A Funny Thing About Love

by Rebecca Farnworth

  ‘Oh, I’m just focusing on writing at the moment, no time for relationships. Besides, finding an available straight man in the gay capital of Europe may well prove challenging, especially now I’m the wrong side of thirty. Though one of the OAPs I see when I go swimming did wink at me the other day and said he liked my costume. So I reckon there’s life in the old girl yet.’

  Will laughed. ‘Don’t put yourself down, you’re a very attractive woman, Carmen.’

  ‘But?’ Carmen demanded, accustomed from their days of banter to Will delivering a compliment only to destroy it with a cheeky jibe. ‘A bit mutton, I expect you’re thinking.’

  ‘I was thinking nothing of the sort, and anyway, I’ve only ever said mutton in relation to the zebra print and the wet-look leggings, and they were actually quite hot in a trashy, dirty kind of way. And as for the shorts, you know I loved the shorts, we all loved the shorts, Dirty Sam especially. I think he’s still in mourning for them.’

  This easy conversation was too painful. It only served to remind her forcibly of how Will was now out of bounds. ‘Well, thanks again for the worms,’ she said, falsely bright.

  ‘Any time, Carmen. So what are you doing for Christmas?’

  God, why was he asking more questions? It was only prolonging the agony.

  Oh, spending it with Marcus; my parents will still be in Australia with my brother. You?’

  ‘Going skiing with Tash and her family. I hate skiing, but I guess I’ll get lots of work done when the others are out showing off on the black run or whatever it’s called.’

  ‘Maybe while they’re on the piste you can be on the piss.’ A lame joke at the best of times.

  ‘I wish, but too much to do.’

  ‘Well, you should learn to ski because Octavia is bound to want to do it.’ Oh bloody hell, she hadn’t just mentioned Will’s imaginary daughter, had she?

  ‘Who’s Octavia?’ Will asked, sounding bemused.

  Carmen tried and failed to think of a suitable reply and could only come up reluctantly with the truth. ‘Okay, this is going to sound mad, but Octavia is the daughter I imagined you might one day have with Tash.’

  A pause where Will no doubt was struggling to process the madness of Carmen. ‘You’re way ahead of me on the whole imagination thing. It must be the difference between men and women, I only ever get as far as imagining women without their clothes on and you’ve imagined a whole next generation!’

  ‘Sorry – I guess I’m spending too much time on my own these days.’

  ‘And Octavia – what kind of name is that? It’s the name of a car by Skoda; you could at least have called her Mercedes or Lexi after a Lexus, I’d love a Lexus.’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of Shakespeare, Octavia wife of Antony in Antony and Cleopatra. Mercedes would be a bit flash, don’t you think?’

  ‘So did you skip the whole imagining-me-naked bit, or aren’t women like that?’ Will, always such a tease. ‘I mean, Octavia has to get here somehow.’

  This conversation had started out with Carmen thanking Will for the Wobbly Worms and now she was practically in bed with him, which would have been fine in the old days, but there was already someone next to him, someone in an über chic Chanel ski suit, who would one day give birth to Octavia/Mercedes/ Lexi, so much as Carmen was tempted to flirt back, she didn’t.

  ‘Women aren’t like that, Will.’

  ‘Shame, I’ve had many enjoyable moments imagining women naked.’

  ‘Thanks again for the worms, Will.’

  ‘Is this you dismissing me?’

  ‘Yep, I’ve got work to do, and you’ve probably got lots of pervy fantasies to work through.’

  ‘They’re not pervy. I’ll tell you about them if you want.’

  ‘Maybe you should be telling Tash. I’ve really got to go now.’ Carmen was suffering from an acute sense of humour failure and really needed the call to end.

  ‘Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you, Carmen,’ Will replied, reverting to serious. ‘We always used to banter like this.’

  ‘That was when you didn’t have a girlfriend,’ Carmen said quietly. ‘See you. Good luck with the skiing.’

  It took all Carmen’s will power to return to her writing. If Tash had the will power of an ox, Carmen was way down the food chain, say a floppy-eared bunny rabbit. What she had hoped would be a polite but friendly call had left her feeling decidedly unsettled. It had indeed opened a can of worms, as she suddenly realised how very much she missed having Will in her life. She plucked out some worms from the bag and bit their heads off to the chant of likes-me-likes-me-not, until she realised that she was making herself feel sick.

