Vince and Joy

by Lisa Jewell

  It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Vince and Jess had been hanging on to each other by a filament since the shocking night of the lost handbag. Jess could no longer claim that her hedonism and pleasure-seeking were fundamental rights to be defended, and the fact that she had lost her grip on the moral high ground made her moody and resentful. Equally, Vince could no longer justify his wife’s shady secret life and long absences from the house with the fact that she deserved it because she was such a perfect, flawless mother, and he had become intolerant and short-tempered.

  It wasn’t a good combination of mind-sets and the atmosphere in their little flat had become tense, bordering on nasty. So the process of renegotiating their living arrangements (which had always been so tenuous anyway) was not something that either of them was prepared for.

  The options open to them were:

  1. Rent somewhere together.

  2. Move in with Jess’s mother while they found somewhere to buy.

  3. Beg Clare to stay with her mother and let them stay in her flat while they found somewhere to buy.

  4. Split up, get divorced, fight for custody of Lara.

  They sat and discussed the first three options, but left the fourth option hovering silently in the background of their conversations like a bad smell they were both too polite to mention.

  Four days after the e-mail from Clare, Vince did something he’d never done before. He cancelled all his morning lessons, claiming that he had to look after his daughter because she was ill. He then dropped a perfectly healthy Lara off at nursery, parked his car at the station and got the first train into Euston. He didn’t really know what he was planning to do once he got into town – he was simply responding to an instinctive and overwhelming need to get out of his immediate environment and put some space between himself and his dilemmas.

  The first building he stumbled upon as he wandered aimlessly in the brightness of a crisp March morning was the British Library. Something about the clean, graphic lines of the building pulled him in. It looked so new and fresh, full of light and air and space to breathe.

  He wandered aimlessly for a while, up and down escalators and corridors, glancing idly at framed ancient manuscripts and works of modern art. A group of schoolchildren was being led around by a very enthusiastic woman in a tight red dress, whose bare legs were festooned with varicose veins that looked like earthworms crawling across her skin. Vince sat down on a bench and watched the children for a while. They were about fourteen. Some looked old for their age, some looked young, but they all that air of self-conscious desperation that Vince remembered so well from his own adolescence.

  His peers had seemed so mysterious to him when he was fourteen. He couldn’t have imagined what any of them were really thinking or feeling, what they really dreamed about or what they really wanted. They were each hermetically sealed against the world, hungry to taste it yet terrified to let it in in case it revealed their inherent childishness, unworldliness, uncoolness.

  But now, more than twenty years on, he could look at these half-formed people and read them like books. That one there, wearing too much hair gel, with the crescent of acne around his jawline – he was his mother’s favourite. He liked her cooking and wanted to marry someone just like her one day. The boy standing next to him with the hint of patchy stubble and the angry blue eyes – his mum shouted at him from the minute he woke up to the minute he went to bed, and he just wanted to get out of here so he could have a fag. That one was a virgin; that one wasn’t. That one had an eating disorder; that one was the school slag. That one cried herself to sleep every night; that one practised her Oscars’ acceptance speech.

  And then he saw the boy who was him – the Melonhead of his year. He was standing slightly to the left of the group with his hands buried deeply into the pockets of voluminous black combats. A pair of earphones dangled from the breast pocket of his blazer. He was slightly overweight in an unkempt, middle-aged way, and his hair was dyed black and grown long in an attempt to cover a face that God appeared to have had no hand whatsoever in the creation of. Vince stared at him. He could tell he wasn’t listening to the enthusiastic woman with the varicose veins. He was either listening to music in his head or just praying and hoping that no one would look at him. He just wanted to be left alone.

  Vince wanted to talk to him. He wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, that one day beautiful girls would talk to him and that everything would make sense. Because if someone had tapped him on the shoulder in the British Library when he was fourteen years old and said that one day he’d be thirty-five years old and married to a beautiful woman who loved sex and that they’d have a gorgeous daughter together and live in a cool flat in Enfield he would never have believed them. And he certainly wouldn’t have asked questions about the quality of the relationship or whether or not the foxy wife went out too much or took too many drugs or played Russian roulette with their daughter’s security. He’d just have smiled and said, ‘Cool!’

