Kismet

by Luke Tredget

  The 139 to Waterloo arrives at the bus stop almost immediately, and she gets her favourite seat at the front of the top deck, another small victory. On the wave of this happy feeling she takes her phone out and calls Zahra, not just to return her call, but also to project her good feeling outwards and have it rebound back to her.

  ‘Hey,’ she says, when Zahra picks up. ‘Something weird just happened.’

  ‘Don’t tell me. Another busker freaked you out?’

  ‘No. I just went for a run and accidentally kept going for thirteen miles! That’s a half marathon.’

  There is a pause and then Zahra says: ‘I don’t understand why this is strange. You go running all the time.’

  ‘I would normally run for three or four miles, max. But this time I didn’t have my phone, and didn’t know how far I’d gone, and just kept going and going and going. It’s like not being able to measure myself opened up all this new energy.’

  Zahra laughs and says, ‘Far out,’ and then that something happened to her as well: the guy from Kismet called.

  ‘Why did he call you?’

  ‘Because that’s what legal representatives do. We represent. And maybe because you weren’t answering your phone. Anyway, it’s looking good: it sounds like they’ll definitely increase their offer. Maybe to thirty-five or even forty K. I reckon we should go in hard, and ask for fifty. What do you think?’

  ‘Actually,’ says Anna, as the bus slides past a billboard for the Kismet Love Test, ‘I’ve decided not to take it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve decided to turn down the offer.’

  ‘Are you crazy? Think of all that money.’

  ‘Yeah … I have been thinking about it. A lot. And I’ve decided I want to write about it. I don’t want to be silenced.’

  ‘But what if the Guardian don’t like the idea?’

  ‘Then I’ll take it somewhere else. It’s easily the most interesting thing that’s ever happened to me. Listen to this.’ She explains how the series of articles will work, each one a breakdown of the meetings and how she led herself to believe she had a one-in-ten-million hit. She asks Zahra if she likes the sound of it, and she responds with a question of her own.

  ‘He’s put you up to this, hasn’t he?’

  ‘Well … he’s definitely played a part.’

  ‘Anna! Do not carry on seeing him! I forbid you to carry on seeing him.’

  ‘Relax. I’m not going to. I don’t need his help. Or his money. I’m going to do it myself.’

  There is a frustrated huffing sigh from Zahra, and she says that Kismet will make it hard for her, that they will launch a media war on anything she tries to do, that any main broadcaster would be pressured not to take it – Anna interrupts her mid-flow.

  ‘Zahra. Listen. I’ve made my mind up. And you have to trust me on this. And support me. Okay?’

  ‘But what about all that—’

  ‘Zahra. Trust me.’ There is a pause long enough for them to pass the green expanse of Regent’s Park, and Anna realises her stop is the next one. Finally, Zahra sighs again, this time in defeat.

  ‘I suppose I’d better call them up, then. Tell them the matter is closed.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘I want to represent you.’

  ‘Alright then. Thanks. Listen, I’ve got to go in a minute.’

  ‘You have to go? I’m the one that’s at work.’

  ‘Unemployed people still have things to do,’ says Anna, ringing the bell and standing up. ‘Important things. Want to have dinner tomorrow?’ They quickly agree that Anna will go to hers, and then say goodbye to each other; without planning to, Anna says that she loves her, something she hasn’t said sober in years, if ever. Then she climbs down the stairs and shouts a thank-you to the driver as she skips off the bus.

  It is 3.45 p.m. when she arrives at Malet Street and the long, pedestrianised square flanked by grand university buildings bearing the names of SOAS, UCL and Birkbeck. She is a bit early, and waits with a coffee on a stone bench, her eyes on the grand doors and steps of a building called Toynbee Hall. Students of various ages and shapes and colours walk past, all giving the impression of knowing where they are headed and having the right books and notes to do what is required when they get there; it reminds her of being a student not a bit. A little after 4 p.m. the doors of Toynbee Hall open and a handful of people trickle out. He is one of the last to emerge from the shaded doorway, and lingers on the steps talking with a dark-skinned young woman; from the smile and his hand movements Anna can tell he is trying to make her laugh. Then they hug and walk off in separate directions. When Anna catches up he is still wearing the remains of the smile but this is wiped when he sees her angling towards him.

  ‘What …?’ he says, stopping still on the pavement.

  ‘Your last exam?’ she says, forcing herself to look at him, and to appear happy and casual, offhand.

  There is a silence as he holds her in a wide-eyed, frozen stare. Then he seems to make an effort to compose himself, and says, with dignity: ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Looks like you made a friend,’ she says, flicking her eyes in the direction of the departing Asian woman – Pete neither smiles nor follows her gaze.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To say well done, for finishing. And I was hoping to talk to you.’

  ‘I’m meeting some friends for a drink.’

  Anna nods and her eyes fall down to the pavement.

  ‘But I don’t have to meet them straight away.’

  He says this and continues walking, and it takes Anna a few moments to realise he expects her to walk with him. She does a little run to catch him up. They walk in tandem into Russell Square, and she wonders if he is heading for the tube, and if she will follow him on if so. But he heads south, into Bloomsbury. After a few minutes of silent walking, Anna makes an abrupt announcement.

