The Night That Changed Everything

by Laura Tait

  This time last year I had all those things: friends, stuff to laugh about, someone to kiss at midnight. Maybe Jamie was right. Maybe I should have been at his party.

  A taxi crawls past and although I’d planned to get the train, I find myself waving it over.

  ‘Where are you off to, love?’

  I go to say my address but stop. I look at his clock. 11.27 p.m.

  ‘Arch 13,’ I tell him, leaning forward. ‘Head towards Greenwich station and I’ll direct you from there.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  BEN

  ‘I’m OK,’ I tell Jamie. ‘Not good, not great, but OK, you know?’

  ‘That’s progress,’ he says, standing up from his stool to applaud the band he booked for the New Year party.

  They’ve finished the first half of their set and Erica is turning up the background music for the interval. Jamie gives the singer a thumbs-up as he and his bandmates head outside for a smoke.

  ‘Christmas was a turning point,’ I say. ‘I kind of accepted that it’s over.’

  He smiles to show he’s heard me, but still doesn’t offer an opinion, almost like he’s sceptical. A few seconds pass.

  ‘So what are Danielle and Rebecca up to tonight?’

  I frame it like a casual enquiry to show that, really, I’m in a good place, a place where I can chat about my ex in passing without it being a big deal.

  ‘Danielle said it’d be too hard to spend it in Greenwich without Rebecca, so she’s going to a house party in Shoreditch with her cousin.’ Jamie sighs, and I know he’s thinking that last year we spent it all together. ‘And Rebecca’s seeing friends.’

  I want to ask him which friends, but that would transform my casual enquiry into an enquiry dressed in a tuxedo and bow tie, so I change the subject.

  ‘I’ve been reading that book Tom got me for my birthday,’ I tell him. ‘You know Michelangelo didn’t actually want to paint the Sistine Chapel? He wanted to sculpt, but when the Pope asks you to do something you do it, right? So he spent years doing something he never enjoyed, but then he had the Sistine Chapel to show for it, whereas all I’ve got to show for my years at London Transport are a set of Acceptable Internet Usage guidelines, and it didn’t matter when I was with Rebecca, because the rest of my life was perfect, I had direction, but . . . Are you even listening to me?’

  ‘It’s not that I’m not listening, it’s just that some of the things you say go straight to my Junk folder.’

  His answer takes me aback, and I sulkily ignore the sarcastic grin he offers me. After a few silent moments I wonder if being hungry is making me oversensitive.

  ‘I dread to think what the Chef’s Special Sauce consists of,’ I say, examining the menu.

  I order a cheeseburger and when Jamie goes to help Erica serve, something he said earlier comes back to me. Rebecca’s seeing friends. ‘Friends’ is what I’d tell a mate if his ex was with a new fella. A mental JPEG opens without me double clicking on it: Rebecca flirting with Pilot_Dan via a sideways glance.

  ‘Has Rebecca got a new bloke?’ I ask Jamie when he retakes his stool.

  ‘What?’ He turns to me. ‘No, not as far as I know.’

  I study the dregs of my lager, trying to work out if he’s telling the truth as the band resumes with Marvin Gaye.

  ‘I know she’s online dating,’ I say.

  He looks at me wearily. ‘Rebecca?’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  I finish my drink and pick up the new one Jamie just dispatched on the bar. ‘Heard it through the grapevine.’

  He scrunches his face dismissively.

  ‘Seriously, what makes you think Rebecca – Rebecca! – is meeting guys online?’

  He stares at me, waiting for an answer, and I understand now that I’ve driven down a road with no room for a U-turn.

  ‘I saw it on her laptop.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  Now it’s me sighing. I explain everything.

  ‘So, just so we’re straight,’ he says. ‘She deleted you from Facebook so you went round there to propose?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And because she wasn’t there, you did the obvious thing: you snooped on her laptop,’ he folds his brow, ‘and saw she’d been on a dating website?’

  I was expecting Jamie to be indignant on my behalf, but if anything he looks pissed off at me.

