Happy Endings (22 page)

‘You’re well shot of him, and maybe this Gary Barlow wannabe is just what you need.’

‘I don’t think he’s a Gary Barlow wannabe, Em.’

‘Then what is he?’

‘He’s an Ed.’

It was a few weeks after Ed and I met in the student union and things had been moving quickly. Tonight he had to pass the best friend test and Emma was a harsh critic. We were in the Bird in Hand pub, just around the corner from my student digs. Ed was at the bar getting in a round and Emma was giving me her opening argument. Poor Ed didn’t know it yet, but this wasn’t just a casual drink, as I’d sold it to him, but a litmus test that would determine whether our relationship would continue or sink into oblivion. I valued Emma’s opinion perhaps even more than my own. She’d warned me against getting serious with Dan and she’d been right. The excitement and constant partying that was fun at first had quickly sunk into cocaine-fuelled arguments (him on the coke, not me) and nursing his hangovers and mood swings. His roguish good looks, laddish charm and the possibility that I could change him had kept me around far too long.

‘Here you go,’ said Ed, returning with three drinks and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps.

‘Thanks,’ Emma said warmly.

Ed smiled and sat down next to me. I reached across and put my hand on his leg. We all sat in silence for a moment and sipped our drinks.

‘Ed, Kate tells me you’re from Slough.’

‘That’s right.’

I could see the tension suddenly tighten the muscles in his face. He didn’t like talking about his family. In the past few weeks I’d managed to drag a few pieces of information out of him, but it had been like pulling teeth. The general consensus seemed to be that he was embarrassed and wanted to forget where he’d come from. I just hadn’t found out why.

‘What’s it like there?’

‘Pretty awful.’

‘There was that John Betjeman poem wasn’t there? Something about dropping bombs on Slough. I always thought that was a bit harsh. It can’t be that bad.’

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Ed.

Another pause in conversation. I squeezed Ed’s leg under the table.

‘Ow, what was that for?’ said Ed, looking at me a little shocked.

‘Sorry,’ I said, hoping he would get the hint and ask Emma a question or say something. Another pause.

‘Ed’s going to start his own business,’ I finally said, jumping on the ticking bomb myself.

‘Oh, really, what sort?’ said Emma enthusiastically. She was really trying, bless her.

Ed took a long sip of his pint before he answered.

‘Not sure yet,’ he said in his best Gary Barlow voice. ‘Probably something online.’ This wasn’t going well. I felt bad for Ed because he didn’t know this was an interview. He’d turned up fully expecting to already have the job in the bag. He didn’t know it was still up for grabs. It wasn’t his fault he was a bit quiet around people he didn’t know well. I was sure if Emma got to know him, he’d open up and she’d love him. Question was, would he get the time?

‘Oh, right, sounds good,’ said Em.

Just then the door opened and in walked Dan, completely off his face. The signs might not have been visible to the average punter, but I knew him. We’d dated for the best part of a year and I could tell from his slightly off-kilter walk and the glazed eyes. Unfortunately, before I had the chance to do anything, he saw me and his face lit up.

‘Fuck me, if it isn’t Kate Jones,’ said Dan, walking over and almost straight into the table.

I hadn’t told Ed about Dan, mainly because I was trying to forget about him myself.

‘Hello, Dan,’ I said coldly.

‘And the gorgeous Emma.’ Dan pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. He stank of beer and cigarettes.

‘And Dan the twat,’ Emma said without missing a beat.

‘Fair play, fair play. And who’s the stiff?’ He nodded at Ed.

‘Ed,’ said Ed, offering his hand, but Dan ignored him.

‘Don’t suppose you fancy buying me a pint?’ Dan asked. ‘For old times’ sake?’

‘Just leave it, Dan, eh.’

‘What? Don’t you want to drink with your old—?’

‘I said, leave it,’ I half-shouted, and felt Ed stiffen up. My face was burning. I was mortified.

‘Old what?’ said Ed, suddenly looking across at me.

‘It’s nothing,’ I said coyly.

