Anna: NO. That’s your Irish Catholic guilt talking. What’s happened now??
Rachel: It would seem I’m on an accidental date with Laurence. I’m Withnail: I’ve come on a date by mistake.
Anna: Erm. WHAT??
Rachel: He waited for me outside work and convinced me to go for a drink. I felt sorry for him … But he’s brought me to a romantic wine bar
Anna: Oh my God, he is SUCH a desperado! Got it.
Anna is typing …
Anna: Make sure you switch your phone ringer on btw. No good if you can’t hear me calling.
Anna is typing …
Anna: I love you, Rach, but honestly … We need to have a serious conversation about your taste in boyfriends. TTFN x
Rachel dropped her phone back into her bag just as Laurence sauntered over as if this were his wine bar, clutching what was obviously not a small glass of wine. Why could this man never listen?
‘So …’ he said, then tipped a bottle of some European lager to his lips.
‘Yes?’ Rachel asked, taking a sip from the massive glass he’d put in front of her. Whatever this was, it was delicious – no doubt purposely so, which took the edge off her enjoyment of it.
‘So,’ Laurence said, ‘I guess I just wanted to understand why you think it’s the right move for us to finish. I can’t get my head around it, even now I’ve had a while to mull it over. It doesn’t make any sense to me.’
Rachel felt her eyebrows pull together. ‘What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense?’
‘Well,’ he said, stretching his long pinstripe-clad legs out beneath their tiny table, ‘it seems so unlikely. We’re a good match, we’re of a certain age, I think we want the same things … I have a great career and plenty of savings, and I already own my flat. Plus, I’ve been told I’m fairly easy on the eye.’
He winked theatrically as he said this, then drank from his bottle again. Ick.
‘Laurence,’ Rachel said, doing her best to keep her voice even, ‘I’m sorry, but none of those are good reasons to start building a life with someone.’
Laurence frowned, narrowed his eyes a little and said, ‘Of course they are. Where’s your head? I thought you were more sensible than this, Rach.’
‘More sensible than what?’
‘Well … More sensible than to put yourself back out there when you’re approaching midlife. I don’t want to be a dick about this, but I think I’m a pretty decent catch. What makes you think you’re going to do any better? Bit risky binning me off, I’d say, if you want marriage and children.’
Rachel put her wine glass down as gently as she could. If she kept hold of it, she was definitely going to throw its contents in his face.
‘Laurence, I’m afraid you are being a dick about this. A massive one. If I hurt you when I finished things, I apologise – I never meant to. But we’re not right together. This – us – was never going to work.’
‘And you think it’ll be better to try and pick up some new guy in a bar? Download a bunch of dating apps? Spend half your life playing spot-the-fake-profile-photo and deleting endless unsolicited dick pics?’ Laurence’s voice was getting louder now. Rachel cringed as the barmaid who’d poured their drinks looked over at him, wide-eyed.
‘Laurence,’ she said, quiet and firm. ‘Stop. I think we’re done here.’ His lips curled into something like a sneer, but before he could spit out a reply she cut him off. ‘I’m genuinely sorry, but I don’t love you and I know I never will. You need to let this go.’
‘Who said anything about love? I’m talking about a solid future, a lifestyle. What’s love got to do with anything?’
He said the word as if he were jeering at something made-up – a fiction that only callow idiots believed in.
‘Oh my God, Laurence. Everything,’ Rachel said. She stood up, then bent to grope for her coat, laptop and bag. Laurence’s legs were idling in the way, and she shoved them so hard he almost tipped off his seat.
‘Bloody hell!’ he hissed. ‘Go, then. But I give you a month, tops, before you’re texting me again. Just let me know when you’ve realised you want me back. I guess you’ll have to hope I’m still available.’
He drank what was left of his lager in one gulp, then shrugged his shoulders in a way that managed to seem both adolescent and aggressive.
Rachel felt sick. She was seething. She also thought she might cry.
How could Laurence – inoffensive, mild-mannered, basil-growing Laurence – be saying these things to her? Had he always been this arrogant, this awful? If he had, how had she not seen it?
