What Might Have Been (9 page)

14

E
van spent the next five minutes in the magazine aisle, pretending to flick through the latest issue of
NME
while actually
peering
through the supermarket’s huge glass window and watching David load his shopping into the boot of a large black BMW.

He ducked down behind the magazine as Sarah glanced briefly back towards the store before climbing into the driver’s side, and wondered for a moment whether it was perhaps her car, but quickly dismissed the thought. She wasn’t a ‘large black BMW’ kind of girl – or at least, she hadn’t been a year ago. And besides, the way that David had casually tossed her the keys and how she was having to adjust the driver’s seat and mirror, suggested otherwise, as did the car’s personalised number plate – B4NKR.

As Sarah reversed out of the parking space and drove past the other side of the window, he ducked down again, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and while that was partly due to the dread of what tonight might have in store, he knew it was more down to Sarah’s reaction – or perhaps lack of it – upon seeing him.

‘Are you going to pay for that?’

‘Probably,’ said Evan, before realising the scowling shop
assistant
who’d just materialised at his elbow was referring to the now-crumpled magazine he was holding, and not the evening he’d just committed to with David and his no-doubt-identical friends. ‘I mean, yeah. Sorry.’

He waited till the assistant had gone, then hid the magazine behind a copy of
What Car?
, put the Moet back on the shelf, and made his way towards the exit, trying unsuccessfully to
stifle
a yawn. Dealing with the jet lag was already proving difficult enough without the prospect of a late night, and Evan wondered whether he should perhaps go home to bed, but time wasn’t a luxury he had, so instead, he headed out of the store and down towards the river, striding purposefully across Tower Bridge and towards
Bermondsey
, drinking in the vibrant atmosphere, happy to be back. He loved this part of London, the vitality of the people, the new-found energy of the streets – in the year or so before he’d left, almost every time he’d walked out of his front door it had seemed some new, exotic restaurant had opened up, or a shop selling the kind of thing that you suddenly wanted despite not quite understanding what it was had taken over from some failing former business. Now Bermondsey Street was almost completely transformed: a Vietnamese sandwich bar sat next to yet another new estate agent’s; the Garrison pub on the corner of Tanner Street now sported a sign advertising ‘film nights’ every weekend, whereas until recently ‘fight nights’ would have been more appropriate. He was pleased to see Al’s – the greasy spoon café and a Bermondsey institution, where he’d occasionally go to see off his hangovers with a full English – was still there, although if he were a betting man, he wouldn’t give it long.

Turning right up Long Lane, he began the five-minute walk towards Borough, hoping a stroll in the late-spring sunshine might kick-start his sluggish system. As was usual for a
Saturday
morning
, the streets around the market were throbbing with a mix of wide-eyed tourists, trendy South-Londoners and well-heeled City boys, the latter desperate for the over-priced Foccacia and expensive selection of obscure cheeses that they bought every
weekend
, no doubt feeling that this marked them out as sophisticates, whereas Evan knew the stallholders, unable to believe their luck that people would pay these exorbitant prices, saw them
simply
as marks.

He walked past a stall which sold fancy French bread by the kilo and winced at the cost, wondering whether it might not be cheaper to actually hop on the Eurostar train to France to buy a loaf, yet the ridiculously high price hadn’t stopped a queue forming. But Evan wasn’t surprised; enough people lived around here now with the kind of money to afford this sort of thing. People like David, for example. And he couldn’t resent it. He’d never have met Sarah if they didn’t.