I wanted the ground to open and swallow me up whole. I was embarrassed, guilty and I didn’t want Ed to know anything about me and Dan.

‘Oh, fuck me, she didn’t mention me, did she?’

‘No she didn’t,’ said Ed.

‘We dated. For a year. Only broke up a couple of months ago. Apparently, she couldn’t handle the drink . . .’

‘And the drugs. Don’t forget the drugs, Dan,’ I snapped.

‘At least it wasn’t the sex, eh. That was fucking mental, wasn’t it, Kate, eh?’

I went red. Very red and felt a heady mixture of loathing and resentment towards Dan. Why did he always have to ruin everything? Ed was probably going to do a runner as fast as he could after this and who could blame him? I hadn’t had sex with Ed because I wanted to take things slowly, make sure before I committed myself, and there was Dan making out I was some sort of voracious sex addict.

‘I think it’s time you left,’ said Ed suddenly.

‘Oh, the fucking stiff’s not dead after all,’ said Dan, standing up. Despite being off his tits, Dan was still big. A lot bigger than Ed.

‘Come on, mate. Just go and let us have a quiet drink,’ said Ed calmly.

I felt the blood rushing through my body. Excitement, fear and a sudden affection for Ed. I didn’t care that he was more Gary Barlow than Robbie. Dan was a dick and the last boyfriend I would have that would treat me like shit. Ed wouldn’t ever treat me like that. He was decent, honest and not afraid to stand up for me.

‘And what you going to do about it if I don’t?’ said Dan, a smarmy grin on his annoying face.

‘Just leave it will you and go!’ I shouted, standing up quickly.

‘Oh you can fuck off too,’ said Dan. ‘You fucking bitch!’

I don’t know what happened, but the next minute and Ed had punched Dan and Dan was lying on the floor, blood dribbling from his mouth.

‘No one talks to my girlfriend like that. I don’t want to see you around here ever again, understand?’ Ed said, standing over him as the barman came rushing over. I’d never seen that side of Ed before. The Ed I knew was composed and rational. He never so much as looked angry or even slightly annoyed and here he was punching out my ex, a good four inches taller and three stone heavier. There was obviously a lot more to Ed than I’d originally thought.

Dan looked at Ed with a blank expression before the barman escorted him to the door and kicked him out.

‘You all right?’ Ed asked.

‘I am now,’ I replied.

‘Our hero,’ said Emma, with a smile and a wink. I knew from that moment on that he had her approval.

As Orla and I walked towards the pub, I thought about all the moments from my past and all the times with Ed. It wasn’t that he’d punched Dan, but what it represented. I knew from that day on that I loved him. He kept me safe and made me feel something I hadn’t felt with anyone else before: content. With men like Dan I had been trying to fill a gap. The hole left by my useless father. With Ed, I didn’t feel like that. Ed wasn’t a daddy stand-in. Ed was a proper boyfriend, a man who made up for all the losses I’d felt since I was a kid. In one swoop he’d made me complete.

The problem I had now was trying to work out if he still made me feel that way. I knew why I loved him, knew what he meant to me, but the only thing I didn’t know was whether it was still enough.

‘Beer o’clock?’ said Orla, standing outside a pub.

‘One last time,’ I said and we disappeared inside.

Ed

‘I just don’t know what to do,’ I said. ‘For the first time in my life, I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing.’

‘And what are you doing?’ said Jack, opposite me.

We were at a pub in Notting Hill. I’d taken the tube up just to get out of the house. I was going crazy on my own with nothing to do all day. It had been a few weeks since I’d been unceremoniously fired and if the truth be told, I hadn’t done much of anything except watch daytime television and feel sorry for myself. It was a vicious circle. It was only a matter of time before I started drinking heavily.

‘Not much. I can’t seem to get up the energy to find a job and plus I won’t be able to get another job in the City. As soon as the truth comes out about why I was fired . . .’

‘Even though it wasn’t true?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I was fired because of a sexual complaint. Do you think I have any chance of getting a reference from Whitman that doesn’t state, ‘Oh, and by the way, he molested my niece.’

