Chasing Charlie (22 page)

CLAUDIA

I arrived at the café to Sam scowling at me over half-eaten scrambled eggs.

‘Where the bloody hell have you been?' she demanded.

‘Hello to you too.'

It wasn't like Sam to greet me with a strop and I wasn't sure how to deal with it. I was tempted to turn round right there and then and walk out again. I had enough going on without dealing with anyone else's crap but she must have seen something of that in my face and dropped the attitude quickly.

‘Oh bollocks, sorry,' she said. ‘It's me who should be apologising. I just can't get my head around last night.'

And she was off, telling me all about Charlie's birthday party. At least I think that was what she was talking about. To be honest, I couldn't really keep up. The story was pouring out of her and it was coming at me at double speed, or that's what it felt like. Of course she couldn't really have been speaking at twice her usual speed but, with my head crammed full, I struggled to process what she was saying.

‘. . . so there they were on the footpath and she just leaves him, screaming, “It's over,” and goes off in the cab! What do you think, Claud, do you think it really is over?' She paused and looked at me. I realised I was expected to give her some sort of response rather than just a sympathetic noise. What was it that she'd just said? I felt something in my hands. It was the menu. I had been holding it the whole time Sam had been speaking but I hadn't taken any of it in. Maybe I should have stayed home today after all. I couldn't be a good friend right now. This was awful.

‘Have you been listening?' Sam said again.

‘Yes, of course I was,' I replied. Think. Say something.

‘I'm thinking,' I said.

‘The thing is,' Sam continued, ‘he seemed totally floored by the whole experience, as if it came out of nowhere. But I don't understand that because when he's been with me he's been saying it's not working with her. But I suppose he was really drunk at the time.'

The waitress arrived and took my order or, I should say, I opened my mouth and somehow formed a string of food-related words. I hope they made sense. The pimply girl taking the order wrote them down anyway. It gave me a moment to come up with some Charlie-related words and I strained to remember the content of Sam's download. I took a sip of coffee and Sam watched me place the cup carefully in its saucer. I think I had the gist.

‘It could be the end, Sam. Or it could be that they thrive on drama and this is just one of many walkouts by the girlfriend. What's her name again?'

‘Lucy.'

‘Lucy . . .' What could the name tell me about the woman? Not much, not really. I think of Lucys as being warm and apple-cheeked, with curly blonde hair, none of which was helpful right now. When Sam told stories like this one it was usually my job to give her some context, some big-picture stuff to make the action in the foreground reduce to a more manageable size for Sam to process. At least that was what I'd always thought she needed. What a great big pile of rubbish that seemed like now. Why should anyone come to me for advice? And worse, why should I have thought that what I had to say was of any use?

‘Is she a drama queen?' I finally dredged up another question.

Sam shrugged. ‘She doesn't seem like one. More the cool, calm, keep-everything-up-my-clean-anus type actually.'

‘Nice.'

Sam smiled. ‘It's true! Anyway that's why I think this really might be the end. I doubt she'd normally be that out of control in public.'

‘So why are you so grumpy then? By what you're saying you should be over the moon, right?'

Sam hesitated. ‘That's what I don't understand either, Claud. I should be happy but I'm not.'

Sam worried the side of a finger with her teeth, her face scrunched up in tired confusion.

‘What was Charlie's reaction to her storming off?' I asked her.

She rubbed her face and I saw just how miserable she was. It wasn't just a case of being in a hungover grump – the poor old thing was obviously raw about this Charlie character. I finally felt something click into place and I was brought into the moment.

‘Did he seem upset or dismissive or what?' I asked.

Sam's eyes brimmed with tears. ‘That's the thing I don't understand, Claud. He was gutted. He looked so forlorn, and so . . . lost!'

‘Wouldn't that be normal though, Sam? He's just been dumped.'

‘Yes, but—' Sam wiped away an escaping tear crossly. She hated showing emotion in public or indeed in private. She liked the wider world to believe she was fearless. She sure had it bad for this guy.

‘I thought he might be relieved, that it would mean he could spend time with me and not feel guilty,' she said quietly.

‘Aren't you really talking about yourself?'

Sam sighed. ‘Oh you're probably right, Claudia. I'm going to go and sort myself out in the loo. These tears are really starting to ruin my breakfast. And we haven't talked about you at all yet.'

When she returned, she launched straight back into Charlie and Lucy's break-up again, turning it over and over, examining it for every crack, every blemish. How upset Charlie was and how this didn't fit the scenario Sam had in her head, ready and waiting for just this opportunity. When he finally dumped Lucy he was supposed to run joyfully into Sam's arms. It was never meant to be the other way round.

‘What if he pines after Lucy forever?' she asked me, her face white and not at all pretty.

Breakfast came as a welcome distraction and we moved onto some perfunctory conversation about friends and family, but Sam's heart wasn't in it. Any subconscious wish to share my news with her had dropped out of my handbag when she'd started banging on and on.