  She grabbed her coat and went for a walk by the sea. It was a glorious sunset, the sky streaked with rosy pinks and oranges, and hundreds of starlings were already performing their roosting spectacular over the old pier, swooping across the sky in a tightly packed formation so it was almost impossible to see that they were individual birds. They looked more like clouds of iron filings forming different pulsing and undulating, shifting shapes in the sky, which she had found out was called a murmuration. It was a beautiful, mesmerising sight and Carmen suddenly wished very much that she had someone to share it with. She leaned against the railings looking out to sea, trying not to think about this time a year ago which had seen her final cycle of IVF fail and her and Nick realise that they had reached the end of the line, both with trying for a baby and with their marriage. By her reckoning Nick’s baby was twenty-two weeks old, and she had been following her progress on an online pregnancy calendar. It wasn’t perhaps the best thing for her mental health, but she was irresistibly drawn to it. She knew that the lines on the baby’s fingers were formed, so she already had her own individual fingerprints and a firm handgrip. Her eyelashes and eyebrows were forming. Marian would feel her move. At first she would feel a fluttering or bubbling, or a very slight shifting movement. Later she would see the baby kicking about and be able to guess which bump was a hand or a foot. Lucky Marian, lucky Nick. What could be done in the face of such painful knowledge? She supposed if she believed in God she could have gone to church. Instead she planned to go her local off-licence, appropriately called Wine Me Up, to wine herself up, and maybe even watch Gladiator again. And yes, she did know that she was drinking far too much these days.

  She was halfway to her destination when her mobile rang. It was Marcus: ‘I’m at the station, with Sadie; we’ll be with you in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Brighton?’ Carmen asked, confused. Had she forgotten about a date with the two Londoners?

  ‘Yep, a surprise visit. We’ll see you in a bit.’

  Half an hour later Carmen was pouring out glasses of cava for her friends and hoping against hope that Marcus would not notice the pinkish stain which remained defiant on the white rug, in spite of her frequent attempts to remove it.

  ‘So why have you come down?’ Carmen asked. It wasn’t like Sadie to leave the capital without a great deal of fuss and forward planning.

  ‘We suddenly remembered what this time last year meant for you,’ Sadie said simply.

  Carmen was touched. What would she be without her friends?

  ‘And we couldn’t bear to think of you on your own,’ Marcus put in, ‘drinking red wine and’ – here Marcus’s tone became less sympathetic – ‘appearing to spill most of it on my white rug!’

  Carmen groaned. ‘Oh God, I knew you’d notice, sorry.’

  ‘I’m kidding, it’s just a rug, a very expensive rug, but a rug when all is said and done.’

  Carmen looked at her friends. ‘Thank you, you have saved me from spending all my money in Wine Me Up and from watching Gladiator again.’

  ‘You can’t possibly watch it any more. Three times is permissible, any more than that is borderline mentalist.’ Marcus could be so hard-line at times.

  ‘Remind me, how many times have you seen that porn film Lucky Dick?’

  ‘It’s not the same and you know it. So tell us what
you’ve been up to. Have you got to meet that sexy man of Jess’s yet? I was looking forward to hearing about someone other than Sadie’s sexual exploits.’

  Carmen shook her head and looked at Sadie. ‘How goes it with the shipping forecast shagger?’

  ‘Same old, same old. I did suggest that we played back a recording because I’m getting bored of saying it during the act. And also I got told off at work because I delivered the late-night shipping forecast in a sexually suggestive way.’

  Both Marcus and Carmen exploded into laughter. ‘What do you mean?’ Carmen wanted details.

  Sadie sighed. ‘I just forgot where I was for a few minutes and thought I was in bed with bloody Dom. My Rockall had definite erotic overtones, as did my Dogger.’

  ‘Are you sure it isn’t time to find another comic?’ Carmen put in, though she would miss hearing about hapless Dom.

  ‘He may be on the way up, Carmen; he had a meeting with Will the other week. According to him, Will seemed really keen.’

  Carmen found that hard to believe, but Dom, like so many other comedians, probably only heard what he wanted to hear.

