What Might Have Been (24 page)

‘How do you think he’ll change, once he’s won the prize he’s been after for so long?’

Sarah’s brow wrinkled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Men like David – it’s all about the chase, isn’t it, right up until they clinch the deal? Whereas someone like Evan? It sounds to me like it’s all about the moment. And life is made up of millions of moments.’

‘I don’t expect things to change. And so what if they do? No offence, but you know how hard it is to find someone.’

‘Really?’ Grace laughed, and nodded ironically towards the crowds milling around the South Bank. ‘You managed to find two.’

Sarah smiled, despite herself. That, she knew, was her dilemma.

‘If you really want my opinion, Evan’s the problem,’ continued Grace, as if reading her thoughts. ‘You’ve got to get him out of your system. Once and for all.’

‘What if I can’t?’

‘Then you can’t marry David.’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘It is, Sarah. You’ve got to be sure.’

‘And how do I do that, exactly?’

‘See him. Talk to him
properly
. Find out exactly what he wants before either one of you storms off. Work out what he’s offering. If, like you said, it wasn’t a fair contest before, then make sure it is one now.’

‘What’s the alternative?’

‘Well, just ask yourself one question. Can you live with David for the rest of your life?’

‘I guess.’

‘Could you live without Evan?’

Sarah looked up sharply, still finding it ridiculous that someone she’d spent so little time with could be worthy of such a question. ‘I have done, haven’t I?’

‘Interesting.’ Grace regarded her levelly. ‘Okay, well, what are your doubts about David?’

Sarah let out a short laugh. ‘You’ve met him, right?’

‘Seriously, Sarah.’

‘Well, he can be a bit, you know, controlling.’

‘So you can’t be yourself with him?’

‘That’s the thing,’ said Sarah. ‘I’m not sure who I am anymore.’

Grace took her hand. ‘That doesn’t sound that good to me.’

‘Why not? What’s wrong with having my decisions made for me – my life mapped out? Christ knows, I’m tired of all these twists and turns. My mum, my dad, coming here, Evan and David, getting pregnant, then losing it, and now Evan coming back . . .’ She gazed at the river and blinked away a tear. ‘Maybe David’s the easy option. I can just relax. Let someone else dictate to me for a while.’

‘And how is that you, exactly?’

‘Maybe
this
isn’t me,’ said Sarah, desperately. ‘I mean, look at me. My father dies, and how do I deal with it? By leaving everything I’ve ever known and coming over here to a country that keeps reminding me I don’t belong every time I open my mouth. Then, right when I start seeing a good, decent, kind man, I meet someone else who knocks my socks off, but before things can even start to get serious I virtually frogmarch him onto a plane back to where I’ve just come from. Then the first one has the decency to propose to me and I accept, despite maybe having fallen in love at first sight with the other one, not to mention the fact that I’m quite possibly pregnant with his child. Now the other one’s come back, and it’s making me question what I’m doing getting married to the person who’s stood by me through all of this. How can you possibly say that’s a good life?’ She looked at Grace, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I always thought if I made a decision, I’d stick to it. Coming here. Focusing on my career. Marrying David. Now I’m questioning all three. What’s happening to me?’

Grace put an arm around her and held her until her shoulders stopped heaving. ‘Listen,’ she said, eventually. ‘What are you doing this evening?’

‘Sitting at home and slitting my wrists, probably.’

‘Don’t even joke about that kind of thing.’

‘Sorry.’ She sniffed, then forced a smile. ‘Well, nothing, now you ask. David’s got some work thing, and . . .’

‘Excellent. Because you need a night out.’

‘Grace, thanks, but I’m hardly in the mood.’

‘No buts. You and me. Out on the town. I might even get you drunk. And we’ll sort this out once and for all.’

‘How on earth are we going to . . .?’

Sarah stopped mid-sentence. Grace had stuffed the apple into her mouth.

‘Just hurry up and eat that,’ she said, pointing to the clock on the side of the cathedral’s tower. ‘The clock is ticking.’

