The Way It Never Was (18 page)
Read The Way It Never Was Online
Authors: Lucy Austin
Joe from Australia is standing at the bar, balancing a spoon on his nose and looking like a bored teenager on a family car journey. When I daydreamt our reunion, it normally involved me sitting in a small cafe in Paris with dark glasses, surrounded by bilingual friends laughing about something, my red lips smoking on a cigarette – one of those exotic multicoloured kinds that come in a fancy pack. I then casually look over and see Joe through the window, his hands pressed up against the glass in anguish, rain pouring down on him. I look witheringly at him, as though to say ‘
Get
it
together
man
,
where
is
your
dignity
?
’
before getting back to my friends. I didn’t have any contingency measures for what would happen if I saw him after too much fizz at an office party in central London.
As though sensing someone staring at him, Joe looks around, focuses in and sees me, his expression changing to one of horror, mirroring my own. For what feels like minutes I stand there, rooted to the spot.
I’ve
got
to
get
out
of
here
–
feet
move
!
Mabel is twittering away at me, and then having spotted me looking over in Joe’s direction, points at him. ‘That’s my brother, he’s single. Not that I will introduce you. You as my sister-in-law, I don’t think so somehow!’
This
is
Joe’s
sister
. The ‘Queen of the Mail Merge’, obsessed with comic sans font is Joe’s sister!
Somehow, I have the presence of mind to rush over to my brother who is now propping up the bar chatting to someone, chewing on a cocktail stick. ‘Dan I have to go!’ I yell in his ear. ‘You never told me Joe worked here.’ Dan looks so puzzled, set adrift in a sea of wine that I’m obliged to turn around and blatantly point out the man in question to demonstrate my point.
‘Oh yes! Joseph Walsh, he is a VP like me. The annoying dickhead I always complain about. You know him?’ he asks as I grab his arm a little more forcefully than intended.
‘It’s
Joe
,’ I squeak, prompting Dan to put down his glass in horror.
‘As in
Joe
Joe?’ he echoes and I slowly nod. ‘Joe the chump who has you sworn off men?’
Wind
this
up
Dan
,
there’s
no
need
to
drag
this
out
. ‘Watch out, he’s coming right over.’ I turn around but it’s too late. Joe is now standing there before me. ‘Oh hi Walsh. How are we this evening?’ Dan cheerfully says doing a fake chest bump handshake that goes on for a few seconds longer than it should. Then the supportive brother he is, he goes back to talking to the blonde next to him at the bar, leaving me to blindly navigate my way through this surreal situation alone.
Unlike the movies, bumping into an ex-boyfriend is not a great experience when you are by yourself at a party, no matter how glamorous you look. In the enormity of the moment, I feel no other way to express myself than to acknowledge him as though he was an old local in a pub.
‘Alright?’ I say, knowing that I sound ridiculous. ‘How’s it going?’
I then try to take him in without getting a rush of blood to the head. My old flame, who as it turns out, didn’t like me nearly half as much as I liked him, is not as I remember at all. He then pulls me in for an overfriendly hug, which I don’t return, keeping my hands down by my side as though I were a doll. If I’m not mistaken, I’m detecting the distinct whiff of body odour. It’s all coming back to me now. Joe didn’t do deodorant! He said he had a natural musk, unique to him.
‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me,’ he says, looking a bit put out. At first, I shrug by way of response as I’m finding it hard to articulate what exactly I want to say here, but then I find my voice. ‘I’m just a little surprised. It’s been a while,’ I say, thinking this is the understatement of the century.
Two
years
to
be
precise
!
This is the man that until today I had tried to consign to history – no mean in the Internet age – in the hope that I would start thinking of him as one of the many threads that made up the tapestry of my life. But as I stand in front of him, all I can think of is that this is the man that used to look a lot better with a tan. I don’t know what to study first – the washboard stomach of old that now looks a little bloated, or that same blonde hair
still
tied back into a ponytail, as though adopting a lifetime signature style like Brian May from
Queen
.
If Joe stopped being human a while ago in my head and spent his time sitting on a big fat cloud with a harp, boy oh boy has he fallen back down to earth with an almighty bang, fusing the dry ice machine in the process. Joe is nothing like I remember.
‘Why are you here?’ he asks, looking bewildered. ‘Hope you’re not stalking me!’
Despite this being possibly the most irritating thing he could say, I somehow find it in me to laugh as though he said the funniest thing. ‘Am afraid not! No, that’s my brother,’ I say, making a gesture at Dan who has got to that time of the night where it feels normal to stick two straws up your nose and pretend you’re a walrus.
Then Joe laughs that laugh again and for a second I’m no longer being shallow, I’m immediately transported back in time to when my insides turned over in affection for this man.