  ‘I lost my job.’

  ‘What?’ he says, in angry disbelief. He stops walking and turns to face her. ‘How the fuck did you do that?’

  Anna is determined not to lie, or even exaggerate. She tells him about the Sahina article, the section she added in, the complaints that arrived, and how when Stuart tried to suspend her she said she didn’t want to work there anyway.

  ‘In theory I quit. So it won’t look too bad.’

  Pete stares along the street away from her and shakes his head.

  ‘I don’t feel like I know you any more,’ he says, calmly. Then he carries on walking, and again she hurries to match his stride. They pass the British Museum and, in an effort to keep conversation ticking over, she begins asking questions about his exams and the work placement in Acton, but Pete gives stunted answers that allow no space for further questions – yes, no, I don’t know, maybe; it is like playing tennis with yourself against a brick wall, the ball flying back quicker and straighter than you want it. Conversation is eventually lost again, until he asks a question.

  ‘You’re still with that guy?’

  ‘No.’

  Pete doesn’t stop walking or react in any discernible way.

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Didn’t work out.’

  ‘But I thought he was an 81?’

  ‘Turns out that was just a number.’

  She looks at his face in profile and again sees no reaction, but this is what is noticeable, his controlled lack of any expression, his refusal to respond. A few seconds later Pete’s phone rings and he takes it out of his pocket. He has a call from his friend Finn, which he watches ring out.

  ‘I can reschedule the drink,’ he says. ‘It would be good to talk.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Anna, tentatively, careful not to react as if this is a victory.

  ‘I’m worried about you.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘And we need to talk about the flat. And money.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I’d still like to get a drink.’

  ‘Definitely.�
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  They walk past some pubs but it is such a nice afternoon that Anna suggests they stay outside; Pete agrees. They buy four cans of San Miguel from a newsagent and take them to the nearest green space, which happens to be Soho Square. When they sit on a bench Anna winces with pain; every muscle in her body feels bruised from the morning run. She tells Pete that she ran all the way to Alexandra Palace, and for the first time he loosens up. Being on neutral territory is a relief, and they speak about running and the different routes they take from Kilburn until Anna’s first can is almost gone.

  ‘Is that what you’re doing with your days?’ he says, opening his second. ‘Going for epic runs.’

  ‘Most days not even that. But tomorrow is important. I’ve got a meeting at the Guardian.’ He asks if she is going to talk to them about the suitcase project, and she says she wants to write about something else, then goes quiet. The need for massive tact is overwhelming.

  ‘I want to write about my life,’ she says, forcing each word out of her mouth against its will. ‘I want to write about … what happened recently.’ He asks what the hell that means, and after another long pause she tells him that a lot has happened to her, that it’s been a crazy time.

  ‘What did he do to you?’

  ‘I don’t want to explain it all.’

  ‘You’ve started now.’

  ‘Please, Pete. It’s not really about him. Or about you. It’s about me. I’ve been depressed.’

  ‘You did tell me that.’

  ‘No, clinically depressed. I take antidepressants, every day.’

  For the second or third time in this short meeting Pete appears shocked, and releases an exasperated moan. He wants to know exactly how long she’s been taking them, how long she felt down beforehand, why she never told him, why she never told anyone.

  ‘I can’t believe you kept this a secret from me.’

  ‘I kind of kept it a secret from myself.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because I knew you’d overreact. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.’

  ‘You’re the one that overreacted. It’s really not such a big deal. Loads of people take them.’

  ‘No they don’t.’

  ‘I know people who take them and keep it a secret.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I’m not saying. They’re just as sensitive about it as you.’

  He takes a long swig and sighs and says again that she should have told him, months ago, when it first started.

  ‘It’s not good for you, keeping these things all to yourself.’

  ‘Well, they do call it an illness. But I am trying. To change, I mean. To be more open.’

  This seems to round off the issue and for a long time they drink in silence, until most of their second cans have gone. Anna realises she will need to go to the toilet soon, and thinks of where she could go. The park is shifting into its post-work routine; all the benches are now taken, and dozens of people are lounging about on the grass, with beer cans and cigarettes. Anna watches a couple sitting with crossed legs opposite each other, and thinks of her Slinghy idea; she imagines her and Pete in one, sitting in the park with one sling wrapped around them, both leaning back against the stretchy fabric, each providing a counterweight to hold the other up. Then she thinks of her most recent idea, the theme park of human consumption, and holds up the can of beer to measure it with her eyes.

  ‘How many beers do you think you’ve drunk in your life?’

  The question makes Pete flinch in surprise, but then he very quickly gathers himself and says: ‘Around seven thousand pints.’

  ‘That was fast.’

  ‘Ten pints a week on average since I was fifteen. That makes thirteen years. Thirteen times fifty-two times ten is around seven thousand.’

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I’ve still got my engineering hat on.’

  ‘Seven thousand pints. Imagine that, as a pond or lake.’

