“I’d like another drink, I think.” She looked down at her empty plastic glass. “We should get another bottle.”
Tom gave a murmur of assent and shielded his eyes from the sun with his arm. “I’m OK for the moment. Shall I get you a glass?”
“Oh. Yes, thanks.” Elle rolled over to get her purse. “So, is Caitlin not working today?” she said, changing the subject. “Is it all OK with you two then?”
Tom said, “I don’t know. She’s upset.”
“Right,” said Elle. “It’s strange, she was so off with you, and you were so keen on her to start with.” She knew he didn’t like talking about it, but she found Caitlin fascinating. “It’s like the roles reversed. We always thought she’d be the one to end it with you, didn’t we.” We. We always thought. She blushed.
Tom shook his head. “It was the other way round. Anyway, it’s fine. We’re fine. It’s over.” He stood up. “Let’s walk back towards Richmond, shall we?”
They set off along the towpath, past the boat sheds and the pier, and the hordes of people lying out on the river banks.
Elle cleared her throat. “So—I’ve got something to tell you. Some good news.”
“Hey? What?” Tom turned towards her.
“I’m going to New York.” She nodded. “They offered it to me and I accepted it. I’m going in October.” She wished she wasn’t nervous. “Spoke to Caryn in New York yesterday again, she seemed really nice.”
“Oh. I thought when I didn’t hear from you that you hadn’t got it.” Tom carried on walking again.
“I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you today—”
He interrupted. “That’s OK.” He looked at his watch. “I’ve had a pretty rough week anyway.”
“Oh no, what’s happened?”
Tom jangled his keys in his trouser pocket. “Oh—it’s probably nothing. It is nothing.” He looked at his watch again. “You’re really going to New York then. Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you going? I don’t understand, if I’m honest.”
Elle struggled to keep up with him, she didn’t understand why he was being like this. “Why wouldn’t I go?” She peered at his face, then nearly crashed into a bench. “It’s going to be amazing, and I’m really lucky. I need a change.”
“Oh, right,” said Tom, cryptically. He shrugged. “Won’t you be missing out on stuff here if you go?”
“It’s for four months!” Elle said, trying to give a natural-sounding laugh, though she felt as if she’d been winded. “I’m not moving to Siberia to live for the rest of my natural life. Wow! I thought—” She shook her head, surprised at how upset she was. “I thought you’d be pleased for me. You were pleased when we talked about it before.”
“It’s different now,” he said angrily. “I would be if I thought you were doing it for the right reasons, but I don’t think you are.” They were in the middle of the green field, on the narrow path. People pushed past them.
“Why the hell not?” she said. “Tom, what’s up with you? Is everything OK?”
Tom shrugged and cleared his throat, then he scratched his head. “Well, I’m—I don’t think you’ll get Rory and the rest of them out of your system by running away to some identikit company a bit further away.”
“This isn’t about Rory,” she said. “Seriously, it’s not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m bloody sure. And I’m not running away!” Elle didn’t understand what he was talking about. “I’ve been practically in hiding for the last six months, it’s got to stop! It’s going to be much harder, starting somewhere new. I have to prove myself—they wanted Libby, they didn’t want me… I have to show them I’m good at what I do.”
He was silent. “You are good at what you do.”
“Well, you’re my friend,” Elle said, trying to sound patient. “You would say that.”
“I want you to stay here.”
“Why?” Elle said. “Tom, why?”
“You really can’t see why I’d like you to stay?”
She knew what she wanted to think, but she couldn’t trust to that, not when she’d been so wrong so many times before. She stared at him. In the cool of the trees behind them, a child screamed happily. Oars splashed in the calm water.
Tom had his back to the sun and she peered into his face, squinting. He pulled her round a little, so her face was out of the sun’s glare. “Look,” he said. “Can I tell you something? I have to tell you, really. But I want to as well, I—”
“Tom! Tom! Hi! I’m here!” someone called.
