by Laura Tait
‘It was negative,’ says Rebecca.
A heaviness swells inside my chest, and I realize it is disappointment. Neither of us says anything for what seems like minutes.
‘I don’t understand,’ I say, confused. ‘You’re on the pill – how could it even be an issue?’ I try to look into her eyes but they’re playing dodgeball again. ‘I mean, my boys are obviously good, but . . .’
I trail off. I guess the whys and wherefores aren’t important right now.
‘So this is why you’ve been so distant the last hour or two?’
‘No.’ She shakes her head but without conviction. ‘I don’t know.’
Rebecca starts walking again. I follow, intending to ask what she means, but she takes my hand and squeezes her fingers into my palm, and I know it is her way of acknowledging that she’s not the easiest girlfriend.
‘I reckon I’d be pretty good at all that dad stuff,’ I eventually say.
‘I reckon you would too,’ she says. ‘That’s if . . .’ She nods insinuatingly at my crotch.
‘What?’
‘Well, you’ve got to wonder after today’s result whether your boys have got it in them.’
I stick out my foot to trip her but she sees it coming and mocks me with a Ha. We start to walk back, and as I hook my arm around her ribcage it dawns on me exactly why I’d wanted the pregnancy test to be positive. It would have given my life some kind of purpose, but I was being an idiot, because Rebecca already gave me that eleven months ago.
‘I’d be lost without you, Becs.’
She glances up at me and smiles like she’s prepared to tolerate my soppiness on this occasion. ‘Aw.’
‘No, seriously,’ I say, looking around the town exaggeratedly. ‘I’ve absolutely no idea where I am.’
She laughs, not even pretending to be scolded, and I think she knows that I wasn’t joking first time around at all.
Chapter Four
REBECCA
Saturday, 4 October
The estate agent is late.
Ben and I sit on the steps outside a ‘deceptively spacious and charming two-bed garden flat with original features’ in East Greenwich, waiting for a woman called Liudvik. I drum the step with a baton made from three rolled-up property specs.
‘What’s the time?’ I ask.
Ben looks at his watch. ‘Two minutes since you last asked.’
I sigh. Twenty minutes late.
As far as steps go, they’re not the best – crumbling so the edges are smooth rather than sharp, with cigarette butts jammed in the crevices. They’re not enough to put me off, though. I’m realistic about what I can get. It won’t be a showroom when I move in. But that’s fine. Original features! That’s far more my taste, and if it means I need to do it up a bit, so be it. That’ll make it so much more my own.
‘This takes the piss,’ I groan, checking my phone for missed calls, and wondering how much of my annoyance is actually about the fact Ben never suggested we move in together.
I wonder if I’m the only one assuming we’re long term. Maybe I’ve been assumptive. Ben’s passion for things tends to be short lived.
‘I know,’ Ben admits. ‘It is a bit . . . Oh look, this’ll be her now.’
A red Mini screeches to a halt at a twenty-degree angle from the kerb.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,’ a lady cries in a heavy accent – Russian perhaps – as she jumps out of the car and hurries past us down to the front door. ‘I’m Liudvik. Hope you veren’t vaiting long?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ Ben replies cheerily. ‘I’m Ben, and this is Rebecca.’
‘Hallo,’ Liudvik replies, not looking our way as she tries one key after another.
‘Oh, don’t worry about it,’ I mimic quietly in Ben’s ear.
‘I feel sorry for her,’ Ben whispers back. ‘She’s a mess.’ As he says it, our estate agent drops her folder on the floor, and papers fly everywhere.
‘There,’ she says with a smile as the door swings open, though her lip is trembling. ‘This is lovely flat. You vill love.’ Then she starts to pick up her notes, talking to herself.
Never believe an estate agent who tells you, You vill love. I should know this. I should also know ‘charming’ is just another word for ‘little’ and ‘original features’ means ‘nothing has been updated since the building was built last century’ – and not in an adorable, shabby-chic way, but in a can’t-believe-this-hasn’t-been-condemned-yet way.
