Turning Thirty

by Mike Gayle

  ‘Mmm,’ said Ginny, grinning. ‘And I take it from this that I am both “old” and “tried and tested”?’ She laughed. ‘Very appealing.’

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand because you’re not me. But the thing about my favourite things in life is that I never get bored with them. Never. Because every time I look at my favourite things, or hear them or whatever, I experience something new, discover some small detail about them that I’d never noticed before, and that only makes them more fascinating.’

  Ginny laughed so loudly that a group of lads in their late teens looked over at her. One of them was holding a bright orange T-shirt in his hand and Ginny pointed and mouthed, ‘Fashion disaster,’ at him and carried on laughing. It was like she was drunk or something. I was considering getting very embarrassed.

  ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘I’m happy. I can’t believe I’m about to say this but that whole spiel you went into about why you only wear blue/black? Well, I think you’ve convinced me.’

  ‘To stick with what you know?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far but you have convinced me of something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you would look terrible in those velvet trousers.’

  eighty-six

  To:

  mattb@c-tec.national.com

  From:

  crazedelaine@hotpr.com

  re:

  Your last 2 e-mails

  Dear Matt

  I think we’ve been through enough together for us to be ‘honest’ with each other. As you so rightly pointed out in your last e-mail, ‘Honesty is everything,’ and it’s true. When I think of you, when I think of everything we had, that’s what I remember most – that we could always talk about everything . . . eventually, at least. I say this as a preliminary to telling you how I took your ‘news’ – I cried. And what’s worse is that I cried more than the day you left. I’ve tried to work out why. I was up all night thinking about it. It’s not like I want us to get back together. I don’t. It’s not even that I’m jealous – I am genuinely pleased for you. In the end I kind of worked out that the reason has something to do with what you said in one of your early e-mails when you talked about all the things you dreamt of being when you were a kid. You said turning thirty was forcing you to face the fact that some things will never be. Well, I guess your moving on is my turning thirty. I know when we were together I never gave you any indication that I thought about the future – or rather our future. But I did. I used to love imagining us having kids (six at least – not v. practical huh?) and figuring out what they’d look like, and which one of us they’d take after character-wise. I used to daydream about us moving out of NY to Philadelphia, to my grandparents’ old house. I used to think about us growing old together – you getting grumpier and me getting more ‘out there’ as the years went on. I even used to think about us dying together (I’d go first because I’d hate to be on my own and you’d follow me a week later because you’d miss me so much). Even though I always knew it was over between us I guess I still hadn’t said goodbye to all my daydreams, and you and Ginny getting together made me face facts. I suppose that if I’m being well and truly honest (and I think I should be) I have to say that this wouldn’t have been half as bad if it had just been some random girl that you’d gotten together with like my random bar guy. Some pretty but vacant Transitional Girl who would be totally unsuitable for you. But you seem to have struck gold first time. Or maybe that should be second time???? I am sooooo rambling now. If you want my advice (and I’m not sure that you do), if Ginny’s the one for you then you should go for it – forget about Australia. It’s hard enough finding whatever it is we’re all looking for to ignore it when it lands in your lap. Whatever you do I want you to be happy. Really I do.

  Love always,

  Elaine xxx

  PS I guess you won’t be wanting your birthday present now. It was going to be kind of a surprise: I was going to come and see you for a week before your birthday. (You would’ve been proud of me. I actually SAVED up the money for the flight.) But I suspect ex-girlfriends and current girlfriends don’t mix too well! I’ll get you something else and spend the money on a holiday to the Caribbean. I’ve never been and it’ll be a great excuse to show off my tattoo (which incidentally has gone septic – hmmmm, nice).

  eighty-seven

  I immediately e-mailed Elaine back to let her know that I wanted her to come and visit and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She wasn’t convinced at first that it was a good idea but I insisted and assured her everything would be okay provided she still felt more like ironing my clothes than ripping them off. To me Elaine wasn’t just an ex-girlfriend, or a friend – this might seem a little idealistic – she was just like family.