Jack chuckled and, maybe for the first time in weeks, I laughed too.

‘Ed Hornsby, niece molester. It has a nice ring to it.’

‘Yeah, right before Ed Hornsby, inmate number four-seventy-one, Wormwood Scrubs,’ I said and we laughed. ‘Another?’ I asked, shaking my empty pint glass.

‘I’d love one, but I’d better get these. You’re unemployed, remember?’

Jack smiled and then walked off towards the bar to get in another round. It felt good to be out again, enjoying myself and having a laugh. It had been an awful few weeks. Between breaking up with Kate and losing my job, my life had gone from the heady heights of happiness to the depths of despair. I hadn’t told Jack about me and Kate yet, probably for the same reason it had taken me weeks to pluck up the courage to come out for a drink. I was embarrassed.

‘There you go, mate.’ Jack put our pints on the table and sat down.

‘Cheers.’

‘I was just thinking,’ said Jack. ‘Now you’re unemployed and have all that money, why don’t you go and meet Kate? The only reason you didn’t go in the first place was because of work, but that’s gone now.’

Jack was partially right. Work wasn’t the only reason I didn’t go, but definitely the main one. I’d thought about it and if Kate and I weren’t on a break, maybe I would have met her in Australia. I couldn’t though. It was time to tell Jack everything.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Most people would jump at the chance. A few months travelling around Australia and then what, Fiji and Peru? Better than sitting at home bored on your own.’

‘But I’m not most people and Kate and I sort of broke up.’

‘What?!’ Jack said incredulously, almost choking on his beer.

‘Let me have a cigarette and I’ll come back and explain everything.’

‘But you don’t smoke?’

‘I do now,’ I said and went outside to join the huddled mass of smokers.

‘You’ll amount to nothing with that attitude,’ Dad said, looking at me with
that
face, his eyes burning with rage. He was never the sort of dad who hit us, but he didn’t have to. His face said everything you needed to know.

‘And what would you know about success?’ I yelled back.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

My heart was beating like a crazy drum in my chest and my mind was racing at a million miles an hour. I was only eighteen and I’d never stood up to Dad like that before. Only it wasn’t standing up. Not really. Dad hadn’t done anything wrong except not live up to my expectations. He hadn’t been the success I wanted him to be, but I was too angry, too afraid and too embarrassed to give in and admit that I was in the wrong.

‘You know what it means,’ I said spitefully. ‘Just look at you.’

‘What’s wrong with me?’

I knew I shouldn’t say it. It was hurtful and mean, but I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to punish him for his mistakes, the mistakes that had hurt me, hurt our family and made me want to get as far away from Slough as possible. I hated his average life with its pathetic routines and mundane traditions. I hated the way he spoke in that working-class accent, mispronouncing words and dropping letters like all the other wasters at the pub. I didn’t care about them though. I wanted my dad to be different. I wanted my father to care more, have some respect and to be above getting pissed every Saturday with welders, mechanics and factory workers down the local. Why didn’t he want more?

‘You’re a fucking failure, Dad. You have a shit job that pays shit money. You piss about with blokes at the pub when you should have, could have, been doing something else. You’re an embarrassment to me and the whole family,’ I spat out, every word hitting him below the belt and knocking the stuffing out of him. I could see the pain in his eyes. I could see the look of disbelief and then a tear escape and fall down his cheek. It was time to turn the final screw. ‘I can’t wait to get away from you, away from this shithole of a house. I’m going to university. I’m going to get a proper job so I can take care of my family in the way you couldn’t.’

Dad stood and stared at me. He wiped the tear away from his face. I don’t think he could believe what I was saying. Neither of us could. We stood there for a moment and I was shaking with nervous energy and fear. I didn’t know what he was going to do. Was he going to hit me? He had every right. I’d shouted at him and told him what I thought of his life. He was fifty years old and in my eyes had wasted all fifty of them. After what seemed like an age, he finally said, quietly and coldly, ‘If that’s what you really think, son, then you can get out of my house.’