The Chocolate Run (44 page)

‘Go talk to him,’ Arrianne whispers in my ear.

‘Who, Eric?’ I reply.

‘No, the tall dark handsome stranger you’ve been staring at. And who stared at you the whole way through the ceremony and the speeches and who’s doing a very poor job of ignoring you now.’

‘We’ve nothing to talk about.’

‘Sweetie, I never thanked you for talking sense into Eric about the baby thing. He was so unEric about it. I
couldnae
get through to him and I felt he was slipping away from me. But what you said turned things around. We started talking after the weekend he stayed at yours. Talking rather than rowing.’

‘No thanks necessary, Arri,’ I reply. ‘Just name your first baby after me. Girl or boy, I’m not fussy.’

Arri laughs. She really is the sister I never had. I love her so much. I’d never have forgiven Eric if he’d driven her away. Actually, I would’ve forgiven him because I can forgive Eric almost anything, but I would’ve given him a hard time about it.

‘You laugh, but I’m serious,’ I say. I’m one step away from throwing my arms around her and saying how much I love her.
I really have drunk too much
.

‘You told Eric not to let the things that might not happen stop him from becoming the person he could become. In your case, the worst thing has happened, Greg has slept with your best friend, you’ve split up. What might not happen has happened. You survived. You know you can make it through the worst. So, go talk to him. What you’re scared of might not happen, and, if it does, you’ll survive.’

I listen to her words. Then I listen to the meaning behind the words. But I can’t. I might’ve moved on, but not so much I can go up to him and start a normal conversation. Or even a conversation.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I say to Arri.

‘Don’t think too long,
hen
. If he shags her, I will have him killed.’

‘Before you ask what the hell I’m doing here, Dad2 asked me to come.’

Greg and I have inevitably run into each other outside the loos. He had to wee sometime and I kept going until our bladders coincided. I wanted to see him up close, wanted to confirm he looked as awful as I sometimes feel.

‘Did you say “Dad2”?’ I ask.

‘He asked me to call him that. He thought Mr Hampton was too formal and I could never call him Leonard. And he said it’s a shame only one person calls him that, so would I call him that too.’

‘You’re best mates with my parents now, are you?’

‘No. Dad2 said it was a shame about . . . about, but would I come to the wedding anyway. He begged me for days before I said yes. And I only came for him, not to s—’

‘
Days?
You’ve known about this for days?’

‘Weeks, actually. He swore me to secrecy, told me not to tell you a thing.’ His face hardens. ‘I said there’d be absolutely no problem with that.’

That hurt
. ‘Great. You of all people knew about my parents’ wedding before I did. How did they get in touch, anyway?’

‘Through the paper.’

‘Oh.’

Silence. Everyone else is dancing, having fun, eating, drinking; we stand beside the entrance to the hall in a tight, stifling silence that chokes the living breath out of me. His body has lost weight too. He’s much leaner up close, his charcoal suit – the one he wore to meet my parents – is much baggier on him.

‘I heard you were going to move to Brighton,’ Greg says.

‘Oh? Who from?’

‘Renée. She called me. Told me that if you left, she’d have someone come round and reassess the position of my kneecaps. She added that Martha would cut off my balls with a pair of pliers.’

If only he knew how serious they were.

‘I didn’t realise what true fear was until I’d been threatened by a French woman and her Yorkshire friend.’
Maybe he does know
.

‘Seems you speak to everyone in my life but me,’ I say.

Greg glances away. More silence. More choking silence.

‘So, how was Dublin?’

‘You read that, huh? It was great. I sorted out a lot of stuff with Kristy.’

Just as I thought.

‘Although, once we’d done all our talking I spent most of my time with her husband and kids. They loved me telling them stories.’

Oh.
Oh!
I smile inside. Silence. More silence. We used to spend hours together just talking and talking, now we’re struggling to fill even a mere few minutes.

‘Do you see much of the other two?’ I ask. I’m curious. Curious to see if they’ve carried on without me, to see if they’ve patched things up and become an odd threesome instead of the odd quartet we were all that time ago.