Besides, David and his ilk all lived in Shad Thames, the hyper-desirable area just east of Tower Bridge, or in one of the expensive warehouse conversions that dotted the South Bank between there and the Tate Modern and gave them easy access into the City by day and across the river to Covent Garden at night. Evan, on the other hand, lived at the Bermondsey end of SE1. Just far enough from the river that he could afford the mortgage on his one-bedroom flat on his musician’s wages, yet not so close to Elephant and Castle that he felt he was going to get mugged on his way home every night. He’d bought it ten years ago, back when his career had been on a high and property prices had been low, as nobody had wanted to live south of the river – nobody pretentious, at least – and certainly no-one had been brave enough to live
south of
south of the river. But Bermondsey was trendy now, at least according to a piece in
The Evening Standard
he’d read on the tube coming in from Heathrow the previous day. Whether he still belonged here if that was true, Evan hadn’t quite made his mind up, but as he looked up at the new Shard development towering above him, he felt strangely proud of how much it had grown in a year, and realised he was pleased he was home. Even though Sarah hadn’t seemed to share the sentiment.

He wondered whether he was crazy to come back for her, and an idea occurred to him – the memory of a distant conversation – so Evan quickened his pace and, two minutes later, found himself in Guy’s Hospital’s waiting room. He peered around the brightly lit interior, hoping that Grace was on duty, careful not to stand too close to anyone – he could never afford to get ill, literally, given his no-play, no-pay occupation, but fortunately, it didn’t take him long to spot her. She looked different at work, her long blonde hair scraped back into a pony-tail, the petite but curvy figure he’d had to stop himself from gawping at when he’d met her in Sarah’s kitchen hidden by the shapeless green scrubs she was wearing. He found it strange to see her in her junior doctor’s garb. It almost didn’t suit her, as if she were wearing it for a fancy dress party.

‘Grace,’ he called, and she looked up distractedly from the clipboard she’d been studying.

‘Yes?’

‘Hello again.’

She blinked at him uncomprehendingly. ‘Do we know each other?’

‘Would it help if I was holding a tea towel over my, you know . . .’ He pointed both index fingers towards his groin, then watched in horror as Grace’s eyes flicked towards the security guard in the corner. ‘Don’t you remember? You asked me if I had a problem with my bits, and . . . No, hang on, that’s worse. Um . . .’

To his relief, Grace’s eyes widened in recognition, though they quickly narrowed. ‘Evan, right?’

‘Sorry – I shouldn’t have expected you to recognise me.’

‘Don’t tell me – with your clothes on?’

‘No, I meant since we’d only met the once, but now you mention it . . .’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Well, I owed you a tea towel, and I wanted to check what design you wanted before I went to John Lewis and . . .’

‘Seriously, Evan.’

For a moment, he considered launching straight into his explanation, then thought better about it, so instead, just repeated the answer he’d given Sarah earlier.

‘I’m back.’

‘Back?’

Evan frowned at her. Surely Sarah had at least told Grace where he’d been, and why he’d left so suddenly. Though perhaps not, if she
had
just regarded him as a one-night stand. ‘I’ve been away. In the U.S.’

‘So I heard.’ Grace regarded him suspiciously. ‘Does Sarah know?’

‘That I’m back? Yes.
Why
I’m back, no. At least, not yet. I just bumped into her, funnily enough. In Waitrose. But she was with, you know . . .’

‘Her fiancé?’

Evan swallowed hard. ‘Well, David, yeah. Which, if you’ve got a moment, is kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘David?’

‘Yeah. Well, no. More about me and Sarah, in fact.’

‘Is there a “you and Sarah”?’

Evan stared at the floor, as if hoping to see his next line written on that, although all he seemed to find there was an instruction to blush furiously. ‘Okay. About Sarah, then. And whether she’s happy. With him, I mean.’

Grace shrugged. ‘I’ll ask her for you tonight when she gets home from spending the day with him like she does most
Saturdays
, shall I? Or perhaps it might be better if I quiz her for you later at her hen night? Although seeing
as
it’s her hen night, which unless I’m very much mistaken is an event that typically happens before someone’s wedding, and a wedding isn’t something you usually have unless you’re happy with the person you’re marrying, I’d think it was safe to assume so. Wouldn’t you?’

‘Well, not necessarily.’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said? She’s . . .’

‘Getting married?’ Evan forced the words out. It wasn’t getting any less painful to admit, perhaps because it was becoming more of a reality by the day. ‘Yeah. Which, like I said, is what I, you know, wanted to . . .’ His voice began to crack, and he had to clear his throat. ‘Discuss.’

