I headed for Starbucks and bought a latte. I sat on a stool near the window and gazed out on to the busy London street. For the past month I hadn’t been able to get Finn out of my mind. I’d lie awake at night and wonder what he was doing now. Had he finished his medicine degree? Had he met anyone else? Was he married? Happy?
He was relentlessly in my thoughts; I’d even been dreaming about him. It was always the same dream, where his hand held mine but his touch was so light. I was terrified of losing it again. I’d wake up feeling this closeness to him, a layer of warmth wrapped around my body. As I rolled over, wanting to rest my head against his chest and hear the reassuring beat of his heart, instead I’d hear, ‘Morning, precious.’ And there was Alex, propped up against the bedhead reading the newspaper. ‘You were restless in the night,’ he’d say. ‘Things on your mind, pumpkin?’
After I left Cambridge Finn and I had kept in touch to begin with but our calls became less and less frequent until they fizzled out all together. There were many moments when I felt so angry with him, angry that he had left me wanting. I’d close my eyes when I kissed other men and imagine they were Finn. What was wrong with me? Why didn’t I feel anything anymore? I threw myself into my work instead. Painting was my therapy. When I’d met Alex in my final year, I tried to make myself believe I could love him.
I had been with Tiana one evening recently at her flat in Pimlico, sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating fish and chips. Tiana’s flat was the size of a shoebox, but so inviting that I never wanted to leave. Her bedroom was fit for a princess to sleep in – dark red silk bedspread, ornate silver mirror, crystal chandelier with fake diamond and pearl drops. ‘I work in a cut-throat world,’ she’d say, ‘so when I come home I want to be surrounded by prettiness.’
‘Shall I contact Finn?’ I asked her, dipping a chip into mayonnaise.
‘Definitely. Why don’t you try his college?’ she suggested. ‘They’d at least forward mail to him. Go on, I’d like to meet him.’
I had thought about this already but allowed myself to think of all the reasons not to, the main one being fear. Perhaps I had been thinking about him because Alex was getting too serious about me and my mother was getting way too serious about him. He’d told her she had the most beautiful garden he had ever seen. ‘When is that delightful young man coming for lunch again?’ she’d asked recently. ‘I’d love to show him my new herb pots.’
I looked at my watch. Nearly midday. David still wouldn’t have arrived in the office so I had time to order another latte. He’d better not be too late because I couldn’t stay tonight. It was Clarky’s concert.
Now, Clarky was a person I couldn’t talk to about Finn. Everything about him shut down and switched off if I tried. The only thing he’d once said to me, shortly after we’d returned from Europe, was that I had to stop looking back on Finn through rose-tinted glasses. It had been lust, that was all. ‘Don’t worry about it, J, we all make mistakes.’
His words cut right through me. ‘Meaning?’
‘We think we’re in love but …’
‘Are you still talking about Finn and me?’
He’d laughed at my question. ‘Who else? You were just stupid and starry-eyed, let it be.’
Let it be.
Clarky was another story altogether and one that wasn’t so easy to piece together.
We had climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower, strolled along the Champs Elysées, exhausted every museum in Madrid, gone on long bicycle rides in Barcelona. I’d painted on the beach while Clarky sat absorbed in a paperback. He’d made me go to a few operas in exchange for accompanying me to art galleries. He’d helped me get Finn out of my mind. Or so I always maintained. ‘You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?’ Clarky had asked one day when we were in Paris.
‘No.’
‘For most men it’s out of sight, out of mind.’
‘I’m not thinking about him, OK?’
‘Fine. Good.’ He wrapped an arm around me. ‘Because we’re in one of the most romantic cities in the world, let’s not waste our time dwelling on thoughts of Finn. We’re going to meet a lot more people at university and it would be foolish to feel tied to anyone while we’re only nineteen. It’ll get easier, I promise.’
The fact that we were seeing and experiencing so many different things certainly helped too. Clarky and I became even closer; I hadn’t thought it possible to know someone as well as I knew him.
