Much Ado About Sweet Nothing

by Alison May

  I skip past her without waiting. I think she’s too shocked to ask anything, but I know I’d crumble under questioning. Best to get away and hide in amongst the group, which might be a bit awkward given that I’m wearing an Indian Squaw’s costume with a feathered headdress.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Trix

  Thirteen Years Earlier

  I’m in the bar with Danny. Most of my university stories start in a bar with Danny. I do fundamentally believe that he is to blame for nearly all of my drink induced errors of judgement.

  Anyway, I’m in the bar with Danny, when he sees someone he knows standing on their own. Danny can never stand to see anyone on their own. It seems to offend his sense of being self-appointed social leader for everyone who falls into his wake.

  ‘Benjamin!’

  I follow Danny around the bar and hang back while he pats the stranger enthusiastically on the back.

  ‘Benjamin! You must meet Trix. She’s fabulous.’

  The guy half looks up, without ever moving his attention fully away from his beer. He has mousy hair that sticks out at the sides, like he’s trying to cultivate some mad scientist eccentric side tufts. He’s wearing worryingly stone washed jeans, and has tucked his T-shirt into them, in a deeply ill-advised way. He holds out his hand and I shake it feeling more like I’ve come to a job interview than out for a drink. His handshake is brisk and firm. Mine is probably limp and uncomfortable. Generally, eighteen-year-olds in bars don’t do a lot of hand-shaking.

  Danny seems satisfied that we are all now the best of friends though, and is ordering drink. He has accosted the barman and demanded three jars of his finest mead. Ben steps in and asks for a beer, raises his eyebrow towards me, and takes my half nod as a request for beer. Then he looks at Danny who is grinning cheerfully, apparently waiting for his mead. The barman looks to Ben for guidance. Ben shrugs. ‘Three beers, mate.’

  Danny rolls his eyes. ‘No mead?’

  ‘No mead,’ Ben confirms.

  ‘Well what is the world coming to? We shall have to go back to that place with the mead, Benjamin.’

  Ben shakes his head. ‘I think that was a private party.’

  ‘Really? Were we invited?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh dear. Are you sure it wasn’t a pub?’

  ‘It was fancy dress.’

  ‘Oh.’ Danny throws his hands to the ceiling. ‘And I thought they were real knights.’

  The barman comes back with three beers and Ben pays. As the barman walks away Danny picks up his drink. ‘Oh? I was going to get these.’

  Ben laughs. ‘No. You weren’t.’

  Danny shrugs. ‘I’ll owe you one.’

  He takes a long look around the bar, and settles on a group of three guys looking nervous by the entrance.

  ‘New people! Well, I shall leave you two to get to know one another.’ And off he goes.

  I pick my beer up and lean on the bar next to Ben. ‘So, you’re Benjamin?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Benedict.’

  I’m confused. ‘I thought Danny said ...’

  ‘He did. He thinks Benedict’s a silly name, so he’s decided to stick with Benjamin.’

  ‘Doesn’t that piss you off?’

  Benjamin/Benedict shrugs. ‘Not really. Should it?’

  I decide to try a different tack. ‘Has he ever bought you a drink?’

  Now he laughs. ‘On the first two or three nights he bought hundreds. I think he might have spent all his money.’

  ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘No. He’s a bit all or nothing is Danny.’

  And so we chat a bit about how we met Danny, what courses we’re doing, what A-levels we did. Me – English, History, and Art; Him – Physics, Chemistry, Maths and Further Maths. Apparently he feels that you can’t have too much maths in your life.

  I’ve got to the bottom of my bottle, and now so has he. There’s a sort of uneasy silence. Technically, we don’t really know each other, so offering to buy another drink might look a bit needy, but then he’s bought me one so not doing so would be rude. Still, this is university. It is a whole new world, and I am a whole new mature independent woman. ‘Can I get you another?’

  I sort of half mumble it, hoping that if he is appalled by the idea I can pretend he’s misheard somehow. My whole new woman thing is still a bit of a work in progress.