‘I see Matt,’ Greg says quietly. ‘We go out for the odd pint. We’re working on being friends again . . . He’s done some awful things over the years and I’ve forgiven him so . . . we’re working on it.’ He scrunches up his lips for a second, shrugs slightly. ‘Besides, he realised quite quickly that he had no other friends except Rocky and me, and Rocky . . . well, he was monumentally pissed off when he found out Matt’s been lying to him and using him as an alibi for ten years. He’s banned Matt from even calling the house, definitely won’t talk to him. Rocky only let me stay because I did something awful to Matt. Matt’s only other choice was me. Like I say, we’re working on it.’

And Jen? Is he ‘working on it’ with Jen as well?

‘Haven’t heard about . . . you know.’ He seems to struggle with her name. ‘I’ve got no reason to see her.’

And now, more of that silence stuff. More silence as I digest what he’s saying. He’s trying to be mates with Matt again. I suppose he did once tell me they were closer than brothers. And I always knew that people were important to Greg. People and friendships. He could tolerate so much more than I could. Mainly because he rarely let the resentment build up. When you call people on the tiny slights when they occur, they won’t lead to an accumulation of hurt that results in one big blow-up. It won’t end up with you severing all ties with loved ones. Unless, of course, it comes to me.

I’m the only person on earth Greg can do that with.

‘Well, you look like shite,’ I say, trying to make him laugh, although why that would make him laugh is a mystery, even to me.

‘Thank you very much,’ Greg replies. ‘You don’t look so healthy yourself.’

‘When this make-up comes off, I look worse,’ I say, trying to keep the ‘joke’ going even though ‘you’re a cab’ is better than this one.

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Says the man who looks like he hasn’t slept in a month.’

‘Make that three months, two weeks and five days, but who’s counting, eh? Mate, I’d love to stand around trading insults with you all night, but I’ve got something better to do.’ Greg turns to walk away.

‘Shouldn’t that be someone better to do?’

He freezes in his tracks, spins on his heels. He glares at me with something nearing what I’d imagine pure hatred looks like. ‘Fuck you, Amber.’ Unnecessarily he enforces the look with three angry words. One of which shouldn’t technically be angry because it’s my name.

‘I think you’ll find you already did,’ I reply calmly. ‘Or have you forgotten that amongst the hundreds of women you’ve fucked?’

Greg narrows his eyes slightly. ‘No, I remember you, you’re the one who thought she was perceptive but needed a postcard sending every time I wanted to touch you.’

I can’t stop a small smile wrestling with my lips, fighting to find expression. ‘Why exactly are you pissed off with me?’ I ask. ‘You know, so that one who is only used to you talking in hints can work it out.’

‘I’m not pissed off with you, it was you who started the insults.’

‘It was you who started all that aggressive “before you ask what the hell I’m doing here” stuff. And, sorry, but you do look like shite.’

‘So do you.’

I shrug. ‘I’m not trying to pull anyone.’

‘And I am?’

I spot the second cousin heading towards us. Obviously her conquest has been away too long and he’s talking to an unaccompanied woman. I can’t watch this. I find the mating ritual painful enough as it is, all that simpering and eyelash batting. (Admittedly, I’d once partaken of that particular activity with Mr Chocolate Sniffer – in public – but I’d already accepted myself as a hypocrite.) With Greg, it’ll probably finish me off.

Greg’s going to sleep with someone else. I could reach down, touch my chest and feel the pain dissecting my heart. He can shag who he likes, but he’s going to actually do it. Here. At my parents’ wedding. Right in my face.

‘See you around,’ I manage before the second cousin on a promise arrives.

‘Huh? What?’ Greg replies.

I duck into the loo to hide.

I stick my head out of the loo door a bit later: no sign of Greg and the second cousin whore.
Cool, I’ll sneak off back to the house
. I’ll see my family at the family lunch tomorrow. Thankfully, no second cousins are allowed, so there’ll be no cat who got laid smiles to contend with. And no Greg.

In my bedroom, what used to be my bedroom back in my parents’ house, they’ve taken down the bed and put its single mattress on the floor, as well as a couple of sleeping bags for Eric and Arri. Dad1 is in Eric’s old room, a couple of people are staying in Mum and Dad2’s room, a couple more are in the living room. Mum and Dad2 are staying in a hotel tonight.

I hardly slept last night. I’d been too worried about missing the train so ended up getting up at six, even though, like I’d done for the past three months, I’d gone to sleep at three or something. I snuggle down under the duvet on the single mattress.

