The Five-Year Plan: The utterly heart-warming and feel good rom com of 2020

by Carla Burgess

  ‘Great! Can I have your number then?’ He digs his mobile out of the inside pocket of his suit and I fish mine out of my bag. I reel off my number as he inputs it into his phone, then mine beeps as he sends a text message.

  ‘Ah and there’s yours.’ My stomach fills with butterflies as I see his message pop up on my screen. Aiden’s number. After all this time. ‘What are you going to be doing in London for two weeks? Stuff for your exhibition?’

  ‘A bit, perhaps. I’m meeting up with someone who has a fox family living in their back garden, and there are some birds I’d like to photograph. It’s not a great time of the year to do it, but we’ll see.’ He turns to look out the window as we pull into another station. I expect him to say he’ll get off here and catch the next train back to Waterloo, but he makes no attempt to get up when the doors slide open. A couple of people get on and sit a little further down the carriage, then the doors shut and the train speeds away. ‘Are you happy living here?’ he asks, turning back to me.

  ‘Yes.’ I’m surprised by the question. Why wouldn’t I be happy? I’m living in London, where I always wanted to be. I’ve got my dream job and …

  Well, that’s about it, really. I’ve got my job and I love it, but my flat’s crap and London itself is exhausting. All the noise, all the people, the constant rush, rush, rush. Not that I’ll admit that to anyone though. My stock answer is that I love the buzz. It’s exciting and makes me feel alive. It certainly did at first, but the longer I stay here, the more drained I feel.

  ‘And you? You’re happy?’

  ‘Of course! You know me, Orla. I’m always happy.’

  I smile. Yes, I suppose that’s true. I can’t imagine he spent days crying over me, like I did him. I bet he just got on with his life and quietly lost himself in the nature he was photographing. ‘But you’re enjoying making the documentaries? You seem to be a bit of a celebrity these days.’

  ‘Ah, no, not really,’ he says dismissively. ‘But yeah, I enjoy the documentaries. I work with a great team. It’s busy though, and I’m not so used to having to work to someone else’s schedule, but it’s going okay so far.’ He shrugs. ‘We’ll see. So what’s the plan for the next five years then?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your plan? What’s next for you?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. I don’t really have one.’

  ‘What? You don’t have another five-year plan? Orla!’

  ‘What? You thought my plan was stupid anyway.’

  ‘Yeah, I did, but I still expected you to have one.’

  ‘Oh well, you know. Things change.’

  ‘But no plan? Come on!’ He raises his hands before letting them fall back to his knees and I laugh. ‘I thought you’d be wanting to move to New York next, or planning world domination.’

  ‘Because those two things go hand in hand? Moving to New York and world domination?’

  He laughs. ‘Or even just meeting someone and getting married and having children. Or is that still not for you?’

  ‘What do you mean, still not for me?’

  ‘You were always dead against it in the past.’

  ‘I was?’ I frown, puzzled. Was I really not interested in marriage and children back then?

  ‘You were, yeah.’

  ‘I’m sure I said maybe someday, whereas you said never ever.’

  ‘Oh well, maybe I’m tarring you with the same brush as me then. I’m sure you said something about relationships getting in the way of your career though.’

  ‘Well, maybe back then.’ I shrug again. ‘And I’ve met James, so, we’ll see.’

  ‘Early days though?’

  ‘Yes.’ Clearing my throat, I look away from him and realise we’re approaching my stop. ‘I get off here,’ I say, gathering my bag to me. ‘Are you getting off and catching the train back to Waterloo, or …?’

  The or hangs between us, heavy and loaded, and Aiden gets up with a lopsided smile. ‘May as well walk you home. See where you live.’

  ‘Are you sure you have time?’ I check my watch as I get to my feet, nerves making my heart thump in anticipation of the walk home. ‘Do you not have an afterparty to go to?’

  ‘No, it was just going to be after-drinks in the hotel reception with my family, but I think they’ve all had enough of me anyway.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true.’

  He laughs good-naturedly as the doors ping back with a rapid beep-beep-beep-beep and then we step off onto the platform and head towards the exit.