‘God, you’re Harrington’s sister. Why didn’t I put two and two together? You do look alike. You’re better looking than him, mind.’ I start to thaw out a little, remembering the charm of old that used to make my heart melt. Then he talks and doesn’t stop, rabbiting on at a hundred miles an hour.
‘I’ve only just got back from Oz. Built up my reputation over there,’ he says, stroking his ponytail. ‘Fastest promotion in company history you know. Got transferred to the UK office to shake things up a little.’ At the end of this long-winded anecdote, he touches my arm as though to emphasize the importance of what he’s just told me.
What’s going on here? The boyish cockiness that I used to find endearing when he was out of work appears to be full-blown arrogance now he’s in it. The very touch of his hand on my arm makes me flinch in embarrassment – yes, the very same hand that used to dunk me under the water at Coogee Beach for a fraction of a second too long.
‘I made a lot of sacrifices to get there though,’ he stares into my eyes meaningfully and all I can think is that I somehow doubt this. This man has never done anything he didn’t want to do.
‘The last time I saw you was at the airport,’ I say, cutting the flirtation down to size. ‘Over two years ago, remember?’ I add.
Remember
Joe
,
the
time
you
were
more
concerned
with
loading
up
your
bag
with
the
toiletries
I
couldn’t
take
through
customs
than
actually
saying
goodbye
.
If I have chosen to interpret all the grief and all the drama as a sign it was true love thwarted by circumstance, then right now I can see that I got it really wrong. So wrong! To think I used to have those dreams where Joe returned to make us ‘official’, only for me to then wake up with that awful sinking feeling that it wasn’t true. Liv has been right all along. Here we are without the communal living or the ninety-degree heat and he’s coming across like an arrogant jerk, strangely out of step with the environment he’s in. I’m not just utterly underwhelmed, I have absolutely no desire for further conversation – or to listen to another one of those sodding shaggy dog stories for that matter.
As I work out how to extract myself from this reunion, Joe carries on talking away about himself and his incredible career, every now and again smiling at me and displaying those nicotine-stained molars – all forty-five of them, crammed into that mouth. ‘You look good Kate. Really good,’ he looks me up and down. For once, I’m delighted that I’m not looking like I popped out for milk and that my big lycra pants are doing their job. Luckily, I do happen to be looking my best tonight.
‘Thanks,’ I say and then we fall into another awkward silence.
Faced with monosyllabic responses, even Joe, the man with the gift of the gab, is desperately thinking hard of something to say. I’ve noticed he’s moved on from petting his ponytail and is now twisting his leather and jade necklace, which is slightly at odds with the tuxedo. And then another wave of realisation hits me: I’ve never seen him with a top on before.
I’ve
never
seen
him
in
anything
other
than
one
outfit
–
shorts
!
As though reading my mind, he looks down at himself. ‘I’m not used to being smart. You know me, like to be casual,’ he says, and I glimpse the ‘Y.O.L.O’ tattoo on his wrist, an unsubtle nod to his travelling days. So awkward is the conversation, I’ve now decided to just nod and smile like the Queen does, without showing my teeth, all the while noticing that he’s talking up with intonations at the end of every sentence, like proper ex-pats do when they arrive back in the UK.
‘I have tried to get hold of you since I got back you know. You didn’t pick up your mobile. Couldn’t find you on Facebook. I left messages with your flatmate too.’
I think for a second. ‘Hang on, yes she did tell me, but I didn’t get a name,’ I say, banging my forehead.
Bloody
Claire
! She has somehow made me look unavailable and aloof. Right now, I want to kiss the girl.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ he grinned and I feel agitated.
‘Was there anything in particular you wanted to say?’ I ask him. Pleasantries aside, surely there was some small significance as to why the universe made sure he got back in touch with me?
‘Not really, I just thought I’d hook up with some old friends,’ he shrugs. And there it is – this overwhelming need to punch him in the face, pull his ponytail and stamp on his feet.
Suddenly, the autopilot that has been shoring me up and keeping me in aloof mode is now wavering from too much emotional exhaustion and three glasses of fizz too many.
I
have
to
say
goodbye
first
.
‘Listen. Great to bump into you but it’s been a long night and I must go.’ I say cheerfully, walking away.
‘We’ll have to catch up,’ he shouts after me.
Turning around while continuing to walk backwards, I shake my head vigorously in the exaggerated way you do when you’ve had a few too many. ‘Seriously Joe, no need.’ I say. My eyes may be going a bit blurry but I’m feeling bold and full of Dutch courage. ‘Really, it’s okay.’