Rachel didn’t want Laurence to have the last word, but had no idea how to claim it for herself. She couldn’t think of anything bad enough to call him.
Then her phone started ringing, loud and insistent. It must be Anna. Thank fuck for Anna. Rachel thought for a moment about how her best friend would handle this, and suddenly knew what to do.
‘Find someone else, Laurence. Move on,’ she said in her coolest, most dignified voice. ‘I wish you the best.’
Then she turned away, began marching briskly towards the door and answered her mobile.
‘Rach? Are you there?’
‘Yes, just walking fast. Tom?’
‘Yeah, it’s me, sorry. I’m on Anna’s phone. She told me to call you – said something about an emergency exit strategy. She’s busy cooking and didn’t trust me to stir the pan.’ He laughed.
‘S’okay,’ Rachel said. Her breathing was shallow and her chest felt tight. A high, stinging ache at the back of her throat warned her that a sob was trying to break free.
‘Hey,’ Tom said, ‘what’s happened? Where are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ Rachel insisted, but her voice cracked a little. ‘I’m on my way home.’
‘You’re not fine,’ he replied, almost in a growl. ‘What’s happened? Do you want me to come and meet you?’
‘No, really – I’m almost at the Tube. I’ll be okay, I’ve just had a shitter of a day … Topped off by a run-in with Laurence, who informs naive little me that love isn’t real. Also that I was insane to dump him because – and I’m pretty much quoting here – I’ll never find anyone better.’
‘Fucking hell, what a tool that man is,’ Tom said. Rachel felt her face twitch, a smile trying to form. He and Laurence had never hit it off. ‘Don’t give him another thought,’ Tom went on. ‘He knows nothing about you, nothing about relationships … Nothing about who might be out there waiting for you. Loz knows nothing about anything,’ he fumed, ‘except perhaps pensions. I suppose he knows a fuckload about pensions.’
Rachel was laughing now. ‘So he says.’
‘Listen, are you sure you don’t want me to come?’
‘No, I’m at the station now. I’m going to go down to the platform so I’ll be home soon. What’s Anna making?’
‘Some kind of dhal, I think. It smells amazing – she says it’ll be done for when you get back. I’m told there will also be naan bread.’
Rachel could hear him grinning down the phone and she smiled again.
‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘Exactly what I need: carbs, glorious carbs. Right, I’m getting on the train. I’ll see you guys in a bit.’
When she got off the Tube at Finsbury Park about twenty minutes later, Rachel found Tom waiting for her at the station exit.
‘Thomas. You didn’t have to do this,’ she said, shaking her head at him. But her chest was filling up with some soft, warm feeling she identified as gratitude.
‘Well, good evening to you too,’ Tom said, rolling his eyes.
He took her laptop bag, passed the long strap over his head and then smiled at her gently. ‘And I know I didn’t have to; I wanted to. I figured I’d risk a Laurence-style ambush in case you’d rather not walk home alone.’
They strolled in silence for a few minutes until Rachel la
ughed. ‘You know, if you’re channelling Laurence, your next move should be to tell me I’m almost past it. Then warn me that I’ll die alone and childless if I don’t let you knock me up immediately.’
They passed under a street lamp as they made their way up Stroud Green Road. Rachel saw Tom’s cheeks were glowing deep pink, as though suffused with emotion.
‘I’m okay, you know,’ she reassured him, briefly resting her hand on his arm. ‘You don’t need to be irate on my behalf.’
‘Oh, I do,’ he said, relaxing a little and grinning at her. ‘I’m positively enraged. I’m glad you seem to be shrugging it off already, but if I ever see that twat again I’ll be forced to rearrange his smug face.’
‘God,’ Rachel giggled, ‘it’s a long time since I’ve had a man swear to defend my honour. It’s against my whole belief system, to be honest – but I won’t deny that it’s weirdly comforting.’ On the doorstep Rachel fumbled for her keys, then turned to look at Tom before she let them into the building. ‘Thank you for cheering me up,’ she said. ‘You always seem to know what to say.’