‘Don’t do that!’ He’d been standing at the sink at the time, after brushing his teeth, spitting water out like a dead fish. ‘Ugh! Stop it!’ I cried.
‘Josie, do you realise you click your tongue against the roof of your mouth?’ he said one day, watching me as I drew on the beach.
‘I don’t.’
‘Yes, you do. And you do this when you’re writing.’ He was biting his lip, chin stuck out, pretending to write against the table.
‘I don’t!’
‘Sorry, you do.’
‘Well, this is you playing the violin.’ I’d given myself a double chin and pressed my lips tightly shut as I played the imaginary instrument.
‘I get so swept away in the music that I forget what I look like.’
‘And you do this with your nose when you’re in a mood.’ I’d touched the end of mine and given it a tug.
‘I get that from my father. It’s a control thing.’
*
Then there was that one night when we were in Venice. It was our last destination before we went home for the summer.
We’d been eating out, couples surrounding us on every table. Hands were being held, people were kissing at every opportunity, street vendors were selling dark red roses from champagne buckets, men ushering them over with a click of their fingers, ready to hand their girls a single symbolic stem. Meals were followed by romantic evening strolls in the square or late-night trips on gondolas, being serenaded on the water. ‘I will marry you!’ I heard from every street corner. If you were single it felt as if your face was being rubbed in it. ‘Come back when you’re in love,’ the skies seemed to hiss at you.
Clarky and I had been walking back to our hotel one evening. My head was spinning from too much red wine. The buildings, the light on the water, candles in the restaurants – everything was lit up with hope and love. I’d felt so happy walking with him. We had a contest as to who could walk in the straightest line.
Outside our hotel room we’d kissed goodnight clumsily on the cheek but then Clarky had knocked on my door five minutes later and staggered in before waiting for me to respond. The weird thing was I had expected him to come back. I was standing naked in front of the cracked bathroom mirror. Giggling, I’d grabbed a skimpy towel from the rail but it barely covered my bottom. ‘I’ve run out of toothpaste,’ he’d said, leaning one hand against the wall. He was still in his jeans and cord shirt. Turning to get him some, I felt a hand on the back of my waist and the towel dropped to the floor as he twisted me back round to face him. ‘You’ve run out of toothpaste!’ I’d laughed, pulling his shirt off, drink not allowing me to feel any inhibition.
‘And you were actually going to get me some?’ He’d kissed me then and his mouth smelled of mint. His arms went around me and I kissed him back; it felt great to be held. He pulled me closer. ‘You’re beautiful, so beautiful.’
‘You’re drunk, so drunk.’ We’d fallen onto the bed, high on red wine; high on each other.
*
The morning after I had looked over at Clarky who lay with one arm above his head, his lips slightly parted as if someone were about to sprinkle something magical into his mouth. I could hear his breathing. Quietly I lifted the duvet and found my clothes in the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. Black smudges around my eyes, skin blotched from alcohol, and hair that wasn’t easy to control at the best of times, sticking out all over the place as if I’d suffered a major electrical shock. I got dressed and shut the door softly behind me.
I walked to a bar, sat down in a crumple
d heap and drank a cup of strong coffee. What had we done? It was sort of nice, I’d decided, twisting a strand of hair nervously around my fingers. It wasn’t the same as Finn. Oh, God, how could I put it? Sleeping with Finn had always felt strangely familiar, yet with Clarky our lack of inhibition had surprised me. But Clarky and me? Only the other night we had been sitting watching a movie in my room, eating a takeaway, Justin happily clipping his toenails.
‘D’you have to do that in here?’ I’d asked. How on earth had we moved from that to passionate sex?
We never talked about that night.
We met later on that day, bumping into one another awkwardly in the hotel reception area.
‘Hi!’ Clarky had smiled at me over-enthusiastically, like a host pretending it was wonderful that their guest was staying on for another month. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked him.
‘Great, but tired. Very tired, in fact.’
‘It’s only eight o’clock. Do you want a drink? Something to eat?’