  But then, he thought, what if that same man had told him that one day he’d be thirty-five years old and losing his hair, that he’d be teaching people to drive for a living and was about to be evicted from the cool flat with nowhere else to go? He wouldn’t have been quite so pleased with his prognosis, then.

  And that was when it dawned on Vince – he’d been looking in all the wrong places for an explanation for the collapse of his marriage to Jess. He’d been so busy blaming her for everything that he’d forgotten to look at himself. And really, who could blame Jess? Who could blame an exciting, passionate, spontaneous woman for looking outside of her dull, safe relationship for stimulation, to find herself? What did he really have to offer someone like her? Yes, he was a good father, but that wasn’t enough for Jess. She needed more than security and safety. She needed a man she could feel proud of – a man she wanted to spend time with.

  And Vince needed more from himself, too. He was thirty-five. He should be able to afford a house for his family. He should have put money aside for this sort of eventuality. He should be in a position to be planning for the future instead of sitting stalled at this junction like a clapped-out old motor.

  He looked at the boy in the combats and smiled to himself. He was going to make him proud. He was going to get a job that stimulated him, that took him around the world, that paid for a house for Jess and Lara with a garden and a playroom and a spare bedroom for another baby. He was going to take his family on Mediterranean holidays and take up a hobby. Maybe he’d learn to ride a motorbike. Or start playing football on a Sunday. Maybe they’d all go skiing or sailing together. Maybe he’d learn to cook or play the guitar. Join a band. Write a novel. Learn massage. Take up yoga. Study a foreign language. Evening classes. Painting. Theatre. Salsa. Tae kwan do.

  His head began to race with all the possibilities, with all the things he’d forgotten to think about since he gave up on London and moved back to Enfield. He wasn’t a driving instructor. He was a man. There was a whole world out there and Jess was right – he’d forgotten to look at it. He’d become embedded in his little corner of Enfield and set in his ways. He’d become middle-aged. And he was only thirty-five.

  He jumped to his feet. He wanted to see Jess now. He wanted to apologize for dragging her down, for thinking that decency and reliability were acceptable substitutes for passion and life. He wanted to pick her up and swing her around and tell her she was beautiful and amazing. He wanted to start making plans with her. He wanted another baby. He wanted three. Four. He wanted her to enjoy her life with him as much as she enjoyed her life without him. He wanted her to see him the same way she saw Jon. He wanted her. He loved her.

  He headed for the foyer, stopping as he passed the boy in the combats. He looked at him and opened his mouth to say something. The boy looked back at him, lifeless eyes appraising him slowly. There was no spark there, no opening. Vince closed his mouth and smiled at him instead.

  And then he walked triumphantly outdoors, the ten
der spring sunshine touching his face as he walked as fast as he could back to Euston Station.

  *

  Jess was eating a noodle salad from a clear plastic bowl when Vince arrived at the radio station an hour later.

  ‘Vince!’ she spluttered, dropping her plastic fork into the bowl and looking up at him in surprise. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, not wanting to pause for breath, even for a second, in case he lost his momentum, ‘about everything. About us. I love you, Jess. I always have and I always will. I don’t want to lose you. And I’ve got to accept some responsibility for what’s been happening between us these past few months. I haven’t been living up to my potential. I haven’t been making an effort. And I want us to make a fresh start.’

  ‘Vince, I – ’

  ‘I’m prepared to do whatever it takes, to make you happy, to make this work…’

  ‘Oh, God, Vince…’

  ‘We could go and live in Ibiza! Or maybe take a year off and sail around the Med. The three of us. I don’t want to be a driving instructor any more. I don’t want to be this dull, middle-aged man. I want to change. I want to be the man of your dreams –’

  ‘Vince. I’ve got to tell you something.’ She pulled his hand towards her across the table.