  *

  I live in a small one-bedroom flat above a hardware shop, which lies in a long parade of shops including a grocery store, launderette, betting shop and several takeaways. It’s not the most salubrious of areas and is a far cry from our woodland paradise of five years ago. Chip papers litter the pavement and the air smells of garlic and diesel fumes. We cross the road at the traffic lights, and Aiden catches hold of my hand as we break into a run at the sound of an approaching police siren.

  How is it his hand still feels so familiar after all this time?

  How is it my hand feels like it belongs there?

  We don’t speak as we make our way round to the back of the shops to the metal fire escape that leads up to my flat. Our feet clang as we make our way up, and I get my keys ready to let us in.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Orla! They could provide you with some light.’ Aiden leans against the thin metal railing and peers around into the darkness.

  ‘Don’t lean on that, it might give way!’ I tell him, taking his arm and pulling him away like he’s a child. ‘There used to be a security light, but it stopped working.’

  ‘You could kill yourself on these steps. And what if someone was waiting round here for you? It’s not exactly safe.’

  I glance back at him then down at the dark courtyard below. Apart from the hulking shapes of the wheelie bins and refuse skips, it’s completely empty. There’s a CCTV camera attached to the back of the betting shop, but that’s about all.

  ‘Thank you for that comforting thought, Aiden.’

  ‘Have you got a rape alarm?’

  ‘Yes, I got one after I went to interview some guy in the woods once and got trapped in some weird love spell.’

  ‘Ha ha, very funny. Still taking risks after all these years, I see.’

  ‘I can’t exactly help it. I do live here. Besides, I can get to my flat through the shop below, and I rarely come back after the shop’s closed.’ I stop talking, aware that I’ve just exposed too much information about my very boring life. Dates with James aside, it’s rare that I go out these days. I didn’t even realise the light wasn’t working until I came home after my first date with James. Before that, it had been ages since I’d stayed out late. A glass of wine and Netflix was about the most exciting my life got. Aiden needn’t know that though.

  I slip my key in the lock and shove the door with my shoulder to open it. The wood is swollen from the damp winter weather and catches on the bottom of the doorframe. Ushering Aiden into the dark hallway, I lock the door behind us and switch on the fluorescent strip light, which flickers and buzzes as it illuminates the bleak white walls with their black scuff marks and fluffy cobwebs. I try not to look at Aiden as I squeeze past him and unlock the white door on the left.

  ‘Here we are,’ I say, with unnecessary brightness as the door swings back to reveal more stark white walls and shabby furniture.

  I rarely bring anyone back to my flat. In fact, I’m not sure anyone’s been here since my mum, stepdad and sister when I first moved in. Maybe Katie when she visited a few months after, and possibly a short-lived boyfriend who was so dull he was easy to forget.

  ‘Geeez,’ Aiden whispers as he looks around, and I get the impression it’s not in awe. ‘Orla! What the hell is this place?’

  ‘My flat! And you’re being very rude right now!’

  ‘But it’s tiny. And shit. And there’s a big patch of damp in the corner.’ He points at the dark patch of mould that’s been spreadin
g across the ceiling for a few months. I’ve told the landlord and he said he would come and sort it out, but he never has. Besides, I’ve got to the point when I don’t see it anymore. I don’t see any of it, in fact. Not the shabby carpet, the black leather sofa that’s seen better days, nor the tired little kitchenette with the missing cupboard door.

  ‘It’s all I can afford.’ I say, slightly belligerently. ‘Besides, you saw how close it is to the tube station. It’s pretty central and I can get to work easily. And anyway, you live in a tent, so you can shut up!’

  He laughs. ‘I think I’d rather live a few miles out of London in my tent and commute in than live here.’

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ I say, trying to shrug off his comments. ‘Anyway, what do you want to drink? I think I’ve got some beer in the fridge, or red wine? Or something softer? Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘I’ll have a beer, thank you.’

  He sits down on the battered sofa, still looking around him like he can’t believe his eyes.

  ‘The guy that owns the hardware shop downstairs owns this,’ I say as I pass him a bottle of beer. ‘He’s lovely. I get all my dishcloths and scrubbers and stuff for free.’

