Life and Soul of the Party (7 page)

But at the same time as I felt this love, rather than being happy I was angry and hurt. I told him that his words were ‘just words’ and I reminded him of the fact that he had broken my heart, of the fact that there had been times when I thought I would never recover from what he did to me. I reminded him of the fact that in the five years we were apart I’d never moved on from him, preferring to wait patiently for him like (Vicky’s words sprung to mind) ‘some sort of lap dog’ when I should have found some self-respect and moved on. And finally I told him that I was angry and I was hurt and that I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to forgive him for what he’d done.

There was a long silence. And as I stood there looking at Paul, wondering which way things were going to go, I realised that I just wasn’t angry any more.

It was early evening and I was sitting in my tiny flat in Prestwich. For the fifth time in the last hour I reached inside my bag, took out my Nokia, scrolled through the address book until I got to Paul’s number and paused with my thumb hovering above the call button. At the last moment my nerve failed me. I put my phone down on the coffee table in front of me, closed my eyes and thought about Paul.

Paul and I first met at the party my cousin Sophie threw for her husband Stephen’s fortieth birthday. As a surprise Sophie had hired one of the screens at the Cornerhouse for the evening and invited forty of Stephen’s friends and family to watch his favourite film.
Reservoir Dogs.
Just to make sure that everyone got into the spirit of the evening, the invitation had stated in embossed scarlet print that the dress code was: Black suit, white shirt, black tie and sunglasses (hand gun: optional).

It had been a real spectacle arriving at the venue to see all of Stephen’s friends queued up in the rain outside the cinema as if they were waiting to get into a convention for contract killers. Everyone who had been invited to the party really made an effort to look the part. Apart from one: Paul. On the morning of the party he had forgotten to take his suit with him into work and would’ve ended up missing the film altogether if he’d gone back home and so, dressed in T-shirt and jeans, he’d stood out like the proverbial sore thumb.

After the screening I’d been milling around on my own when Stephen called me over and introduced us. Paul and I initially made polite small talk during which I learned his name and the fact that he and Stephen knew each through working for the city’s social services’ vulnerable adult team but then Stephen, having already drunk far too much, entered into a massive monologue about the perils of turning forty. Before he could get into full flow he was interrupted by Sophie demanding that he circulate, so Paul and I were left on our own.

We remained together for the rest of the night. Although we were enjoying each other’s company I remember wondering whether this was simply because, like him, I was one of the few single people at the party and we’d realised that the evening was going to be a lot less stressful if we worked as a team. However, when a pretty red-haired woman who was clearly very pleased to see Paul came over to say hello, and I offered him the opportunity to go his own way, he dismissed her with a subtle but ruthless efficiency that made me think perhaps we were thinking on the same wavelength.

At the end of the evening Paul asked me if I was interested in sharing a taxi home even though Chorlton and Prestwich weren’t exactly in the same direction. Although I didn’t want our evening together to end, a voice inside me told me to take things slowly and so I explained that I had to be up early in the morning for work. He nodded and suggested that we go out some time but rather than just leaving it at that he actually got out his work diary and suggested some dates on the spot.

We met up again on the Tuesday of the following week. He took me to the opening of a new show at a city art gallery that one of his friends was involved in and we spent all night talking and making jokes, barely looking at any of the paintings. At one point during the night he asked me point blank how old I was and for a second I considered lying because even though age wasn’t an issue for me – my last boyfriend had been a good deal older than me – it made me think that perhaps it was an issue for Paul. In the end I told him straight out that I was twenty-three and then he asked me if I knew how old he was and I told him that I’d guessed from some of the things that he’d said that he was in his mid-thirties. I asked if my age was going to be a problem (which was odd considering that we hadn’t even kissed) and he said no, it was for my benefit, not his. When I asked him to explain he just said, ‘It’s just that the older you get the more baggage you collect and I’ve got more than my fair share.’ I would’ve asked him more but then his friend who was involved in the show came over and the moment was lost.

