The worst. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’m thinking about running away.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Somewhere where life is easier.’

  ‘Somewhere with a beach, maybe?’

  ‘Definitely. Somewhere in the Caribbean. I could sit on a beach all day and teach art to the local kids.’

  ‘You could make collages using shells and seaweed,’ I suggested.

  ‘Excellent.’ She smiled. ‘I’d like that. Are you going to come with me?’

  ‘To your Caribbean island? What for?’

  Ginny laughed. ‘Even in Paradise you need your mates with you.’

  ‘Does that mean we’ve got to take Gershwin too?’

  ‘It’d be mean not to.’

  We laughed again and there was a moment’s silence when I knew I should have told her. But I didn’t. Or, rather, I couldn’t. ‘What are you up to tonight?’ I asked.

  ‘Ian’s busy as usual. How about you?’

  ‘Nothing much.’

  She looked at me thoughtfully. ‘You’ve got the I-want-to-go-back-to-America blues again, haven’t you? I can tell.’

  I pulled a face, signalling that this was still something of a sore point. ‘Are you hungry?’ I asked.

  ‘Is that an offer to cook?’

  ‘It might be,’ I said. ‘What do you fancy?’

  ‘Comfort food,’ she said.

  ‘You want comfort food?’ I repeated.

  Ginny looked puzzled. ‘That’s not such a strange request, Matt, really. What I’d love right now would be potato products like frozen waffles or hash brown or Alphabites, beans and a fried egg. With a dash of tomato ketchup.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  ‘And someone to slob out in front of the TV with for the rest of the evening so that I don’t feel alone in loserdom.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said, relieved. ‘I’ll sort out your potato products and baked beans and a fried egg.’

  ‘What about the someone to watch TV with?’

  ‘Will I do?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘And can we play ER live! again?’

  ‘Of course.’

  sixty-nine

  It was now eleven thirty in the evening. Ginny and I had eaten our stodgy dinner. We’d watched endless crap TV. Played ER live! And I still hadn’t got round to telling her what I knew. So it wasn’t until she yawned and said, ‘Right, I’m off to bed,’ that I decided to speak.

  ‘I saw Ian in Safeway this afternoon.’

  ‘You see everyone in Safeway,’ said Ginny. ‘Did you say hello?’

  ‘He was with a woman,’ I replied.

  There was a barely detectable pause and then she bounced back, ‘Don’t tell me Ian’s got his own supermarket stalker,’ and laughed. But by then it was too late. As brief as the pause had been it made everything click into place.

  ‘You already know, don’t you?’

  ‘About lan being in the supermarket?’ she bluffed.

  I looked into her eyes and I could see I was right. ‘You already know he’s married, don’t you?’

  ‘I’ve always known,’ she said, then bit her lip as tears filled her eyes.

  I put my arms around her and gave her a hug. Neither of us said another word until her tears had subsided. When they eventually did, I stood up and got both our coats from the hallway.

  ‘Let’s go,’ I said, handing her her denim jacket.

  ‘Where to?’

  I smiled, took her hand and kissed the top of her head. ‘We’re running away.’

  seventy

  ‘Parks are weird at night,’ said Ginny, ‘but weird in a good kind of way.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ I replied. ‘It’s like the whole place is here just for us.’

  As if on autopilot we’d walked from Ginny’s house to King’s Heath park, which, although it was past midnight, was still inviting. As soon as we got there Ginny said, ‘Let’s go to our bench,’ and I thought that was a good idea. The bench was an old wooden one overlooking the fountain in the centre of the park. Back when we were exam-stressed teenagers the seven of us had met up there for a break between revision. It was hard to believe it was still here after all this time. I would have bet good money on vandals having had their evil way with it a long time ago, but although it had suffered the ravages of schoolkids armed with marker pens and knives, it hadn’t suffered too badly.

  ‘So are you going to tell me how all this happened?’I asked, after a few moments had passed. ‘You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We can just sit here if you like. But if you do want to talk then, well, I can listen.’

  She was quiet for quite a long time. All the time we had been walking, mainly in silence, I’d been thinking about Ginny’s situation and how it must be affecting her. It was obvious that she had probably been holding back the tears since they’d had first begun the relationship.