  ‘Hardly. That recycling bin could probably hold that.’ He points to a bin at the far side of the park, and explains that when it comes to volume people always underestimate how much can fit into a space.

  ‘Remember those games when you had to guess how many sweets were in a jar? People always guessed way too low. All the water you drink in your life would fit into an Olympic swimming pool. All the wine you’ve drunk would probably fit in a barrel.’ Anna’s imagined theme park shrinks in her mind; an amassed bar of soap would be the size of a pillow; all the wine would fit in a bottle the size of a double bass; the totality of butter would just be a large block of butter. This doesn’t seem so bad; maybe it would be cute that way.

  ‘You’re smart,’ she says. ‘I like the engineering hat.’

  ‘Ask me more questions, if you like.’

  She looks for inspiration, and just within eyeshot is a metal sign saying the park will close at dusk. She asks Pete when dusk is, and he laughs.

  ‘Let’s stay and find out. Whenever the man comes to tell us it’s dusk, we’ll disagree.’

  They both laugh at the idea, but this happy moment only makes the subsequent silence feel sadder in comparison. They don’t speak for at least five minutes, and it is getting late. The slanting sun is bringing out the character in each flagstone surrounding the lawn; in the flat light of day they appear as uniform grey slabs, but in this angled bronze light every one is shown to be uniquely dappled and mottled, of a slightly different hue, with its own pattern of lichen and moss, and set at a tilt away from its neighbours. Anna thinks on this and feels the real question she wants to ask Pete, the one that all the others have been revolving around, forcing itself to the surface.

  ‘Do you think you could ever forgive me?’

  ‘Is that what you want?’

  ‘I think so.’ She looks down as she says this, at her feet and the flagstones beneath the slats.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I mean, I’d like you to try.’

  ‘But I thought I was just a 70?’

  ‘Yeah, well,’ she says. ‘I never really was a numbers person anyway.’

  Without smiling he looks away from her and shakes his head. Then he crushes his second can in his hand.

  ‘You’re only saying this because things didn’t work out with the other guy,’ he says. ‘Otherwise you’d still be with him.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ she admits, ‘but I kind of doubt it.’

  He pivots towards her. ‘Tell me why I should even take you seriously at all.’

  Again she lowers her head and studies the flagstone beneath her boots.

  ‘Because I’ve been thinking. Really thinking. And I identified some things about us that were good. Such as … such as that we always got on really well.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘That … we always had good sex. When we were having it. You know it was the pills that made me lose interest.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  She senses that he knows she finds this uncomfortable, and is enjoying it.

  ‘That you’d be a good dad.’

  This makes his head drop; she has never said it to him before.

  ‘And … and that, you know, despite everything, I did always love you. And I still do.’

  Pete’s head remains hanging, and Anna looks out across the park. She watches a couple packing up their small picnic arrangement – they dust grass off their bums and knees, fold up a tartan blanket, put their shoes back on. Eventually Pete speaks.

  ‘Like I said: I don’t even feel I know you any more.’

  Again they fall silent. Anna watches the couple walking from the park, and notices that many empty spaces have appeared on the lawn. Dusk must be approaching; a green keeper or warden in a boiler suit is going around and asking people to leave. She watches this man for a long time, and is startled by Pete jumping up and off the bench.

  ‘Fuck it,’ he says. He jumps up and down on the spot, shaking his limbs out, as if preparing his muscles for strenuous exercise.

  ‘What’
s going on?’

  ‘There’s something I want to say as well,’ he says. ‘Something that’s been bugging me. I wasn’t entirely honest with you. When we last spoke in the flat.’

  A shiver runs along Anna’s tender limbs.

  ‘Honest about what?’

  She already knows the answer, which is further confirmed by the dark furrow between his eyebrows, the evidence of trouble that the topic causes him. Anna feels sick.

  ‘It’s about Zahra, isn’t it?’

  ‘Nothing happened between us. That much is true. But we did … there were feelings. We talked about it.’

  Anna finds that she is shaking; her fingers are gripping the wooden slats of the bench, as if to keep herself upright. The diseased tooth is still there, at the dark recess of her mouth, has been there all along.

  ‘But we never did anything. And we agreed that we shouldn’t see each other. Because we both love you. That’s when I decided – really decided – that I wanted to be with you forever. And that I was going to propose.’

  Air swells painfully in Anna’s throat, and she can feel her eyes coating with tears that she blinks away; she isn’t sure if she is crying about Zahra and Pete having feelings for each other, or about Pete saying that they love her, or both.

  ‘Say something, Anna.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  She wants to ask where and how and why, to pick apart the full chronology of events, but dizziness swirls up within her. Like a seasick person trying to lock their eyes on the stabilising horizon, she looks out across the park. She sees the green keeper speaking to a couple, and thinks of the Slinghy again. This time she sees Zahra and Pete in the Slinghy, facing each other and laughing. Then she sees her and Zahra facing each other. Then she imagines a three-cornered Slinghy, with all three of them holding each other up. Her addled mind finds space to wonder if this would work, from a technical perspective, and she realises that yes, it certainly would.