Grace’s face went through a series of complicated expressions, finally settling on indignation. ‘Don’t tell me
that’s
why you came back?’

‘Well, yeah. That, and the fact that I, um . . .’ He swallowed even harder. ‘Love her.’

‘Christ, Evan. Of all the . . .’ Grace folded her arms, opened her mouth as if to say something else, then shut it again, and Evan couldn’t help wondering why she seemed so hostile.

‘Please, Grace. Just give me five minutes?’

‘Why should I?’

‘Well, because . . .’ It was a good question, and he was stumped as to how to finish the sentence.

‘I’m sorry, Evan, but this is a hospital, and I’ve got an afternoon of back-to-back psychiatric appraisals.’ She indicated the waiting room full of patients, some of whom were watching their exchange with interest. ‘You don’t just march in here and . . .’

‘Can’t you just pretend I’m, you know . . .’ He lowered his voice. ‘Nuts?’

Grace stared at him for a moment, then shook her head slowly, before heading off down the corridor towards a set of doors marked ‘Staff Only’. Though as she glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression implied she’d already decided that was the case.

15

S
arah piloted the BMW along Tower Bridge Road, her eyes firmly fixed on the car in front. She hadn’t dared look back down the aisle at Evan, not just because David had been there, but more because she’d had such a hard time putting him out of her mind this past year. Mel had suggested the Police tour might lead to other things, that he’d maybe even stay in the U.S., and she’d fully expected never to see him again, but just when she thought she might be beginning to forget him, here he was again,
and
right before she was due to get married, for Christ’s sake.

Sure it couldn’t be a coincidence, she glanced across at David, wondering how it was possible to fall in love with two such different people, then she corrected herself. It couldn’t have been love with Evan – not when they’d known each other for so little time. No, it had been more of an infatuation, whereas with David, perhaps to her surprise, she’d grown to love him. She shook her head to try and clear her thoughts, causing David to look up momentarily from the message he was composing on his phone, and her heart started
racing
again at the fear she might be found out.
Pull
yourself
together
, she told herself. In just one week, she’d be Mrs. Sarah Cook, then she could relax.

Sarah repeated the name under her breath as she drove towards Shad Thames.
Cook
. A good, solid, dependable name, much like the person who was giving it to her. Whereas Sarah
McCarthy
. . . She smiled ruefully as she turned into David’s road – as if
that
had ever been an option.

The interior of the car suddenly felt stifling, so she cracked the window open a little, reaching over to switch the climate control off before David could do it. She hated driving his car, or rather, hated the way he liked to ‘help’ whenever she did, but she’d insisted, as she did most Saturday mornings. The alternative was to grip the edge of her seat tightly as David steered the 5-Series with one hand and thumbed through last night’s emails on his ever-present Blackberry with the other, and she didn’t need the stress today – especially after what had just happened.

She pressed the button on the remote that opened the imposing metal gates guarding the enclave where David’s riverside flat was and carefully steered the huge car through, then squeezed the BMW into the parking space underneath his building and waited for him to notice they’d arrived. Eventually, he glanced up from his phone and did a double-take at the view through the windscreen, seemingly surprised by their location, as if he’d somehow been magically transported from the supermarket.

‘We here, then?’

Sarah switched the engine off. ‘That’ll be a tenner, mate.’

‘Pardon? Oh, right. Like in a taxi. Very good.’

‘Thanks,’ said Sarah, sarcastically. David didn’t always get her jokes, and even when he recognised she was making one, his dissection of it afterwards tended to ruin the moment.

‘Seems like a nice chap,’ said David, distractedly.

Sarah cleared her throat awkwardly. ‘Who?’ she said, immediately fearing she’d given the whole game away with that one word.

‘Your friend Evan.’ David was still focussed on his Blackberry, and for once, Sarah was grateful for the intrusive little device.

‘He is. Was. I mean, I haven’t seen him for ages, obviously.’

