Before She Was Mine (10 page)

On my bedside table sits my bottle of water, my iPod, a Ryvita tin containing plasters and tea tree oil and Germolene. There’s also a wedding picture of Liv and Colin in an oval
stand-alone frame. The hiking socks I wear round the house instead of slippers lie across the pillow, together with my tartan pyjamas.

I love this room. I love the massive house spider who lives in the gap where the skirting boards come together, and the bedding box which is full of old toys I can’t bring myself to throw
out, and the dusty lever arch files of A level and uni notes, and the lopsided sisal bin, and the bleached patch on the curtains from where teenage Nicky got careless with the Sun-In. There’s
a dent above the door lintel where I hurled a pot of Supa-Wax after failing to pick a fight with Liv. These events and their records may be small, but they’re mine.

I’ve sat on this leaf-print duvet and struggled over homework, surfed the net, messaged schoolfriends, gossiped, dreamed, devoured unhelpful women’s magazines. It was on this bed I
first heard Christian’s name: a breathless call on my mobile one evening, Nicky shouting over the noise from some student bar. I had my first kiss lying here and a whole lot more besides,
though none of it amounting to very much in the end. Simon Ogden, Oggy, here today and gone tomorrow, a man who liked to think he got his lovin’ on the run but in reality was just a twit.
I’ve lain here and cried over Oggy more than once.

And it was in this room I first tracked down Melody’s Friends Reunited page with its excited profile notes and crazy photo. ‘Those men who’ve left messages, are they all
ex-boyfriends?’ I’d asked her, that initial visit.

She’d grinned, her eyes little slits of mischief. ‘Some of them wanted to be. ’S just a game, just fun. It doesn’t do to let anyone get too close. And I never
ever
fall in love. Take note, Freya. Love’s like rust, it eats your insides away even if you can’t see the damage on the surface.’

Liv said Melody reminded her of Miss Havisham, out to break as many hearts as possible while keeping well out of range herself. But Miss Havisham never walked abroad in a sequin pencil skirt,
flashing her eyes and goosing random men on her way to the bar. ‘Never let yourself get attached to
anyone
,’ Melody advised me. ‘My philosophy is, if there’s any heartbreak going around, it ain’t gonna land on
me.’

She spoke casually about the guitar teacher who’d stood and wept on her front lawn, where all the neighbourhood could see him; of the Greek guy she met on holiday who really was going to
sell up and leave his community to be with her; of Letter-man who wrote every week for five months after she’d given him the boot. ‘Their choice,’ she said. ‘No one can hurt
you unless you let them.’ And to be fair, she’s always clear from the start, she never deceives. The smart ones just enjoy themselves and jump off the roller coaster when their
time’s up.

‘Joe’s different, though,’ Michael had told me over the phone. ‘She’s started using words like “stability” and “long-term”.’

‘Bizarre. What’s he really like?’

‘You’re meeting him tonight.’

‘Do
you
like him?

‘He is what he is.’

‘What’s that, then?’

‘You’ll see, won’t you?’ he said, frustratingly.

Melody had chosen a town-centre pub for our meeting. I spotted her straight away, partly because she was wearing an electric-blue smock, and partly because her Union Jack
blazer was hanging on the chair opposite her. To her left sat Michael, and to her right, the famous Joe.

‘Here comes my gorgeous daughter,’ said Melody as I drew near the table.

My first impression was that Joe was much younger than she was, at least ten years, at a guess. He was handsome in an obvious kind of way, with close-clipped hair, tanned skin and a strong jaw
line, something cocky about the tilt of his head. When he moved, his scalp glistened with gel or wax. His white shirt was dazzling.

‘Wow, you’re smart,’ I heard myself say.

Joe glanced at me, then away.

‘He wears a suit to work,’ said Melody.

‘Great, wow, that’s great. Well done you. Can I get anyone a drink?’

‘Nah,’ said Joe.

‘Orange juice for me, hun,’ said Melody coyly.

While I waited at the bar I watched them together. She was making some fuss about her stomach, patting it and standing sideways, even though there was no bump at all. Michael was nodding. Joe
sat back, one hand round his glass.

‘And I’ve gone right off tea and coffee,’ she said when I got back. ‘They taste like cack. Strange, ’cause I used to drink bloody pints of Typhoo. Tuna, I
can’t stand now. But I could murder some runny cheese. It’s such a pain: the things I can have, I don’t fancy, but I’m craving the stuff I’m not allowed.’

‘Isn’t that always the way,’ said Michael.