Sarah didn’t say anything, but just chewed as instructed. That, she knew, was part of her problem.

41

I
s that what you’re wearing?’

Sarah scrutinised her reflection in the hallway mirror. It was the third time she’d changed, and the black knee-length dress she was wearing was maybe a little conservative for a night out, but in her defence, Grace hadn’t told her where they were going.

‘What’s wrong with it?’

‘Nothing,’ said Grace, handing Sarah her coat. ‘I just wanted to check you were good to go.’

‘Good to go where, exactly?’

‘Out on our big night out.’

‘I guess.’ Sarah felt a little light-headed. It was nearly eight-thirty, and they’d already worked their way through a bottle of wine while getting ready, so staying at home and getting drunk seemed as good an option as any. But staying at home and getting drunk was what David liked to do, and she had a lifetime of that to look forward to. ‘So, what’s the plan?’ she said, as Grace steered her out through their front door and into the lift.

‘Plan?’ Grace pressed the ‘down’ button. ‘We go and get a
couple
of cocktails down us. Maybe even find a couple of good-looking men to buy us those couple of cocktails . . .’

‘Grace, I’m not really in the mood for socialising.’

‘Well, they can buy me a couple of cocktails, and you can sit in the corner like an old maid.’

Sarah sighed. ‘Okay. Any clues as to a venue?’

‘That information’s on a need-to-know basis.’

‘And I need to know, Grace.’

‘Well . . .’ Grace glanced at her watch. ‘I thought we’d go to a club.’

‘A little early, aren’t we?’

‘Not for where I have in mind.’

They made their way outside, where Grace flagged down a taxi, then leant in through the window and whispered something to the driver. ‘Get in,’ she ordered, holding the door wide open, and Sarah did as she was told. The traffic was light, and after a few minutes, the cab deposited them at the top end of Tanner Street. Grace paid the driver, then led Sarah towards the railway arches, or more specifically, Sarah suddenly realised, The G-Spot.

When she caught sight of the familiar building, she stopped abruptly. ‘I hope we’re not going where I
think
we’re going.’

‘Depends where you think we’re going,’ said Grace, obliquely.

‘Grace!’

‘Relax.’

Sarah was hanging back like a child off to visit the dentist, so Grace grabbed her arm and hauled her along the pavement, but when they reached the entrance, she dug her heels in.

‘Grace, I can’t. Evan . . .’

‘What makes you think he’s going to be here this evening?’

‘Why are you bringing me here if he isn’t?’

Grace made a face. ‘Okay. There’s a chance he might be playing. But think of it as kill or cure. You need to see him here, where it all started, to realise whether you’re doing the right thing, or . . .’ She paused. ‘The wrong thing.’

‘But . . .’

‘No buts, Sarah. You owe it to yourself, remember. And maybe . . .’

‘What?’

‘Maybe you owe it to someone else as well.’

Sarah stared up at the flickering neon sign above the entrance, wondering whether Grace meant Evan or David, and by the time she looked back down again, Grace had disappeared into the club. For a second, she considered turning round and finding a taxi to take her back home, but the annoying thing was, Grace was probably right. She took one last look up and down the street, and with a resigned shake of her head, followed her friend though the door.

The G-Spot was packed, and she peered anxiously round the club’s gloomy interior, feeling strangely nostalgic despite herself. Evan could be here already, she realised, chugging back a beer before getting up on stage, and the thought sent a prickle of anticipation through her. She’d loved watching him that evening – he had a stage presence, him and that that golden saxophone, and the way he cradled it softly, effortlessly teasing almost impossible notes out of it, couldn’t fail to mesmerise you. At least, it had mesmerised her.

Miraculously, Grace seemed to have commandeered a couple of stools over by the bar, so Sarah pushed her way through the crowd to join her.

‘Here.’

‘Beer?’ Sarah regarded the bottle of Budweiser quizzically, and Grace grinned.

‘America’s best. You said you were feeling homesick that night, so this should help.’