  ‘What?’

  She cast her eyes downwards and took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said.

  Vince stopped for a moment and absorbed this new and unexpected fact. His face broke into a huge smile. ‘But, Jess – that’s fantastic! That’s amazing! This is just what we need! A fresh start. A new baby. Oh, God, this is perfect – you’re perfect. Come here!’ He stood and opened up his arms to her, but she just stayed exactly where she was.

  ‘No, Vince,’ she said softly. ‘It’s not perfect because the baby… it’s not yours.’

  Al & Emma’s Kitchen, 1.58 a.m.

  Natalie unpeeled her handc from over her mouth. ‘Jess is pregnant – and it’s not yours?’ she exhaled.

  ‘Yup,’ Vince shrugged, and picked up his wine glass.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Emma.

  ‘Shit,’ said Natalie.

  ‘Whose is it, then?’ said Claire. ‘Is it Jon Gavin’ s?’

  Vince shook his head.

  The girls gasped again. ‘Then who?’ said Claire.

  Vince smiled. He was almost enjoying the impact his shocking news was having on his friends – it made him feel strangely useful to be able to inject a little high drama into their unexceptional lives. ‘It’ s Bobby’ s. The ex before me,’ he said. ‘The old one who wouldn’t leave his girlfriend for her. The one she went into therapy over. The married one. The ugly one.’

  ‘Nooo,’ said Natalie.

  ‘Uh-huh. All that time I spent feeling insecure about Jon Gavin, it never occurred to me that she might still have feelings for the old ugly one…’

  ‘See,’ slurred Emma, ‘that’ s the problem with men. You assume women are as shallow as you. That we’re as obsessed with looks as you are.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Claire, ‘because the old one might have been ugly – but he was the One Who Got Away, wasn’ t he? The one who fucked her head up. The one she couldn’t have. And Jon Gavin might have looked like Matthew McConaughey, but he wasn’ t a challenge. She could have clicked her fingers and had him.’

  The girls all nodded sagely.

  ‘So how far gone is she?’ asked Natalie.

  ‘Eight months. It’ s due next month.’

  ‘And was she having an affair with him?’ said Emma.

  Vince nodded. ‘Pretty much for the whole time since Lara was born. They met up at the same hotel once a fortnight, had dinner, went upstairs, had sex, went home. I thought she was at yoga…’

  ‘0h, God,’ she said, ‘how tacky.’

  ‘I know,’ said Vince. ‘I know.’

  ‘So, what’ s she going to do? Has she told him?’

  ‘Yes. She told him. He wanted her to get rid of it. But she didn’t. She’s going to keep it. Live at her mother’s. Bring it up alone.’ Vince stopped and swallowed, feeling a wave of emotion threatening to engulf him.

  ‘But what about Lara?’ said Claire, looking horrified. ‘What’ s happening about Lara?’

  ‘She’ ll spend four nights a week with me and three nights a week with Jess.’

  ‘Oh, my God. And how do you feel about that? About not living with Lara any more?’

  He shrugged again. ‘I’ m trying not think about it, really. The whole thing’ s just…’ He stopped briefly to control another sudden surge of emotion. ‘It’ s all my fault,’ he said. ‘I should never have got involved with Jess. I knew from the outset that she was all wrong for me, but I was so flattered and so desperate to settle down and start a family, and she was so fucking good in bed.’ He smiled wryly. ‘I loved her more than she loved me, that was the problem. A basic imbalance. Relationships like that never last, however hard you try. And now she’ s pregnant and in love with a man who’ ll never love her the way she loves him. It’ s a series of vicious circles, and the only way to stop it is to find someone who loves you the same. Like you love Al, and like you love Simon. You know. No power struggle. No insecurities. Just friendship. Because you can never be friends with someone if you love them too much…’

  ‘Can I just say something?’ said the increasingly drunken Emma. ‘I’ ve wanted to say this for years. And I probably shouldn’t be saying it now. But I’ m drunk, so fuck it, but I never liked that Jess. From the first moment I met her, I thought – I don’t like you.’

