By the Time You Read This (13 page)

T
hat year, Abbi’s return was the best birthday present I could have wished for or needed. My birthday message from Dad was very simple:

M
om kept saying how pleased she was that things were now back to “normal” after the Abbi incident. But I knew different. Things had changed between Abbi and me—or at least,
I’d
changed toward
her.
She was still the noisy and lively little girl she’d always been, but as she got older, I really allowed myself to experience and, I suppose, enjoy her.

“H
appy birthday!” sang Abbi as she shoved the ear of her donkey up her nose. I swiped the last piece of soggy toast from the kitchen table and smiled my acknowledgment at Mom’s effort toward my birthday breakfast,
twenty-four hours before the actual day. A huge fry-up complete with fairy cakes (courtesy of Abbi) and a magnificent masterpiece of an oil painting (again, courtesy of Abbi). Carla and I were off to Barcelona for the weekend to see her father, take in the sights and, most of all, have a well-earned rest. I was exhausted thanks to the demands of my job and constant study to keep up-to-date with ever-changing IT trends.

“I bought some Marmite in for you!” said Mom.

“I don’t like Marmite any more, Mom!” I protested as Abbi jumped onto my knee, wriggled about, then leaped off again, but not before trying to carefully place the rancid donkey into my mouth.

“Abbs, sit still!” chastised Mom.

“Lois eat donkey!”

“I’m really not happy about you flying.”

“I’ll be fine!”

“Just because that millennium bug didn’t happen last New Year’s Day doesn’t mean it couldn’t happen any time now. I don’t want your plane getting into all sorts of trouble.”

“Mom, I’m in IT and I know that that’s not going to happen. It was all a mix-up.” I sometimes thought my mother assumed I typed letters for a living.

“If you say so,” she conceded.

C
arla’s dad greeted us at the airport, clearly repressing his enthusiasm, while the two of us found it much easier to let go judging by the squeals of happiness at the sight of real-life palm trees.

“I’m just glad you could come out and fit me into your
busy schedule. I hear you’re some big executive now, Lois!”

“I don’t know who told you that!” I laughed.

“Corey.”

I tried not to look away at the mention of Corey’s name. But flashes of our last meeting popped into my head, before I could banish the memory into the secret compartment marked “don’t go there” in my head.

Carla’s dad hadn’t changed much, apart from wisps of gray strands in his newly acquired beard and a slight paunch which stretched his shirt ever so slightly. I wondered if he knew about Calvin.

“Come on, girls, let’s get you back to the apartment and I’ll show you around.”

Carla’s dad had opened a bar in Castadefells, a small seaside town, and lived nearby in Gava Mar in a small, tastefully decorated one-bedroom apartment.

“Hope she’s cut out the snoring, because you’ll have to share an airbed!” he said as Carla threw him an evil look.

Placing my pull-along case beside a glass cabinet containing pictures of his children, I was surprised to see one of myself with the others, standing by the rec, mud on each of our shoes. I must have been about eight years old. Three years after Dad died and there I was, playing with my friends.

“I’ll leave you girls to freshen up. I’ve left the address of the bar. Take a taxi and come meet me later?”

“Okay. But just for a bit, though, Dad.” Translation: Carla had no intention of spending more than the required time with her father. She had other plans, which perhaps included
hooking up with as many Spanish men as possible to fill the void Fred had left behind.

“You are so boring!” she whined when I requested a quick snooze after returning from the bar and a very long walk up and down Las Ramblas.

“I’m just a bit exhausted! We only flew in this morning.”

“On a two-hour flight!”

I kicked off my sneakers.

“We’ve got to sample the nightlife, and I don’t mean Dad’s old-biddy bar either. Apparently that big shopping center we went to turns into a huge multiplex nightclub after about ten. So if we leave soon, we could make it for twelve…”

My eyes widened in horror.

