by Lisa Jewell
‘Fuck off.’
His hand retracted and he turned and left the room.
Duplicity City
‘Tone, it’s me.’
‘Sean!’ Tony wasn’t used to receiving phone calls from his younger brother and especially not at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.
‘Look. I can’t talk long. I’m on my mobile, just going down the shops to get some cranberry juice for Millie.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘Look. I need to talk to you. Something’s happened.’
Oh God, thought Tony, Duplicity City, here we come.
‘Now this is top secret, right. You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone. Not Mum, not anyone.’
‘OK.’
‘Millie’s pregnant.’
Tony mustered all his limited powers of artistic expression to sound surprised by the news.
‘Yeah. It’s a bit of a shock, really. Not planned or anything – well, obviously not planned. I mean we’ve only been together a few weeks. But the problem is, she wants to keep it.’
‘Problem?’ said Tony.
‘Yeah. I mean, I understand why, I really do. She’s thirty-six and she’s at that age, you know. And I want to be really happy about it and be all New Man and understanding. But I can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not ready. I’m not ready to share her. I’m not ready to give up my freedom. I’m not ready for her to change.’
‘Change?’
‘Yeah. You know, not drinking, not smoking, not wanting to go out. We had this great lifestyle and it was all new and fresh and now it’s like living with bloody Geri Halliwell or something. All she wants to do is stay in and sleep and now I feel like a freak when I’ve had a few drinks. You know, there is nothing more self-conscious-making than hanging out with a sober person when you’re bladdered and… well, I really pissed her off last night.’
‘Christ – I’m not surprised, if that’s your attitude. What happened?’
‘Well, I wanted to go out after dinner and she said she was tired and wanted to go home. So I told her how that made me feel and she stormed off. Just like that. So I went out anyway…’
‘What – you let her go home on her own?’
‘Yeah. I know. I’m a cunt. But I was just feeling so… powerless. I know it sounds pathetic, but I just felt like if I’d gone home with her it would have been winning.’
‘What would have been winning?’
‘The baby. The baby would have won.’
‘Sean, this isn’t a competition, you know. That’s your child she’s carrying.’
‘I know. I know it is. But I don’t know it. It’s not growing inside me, you see. It’s her baby. You know, if it had been planned, if we’d been together a couple of years and deliberately stopped using contraception and then she’d got pregnant, that would be different. We’d have done it together. I could handle that. But this – this just feels like an alien has taken up residence inside my girlfriend. Like it’s nothing to do with me. At all. Do you know what I mean?’
And in a funny way, Tony did know what he meant. But there was no chance he was going to say that to his brother. He was on Millie’s side. All the way. ‘Look, Sean,’ he said, ‘I know this is probably all a real shock to you and the last thing you expected. But you proposed to Millie – don’t forget that. You made the ultimate commitment to her already and has it occurred to you that maybe she’s scared too? Eh? That maybe she’s shocked. That maybe she’d have preferred to wait?’
‘Well, she did say that she’d have been happier if it had happened in a couple of years.’
‘Exactly. Look. You’ve got an incredible woman there. She’s way too good for you and you know it. She’s pregnant. You’re the father. You’re a grown man, so stop being a wanker, buy her some flowers and start dealing with it. Because if you really can’t cope with it you’d be better off walking away now while she’s still got some options.’
‘What?’
‘I mean – if you don’t want her with your baby then leave her. At least that way she can decide to have an abortion if that’s what she wants, and get on with her life. But if you’re just going to hang around making her miserable and making her feel guilty for something that isn’t her fault then you’re not doing her any favours. Either face up to it or walk away from it. OK?’
‘Yeah,’ said Sean, realization dawning in his voice, ‘you’re right. I know you are. It’s just really hard. I mean, I think the world of Millie. I don’t want to lose her. But I’m just so confused and even though I know what I should be doing I still find it really hard. Fuck, Tone…’
‘I’m serious, Sean. You’re just going to have to grow up. Make your decision, one way or the other.’
Yeah. Yeah. Look. I’m just at the cash desk. I’m going to have to go now. But thanks, Tone. I’m really going to try and deal with this now.’
