by Jenny Kane
They were in luck. After a companionable hour soaking in the diverse art work, they found a two-seater table available at the very edge of the lounge bar. After purchasing a glass of white wine each, they sat in silence for a moment, staring at the world through the window. It was all there. London. Everything the tourist could hope to see in one complete eyeful. St Paul’s, the Eye, Big Ben. Everything.
‘It quite takes the breath away Amy. All that history.’
Without turning from the view, Amy ran through their personal history as she replied. ‘I knew you’d appreciate it.’
The waiter came over and took their order for two bowls of wild mushroom soup and homemade bread, before leaving them to soak up the panorama. Amy was the first to break the silence, ‘You were going to tell me something?’
‘Ah, right,’ he put down his own glass and sat back in his seat, ‘I will, but first I want to know if you saw sense and took the management post you were offered?’
‘I did,’ Amy took a draft of alcohol, ‘thanks to you.’
‘Me?’
‘You helped me clarify a few things. I was so sure I had been set up, I felt feeling manipulated, but you made me see it wasn’t really like that.’
‘Of course it wasn’t.’
‘My friends were just trying to do their best for me.’
Paul was pleased, ‘Good. I’m glad. Now I can press ahead with my plans.’
Amy was intrigued, and more than a little impatient, ‘Tell me, then!’
‘As I said, I’m no spring chicken on the excavation circuit. If I’m not actually running the dig, then I’m at least responsible for a good part of it.’
‘That’s great. Your CV must be excellent. You always were the only one who could tell an ordinary stone from a Neolithic axe-head.’
Paul smiled in acknowledgement, ‘I’ve seen the world Amy. I’ve found and seen all sorts of marvellous things. Written thousands of reports, drawn a million diagrams, been cited in heaps of books, but I’ve had enough.’
Amy was startled. ‘But Paul, it’s your life!’
‘Yes, it is. But I’m fast heading towards my forties, Amy. I have, as I’ve said, friends everywhere, but no one waits for me when I do get home. Only my parents miss me if a dig is extended at the last minute. It’s just not enough anymore.’
Like me, Amy thought. There’s no one at home, not for me anyway. ‘So, what will you do?’
Paul returned his gaze to the view; the people below looked tiny as they scuttled about, oblivious to the fact that they were being observed. ‘Is it nice living in London?’
‘Bit expensive I guess, and a touch overwhelming sometimes, but I like it.’ Amy began to nibble at the soft granary bread which a waiter had placed in the centre of their table.
‘Rob loves it, and I guess Jack does. I suppose the night life suits him.’ Paul verbally pounced as Amy reddened at the mention of Jack’s name, ‘What is it? What’s he done to you now?’
‘Nothing.’ Amy put up a hand, ‘Really, nothing. I’ll tell you all about it later. Go on with what you were telling me about London. Are you coming here to work? Are you?’ Amy felt as if she was on tenterhooks as she waited for his answer.
She seemed so eager; Paul felt more hopeful than he had dared allow himself to before. ‘I have the chance to. I wanted to know what you thought.’
‘And what Rob thinks, of course,’ Amy added.
‘Oh yes, and Rob.’
Fifty-seven
January 23rd 2007
There was a crispness in the air as they walked through St James’ Park. Striding side-by-side with Paul in the fading light of a winter afternoon, Amy took advantage of the comfortable silence and replayed almost every word of the day’s conversation through her head. Suppressing the nagging voice at the back of her head, that was desperately trying to tell her she was missing something important, she reflected on Paul’s career plans.
After a series of interviews, about which he’d told no one for fear of jinxing himself, Paul had been offered the position of assistant curator behind the scenes at the British Museum, in charge of finding and acquiring new exhibits for the medieval department. Paul had said that, if both she and Rob were staying in the area, then he’d be very tempted to take the job.
Amy had just about been able to stop the internal whoops of joy escaping from her mouth by keeping her face as impassive as possible. Having felt herself manipulated (all be it with good intentions), into taking a job, she didn’t want her happiness at having Paul around more often to be a factor in his decision about whether he took the job or not. By the time Paul had finished explaining about it, Amy’s facial muscles were aching from lack of expression, as she simply said it sounded great, and that it would be fantastic to see him more than once a decade.
