Turning Thirty (30 page)

‘I know and I agree, but six days is still six days, Matt. And that's way too much pressure to put on any relationship.'

‘It would be under normal circumstances, Ginny, but these aren't normal circumstances, are they?' I was unsure whether to proceed with my next sentence.' Do you remember the pact we made at Gershwin's wedding?' Ginny opened her mouth, and I could tell by the expression on her face that she was about to pretend not to recall the conversation.

‘I'd had a lot to drink,' she said laughing. ‘But, yeah, I do remember. We said that if we were both single by the time we turned thirty we'd get together.' She looked embarrassed. ‘But we said all that when we were twenty-four, Matt. That feels like almost a lifetime ago.'

‘I'm not saying that we should make a go of it because of some stupid pact, I'm saying we should make a go of it because, even then, we knew exactly what we know now and have probably known since the day we first saw each other: we are meant to be together. Think about it. This has been going on since we were seventeen. We've tried everything to avoid being together – going out with other people, moving cities, moving countries, even – and look where we are. Right back here where it all began.' I kissed her. ‘We don't have to rush anything. We can take our time and see how it goes. But if you think that I can come back home feeling like I have no direction, have all this happen and still walk away, you don't know me at all.'

‘Do you mean that?'

‘Of course I mean it. I've never meant anything more. If you want I can phone work today and tell them I'm not going to Australia.'

‘No, wait. At least until I've spoken to Ian. Once it's all over with him I'll be able to think straight. I'll do it tomorrow,' she said quietly. ‘Definitely tomorrow. But for now let's just have a nice day.'

‘And do what?' I asked.

She knocked back the last of her orange juice and stood up. ‘Let's go shopping.'

It was two hours later and we were standing in the same men's clothes shop I'd visited during my first week in Birmingham. The goatee boy DJ was still doing his stuff in the corner, the stick-insect shop assistant with the sneer was still sneering, and I was still attempting to hold true to my dark blue/black clothing rule. Ginny, however, was having none of it.

‘So you're telling me,' she began, as she rifled through a rack of T-shirts on my behalf, ‘that all the clothes you have bought since you turned twenty-six have been dark blue or black?'

‘Every single thing,' I said proudly.

‘Socks?'

‘Yes.'

‘Boxer shorts?'

‘Always.'

‘Shirts?'

‘I do have a few white shirts but I only ever wear them when I've got to meet a big client otherwise it's—'

‘—dark blue or black.'

I could see from Ginny's face that she couldn't believe what she was hearing. We moved on from the T-shirt rail to a rail of ‘casual' trousers.

‘What about these?' she said, showing me a pair of green combat-style trousers.

‘No, they're green.'

She moved on to a pair of burgundy velvet trousers. ‘And these.'

‘Burgundy?'
I responded. ‘Are you joking?'

Ginny still couldn't quite believe this. She moved across to a row of suits and picked out a a three-button light grey one. ‘Come on, Matt, even this can't offend your sensibilities. I could really fancy you in this suit.'

‘Light grey? I'd spend my life tripping backwards and forwards from the dry-cleaners. Not in a million years, my dear.'

‘You know this is weird, don't you?'

‘I've told you,' I said. ‘I can't help myself. I know exactly what I like. If it's Indian food, I like Chicken Tikka Masala. If it's music, I like female singer-songwriters, and if it's clothing then it's dark blue/black.' I turned and looked right into her eyes. ‘And if it's women then it's you.'

She laughed and kissed me even though the shop was now quite busy.

‘Steady on,' I said.

‘Never mind steady on. There's plenty more where that came from. It's been a long time since I've had the pleasure of gratuitous public displays of emotions so excuse me while I make the most of it.' She kissed me again then looked me in the eyes intensely. ‘Why does this feel so right?'

‘Because you've been in denial and I've shown you the way,' I said, suddenly filled with self-assurance. It felt good to be here, in public, with this beautiful woman. It felt good that every man in that shop, no matter how pretentiously dressed, would know that Ginny was my girlfriend. ‘You've been scared of knowing what you want because you think life should be some sort of adventure where you just run around making the same mistakes again and again, never learning from them. That to you is exciting. Whereas for me exciting is knowing exactly what something's going to be like and knowing that once I've got it, as long as it's well maintained, it will always hold the same delight for me that it had the first time I encountered it. In fact, sometimes it can get better. I don't like the new. The new makes me nervous. I like the old. The tried and tested.'

‘Mmm,' said Ginny, grinning. ‘And I take it from this that I am both “old” and “tried and tested”?' She laughed. ‘
Very
appealing.'

‘I don't expect you to understand because you're not me. But the thing about my favourite things in life is that I never get bored with them. Never. Because every time I look at my favourite things, or hear them or whatever, I experience something new, discover some small detail about them that I'd never noticed before, and that only makes them more fascinating.'

Ginny laughed so loudly that a group of lads in their late teens looked over at her. One of them was holding a bright orange T-shirt in his hand and Ginny pointed and mouthed, ‘Fashion disaster,' at him and carried on laughing. It was like she was drunk or something. I was considering getting very embarrassed.

‘What's wrong with you?'

‘I'm happy. I can't believe I'm about to say this but that whole spiel you went into about why you only wear blue/black? Well, I think you've convinced me.'

‘To stick with what you know?'

‘I wouldn't go that far but you have convinced me of something.'

‘What?'

‘That you would look terrible in those velvet trousers.'