  ‘It’s like I said,’ she replied numbly. ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s the way I am. I’ve got friends who, when they see a good-looking bloke, think, I’ll have some of that! I always feel like a fake when I join in because you could put a naked, greased-up male go-go dancer in front of me and, frankly, I’d be more interested in whether he could make a decent cup of tea. It’s my fault I’m like this. I don’t find strangers attractive. Not at all. They do nothing for me. If I don’t know anything about a guy I’m not interested.’ She stopped and glanced at me. I met her eyes briefly and then she looked away. ‘Anyway, I’d been single for a while. I think I just got tired of putting all that energy into relationships when I knew right from the start that they weren’t going anywhere. So I focused on my friends and I focused on work and I focused on Mum . . .’

  ‘And then?’

  She looked up at me again. ‘And then lan started supply teaching at King’s Heath.’

  ‘In the geography department?’

  ‘You know that,’ she replied, and gave me a half-smile acknowledging that I was teasing her. ‘I couldn’t stand him at first. I’d have a conversation with him and would
come away feeling like he was playing games with me. I can’t explain it, really. But whether it was out of curiosity or persistence, he grew on me and we started going for drinks after work. Then we built up a real friendship – a solid friendship. A friendship that continued after he moved to a different school. He was a really good friend to me when Mum died. I was finding it hard to cope with things, and he always seemed to be there at the right time to pick up the pieces. He sort of made himself indispensable – filling in all the gaps in my life. Nothing had happened between us at that point, but I knew I was falling in love with him. Then, one evening last summer, we were round at mine sitting in the garden, and the sun was going down and I looked at him and at that moment I knew he was it – and, well, here we are now.’

  ‘When did you find out he was married?’

  Her voice became smaller, quieter. ‘He told me that night. I know this is going to sound pathetic but he told me right after the first kiss.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And by then it was too late.’

  ‘What do you mean too late?’

  ‘I’d fallen in love,’ she replied unsteadily.

  I put my arms round her. ‘It’s all right,’ I said, holding her tightly. ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘It’s not all right,’ she said, between sobs. ‘It’s not all right at all. I know I sound really flippant about all this but I’m not. I can’t begin to tell you how much this hurts. I’ve tried to end it a million times but I can’t. I love him. It’s so stupid. It’s so pointless.’ She stopped and allowed herself the benefit of a really good cry. ‘I hate how this makes me feel. I feel like a right bitch and I’m not. I’m not. I don’t do these kinds of things. That’s why I haven’t told anyone else. The only reason I even introduced him as my boyfriend when you and I bumped into each other on Gershwin’s birthday was because I thought I wouldn’t see you again after that night. I can’t stand to have people think of me like that. I can’t stand to have you think of me like that.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said. ‘I don’t think of you like that at all, I promise.’

  ‘Why am I doing this? He’s got a kid, you know – a little boy.’

  ‘I take it his wife – Susanna – doesn’t know?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’ve met her – which is worse. Ian used to tell her he was working with me on a project for the lower school as an excuse for us to meet. Then one day she suggested that he invite me round for dinner and Ian couldn’t say no without it looking suspicious. It was horrible, one of the worst nights of my life.’

  ‘So where does Ian tell her he is when he’s with you?’

  ‘Out with his mates, playing five-a-side, working on his Ph.D. at the library. You name it – he’s probably used the excuse.’

  ‘Is he going to leave her?’

  ‘No. He made that clear from the start. He says he loves her in his own way, and he loves his little boy, Jake, more than anything. He’s not going to mess that up for me, no matter how much he loves me.’

  ‘And he does love you?’ I didn’t want to ask this question, but I needed to be sure.

  ‘Yeah, he does,’ she said. ‘When I’ve tried to end it before he’s been in tears trying to get me to stay with him.’ She paused. ‘It’s funny, but I only told him about you and me being not-quite-but-nearly-exes last week and I was surprised. He was actually jealous, even though it was years ago.’

  We carried on talking for the next quarter of an hour or so. I didn’t say much, just the odd comment here and there, but she must have realised that I was being quiet so she asked me the one question I really didn’t want to answer.

  ‘What do you think I should do?’

  When friends ask that question they never want you to tell them what you think they should do, they want you to tell them that the decision they’ve already made is the right one. It’s only natural. It’d be exactly the same for me. But if I’d learned anything from the time I’d been with Elaine it was this: what you want to hear is rarely, if ever, what’s good for you. That’s why if I ever asked Elaine that question she’d always give me her honest opinion, even if it hurt. It was one of the qualities I most admired about her.

  ‘You know you’ve got to stop seeing him, don’t you?’ I said.

  ‘It’s not that simple,’ she replied.

  ‘I know,’ I conceded. ‘Nothing is any more.’ A broad smile spread across my face as a thought entered my head.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll sound insane.’