Paul risked a glance at her as they passed Duck Island. After her initial enthusiasm, Amy hadn’t even blinked when he told her about the job. She’d said she was pleased for him, and that had appeared genuine enough. What did you expect? He had no reason to think she’d gush. They had only ever been friends. Jack had always been the one. Jack?
He broke into Amy’s companionable silence, ‘You were going to tell me something about Jack?’
‘So I was. He’s found someone at last. A nice guy called Toby. They’re going to go travelling together for a while.’ Amy, not daring to look at Paul, groaned inwardly at the sing-song tone of her voice.
Paul listened carefully as she brought him up to date, wondering why Amy had flinched when he’d mentioned Jack’s name. ‘I’m surprised. I assumed he’d play the field forever.’
‘I think he did too. Toby was as much a surprise to Jack as everyone else.’ Amy was studying the ground as she spoke.
‘You OK about it?’
‘Yes,’ Amy sighed. ‘To tell you the truth, I wasn’t, but I am now. I was foolish.’
Paul spoke softly, ‘Tell me.’
So she told him everything from the very beginning, repeating information he knew, and filling him in on what he didn’t. The letter and the tape. How she’d put off meeting Jack at first, but when they’d got together, the old spark had been there, just as before. How on the surface nothing had changed, and yet how everything had – and how something in her had foolishly refused to see it.
‘Amy,’ Paul sank down onto the nearest bench, pulling her down next to him, ‘Jack is a nice person, most of the time at least. But he is a totally, completely, utterly crap boyfriend.’
‘That’s exactly what Rob and Debbie said!’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Paul was irate, his arms animating his words as he spoke faster and faster. ‘He treated you like shit. One minute on, one minute off. God! It was agony watching you so unhappy. He had you hook, line and sinker.’
Amy was so surprised at his explosion that she sat down next to him, open-mouthed. She tried to say she knew that, and that she should never have let it last so long, but her words stuck in her throat in the face of his unexpected rant.
Paul registered her newly pallid face, and stopped talking. ‘God, I’m sorry Amy.’
‘It’s OK,’ she felt unsettled as her mind raced. Why was Paul so upset about it now, all these years later?
‘It was horrible watching you with Jack. You were worth ten of him. Jack was my friend, still is I hope, but for a while I hated him. And now he’s gone and hurt you again.’
‘Paul!’ Amy had to shout to get him to stop. ‘Please! Listen; in the past, yes, it was mostly him, not all him, but mostly. This time it was me.’
Paul’s brow furrowed as he listened, ‘What do you mean?’
‘It was comfortable being with him. I was in a new place with new people, and he was familiar, easy to relax with after a day’s work. I let my imagination run away with me. My fault. My problem.’
‘But …’
‘And,’ she spoke forcefully. ‘I’m past all that now.’ Amy continued more calmly. ‘I’ve got a new job, friends, and a future. That’s why
I came here, why I left Scotland. Jack was simply the catalyst, I see that now. He will always be important to me; a special friend, but that’s all.’
Accepting what she said, Paul filed the information away to be dealt with later. He stood back up. ‘Come on, it’s getting dark, let’s walk.’
‘Have you heard from Amy today? I’ve been trying to call her. I think her mobile must be off.’ Jack was on his hands and knees sorting out a batch of children’s books for the Spring window display, before he closed the shop for the day.
Rob, busy at the computer, replied without looking up. ‘She’s out with Paul today; they’re probably in a museum or something.’
‘Paul’s here? That’s great, you should have said.’ Jack paused, mildly put out that he hadn’t been told one of his oldest friends was in the area. ‘I would have covered if you’d wanted to go out with them.’
Rob, his face hidden by the monitor, grinned to himself, ‘Thanks Jack, but Paul asked if I’d cry off.’
Jack straightened up, a pile of the stuffed toy chicks and lambs Phil had asked them to order, balanced in his arms, ‘Paul did? Why?’