‘Have you had morning sickness?’ I asked her.

‘No. It’s brilliant, I feel brilliant. Just a bit woozy in the mornings, but that soon passes. I am dog-tired, though. I’m knackered by the evening, falling asleep by nine.
I’m no company, am I, Joe?’

‘No,’ he said.

‘I pop my feet up on the sofa and then wham! I’m out like a light.’ She giggled.

‘Whereabouts do you work, Joe?’ I asked, because I was keen to hear him say something.

‘Comet,’ he said.

‘What’s that like?’

‘OK.’

‘Do you get a staff discount?’

‘A small one.’

‘I bet you meet some funny customers. We do at the nursery. Last week we had a woman try to smuggle out crocus corms down the side of her boots. We nabbed her as she was hobbling across
the car park.’

‘What kind of saddo steals bulbs?’ said Melody. ‘Can you imagine, Joe? TVs, yes, laptops, whatever, but not crocus bulbs. Hardly ambitious, is it?’

Joe shrugged. I could tell he was completely aware of his looks. Perhaps there was no need to struggle for sparkling conversation when your cheekbones were that finely chiselled.

‘Hey, what about the old bloke you were telling me about, the one who wanders into the store and talks back to the televisions?’

‘He’s harmless.’

‘You said he’s funny, the stuff he comes out with.’

‘I suppose.’

We waited for elaboration, but none came.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, make an effort, man
, I thought. I felt weary and anxious and not remotely in the mood for small talk; I kept
recalling Liv’s stiff face, and that bloody painting of yachts in the consultant’s room.

‘So what’s been the reaction to the new iPod, Joe?’ asked Michael. ‘Has there been much demand?’

‘You could say.’

There followed another longish pause. I gave up and slid my phone out of my pocket so I could text Nicky.

‘Frey was interested in getting satnav for her car,’ Michael persisted.

‘Right.’

‘It was only an idea,’ I said, squinting at my mobile. ‘I’m not that fussed.’

Joe looked away towards the fruit machine. Michael frowned at me, vibing me to ask more, but I carried on with my text.

In pub hell. Wish u wr here. Hows chris?

‘It’s crazy, the baby’s only the size of a grape but I’ve had to buy a bigger bra already,’ said Melody, looking down at her own chest. ‘The woman in the shop
said I could go up as much as four sizes. Four sizes! I’ll be like, enormous. I’ll need scaffolding.’

I sent the text and shut my phone. ‘Oh, are you telling everyone you’re pregnant now? Because I thought you wanted to keep it quiet till you had the scan.’

‘I know, that was the intention. But pregnancy’s too good to keep to yourself. I tend to blurt it out. And everyone’s so nice when they hear. You’re like a hero or
something.’

Joe’s expression was vacant, he could almost have been wearing earphones. I had to look twice to check he wasn’t.

‘But it’s so cool,’ she went on. ‘I lie there wondering when I’ll get the first kick, and how I want the birth to be, whether it’s going to be a boy or girl.
What I’m going to call it. If it’s a girl, I’m going for “Sasha”. If it’s a boy, “Donny” or “Alain”. That’s
“Al
ain
”, like Alain Prost. This time my baby gets to keep its name.’

A dig at Liv.

‘And I’ve seen this fantastic night light in Argos, the shape of a hot-air balloon. I’m definitely having that. Do you think they’ll tell me at the hospital whether
I’m having a boy or a girl? They don’t in some counties. Does anyone know? I have the strongest feeling it’s a boy. What do you think, Freya?’

‘No idea.’ It struck me as a silly question.

‘Your little brother. Or sister. It’ll be good, won’t it?’

‘Fantastic.’

I decided to give it one last shot with Joe.

Turning to face him, I said, ‘What does your family think about the news, your mum and dad? Are they excited?’

He looked down and straightened his watch strap. ‘I haven’t said anything.’

‘Oh.’

‘She told me not to.’

Melody flapped her hands at him. ‘That was before. I’ve changed my mind, everyone can know, everyone.’ She stood up and pushed back her chair. ‘Hey, guess what?’
she said loudly.

No one paid any attention.

‘Give us a break, Mel,’ said Michael.

‘Am I an embarrassment?’

‘Yes.’

She grinned and sat down again.

‘You need some energy to keep up with her,’ I said to Joe. He shifted in his seat and his eyes met mine, and there was just nothing there. Nothing. Not humour, not awkwardness, not a
spark of interest, not even hostility. Certainly not excitement, or love.