  ‘What’s new?’

  ‘Okay,’ I began. ‘I was just thinking that it’s like somewhere between the ages of eighteen and thirty you enter the soap-opera era.’

  ‘You’re rambling, Matt,’ said Ginny. ‘You’ve lost me.’

  ‘Life becomes a soap opera, a never-ending stream of twists, turns and unbelievable scenarios. You know how it is: when you’re young life is just so much more obvious. Your little corner of the world is so free of ups and downs that you practically have to invent stuff to worry about. That’s why teenagers are so moody – it’s got nothing to do with raging hormones, and everything to do with the fact that there’s nothing going on in their lives. I look at you, me and Gershwin back then and everything was so simple. Yet here we are, years later and look at us. Gershwin’s married with a kid and bored, you’re having an affair with a married man, and I’m trying to work out if my ex-girlfriend in the States is the one for me. That’s what I mean by being in a soap opera.’

  ‘I’ve got a friend back in Brighton,’ said Ginny, ‘who doesn’t know that his girlfriend is sleeping with his best mate.’

  ‘You see what I mean?’ I said. ‘That could be a plot from either The Bold and The Beautiful or Brookside.’ I thought for a moment. ‘How about this? Just before I left New York some friends of Elaine’s found out that they won’t be able to have kids even with IVF treatment.’

  ‘I think I saw something similar on Home and Away only last week,’ said Ginny, visibly perking up. ‘Okay, here’s another one. A friend of mine living in Keele found out last year that her mum had had an affair twenty-eight years ago and her dad isn’t her real dad.’

  ‘That’s a classic Dallas episode,’ I said, and Ginny laughed and seemed like her old self for a moment. ‘Now do you see what I’m saying?’ I continued. ‘These are all soap-opera staples: the childless couples, the betrayals of best friends, the he’s-not-your-real-dad-this-man-is scenario and they’re happening to real people. Now tell me, how did this happen?’

  ‘I don’t want my life to be EastEnders,’ said Ginny quietly. ‘I just want everything to be normal. I want to be normal.’ She pulled herself closer to me.

  ‘Me too,’ I said, as I wrapped my arms around her again. ‘Maybe we should get some better scriptwriters.’

  Half an hour later we were back at the house, wandering in and out of the bathroom doing our regular getting-ready-for-bed routine.

  ‘Are you going to be okay?’ I asked, as Ginny came out of the bathroom in her dressing-gown.

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine,’ she said, and then leant forward to kiss me. Her breath smelt of toothpaste. ‘Thanks for looking after me.’

  ‘Sleep well. And I’ll see you in the morning.’

  Ginny was half-way towards her bedroom when she stopped and turned round. ‘Matt?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘What?’ I repeated.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Do you want to stand here on the landing all night?’

  She smiled. ‘It’s nothing. I was just going to ramble, really. I know you’re going to think this is a load of New Age nonsense but I believe that things happen for a reason. I think you’re back here at home for a reason. I think that you, me and Gershwin are back together to help each other. I really do. I know things look bleak for both of us at the moment but I honestly believe that we’ll be okay, because . . . well, when you’ve got your mates in your corner shouting for you, anything�
��s possible.’

  seventy-one

  To:

  crazedelaine@hotpr.com

  From:

  mattb@c-tec.national.com

  Subject:

  Life, eh?

  Dear Elaine

  Life is getting really weird round here. I discovered last night that Ginny’s perfect boyfriend is married. With a kid. She hadn’t told anyone at all. I only found out because I bumped into him and his wife by accident. I could just tell from talking to Ginny that, deep inside, she wants to get out of the relationship. She even said that she’s accepted that he’s never going to leave his wife. She knows there’s no future in it. She never gets to see him and yet she won’t or rather can’t let go. I’m not one to get on my moral high horse (or even a moral low pony if there’s one going spare) but this has got to be wrong, surely. Or am I just being an old fart? The worst is that I know he’s fine in all this. He gets everything and Ginny gets nothing. I have considered going round to have a ‘talk’ with him but Ian’s quite a big bloke so I don’t fancy my chances much. I did decide, however, that if I were in the Mafia I’d have a contract put out on him and get someone to – as they say in gangster parlance – ‘put a cap in his ass’. I think it’s only fair. I’m off to watch Godfather II as I’m now in the mood. Let me know how NYC life is, dudette.

  love

  Matt xxx

  To:

  mattb@c-tec.national.com

  From:

  crazedelaine@hotpr.com

  Subject:

  The world is full of married men!!!

  Dear Matt