Taking a Chance on Love

by Erin Green

  I grab a small satin pillow and hug it to my chest as I tell my friend every last detail. I describe how we sat opposite each other in a café bar. I twiddled with the stem of wine glass, he traced the edge of his pint glass. I cried, he looked embarrassed. He spoke and I cried some more. The candle on the table burnt out and the waiter didn’t know what to do except bring me more tissues.

  Trish mmmms and ahhhhs as I speak; there’s nothing she can say. I tell her how he’d explained his reasons.

  ‘Look, Carmen, this isn’t easy . . . for either of us . . . but you deserve an honest answer,’ he’d said.

  I’d pulled a ‘do you think?’ face.

  ‘I probably should have talked this through with you before now, but I’ve shied away from doing so because I knew how upset you’d be . . . and I truly don’t wish to hurt you. But I already know that marriage is never going to be a goer for me. Ever.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Never. I knew this conversation would come up one day, so it was wrong of me not to have addressed it before, but you seemed OK as we were, plodding along with the life we have.’

  ‘Had.’

  His eyebrows lifted on hearing my correction.

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you? Do you really, Elliot?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘Because sitting where I am and hearing your answer of “non”, I don’t think you do.’

  ‘I know you’re gutted, and I didn’t mean for this to happen. If it had entered my head for one minute that we were coming to Paris for you to do . . . to do that . . . then I would have said.’

  Silence descended, and we’d stared at each other as if daring the other to speak.

  Had he never heard of leap-year proposals? Had he been so oblivious to my intention all weekend?

  I wouldn’t want to be him explaining this to me. But then, if the situation was reversed, I wouldn’t be explaining this to him. If I were him, I’d have said yes to a marriage proposal. And there lay the difference: he didn’t propose marriage, did he? He’d never wanted to!

  ‘All I’m saying is that I know I’m happy as I am. We’re together, we live together, our life works together – why change it?’

  ‘Because I want commitment, Elliot,’ I’d said.

  ‘We have commitment: the house, the mortgage and our life together – isn’t that enough?’

  ‘No.’ My answer sounded as harsh and as hurtful as his had been.

  I’d sipped my wine, staring around the café bar at the other couples. I’d imagined each one as loved up and happy as we were not thirty minutes ago.

  ‘Can’t we stay as we are?’

  I’d breathed deeply, the air filling my lungs to a conscious capacity, before I’d slowly exhaled. I needed to stay calm. I needed to explain my values and desires in a rational manner, otherwise he’ll relay my performance during the next boys’ night out and I’ll be a laughing stock amongst the social group. His social group.

  ‘I have what I want in life, Carmen.’

  ‘And children?’

  He’d given the tiniest of shrugs.

  ‘Don’t you want children?’

  I’d waited while he swigged his beer, before he gave me a tiny headshake.

  ‘Was that a no?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And when were you going to share that gem with me?’ I’d said to him.

  ‘Carmen, you’ve hardly been forthcoming on your plans for the future so what am I supposed to think?’

  ‘Sod you, Elliot! You know I want marriage and kids . . . children. You’ve always known, and now you think you can tell me your plans have changed and I’m supposed to not be upset.’

  ‘I haven’t changed my mind, I’ve never planned on . . .’

  ‘So what was all the crap the other night about Judy breastfeeding in the pub. Why bother asking me what I’ll be doing?’

  ‘It seemed a reasonable question, given her behaviour.’

  ‘When I’m nursing another man’s child, what will you care what I do?’

  ‘Carmen.’ His hand reached for mine, but I snatched it back. Touching Elliot was the last thing I wanted to do right then.

  ‘And don’t you “Carmen” me, right? I never said I didn’t want marriage. I’ve never said I didn’t want children. I’ve simply been the silly bint waiting for you to get round to it in your own sweet time without me twisting your arm up your back. I didn’t want to be the kind of girlfriend who constantly drops hints, sulks at the news of other engagements and then coerces a proposal and pretends it was his choice. Instead, I’m the live-in girlfriend waiting for the things she wants in life to be delivered by a guy who didn’t want the same things in the first place. What a fool I am!’