  I’m vaguely aware of the singer thanking his audience but neither Jamie nor I are paying attention now. It’s a relief when my cheeseburger arrives because it means I don’t have to look at his accusing eyes, but I can sense him watching me, so that I become conscious of the way I’m eating.

  ‘You masticate too much,’ he finally says.

  I stop chewing. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I’ve always thought it about you. I don’t know why I’ve never mentioned it before.’

  I take another bite of my burger and in a deliberate act of rebellion swallow after two chews. I instantly regret it.

  ‘To be fair,’ I tell him, ‘this burger is so overcooked that if I didn’t chew it thirty times I’d need a chimney-sweep to remove it from my throat.’

  He doesn’t take offence.

  ‘I’m not just talking about food,’ he says.

  ‘So what, I’m supposed to be happy she’s dating other people?’

  ‘I’m not saying that, but sometimes in life you just need to swallow.’

  We smirk like teenage boys, levity returning, then turn to watch the band. I see that one of the girls dancing at the front is Tidy Tania. She steals a glance our way, and I realize Jamie is sacrificing another chance to get with her to spend the night with me.

  ‘So anyway,’ he says, ‘how’s that turning point working out for you?’

  ‘Piss off, Hawley.’

  It’s annoying, but he’s right. I came back from Manchester thinking I was getting there but now I’m not so sure. It’s being here, this place, where we met, and where this time last year we were so happy. And even though Jamie says he doesn’t believe it, I know what I saw on her laptop.

  I shove my plate away, feeling the anger bubbling again.

  ‘Maybe you should think about getting your own place,’ Jamie says.

  I see his eyes venture my way but I don’t react, waiting instead for him to play his full hand. ‘I love having you at the flat, and I’ve never eaten so well, but if you really are going to reach a turning point . . .’

  I concentrate on wiping a column of condensation from my pint glass.

  ‘Is this because my bike’s in the way?’

  ‘It’s not about the bike.’

  The place erupts for the band once again and Tidy Tania looks at Jamie with an Oh my God, they’re so good face.

  ‘So what, you just want me out of the flat to stop cramping your style?’

  ‘You know it’s not like—’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘You want me to be honest?’

  ‘Be my guest.’

  The singer asks the bassist what the time is, but it’s all part of the act. With beads of sweat making tracks down his temples he tells the room there’s time for one more song before the countdown to midnight.

  ‘No one wants you and Rebecca to get back together more than me, but it’s not looking likely, is it?’

  ‘I know, and I told you earlier I’d accepted that.’

  ‘Yes, and then you’ve spent half the night asking about her.’

  I tighten my grip on my glass. I’m on the defensive now. ‘Exaggerating much?’

  ‘I know you were hurting but looking at her laptop, that’s not good, mate.’

  Why is he saying this? I know he’s frustrated that Rebecca and Danielle aren’t here, and I know this whole thing has affected him too, but he’s supposed to be my oldest mate, to have my back, and yet it feels like he thinks it’s totally fine that Rebecca is going on dates already.

  ‘I’m speaking as a friend,’ he says. �
��I don’t like what it’s doing to you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  I’m morphing into a petulant teenager but I can’t stop myself.

  ‘Look, when sad stuff happens you can either let it eat at you or create something positive from it. You’re letting it eat at you and life’s—’

  ‘Don’t tell me, Life’s too short.’

  Jamie pinches the top of his nose between finger and thumb, as though trying to explain something to an idiot.

  ‘You know how many heartbeats most people get?’

  ‘Enlighten me.’

  ‘Three billion, if they’re lucky. You can’t waste them moping around feeling sorry for yourself. You need to make as many of them as possible count for something.’

  ‘So I’m not allowed to be upset that the girl I loved more than anything in the world doesn’t want me any more?’

  He rubs the scar above his eyebrow. ‘You’ve just wasted seven heartbeats asking me that.’

  He tries to act all jokey but he’s pissing me off.

  ‘It’s not just the Rebecca thing,’ he says when he clocks that I’m not smiling. ‘It’s your work situation. I’ve heard it for years, and you’re right, it wasn’t so bad when you were with Rebecca, but if splitting up with her has made you remember how much you hate it, see it as an opportunity; do something instead of just talking about it.’