  ‘Oh, please don’t talk to me about Will,’ Carmen groaned. ‘I had this really embarrassing phone call with him earlier.’

  ‘It’s only embarrassing because you fancy him. I don’t know why you won’t admit it and tell him while you’re at it. He’d drop that Tash in a heartbeat, I bet.’ Marcus, always so successful in love himself, expected the same level of success for his friends.

  ‘No, he wouldn’t. He’s going skiing with her and her family at Christmas. I can just imagine the ravishing Tash with her firm but slender thighs hurtling down the piste, her honey-blonde hair flowing behind her like a silken banner, all in expectation of some aprèsski with Will.’ She suddenly became aware that she sounded a little too concerned and drew back, ‘There really is nothing doing there, Marcus.’

  ‘Damn, I would so much rather hear about hot Will than desperate Dom – no offence, Sadie.’

  ‘None taken,’ Sadie replied. No one ever liked any of her boyfriends.

  ‘So, Carmen, remove those dreary UGGs – which I will burn if I see you in them again – and slip on your heels, because we’re going for dinner at Hôtel du Vin and then we’re going clubbing,’ Marcus declared. ‘I know a gorgeous little gay club on the seafront. I want us to dance the night away. Leo’s abroad again and Sadie and I plan to crash at yours if that’s okay.’

  It was more than okay. Her friends had saved her from the downward spiral and by the time they all got to bed at five a.m. her feet were aching from all the dancing but her spirits were high. She planned to have a long lie-in and then take her friends for brunch, but a phone call from Jess at ten a.m. put paid to that. ‘Carmen, can you do me a huge favour?’

  ‘Sure,’ Carmen croaked in a voice as deep as Marge Simpson’s.

  ‘It’s the burning of the clocks workshop and I’ve got the student assessments to do before tomorrow, and Sean has gone to football. Is there any way that you could take Harry?’

  ‘Is that really a suitable workshop for a seven-year-old boy?’ Carmen, who had misheard, asked. ‘I mean, won’t that make him anxious about being a boy?’ God, Brighton had some wacky traditions. It must be the sea air.

  ‘Of course it’s suitable!’ Jess replied, sounding puzzled. ‘All his friends are doing it. There’s a big parade through Brighton on the winter solstice and then there are fireworks and an enormous bonfire on the beach. It’s intensely moving, very primal, you know, connects us to the seasons kind of thing.’

  ‘Sorry, you lost me there, earth mother. I’m a bit hungover – I went out last night with Marcus and Sadie.’

  ‘Please can you take him? It will only be a couple of hours at the most, and by then I might be able to meet you for lunch. And I think you’ll really enjoy the workshop.’

  That seemed unlikely – Carmen wasn’t gifted in the arts and crafts department and Jess must be desperate; she hadn’t appeared to notice that Carmen had mentioned Sadie.

  ‘Okay, I’ll be round in a bit.’

  Harry opened the front door to her half an hour later, good to go in his dayglo orange anorak. Fortunately Carmen felt remarkably okay after a Red Bull and a couple of painkillers. She’d left Marcus and Sadie sleeping soundly. ‘Hey Harry,’ Carmen said cheerfully, ‘are you going to give me a hug?’

  Harry looked appalled but allowed Carmen to bend down and put her arms round him, keeping his own arms firmly at his side, tolerating rather than enjoying the contact.

  ‘So where’s Mum?’

  ‘In the kitchen.’

  Carmen went downstairs, where Jess was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by files. Instead of working, however, she was reading the style section of the Sunday Times. She looked up guiltily when Carmen walked in. ‘Just having a break for five minutes. Thanks for taking Harry. Call me when you’re done and we’ll go out for lunch.’ Jess looked slightly coy as she added, ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  ‘It’s a workshop in a community hall – just how much enjoyment can there be in that?’ Carmen demanded.

  ‘Oh, I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. See you later,’ Jess said breezily.

  Just as Carmen left the kitchen she caught sight of the recycling box. It was full to the brim with wine bottles. ‘Blimey, Jess, you and Sean have been putting it away.’

  Jess saw what she was looking at and said rather defensively, ‘There’s several weeks there. Sean keeps forgetting to put it out.’