He stared at Elle one last time. “I’m sorry. I said I’d be here. I should have told her.”
“What?” Elle said. She looked behind him. Caitlin was marching towards them, her shiny black hair ruffled in the breeze. She was in cargo pants, fastened low around her slim waist, and a tiny polka-dot chiffon blouse. She looked stunning. Elle ran her hands through her half-grown-out hair, and looked down at her sweaty jeans, and the roll of what she thought of as wine-fat.
“Caitlin,” Tom said, going over to her. “I said—”
Caitlin lifted a hand at Elle. “Hi,” she said. She was thinner, paler than before, but Elle had forgotten how lovely she was; her dark, expressive eyes, her heart-shaped face. She tried not to watch her. “Can I please, can I please just have a word with you?”
“Caitlin,” Tom said softly. “No. Now isn’t a good time. You must be able to—”
“Tom, please…” She tightened her grip on his flesh. “I have to speak to you.”
“Can I come round later?”
Caitlin took a deep breath. “It’s just—I—I want to speak to you.”
“No—” Tom said. “We’ll—” He turned around, pointing at Elle.
“I got it wrong. It’s yours.” Caitlin nodded. She gave a small smile of satisfaction, though she looked anything but happy.
Tom stepped back. “What?”
“The baby’s yours, not Jean-Claude’s.”
There was a silence, broken only by the sounds from the river and some children shouting, far behind them. Tom nodded, the color drained from his face. “Are you sure?”
“Wow, what a reaction,” Caitlin said, licking her thin lips nervously.
“Caitlin, you know it’s not like that.” He reached towards her, but she shook her head.
“What baby?” Elle asked. Though she knew the answer, but she thought she must be misunderstanding something.
“I’m pregnant,” Caitlin said. She pulled self-consciously at a lock of short hair. “Found out on Monday, but I thought—er, well, I thought it was Jean-Claude’s. I had the scan yesterday afternoon and I got the dates wrong. He was away—we weren’t… together then. So it’s Tom’s.” She sounded as if she were reeling off facts from a list; but her face was pale, and she bit her lip as she stared at him, watching for his reaction. “Yeah—um, it’s Tom’s. I told him I was pregnant on Monday but I wasn’t sure if it was his. So I’m telling him—I’m telling him now.”
Elle hadn’t really ever stopped to properly, honestly ask herself how she felt about Tom. It was only when he put his arm around Caitlin’s shoulders and said quietly, “No, that’s great. That’s really great,” that she knew. Caitlin rested against him, the tension in her taut body gone.
“Oh,” she said. “Thanks.”
Elle stepped back. “Congratulations,” she told Caitlin. “That is great. I need to phone my friend Karen about this evening. Why don’t you two talk.”
She walked away and sat on the grass, leaving the two of them behind. She held her phone up to her ear and pretended to be calling someone, and while she did she smiled, because she’d read somewhere that if you smiled things seemed better. Anyway, it was none of her business, it was between them now. She sat looking out at the water, until a light touch on her shoulder made her jump.
“Shall we carry on?” he said. “Caitlin’s gone home.”
They walked towards Richmond in s
ilence, and as they got to the bridge, near the pub where they’d sat that first day together, he said, “I can’t say all the things I want to. I hope you understand that. I have to make the best of this. And it’ll be great, I’m sure. It’s my mistake, I believed her when she said she was on the Pill. Now it doesn’t matter.”
“Tom, I’m—” She didn’t know what to say either. “Are you going to move in together? Be parents together?”
He gave a small twitch of irritation. “I don’t know—we haven’t discussed all that yet, Elle, it’s—I need to get used to it. But I want to do the right thing, for her and the baby.”
Baby—only four letters, but it was such a big word. A baby. Tom was going to be a father, Tom and Caitlin would be parents. She’d got it wrong, whatever “it” was, again. He’s not Rory, a voice inside her head said. He’s different. And this wasn’t her business anymore.
“I’m sorry,” Elle said. “I was just—it’s big news, that’s all.”
