What Might Have Been (18 page)

31

S
arah was having trouble concentrating on work. She’d spent a pleasant enough first hour as her guests from Saturday night had variously popped their heads round her office door to tell her how bad their hangovers had been, opened several emails containing embarrassing photos of her in her Deely-boppers and L-plates, and been bought two separate bags of Krispy Kreme donuts,
having
apparently blurted out how these were the one thing she really missed from back home and then expressed disbelief when informed you could get them here in London. And while she felt guilty about how unproductive her morning had been, in truth the distractions had been welcome, given how Evan was playing on her mind.

The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her: She’d kind of thrown herself into the relationship with David when Evan had gone, and now she worried that maybe that had backfired a little – he was attentive, sure, but perhaps took her a little for granted, though that was possibly because he assumed the hard work had been done in getting her to say ‘yes’ and so now had taken his foot off the gas. And while that was perhaps understandable, Sarah
certainly
didn’t find it ideal.

She’d been used to male attention all her life. Her father had started it off by always making her feel she was the centre of his world, a strategy to minimise the loss of her mother, she now realised. Then at school, as a teenager, the boys had flocked round her – even then she could sense their teasing and insults were a way of disguising their true feelings towards her. Maybe that hadn’t been a positive thing. But at least it had been good training for working in the City.

She was lucky, she knew, that she’d been blessed with looks. They’d opened so many doors for her, and helped her here, too. The braces she’d hated wearing as an eleven-year-old had given her a smile to be proud of – particularly compared to the ‘English teeth’ a few of her co-workers had – a smile which disarmed her male bosses, who’d expected her to be some air-head when in fact she was sharper than many of them. It was just a shame she didn’t have much to smile about at the moment.

Rubbing her eyes, she tried to focus on her computer screen. The columns of figures were giving her a headache, and she thought about going home sick, but that might look suspicious with the wedding so close by – already she was expected to work longer hours than her male counterparts and, she suspected, for a lower salary. Plus, she was worried she’d have to explain to David why she’d left. And worried it would mean opening the floodgates.

She gazed around her office, the four walls suddenly seeming more than a little oppressive, though she knew she was lucky to have them – well, not lucky, exactly; the fight out of her
cubicle
and into here had been a tough one, and had meant leaving everything she knew behind. Okay, so it wasn’t a corner office like David’s, and her view was the back of the office block next door as opposed to the breathtaking Thames vista that he enjoyed, but she was proud of what she’d achieved. And while she didn’t necessarily enjoy her work, or more accurately, the industry she worked in, Sarah didn’t want to have to give it all up – which is what she was sure would happen if she didn’t go through with the wedding.

She wondered how she’d found herself so out of control. She’d left New York determined to be the master – sorry,
mistress
– of her own destiny, and yet here she was, marrying a man who was used to getting his own way, and who had such clear ideas of what his – their – future would be. Whereas Evan? One of the things she’d liked about him most was his relaxed attitude. Sure, he’d seemed passionate about his music. Cared about his career. But life was all about the living for him, and the music, while part of that, hadn’t seemed to be the driving force. He’d told her over lunch – their one lunch – that his philosophy, if you could call it that, was to just go through life looking at opportunities as they came up, choosing whether or not they were worth pursuing at the time; a simple strategy, maybe, but one that had worked for him so far. And that was one of the reasons why meeting Evan had been so refreshing. So different to her ‘dates’ with David, a man who already had his routines – the Saturday morning trip to Waitrose, the Sunday brunch at the pub – or his favourite restaurants, which they’d visit without fail once or twice a week. As for her suggesting the two of them go somewhere different to eat, well, Sarah had come to learn what his raised eyebrow meant, so eventually she’d just caved in. Let him choose. And that, Sarah now realised, had been her mistake. Because soon it wasn’t just the restaurants he was choosing, but what she ate in them too. What she wore to visit them, more recently. What had surprised her most was how she seemed to have lost the will to resist. But sometimes it had just been easier.

It wasn’t that David was nasty or domineering. She could just tell he didn’t approve, and Sarah hated knowing that disapproval was simmering beneath the surface. So they ended up doing the same thing, what she knew would please him – in bed, as well, although that never required much of an effort – whereas everything she’d done in her short time with Evan had been new.
Everything
.

Her father had told her once that jazz was about making your own sound. Being different to everyone else. Never playing the same thing the same way two nights running – and she’d suspected Evan subscribed to that view too, particularly when it came to relationships. In just a couple of days, he’d opened her eyes to so many of the delights of this part of London: Postman’s Park, Borough Market, Secret, and even the café at the Tate – not that that last venue held the fondest memories for her.