She went to hug him and he opened his arms to her, almost bashful. He patted her back lightly as she leaned against him, but Rachel could feel that his spine was rigid and he’d stiffened his shoulders. Eek. This was bad. She’d embarrassed him.
Tom let his hands drop back to his sides and hang there loosely for a few seconds, then stepped back a little and pushed his glasses up his nose. He looked down at his trainers for a moment as if to gather himself, then brought his eyes back to Rachel. His face was calm, composed and kind, like always.
Rachel put her key in the lock and said, ‘Sorry. I’ll warn you next time I go in for a fondle.’
‘I … er … Right,’ Tom said, then coughed and cleared his throat. ‘Let’s go in, shall we? I’m famished.’
Rachel shut the front door behind them, but paused with the flat key between her finger and thumb.
‘Tom?’ she said.
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ve mortified you already, so I might as well say this. You’re a really good friend.’
He was staring at his feet again, softly kicking the side of an Adidas sneaker against the battered hallway skirting board. He pulled his eyes up to hers, attempted a smile that didn’t quite reach them, and mumbled, ‘Thanks. So are you.’
Tom was a good friend. Too good for his own good, probably.
If he’d been a slightly worse friend, he’d have held Rachel closer when she’d hugged him tonight. He might have bent his head down over hers so he could breathe in the sweet, coconutty smell of her hair.
A bad friend would have slipped his arms inside that mannish coat she always wore but rarely buttoned up, then spread his hands out on her waist.
A really bad friend might have kissed her … Kissed her until his mouth was sore, chasing away every last thought of that utter bellend, Laurence – and obliterating all memory of her other arsehole ex.
For fuck’s sake STOP, Tom told himself.
He wasn’t any of these men. He didn’t take advantage of women who were hurt and unhappy. Maybe that made him a mug; it was definitely making him miserable. But still, he had his morals.
Tom sighed heavily as he walked towards home. The air was wet. A chilly mizzle was soaking his face, ears and hair; every exposed inch of him was cold.
He wondered how he’d got into this mess with Rachel, and how, every time he tried to improve things, he managed to make them worse.
Will had made a face at him earlier when he’d said he was going to meet her at the station – shaken his head while Anna’s back was turned, as if to say: Bad move, mate.
The bastard had been right as well. Tom hadn’t intended turning up at Finsbury Park to be a romantic gesture, exactly – but the thought that it might push him further into the Friend Zone hadn’t entered his head until Rachel detonated the F-bomb.
God, the way she’d looked at him as they stood outside the door to her flat: her big eyes full of feeling, as dark and wide as he’d ever seen them. Alive, shining like she was about to say something secret and significant … He’d felt like there was a fireball trying to burn its way out of his chest. Give me a reason, he’d thought – give me a reason to just sod everything and tell you.
And then she’d said that thing about what a good friend he was. It was like being shot in the heart. He wanted to scour the scene from his memory, bleach the words off his brain.
Tom had never exactly told Will about his feelings for Rachel, but somehow they’d reached an understanding that those feelings existed and weren’t to be talked about. It was as if they’d shared a particularly painful sporting defeat that didn’t bear analysis after the final whistle; better just never to mention it.
Tom wondered how Rachel would cope – if Rachel would cope – when Anna and Will finally moved in together. Maybe she could just live with me, he thought. A simple housemate swap would certainly be a neat solution to the problem.
But the soaring feeling that seized him at this notion was all the proof he needed: it was a terrible idea. Tom would never cope with being in such close proximity to Rachel – every day would be delicious, dreadful torture. It had been bad enough when she brought Laurence, or whoever she was dating, to the pub some Friday nights … If he lived with Rachel, Tom knew he’d want to murder any man she ever came home with.
As he rounded the corner onto the street where he and Will lived, Tom asked himself what the hell he was going to do. Mooning and moping wasn’t his style, but he’d come close to perfecting it over the past year or so. Asking Rachel to help him out with the exhibition had seemed like a way to add a new dimension to their relationship – to move things on or help her see him in a different light. Now he cursed himself for his hopefulness; the project merely promised more hours and new locations in which he’d have to hide how badly he wanted to touch her.
