by Louise Voss
‘This is it, isn’t it?’ he said, and the intensity in his voice was visceral. ‘You’re the one.’
All Amy could do was nod, and gaze back.
As it turned out, the first of her two presumptuous sentences was correct: Nathan and Becky did meet soon. Amy moved in with him in less than a month, and Becky came over to see her flash new apartment in a gated development on the Kingston riverfront. Nathan cooked Pad Thai in a stripy chef’s apron tied firmly over a faded Nirvana T-shirt, and boasted about the surround sound he’d recently had installed in the living room.
Amy thought the evening had been a great success. Nathan was lively and inquisitive, asking them both about their childhoods, their likes and dislikes.
‘What are your worst fears then?’ he’d asked them both, so casually.
‘Spiders,’ Becks had said with a shudder. ‘And Amy’s is enclosed spaces. I’ve never known such a wuss.’
‘I’m not a wuss, I’m just claustrophobic,’ she had protested.
‘Are you now?’ Nathan had said pensively, before turning back to stir the Pad Thai.
‘What about you, Nathan?’ Becky asked. ‘What are you scared of?’
He laughed. ‘I’ve got one of those weird irrational fears – velvet, believe it or not. It makes me puke with terror, don’t ask me why. Luckily, Amy doesn’t have any velvet dresses, otherwise I wouldn’t have let her move in.’
Amy draped an arm around his neck. ‘I’d have burned it for you, sweetie. Even if Stella McCartney had personally designed and sewn it for me.’
‘Ahh, you’re so adorable …’
Nathan kissed her, and Amy saw Becky look away, out of the window at a group of rowers sliding along the smooth evening river.
Amy hoped Becky wasn’t feeling jealous. She kept trying to see him through her sister’s eyes, and thought that Becky couldn’t fail to fancy him – in fact, she even felt slightly worried that Becky would fall in love with him, too, and her overactive imagination started conjuring nightmare scenarios in which he left her for Becky, creating a rift that would never be healed …
She need not have worried. The second of her presumptuous sentences had not been true at all.
‘How can you not like him?’ Amy asked incredulously when they met for breakfast the next day. ‘He’s lovely, and he adores me.’
Becky shrugged and stared into her coffee.
‘Becks?’
‘I didn’t say I didn’t like him,’ she said. ‘He’s cute and all. There’s just something … I dunno … a bit cold about him.’
Amy made a face at her. ‘Cold? He’s not cold. He asked you all about yourself, about us as kids, our lives so far. I mean, he even asked us what our biggest fears are! He’s interested, Becky, not cold. I don’t see how you can possibly think that.’
Becky checked the pocket of her handbag for her Oyster card. ‘Sorry, Amy, I didn’t hate him or anything, I just got a bit of a weird vibe off him. It was almost like he was asking me stuff about us because he wanted ammunition, rather than to get to know us better. Anyway, I’m probably imagining it. As long as you’re happy, what does it matter what I think? I’ve got to go, otherwise I’ll be late for the register.’
Nathan was already at his desk when Amy got into work that day. She sneaked up behind him and put her arms around him, burying her nose into his thick clean hair.
‘Oh, you guys,’ said Martin, passing by Nathan’s workstation. ‘Get a room!’
‘We already have,’ Nathan replied, reaching his hands behind him to squeeze her bottom. ‘And soon we’ll get a whole house, and then some kids to fill it with, and eventually grandchildren …’
Martin laughed and made puking noises as he walked into his office. ‘Just don’t shag on the photocopier. It’s against company policy,’ he said, closing the door behind him.
Amy hugged Nathan more tightly, her heart swelling with happiness. ‘I love you,’ she whispered into his ear.
‘I love you, too, angel,’ he whispered back.
Three weeks later, they had their first argument. Nathan had always been morbidly curious about Amy’s past relationships, even though Amy had repeatedly told him that there had never been anyone who even came close to Nathan’s position as the love of her life. Then one night they had been out, drunk, in one of Kingston’s many noisy bars, a dark neon-flashing cellar full of men on the pull and girls in micro-skirts and fake nails.