  Aiden gives me a look that suggests he thinks I’ve gone mad. ‘And how much are dishcloths? A pound? Two pounds? Think how much that damp patch is costing your health!’

  ‘He says he’s coming to fix it.’

  ‘He could do with decorating while he’s here too. Is this your sofa or was it already furnished when you got here?’

  ‘Oh no, it’s all the landlord’s. It saved a lot of bother when I was moving down.’

  ‘But your flat in Hawksley was so nice! How can you be living here in this?’

  I sigh and look around at the plain white walls. I’m glad the blinds are drawn so that he can’t see the bars on the windows. ‘I can’t afford anything else. Seriously, have you seen the price of rent in London? I want to actually have some money left after I get paid at the end of each month. And like I said, it’s convenient and I stopped seeing everything but the TV, the fridge and my bed a long time ago.’

  ‘Christ, Orla, it’s the pits.’

  ‘Thanks!’ I give him a look, annoyed he’s being so judgemental when he doesn’t even live under a roof half the time. ‘I take it you won’t want to stay then! You know where the door is.’

  ‘Oh no, I’ll stay, if you’re offering. Thanks, Orla.’ He sniffs and looks about him before taking another swig from his bottle.

  I stare at him. Stay? He means stay for a drink, obviously. Not stay. He can’t stay here. The sofa’s really uncomfortable and I only have a single bed.

  Besides, what would James think?

  ‘So how come you didn’t watch my documentaries?’ he asks, throwing me completely off my train of thought.

  ‘How do you know I haven’t watched them?’ I sit down next to him on the sofa, tucking my leg beneath me.

  ‘Because you didn’t know I’d cut my hair.’

  ‘I thought you’d tied it back!’

  ‘Bollocks. You haven’t watched them, have you? Why? If you’d been in anything, I’d have watched it. Even if it was a programme for pre-schoolers or an advert for sanitary products.’

  My face feels hot with guilt, but how do I explain I didn’t watch them because I knew seeing him again would be too painful? I’d been excited to watch them at first, but the trailer I’d seen had made me feel so desolate that I’d realised it wasn’t a good idea. To see him on screen and know he wasn’t in my life anymore would renew my sense of loss and make me miss him more than ever.

  I can’t tell him that though. It’s much too pathetic.

  ‘I just never got round to it.’ I shrug, trying to pretend it’s not a big deal. ‘You know how it is. Life gets so busy.’

  ‘Really?’ he says sardonically, clearly not impressed by my answer. He takes another swig from his bottle of beer, eyeing me over its base.

  ‘I am intending to watch them though,’ I tell him. ‘They’re still available on catch-up.’

  ‘My mum bought the DVD,’ he says pointedly.

  ‘Ah, well there’s loyalty. Who has DVDs now, though? I don’t even own a DVD player!’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No, I just stream everything. It’s the future, baby.’

  He rolls his eyes and looks back up at the damp patch.

  ‘Stop looking at it!’ I snap.

  ‘Sorry.’ He laughs as he turns his attention back to me, and I relax slightly, sensing I’m already forgiven for not watching his documentaries. ‘Did you get my postcards?’

  ‘Oh, those were from you? I didn’t know,’ I say teasingly. Of course I knew they were from him. Who else would I know that had been to locations as exotic as Kuala Lumpur, Tokyo, Ecuador and the Galapagos? I must have received about fifty over the past five years. He never writes anything on them though, just my name, work address and a heart in the space where the ‘wish you were here’ comment should be.

  He gives me a look and I laugh. ‘Yes, of course I got them. Thank you. Everyone at work asks me about who I know that goes to such amazing places and I just say it’s a mystery. You’ve been to so many different countries. It makes my head spin.’

  ‘You should have been with me.’ Leaning forward, he places his bottle firmly on the table with a dull thunk.

  ‘Oh, Aiden! It would never have worked,’ I say with a forced laugh, scratching my head uncomfortably. ‘I’d have got on your nerves and you’d have sent me home after a couple of weeks, I’m sure of it.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Or I’d have run home. I’d never have coped without hot water and a proper toilet. Living wild like you do is not for me.’