‘I’m having an early night, need to nurse my hangover,’ he replied.
‘Are you really all right?’
‘Fine. See you in the morning.’
I was staring at him as if he were a ghost. Had I imagined last night?
The summer before we both started university Clarky went out of his way to avoid me. I’d walk into a room and he’d walk out with some excuse; if I was with Tiana all his attention would be directed towards her. I’d felt invisible and acutely aware of the way he was behaving, but he seemed oblivious. Tiana told me men don’t confront anything, especially something as tricky as sleeping with a best mate. ‘By the time you’re both at university things will be back to normal,’ she’d promised.
*
I stared into my coffee. I wasn’t in love with Clarky back then, but I was confused by his behaviour. His avoidance had hurt me and I missed him as a friend. I started to wish we’d never done it. It had been a terrible idea, mixing friendship with sex. It was a lethal combination, like business and pleasure. If I could rewind time I’d have been cleverer about it, I thought as I put my coat on and walked back to the office. Why had I acted like a useless lump of stone whenever he was around me? Why couldn’t I tell him that we needed to talk about it, just so we could get back to normal? Lots of people had one-night stands. I’d wanted to laugh about it, feel at ease with him again. Instead our silence about ‘that one night’ was building it into something deeper and more complicated than it should have been.
When we were at university the time apart and distance between us helped. And things did go back to normal. After about six months we became close again, as if nothing had happened. Only every now and then did we make references to it. When friends commented on how close we were, we were both single and had we ever, ‘you know,’ Clarky would say quickly, ‘Been there, done that,’ and I’d laugh, saying in a voice I hardly recognised as my own, ‘Blame it on the red wine.’ We still hadn’t talked about it properly and I doubted now we ever would.
*
I climbed the steps into the theatre. I could hear footsteps and turned round to see if anyone was behind me. Nothing. I shook my head and walked on. The building was impressive; pale-coloured stone with large imposing pillars. Inside it was lit with a golden chandelier and the seats arranged at the front of the orchestra were a rich red velvet. I took my own seat and flicked through the programme.
The orchestra were already seated. I watched Clarky going through the music with one of the other violinists. She wore a pink flower in her fair hair. They both looked pale-skinned in contrast to the dark lustre of their violins. Clarky looked so earnest, too, dressed in his black trousers and matching waistcoat.
I clapped loudly when the conductor took his place. There was a dramatic pause before the music began; the air static with anticipation. This was not the time to have a tickle in your throat or a coughing fit, which unfortunately had happened to me once, forcing me to make a sharp exit.
I watched the conductor with fascination; the way his shoulder blades writhed with energy; his arms dancing gracefully to the music.
It was halfway through the concert when I noticed the couple sitting directly in front of me, literally unable to keep their hands off one another. She was wearing a backless green dress and had a streak of her hair dyed to match. He was wearing a dark suit. She stroked his cheek with one hand. Honestly, get a room, I thought to myself as I adjusted the position of my seat. Soon the entire audience became aware of them. There were stifled laughs, people nudging one another. I tried to focus on Clarky but then the couple started to kiss passionately. I didn’t know where to look and now they were blocking my view! I turned to my left and then to my right, anything to avoid looking straight ahead.
And then I saw him.
I sat back abruptly in my seat as if I had been slapped hard. What was going on in my imagination? I must be crazy. I gently moved forward in my seat again and turned to glance to the left and behind me. Yes, three rows away. The programme dropped off my knee. I could feel my hand shaking as I reached down to pick it up off the floor. Then I knocked my forehead against the back of one of the kissing couple’s chairs. The girl turned round and had the cheek to give me an evil look, as if I was at fault for distracting them from their embarrassing display of affection. I looked over again, terrified that Finn’s image would have melted into nothing and the seat would be empty.
But he was still there. I laughed out loud and then had to cough abruptly to disguise it. Isn’t there a kind of fear that makes you react like that? When life throws you a different number on the dice, one you never expected to see after all this time and you’re laughing at its sheer insanity? I sat up straight and tried to steady my breathing. A door opened to the right and Alex shuffled down the row towards me, raising an eyebrow at the passionate twosome in front.