‘Amy!’ bellowed a voice in her ear as Nathan was paying at the bar for their designer beers. They both turned around, and Amy squealed with delight at the sight of someone she hadn’t seen since her schooldays.
‘Chris!’ She hugged him tightly. ‘It’s been years, how are you? What are you doing these days? Do you live in Kingston? This is my boyfriend, Nathan.’
Chris stuck out his hand and Nathan shook it, but in as perfunctory way as he could, without a smile. Chris raised his eyebrows, then turned back to Amy, answering all her questions. Amy tried to take Nathan’s hand, not wanting him to feel left out of the conversation, but he picked up his beer instead.
‘Sweetie, Chris and I did our A levels together. We sat next to each other in Economics.’
‘Right,’ said Nathan flatly.
Amy and Chris chatted for a few more minutes, and then Chris pulled out his phone. ‘Give me your number and let’s have a proper catch-up soon, yeah? Lunch or something. I’ve got to go – I’m with a bunch of college mates and we’re about to head over to Oceana.’
Amy dictated her mobile number. ‘Text me later so I’ll have yours too,’ she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek before he walked back to his friends. ‘Great to see you!’
She turned back to Nathan. ‘I can’t believe it! I haven’t seen him for about ten years, and I was always gutted we lost touch after school, he was such a laugh. I looked him up on Facebook a couple of years ago but—’
She stopped at the expression on Nathan’s face. ‘What’s the matter?’
He carefully placed his beer bottle back on the bar and leaned close to her so that his mouth was right by her ear. Anybody looking would think that he was whispering endearments.
‘You are not to see that guy ever again. If he texts you, you ignore it. If you save his number in your phone I will chuck it into the Thames. Do you understand me?’
His voice was loud and harsh above the noise of the bar, and it hurt the inside of her ear. She recoiled, but he grasped the back of her head and dragged her closer again.
‘What’s the problem, Nathan?’ She struggled to move so that he could hear her. ‘Do you know Chris? Has he done something to upset you? He didn’t seem to know who you are.’
‘Never seen him before in my life, and don’t want to either. He’s a cocky little twat and he clearly fancies you.’
Amy laughed. ‘Chris doesn’t fancy me! He’s gay!’
‘Don’t you dare contradict me! I saw the way he looked at you.’
Amy pulled away from him. ‘That’s insane.’
Nathan snatched the beer bottle out of her hand and slammed it and his own onto the bar, causing a group of girls to look over and giggle nervously at witnessing a domestic. ‘We’re going.’ He grabbed her hand and marched out of the bar. Amy tried to protest but he would not let go. Chris waved at her as they left, undisguised concern on his face, and Amy blushed with mortification.
Once they were outside on the pavement, out of sight of the bar, she shook herself free and planted her hands on her hips. ‘Nathan. You can’t talk to me like that, it’s completely out of order! Chris is gay. And even if he wasn’t, he’s an old friend and I’m perfectly entitled to talk to an old friend. What’s more, I fully intend to go out to lunch with him. Come along if you want, as long as you’re not going to be as rude as you were just then, but— Hey!’
He had shoved her hard up against the wall and put his face close to hers so that she was inches away from his wild, furious eyes. Amy pressed her palms against his chest to push him away from
her, but it was like trying to move a rhino, and she felt pressure and pain in her wrists. She stared at him in shock and disbelief as he yelled at her, flecks of his spittle decorating her cheeks. She couldn’t even fully take in what he was saying: an incoherent diatribe about her being a whore and a slut.
This was not the man she loved.
‘Oi, twat, that’s uncool,’ said an Asian teenaged boy, passing with a group of friends. ‘You don’t shout at your bird like that.’
Nathan released Amy and turned to lunge at the group, flailing wildly and screaming abuse, and they scattered, laughing. Amy ran, as fast as her spindly stilettos would allow her. She ran all the way down the pedestrianized precinct until she stumbled and fell, not caring that all the weaving revellers were staring at her with concern, or amusement. Someone tried to help her up, but she shook them off. All she could think about was getting home and pulling the duvet over her head. She ripped off the shoes and ran the rest of the way home barefooted.