‘You’ve got some serious thinking to do.’
‘I have. I will. Thank you. Thanks for listening. And remember. Not a word to anyone. Yeah?’
Yeah. Oh – just one thing. Just out of interest. Why did you call me? I’m not saying I’m not glad that you did. But you don’t normally call me for advice.’
‘Well, I don’t normally need it, I suppose. And besides, you’re my big brother – who else would I call?’
Tony put the phone down after Sean had hung up and stared at his feet for a while feeling guilty, duplicitous and exulted, all at the same time.
Purple Sofas, Mojitos and Leopardskin Mobile Cases
On Monday night at eight o’clock, Ned found himself in a very noisy, almost entirely purple wine bar just off Oxford Street. He was sure at first that he must have got the wrong address or the wrong place. It was full of curvy sofas, chrome lighting and the sort of people he’d spent his three years in Sydney trying to avoid. Men with gelled hair wearing shirts and ties that were the same colour. Girls in tight trousers and asymmetric lycra tops. People who looked like they worked in the lower echelons of media. Dim lighting. Loud music. Expensive cocktails. The antithesis in every way of everything that Carly liked. Carly liked pubs and caffs and places that served beer with funny names and at least four varieties of Walkers crisps. Places where you could get a seat and hear yourself think. Surely she was doing this all back to front, thought Ned. Surely you were supposed to start off with the loud purple-sofa places and work your way down to the old-man pubs as you approached your thirties.
He scoured the place for Carly, but she was nowhere to be seen so he ordered himself a vastly overpriced bottle of beer and tried to find somewhere to sit. He was about to perch himself on the corner of an enormous purple sofa when a slightly orange girl with a sheet of dyed blonde hair and wearing a fuchsia halter-neck threw him a ‘My life would be perfect if you didn’t exist’ look and said, ‘You can’t sit there.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You. Can’t. Sit. There.’
‘Why not?’
‘It’s taken.’And then she turned away in a manner that suggested that she felt she’d already sacrificed enough of her precious life to dealing with him. It hadn’t, patently, occurred to her that he might not follow her instructions.
And she was right, of course. Ned picked up his bottle of beer and slunk away, feeling like he had head-lice and yellow teeth.
Imagine, he thought as he tried to find a corner to hide in, if you were the sort of bloke who actually fancied girls like that, the sheet-of-blonde-hair girls, the you-bore-me girls, the high-maintenance, you-expect-me-to-get-on-a-te girls. How soul-destroying to have to spend your life trying to please someone who was impossible to please just so you could go out with something pretty on your arm.
He fiddled with his hair while he waited. It was extraordinarily hot in here and his beard itched. And his hair, too, come to that. He had a sudden urge to comb his entire body.
His eye was caught then, by a cute-looking girl walking into the bar. She had blonde-ish wavy hair to her
shoulders, rosy cheeks, a red coat, a rucksack and buckle-up shoes, like an enormous four-year-old. She stopped at the threshold and pulled off her stripy gloves, finger by finger, while her eyes scanned the room. And then her eyes fell upon Ned and she beamed at him. And then Ned realized. It was Carly! He put down his beer and headed towards her.
‘Carly. Hi.’
‘Ned.’
They hugged, Ned with his goatee and glasses, Carly with her red coat and rucksack, and Ned knew immediately that everything had changed. She smelt different, Ned noticed. She always used to smell of cherries and talcum powder. Now she smelt of some kind of proper but not unpleasant perfume.
‘Look at you,’ she said, holding his hands and eyeing him up and down. ‘Love the beard.’
‘Do you?’Ned ran his hand over the soft fluff and felt a flutter of pleasure at the first compliment his goatee had received since he got home.
‘Yeah, suits you. Makes you look more… interesting.’
‘Are you saying that I used to look dull?’
‘Deadly, sweetie.’
Sweetie? Carly didn’t say things like sweetie.
‘And you,’ he said, gesturing at her blonde-ish hair and trendy coat, ‘you look brilliant.’
She grinned and bobbed up and down. ‘Thank you.’