He gave me a peck on the cheek.
I knew Finn was watching us. I could feel his stare burning into my back.
*
After the performance Alex and I walked towards the door. ‘Josie,’ I heard from behind us. My heart was galloping.
‘Finn,’ I exclaimed before even turning round. ‘What a surprise.’ He was exactly how I remembered him except that his hair was now all one colour – dark brown. It was as if part of his character was missing.
Alex stood looking at me and then at Finn, cocking his head like a bird. He was waiting to be introduced.
We just stared at one another. Eventually I said, ‘Sorry, Alex. This is an old friend of mine, Finn. We haven’t seen each other for … what? Er, so long …’
‘Five years,’ Finn helped me out.
Alex put an arm around my shoulders. ‘What a small world. Shall we get a drink? I should think the two of you would like to catch up.’ We walked down the stone steps and into the bar. ‘Just nipping to the loo,’ Alex told us.
When he was out of earshot we both turned to each other and at precisely the same time said, ‘I can’t believe it’s you.’
‘I know. I was meeting a friend in the square and there you were, walking up the steps. I only caught a glimpse of your back, but I remembered you liked the colour red. And, of course, that friend of yours, the violin man. I saw there was a concert tonight.’
‘Clarky.’
‘Yes, him. What have you been up to? How are you? Where are you living?’ Finn’s voice was as quick as a fast-flowing stream. It was as if he was aware we had only minutes but wanted to cover everything that had happened in that entire five years while we had the chance.
‘It’s weird, I’ve been thinking about you lately and I had this feeling I’d see you. How are you?’ I babbled.
‘I’m good. You?’ He reached out to touch my face and I clamped my hand onto his, not wanting to let it go. It didn’t feel strange; it felt normal. ‘God, you look great,’ he told me. ‘Give me your telephone number, quick.’
I scrabbled in my handbag to try and find a pen. I wrote my home number on a busine
ss card. Alex returned and Finn gripped my hand when he wasn’t looking. I got butterflies in my stomach from one touch of his fingers.
‘It must be extraordinary to see each other after five years?’ Alex said cheerily.
‘Extraordinary,’ Finn repeated.
‘Why didn’t you two stay in touch?’
‘That’s a very good question, Alex. I ask myself the same thing every day.’ Finn was staring intently at me.
‘Right, good stuff. Well, Josie and I have been an item for … how long is it now? Over a year.’
An item? How could I be going out with anyone who said ‘an item’? From the look in Finn’s eye I could tell he was thinking the same. ‘Clarky!’ Alex called out then. Justin had walked into the bar with a few of his musician friends but made his way over to us. Finn was looking down, as if he wanted to surprise him. Alex thumped his hand appreciatively against Clarky’s back. ‘Congrats, mate. You were brilliant! Best concert I’ve ever been to. You’ll never guess who we’ve just bumped into?’ He nudged me like a dolly that couldn’t speak. ‘Finn, isn’t it?’
He looked up with a confident smile and held out his hand. ‘Hi, Justin, how are you?’
Clarky blinked to make sure. ‘Hello,’ he said, ‘what a surprise.’
‘Josie hasn’t seen him for five years,’ Alex pattered on. ‘Now, let’s get the drinks in.’ He put an arm around my shoulders again. ‘Darling, what would you like?’
‘Double vodka,’ I said without hesitating.
‘Make that two,’ Finn added.
‘Three,’ finished Clarky.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘AN EXCITING MOMENT FOR BOTH OF YOU,’ is written in capital letters. ‘Ultrasound scanning gives a woman and her partner the opportunity to see their developing baby for the first time.’ I sit in the waiting room. I am bursting for the loo. I have had to drink what seemed like gallons of water before the scan in order to make the image clearer. Think of a very dry spring, or earth so dry it cracks in the heat … Sod it. I really need to go.
You, Me and Him Page 18