  I suddenly become aware that Trish hasn’t said anything for ages.

  ‘Trish?’

  ‘Yeah, still here . . .’

  ‘So I’m back in our room, correction, my room, chatting to you.’

  ‘And there’s no chance he’ll change his mind?’

  ‘Nope. Though I wouldn’t want him to, Trish. Elliot knows what he wants. I know what I want.’ I pause before continuing. ‘So it’s over.’

  ‘Oh, Carmen.’

  I break down and floods of tears drench my cheeks. ‘Trish, I never expected this.’

  ‘I know, my love, I know. You did what you felt was right and this is the end result,’ she soothes.

  ‘I do love him, Trish . . . I love him with all my heart but I know I can’t carry on as we were before given that he can’t . . . won’t commit to me or my future.’

  ‘Oh, Carmen, my heart breaks for you.’

  ‘And mine. But I suppose what I’m saying is that my life’s ambition means more to me, however dearly I love Elliot. This break-up will hurt me but not as much as saying goodbye to my ideas about marriage and children will.’

  ‘How did you leave it?’

  ‘I’d heard enough so I willed my body to follow every instruction that my brain gave and I did something I’ve never done before. I stood up, collected my handbag and swiftly, without any tears, exited stage left.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ she asks.

  ‘Gone. He collected his things whilst I was in the bath and he’s checked in elsewhere, I guess.’

  ‘OK, I’m sure he’s safe and sound for one night. Now, you get some sleep and I will call you first thing tomorrow, you hear me?’

  ‘Yep, thank you, Trish. I do appreciate everything you do for me.’

  ‘My pleasure . . . Get yourself into bed and you’ll drop off in no time.’

  ‘I hope so. Thank you.’

  ‘Bye, Carmen.’

  ‘Bye, Trish.’

  I listen until Trish puts down the phone at her end, unwilling to cut the connection with home. She’s been an absolute rock to me and, when I spy the right gift, I will treat her as a thank you.

  I roll over on the bed amongst the piles of cushions, stare at the decorative ceiling rose and wonder how many guests have suffered such a turnabout of situation whilst staying in this suite.

  Who comes to Paris to propose marriage and goes home as a singleton?

  I guess very few. Boy, I belong to a select group.

  I’m not tired. And there’s no chance of feigning sleep when my mind is whirring with questions.

  I look around the stylish room. I have no idea what I’m doing here now. I’ve no desire to venture out before morning; at least here I am safe and sound. I’ll probably watch a bit of TV. I suppose I might find some comfort reading the Gideon’s Bible that’s kept in every hotel room drawer – though I’ll struggle here, given that it will be written in French.

  My mobile begins to ring. I snatch it up without looking at the screen.

  Bless her, Trish has obviously remembered some wise words of com
fort which she thinks are vital to my wellbeing.

  ‘Hello, Trish!’ I say, half expecting her to say, ‘Carmen, this too will pass,’ or, ‘Remember, wherever there is sunshine, shadow must fall.’

  ‘Hello . . . Carmen?’ says a man’s voice.

  I instantly sit up.

  It’s certainly not Trish. And it’s definitely not Elliot.

  Dana

  ‘What are you playing at?’ asks Jez, his hands gesturing wildly as we stand in the foyer, his redundant crew staring from the sidelines. ‘You’ve just buggered up our live finale!’

  ‘I thought it best that I said – surely that’s better than playing along with something that felt fake? You heard what Connor said – he hasn’t stopped thinking about a distant ex, and I had my doubts about my choice.’

  ‘So why didn’t you say earlier in the day? The way this is panning out, the final shot that my audience have seen in tonight’s live finale episode was a second limousine pulling to the curb and another man’s trouser leg stepping from the car. You’re damned lucky that we can hold them in suspense until tomorrow night’s highlights show – making it look like a finale night tease – otherwise this documentary would be ruined!’