I stand in the lift just long enough for Mabel to walk over to Joe and tower over him as he whispers something to her. With an incredulous expression on her face, she points over at me. ‘No way, you two were a thing?’ She looks absolutely gobsmacked. ‘What a small world! You know all about Kate, she was that
girl
I worked with,’ before doing an exaggerated whisper. ‘You know the one who sent me
that
email.’ The lift door closes on them both and I breathe out a sigh of pure relief.
Preoccupied. Spaced. Drunk. Yet, I’m like a pigeon and know all the connections I need to make it home. If I stand closer to the right end of the Tube platform, I’ll stand a chance of grabbing a seat. If I walk up the right hand side of the escalator, I might just make the final train. Getting on the packed tube, I hang onto the pole and stare at my own reflection in the glass, deep in thought. Given how events unfolded, I think I conducted myself pretty well.
Contrary to the advice of the self-help book,
Getting
Over
the
Man
Who
Never
Called
You
His
Girlfriend
10
,
000
miles
away
, there is no chapter for if the ‘ex’ suddenly reappears and you can’t actually remember what you saw in him. Regardless of whether he galloped off on horseback in your mind, he might just turn up again and you might not react the way you thought you would. You might not hold dear the romantic memories of old, because when you think about it there weren’t actually that many. Instead, you might realise that the fact it couldn’t be properly defined is probably the very thing that made it difficult to get over, as there was no closure to be had, no standard blueprint to learn from.
All of this new found clarity has now given way to annoyance that I have chosen not to move onto greater things since. All that time I could have been looking forward – the jobs I could have gone for, the bad dates I could have gone on, the men I could have slept with! All that time wasted pining for Joe – or rather, the
idea
of Joe.
Perhaps I’m one of the lucky ones though. Instead of being tormented at the sight of the ex, I’ve had the opportunity to realise that whatever he meant to me at the time seems inconsequential now. It turns out that I am over him – totally, one hundred percent over him and I can’t tell you how sweet that feels. It’s like a burden has been lifted and I can think clearly about all the possibilities for the first time, without relating every single thing back to him.
While my head might be full of drunken hindsight, boarding the train to Broadstairs I soon sober up, courtesy of the stench of vomit and beer in the air. Walking through the packed out carriages, my only choice is to park myself down next to a rather sweaty looking girl who has practically set up camp as though it was her front room. Her ripe feet are out on the seat in front getting an airing and her shopping bags are spread out over the sticky floor but she doesn’t seem to care at all. She’s too busy stuffing her face with a chicken burger. Those fancy canapés feel like a long time ago though and despite being repulsed by the sight of fat dripping from her chin, that burger smells rather nice indeed.
With seconds to spare, Andy Happy walks into the carriage.
What
is
this
–
the
nightmare
ex
night
? He’s looking as tired as I feel, wearing a rather shiny suit that looks like it could go up in flames, holding a briefcase that looks suspiciously like there’s nothing in it, like those soap stars that pretend to drink a hot beverage on screen. As soon as we clock each other, I sober up slightly and with little choice but to sit diagonally across from me, he looks positively terrified. He’s judged it correct as you can bet I’m in no mood to see him. I’ve not only seen my friend have to go through pregnancy on her own, but I’ve also had to contend with his angry ex-wife for the last year being passive aggressive with the TV remote.
‘Well well, well,’ I say in my scary voice, channelling arch-nemesis Mabel all the way. ‘If it isn’t the man who walked out on his pregnant girlfriend.’ There are audible gasps around the carriage, followed by complete silence as everyone continues dribbling over their McDonalds.
‘Listen, it wasn’t what you think,’ falters Mr Happy looking mortified, bypassing the pleasantries too and getting straight down to business. ‘Liv said she wanted to have a baby and I told her that I didn’t. I told her that the reason why Claire and I broke up was because we were too young and had never been with anyone else. I said I wanted to be casual. The next thing I know, she announced that she was pregnant.’
It never once occurred to me that he would have his own version of what happened. Knowing Liv’s state of mind when she first arrived in the UK – on the rebound from Chip/Chad/Chuck or something – his story seems quite plausible too.
‘Okay, but even so, now you are in this situation, surely you don’t want this baby growing up without a dad?’ I say doing an enormous hiccup that comes out like a belch. The fellow travellers are now straining to listen over the sound of crunching paper bags for his response.
Mr Happy looks at me. ‘Listen, Andy is not ready to settle down,’ he says determinedly, pointing to himself.
‘Did you just refer to yourself in the third person?’ I say, shaking my head at him in disgust as any sympathy I had for him promptly disappears. Deciding I would rather forgo a seat than chat a moment longer to a man who thinks he’s
The
Fonz
, I leave him and his self-pity behind and stumble through the carriages.