None of this sat easily in his stomach. Tom was a fundamentally sensible person, which meant he was almost always honest: the truth was so much less complicated than a lie in nearly every situation … But not this one, he reminded himself. He’d done the sums plenty of times, and the idea of confessing his feelings to Rachel simply didn’t add up.
Despite occasional flickers of something between them (which he couldn’t be sure weren’t imagined), she’d never given him any reason to suspect that she fancied him. And if he told her the truth without being sure of a return, things could get very weird, very fast. He didn’t want to put Will or Anna in an uncomfortable position, or risk destabilising the easy friendship the four of them shared. This was for Rachel’s sake as much as his own.
When he pushed his way into the flat it was hot and dark, and the knackered old windows had begun to cloud up with condensation. Will had clearly left the heating on again, the fool.
Tom didn’t bother turning on any lights as he shrugged off his jacket, picked up a clean glass from the draining board and then dragged himself to the bathroom. He laughed at his reflection when he caught it in the mirror above the sink; his blondish hair was dark and damp from the rain outside, and where he let it grow longer on top it had fashioned itself into full-on ringlets.
He rested his head against the glass, allowing himself a few seconds of unalloyed self-pity. Tom knew it was better to have Rachel as a friend than risk losing her altogether, but right now he felt the full force of several inconvenient facts.
1. This was really fucking painful;
2. Laurence was off the scene – but if Tom didn’t get in there first, she’d eventually start seeing someone else;
3. That might actually kill him; and
4. He probably couldn’t go on like this.
There must have been a point at which he wasn’t hopelessly in love with Rachel, he told himself. Maybe with a bit of effort he could get back there.
The trouble was, he couldn’t remember a time before he’d lived to make her laugh – or when he hadn’t felt maddened by the urge to kiss her eve
ry time she did.
Deep down, he knew he didn’t want to.
February
New Year’s Ongoing resolutions
1. Consider exercise an act with actual benefits – both mental and physical – not merely grim punishment for pizzas consumed. Have a proper go at yoga.
2. Also re-download Complete Couch to 5K running app and actually do the programme.
3. Apply for promotion at work at first chance. Move to bigger account and try to get pay rise. Avoid, if possible, further projects concerning dog biscuits, disinfectant, high-quality printer ink cartridges, ‘miracle’ grass seed, organic vegetables, etc.
3a. Try to hang on to job (and temper) despite presence of evil ex-boyfriend.
3b. Ignore everyone who keeps banging on about how fit he is.
3c. Ignore how fit he is.
4. DO NOT agree to further dates with Laurence. Remember: it’s no use having a boyfriend who is good on paper if you do not actually fancy him.
4. Forget that Laurence even EXISTS.
5. Try to remember Mum means well, even during phone calls where she implies I am doomed to a lonely life of penury because I am thirty with no partner, hardly any savings and no mortgage.
6. HOWEVER, do not (!!!) speak to Mum when suffering PMT. Set phone alerts for likely spells based on period tracker intel.
7. Try to address ‘hardly any savings’ situation. (If promoted, set aside extra earnings for future house deposit instead of spaffing it all on ASOS.) (Do not spend entire pay rise on ‘cheer up’ treats to distract from heinous ex-boyfriend mess.)
8. Try to eat my five-a-day. (Remember horrid rule that potatoes do not count.)
9. Start using proper night cream with retinol.
12
Rachel had never considered herself a pessimist, but as January dissolved into February she realised that, somehow, she’d adjusted to living as though a piano were permanently suspended above her head.
Like the lead player in a farce, she fully expected that something ridiculous or dreadful could happen at any moment – though she’d given up trying to predict how life might kick her in the balls next. Even if she had tried, she’d never have foreseen that the next assault on her sanity would take the form of a day trip to the Cotswolds.
Rachel Ryan's Resolutions Page 11