  I don’t know what to say other than keep apologising profusely. I can feel Tamzin’s wrath from here, but surely Jennifer is right: honesty and trust are what relationships are about. I wasn’t being very honest with myself when I chose Connor, and how can I build trust with him when deep down I know my true choice was always Brett. In one evening, in Edinburgh, something had clicked between us; some kind of connection occurred whether Brett wants to admit that or not.

  ‘Jez . . . I need to speak to Brett. I need to know why he pulled away from our kiss like he did. It felt real, for that tiny moment in time . . . I felt a connection. I need to ask him a question.’

  I’m expecting him to shout at me, stare at me a little more, but he doesn’t. Instead Jez comes alive and begins shouting orders at his redundant crew and the bored experts, who have suddenly come alive.

  ‘Go, go, go . . . Bloody hell, move it, people . . . Find out where he is. Tamzin has his contact details, so someone call his mobile. Phone his family, sister, parents, his best mate . . . Someone must know where this guy is – we need him here as soon as possible.’

  I watch as the team split in all directions.

  In no time it’s just me and Jez in the empty foyer.

  ‘So what’s the question you need an answer to?’ he asks.

  I tap my nose suggesting secrecy.

  ‘Oh really, that good, eh?’ says Jez, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘You best go and apologise to Jennifer – she’s got the gift of the gab which has saved your bacon.’

  Carmen

  ‘Yes, Carmen speaking.’

  ‘Carmen . . . it’s Connor . . . Connor Warwick.’

  My mind goes blank. My hesitation lengthens as my brain argues with itself: ‘No, it can’t be? Surely not Connor, but it sounds like him.’ A wave of embarrassment must be flowing along the optic fibres, which I am sure he can hear.

  ‘Carmen . . . are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, hi, Connor, so sorry, I lost you there for a moment . . . How are you?’ I feign delight and happy thoughts.

  ‘I’m good, thanks. I was wondering how you are?’

  Bloody good question, but not one I can chat about right now.

  ‘I’m . . .OK.’ I pause, fearful of saying much more in case my tears flow again. This is Connor, the Connor. The man I’d previously worshipped and who’d broken my heart before I met Elliot. The man who I truly thought I deserved in life, but he was too immature and self-centred back then.

  ‘Good to hear.’ There is a lengthy pause before he continues. ‘Carmen, it’s not your type of thing but have you been watching the new TV documentary this week, the one about dating?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard about it from the others in the boutique . . . the woman is our local florist.’

  ‘Yep, Dana, she’s lovely but, well . . . it’s got me thinking, Carmen. Thinking about me and you . . . and what could have been, if I hadn’t behaved so badly. I was wondering if we could meet up . . . go for a drink, a coffee perhaps . . . I just fancied a chat.’

  I can’t believe my ears.

  I can’t believe his timing.

  ‘Well, that is pretty unexpected, Connor . . . I’m currently in Paris but . . .’

  ‘How amazing! On holiday?’

  ‘Not quite . . . It’s a long story, which you probably haven’t got time for, but . . .’

  ‘I’m in no rush, I’ve got time to chat now, if you have,’ he interrupts.

  ‘OK . . . I have to say you calling tonight is ridiculously spooky given the circumstances,’ I say, settling down amongst the satin pillows. ‘So how have you been, Connor?’

  Dana

  ‘Dana, where’s Dana?’ calls Jez, hurrying through the foyer, ahead of the crowd.

  I sit bolt upright, having slumped into a plush chair and drifted off amongst the madness of the last ninety minutes.

  ‘There you are! Now, get yourself together . . . here he comes!’

  My world is a blur as the cameras reappear, the experts follow suit and then the crowd parts and, in the aisle created, there is Brett.

  Jez approaches me, offering a microphone.

  ‘No, I’m not having a microphone for this conversation. It’s private!’ I snap at Jez, attempting to push aside the tiny gadget but without success as Jez pins it to my dress. ‘Hi, Brett, how are you?’

  His features split into a wide smile as I walk towards him, hands outstretched, and pull him into a friendly hug.