What has revealed itself tonight is that things are never quite black and white are they? It turns out that Mr Happy is like the rest of us, trying to figure it all out – he’s just doing a piss poor job at it. He got married too young to Claire and then somehow, his new girlfriend got herself knocked up and decided to go ahead with or without him. And just like I did holding a torch for Joe all this time and blaming him for my own poor decision making, Liv decided to be the victim here – you know, put all the blame on Mr Happy.
I wake up with a jolt just as the train pulls into Broadstairs. One minute I was openly staring at all my fellow passengers’ reflections through the train window, the next I was snoring and dreaming of having arrived home. Walking down the high street in the dark, trying to peel lumps of mascara off my lashes, I let the phone ring and ring. And the longer I let it ring, the more I think that perhaps returning Stan’s call so late wasn’t such a good idea. I’m just about to leave a long rambling message about the night I’ve had and the re-appearance of you know who, when a female voice picks up.
‘Kate?’ It’s Anna and she sounds a little off. ‘You okay?’ I am embarrassed, as I’ve clearly woken them both up. ‘It’s bloody late darling. I’m...still at the theatre,’ she says. I then feel compelled to ask an obvious question. ‘Oh, I err managed to lose my phone charger so Stan leant me his mobile for tonight. Did you try to get hold of me? Bless you, you must have panicked.’
As I walk past Divine Beauty, the latest picture of a tanned and plucked Claire in a bikini looms up at me in the dark. I look at the time. It’s now getting on for two o’clock in the morning. What was I thinking?
‘I thought your play was closing down,’ I say, puzzled. ‘What you doing?’
Re
-
writing
the
script
?
’
My question is met with silence, so much so that for a minute I think she’s hung up on me.
‘In the world of performance, as I evolve so does my work,’ she says in a clipped voice. ‘There is nothing wrong with having a tweak.’ Thinking that there’s everything wrong with the word ‘tweak’, I then hear a man’s voice in the background.
‘Is that Stan?’ I ask, trying not to sound nosey as the voice sounds familiar.
‘No, just one of the gang, there’s a load of us here. You know me, I’m such a social animal,’ she says hurriedly. ‘Anyhow, I’m in the zone as it were so I have to go. See you when you are next up? You can fill me in on job news.’
‘I’m not coming up to town for a bit,’ I falter, as there’s never a right time to tell Anna I’m not doing what she wants. ‘In fact, I’m putting the London job hunt on hold for the time being. I’m exploring other options.’ Now firmly in unchartered territory, I’m trying this new me on for size and seeing how it feels. Hopefully, at some point soon, I’ll be able to effortlessly fend of these kinds of enquiries without a moment’s thought.
‘What are you doing Kate?’ Anna snaps. ‘You know my thoughts. Don’t kid yourself. You are just being incredibly unproductive.’
Unproductive
huh
?
I’m too tired to say anything by way of defence, so I cut to the chase. ‘I do have something else to tell you though,’ I say, knowing I’m going to regret this confession in the morning.
‘You do?’ She’s now sounding a little more alert.
I stand outside my flat and rummage around my bag for keys. ‘Guess who I bumped into tonight?’ I whisper, half expecting her to play ‘Guess Who?’ but she doesn’t.
‘Joe,’ I volunteer, waiting for the standard thespian ‘no f-ing way!’.
Instead, I get an indifferent ‘so?’ coming out of her mouth.
So
?
So
? Slowly, I feel my stress levels creeping back up, as they increasingly do when speaking to Anna these days.
‘What do you mean
so
? I thought he was in Oz.’ I say in a rather snappy manner as her blasé reaction has thrown me. This is big news in my little world and she knows that. As I put the key into the lock of the building, that’s when the penny drops.
‘Anna, have you known that Joe was in the UK all this time?’ I ask, tip-toeing inside the foyer.
‘I heard a rumour,’ she replies. ‘How is he?’
With the lights not working in the hall, I find myself walking up the stairs, bumping into bicycles and then Linda’s flat tyre.
‘He’s fine thanks Anna,’ I say tersely. ‘But that’s not really the point is it?’ Then I ask the other question that now comes to my mind. ‘Does Stan know too?’
‘Yes,’ comes the reply and I stand still in shock leaning against the door.
‘Oh.’ I say, as my brain tries to take in what she is saying. Without warning, Claire suddenly opens the door and I fall to the floor, with all the grace of a bird poo landing on a car windscreen. She looms over me fully dressed.
‘Kate, you have to come. Liv’s gone into labour!’
Without saying goodbye, I leave the mobile where it landed. Yes, for the first time in my friendship with Anna, I hang up.