  ‘At least we would have been together.’ He turns sideways to face me, his eyes serious, but I brush his comment off with a laugh.

  ‘Is that supposed to comfort me? Anyway, why has it taken you five years to come back? I bet you’ve been back to the UK before now.’

  ‘Yeah, but not to London.’ He looks annoyed as he takes a deep breath and looks away. ‘I missed you.’

  ‘I missed you too.’ The words are out before I can stop them, and butterflies swirl in my stomach. I can’t do this, though. I can’t let him back in. It was so painful when he left last time, and he’s sure to leave again. Besides, he can’t really mean it, can he? It’s been five years. He’d have been back before now if he really missed me.

  ‘Did you? Or are you just saying that?’ He looks back at me, and I’m shocked by the accusation in his eyes.

  ‘Of course I missed you! It was horrible when you went away.’ I can’t believe he’d think I didn’t miss him. Did he not know how much I loved him?

  ‘You practically pushed me onto that plane.’

  ‘I did not!’

  ‘You were very cheerful. Almost excited, in fact. I felt like you’d have a party when you got home.’

  ‘Aiden! How could you think that?’ I gape at him. ‘I didn’t want you to see how sad I was. What good would crying all over you have done? It would have made it ten times worse.’

  ‘It didn’t exactly do my ego much good.’

  ‘You knew I didn’t want you to go!’

  ‘You never said. All I knew was you didn’t want to come with me. Even after I practically begged you.’

  ‘You did not. You asked, I said no, we moved on. You never begged. If I didn’t say I didn’t want you to go, it was because I knew you had to. Come on, Aiden, it was India! It was an amazing opportunity, and I knew you wanted to go. I didn’t want to put a dampener on your excitement, and I didn’t want you to remember me as clingy or controlling, or as someone that was stopping you from chasing your dreams.’

  ‘You knew I’d never think that about you. You were always more. We always had a great time when we were together. There was no one I’d have rather travelled to India with.’

  ‘But I couldn’t go!’

  ‘Why? Because of your five-year pla
n?’

  For a moment, I’m lost for words. Did he really not understand that I had my own dreams? That I wanted to pursue my career for myself? If I’d gone with him and we’d fallen out, I’d have returned to England brokenhearted and without a job. It would have meant starting as a trainee again, and it would have put everything back years. Because I stayed, I’m right on track. I work on a well-read paper with a big distribution network, and I live in London, just like I always wanted.

  Does he really not see that? I stare at him and he stares right back, his jaw rigid. His green eyes are dark in this light, and I can’t see the golden flecks in the iris, nor the amber ring around the outside.

  ‘Aiden,’ I say, when the standoff becomes too much to bear. ‘How can you think I was glad you left?’

  He looks away, and I can see he’s unconvinced. ‘Hmm. Anyway, I’d better go if you’ve got work in the morning.’

  My heart stutters and I’m suddenly awash with disappointment that he’s leaving. I have an urge to tell him about how I cried for weeks after he left and that my eyes were sore for a month. I want to tell him how worried my mum and friends were about me when I stopped eating. But instead, I say, ‘Will you be alright getting back to your hotel? Do you know where you’re going?’

  ‘I’ll call a cab.’

  ‘You can sleep on the sofa if you want?’ My heart goes mad, flapping about in my chest, desperate for him to say yes.

  ‘No, I’d better go,’ he says, stiffly, already tapping the number of a cab company into his phone. A lock of hair falls forward over his forehead and I have to stop myself from reaching out to stroke it back into place. ‘What’s your address?’

  I tell him, even though I don’t want to, even though I’m desperate for him to stay. I don’t want to leave it like this, with him angry with me, and me unable to express how much I missed him. He gets to his feet as soon as he calls the cab. ‘Five minutes, he said, so I’ll wait out front.’

  ‘Okay.’ My breath hitches as I follow him to the door. Please don’t go, please don’t go.

  ‘Do you need to lock the outer door behind me?’

  ‘No, it locks on its own.’ I hope he doesn’t hear the tremor in my voice.