  ‘I’m good. I didn’t expect to be dragged out to the big city on a Saturday night; I was home alone.’ I’m shocked by the tingle running along my spine as we make contact. He’s exactly as I remembered from the other night, before his swift departure . . . I’m not about to chastise him, complain or begin moaning. I just want to ask him a simple question about that kiss.

  ‘Brett, can we go for a walk? I need to ask what happened the other night.’

  He gives a sharp nod before dropping his gaze to the polished tiles of the foyer.

  I link my arm in his and we slowly walk away from the crowd of Happy Productions TV much to the annoyance of Jez and his trailing camera crew.

  ‘I need to know why you dashed out . . . is it something I’d said or did?’

  Brett smiles gently. ‘It was me. I followed my instinct and kissed you but partway through I caught sight of the cameras and the shy guy in me simply came to the forefront. This whole scenario simply isn’t me. I live a quiet life without drama and fuss. I forced myself to complete the online application and apply because I want to share my life with someone special. I don’t ever seize the day, I don’t live for the moment and to suddenly find myself kissing you in such a passionate way when we’d spent less than a couple of hours in each other’s company was overwhelming. Before I knew what I was doing I was dashing down the staircase and I’d ruined my chances . . . or I thought I had.’

  I listen to every word he says. In his piercing grey eyes, I see a multitude of emotions turn and shift, like the kaleidoscope making a snowflake pattern, a moment in time in which everything changes.

  ‘I appreciate your honesty, Brett . . . it’s what I needed to hear.’

  ‘You’re not annoyed by my rudeness?’

  ‘Nope. You’re as vulnerable as I am when it comes to admitting your emotions but I think we had a great date . . . I felt a connection, too good not be given a second chance.’

  A delighted smile almost eclipses his features.

  ‘Wow, this is not what I expected you to say, Dana. I thought I’d really upset you, given your expression as I dashed out.’

  ‘It just didn’t make sense when I felt we’d mad
e a connection . . . but still, what time is it?’

  Brett checks his wristwatch. ‘Eleven fifty.’

  Dare I ask the big question?

  My heart rate quickens, my pulse flutters and my palms are clammy.

  Should I seize the moment, or not? The leap-year tradition doesn’t stipulate how long a couple should know each other beforehand. Tamzin wants to hear it. Jez would be ecstatic to hear me pose the big question having ruined hi slive finale night, but is this what I . . . what we want?

  ‘Brett, one more question before we head back for a drink . . . I feel a connection as if I’ve known you for a lot longer than I actually have so I’m willing to live in the moment and ask . . . How much do you know about elephants?’

  Brett stares at me, puzzled. ‘Elephants?’

  I nod slowly. From the corner of my eye, I spy Tamzin and Jez frantically gesturing at each other, yet again. The group of experts stand open-mouthed and staring. They only had one question in mind. I had another.

  ‘I know that their tusks never stop growing and they spend up to eighteen hours a day eating,’ says Brett, adding quickly, ‘and, female Asian elephants don’t have tusks.’

  My heart bursts with delight. In an instant, my kaleidoscope has formed the best pattern ever.

  ‘Excellent! Now can we please pick up from where we left it the other night?’

  As our faces draw closer and our lips reunite, I can hear Jez and Tamzin flapping about in the background in a desperate attempt to direct the camera crew to capture our first proper kiss, to show tomorrow night during the highlights.

  ‘It’s very late into the night but I have to ask, how do you both feel?’ asks Jennifer, seated in front of us for a hastily arranged interview.

  I know I’ve messed up Jez’s finale night with my indecision and the frantic search for Brett, and the camera crew have had a nightmare trying to capture footage. But it was never supposed to be about them, was it?

  ‘This is probably the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but it feels right. I have to be honest despite how it might seem to others . . . I feel like I’ve known Brett for a lifetime.’

  Brett squeezes my hand as I speak.

  ‘I agree. There are a million things we don’t know about each other but there is a definite connection, which I’ve never felt before,’ he says. I can hear the nervous tremor in his voice; this really isn’t his thing.