The following weekend we went to a Spanish restaurant on Deansgate for lunchtime tapas and we had the best time ever. All we did was talk and talk like there was no tomorrow. In fact we talked so much that it was early evening by the time we left and as we stood watching the traffic pass by it felt completely natural to kiss him – as if we had known each other for years rather than days. As we walked back along Deansgate hand-in-hand pausing only to indulge in our mutual compulsion to kiss I remember saying to myself, in a way that I’m ashamed to admit, given how I’d promised that I would take things slowly, ‘I think this is it. I really think I might fall in love with you.’

After a beginning as sweet and romantic as ours I think I can be forgiven for being taken by surprise by the way things ended. I hadn’t seen it coming at all. Why would I? We’d been together nearly nine months, I’d thought things were going fine and we were supposed to be going to his work’s Christmas party.

My flatmates had gone out for the night and I was waiting for Paul to pick me up when he called my mobile. I thought he was calling to say he was on his way or stuck in traffic, never guessing for a second that something was wrong. Before he could say a word I started asking about the party and who was going to be there and what time he thought we would leave, but he just cut me dead and said: ‘I think we should stop seeing each other.’

Since then, I’d seen Paul only once, and that was to get some things of mine that I’d left at his house – amongst them a silver necklace that my mother had bought me for my twenty-first-birthday. I’d planned to leave my request on his home answerphone when I knew he’d be at work and was completely thrown when after three rings or so my call was answered by Melissa.

Paul and I had rowed about his friendship with Melissa on several occasions when we were together. It wasn’t just that she was his ex-girlfriend that bothered me or that she was his age, or even that they were so close. What really bothered me was the fact that even though it had been nearly five years since they had split up, she was obviously still in love with Paul. What was worse was that Paul knew it too. Though he never said anything directly about his feelings towards her I could just tell that he felt some sort of obligation towards her that was completely non-negotiable. So why did I put up with it? Why didn’t I just walk away? I don’t know. I really wish I knew for sure. But if I had to hazard a guess it would come down to this: I loved Paul and the thought of losing him because of his friendship with Melissa genuinely terrified me.

Determined not to give her the pleasure of knowing she’d unsettled me, and without going into any pleasantries at all, I told Melissa what I was after and asked if she would pass the message on to Paul when he returned home. Half an hour later Paul returned my call, brusque and to the point and so, mirroring his manners, I said that I didn’t care about the other things but I wanted my necklace back immediately. And so we arranged to meet after work in town on the Monday of the following week.

I stood under the awning outside the HMV store on Market Street watching hordes of sales shoppers making their way through the rain. Paul was over ten minutes late, allegedly because of a meeting that over-ran. He was different from how he had been on the phone. He even tried to make small talk but I was too angry to respond. He took the necklace out of his jacket pocket and handed me a small black holdall with the rest of my belongings.

‘I’m really sorry,’ he said. ‘About everything. You didn’t deserve this. None of this was your fault.’

I didn’t reply. I just took my things from him and walked away.

That was weeks ago now and I’d neither seen nor heard from him since.

Opening my eyes I looked at the digital display on the DVD player under the TV. It was getting late and I could feel a sense of despair rising in me at the thought that time was running out. Glancing from the clock on the video to the phone on the table and back again, I decided to try him again later and called my sister Jessica instead.

It was just after nine-thirty and Paul and I were standing outside Charlotte and Cameron’s imposing three-storey Edwardian house in Didsbury, finding it hard to believe that we actually knew people who owned houses as big as this.

‘This is amazing,’ I said as we stood staring up at it. ‘Everything from the front door through to the huge sash windows seems like it’s been built on a larger scale than normal houses. It’s like a palace for giants.’ I sighed. ‘I’m in love with this place and I haven’t even been inside it yet.’

Paul grinned. ‘Maybe I’ll buy you one, one day . . . if you’re good.’

‘What with? Brass buttons?’