‘Where do you know him from again?’

She stared straight ahead through the windscreen. ‘He plays – well, played – at that club under the arches near London Bridge
Station
. The G-Spot. It’s a jazz club,’ she added, quickly.

‘Ah yes.’ David reached down and unbuckled his seatbelt. ‘Jazz.’

Sarah hated the way he pronounced the word: It sounded facetious, as if he was reciting the name of a particular food he had an aversion to. He knew about her father, of course, but despite this, David had never quite accepted her musical tastes, and while he knew the music was important to her, it remained something he just didn’t get, preferring to play the kind of middle-of-the-road, middle-aged music on his state-of-the-art hi-fi that quite frankly turned her stomach. Then again, Sarah knew she couldn’t expect them to be compatible on every level.

‘Still,’ he continued. ‘It must be nice to see him again?’

‘Yes,’ she said, although part of her felt the complete opposite. ‘You didn’t have to invite him to your stag night, though,’ she added, harshly.

‘Well, it’s done now.’

David sounded a little hurt, and Sarah immediately felt awful. He’d probably thought he was doing her a favour. Looking to the future. Trying to turn one of her friends into one of theirs. Though while she could understand why David had extended the invitation, she was clueless as to why Evan had accepted – unless he was planning to spill the beans about the two of them. Maybe he’d get drunk, and . . . She took a deep breath and told herself Evan wasn’t like that. Not vindictive. And certainly not indiscreet; she’d learned that about him even in the short time they’d spent together.

‘I’m sorry, she said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. It was very nice of you.’

David shrugged. ‘I’m a nice guy,’ he said, as he got stiffly out of the car. ‘And anyway, he might not turn up.’

‘No,’ said Sarah, hoping that was the case.

‘He didn’t seem all that keen, for some reason.’

She pushed her door open and stepped out of the BMW, wishing she could leave the conversation as easily. ‘Maybe he was just a bit jet-lagged,’ she said, desperate to provide David with an answer, even though she wasn’t sure he’d asked a question.

‘Maybe. It’s a tiring flight. Especially if you don’t do it in
business
.’

Sarah bit off her reply as she headed round to the back of the car and popped the boot open. David made these assumptions about everyone – even her, sometimes – though it was just the world he was used to, and besides, she knew she shouldn’t feel offended on Evan’s behalf. She hefted the shopping out and handed David a couple of the bags, and together they made their way towards the elevator, accompanied as they walked by the clinking of his usual purchase of half a dozen bottles of wine – a week’s supply.

‘So . . .’ David pressed the ‘call’ button, then smiled at her. ‘You coming up?’

She shook her head as she lowered the carrier bags carefully to the floor. Despite David’s repeated requests, they still didn’t live together, Sarah preferring to keep their arrangements separate until the last possible moment. ‘I ought to get home,’ she said, passing him the car keys. ‘I’ve still got a bit to do to get the apartment ready for this evening.’

‘Of course. Your big hen night.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘You’d better get going. Those crisps won’t jump into bowls on their own.’

Sarah poked him firmly in the stomach. ‘No need to be
sarcastic
.’

He grinned, then prodded the button again, as if the action would hasten the lift’s arrival. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t want to go out somewhere nice instead. I’d have paid.’

‘David, for the millionth time, I’ve got my own money. I just wanted something a bit more sophisticated than the rowdy evening of debauchery you’ve probably got planned.’

‘Sophisticated? The girls coming round to get roaring drunk on Cosmopolitans?’

‘It’s the American way.’

‘Sounds riveting.’

‘Fuck off.’

David couldn’t prevent his jaw dropping open. Even after a year together he wasn’t used to her occasional profanities, and the shock on his face every time she cursed still made her smile.

‘I’m only teasing you,’ he said, handing her back the car keys. ‘Here.’

‘What’s this – an early wedding present? You shouldn’t have.’

David laughed. ‘I’m not going to need the Beamer again today. Plus, the amount I’m planning to drink tonight, it’s probably best I don’t drive tomorrow either. You keep it round at your place.’