She shook her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts, and tried again to concentrate on the report she’d been attempting to evaluate all morning. The complicated financial jargon she’d usually been able to breeze through just wasn’t making any sense, and what one minute looked like – on paper, at least – a good deal, was looking like a bad one the next. Of course, Sarah was experienced enough to know you could dress up any set of figures any way you liked, and she suspected the author had done this masterfully.

Exasperated, she got up from her desk and began to pace around the room. Sometimes she longed for more of a simple life. Less money-obsessed. Fewer people treating their bonus
figures
like a badge of honour to be worn around the office. She’d thought New York was bad, full of status-obsessed people, but at times
London
made it look positively Utopian. Maybe it was the environment she worked in; the kill-or-be-killed attitude everyone had. Certainly David seemed to be in constant competition with everyone he came up against, both in and out of the office, in terms of status, power, and money . . . No, actually, it seemed to be all about the money. Those who didn’t have it wanted to take it from those who did, and those who did wanted to rub how much they had in the faces of those who didn’t. Thus David would never think of taking her for a sandwich in the park at lunchtime, because that was what poor people did, and his years of expensive public school education, his degree from a good university, and the over-long hours he put in at the bank all went towards making sure he wasn’t a poor person. It was only natural that the things he did outside of work all were geared towards impressing that fact upon
everyone els
e.

She reminded herself that Evan was a self-made man too. He’d taught himself to play, and now, just as David did, made a living out of his talent, his hard work – it just happened to be in a different industry, with a different pay structure. Certainly Evan was brighter than many of the people she worked with – people who earned ten times as much as he probably did. And the funny,
admirable
thing was, he hadn’t seemed to care. Although Sarah was beginning to wonder whether
she
did.

She enjoyed the trappings, she had to admit, although who wouldn’t? She’d had rich boyfriends in New York too, and understood from an early age that her looks were a currency that could be exchanged for the finer things in life. The Cartier watch she wore, the Tiffany earrings, the huge diamond engagement ring – all presents from David. Meant to impress her – and they had – but really, she knew, also given to her to impress other people.

The problem was, these things were becoming tiresome. The gated development where David lived, the BMW with its smoked-glass windows, taxis, not the tube – these were all things designed to isolate you from the real life of the city, not let you experience it. Over the course of two short days, Evan had let her experience it. And Sarah wanted more of that.

There was no doubt that London was a great city if you were rich – but Evan had opened her eyes to the possibility that it could be a fantastic one even if you weren’t. She couldn’t imagine him flying into a rage if he couldn’t get a table at Nobu on a Friday night, and he’d probably take more pleasure from a sandwich in Postman’s Park than a plate of some outlandishly expensive fish that – how had he put it? –
hadn’t even been cooked
!

She smiled again at the memory, remembering how he’d made her laugh with his nervous observation, and wondered when was the last time she’d laughed with David like that, though the truth was, for all his other qualities, David didn’t make her laugh. And right now, a laugh was the one thing she could do with.

32

I
’ve missed this,’ said Evan, handing Mel a beer, and Mel clapped him affectionately on the back.

‘I missed this too, pal. You and me, down the pub . . . It’s just like old times.’

‘I was talking about my
pint
, Mel.’ Evan grinned, then drained a third of it in one go. Despite the early hour, it tasted good, and in any case, as far as his body clock was concerned it was still the previous evening. ‘American beer just doesn’t have the same appeal.’

‘Unlike their women?’

‘Don’t start.’

‘I take it things aren’t going so well?’

Evan opened his mouth, then shut it again. He still hadn’t made sense of what had happened at the Tate, and he wasn’t really ready to share it. ‘You could say that,’ he said, miserably.

‘Which is why you look like a wreck.’

‘You’re no oil painting yourself.’

‘Well, that’s just charming!’ said Mel. ‘Unless you mean a Picasso, in which case I’ll take it as a compliment.’

‘Sorry.’ Evan sighed. ‘Like I said on the phone, this jet lag’s a bummer. And this “being in love” stuff doesn’t help.’

‘You sure, are you?’

‘Yeah. I’m definitely jet lagged.’

‘I meant being in love. Wanting her back.’

‘As sure as I can be.’ Evan put his beer down and folded his arms. ‘I mean, when we were together, we weren’t really
together
. We only actually saw each other, for what, two days? And even then it was only from around midnight on the Thursday to seven o’clock the next morning, plus two hours at lunch, and then a
matter
of minutes when she dumped me, which makes a total of . . .’ The maths was getting beyond him, so he took his phone out and, as Mel waited patiently, punched the numbers into the calculator. ‘Ten hours.’ He stared disbelievingly at the result. ‘Less than half a day.’

Mel nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s hardly enough time on which to base a decision about the rest of your life.’