Finally it was time to pay and just when the teenager returned for our payment – or should I say my debit card – Sam pinged her head up like she'd just seen the light.

‘I've got it!' Her face flooded with colour, a maniacal grin fixed on her face. ‘Don't you see, Claudia, he's forced her to dump him. Without knowing it, he's subconsciously pushed her away.' She gesticulated wildly, unable to get her words out fast enough. ‘The relationship was doomed but he couldn't initiate anything upfront so he was just enough of an arsehole to finally push her away – that's it! That's why she's dumped him. It was him all along; he just doesn't know it yet. I've done that countless times. Claudia? Do you know what I mean?'

And suddenly I'd had enough of her and her two-penny analysis. She was being a self-absorbed bore. All I wanted was to get away from her endless Charlie talk.

‘No, I don't actually.'

‘Haven't you ever done that? You know when things are out of your control, and you're not aware that you're doing it, but before you know it you're getting dumped and you're free? It's great!'

‘Actually, if something isn't working, I usually just tell them.' Adding in my head that I didn't usually go far enough for something not to work. I stood up and pulled on my coat. I really had to get out of there and I could feel frustrated tears welling up inside. Why were we even friends? She hadn't asked me a single question about myself.

She was still talking out on the street. ‘But that's brilliant, isn't it? He won't realise it straightaway but in a day or two he'll be feeling on top of the world. And he'll be free.'

‘To be with you?' My tone was harsh and I heard Sam take a sharp breath.

‘I hope so,' she said quietly.

I was scanning the street for a cab but forced myself to turn back to her. She looked pathetic, chewing her lip like a twelve-year-old.

‘Well, don't throw yourself at him whatever you do,' I said.

‘Of course I won't! I'm not silly!' And she punched me playfully on the shoulder. ‘Anyway, I'm quickly learning to lure them in, Claud, thanks to your excellent tuition.'

‘Well, if you say so.'

I waved at a cab, with no luck.

‘Damn.'

There was another one sitting at lights in the distance. I strained to see if its for-hire light was on. We didn't speak. In my head I was already in the cab, not talking to anyone.

In the silence between us Sam finally twigged that perhaps I wasn't the most cheerful person on the block just then.

‘Is it something I've said?'

‘No.' I paused. It wasn't something you said, Sam – it was everything.

‘We haven't really talked about you, have we?'

‘No, we haven't. But now I've got to get to my parents' for lunch.'

The cab pulled over. I hugged her quickly and got in, not even asking her if she wanted a lift somewhere, and I realised that what I'd needed all morning was a hug myself.

CLAUDIA

I took a deep breath and pressed the doorbell – brass, polished twice weekly. The door opened immediately, almost as if Mother had been hovering behind it.

‘Come in, come in, we haven't seen you forever!' She reached up on tiptoe to kiss my cheek before marching down the hall. ‘It's been too long, darling, too long,' she called over her clip-clopping court shoes.

I followed her, muttering I'd been flat out with work.

‘Oh you girls, such high fliers,' she said in a voice leaking polite disapproval. When Sabrina and I were growing up, Mother had made the same noises as my father about how important it was for us both to succeed. But when it came down to it and we were eventually achieving greatness out there in the shiny corporate world of her dreams, she couldn't understand why we were too busy for ‘family time'. She felt, if she was honest with herself (which she didn't generally make a habit of), somewhat miffed.

Sabrina crossed her eyes at me from her perch in the kitchen. I smiled in relief. I hadn't been sure if she was going to make it today and I was grateful for the extra buffer. It was the first time in as long as I could remember that I wasn't looking forward to a family meal. Even while living a life they couldn't possibly understand, I never once felt distanced from my family. But now I did; now I felt like a usurper.

No one seemed to notice my reticence to start with. Mother burbled small talk over her Aga, as if she had been wound up and set off like a small toy. A little bird with excellent manners, I thought. Sabrina provided most of the required noises, dotted with frequent winks in my direction.

‘I can see you teasing me, you know.' Mother looked sternly at us as she carried a steaming dish to the table. ‘Now it's time to sit up.'

I took a step towards the dining room and I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. Marco! Not now, not while I was here. But in a moment of recklessness I pressed the call button and motioning to my mother that I'd be one minute. I stepped quickly out of the back door.

‘Marco.'

‘Oh, lovely lady, nice to hear your voice.'

‘Same here but I've got to make it quick, my family are waiting for me to sit down for lunch.'

‘Of course, of course! I have good news for you though. My results are back and I'm all clear, baby.' Marco's syrupy voice, which had the ability to become so thick and sticky it could shut synapses down, suddenly became the most beautiful thing in the world. I felt relief whoosh from my stomach to my toes.

‘Oh, that's great news!'

‘Well, I hate to disappoint the ladies and all. But go and eat, see you at the club sometime, OK?'