Paul squeezed my hand. ‘I have my ways.’

Despite having been back together just under a month, we hadn’t told anyone about us yet although I reckoned that Vicky had her suspicions. She had grilled me several times about New Year’s Eve and had seemed less than convinced by my answers. Tonight, at Charlotte and Cameron’s, we were finally going to go public.

‘So, are you ready for this, or what?’ I asked.

‘You’re making too big a deal about it,’ said Paul. ‘No one will care one way or the other that we’re back together.’

‘Just you wait and see,’ I said knowingly.

I rang the doorbell and waited and after a few moments Charlotte came to the door and welcomed us both in, with Cameron right behind her. I hadn’t seen them since last summer at Cooper and Laura’s barbecue so I was really pleased to be there.

‘It’s great to see you, Charlie.’ I kissed her on the cheek. ‘You look so well and your house is amazing.’

Before Charlotte and I could have a proper catch-up the doorbell rang again and so while Paul and Cameron started exchanging opinions on City’s recent form I stood on my own admiring the Minton tiled floor, the framed prints (a couple of Miros, an Andy Warhol and a Modigliani) and the rectangular mirror above the arty-looking radiator and found myself wondering whether one day Paul and I could ever have a place of our own just as nice as this.

As more people arrived, Paul and I eventually gravitated from the hallway to the back room before making our way to the kitchen, greeting people as we went. In the kitchen we finally found our friends huddled in conversation in front of Charlotte and Cameron’s huge American-style fridge. No one commented on the fact that Paul and I had arrived together: the boys automatically shared out a four-pack of Stella refusing Laura’s offer of a glass because ‘it would ruin the drinking experience as a whole’. Laura rolled her eyes, while I inwardly chastised myself for finding Coop’s comment even faintly amusing. Vicky grabbed a half-full bottle of rose from the kitchen counter and shared it out between herself, me and Laura.

‘This place is beautiful,’ said Vicky deliberately taking in the whole room. ‘How much do you reckon they paid for it?’

Charlotte and Cameron’s kitchen was like something out of a magazine. All the units were in gloss white and all the appliances were made from stainless steel and were so spotless they must have been brand new.

‘I shudder to think,’ replied Laura. ‘Just the thought of getting a mortgage makes me feel sick.’

I looked over at Paul to see if now was the right time to break our big news. He gave me the nod and so I called for everyone’s attention.

‘I know this is going to sound a bit weird,’ I began, ‘and that it will probably all end in tears, but I just want you all to know that Paul and I . . . well, we’ve sort of got back together.’

Unable to hide his look of disbelief, Chris turned to Paul for confirmation.

‘Look,’ said Paul, ‘it’s no big deal, all right? We’ve been back together since New Year’s Eve and things are going great and I for one think that’s pretty much all you need to know.’

‘You’ve obviously both lost your minds!’ Chris was wide-eyed. ‘Let’s put this to a vote, shall we? Raise you hand in the air if you agree with Mr Rogers here when he says that he and Melissa getting back together is – and I quote – “no big deal”?’

Vicky and Laura shook their heads in a disapproving manner but neither of them put their hands in the air.

‘And who agrees with me,’ continued Chris, ‘when I say that them getting back together is probably the biggest deal of this century so far?’

Chris and Cooper waved their hands in the air like overly excited school boys.

‘Then, it’s just as well that neither of us gives a toss one way or the other what any of you lot think,’ said Paul, grinning. ‘Now, unless we’re going to sit here all night dissecting the repercussions of what is essentially none of your business, might I suggest that we get on with drinking beer and talking nonsense?’

Grateful that the underlying tension of the moment was over everyone laughed and moved on to other topics.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Laura after a few moments.

‘It’s okay,’ I replied.

Vicky gave me a hug. ‘You must get sick of people like us doom-mongering about anything to do with you and Paul.’

I laughed. ‘I do get a bit sick of it but it’s not like I blame you all. Even I’m a little bit freaked by everything that’s happened.’