  The singer thanks the audience again, and then the countdown begins. Ten, nine, eight . . .

  ‘I knew you weren’t interested earlier.’ It’s my wounded pride talking now. ‘All that masticate bollocks was just your way of telling me to shut the fuck up, wasn’t it?’

  Jamie raises his palms, a placatory gesture. ‘Calm down, mate. I’m just—’

  ‘Don’t tell me to calm down.’ I stand up. ‘You know fuck all about how hard these past few months have been for me. How could you? You haven’t been in a serious relationship since sixth form.’

  Three . . . two . . .

  ‘You’re incapable of taking anything seriously, that’s why you decided to run a bar rather than get a proper job.’

  The trumpet player launches into ‘In the Midnight Hour’ and Jamie looks stunned.

  I stand there, regretting everything I’ve said but not knowing how to take it back. Instead I leave, away from the kissing revellers and the overcooked burger, away from Jamie. I walk out, into the street as fireworks light up the London sky.

  I feel relief as fresh air fills my lungs, but it doesn’t last long. I realize that I can run away from all of those things, but I can’t run away from the one thing that hurts the most – the truth.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  REBECCA

  Friday, 2 January

  New Year 1–0 Rebecca.

  First day back at work and I was supposed to come in and kick ass, but not only am I still not sleeping, now I have a whole new layer of angst to contend with.

  Arrghhhh, I groan internally, rubbing my eyes. Why oh why did I go back to the bar on New Year? Or at least, why didn’t I leave again when I realized Ben wasn’t there after all? If I hadn’t been so gutted about missing him, this never would have happened.

  As soon as I woke up this morning the memory of Jamie being there in my bedroom came flooding back. No matter how hard I try to pretend it never happened, my mind won’t let me block it.

  Having to avoid Ben and Danielle was bad enough – I don’t want to have to avoid Jamie too. But how can I face him?

  ‘Rebecca?’ The voice makes me jump out of my seat.

  ‘Sorry, Jake. Yes?’

  ‘Can we have a quick catch-up?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, wondering if he’s going to ask me if he’s carrying any holiday weight or whether he’s too old for his new goatee.

  ‘I’ll get straight to the point,’ Jake says, waving me into the seat opposite him in the meeting room. ‘We’re in bad shape. The pre-planning stage is way behind schedule. Some of this is down to workforce problems, so we’ve signed off an increased headcount, but there’re a couple of things I need your help to get to the bottom of.’

  He opens his notepad.

  ‘According to the schedule, the piping was meant to be delivered to the site before Christmas. It hasn’t turned up yet, and it’s holding up the groundwork.’ He looks up at me. ‘Do you know what date you sent the order?’

  ‘Definitely three weeks ago.’ Is when I shoved it in my top drawer with the intention of sending it as soon as I got back from lunch, but forgot. Fuckity-fuck. ‘I’ll chase it.’

  ‘Please do, as a matter of urgency. Also, I can’t find a signed copy of permission from the Local Planning Authority. Do you have a copy of it?’

  My palms sweat. I haven’t sent anything to be signed. Schoolboy.

  ‘Have they contested anything?’

  Please say no. We won’t be able to go ahead without the signed agreement, and will have wasted shitloads of money. I’ll get sacked. And then I’ll be single and unemployed, and I’ll probably have to move back in with Dad, and—

  ‘No,’ Jake says. ‘But it’s vital we have it.’

  ‘I’ll dig it out,’ I promise.

  Jake pushes his glasses up on his head and rubs his eyes. ‘Can I say something, Rebecca?’

  ‘Sure,’ I reply, digging my fingernails into my palms. No one ever asks for permission to say something if the thing they’re going to say is good.

  ‘And please take this in the spirit it’s intended.’

  Balls.