‘Thanks for nothing,’ said Sarah. Despite the amount she’d already had to drink this evening, she felt quite sober now, which was probably just as well – the last thing she wanted was for her emotions to get the better of her, and some alcohol-fuelled mistake might well be something she’d regret in the morning.

But Grace was right – this
was
something she needed to do, if only to realise that their past encounter had been something special, but the past was where it needed to remain. She was in a different place now, surely, somewhere she wouldn’t – or indeed couldn’t – give in to her baser emotions. After all, there’d been no-one in the year since Evan had left who’d managed to turn her head, so this would indeed be a test. Although, she realised shamefully, one she’d taken a year ago and failed.

Her throat felt suddenly dry, so she drained half of her beer in one go. Was she really over Evan? She’d find out this evening. And as the lights suddenly went down, she realised she didn’t have long to wait.

42

E
van pulled his sax out of its case, slotted the mouthpiece into place, then softly blew a few notes. Despite his reservations, it felt good to be backstage again, and while the venue wasn’t quite as grand as he’d been used to over the past twelve months, there was something appealing about the intimacy of these small places and the chance to connect with the audience that allowed. Though it was connecting with the audience here that had got him into trouble in the first place.

He listened to the band warming up on stage, ready to make his entrance. He would have preferred to be out there with them, but Mel had wanted to make some sort of announcement and, as he’d reminded Evan when he’d protested, it was his club. From the buzz he could hear, the G-Spot was pretty full, and he took a few deep breaths to calm the nerves he could already feel jangling, the clear air taking him by surprise. It seemed strange without the smell of cigarettes – the ambient smoke had always been part of the atmosphere, the jazz experience, a constant presence on the classic jazz posters he’d had on his bedroom wall growing up, or the thousand-and-one album covers that featured black and white stills of the greats, grey smoke trails rising up around them as they played. It had somehow added an extra dimension to the music, but nowadays there were times he felt he could have been playing at a primary school. Then he remembered it had probably been the smoke that had given Sarah’s father cancer, and his wistfulness evaporated.

Sarah
. He hadn’t heard from her since he’d stormed off, and
he suppos
ed he shouldn’t be surprised, though it was possible she was still trying to digest his announcement – God only knew he was having enough trouble with hers. Even now, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t ignore the constant reminders that seemed to appear wherever he looked – a woman in Sainsbury’s earlier in a ‘Superdry’ T-shirt, someone else in the fruit and veg section discussing a ‘big apple’. He’d even found himself staring at a mother pushing a pram earlier, and had suddenly felt he had something in his eye.

The lights went down, and as if on cue, Mel stuck his head through the gap in the curtain and winked at him. ‘Ready?’

‘I guess so,’ said Evan, then he frowned at his sax. ‘If I could only remember which bit to blow.’

Mel laughed. ‘You sound like my ex-wife,’ he said, before
disappearing
back through to the audience side. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ Evan heard him say. ‘We have a very special guest this evening on tenor sax, just arrived back in London, fresh from supporting Sting and The Police on their world tour – although to hear him go on about it, you’d think it was the other way round. Mister Evan McCarthy.’

Evan blushed at the applause as he pushed his way through the curtain and waved sheepishly at the audience, suddenly
remembering
why he preferred to be in the backing band. Still, at least Mel hadn’t mentioned Jazzed, he reminded himself, then he looked across at the drummer, nodded, and the band launched into
Take Fiv
e
.

He began playing, falling quickly into the easy rhythm set by the drummer, the notes from his sax almost flirting with the sound from the accompanying double bass, the music flowing through his fingertips, washing away the jet lag of the past few days.
This
was what he loved more than anything – though perhaps not more than Sarah: The bum note he played when he saw her, perched on a stool by the bar, seemed to go unnoticed by everyone but Mel, who raised one eyebrow from his position at the side of the stage, and for a second Evan didn’t know what to do. He could hardly stop playing mid-set and go and talk to her, but what if she left before he’d finished?

As his eyes became accustomed to the lights, he made out Grace sitting next to her, a strange, almost smug expression on her face. Was it possible that she was smiling at him? He couldn’t be certain – but surely their presence at the club after his earlier request was no coincidence?