  eighty-eight

  It was the Saturday evening that followed my afternoon shopping spree with Ginny. I was on my way to Gershwin and Zoë’s wearing a bright red Stüssy hooded top that Ginny had bought for me that very afternoon. She wasn’t with me. When we had come back to the house she told me that she wanted to spend some time on her own to get her head around the whole idea of splitting up with Ian. I understood, so I’d called Gershwin and Zoë to see what they were doing and ended up being invited to their house for a takeaway and a video.

  ‘Here’s a cup of coffee,’ said a hyperactive Zoë, dragging me into their living room. ‘Charlotte’s asleep,’ she said, pointing to the ceiling. ‘Gershwin’s over there,’ she said, indicating her husband, who was sitting in an armchair looking puzzled. ‘And what we want to know . . .’ She stopped as she caught Gershwin’s eye and wilted temporarily.

  ‘I’m not that bothered about what’s going on,’ said Gershwin. ‘I’m used to it, Zoë.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Zoë ‘What I want to know is what is going on with you and Ginny. I need to know the details and I need to know them now!’

  It was a nice feeling, having a love-life that was worthy of gossip, and it was even better to have Zoë showing an interest in it because her enthusiasm was making the whole thing seem more glamorous than it really was. If I had told Gershwin he would have down-played the whole thing and said, ‘Oh,’ and maybe raised his eyebrows, but Zoë made it seem like the top story on a news bulletin.

  ‘What’s going on with me and Ginny?’ I said, clarifying the evening’s topic of debate needlessly.

  ‘Yes.’ Zoë nodded enthusiastically. ‘I want to know everything.’

  I contemplated not telling her, just for a laugh, but she was having none of it.

  ‘Come on,’ she said, baring her teeth. ‘Spill the beans.’

  ‘I have no idea what’s going on,’ I explained. ‘I don’t think it’s got a name yet. It’s all been a bit of a—’

  ‘Enough’s enough,’ interrupted Gershwin. ‘Much against my better judgement I’m interested now in what’s going on too. So come on, out with the details. When, how and most of all why?’

  ‘The when part is easy enough,’ I began. ‘It was last Sunday evening after everyone left to go home. The how is a little bit trickier, though . . . I don’t really know how the how part happened . . . I suppose at a push you could say it was a moment of spontaneity, but I wouldn’t stake my life on it. And the why . . . Well, the why is one that I’m still working on. I think it’s because she’s the one.’

  ‘Which one?’ asked Zoë.

  ‘The love of my life, the woman I’ve never forgotten . . . the one I’m going to be with when I turn thirty.’

  Zoë looked incredulous. I could tell she just wasn’t getting her head around any of this. ‘So let me get this straight. You’ve decided that she’s the one, even though she’s got a boyfriend and you’re moving countries in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Gershwin laughing. ‘Well made, dear wife.’ Zoë glared at him. ‘Look, babe, you shouldn’t be that surprised,’ he explained. ‘They’ve been doing this sort of thing since they were seventeen. It’s just a habit.’ He paused
. ‘Although I must say six days on the trot is something of a record for you two.’

  ‘It is,’ I confirmed cheerfully. ‘It is. There was a brief spell when we were twenty-two when it was all systems go for two weekends on the trot but . . . yes, I think this is a world record.’

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Gershwin, ‘they’ll say all this stuff, then tomorrow they’ll split up. She’ll carry on with Ian and he’ll carry on with Australia and everything will carry on as normal until the next time their paths cross.’

  ‘Thank you for your cynicism, Gershwin,’ I said, with a grin. ‘And under normal circumstances I would, without a doubt, agree with you, were it not for the fact that by this time tomorrow Ginny will be seeing the person formally known as her boyfriend to give him a well-prepared dear John speech.’