‘Sure,’ said Sarah, grateful she wouldn’t have to walk home. This thing that the English called ‘springtime’ could be as cold as some of the worst Manhattan winters, and she still wasn’t used to what seemed to be the ever-present grey skies overhead. The seasons were something she missed; in New York, there were four distinct ones, but here, it seemed to be permanently cold and rainy, punctuated by the occasional sunny day in July – and she meant ‘occasional’. Though, she reminded herself, she hadn’t come here for the weather.

A
ping
announced the elevator’s arrival, and David half stepped inside, jamming one foot against the door to stop it closing. ‘Well, have fun tonight,’ he said. ‘And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

Sarah fought the urge to raise one eyebrow. ‘You too,’ she said, standing up on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. ‘I’ll call you in the morning.’

David looked horrified. ‘Better make that the afternoon. Late afternoon, in fact. We might go on somewhere after dinner. You know how the guys are.’

Sarah rolled her eyes – she knew exactly how the guys were. She smiled, stopped herself from saying something inappropriate like ‘Look after Evan’ and instead saluted smartly. ‘Duly noted.’

She walked back over to the BMW, then turned and watched David struggle into the elevator with all his shopping. He was a member of a gym; they all were, at work – one of the perks of the job. But David had visited it the once, decided exercising was something that would only cut into his valuable after-work drinking time, and so had resolved never to go there again. Since then, walking to the pub was about the only exercise she’d managed to get him to take, and even that was generally accompanied by his insistence they flag down what he called the ‘black buses’ that cruised round the city for the five-minute journey back. As a consequence, he was starting to look a little paunchy, but Sarah told herself she could work on that once they were married. Although she’d decided not to tell David that just yet.

Clambering into the driving seat, she waved at her fiancé through the closing elevator doors, trying – and failing – not to compare him to Evan. In the few moments she’d allowed herself to steal a glance at him earlier, she’d noticed how good he looked; a little fitter, if anything, and ashamedly, she still felt the twinges of lust that had attracted her to him in the first place.

She waited until the numbers on the digital display above the elevator door had begun to climb upwards, then fished her mobile out of her handbag, wondering whether she should
call hi
m and ask him not to go this evening. She still hadn’t deleted his
number
from her speed-dial, where it had been secretly stored under ‘
gynaecologist
’ – somewhere she was sure David would never look – but as she stared at her contacts list, she stopped herself. He might not have the same mobile number – a lot of things could change over the course of a year – and besides, what would she say?

Perhaps she should warn him about what he was letting himself in for. Sarah worked with most of the other invitees, and didn’t think they’d be Evan’s ‘cup of tea’, to use that quaint English expression. And while she didn’t really think Evan would let on about the two of them, she wondered what would happen if David
did
find out. Surely he wouldn’t call the wedding off at this late stage. He’d be too wary of what other people would think.

Her thumb hovered over the ‘dial’ button, but she couldn’t bring herself to press it. Just thinking about Evan made her feel, well, ‘giddy’ was the best that she could come up with, and Sarah almost laughed at how she couldn’t quite describe the sensation without sounding like a character from a Mills & Boon novel – and that wasn’t a position to make rational decisions from.

But something other than the fact he was back was worrying her. Evan had seemed as if he’d been preparing to make some announcement. Maybe he’d been about to say that he’d come back for
her
, Sarah realised with a start, and she wasn’t sure how she’d feel if that were the case.

The more she thought about it, the more she realised she was going to have to confront him – and soon. She needed to tell him in no uncertain terms that whatever they had was in the past, and if he
had
come back for her, well, he was too late. She
was
getting married next Saturday. To David.

Grace’s number was just above ‘gynaecologist’ on her phone’s contact list, but she’d be at work, and while she’d know what to do, Sarah didn’t like to interrupt her on duty. Besides, they’d have a chance to talk at her hen night later.

With a sigh, Sarah slipped her phone reluctantly back into her bag, started the car, and headed slowly home.