“Yes. I know that, thanks a lot. Everything—everything’s going to change.” He hit the side of his forehead with the ball of his palm. “Jesus, Jesus Christ—” He looked around blankly, as though he didn’t know who she was, where he was, and for a second, she thought he might just walk away. “Anyway, you’re off then,” he said, after a pause. “That’s great for you.”
His tone was ugly. As though she were skipping off to pick some flowers in a field and leaving him behind to go down the mines. “Well, yeah. But I hope—do you think you’d come over, spend some time in New York?”
“I don’t think so,” Tom said. “Like I say, the summer’s over.”
She was bewildered. “I don’t understand.”
“You’re going, I can’t change that. And I shouldn’t.” He shrugged wearily. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”
Elle clenched her fists against her sides. “It’s four months. Tom, I know this must be weird, I can’t imagine what you’re going through. But it’s two separate things, me going, you having a baby, you know?”
“I’m not trying to keep you here,” he said, his jaw tight. “Do what you like.”
“I want to go,” Elle said. “I have to go—everything’s—” She slumped her shoulders. “Can’t we get that drink? For God’s sake, Tom, you must need one more than me.”
“That’s the other thing, while we’re at it,” he said. “Might as well say it now. You drink way too much. Have you realized that?”
Elle scratched her arms, and then folded them. She shook her head, stuck her tongue in her mouth, and said, “Wow. You’re a real dick sometimes, you know that?”
“I know I am,” he said. “I’m vile. I’m a coward in every other way. But someone needs to tell you, before you go, and I suppose it’s going to be me. You drink more than anyone I know. Every time I see you you’ve had more than me and you always want more. Do you even notice? Last Monday you drank nearly a bottle of wine to yourself. I had half a glass of it. You didn’t even ask, you kept refilling your own glass. Do you always do that?”
Something slimy, evil, and mean was uncoiling itself within Elle. She could feel it, and it gave her strength. “Have you ever seen me drunk?” Elle spun round on her heel. “Have I ever made a big deal about getting a drink? No. I haven’t because I don’t—I don’t drink too much, and Tom, wow—you are really a dick. I know it must be a shock, Caitlin appearing like that, but you don’t have to go along with it, it’s not your problem if you really don’t want her to—”
“I don’t run away from my problems. Don’t try and deflect the issue,” he interrupted. His voice was cold, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“Why are you being like this?” She gazed at him, her eyes full of tears, which she willed away. She wouldn’t cry in front of him. “I don’t have a drink problem! I like a drink, but who doesn’t?”
“I think you depend on it,” Tom said.
“Well, that’s crap,” she said. “Look, Tom, I’m going now, because this is a rubbish afternoon now and you need some time to… never mind. See you whenever.”
“Go home then.” Tom gritted his teeth, as if it was painful to speak. “Go home and if you don’t have an issue with it, don’t have a drink tonight. Shouldn’t be that hard, should it? If you really don’t have a problem.”
She stared at him. “I really don’t understand you,” she said. “I thought you were different. I thought you weren’t like… like Rory. I thought we were friends.”
“Things change,” he said. He held her gaze for a brief, intense moment. “That’s why I’m saying this now. I think you don’t like me much now anyway, so I might as well just burn my boats.”
“See you, Tom,” Elle said. She turned away, and walked up the steps towards the station, leaving the river and the sunshine behind her. Memories started flashing in front of her tired eyes. She thought of her mother’s yellowish, angry face, of how she had had to mop up her vomit more times than she could remember, of the time she was at her drunkest when she hit her husband, slap across the face, and he, furious, hit her back, and they just carried on hitting each other. The time when she backed the car into the Dundys’ fence, and Elle had to come and collect her, waiting for the bus to come for forty-five minutes, her mother’s head lolling from side to side as she whispered, “I so sorry, Ellie, I sorry, stupid me. Stupid me.”