Wary of the table’s sticky surface, Evan put his mobile down
on a beer mat. ‘I dunno,’ he said, glumly. He’d bought his flat after
a viewing of less than ten minutes, the Mercedes after a cursory five-minute inspection – and two of those minutes had been spent
staring
blankly into the engine bay hoping in vain that some instinctive mechanical knowledge might suddenly kick in. But he’d been happy with both of those things for years, and compared to that, the time he’d spent with Sarah was positively long-term research. ‘I have to believe it is, Mel. We were obviously . . .’ He searched for another word for ‘fond’, but couldn’t find one that didn’t sound as pathetic. ‘I mean, even so, we became pretty close. Had fun. Got on well. Even in such a short space of time, I could tell we had potential. But then it all came to an end. Because of her . . .’

‘Boyfriend?’

‘Circumstances.’

‘Shame you didn’t try and change those “circumst
ances”, eh?’

Evan could almost hear the quotation marks around that last word. ‘I didn’t have time, Mel. Or rather, she didn’t give me the opportunity.’

‘Okay – tell me something. Back then, if you hadn’t been going away, and you’d have asked her, do you think she’d have dumped him and taken up with you?’

‘I think so.’ Evan stared into his glass. ‘I don’t know. But that was then. This is now. All I know is that I’ve got to ask her.’

‘Why?’

‘Because there’s no-one else who’s ever made me feel like she does,’ Evan said, in a stage whisper he realised with embarrassment was louder than his normal voice.

‘And you don’t think part of that is
because
of the circumstances?’ Mel leant in close. ‘That the only reason you feel like this is because it’s unfinished business. You still resent her for choosing what’s-his-name . . .’

‘David.’

‘. . . over you. And so you want to prove to her she’s making a mistake. And most of all, you want to beat mister posh boy banker by taking back the thing he pinched from under your nose.’

‘What?’

Mel held both hands up. ‘Just playing Devil’s advocate.’

‘I’d hardly have flown halfway around the world just to get one over on some City boy. Though it’s true I can’t stand the thought of her with him.’

‘I wonder why she’s doing it. Marrying him, instead of you.’

‘Apart from the fact that I haven’t asked her to marry me?’

‘Maybe she loves him.’

The idea made Evan uncomfortable. ‘Doubtful, given the fact that she cheated on him with me.’

‘Yeah, but wasn’t that in the early days?’ Mel gulped down another mouthful of beer. ‘She obviously loved him enough to say yes when he proposed.’

‘Not necessarily. What was the alternative? I was maybe her last chance to get out of that relationship. Then I left, so he was her only option.’

Mel regarded Evan sceptically over the top of his glass. ‘Have you been talking to Finn, by any chance?’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘It’s the kind of bollocks he’d come up with.’

‘And he’s happily married, right? Whereas you . . .’

Mel glared at him for a second, then he smiled. ‘So basically, you’re saying the only reason Sarah agreed to marry this David bloke is because you didn’t hang around and give her an escape route.’

‘Well, yeah. Maybe. I don’t know. But he’s her boss. So things would have been pretty uncomfortable for her at work if she’d
said n
o.’

‘Surely there are laws about things like that?’

‘The City’s a pretty sexist place, Mel.’

‘Even so, she’s a bright girl. Despite her choices in men.’

‘Ha ha. So?’

‘So that doesn’t sound like the kind of thing she’d do.’

‘Yes, well . . .’ Evan sighed loudly. ‘It’s complicated.’

‘Maybe she only agreed to marry him to try and shock you into coming back. Did you think about that?’

‘I did. Then dismissed it as pretty ridiculous.’

Mel laughed. ‘So is what you’ve just said to me.’

‘Well, okay. Maybe it’s not quite as black and white as that. But even if he is her second choice, her runner-up prize, it doesn’t mean that she feels she’s lost. Just had to compromise a little bit. And like you said on the phone yesterday, there are certain things about him that maybe make up for that.’

‘I wonder why she was interested in the likes of you, then? Someone so different.’

Evan shot a glance at his friend, wondering whether he was
taking
the mickey, but Mel seemed genuinely interested.

‘You’d have to ask her that.’

Mel grabbed Evan’s mobile. ‘Give me her number and I will.’

‘Don’t you
dare
,’ said Evan, snatching the phone back.

‘Well, why do
you
think it was?’

‘Excitement? Something different? Maybe even because I . . .’

‘What?’

Evan couldn’t help remembering their initial musical connection. ‘Reminded her of her dad.’

‘Ignoring how creepy that sounds, that only gets you so far. Something was obviously not right about that David bloke, otherwise she wouldn’t have felt the need to spend time with you, and so if I were you, I’d start by finding out what it was. Then, you need to play to your strengths – which you can’t do if you don’t have a clue what your strengths are.’

‘I don’t know . . .’

‘Come on, Evan. You wouldn’t get up on stage without being sure what your audience had come to hear, would you?’