And so I did. If you call “attempting to breathe inside a club thick with cigarette smog and fending off any drunken reveler who thought it their right to air-thrust behind you on the dance floor” fun!

Outside, away from the crowds, Carla slipped her swollen feet out of her red stiletto shoes and placed them neatly together, next to my sensible footwear of rounded-toe slip-ons. As we sat on the pavement, the cool night air instantly dried the beads of sweat gathering beneath my blouse.

“Don’t you ever get…lonely?” she suddenly asked.

“Nope,” I said abruptly and quickly took another sip of my drink as one more drunken reveler shot out of the bar and staggered toward Carla.

“Guapa!”
he sang.

She rolled her eyes slowly and with exaggeration, then turned her back to the man. “As I was saying…” she said.

“And as I was saying, no, I don’t get lonely.”

“But you live in that apartment, all alone.”

“So?” For one horrible second, I thought she was angling to move back in with me.

“I can’t even remember you with a guy—”

“Yes, I know, I know…but take it from me, I really am not lonely. I love my life…” I caught the expression of pity etched onto my best friend’s face. I knew she’d never truly understand me. No one did, except my dad.

“Why?”

“Why?”

“You heard!”

“Carla, I like my own company. I know you moved straight back in with your mom after splitting with Fred, but that’s you.”

“This isn’t about me. You’re only twenty-three, yet you act a bit like a pensioner. I’ve even had to drag you out to-day, otherwise you’d have slept the whole damn time. Need I go on?”

“Go ahead,” I encouraged. So Carla continued her assassination of my life. My “obsession” with work. Hardly ever going out to clubs, sticking mainly to the after-work crowd of Keitho, Matt and Jamie. My lack of experimentation with “club wear,” metallic make-up or hairstyles. I let her finish, too tired to argue. Besides, I’d never felt the need to explain myself to anyone.

“And…” continued Carla, sipping on her cocktail, eyebrows scrunching as if thinking of what to say next. It came. “I’m glad we did this. Came to Spain. I mean, apart
from seeing the old man, it’s good for us to…I dunno…clear the air and do stuff together.”

We were so different. Our lives were clearly shifting toward opposite destinations.

“I’m glad too. It’s actually nice not having to think about the stresses of back home.”

“Oh, like, what key to press on the computer?” She snorted at her own unfunny joke. However, unbeknown to her or anyone, my stress levels had actually increased recently, thanks to Mr. Purvadis, my landlord, informing me he wanted to sell the apartment.

“Oh, just buzz off
por favor!
” she spat at the guy who still lingered around us, clearly thrilled at the shape of Carla’s
trasero
in that tight-fitting dress.

My tummy muscles tensed when she predictably leaped onto the subject of Corey. Whenever Carla and I attempted to bond he’d always pop up.

“I knew about you two.” She sipped her drink. “You and my brother.”

Perhaps it was the hint of neon light shining on the side of her face, but she suddenly looked evil.

“Did you think I was an idiot and wouldn’t find out?”

“Who told you?” My voice quivered slightly.

“Mom let it slip one day. You know how she can never keep anything to herself. I was so peeved that you didn’t tell me, you know, then. But now I’m grateful.”

“Because?”

She sipped at the cocktail. “You and my bro—yuck!”

“Thanks.”

“No problem. For what it’s worth, I think the slut actually liked you.”

“Yeah, right!” I said nonchalantly, as I took another sip of alcohol.

“And you obviously liked him, too.”

“That was then.”

I disappeared inside the bar, returning ten minutes later with a plate of
patatas bravas.

“I think you still carry a torch for him,” she said, dipping into the plate of food. I had hoped she would have forgotten the conversation, but alcohol, it seemed, made her sharper than ever. I shook my head, hoping she’d change the subject soon.

“I’ve met someone,” she finally said.

“What’s he like?”

“A city investment banker, I kid you not! And, more importantly, Rob’s the absolute love of my life…I hope. Why d’you think I haven’t even looked at another bloke since we got here? I know it sounds weird, but every time I look at Rob, I just get this urge…”

“To ravish him?”