Once back in the flat, she went into the spare room and climbed straight into bed there, fully dressed, her feet bleeding and dirty and her heart pounding out of her chest. A text bleeped on her phone, and she got out again to retrieve it from her handbag on the floor.
HERE’S MY NUMBER BABE. LET’S MEET SOON. GREAT TO SEE YOU. HOPE ALL IS OK. CHRIS XXX
Amy deleted it.
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Nathan the next morning. He appeared in his boxers in the doorway of the spare room, carrying a tray with a mug of tea, a single rose in a vase, and two croissants on a plate. ‘Forgive me? I feel terrible. I know it’s no excuse, but you know how work is at the moment, how stressed the Randsome account’s making me. I just had too much to drink. It won’t happen again, I promise. I love you, Amy.’
13
Amy
Monday, 22 July
‘Sorry,’ Gary said sheepishly. ‘I didn’t mean to touch a nerve. I’m a nosy git, that’s all. It’s none of my business. Let’s talk about something safer – tell me about your job? Becky told me you’re, like, an Internet entrepreneur.’
Amy managed to laugh, even though she felt like crying again. She found herself gabbling: ‘That’s flattering – I like being called an entrepreneur.’
‘Your sister is very proud of you.’
Tears pricked Amy’s eyes. ‘Don’t … you’ll get me started again.’
‘Sorry.’
‘It’s OK. So … I’m not sure about being an entrepreneur but I’m self-employed – I get to go to work in my pyjamas. I started up this craft website about three years ago, you know, an online community for people – women, mostly – who are into making things to save money: knitting, sewing, making your own jam, that sort of thing. Generally, it’s about recycling household stuff. Upcycle.com, it’s called. My background’s in marketing so I knew about how to build up mailing lists and stuff, and now it’s taken off so much that I’ve got thirty thousand members, and proper advertising revenue … I’m outsourcing most of the content now – I’ve run out of recipes for rosehip syrup and instructions on how to crochet hot-water-bottle covers …’
Amy felt better, now she was on safer ground. Upcycle.com was her baby, her only real success story in life. She sometimes sat and scrolled through the membership lists, marvelling at the number of strangers who had signed up to read her articles and tips. She didn’t say so because it would sound ridiculous, but privately she thought of herself as a sort of Internet pop star – albeit an anonymous one – with fans and the odd hater, people out there commenting and complimenting her on her creative ideas.
‘You don’t look like a knitter to me,’ Gary said, tilting his head.
Amy leaned towards him, aware that she was flirting. ‘I’m a demon with a pair of knitting needles,’ she whispered, and he laughed.
‘Doesn’t it get a bit lonely, sitting at home all day, knitting?’
‘No, not usually. I take Boris out twice a day – in fact, that reminds me, I can’t be too late home tonight, he’ll be crossing his legs – and meet people, other dog walkers. And I’m constantly talking to people about the site – advertisers, copywriters, suppliers. I go to craft fairs, too, to promote it. No, I’m fine.’
There was a slightly awkward pause, in which Amy dreaded Gary was about to get back on to the topic of relationships. The distorted sound of the bar band floated out through the pub doors.
‘Want to go and watch the band for a bit before they finish?’ she asked hastily, to head him off.
‘Sure – they sound pretty—’
‘Wicked?’ Amy grinned and, after looking confused for a second, Gary smiled back.
‘All right, all right. I know it’s a bad habit. But I would never use the word “wicked”. Not since I was fourteen anyway.’
‘How about awesome?’
‘Yeah, I’d say that. As in, “I think you’re awesome, Amy.”’ Then, hurriedly, ‘That was just an example. Obviously.’
Drunken flirting, that was all it was, she reasoned, as much as her beer-lubricated brain could reason. He wasn’t really interested in her … Did she want him to be interested? It certainly felt exciting, having a hot man say things like that, look at her the way he did. She felt an unfamiliar tugging feeling, a fizz of excitement – but even though she was drunk, another part of her fought it. She was scared, and being forced back into memories of Nathan had definitely not helped.