  ‘She’s getting rid of Ian?’ said Gershwin incredulously. ‘But I like Ian. He was really funny on my birthday. Zoë’s friends Davina and Tom have been going on about him for ages.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I replied curtly.

  ‘Come on, Matt. You must agree that he’s ideal boyfriend material. Much better than you, mate.’

  Zoë looked at me curiously. ‘As I haven’t known you since you were eleven I’ll refrain from disparaging you too much, Matt, but even I can see the holes in that plan. I mean, what about Australia, for instance?’

  ‘I haven’t worked out all the details yet but I’m not going. I can get a job here in England easily enough. I might not be on as much money as I was in the States or if I’d gone to Australia but it’ll be enough.’

  ‘And you’d live where, exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘Wherever. We haven’t really sorted that out either.’

  ‘And yet Ginny’s splitting up with Ian?’ said Zoë. She paused. ‘He’s married, isn’t he?’

  I attempted to deny this.

  ‘Don’t lie, Matt,’ said Zoë determinedly. Her voice and manner changed. Everything about her suddenly became sharp and anxious. ‘It all adds up now. They don’t live together. He turned up late to meet her at the pub on Gershwin’s birthday. Gershwin told me they see each other irregularly, which seems strange considering how long they’ve been together. He didn’t mind when you moved into Ginny’s. He pulled out of that party in London at the last minute.’

  ‘Is Zoë right?’ asked Gershwin. ‘Is Ian married?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I confessed, ‘he is.’ And, starting from the beginning, I told them everything I knew. In a way I was relieved that this was coming out into the open. Gershwin and Zoë listened carefully but as I continued speaking I could see that Zoë was becoming more and more upset.

  ‘Has he got any children?’ asked Zoë, when I’d finished.

  ‘Yeah.’ I nodded. ‘A little boy.’

  No one reacted to that.

  The atmosphere was immediately uncomfortable. I tried to change the subject and Gershwin got the film he had rented out of its box and slotted it into the video. We’d barely got past the credits when Zoë, who hadn’t said a word since my revelation, left the room abruptly. Gershwin went after her and was gone for over a quarter of an hour. When he came back downstairs, he grabbed his coat, handed me mine and we left the house, heading in the direction of the Kings Arms.

  eighty-nine

  ‘I suppose you’re wondering what was wrong with Zoë?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And how she guessed Ian was married?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘She’s sensitive to it I suppose,’ said Gershwin, his voice drained of emotion. ‘Because about three years ago I had an affair too.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d been best man at his wedding. I’d seen how happy they were.

  ‘I promise you, Matt,’ he continued, ‘I never stopped loving Zoë, not for a second. I know this is no excuse but I just started doubting myself. I had no confidence in myself and no idea where I was going. I hated work more than anything. Zoë kept telling me I should leave and do something I really wanted as soon as she went back to work. She kept telling me that we’d manage somehow, but I couldn’t see it – especially when it was easier just to put up with it than do something about it. I took the easy way out. I got on well with Kay – one of the senior administrators at work – and confided in her. We began an affair. It lasted about six months.’

  ‘Did Zoë find out about it?’

  ‘No, I almost wish she had – it would’ve been easier. I ended it. I couldn’t stand the guilt. I couldn’t stand not liking myself. Zoë and Charlotte are my family and I let them down, Matt. Zoë’s never once given me an excuse not to love her. Even now I can’t believe I’d ever do anything that would mean I’d risk losing them. I ended it all with Kay and told Zoë everything. I know I could have got away without telling her but she deserved better than that.’

  ‘What happened then?’ I said, stunned.

  ‘We split up.’

  ‘You and Zoë split up? How come you didn’t tell me any of this?’

  ‘You were in London at the time. We barely saw each other and when we did it never seemed like the right time. It wasn’t your fault. It was just the way things were.’