A giggle.

“To just get married and have his babies.”

“Is that all you want out of life?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, but you’re only young.”

“I can’t believe YOU of all people are saying that. Like you even act your age!”

I ignored that. “What about getting a job?”

“I have one at the lingerie shop on Oxford Street. Well, I
did
anyway…But that’s beside the point.”

That comment further alerted me to our differences. There was I, loaded with ambition, wanting to pursue the
highest level work-wise, when all Carla wanted to do was bake cakes.

“Drink up then, there’s so much more booze to get through!” I said, with as much fake enthusiasm as possible.

T
he remainder of the break went well, with visits to the beach and a trip to Barcelona Zoo. But very soon I was back in England, facing some major decisions.

Mr. Purvadis had been gracious enough to give me three months’ notice on the apartment, by which time it would definitely be going on the market. I consulted the miscellaneous section of
The Manual,
hoping Dad could impart words of inspiration. Something or
someone
led me to
Risks.

My dad had obviously been on a downer. The pain and regret seeping from the pages was so real and vivid. I had to do something—I couldn’t let my dad down—I just wasn’t sure what.

At work, I couldn’t escape this nagging feeling. Even Keitho’s shenanigans with his chatroom buddies didn’t have its usual power to lift me. It wasn’t until about a week
later, sitting in the staff canteen, that the answer to the question finally became clear.

I was going to buy my apartment from Mr. Purvadis.

What with Carla telling me what an idiot I was to “tie myself down,” it still felt like the right thing to do. Even the Bingo Caller echoed caution, prattling on about the 1980s property crash. But I knew that for the first time in my entire life I was living in a place that felt like home, and if I lost money in the process, so be it. Besides, I was going to listen to my dad.

Plus, I needed a home…

“I’d never buy a apartment,” offered Jamie, filing her nails while ignoring an incoming call.

“Me either!” agreed Keitho as Matt appeared from a job.

“Don’t listen to them, Lois. Keitho’s a drifter and Jamie’s waiting for her secret lover to buy her a love shack!”

Jamie threw him a sharp gaze.

“Thanks, Matt!” I said sincerely. He threw me a sweet smile in response and, not for the first time, I felt myself blush like an idiot.

W
orking late soon became a regular occurrence and something I didn’t mind, especially when it was just Matt and me. It was easy to get through the time, laughing and joking about nothing much in particular.

“That’s me done for the night,” I said, switching off the computer.

“How many ‘Have you switched the computer on?’ questions have you actually asked today?” queried Matt.

“Just two.”

“A slight improvement on yesterday. Our call outs would halve overnight if users just remembered to switch the damn thing on before reporting a problem!”

I smiled. “But then we’d be out of a job!”

“Didn’t think of that. You up to anything tonight?”

“A bit of study. Television. And you?”

“A beer by the TV sounds good.”

Part of me wanted to say more, to leap out of this sea of small talk. But my nerves won over.

“Goodnight then, Matt.”

“Night.”

I turned to the door.

“I’m leaving myself in thirty minutes,” he said. I wasn’t sure if that was an invitation.

“Okay, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“You will. Bright and early.”

I pretended to search for something in my pocket.

“Looking for something?”

“Just my subway card.”

“Come out with me at the weekend, Lois.”

I thought he’d never ask.

“I
can’t believe you’re going out with Matt,” said Jamie as she tapped at the keyboard. As always, the radio sang and phones rang off the hook in the background. The daily soundtrack to my working life.

“It’s just dinner!”

“But without the rest of us…That’s what I’d call a date.”

“If it turns into something more…” I began, before trailing off. It suddenly felt strange revealing personal details to someone other than Carla.

“So, what are you wearing?”

“Trousers and a top.”

Jamie scanned my comfortable trouser and shirt combo. “So, he’s going to see you just like he does every day. Nice…” she said teasingly.