And ‘deceptively spacious’? Well, if you believe this is spacious, you have indeed been deceived.
‘It’s kot charm, yes?’ Liudvik says, stroking a wall, then examining her fingertips and wiping them on her trousers.
‘If by charm you mean that you could have a shower and cook dinner at the same time, without missing the ten o’clock news, then yes, sure.’
I’m back to the front door eight seconds after starting my tour of the place.
‘Sshhh,’ Ben says with a titter. ‘Hey, do you reckon I’d be a good estate agent?’
‘But I thought you loved working in HR?’
‘Maybe I could be a comedian, like you.’
Despite my teasing, I’m grateful he’s here: his presence means it’s becoming a funny story, as opposed to a tragic waste of my time, or indeed the tragic mystery of a Russian estate agent being found under the floorboards of a derelict flat in south-east London . . .
‘Anyway,’ she tells Ben while I inspect the bedroom again, ‘I’d buy soon – it’s popular area and this place has lots potential.’
‘Potential’ means ‘currently shite’, and it occurs to me I should probably drag Ben away from her before the impulsive spender in him says something li—
‘I’ll take it,’ I hear him say.
‘What the feck are you doing?’ I cry, running through. ‘I don’t want to live in this hellhole.’
I arrive in time to see Liudvik handing Ben her pile of paperwork.
‘She couldn’t get that closet open with one hand,’ Ben explains.
I sigh, relieved.
‘I just don’t understand how they can get away with charging so much for this,’ I tell him.
Liudvik tilts her head and looks at me like I’m an idiot.
The reason for this becomes clear once I’ve seen the other two places. Turns out the first one was pretty good for my budget. The second one, described as ‘a blank canvas’, is so blank it has no toilet, shower or sink. The last one isn’t an actual home. Seriously, back when the whole building was someone’s mansion, the section Liudvik is trying to flog me was probably used to house the dustpan and brush. Not even a Hoover – Henry would have refused the living conditions.
‘What do you reckon?’ asks Ben, though my face says it all.
‘I need a drink. Let’s say bye to the Russian and get the hell out of here.’
‘She’s Ukrainian.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I was chatting to her about it earlier.’
Course he was, friendly bastard.
‘That was the most depressing experience of my life.’ I throw myself dramatically into our booth at Arch 13 and slump over the table. ‘Why does Danielle have to move out?’ I sigh heavily. ‘I don’t want to live by myself.’
Ben looks at me as though he’s confused.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Nothing,’ he says, reviewing me for a second or two longer before his face returns to normal. ‘So what are you going to do?’
I sigh. That’s the two-hundred-thousand-pound question. ‘Maybe I should widen my search. Try somewhere a bit more up and coming?’
‘Estate-agent-speak for currently down and out?’
‘Maybe I should ask for a bigger mortgage.’
‘Maybe you should give yourself a bit more time. There’s no rush to buy, is there?’
‘Maybe I should sell a kidney.’
‘Maybe we should live together.’
‘Maybe I should—’ I sit bolt upright
. ‘Hang on, what?’
‘What?’ he echoes.
‘Did you just say . . . ?’
‘Yeah, OK.’ He adjusts himself in his seat like he’s trying to get comfortable, though he ends up in the same position he started. ‘I said it: we could live together. If you like. I thought you wanted to live by yourself, but if you don’t, I’m just saying, I . . .’ He shuffles in his seat again. ‘Look, I don’t want to push you into anything. But it’s my last chance to say anything, so . . .’
I stare at him, baffled. ‘Ben, do you want to move in together or not?’
He stares back. ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.’
‘You need to be clearer, Ben . . . Is that a yes?’
‘YES.’
‘Why haven’t you asked before? I figured you were having doubts about us, or you weren’t ready or something.’
‘Doubts? I’m not having doubts, you wally – I wanted to ask but then at your dad’s you said you couldn’t imagine living at the flat with anyone else, and then you started to look for somewhere to live by yourself.’