You don’t know what a drink problem looks like, Tom Scott, she said to herself as she reached the end of the path. She hadn’t even said good-bye to him, hadn’t hugged him, told him how much these last few weeks had meant to her, how much she was going to miss him, how she’d thought that maybe… No. She shook her head, turned, and took one last look at the river, where she’d spent such happy times this summer. It was over. Perhaps he was right. The summer was nearly over. Autumn was coming, she knew it, and everything was going to be different.
Where could she ever begin to attack a fortress like New York? She didn’t even want to. She only wanted to stay there until she herself was part of it, one of those well-groomed, well-attended women, and she half realized that was a fantasy too.
Rona Jaffe, The Best of Everything
May 2004
“I BOOKED THIS place because I know you hate uptown,” said Mike, shaking his napkin over his lap. “It’s a two-week wait for a table, don’t you like it?”
“Of course I do,” Elle said. She checked the strap of her pale-rose shift dress. “It’s lovely, Mike, honestly. Just a little—grown-up. You know me.”
Mike waved to someone over her shoulder. “I don’t know you, no.” Mike liked to take a question literally. “It’s been three months, and I still don’t feel I understand you.” Two glasses of champagne were placed on the table. “That’s why I wanted to ask you something tonight,” he said, raising one glass. “Would you consider going exclusive with me?”
Elle shook her hair behind her shoulders, feeling it brush the bare skin on her tanned back. The windows were open onto the road, and a warm May breeze wafted through the restaurant. This was New York at its best, why she loved it here, why she never wanted to leave.
This May the city seemed especially perfect to her. She and Mike would walk back from Soho through the warm streets to her apartment in Perry Street, maybe stop off for a drink at her favorite bar on West 4th… Maybe she’d even get him to stay over, they’d had sex only a few times since they’d got together. Mike was a gentleman, which Elle found disappointing, because he’d been great in bed.
Marc, however, wasn’t a gentleman. Maybe she could call him if Mike didn’t stay. Elle shook her head. It would sound so bad were she to say it aloud. It was wrong to call your neighbor over for sex, especially your bi neighbor who worked in the same office as you. But since she’d discovered this American dating thing—you basically went out with who you wanted, and you had to have a proper chat to determine that you were seeing each other exclusively—Elle was reluctant to give it up. She’d come late to the dating game. And she liked the fact that, here, sh
e was good at it. She was good at lots of things here.
Now she raised her glass and took a sip, buying time. “Exclusive? Er—wow.” Mike looked at her gravely. “Look, Mike,” Elle said, knowing she owed him a proper answer, “I don’t want to date hundreds of other people, it’s not that. It’s just—I’m not very good at relationships. Putting a label on things scares me.”
“You’re nearly thirty,” Mike said.
Elle waited for him to expound on this: You’re nearly thirty, grow up, or You’re nearly thirty, you’re really old, everyone else is getting married. But he was silent. “Well, I know,” she answered, not sure how to respond. “But—can’t we just keep it as it is?” He looked questioningly at her. “If it goes well, we’ll know it, won’t we?” Americans were so precise, that was one of the things she loved about them, but this was a downside. They liked a label; she didn’t.
Mike sighed. “Of course, that’s fine,” he said, though it didn’t sound entirely fine to him. He looked at his watch. “We should order.” Immediately, a waiter stepped over. This was another of the things Elle loved about New York. There was no one working in a London restaurant, it seemed, whose job it was to be merely a waiter. They were all anxious to let you know they were psychology students or out-of-work actors, as if being a waiter was beneath them. That drove Elle, with her newly acquired zeal for the work ethic, insane. Elle blinked and studied the menu, remembering that she had to call her mother, when she got home. Had to, but it was so hard to remember to do the things you ought to when it was warm, with the lights of the Village calling her and the last of the blossom lingering on the trees.
When they’d ordered, Mike leaned forward and took her hand. “I’m sorry if I was being persistent,” he said. “Maybe I’m being a jerk. I like you, that’s all. I want to spend more time with you.”
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