He thought about trying to catch Sarah’s eye, but the effort required when blowing on a saxophone wasn’t always conducive to making appropriate facial expressions, so with little alternative, he played on. Unable to look at Sarah, he threw himself into the music, and – as the band segued into
So What
, followed by
After The Rain
– Evan found himself praying that he was playing so well it’d be impossible for her to leave. And while he’d planned to play only a dozen songs, by the time they’d reached their last number,
My One And Only Love
– which Evan realised couldn’t have been more appropriate – he’d never been more grateful to be finishing a set.

As the band took a bow, an idea occurred to him, so he signalled ‘one more’ to the other guys on stage, then leant down and spoke into the microphone.

‘Thank you,’ he breathed. ‘I’d just like to play one last number. For someone special who’s here tonight.’

‘I didn’t know you cared!’ shouted Mel, and as the audience laughed, Evan gave him a look. He took a deep breath, put his sax to his lips, then blew the familiar six notes – ba-da-bah-ba-da-BAH! – and as the rest of the band joined in, he fixed his eyes on Sarah.

It had been a long time since he’d played
I Just Want To Make Love To You
– almost a year, in fact – and through the darkness, it was hard to tell what she was thinking, but given the way her hands seemed to be gripping the edges of her seat, Evan suspected she knew he was playing for her. And play he did – hitting the high notes with a purity and accuracy that made his lungs hurt, almost rattling the club’s windows with the low ones, his fingers a blur over the keys. Then, on his signal, the rest of the band stopped playing, and Evan finished with a solo, playing like he’d never played before, as if at the most important audition in his life.

He shut his eyes as he coaxed seemingly impossible sounds from his sax, sweating with the effort, toying with the melody, and then, as he reached the final few bars, bringing the volume right down, silencing the audience into hushed admiration. And then, when he finally pulled his sax from his lips and opened his eyes again, the crowd began clapping, slowly at first, their applause rising into a crescendo that seemed like it would never stop.

The lights went up and the band took their final bow, all except for an exhausted Evan. His eyes searched the area in front of the bar where Sarah had been sitting, but with the crowd on their feet it was impossible to see her, and for a moment he feared the jet lag and excesses of caffeine he’d ingested over the past few days had made him hallucinate.

As the applause finally died down, he grabbed his case from behind the curtain and quickly slotted his sax back inside, then jumped down from the stage and pushed his way through the crowd, nodding politely at the people who tried to stop him or clap him on the back, but when he reached the bar, the stool Sarah had been perched on was empty. Confused, he stared at it, reaching out a hand as if to check she hadn’t simply made herself invisible. Then he felt someone standing behind him, sensed it was her, and wheeled around.

‘Hi,’ she said, softly, and somehow Evan knew everything had changed.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘It’s a free country,’ said Sarah defiantly. ‘Besides, I didn’t know you’d be.’

He smiled at her, not wanting to get his hopes up, unsure whether she’d just needed to hear some jazz, or was simply doing what he’d been attempting for the past few days – trying to replicate how things were
before
. ‘That’s not what I meant. I thought you’d be, you know,
busy
.’

‘I am busy. Having a night out with Grace.’

‘Grace?’ He peered over Sarah’s shoulder. ‘Where is she?’

‘She had to go.’ Sarah smiled wryly. ‘Apparently.’

‘Oh. Right.’ Evan nodded towards the bar, where Mel was doing a bad job of trying not to eavesdrop. ‘Can I buy you a drink?’

‘I didn’t come here to drink, Evan.’

‘Well, what did you come here for?’

Sarah folded her arms. ‘I told you. Grace . . .’

‘No, Sarah. What did you come
here
for?’

‘Evan . . .’ She stared at him for a moment, then reached out a hand and touched the side of his face. ‘The way you played tonight . . . It was . . . Christ, I think every woman in the audience needed a cigarette after your solo.’

‘And what about you?’

