His 'n' Hers (28 page)

Alison and I are now sitting in a corner booth in the Red Lion. The pub is relatively empty, although small groups of people are dotted around the bar. Pop music is playing in the background – I suspect that one of the bar staff has put on a chart compilation CD from about two years ago because all the songs are annoyingly familiar. Alison has been chatty, but not too chatty, since we left the vet’s. We talk about work (it’s going fine); her parents (they’re fine too); work for me (it’s going fine); my mother (she’s fine too). I’m just thinking about getting another drink when Alison clears her throat as though she’s about to speak.

‘I don’t want this to come out the wrong way,’ Alison begins, ‘but I was just wondering, do you ever think about us?’

‘Sometimes,’ I reply. ‘It was such a mess when it ended.’

‘It was, wasn’t it?’ she agrees. ‘It’s just that with what’s happened today it’s got me thinking about the past. Disco was part of our history. Our shared past. And the thing is, when things end badly – like they did for us – you never get to really find out –’

‘– what went wrong?’ I interject.

‘Exactly.’

‘Yeah, I thought that a few times.’

‘I mean, aren’t you curious?’ she continues. ‘We were together over six years. When did it stop working? Why did it stop working? Did we bring out the worst in each other? Was it just one person’s fault or both of us? Aren’t these the questions everyone wants to ask when they split up with someone?’

I laugh. ‘I think initially you’re convinced it’s the other person’s fault.’

‘Oh, absolutely,’ says Alison. ‘I would’ve blamed you for starting the Second World War when we broke up.’

‘But now?’

‘Well, now my judgement’s a bit clearer. What about you?’

‘My judgement’s always been one hundred per cent sound.’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m joking. I agree with you. I can see things differently now. There are certain things I regret.’

‘Me too,’ she says.

‘Do you want to talk about it? Us? It’s sort of a weird thing to talk about, isn’t it, really? But I’d like to.’

‘Why not? We’re both in new relationships.’

‘We’re both happy with our partners.’

‘Then let’s do it,’ says Alison. ‘Let’s find out where we went wrong.’

‘The first question I want to ask you is this,’ begins Alison. ‘Apart from the big things, which I’m sure we’ll both be talking about sooner or later this afternoon, when we were together what sort of things did I do that annoyed you?’

‘This is going to sound weird,’ I say, ‘but do you know the first thing that sprang to mind when you asked that?’

‘No.’

‘You’re going to laugh.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

‘Hair conditioner.’

‘
Hair conditioner
? How can any normal person be annoyed about hair conditioner?’

I can’t help but laugh. ‘You always had loads of it, as though you were stocking up in case there was ever a world-wide shortage of posh conditioner for dry and damaged hair,’ I explain. ‘Your idea of financial parsimony was to buy anything that was in a Boots three-for-two offer. Which meant you constantly had six different brands of shampoo and conditioner on the go at once. I don’t know whether you’ve noticed but you’ve only got one head.’ Alison laughs. ‘And while we’re at it, I don’t even know what conditioner does. Shampoo I understand. Shampoo, good, cleans your hair. Conditioner, useless, because it does bugger-all. I know this because I tried it several times during the course of our relationship and it didn’t do a bloody thing. My hair was exactly the same after as it was before. It didn’t feel fuller or softer or anything, it just felt like hair. So you buying three bottles of stuff that does nothing at all to your hair for the price of two bottles of stuff that does nothing at all to your hair isn’t a saving – it’s just money thrown away.’

I pause for breath, and we both laugh, and then I add, ‘But apart from that you were fine.’

‘I can’t believe we’ve been talking like this for an hour,’ I say to Alison. ‘I bet you’ve been wanting to leave for ages.’

‘No, actually, I haven’t. I’ve really enjoyed talking with you.’

‘But you have to go now?’

‘Don’t you?’

‘I’m supposed to be working from home today but I’m not too worried. What about you?’

‘There’s nowhere I’ve got to be.’

‘Do you want another drink?’

‘I’ll have a glass of white wine, if that’s all right,’ says Alison. ‘Dry.’

‘Are you hungry? I could get us a lunch menu.’

Alison laughs. ‘But then we’d be having lunch together, wouldn’t we? And that would be a bit strange, don’t you think?’

‘I can see what you’re saying. Peanuts, then? No one can misconstrue a packet of peanuts, can they?’

‘Okay. Peanuts it is.’

‘I was just thinking at the bar,’ I say, as I return to our table with peanuts, a dry white wine and a pint of Guinness, ‘how in the early days of our relationship you were sceptical about everything.’

‘Was I?’ asks Alison.

‘Yes, you were.’

‘I didn’t feel like I was.’

‘I’d go so far as to say that in the early days of our relationship you were more like a bloke than I was. I’ll admit this much – and I don’t say it lightly – in the early days it was me who was insecure in our relationship. I could never get over just how hard you could be sometimes. The fact is, when we got together I was mad about you. I never thought that kind of thing would ever happen to me. So in the early days, because you showed so much restraint sometimes, I think you commanded more respect than any woman I’ve been involved with. I mean, I’ve had women who weren’t interested in me – I think most men have been there. But to have a woman who’s interested in you but still remains in total control of her emotions is another.’