She didn’t know what expression – or mixture of expressions – showed on her face, but now Gary looked embarrassed. He looked as if he was going to say something, was searching in his head for something flippant or funny to say, but before he could find it, she said, ‘Come on, I love this song.’
She grabbed his hand, not caring at that moment what this would signal to him, and pulled him into the pub, where they were hit by a blast of noise and heat. In the back room behind the bar, a crowd of people stood around the stage, a few of them dancing, most of them nodding their heads or singing along. The band were playing an Oasis song that reminded Amy of being at school, of discos and snogging and cans of cheap cider.
She guided Gary into the throng until they hit a wall of bodies. The Oasis song ended and a slower song came on, another cover version, and a shiver went through Amy’s blood when she realized what it was: that Everything But the Girl song, the one about a loved one going missing. Now you’ve disappeared somewhere …
It was horribly apposite and she almost fled, but Gary was in the way and, as she turned back to the stage, the line in front of her shifted so she got a good view of the band. The singer was less attractive than his voice, but the guitarist was nice – and then a shock of realization hit her.
She grabbed Gary’s shoulder and pulled his ear towards her lips.
‘I know that guy,’ she shouted.
‘Who?’ Gary mouthed back.
‘The guitarist. That’s Clive, Katherine’s ex. You know, Becky’s best friend.’
Gary lifted his chin, not sure what he was supposed to do with this information. He shrugged.
They continued watching the band, who ran through a couple of their own songs and then climaxed with another couple of covers. The crowd clapped and cheered as if Oasis themselves were playing a reunion gig in front of them. Then people began to disperse, drifting back to the bar. A space cleared between her and the stage, and Amy watched Clive put away his equipment, laughing and chatting with the other members of the band.
‘Another drink?’ Gary asked.
‘Go on then. One more.’
She approached the stage and waited till she caught Clive’s eye. He was bending down, unplugging a cable from his guitar.
‘Hi,’ she said.
He didn’t recognize her. Probably thought she was one of those ‘I’m with the band’ types.
She leaned closer. ‘You don’t remember me, do you?’
From the panicked look on his face, he probably thought she was some girl he’d had a one-night stand with. She put him out of his misery. ‘I�
�m Amy – I know Katherine.’
His expression switched. All light left his face and his mouth turned down at the edges. ‘Oh.’
‘Yeah, I was sorry to hear about you guys breaking up.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I saw Katherine the other day,’ she said, deciding to plough on, even though she wasn’t exactly sure where she was heading. She was riding along on a wave of alcohol. ‘She seemed different. Was acting really weird, I thought.’
He looked at her properly, his expression serious. ‘How do you know her?’
‘I’m her friend’s sister. Becky’s sister.’
Immediately, his eyes narrowed and his lip curled. It was, Amy realized with shock, a look of absolute hatred.
‘Becky,’ he spat. He stood up, and Amy saw that the other band members were watching, their concerned glances moving between Clive and her. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about that bitch.’
All of a sudden, Amy was sober. ‘But … why?’
Clive stared at her, his lip curled, eyes ablaze with hatred. Without saying any more, he turned away.
14
Becky
Tuesday, 11 June
‘Clive’s found out what we’ve been doing.’
We’re sitting outside the café we often go to after school, two cups of frothy coffee steaming before us, the day damp and cold. Katherine lights a fag, seemingly unbothered by the horror on my face.
‘What we’ve been doing?’ I say. ‘Don’t you mean, what you’ve been doing?’
She shrugs, exhales. A pair of Year Twelve boys walk past and Katherine follows them with her eyes. ‘Tyler Clarke. Fucking little shit. Thinks he’s so clever. Well, I’ve got news—’
‘Kath! Please.’
She sniffs. She’s so infuriating sometimes, the way she withholds important information because she loves the drama and the power it gives her. I lean forward and stare at her.
‘When Clive and I had that massive row the other day, it was because he looked at my emails.’