‘I didn’t think I had a choice – you never asked. So, er . . .’ I shrug, unable to stop a smile spreading across my face. ‘Are we doing this?’
‘I’m in if you are?’
‘I’m in.’ Relief washes over me – he is in this for the long haul.
He grabs my head and kisses my lips, laughing at my scrunched-up face.
‘Put her down, Nicholls, and drink your beer,’ interrupts Jamie, placing a pint in front of Ben, followed by a glass that clinks with ice as he slides it towards me. ‘And a Scotch for the lady.’
‘I can’t see any ladies,’ says Danielle, appearing in a puff of Chanel No. 5. ‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘Not like you,’ says Jamie with a wink. ‘Drink?’
‘Mojito please.’
‘Coming up.’
‘Hang on a bit, mate,’ says Ben. ‘We have something to tell you.’
‘We’re moving in together,’ I add quickly, in case they think we’re about to announce an engagement or something ludicrous like that.
Is that ludicrous?
Yes, of course it is.
‘No big deal,’ I add, squeezing Ben’s hand under the table and watching Danielle to see her reaction. I can’t fool my best mate – she’ll know it’s a massive deal.
‘Of course it’s a big deal,’ says Jamie, patting Ben’s shoulder then mine. ‘You can have those drinks on the house.’
‘You were going to charge us for these?’ asks Ben.
‘Thank goodness for that,’ Danielle says to no one in particular. ‘When she texted saying the house hunt was horrendous, I was worried I’d be stuck with her for ever.’ Then to me: ‘Nice one, Becs. So will you stay in the flat?’
‘We haven’t really discussed it,’ I admit, looking at Ben.
‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘This is pretty much breaking news you walked into. Might make sense until I can save a bit more towards a deposit.’
‘Will Russ and Tom mind?’ I ask.
‘Nah, it was just the two of them there before I moved in – they were doing me a favour, to be honest. I can move in as soon as Danielle can get out.’
‘No need to sound so excited about it,’ says Danielle, giving Ben a shove. ‘But I can move any time. Next weekend if you want?’
‘That’d be perfect,’ I say, then seeing Danielle pout, add: ‘I mean, that’ll be really sad.’
‘I want tears!’
‘I’ll be crying on the inside,’ I promise.
‘Let’s do that, then,’ says Ben, clapping his hands together. ‘That’s just before our anniversary.’
‘He’s taking me away on a surprise,’ I tell the others, before turning to Ben, who’s still grinning. I grin back.
‘Do you have seven hundred pounds to give Danielle for her deposit?’ I ask.
‘Yeah.’ He lowers his voice. ‘We’ll also need a new dining table.’
‘Definitely.’ I chuckle. ‘And a new sofa, come to think of it – that’s Danielle’s too.’
‘And a new bed.’ He turns to the others, looking smug. ‘The springs have gone on Rebecca’s old one.’
‘Yep, it never really recovered from my student days,’ I say, trying not to smile.
Jamie pats Ben’s back sympathetically. ‘And on that note, I’ll get back to work.’
There’s a gaggle of giggling girls waiting for him at the bar. He’s still chatting to one of them when Ben and I finish our drinks and Ben gets up to replenish them. ‘Same again?’
‘Please,’ I reply.
‘While you’re there,’ Danielle yells at Ben’s retreating back, ‘tell Jamie to stop flirting with Tidy Tania and make my bloody Mojito.’
She moves up into the space Ben has just vacated to sit next to me.
‘Has Tidy Tania still got a boyfriend?’ I wonder aloud.
‘Yep.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘It is, but anyway . . . I can’t believe you’re moving in with a boy.’ Her tone is disapproving but her smile tells me she’s teasing.
‘We lived with Jamie for years,’ I remind her.
‘You know what I mean. A boy boy.’ I do know what she means. ‘Are you scared?’
‘Nah, I’m excited. It’s Ben. It’ll be easy.’
‘How do you know Ben’s The One?’