‘Me?’ She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve
given up.
’

And then Evan leaned slowly in towards her, as if testing how close he could get without pulling away, though pulling away was never on his mind. The moment his lips touched hers, Sarah responded to his kiss with a combination of intensity and familiarity that to him seemed just so, well,
appropriate
– though maybe not for as public a venue.

Eventually, reluctantly, he broke away, his eyes searching her face for some sign that he’d overstepped the mark, but Sarah’s expression seemed to suggest it was just the beginning. He leaned back in towards her, but she stopped him, placing her fingers on his lips.

‘Maybe we should get a room?’ she suggested, a little out of breath, and while he’d always found that particular Americanism a little crass, right now it was music to his ears.

‘Are you sure?’ he said, almost afraid of what her answer
might be
.

‘That’s what I’m trying to decide. Which is why we should.’

‘In that case, I know just the place.’

He nodded goodbye to Mel, then took Sarah by the hand and led her outside to where he’d left the Mercedes, his heart swelling with pride as she ran a hand affectionately along the car’s front wing.

‘You know that’s the passenger side?’ he said, unlocking the door for her, and Sarah nodded as she climbed in.

‘Yeah. I figured I’d let you drive tonight.’

Evan grinned as he jumped into the driver’s seat, and although the kiss Sarah leant across to give him as he started the car told him he needn’t be worried, he still put his foot down. They drove in silence, Evan concentrating on not hitting anything as he raced the car through Bermondsey’s streets. As he screeched to a stop in front of his building, Sarah relaxed her grip on the dashboard.

‘And you complained about
my
driving.’

‘Yes, well.’

‘Are we here?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Thank Christ.’

They got out of the car, then made their way up the steps from the street, Evan holding his front door open almost formally as he ushered her through. Once inside his flat, he flicked the light on, and Sarah glanced around the room, taking in the signed black and white jazz posters, the expensive-looking turntable on the sideboard, the huge speakers in the corners of the living room, the coffee cup and empty beer bottle sitting on the arm of the sofa.

‘I like what you’ve done with the place.’

‘Yes, well, it’s hardly Grand Designs,’ Evan began, though he didn’t get a chance to continue, as Sarah’s lips found his again.

They kissed some more, then he lifted her up and carried her to his bedroom, setting her down only so he could pull her dress off over her head. He laid her down on the bed as he began to undress, but to his surprise, she pulled him down next to her. ‘Let me,’ she said, slowly removing his underwear, then wriggling out of hers.

He gazed up at her as she lowered herself on top of him, made speechless by her beauty, then matched her rhythm as she moved slowly up and down, her hands on his shoulders, her eyes never leaving his. Then, just for a second, and just when Evan was in danger of reaching the point of no return, Sarah stopped.

‘I don’t know what I’m doing,’ she said.

Evan reached up and took her face in his hands, then kissed her firmly. ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he replied.

She relaxed on top of him, returning his kiss with an intensity which surprised him, so he started moving underneath her, as slowly as both of them could bear, hoping it would never end, Sarah’s orgasm quickly bringing him to a wrenching climax he feared might make him pass out. But instead of repeating their post-coital experience of a year ago, when they’d lain there in a tangle of limbs until their breathing returned to normal, Sarah immediately climbed off him, gathered up her clothes, and rushed out of the bedroom.

He lay there for a moment, listening to the post-slam reverberation of the bathroom door, suspecting this wasn’t a good sign, and neither was the gentle sobbing he could hear. With a sigh, he hauled himself wearily out of bed, pulled on his boxer shorts, padded over to the bathroom, and knocked softly on the door.

‘Sarah?’

Evan knocked again, but when there was no reply, went and sat back down on the bed to wait, his head a whirlwind of emotions. He’d thought that if he ever got this far, sleeping with Sarah would have been something to celebrate, but right now, celebrating was the last thing he felt like doing. The sex had been good –
great
– just like it had been their first time. They fitted together, him and Sarah, knew exactly how to push each other’s buttons, and even after a year apart, it had felt, well,
natural
. Just like riding a bike, he thought. Not that he’d have ever dared repeat that phrase.