‘Yes, OK. Bye then.' Brilliant – that narrowed things considerably. And before I could change my mind, I called David. Maybe he'd have his results too. He answered after two rings and this time knew exactly who was calling.

‘Claudia.' His voice was hard.

‘Hello, David.'

‘I'm glad you've called. I've had the test results back.'

‘Yes?' I felt sick – it had to be bad news, he sounded so angry.

‘They're negative.'

‘What?' Did I just hear him right? His words jarred – they didn't sound right.

‘I said the tests were negative.' He slowed the last word down as if I was very thick.

‘Oh, right.'

‘So that's that then. I don't wish to have any more contact with you, Claudia . . . Claudia?' I stood stock still, looking down the pared-down winter garden, its edges butting the neatly clipped grass, a large grey bird bath pulling the whole gorgeously designed thing together.

‘Yes, of course,' I finally whispered and hung up before the odious creature could say another thing.

‘Fuck me,' I whispered to the garden. So it was John who had given it to me all along. And I was in exactly the wrong place to process this information. I took some deep breaths and then went back inside, steeling myself for lunch.

After lunch, the women cleared the table. I was about to continue into the kitchen to wash up, but my father called me to join him in the sitting room instead. I paused momentarily before joining him on the sofa. He was so good at prising things out of me and today wasn't the day for sharing. But of course I joined him, the pull to obey him as strong as it had ever been. I sat next to him on the sofa so I could look at the fire, rather than at him. That was the problem with him – he always knew when I was unhappy, which was fine when I could confide in him but excruciating when I couldn't.

‘I saw a friend of yours the other day, what's her name, the GP,' he began.

‘Lily.'

‘Yes, that's it, lovely girl.'

‘Woman.'

‘Yes, yes, you're right.' He smiled.

I waited for him to come to the point.

‘She had her husband with her, a well-spoken chap, very confident.'

‘He's a builder.'

‘Yes, he was telling me about a house he's working on at the moment in Berkshire, has a green oak frame or something.'

I turned and looked at him, suddenly feeling cross. He was pushing tobacco into his pipe, an indulgence that no one could dissuade him from.

‘Why are you telling me this?'

He looked up from his satisfying little activity, a poorly executed ‘I don't know what you're talking about' look on his face. ‘Just making conversation, Snooks,' he said.

Using my nickname failed to placate me. I kept staring at him hard until he crumbled. He shrugged.

‘She just seemed really happy, that's all,' he conceded, bringing the pipe to his mouth and starting the protracted huffing and puffing required to light the smelly beast. Eventually he added, ‘And it made me think of you, that's all.'

‘Right.' I sat back. ‘In what way, exactly, did it make you think of me?'

Papa's pipe crackled as it finally took light. He exhaled the smoke in a sigh.

‘I was wondering if there was someone in your life, that's all.'

I stared at the wall opposite the sofa, at the fireplace and tasteful paintings, placed just so, and I pictured John, his handsome, earnest face as he sat across from me in that lovely restaurant and asked me if he was seeing anyone while I had sat opposite him, leaden with self-loathing.

‘No,' I replied in a small voice, and then was suddenly swamped by anger at my father, at his too-high expectations of me, at the bar he had set for me to aim for. All for what! So I fell short of it just when I met a man I could see eye to eye with?

‘It's not as if you've encouraged me either,' I spat at him.

‘Excuse me?' he spluttered, pulling his pipe out in a quick, shocked movement.

‘Nothing.' I crossed my arms. What was the point anyway? Like he'd understand. No one in this too-good-for-everyone-else family would ever understand.

There was a silence, filled with anger as far as I was concerned. But when Papa broke it, his voice was full of love.

‘Tell me what's on your mind, Claudia, please.'

And then, out of nowhere, I felt tears spilling down my cheeks and I covered my face with my hands. Papa shifted closer and put his arm around me.

‘It's all right, darling, we love you. There there.' As if he could read my mind and knew that was the only thing I really needed to hear.

I leant against him, his spiky beard poking into my head while he held me, waiting for the tears to stop.

‘I'm sorry,' I finally managed, sniffing and wiping my face.

‘That's OK. You're right anyway. I know I've been pretty strict in that department. Maybe part of me didn't want to see you grow up. Maybe—' He paused and smoothed my hair off my forehead. ‘Maybe I've never wanted to see you settle for second best,' he added, passing me a box of tissues. ‘Here, you can stop sniffing in my ear now.'

‘Well, I'm not bloody perfect, you know. Why should someone else be?' And I blew my nose noisily.

‘You're right, darling. Of course you are but can you blame me for wanting the best for my girls?'

I folded my tissue into a wet square. ‘What if what you think is the best for us might create a mountain that's just too high to climb?'

Papa slapped my knee. ‘Well, Snooks, how about throwing the hiking boots away and not worrying about climbing any mountains?'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Definitely.' And he hugged me tight against his smoky chest.

Oh Papa, I thought, if only it was that simple.