They walked to the bar. ‘What d’you want,’ said Ned, ‘a beer?’
‘No,’ she replied absent-mindedly, picking up the Cocktail menu and perusing it, ‘I’1l have a… a… mojito.’
‘Really?’ he said, his voice so full of concern it was as if she’d just asked for a pint of skunk’s milk.
‘Yeah.’
By the time the twenty limes that Carly’s drink seemed to require had been quartered and pounded, a table had come free at the back of the bar and they carried their drinks over and sat down.
‘So,’ said Carly, resting her face on glamorous hands with long, manicured nails and flashing a rather meaty cleavage at him. ‘It’s really great to see you.’
And Ned thought, This is so weird, so unbelievably weird. This was Carly – definitely, he was sure about that – but, at the same time, it wasn’t. This was Carly Deluxe. Carly with make-up on and shiny fingernails and a cleavage and self-confidence oozing out of her like liquid gold. She was a little bit scary.
‘So, anyway – you!’ He suddenly sounded like a game-show host. ‘Let’s talk about you. I mean, new job, new hair, new everything. Seems like everything’s going really well for you. Tell me everything.’
Carly smiled and fiddled with the zip of her rucksack while she talked.
She’d gone travelling after Ned left, cashed in her savings, rented out her flat and gone away for a year, had the most amazing time. The Amazon – amazing. The Aztec Palaces – incredible. Stunning apartment in the Bahamas where she looked after a millionaire’s shih-tzu. San Francisco – the best city in the world, without a doubt. So awful having to come home, could have stayed away for ever. Made so many new friends, had so many experiences. And the boys. Boys, boys, boys. Blond ones with tattoos and Bermuda shorts. Dark swarthy ones with Vespas and speedboats. American ones, Danish ones, Australian ones. Should have done it years earlier. Built up her self-confidence no end, all that flirting and chasing. But that’s what being young’s all about, after all. I mean, if you can’t do it when you’re young, when can you do it, eh? Soooo depressing coming home, the weather, grey skies, dirty old London town and all those miserable pasty faces. Urgh.
Still, she had to get back to real life some time. Did a bit of temping, moved in with Mum and Dad, sold the flat, made a fortune, a mint, bought this stunning one-bed flat in Brixton. Of course, Brixton is so cool now, loads of really brilliant bars and restaurants – it’s really trendy. Her flat’s already gone up thirty per cent in value in just eighteen months. Soooo – she was temping for this really cool company on Eastcastle Street, just over there, and she and the boss, this really, really cool woman called Marty – forty-three, but looks about thirty – well, they just clicked. It was weird, really, like they’d known each other for ever. And Marty just turned round one day and said, ‘I’ve let the senior pattern-cutter go – the job’s yours.’And it’s soooo great. Loads of money, loads of free samples, really nice clothes – she has no idea how she stuck it among all that Crimplene at Dorothy Day for soooo long. And it’s so great now that she’s a size 12, because the samples all fit – they even use her as a house model sometimes. So, she’s got this great job and this great flat and this great figure and then Marty introduces her to her cousin Drew. And Drew is soooo gorgeous – blue, blue eyes, dark, dark hair, loaded – and whisks her off her feet. Meals, holidays – oh, they’ve been to Majorca, Mauritius and Zanzibar already and they’ve only been going out for ten months. He’s wonderful. And Carly’s life is perfect. Just perfect. Like a big fat fucking fairy tale.
Ned nodded and smiled grimly, nearly paralysed with boredom and bitterness. ‘Great,’ he said, grinding his teeth together so hard they almost gave off sparks, ‘that’s really great. I’m so glad everything’s worked out so well for you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Carly, ‘I’ve been really lucky. Life’s so good right now. What about you?’
‘Well, you know, I haven’t really been back all that long.’
‘What are you doing? Are you working?’
‘Yeah. Yeah. Well – sort of. I’ve been doing some stuff for my dad.’
‘Oh,’ said Carly, looking like an air hostess during severe turbulence, ‘right. That’s good.’