  Walking to the nearby community hall where the dubious workshop was being held, Harry insisted on giving her a blow-by-blow account of the plot of Dr Who which he’d watched the night before, and then questioned her in forensic detail about who was her favourite doctor and why, and which was the scariest monster in her opinion. She had forgotten how demanding children could be, especially after only five hours’ sleep.

  Carmen hadn’t really thought that clothing would be an issue in the workshop and so had simply put on what she intended to wear for lunch with Sadie and Marcus later: black skinny jeans, a black jumper with bronze-studded shoulders, a scarlet-and-black leopard-print scarf, her Alexander McQueen biker jacket which she was still paying for and her black patent shoe boots. She had wanted to wear her ever-faithful UGGs but Marcus seemed to have hidden them somewhere. She felt she had gone for the casual look, but as soon as she walked into the community hall, she realised she was wildly overdressed. Quite obviously there was a casual look which had some thought to it like hers, and there was a casual look as in, I don’t care a fig about what I’m wearing, clothes are functional and anyone who cares about them is superficial. There were around fifteen people, all accompanied by one or more child, all wearing a uniform of either combats or jeans and puffer jackets, in black, khaki and brown, clothes so resolutely plain they could have given the Amish a run for their money. Carmen seemed to be the only woman wearing make-up.

  ‘Harry,’ she whispered, ‘do I look silly?’

  Harry turned and considered her with his clear, candid child’s gaze. ‘Nah, you look like you always do. But don’t you have to take your shoes off ?’ He pointed at the sign on one of the walls asking people with heels to remove them, to prevent marking the floor. Carmen looked down at the floor in horror. It was filthy. The hall was clearly used for a toddler group and there were breadstick crumbs scattered everywhere, along with raisins, bits of apple and the remains of a chocolate muffin squished into the floorboards – at least, she hoped it was chocolate muffin. Her lovely spiky-heeled boots were the only thing between her and tetanus. She shook her head. ‘These boots won’t leave a mark.’ Both she and Harry looked down and saw the series of small but nonetheless visible grooves said boots were making. Harry raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

  At that moment a striking woman with long auburn hair strode into the middle of the hall. There was no danger of her making any holes in the floor as she was wearing black sheepskin-lined Crocs – a styl
e of footwear that Carmen abhorred. Truly Crocs must have been invented by someone who hated feet and wanted to make them look as ugly as possible, a kind of anti-foot fetishist. Carmen could not imagine slipping her dainty size four and a half pair into such a monstrosity. Croc lady had accessorised the Crocs with black leggings, a black miniskirt and a black North by Northwest jacket. She also had a pretty face, with big brown eyes and thick lashes which Carmen would have loved. Carmen put her at late thirties.

  ‘Hiya, my name’s Violet and I’m going to be leading this workshop where we’re going to make the wicker and paper lanterns that we’ll use in the procession on the twenty-first of December. But before we start, is this anyone’s first time?’

  Rats! The last thing Carmen wanted to do was draw attention to herself. She was all set to ignore the question but Harry nudged her in the ribs. Damn children and their honesty! She’d have to fess up. She put up her hand.

  ‘Okay,’ Violet replied, ‘I’ll keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t fall behind.’ Unfortunately said eye was suddenly drawn to the boots. ‘I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take those off. I can lend you a pair of Crocs.’

  She was about to protest, but Violet had such an air of evangelical zeal about her that Carmen felt she would be deaf to her argument that forcing her to wear Crocs would be a violation of her human rights. She sat down on one of the worn orange plastic chairs at the side of the room, after first brushing away the pieces of mouldering apple, and unzipped her boots. Violet marched towards her holding up a bright yellow pair of the horrors. They were such a lurid yellow, it almost hurt Carmen’s eyes to look at them.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, taking the shoes. Her very soul recoiled at the prospect of putting them on, never mind her soles! But Violet was already waving pieces of willow enthusiastically and Carmen knew if she didn’t get her arse into gear and follow the demonstration she would be utterly lost. She did not have the artistic gene. Gingerly she inserted her feet into the plastic monstrosities. Then she stood up and shuffled over to Harry. The Crocs were at least three sizes too big for her, but surprisingly comfortable, not that she was ever going to buy a pair, not even to wear at home on her own in the dark.