‘My round,’ announced Michael, standing up.

As he passed my chair, he pulled at my collar. ‘Come and help me carry the drinks back, lazybones.’

The second we were out of earshot I said, ‘God, it’s like pulling teeth. Is it us?

‘Don’t think so.’

‘What the hell’s going on, then?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Joe’s just not
there
, is he?’

‘No shit, Sherlock.’

We leaned against the bar, elbow to elbow. ‘Have they had a row?’

Michael shook his head. ‘I’m guessing not. Because if they had, she’d be sulking, massively. There’d be barbed comments flying all over the place. She doesn’t hold
back if she’s got a grievance, our Mel.’

That was true enough.

‘OK,’ I said, ‘what about this: they’ve had a row but she thinks they’ve made up and he thinks there’s still unfinished business.’

‘He’s not exactly angry, though, is he?’

‘Is it like “suppressed anger”? Shutting down, passive-aggressive, sort of thing. Or is he always that way? You’ve met him before.’

We both sneaked a look across the bar to Joe and Melody’s table. She was grinning and stretching over to stroke his lapel, while he remained upright, disconnected. Snapshot of a
relationship.

‘First time I met him he was quiet but normal, you could have a reasonable conversation with him. He was never a babbler but there were none of these dead-end silences like tonight. Melody
was chatty as ever, of course. Then the next time, he was that bit quieter and she was that bit louder.’

‘Why didn’t you warn me?’

‘It’s never been so bad as it is tonight. This is a man who’s winding down.’

‘He’s going to finish with her?’

‘Oh, the writing’s on the wall.’ Michael ran his hand around his stubbly chin. ‘Unless I’m being over-pessimistic.’

‘But if Joe’s that unhappy, he’d say, wouldn’t he? He’d already have made a move to get out. He wouldn’t sit there and suffer.’

‘It’s not always that easy, Frey.’ I guessed he was thinking of his ex-wife. ‘There’s this baby, for one thing.’

‘Yes. It’s a bit of a mess.’

I couldn’t stand the thought of Melody in distress on top of everything else.

‘Let’s hope you’re wrong, then. Let’s put it down to a crap day at work. Stroppy customers, a smart-arse boss.’

‘Maybe. Although even if it is, it’s not like he’s got the monopoly on crap days. I’ve had a nightmare.’

‘Lost a wheel nut down the grid again?’

‘Ex-wife bother. Kim left a dead rose on my doorstep this morning, then, ten minutes after I got home, some guy turned up with a Chinese takeaway I hadn’t ordered – hoi sin
duck, so I know it’s her. Stupid, piddly stuff but it wears you down. You can do without it.’

‘I expect you can.’

I had a sudden rushing need to tell him what was happening in my world, trump all these petty troubles and complaints. Then he’d understand what a crap day really was.

Oh, sweet Jesus. Liv’s got cancer? Oh, Frey. You must be really freaked. But listen, treatment rates are better than ever, and they’ve caught it early, haven’t they?
Don’t panic till you know all the facts. Thousands and thousands of people recover from cancer every year. Statistically there’s every chance she’ll be among them. Hold onto the
science for now. Keep calm, and find out what you can.
That was the kind of thing Michael would say. That was the kind of thing I’d like to hear.

I knew I couldn’t tell him, though. We weren’t talking some silly half-secret like Melody’s, where breaking a trust didn’t matter beyond a bit of good-natured tutting and
eye-rolling. It was imperative I keep my mouth shut at least until we knew the prognosis.

‘There’s damn-all you and I can do about it anyway,’ Michael was saying. My breath caught in my throat, and then I realised he was still talking about Joe.

‘Michael, would it be rude if I went home after this drink? Are you staying much longer?’

‘Yeah, I’ll stick it out till closing. You get off if you’re not feeling so good. You do look a bit washed out. Is something up?’

‘Women’s trouble,’ I mouthed.

‘Oh, that. Long as you’re not properly ill.’

‘Sod off.’

‘I will.’ He picked up his drink and Melody’s. ‘By the way, I think there’s someone over there trying to attract your attention.’

As he walked away, I squinted across the bar towards the saloon doorway where a tall figure waved. Oggy. He held a pool cue in one hand and he seemed, from a distance, sober and buoyant. His
hair was shorter than I’d last seen it, but still spiky at the front. He was wearing a Weebls T-shirt I’d bought him two years ago, during a period we’d dated for eight months
solid and he’d begun to feel like a real boyfriend. Rogue, mate, bastard, good laugh. That was Oggy.