‘Well, no, it’s not really. I’m intending to do something about it.’And as he said it his jaw set hard because although he’d been gently toying with the idea since he’d got back, he was now absolutely, 100 per cent determined. A job. Yes. Definitely. He was going to get one of those. And a good one, too. With a good salary. Yes.
‘Still at home?’
‘Uh-huh. Yeah.’
‘Is that just… temporary, or…?’
‘Yeah,’ he said abrupdy.’ Yeah. I’ll be, er… looking for somewhere as soon as I get myself together, sorted, you know…’
Carly nodded and they fell silent. Ned contemplated his empty beer bottle and realized that this was possibly the first time there’d been a silence between them. And he knew why. Because there was now a gulf between them that had never had the chance to develop when they’d been together. Carly had moved on. And on. And on. She’d moved so far away from him that she was now just a blot on the landscape.
He gulped and felt sad, scared and very alone. Because Carly wasn’t the only one who’d left him behind during these last three years. His other friends had, too. They’d started cohabiting, getting mortgages – some of them even had people working for them now. That was the weirdest thing of all in some ways – or the most unexpected, at least. His friends had staff, hired and fired, chaired meetings, ran departments, were the subjects of bitching sessions in the pub after work. And it had all happened so quickly. It felt like he’d only been gone for about five minutes, but in those five minutes Mac had lost forty per cent of his hair, Sarah had dumped Colin, slept with Mac, and moved in with John – whoever the hell John was. Mike had been made area manager, Rob had proposed to Sam and Michelle had got married within six weeks of meeting someone called Tizer, had two miscarriages, got divorced two years later and had aged about ten years.
And Carly – Carly had transmogrified entirely into this glamorous, slightly bizarre blonde person to whom he could think of nothing to say.
‘Do you want another drink?’
‘Mmm,’ she nodded and knocked back the dregs of her mojito, ‘thanks.’
When Ned got back with more drinks Carly was on the phone. Her mobile had a leopardprint casing. Ned shuddered.
‘OK, sweetie,’ she was saying. ‘Yeah. No. Not sure what time I’ll be home. Oh. Right. OK. No, that’s fine, midnight’s fine,’ she laughed, ‘more than fine. Really fine. OK – completely fantastically fine. Oh, you! OK. Yes. Love you too,�
�� she said then sighed annoyingly and turned off her phone. She was still smiling when she looked up at Ned. ‘So,’ she said, picking up her drink and holding it out towards his beer. ‘Here’s to life and destiny and moving on. Cheers.’
They clinked glasses. ‘It’s so weird,’ she continued, ‘just think – if you hadn’t met Monica in that bar, then you’d never have left and I’d never have left Dorothy Day and gone travelling and met Marty and moved to Brixton and met Drew and everything would have been so different. It’s a funny old world, isn’t it?!’
She looked utterly thrilled by how funny the old world was and Ned gulped. Just think, he thought, if I’d never met Monica in that bar, I’d never have ended up living in Sydney with the unhappiest woman in the world and come home three years later to find that all my friends have left me behind and that my beloved ex-girlfriend and former best friend is a blonde, leopardskin-mobile-cover kind of a girl with a boyfriend called Drew and a taste for trendy South American cocktails… Where was the real Carly, he thought? What had happened to that round, apple-cheeked girl who only wore make-up to parties and never shaved her armpits in the winter?
They got through the evening together in time-honoured tradition – by getting pissed. Ned capitulated to Carly eventually and started drinking mojitos too. He liked them. They tasted like old-fashioned lemonade and got him good and pissed in record time. His tongue unstuck after a couple and, though he and Carly never quite recovered their old rapport, they did find things to talk about – mutual friends, mainly. Ned filled her in on all the gossip and she filled him in on hers. By ten o’clock they were actually laughing together and, although it was nothing like it used to be, if Ned had closed his eyes and pretended he was having a drink with someone else entirely – with a girl he used to go to school with who he’d bumped into unexpectedly on a bus, say – he’d have to concede that he was having a perfectly enjoyable evening. At eleven o’clock, or thereabouts, they put on their coats and gloves and headed out into the damp night air.