Rob winked at him, ‘Why do you think?’
‘Paul! No way! Really?’ Jack was stunned.
‘Oh yes.’ Rob felt a childish thrill at shocking Jack where Amy was concerned.
Jack found he had to speak slowly so that his voice didn’t waver. ‘So, when did he start liking my Amy then?’
‘Always, mate. Always. And,’ Rob spoke with deliberate clarity, ‘she hasn’t been your Amy for a very long time.’
Jack felt himself go hot as he watched Rob, his head bent as he studied the latest email order. ‘Paul liked her? Even back then?’ Jack asked quietly.
This time Rob didn’t raise his head from his work. ‘Even back then, mate, even back then.’
Kit felt bizarrely satisfied as she examined the text from Rob. She’d been thinking about Amy, on and off, as she sat writing in Pickwicks, wondering if Paul had declared himself yet. Rob shouldn’t have told her really, and Kit desperately hoped that Amy wasn’t going to be the last one to know how much Paul cared for her.
She read the text again.
Told Jack. You should have seen his face! Rx
The damp air had become infused with a light mist as Amy and Paul turned towards St James Park’s Storey’s Gate. A distant, unseen church clock began to strike. One, two, three, four, five.
‘It can’t be five o’clock! We’ve been together since ten!’
‘You don’t have to sound so alarmed about it,’ Paul’s eyes were teasing.
‘I’m not; actually I’m sad it’s nearly over. Today’s gone so fast.’ Amy spoke lightly to try and make her statement sound less serious.
‘Sign of enjoyment, if the day goes fast.’ Paul held her eyes intently, ‘So, have you enjoyed yourself?’
‘Oh yes.’ Amy’s eyes flickered over the remaining festive lights that hung across the dusky street.
‘We don’t have to finish it here. Come out to dinner with me tonight.’
‘Dinner?’ Amy’s heart began to beat out a samba.
‘I have a bit of work I need to do first, but I could pick you up about eight?’
‘Well,’ Amy felt awkward. Today had been supposed to be the three of them, even if it hadn’t turned out that way. Dinner though, that was more of a date thing, even if it was only Paul.
‘Come on, live dangerously,’ Paul winked at her, ‘if you come, I promise to spill the beans about the girl from university.’
‘That’s bribery!’
‘I know.’
Fifty-eight
January 23rd 2007
The hands of the kitchen clock seemed to have been turning insanely fast since Amy had returned to Princes Road. It was already seven o’clock, and she still needed to have a bath and, more importantly, she needed to calm down.
Amy had been on the last stage of the tube journey home when the penny had dropped. At first she had dismissed the idea out of hand. It was absurd. Paul was a caring friend who was delighted to see her after so long, but the thought had persisted to gnaw at her. Am I the girl from university? All the signs were there.
Her head crammed with questions. What if I’m wrong? Do I want to be wrong? If I’m right, how long has Paul felt like that? How did this happen? Oh hell, what the hell should I wear?
Amy felt momentarily shocked at herself. She never worried about what to wear. But then, she hadn’t been on a date since 1993. Is this a date? For God’s sake, this was Paul! This was her friend, who, if her suspicions were correct, suddenly felt more like a stranger. Which, she supposed, he was in a way. Despite their day together, Amy realised she didn’t know much about his life over the last decade.
Staring blankly into her wardrobe, Amy sighed. There really wasn’t anything much to look at. A couple of old work suits, a pair of jeans, a shirt, a pair of aged shiny-kneed black trousers, a grey baggy cardigan she wore in PMT-induced comfort moments, and a semi-smart navy jacket she’d grabbed from a charity shop before Christmas.
Maybe Sarah and James would be home soon and she could throw herself on their mercy. No. Kit. She needed Kit. She’d lend her some clothes. Help her out, and stop her yo-yoing imagination from making her panic.
Amy’s hand hovered over the phone, but then she snapped it back. She could be wrong about all this. In any case, this was Paul. A small voice of reason made an attempt to claim her. If he did like her, then smart jeans and the jacket over a T-shirt would be fine. It would surely be what he’d expect from her. If he was just a friend after all, then it wouldn’t matter anyway.