  ‘Me neither,’ said Natalie, raising her hand sheepishly. ‘Nowhere near good enough for you.’

  ‘Can I third that?’ said Claire, much to Vince’ s surprise, as he’d never heard Claire say a bad word against anyone in all the years he’ d known her.

  ‘Really?’ he said.

  ‘Yeah. She’ s not horrible or anything. I just thought she was a bit… self-centred. A bit wrapped up in herself. That’ s all.’

  Vince gulped and nodded. He’d always suspected that Jess wasn’t the type of woman other women warmed to, but it was still a bit startling to hear it stated so bluntly.

  ‘But anyway,’ Claire conciliated, ‘she’ s the mother of your child and we shouldn’ t slag her off. It’ s not respectful.’

  ‘Also,’ said Vince, ‘it’ s not always that cut and dried, is it? Jess isn’ t actually a bad person as such. She was just the wrong girl for me.’

  ‘And what about you? What are you going to do?’

  ‘That’ s a very good question,’ he replied grimly. Because he could just about cope with the fact that his wife was pregnant by another man and that his daughter was only going to be living with him for half the week, but living back at his mum’s, sharing a bedroom with Kyle and still teaching people to drive every day was more than he could bear. ‘I’ m going away for a while,’ he said, ‘on holiday. I need a couple of weeks by myself, on a beach, somewhere quiet. I need to decide what happens next.’

  ‘0h,’ said Emma, ‘that’ s a fantastic idea. And you never know,’ she winked, ‘you might meet someone while you’ re out there.’

  Vince smiled wryly. ‘I don’ t think so,’ he said. ‘I’ m not sure that’ s really what I need in my life right now.’

  Simon walked into the kitchen and sat on his wife’s lap. ‘What are you girls gossiping about?’ he said, as Natalie promptly pushed him off her lap good-humouredly.

  ‘Life, love, destiny and everything in between,’ she replied.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said, ‘we’ ve been talking about fucking pensions for the past half an hour. I should have stayed in here.’

  The other men wandered in one by one, and the conversation splintered. Cabs were called and coats were collected and the evening drew to a gentle halt.

  Emma and Al saw Vince off at the door. Emma drew Vince towards her for a hug as he left. ‘Hang on in there,’ she said into his ear. ‘You are the nicest bloke I know. You’ll
get your happy ending. I know you will.’

  Vince nodded and headed towards his taxi, turning to wave before he got in.

  ‘Oh,’ Emma shouted into the still night air. ‘And don’t forget – keep your eyes peeled for cats!’

  He smiled at her and waved. And then he got into the cab and headed back to his mum’ s and a sleeping bag on Kyle’ s bedroom floor.

  October 2003

  Happy Ending

  Sixty

  Cass never usually bought glossy magazines. Cass despised glossy magazines. As far as Cass was concerned, glossy magazines were the root cause of every case of anorexia, bulimia and body dysmorphic disorder in the entire western world, so the fact that she picked up a copy of Company on the platform at Northampton station for her journey back to London was entirely out of character.

  It was one of the cover strap lines that had caught her attention:

  THE INTERNET CHANGED MY LIFE!

  It caught her attention because the Internet had indeed changed her life. She’d met Hayden on the Internet. Hayden Moyses. Twenty-six years old, a landscape gardener, beautiful inside and out. They’d chatted for weeks in a chatroom for amateur psychics. He stood out from the rest because he was sane while everyone else was mad. They had so much in common – tarot, gardening, veganism, the occult, a love of cats – and eventually they’d arranged to meet up. And now here they were, eighteen months down the line, insanely in love, deliriously happy and about to move in together. They’d just bought a cottage, in the Northamptonshire countryside. It had two bedrooms, a chicken coop and a genuine Victorian pet cemetery at the bottom of the garden. It was beautiful. They’d exchanged contracts two days ago and now Cass was on her way back to London to pack up her stuff and say goodbye to city life for ever.