  ‘Look,’ I began, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry you were going through all that and I wasn’t there for you.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said, and gave me a smile that acknowledged what I was trying to say, in spite of my difficulty in expressing it. ‘I ended up moving back in with my mum and dad for about five months,’ he continued. ‘It was awful, Matt. Zoë was crying all the time, the doctor had her on anti-depressants, I almost destroyed her. I can’t bring myself to think what effect this was having on Charlotte. I thought we were going to lose everything . . .’ He cleared his throat. ‘I wouldn’t have blamed her for a second if she’d wanted a divorce. But all the time we were going through it she kept telling me how much she loved me. And she did, Matt. She really did. It was hard, sometimes almost impossible, but we worked through it. She saved us. She saved me.’

  ‘So things are okay now?’

  Gershwin shrugged.’ Yes and no. Sometimes it’s like it never happened and others it’s like it happened yesterday.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I began. ‘I really don’t.’

  ‘There’s nothing to say. I got myself into a mess. It was all my fault I let myself down.’

  ninety

  ‘Listen, Matt,’ said Gershwin, at about a quarter to ten, ‘it’s getting late and I think I ought to be getting home.’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ I replied, putting on my jacket. ‘Home.’

  ‘Right, then,’ said Gershwin, once we were outside. ‘I’m off.’ He looked at me. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being a mate,’ he said.

  ‘Same to you,’ I said. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ he said confidently. ‘But never mind me, are you all right? I know I’ve been treating this thing between you and Ginny as a bit of a joke, but I do know how much she means to you. So, well, what I suppose I’m trying to say is good luck for tomorrow. I hope it all goes well for you.’

  ‘Cheers,’ I replied. ‘But, whatever happens, I know I’ll be all right.’

  ninety-one

  On the way back to Ginny’s my head was still spinning with Gershwin’s revelation. I’d tried to remind myself that it was ridiculous to be shocked when the history of civilisation is littered with examples of events that nobody had thought would ever happen. But I really had been surprised to discover that Gershwin had cheated on Zoë, that Ginny was in a relationship with a married man, that Elliot had died . . . yet stuff happens whether you like it or not and the older you get the more stuff happens. As a life lesson it seemed a little obvious, really – childish, almost.

  By the time I reached Ginny’s I felt as if I hadn’t been living in the real world at all. I’d gone through life with all these expectations – fulfilling job with decent pay, good friends, a nice
house, a relationship that didn’t suck – but what were they except fantasies that only turn into reality for a tiny minority of people? Growing up with Gershwin, Ginny, Elliot, Bev, Katrina and Pete, I’d always believed that our lives would go pretty much in the same directions, that we’d all achieve the same things, that we’d always be equal. But life didn’t happen that way. Everything was random: Ginny’s mum dying, Pete’s divorce, Katrina’s career never getting off the ground, Bev finding out that she couldn’t have kids, Gershwin’s unhappiness with his life. Our experiences were not universal: we had to face every trial on our own. And when I looked at my own life, when I looked at Ginny and me, I understood at last why, time and time again, we kept getting back together. It was nostalgia – as simple as that. We were trying to hang on to the way things used to be because we didn’t like the way the world really was. And the thing neither of us had realised was that even the past was no longer what it had been. If the news of Gershwin’s affair proved anything it was this: that none of us were the same people we had all been back then. We’d all gone so far down our separate paths, we’d all experienced such different things, we’d all grown so much apart that there was no way we could be the same. Ginny was about to change her life for me but she was putting her trust in a version of me that only existed in her head. I wasn’t the same person she had known all that time ago.

  ninety-two

  It was a little after eleven when I reached Ginny’s. Though she looked worn out she was still awake, curled up on the sofa with Larry and Sanders, watching TV with the sound turned down so low it was barely audible.

  ‘Hiya,’ she said.

  ‘Hiya,’ I replied, from the doorway. I walked over and kissed her. I had no idea how I was going to say what I had to say. ‘What are you doing still up? You look whacked out.’