Once Amy had made her, admittedly limited, clothing decision, she tried to think about nothing beyond getting clean, dressing, and brushing out her tangled hair.
Now she was ready, the hands on the kitchen clock seemed to have changed tempo, and were moving extremely slowly, making every minute agonizingly long. Just when Amy had she’d worked the whole thing out, and decided that the idea of Paul finding her attractive was ridiculous, her mind would return to the start of the problem. As she waited, a mass of indecision, Amy remembered a passage from The Christmas Carol. When Ebenezer Scrooge was first presented with the idea of the ghostly visitations to come, “after mature enquiry, that it was all a dream, his mind flew back again, like a strong spring released, to its first position, and presented the same problem to be worked all through…”
It was exactly eight o’clock when the doorbell rang. Even though she’d been expecting it, Amy jumped as the sound echoed through the hallway. Maybe she should pretend to be out; say an emergency had come up, anything to avoid any potential embarrassment. No. She had to know. One way or another.
Muttering her ‘new life’ mantra to herself as she walked towards the door. Now she’d considered the idea, Amy realised that the concept of Paul as a boyfriend was not totally repellent to her. Would she be disappointed if her suspicions were unfounded? She didn’t know. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Closing her hand around the brass door handle, she took a calming breath, and flung the door open.
They talked of their hopes for their new jobs as they travelled in the taxi. Amy had explained again about how uneasy she’d been about accepting the position with Home Hunters. Accepting her paranoia with patience, Paul put it all into perspective for her once more as they were driven to the Covent Garden Grill.
‘Why, when you say it, does everything seem all right?’ Amy felt reassured as she got out of the car.
Paul hugged her to his side as they walked into the packed, oak-panelled restaurant. ‘Because everything is all right, silly. Everything is almost perfect.’ He bent down and kissed the very end of her nose. It was so innocent, chaste even. Amy was torn between feeling bewilderingly short-changed and tenderly touched.
The meal had been lovely, and even though there had been a couple of rather stilted moments when they first faced each other across the dinner table, Amy had soon relaxed enough to enjoy
the food and company. But now they were on the coffee, and Paul hadn’t said anything about liking her. He hadn’t made any move at all, yet she couldn’t bring herself to ask about his mystery girl. Amy found she felt disappointed. At least that helps me to see how I feel about him. Somehow that didn’t feel much of consolation.
Regardless of the lateness of the hour, the restaurant remained busy. Amy was looking around at the other couples tucking into their steaks, when Paul unexpectedly asked, ‘Does Jack still do the song lyric thing?’
Surprised by the question, Amy replied, ‘Sometimes. Why?’
Paul hesitated. Should he tell her of the song that he always associated with her? He remembered Rob telephoning him for moral support just before seven, and encouraging him to go for it. So, taking a gulp of air, Paul plunged into his pitch for Amy. ‘I always associated you with that Another Cup of Coffee song. You know the one? Mike and the Mechanics I think it was.’
‘Really?’ Amy spoke quietly, turning her attention to her empty square-shaped plate. ‘That’s quite a sad song. About being alone; about looking back being hard. Regrets and stuff.’
‘I knew you’d get that bit.’ Feeling uncomfortable, Paul began to fiddle with the corner of the tablecloth, much in the way Amy did when she felt uncertain about something.
‘Is that how you see me now, or just as I was back then, when we were students?’ Amy asked, avoiding a gaze that wasn’t looking at her anyway.
Paul shifted on his wheel backed seat, ‘Obviously, I always associate you with coffee.’
‘Obviously.’ Amy raised her half empty cup, and flashed him a brief smile in acknowledgment, before re-lowering her eyes to the tablecloth.
‘But back then … I saw you being left, and then left again, that’s all. So much of that song seemed relevant, you know, it just summed it all up. You and Jack. Like the whole thing about her wanting to make everything OK, and him making her feel awful all the time. And I didn’t seem to be able to do anything about it. It was maddening.’