It’s not a question I was expecting, and I nearly shrug and say I don’t know, or quip that I’m still deciding whether he is or not. But something about Danielle’s tone and the sad way she keeps glancing at her mobile on the table makes me reconsider. She’s opening up. We don’t do it often – not because we don’t trust each other, just because we don’t feel the need to. But if she’s showing me her vulnerable side, I’ll show her mine.
‘And don’t be a prick and say, You just know,’ she adds scornfully when I open my mouth to reply.
‘I wasn’t going to say that!’ I protest. I was totally going to say that.
So I give it more thought, searching for an answer in the bottom of the empty glass I’m still holding. How do I know Ben’s The One?
I don’t know how to explain the way I feel when Ben looks at me. Like everything around me just disappears. And it doesn’t sound enough to say it’s because of how much we laugh together, and how everything turns into an adventure, even if it’s a game of Scrabble on a rainy day.
‘Got it,’ I say finally, with a decisive finger snap. ‘They find your faults endearing.’
Danielle looks sceptical, so I continue . . .
‘Like, you know how you always moan that I’m a bit messy?’
‘A total slovenly slut.’
‘Whatever. It annoys you I’m not as tidy as you, but Ben doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s cute.’
‘Cute? Seriously?’
It’s true. When I’m at Ben’s, he laughs in bemusement at the discovery of my left shoe in the middle of the living room, when he’s already picked up the right one from the hall floor. And after breakfast at Dad’s last Sunday he walked into the kitchen while I was trying to force the door shut on the overflowing dishwasher. I was groaning in frustration, so he wrapped his arms around me and kissed my creased forehead, telling me I was adorable when I was angry. Then he emptied the clumsily loaded machine, smiling and shaking his head at the same time as he scraped the food off the plates, before systematically reloading it.
‘Seriously. And I know I break his balls about him being such a softie, but it’s one of the things I love most about him. Did he tell you about the donkey he’s adopted in Ireland, by the way?’
‘Is its name Shane?’
I snort. ‘I wouldn’t mind but he’s already got an elephant in India, a tiger in Malaya and a child in Africa.’
‘Soppy sod.’
‘Totally. But you know what?’ I lower my voice even though Ben is way out of earshot over at the bar. ‘I think I knew he was The One that first night I met him in here.’
A cloud p
asses over Danielle’s face and I mentally kick myself. That was the night that she and Shane broke up.
When she got in the next morning I’d started banging on about Ben and giving Jamie the napkin, but she barely said a word. I’d never seen her like that – it really hit her hard this time.
Danielle sighs and smiles. ‘You guys are dead lucky, Rebecca – you know that?’
‘Not as lucky as whoever you end up with,’ I say. ‘And that’s not Shane. It’ll be someone way more special than Shane.’
‘You think?’ she says, picking up her phone and glancing at the screen.
‘Yes,’ I insist. ‘He’ll have to be pretty special if he’s going to find your singing endearing. And you’ll only recognize him when he comes along if you get Shane out of your head.’
‘He’s not in my head. I’m, like, totally over him.’
‘Then delete his number.’
‘I can’t,’ she says, like I asked her to poke her own eye out.
‘I can.’ I grab her mobile.
‘No!’
‘Why?’ I hold it in the air.
‘Because I . . . I might . . . I should . . . Oh, fine! Do it.’
I press some buttons and a few seconds later, Shane is erased.
‘That’s fine,’ she says. ‘I don’t care. Not. A. Bit.’
She drums her long fingernails on the table top in a show of indifference.
‘I’ve never seen you look so devastated.’
‘That’s about not living with you after the weekend. Nothing to do with Shane.’
‘Danielle?’ I say, playing with a coaster and feeling my cheeks redden. Why am I so crap at this? I can’t even have a sentimental moment with my best friend without feeling like a dick. ‘You know I’ll miss you, right? I love living with you. I know I sound excited about living with Ben but I’m really sad too, that we won’t be living together any more.’
‘Oh, Rebecca,’ she cries, shifting right up next to me so she can wrap her arms around me and squeeze me so hard that I wouldn’t be able to get my arms free to reciprocate the hug even if I wanted to.