  ‘This is an important project for the firm.’ He brings his hands together, as if in prayer, and taps his chin with them, as though deciding how to word this. ‘And the reason we put you on it was because you’re one of the most thoughtful architects we have. Your natural instincts about what is worth restoring and what needs modernizing are exactly what the cinema needs. And I know you can do it. This is your chance to really shine, and make a name for yourself.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I say slowly, aware that he hasn’t finished.

  ‘But the bottom line is we need to know that you’re up to it.’

  My heart hammers in my chest. Jake doesn’t know if I’m up to it?

  I know I’ve made a few oversights recently, but I had no idea my boss was questioning my ability.

  ‘I am,’ I try to assure him. I consider telling him I’ve had a few personal problems but I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses.

  He smiles and nods, getting up to walk me to the door and I shuffle back to my desk, stinging from his words.

  My desk phone rings and Jemma’s name pops up on the screen.

  ‘Do you know how many calories are in a Terry’s Chocolate Orange segment?’ she asks without waiting for me to speak. ‘Forty-six. Imagine what the whole orange is. I hate myself. You OK?’

  I make a noise that indicates things could be better.

  ‘Bad day?’

  ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Want to talk about it? The Lion has just had a refurb, we could check it out after work?’ Jemma continues. ‘Have a cheeky glass of wine as it’s Friday?’

  ‘Sounds good.’ I’ll just go for one glass, I think as I hang up. Take the edge off.

  ‘Rise and shine!’

  ‘What the hell . . . ? Hang on, who’s that?’ I glance at the silhouette that just pulled back the curtains. ‘Jem? Is that you?’

  ‘It is. I didn’t like to stick you in a taxi alone in the state you were in so I came back with you and stayed over.’

  ‘Was I drunk?’

  ‘Steaming.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Untying the wrap dress I still appear to be wearing, I discover a big, purple bruise on my right hip. ‘Oh my god!’

  ‘That’ll be when you fell off the table,’ says Jemma.

  ‘Ha, seriously, though . . .’

  Jemma isn’t listening. She’s on her phone, which she thrusts in my face. There’s a grainy video of someone dancing on a table to ‘I Don’t Feel Like Dancing’. No sooner h
as it sunk in that it’s me then there’s a crash and I disappear off the screen.

  ‘If I ever do that again, rather than film me could you perhaps make me get down instead?’

  ‘I can’t promise that. But don’t worry, this is just between you, me and, so far, a hundred and four YouTube users.’

  ‘You didn’t!’

  ‘Course I didn’t. You hungover?’

  ‘Nope.’ I sit up, then immediately lie back down again. ‘Yep. A little. Must be because I didn’t eat anything.’

  ‘Except the chicken.’ She sees my blank expression. ‘Remember? Lucky Fried Chicken? He asked how many pieces you wanted and you challenged him to see how many pieces he could fit in a box?’

  ‘Classy.’ I groan. ‘How’d we end up so drunk?’

  ‘Think we were doing shots at that place after The Lion.’

  We went somewhere else after The Lion?

  ‘Why were we doing shots?’

  ‘Because my New Year’s resolution is to lose two stone and I figured that mixers have unnecessary calories.’

  ‘You don’t have two stone to lose, Jem,’ I tell her, closing my eyes again to stop the throbbing in my head.

  ‘I don’t just want to be thin, I want to be emaciated. Like, so people wonder if I’m a smack head. You made any resolutions?’

  ‘Generally to be less of a fuck-up.’

  ‘Well, you’re nailing it so far.’

  I start to laugh but it makes my head worse.

  ‘Sorry I woke you, by the way,’ says Jemma. ‘My data has run out on my phone so my maps won’t work. I just need directions to the station.’

  ‘Give me five minutes and I’ll walk you there.’ I should probably get out of yesterday’s work clothes.

  ‘I’m so far from home,’ Jemma whines as we take the river path down towards the train station. ‘My friend Holly lives in Blackheath and it always takes me years to get home.’

  ‘I’m not surprised when you walk at that pace,’ I half-joke.

  ‘You don’t need to march at a million miles an hour when you have access to the Tube. You should all move to north London, it’s so much bet . . .’ She slows – practically to a halt – to focus on something across the road. ‘OK, fine. I’ll move here instead.’