Dear Matt

I think we've been through enough together for us to be ‘honest' with each other. As you so rightly pointed out in your last e-mail, ‘Honesty is everything,' and it's true. When I think of you, when I think of everything we had, that's what I remember most – that we could always talk about everything . . . eventually, at least. I say this as a preliminary to telling you how I took your ‘news' – I cried. And what's worse is that I cried more than the day you left. I've tried to work out why. I was up all night thinking about it. It's not like I want us to get back together. I don't. It's not even that I'm jealous – I am genuinely pleased for you. In the end I kind of worked out that the reason has something to do with what you said in one of your early e-mails when you talked about all the things you dreamt of being when you were a kid. You said turning thirty was forcing you to face the fact that some things will never be. Well, I guess your moving on is my turning thirty. I know when we were together I never gave you any indication that I thought about the future – or rather our future. But I did. I used to love imagining us having kids (six at least – not v. practical huh?) and figuring out what they'd look like, and which one of us they'd take after character-wise. I used to daydream about us moving out of NY to Philadelphia, to my grandparents' old house. I used to think about us growing old together – you getting grumpier and me getting more ‘out there' as the years went on. I even used to think about us dying together (I'd go first because I'd hate to be on my own and you'd follow me a week later because you'd miss me so much). Even though I always knew it was over between us I guess I still hadn't said goodbye to all my daydreams, and you and Ginny getting together made me face facts. I suppose that if I'm being well and truly honest (and I think I should be) I have to say that this wouldn't have been half as bad if it had just been some random girl that you'd gotten together with like my random bar guy. Some pretty but vacant Transitional Girl who would be totally unsuitable for you. But you seem to have struck gold first time. Or maybe that should be second time???? I am sooooo rambling now. If you want my advice (and I'm not sure that you do), if Ginny's the one for you then you should go for it – forget about Australia. It's hard enough finding whatever it is we're all looking for to ignore it when it lands in your lap. Whatever you do I want you to be happy. Really I do.

Love always,

Elaine xxx

PS I guess you won't be wanting your birthday present now. It was going to be kind of a surprise: I was going to come and see you for a week before your birthday. (You would've been proud of me. I actually
SAVED
up the money for the flight.) But I suspect ex-girlfriends and current girlfriends don't mix too well! I'll get you something else and spend the money on a holiday to the Caribbean. I've never been and it'll be a great excuse to show off my tattoo (which incidentally has gone septic – hmmmm, nice).

I immediately e-mailed Elaine back to let her know that I wanted her to come and visit and wouldn't take no for an answer. She wasn't convinced at first that it was a good idea but I insisted and assured her everything would be okay provided she still felt more like ironing my clothes than ripping them off. To me Elaine wasn't just an ex-girlfriend, or a friend – this might seem a little idealistic – she was just like family.

It was the Saturday evening that followed my afternoon shopping spree with Ginny. I was on my way to Gershwin and Zoë's wearing a bright red Stüssy hooded top that Ginny had bought for me that very afternoon. She wasn't with me. When we had come back to the house she told me that she wanted to spend some time on her own to get her head around the whole idea of splitting up with Ian. I understood, so I'd called Gershwin and Zoë to see what they were doing and ended up being invited to their house for a takeaway and a video.

‘Here's a cup of coffee,' said a hyperactive Zoë, dragging me into their living room. ‘Charlotte's asleep,' she said, pointing to the ceiling. ‘Gershwin's over there,' she said, indicating her husband, who was sitting in an armchair looking puzzled. ‘And what we want to know . . .' She stopped as she caught Gershwin's eye and wilted temporarily.

‘I'm not that bothered about what's going on,' said Gershwin. ‘I'm used to it, Zoë.'

‘Okay,' said Zoë ‘What I want to know is what is going on with you and Ginny. I need to know the details and I need to know them now!'

It was a nice feeling, having a love-life that was worthy of gossip, and it was even better to have Zoë showing an interest in it because her enthusiasm was making the whole thing seem more glamorous than it really was. If I had told Gershwin he would have down-played the whole thing and said, ‘Oh,' and maybe raised his eyebrows, but Zoë made it seem like the top story on a news bulletin.

‘What's going on with me and Ginny?' I said, clarifying the evening's topic of debate needlessly.

‘Yes.' Zoë nodded enthusiastically. ‘I want to know everything.'

I contemplated not telling her, just for a laugh, but she was having none of it.

‘Come on,' she said, baring her teeth. ‘Spill the beans.'

‘I have no idea what's going on,' I explained. ‘I don't think it's got a name yet. It's all been a bit of a—'

‘Enough's enough,' interrupted Gershwin. ‘Much against my better judgement I'm interested now in what's going on too. So come on, out with the details. When, how and most of all
why
?'

‘The when part is easy enough,' I began. ‘It was last Sunday evening after everyone left to go home. The how is a little bit trickier, though . . . I don't really know how the how part happened . . . I suppose at a push you could say it was a moment of spontaneity, but I wouldn't stake my life on it. And the why . . . Well, the why is one that I'm still working on. I think it's because she's the one.'

‘Which one?' asked Zoë.

‘The love of my life, the woman I've never forgotten . . . the one I'm going to be with when I turn thirty.'

Zoë looked incredulous. I could tell she just wasn't getting her head around any of this. ‘So let me get this straight. You've decided that she's the one, even though she's got a boyfriend and you're moving countries in three weeks' time.'

‘Good point,' said Gershwin laughing. ‘Well made, dear wife.' Zoë glared at him. ‘Look, babe, you shouldn't be
that
surprised,' he explained. ‘They've been doing this sort of thing since they were seventeen. It's just a habit.' He paused. ‘Although I must say six days on the trot is something of a record for you two.'