  ‘Sorry?’ He’s leaning towards me to hear.

  ‘Would you like another drink?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Sure? That’s all. No applause for my bold taking of the initiative, not that there is any initiative to be taken. We’re just two people having a chat and a drink. I secure two more beers, and we chat some more. I ask about his family. Parents – two; brother – one; family is Italian but live in Yorkshire.

  ‘You didn’t move far to come to uni then?’

  ‘Well, my parents crossed a continent. I felt like that was probably enough jaunting about for the time being.’

  ‘You don’t live at home though?’

  ‘No. In halls.’

  Oh thank god. Obviously, this is still just a drink between two people having a chat and nothing more. But it’s good to know I’ve not been investing time and money in someone that still lives with his mum.

  ‘What about your family?’

  ‘They’re dead.’

  I really do need to work on some more socially graceful ways of dropping that into conversation. Maybe I could start off by saying that they’re not well, and then kill them off at a later date. He looks a bit scared.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s OK. It was a long time ago. I don’t really remember my parents. My nana brought me up.’

  ‘Right. Ok. What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s dead too.’

  He closes his eyes. ‘I’m sorry again.’

  ‘Thank you. She died just after A-levels. It was like she’d decided her work was finished.’

  ‘You must miss her.’

  I nod.

  ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  I look at him. ‘At what?’

  ‘Chatting. I feel like I need to sympathise, but I’m not really sure how to go about it?’

  ‘You’re doing fine. Just say whatever is in your head.’

  ‘So … er … do you have any living relatives?’

  He looks at me, and I can’t stop myself laughing. ‘I take it back. You should keep whatever’s in your head to yourself.’

  He laughs too. We chat some more, and laugh a lot more, and drink some more.

  I’m starting to wonder whether it would be OK to try and move things on a bit when the barman plonks four tequilas down in front of us. Ben tries to protest, but the barman just points across the bar. Danny is waving a £20 note at us.

  ‘Where do you think he got that?’

  Ben shrugs. ‘I don’t want to know.’ He gestures the drinks. ‘Shall we?’

  And so we do. And then Ben orders two more. And then I order four more. And then the bar closes, which is probably a good thing, because Ben is having trouble walking straight. I know this, because every time I move he bashes into me.

  We get back to his halls and I follow him in. Outside his room he stops and looks at me. ‘You don’t live here.’

  And I giggle a bit and kiss him, and he kisses me back. We go into his room and have some of the worst, most drunken, most uncomfortable, most fumbly sex imaginable. Afterwards he admits it was his first time, and I say I’ve done it lots of times before, and like a true gentleman he resists the urge to call me out on my, probably very obvious, lie.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Trix

  ‘What colour are no tomatoes?’

  Henri is standing at the front of the community room repeating Ben’s question from his talk about Zero. I’m sitting at the back wearing my Senior Librarian responsible, serious, ‘Don’t mess about for Miss Leonard’ face, and trying to work out whether that really was less than s
ix weeks ago.

  ‘What colour is the void beyond the ends of the universe? How do you make a picture of nothing at all?’

  This project was a good idea. I mean, I’ll admit I was furious when Henri set it up, but that was understandable, knowing that that man would be coming into work. He is simply infuriating. Well, I thought he was simply infuriating, but maybe …

  I drag my attention back into the room. Henri is doing a great job. This is her regular primary art club, but there are about twice as many kids here as usual. She’s got most of the local primary schools involved in the competition and one secondary as well. There’s been stuff about it in the local paper. Guttingly, it does seem to be working out quite well.

  Someone has raised their hand at the front. Henri nods at them. ‘Does it have to be a picture, Miss?’

  Henri shakes her head. ‘No. You can make a model, or a painting, or a collage. If you want you can even make a video.’