Evan held his glass against his temple, relishing the coolness. He knew Mel was right – he needed to play to his strengths. Trouble was, aside from actually asking Sarah directly, he couldn’t think how on earth he could find out what they were.

‘Christ, mate,’ continued Mel. ‘You haven’t left yourself a lot of time.’

‘Tell me about it.’

Mel leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers behind his head. ‘Do you want my advice?’

‘Again, you’re on your third wife, right?’

Mel nodded. ‘Doesn’t mean I don’t know how they tick, though. Even though I always seem to manage to tick them off.’

Evan laughed, despite himself. ‘Just tell me one thing, Mel. Do you think I’m wasting my time?’

Mel smiled. ‘Well, that would depend on whether you had something more valuable to be doing with it, which – from where I’m sitting – you don’t. But bear in mind she might simply want to be Sarah the banker’s wife more than she wants to be with a
musician
, and if that’s what she’s really after, then you can’t compete – no matter how much you blow your own trumpet.’ He took a large gulp of lager. ‘And yes, I know, you’re a sax player.’

Evan smiled sarcastically at his friend’s joke. ‘That’s not what she wants,’ he insisted, although he was beginning to wonder whether he wasn’t trying to convince himself.

‘You sure? Because in my experience, a lot of them do. Women are more practical than men. More pragmatic. They value security. Comfort. Reliability. Make decisions based on what’s best for their futures, rather than what they want right now. Which is pretty much the opposite of what us blokes do.’

‘What about excitement?’

‘Hello!’ Mel leaned across and rapped him on the forehead with his knuckles. ‘People don’t get married for excitement. They get married because they want to settle down. Start a family. She might have just kept seeing you on the side.’

‘You’re wrong, Mel,’ said Evan, crossly. ‘She started seeing me because there was something not quite right about David. My being out of the picture doesn’t mean that all of a sudden, everything’s okay with the two of them.’

‘Suit yourself.’ Mel drained the last of his beer. ‘But tell me something. What’ll you do if you don’t get her back? If things
are . . .’
– this time, he made the speech-marks sign with his fingers – ‘. . .
okay
with the two of them. How are you going
to fee
l?’

Evan shrugged. Coming back to London had felt like coming home, with everything almost as he’d left it, especially since Sarah wasn’t quite married. But if the wedding went ahead, and she was still living here, but married to someone else . . . He didn’t want to contemplate what that might be like.

‘I haven’t really thought that far ahead,’ he said, following Mel’s lead and downing the rest of his pint.

‘Well, maybe you ought to. I mean, it’s going to be tough, isn’t it? You’ve already bumped into her once. What if it keeps happening? I don’t know about you, but that’d really do my head in. Get under my skin. In fact, I’m not sure I could stand it, seeing the woman I love with someone else, day in, day out . . .’

‘Thank you, Mel.’

‘I’m just saying these things usually end in tears.’ Mel nudged him, then stood up. ‘Anyway. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh?’

As Mel picked up their glasses and headed off to the bar, Evan sat there miserably. Mel was right – it
would
eat him up, seeing the two of them together. Despite what he’d said to Johnny, maybe his best option
would
be to go back to the States. His work visa was certainly good for a while, and even if this reunion turned out to not be the great opportunity Johnny was making it out to be, with the Police tour on his CV he was sure there’d be plenty of other job offers along with the one Johnny was talking about. But that would be running away – and he’d already done that once, and besides, why should Sarah force him to leave his beloved London? He’d just have to deal with it. Move on. Build his life back up. Without her. He shut his eyes and rested his head heavily on the table, grimacing as his hair stuck to it, then opened them to find another pint had appeared in front of him.

‘There are lots of other women around, you know?’ Mel said, squeezing back into his seat. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea, and all that. And most of them without the same complications.’

Evan sat back upright. ‘For the millionth time, Mel, I didn’t know there were any complications when I met her.’

‘You knew she was American, so there’s one, for a start. Then again, they’re all women. Which is about the biggest complication you can get.’

‘That’s not very fair on . . .’ Evan stopped talking. Despite knowing Mel for the longest time, he couldn’t remember the name of his current wife. ‘Mrs. Mel.’

‘Why do you think I spend so much time at the club? Seriously, Evan, you should start thinking about alternatives. Just in case.’

Evan shook his head. ‘I can’t, Mel. I can’t even let myself believe that I’m not going to get her back. Otherwise I might not be able to go through with any of this.’

‘Maybe some distance might help?’

Evan wiped the condensation from the side of his glass distractedly. ‘I’ve had some distance, Mel, both geographically and time-wise. And that’s why I’ve come back for her. Because there’s never been anyone like Sarah. Ever. And I think there’s a pretty good chance that there never will be. I’ve realised that. And she will, in time.’