I used to lie in this room and wish for this. For silence and peace. All the time I was growing up I wanted a substitute for the noise inside and out. Mum and Dad2 never argued; waiting for it, though, was just as noisy. Loud. I’d gotten used to waiting for the rows, even though they never came.

This used to be my house of horrors. I’d do anything to avoid going home. Would go sit in the library after school, would get up early to go to a friend’s house before school. Now it’s stilled.

I think again of my parents.

They’ve changed. They’ve changed enough to make an effort for me. They’ve finally found a reason to stop all that hatred. Can’t see them becoming friends, but they aren’t chomping to tear a strip off each other. Which is all I wanted – I’d never wanted them to get back together or to be the best of friends, just to not want to kill each other.

My life has changed so much in the past three months – actually in the past year. In the past year, I’ve gained some perspective and can see my parents aren’t evil, just people. What they did wasn’t intentional but it hurt all the same. It hurt more, though, because I clung to it. Used it as a weapon to beat off all attempts of love, to keep myself ‘safe’ by not taking any big risks. The biggest risk I’d taken in all my years was with Greg.

My life with my parents made me constantly run, constantly afraid of being tied down. And I know now the exact moment I stopped running. It was unconscious, but I know the exact moment.

I pull the duvet over my head.

Seeing my parents together had slotted the last piece in place. The mo—

The bedroom door is pushed open and I steel myself for Arri and Eric stumbling around, getting undressed, giggling and probably snogging . . .
Eww! I hope they don’t try to have sex while I’m in the room.

‘Excuse me,’ a voice whispers. ‘Is this where Eric and Arrianne are meant to be sleeping?’

I know that voice
. I pull away the duvet.

‘Amber?’ he says as I sit up.

‘Greg,’ I state.

‘The, the  . . .
bastards
,’ he snarls. ‘I should’ve known it was too good to be true. I can’t believe they stitched me up.’ He flops his arms around in frustration. ‘Eric offered to swap my floor space in East Finchley with his and Arri’s floor space here. He said the East Finchley room would take ages to get to, and that the person I was going to stay with would be one of the last to leave. He handed me the keys to the house and said they were meant to be staying in the room on the right.’

‘This used to be my room.’

‘He said that. He also promised,
promised
you wouldn’t be staying in the house.’

‘Ever get the impression someone’s trying to get us to talk?’ I state. ‘I’m so going to give Eric and Arrianne a mouthful tomorrow.’

‘Well, you’ll have to have a go at your parents as well. Much as I got on with Dad2, I get the impression I was invited to talk to you.’

‘You could have a point.’

‘Are the other rooms free?’

‘Nope, planned with military precision, every room is taken – even the sofa is booked. Although the bathroom’s free. I’ve slept in a bath before, it’s not so bad once you get used to slipping about. And that moment when you wake up and think you’re in an open-topped coffin. Plus people keep waking you up when they go to the loo.’

‘I’ll go get my floor space in East Finchley back.’

‘OK, fine, whatever, but can we really not spend one night in the same room without it turning into a drama? We did it for years before. I’m half asleep already, I’ll be out like a light in another five minutes. You do whatever you want then. Except wanking. I don’t want to wake up to the smell of sperm and sweat. But if you want to go to East Finchley be my guest. I’m going to sleep. Good night.’

‘All right,’ Greg says, ‘I’ll stay. If you’re sure.’

‘Mm-hm.’

He shuts the door until there’s only a sliver of light. I hear him undressing, then slipping into the sleeping bag nearest the door and furthest from me, which suits me fine, of course. Time ticks by. I can smell him. That scent he cleaned from my house. That heady, musky smell of him. Vanilla and spice. I loved that smell. Loved it when it was on my skin. Loved it when I could bury my face in his chest and sniff him. More time ticks by. I try to slow my breathing. Concentrate on going to sleep.

‘I didn’t sleep with her,’ Greg says after a while.

‘Who?’ Obviously a valid question, I mean, who hasn’t he slept with?

‘That woman, Salene. I didn’t sleep with her.’

‘Clearly.’

‘All right, I didn’t sleep with her, I didn’t shag her, I didn’t make love to her, I didn’t fuck her. I didn’t even kiss her. I haven’t touched another woman since you. Since that night that started in my corridor.’