  I wince as she says this. They will now all want to make videos, which will be traumatic, because we’ll have to borrow video equipment from one of the schools, and it’ll be antique, and it’ll take me and Henri weeks to work out how to make it work, when most of the kids probably have better cameras on their phones. Unfortunately, just letting them use those would kind of compromise our whole zero-tolerance of mobile phones policy.

  Still, it is Henri’s last couple of months here, so I probably shouldn’t undermine her enthusiasm at this stage. I can’t believe they’re moving to Italy. I mean I knew that she was going to move into Ben and Claudio’s after the wedding, so I sort of knew she wouldn’t be living downstairs any more, but Italy? She says I have to go and stay every holiday and she’ll be back loads to see her dad, but, you know, I worry about her.

  She’ll be off in a foreign country, and she’s got used to having me just upstairs as well. I do pop down quite often to keep her company. At least if she had been at Ben’s she’d have had him around, as well as Claudio. And I could have popped over there to see her.

  Henri has started to hand out paper and pencils now so the kids can start sketching ideas for their projects. Ben’s coming back to judge the competition in the summer, so they’ll be working on this all term. Ben. Ben coming back here. The more I think about it the more Henri and Claudio leaving feels like the end of something. If Hen’s not living at Ben’s I won’t have a reason to go around there. The art project will be over, so he won’t have a reason to come into work. Danny seems to have given up on making us hang out together. Not that I’m bothered about not seeing Ben. I mean that’s probably kinder, given how he feels about me. It must be painful for him to keep seeing me around. Some distance between us is probably all for the best.

  I mean, if I am bothered, it’s not about not seeing him. It’s more like I feel cheated. I assumed any feelings Ben had were past tense. If they’re not, surely I should know so we can talk it through like grown ups, but then I don’t want to give him the impression I feel the same. Like I say, it’s probably for the best.

  Although, if he is having feelings for me, isn’t it healthier that he has the chance to express that? I mean, where would Romeo have been, if Juliet had just shut the balcony window and told him to stop wittering on. Not that I’m comparing us to Romeo and Juliet, and actually that didn’t work out that well anyway. Bad example. But still, sometimes feelings are better expressed honestly. Like Captain Wentworth in Persuasion. You see him and Anne were madly in love when they were young, and then they meet up again years later. Anne assumes his feelings have changed and they almost don’t find each other again because they’re scared of telling each other the truth. Not that me and Ben are going to find each other again. I’m just saying, probably for him all this emotion is better out than in, like a burp.

  Henri is bustling around the classroom now, leaning over the table nearest to me. ‘Oh that’s really good. Just put down any ideas you have. Don’t hold back. Just jot down whatever you feel.’

  I’m not convinced of the wisdom of telling a group of ten-year-olds to jot down whatever they feel. Inevitably, it’s going to involve violence.

  ‘Whatever you feel.’ That’s a big idea. How do I feel? How did I feel when I heard Henri on the phone? Well, obviously I can’t be in love with Ben. That’s for sure. I’ve made that mistake before. Once is forgivable I think – twice would make me look foolish, and I’m not foolish.

  Maybe that’s what Henri meant though, when she said I was proud. If I were him, would I tell me how I feel? He’s probably expecting to get laughed at, which I wouldn’t do. In fact I’m quite cross with him for even thinking it. Well, I shall prove him wrong. I shall prove that I can be understanding. For the next few weeks I shall be so nice and kind and understanding towards Ben that he will realise that he has no reason to be scared of telling me how he really feels. Then it will all be out in the open and we can talk about it like adults, which will be far healthier for Ben. Obviously, this is for his benefit, not mine. Well, I will be the more mature person. I will act with understanding and grace. That’ll show him.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Henrietta

  It’s half past nine. I’ve been up since six. I’ve dusted all my surfaces and wiped the kitchen, and later today, I’m getting married. Trix told me really firmly that I wasn’t allowed to go up and wake her up before half past eight, so I thought I might as well make the place nice, as I was awake doing nothing. When I did go up at half past eight, like she said I could, she was still in bed anyway.

  She says we don’t need to start getting ready for ages, and she wouldn’t get up, so I came back down to carry on cleaning. I’ve just finished vacuuming in the bedroom. My doorbell rings. It’ll be either my dad or Trix. Probably my dad; I suspect Trix is hoping I’ll keep myself occupied a bit longer. She’s probably gone back to sleep.

  It is my dad. He’s wearing his normal checked shirt, jumper and corduroy trousers, but he’s carrying one of those hire shop suit holders. I take it off him and hang it on the back of my bedroom door. My wedding dress is hanging off the front of the wardrobe, so between them it looks like we’re going to have a sort of clothes wedding right here in my room.

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’

  ‘That’d be grand.’

  I make the tea properly in my very pretty Art Deco teapot. It was a present from Trix, and is one of the loveliest things I’ve ever owned. I adore Art Deco. When I first got it I didn’t use it, because I wanted to keep it nice, but Trix said she’d be hurt if I didn’t use it, so now I make sure I do. I pour my dad a big mug of tea with lots of milk and two sugars, just how he likes it. Builder’s tea, he used to call it.

  ‘Are you not having one?’

  I shake my head. My tummy’s turning somersaults. A cup of tea would probably be a good idea. Trix’s bound to try to make me drink champagne later, but at the moment I’m too excited to eat or drink anything.

  My dad walks into the bedroom, so I follow him through. He sits down on the edge of the bed, and pats the space beside him.

  ‘Now, pet,’ he starts. ‘Today is a big day.’

  I nod. Today is a massive day. By the end of today I’m going to be Henrietta Messina. Mrs Claudio Messina.

  ‘I just wanted to have a little chat with you, you know, before you head down the aisle.’

  He says ‘down the aisle’ in a slightly jokey tone, as if he can’t quite believe he’s saying those words to his little girl.

  ‘I just wanted to say that you’ve been a wonderful daughter.’

  I’ve been a wonderful daughter?

  ‘And I know you’ll be a wonderful wife. I just wanted to say …’ His voice cracks slightly. I lean over and put my head on his shoulder. He pats the side of my face gently. ‘Wonderful.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I don’t know what else to say. I know I haven’t been wonderful. I know that since Mum died I haven’t done enough to make sure he’s happy. But I am going to be a wonderful wife. I am going to make Claudio
happy. I’m going to be the perfect wife.

  ‘Right.’ My dad pauses, and raises his mug of tea. ‘Better get this down while it’s hot.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Ben

  My place is groom headquarters. From what I’d understood about being a best man, my role was getting Claudio to the church, and not forgetting the ring. It turns out there is more to it than that. This morning will mainly be spent giving lifts to flower arrangements.

  I have to collect buttonholes, table decorations and bouquets from the florist and take the right bits to the right places. I’m not totally confident of my ability to tell the difference between a bouquet and a table decoration, but I’m trusting that the florist will recognise my useless-manness and talk me through it.

  Mum and Dad have arrived at my flat by the time I’m going out, so it’s actually a relief to have stuff to do. Mum is fussing over Claudio like he’s a photogenic eight-year-old with a terminal illness. I take the table decorations first. The woman at the hotel coos over them a bit, and then shows me the reception room. I seem to be expected to make some sort of comment. I hazard that the balloons are nice, and she seems happy with that. I don’t know really. It’s just a big room, which is good. I knew we’d be needing one of those.

  I go to Trix’s next. I’m still trying to decide whether to ring her bell or Henri’s, and I haven’t even started working out how to ring either bell without dropping the flowers, when Trix opens the door. She beams at me, and stands back to let me in.

  ‘Hello. Come in. Come in. Bring them through.’

  I follow her into her kitchen and put the flower box down on the worktop.

  ‘It’s quiet here.’

  ‘Henri’s downstairs with her dad. He wanted a fatherly chat. I think he might be telling her about the birds and the bees.’

  I lean towards her and whisper. ‘I think Claudio already told her.’