No Ordinary Bloke (19 page)

“I don’t need a mum, Sylvia. I have one already, thank you.”

“Good. Then I won’t cook. Have Riya cook us some curry, and you can tell me what happened. I’m sure I can figure out an answer. I always do.”

Saying no would do no good. She’d just show up on her own. Complaining to Adam wouldn’t help either. He’d tell me to sod off and be happy she’s not my sister. So instead, I said, “Fine. Come by six, but I only have an hour or so. I have plans.”

“If you do, you can cancel them.”

Even though I had too much work back at the office, I left early. Often when you had a planned time to meet, Sylvia just showed up. She operated on Sylvia time. True to form, she arrived ten minutes early without an apology or an explanation. I opened the door to see her tugging at her hair.

“Welcome,” I said, ushering her in.

“Thank you.” She tugged at her hair again. “I just got my hair done. I’m not sure how I like it.”

“It looks nice.” Honestly, I noticed almost nothing about Sylvia’s appearance ever. She was my cousin, a genetic fact which already made her invisible in my mind, but also the sexual charge coming from her was so negative you’d think she was wearing a vicar’s collar. Plus, she seemed frozen in time for the last twenty years as the same devilish little pixie with spiky hair. The only difference in her appearance between now and when we were young was that she’d traded in her Doc Martens for designer stilettos.

She flounced in, gave me a hug and then patted my cheek. “You look awful.”

“And what if I said that to you?” I replied, closing the door behind her.

“You never would say it to me.”

“Because I’m a gentleman.”

“Because it’s not true. By the way, you’re a sweet man and a wonderful cousin, but you are no gentleman.” She plopped her garish and undoubtedly expensive handbag on the table by the door. “I’m sure that had something to do with the break-up, but you can tell me your story, and I’ll sort out what you should do.”

“You know, when you were young and so conceited and bossy, it was amusing, but you’re in your mid-thirties. You can’t go around speaking this way.”

She sneered. “I’m one of the most respected critics in the art world. What you call conceit and bossiness is actually my greatest asset.”

“Right. I’m sure that’s what your co-workers say.”

“Oh, they all have miserable personalities. I’m the nice one.”

“Good God. Remind me to avoid the art world.”

“Don’t you already?”

“Yes.”

“You can pour me some wine now. I prefer white with curry,” she said as she walked to the kitchen.

For the first hour, we chatted and ate Riya’s excellent curry. When I began asking Sylvia about her recent publishing party for her latest art book, she said, “Why didn’t you come?”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Isn’t that woman in New York?”

“Yes, but we were never really dating.” I pushed my plate away, saying, “There’s really nothing to talk about.”

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s play a game. I’ll ask you yes or no questions. I think it will be easier, okay?”

“Okay.” How bad could yes or no questions be?

“What her name?”

“That’s not a yes or no question.”

“Please. I do need her name. You don’t have to give me her full name, just her first one. Knowing what she does for a living might be a help as well.”

“Oh, all right…” I sketched out the briefest of biographies of Allison.

“She sounds lovely. I’m guess you got on well…physically?”

“What are you a bloody shrink?”

“I’m just asking if you had a good physical bond. I’m presuming you did.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means what it means.” I took a swig of my pint wondering how the hell I could get out of this.

“So you didn’t have sex?” Sylvia was shocked to say the least.

“No.” I took another quick drink and said, “I never even kissed her if you have to know every last fucking detail.”

“Really? She wasn’t a virgin was she?”

“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Was there another man involved?”

“Yes. She had…has…a boyfriend.”

“So she chose him over you?”

“In effect.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

“That’s a yes.”

“Oh dear. We have a terrible case of unrequited love.” Her eyes widened. “You tried to steal her away, and she wouldn’t leave him for you. That would be disheartening.”

“Yes, it would,” I muttered.

“And if I were you and that happened to me with a girl I really fancied…that would be devastating.”

I glared at her. “Are we done now?”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry to have strayed from our format. Back to yes or no.” She crossed her arms and leaned on the table. “Is the bloke she’s with a good guy?”

“No. He’s a sorry piece of shit.”

“Does he also live in New York?”

“Yes.”

Sylvia leaned in further as if it was the most compelling tale rather than my pathetic life. “Who is he? Why is she with him? Do tell me. I’ll be able to help you more if I know more.”

I hesitated, but then gave in. “Oh, fuck it.” I reasoned telling Sylvia was safe. She’d never do anything to hurt me—at least intentionally. So I spilled the beans about Allison, and for the most part, Sylvia was quiet. There was only the occasional catty commentary. She didn’t know Trey personally, but she knew of his family because they gave a lot of money to the arts in New York. At the end, I said, “So that’s it. My short and ultimately doomed foray into real romance. At this point, confirmed bachelorhood looks like a nice fucking place to be.”

“No, no, no. We can’t have that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love Aunt Margaret. Your mum is wonderful, and I see how she looks at Little V. You’re going to give your mother a grandchild.”

“A grandchild?”I shook my head. “First of all, I’m not responsible for my mother’s happiness. Second of all, I’m sure she’s given up on me by now.”

“Well, yes, she probably thinks it’s unlikely. She’s not stupid after all, but I bet she hopes.” She scowled at me. “Confirmed bachelor. Rubbish. You just spent thirty minutes talking down that Trey character. Do you really want to be like him in twenty years? I don’t think so.”

“All right, all right. I won’t rule out being with someone new. It just seems highly unlikely.”

“But you don’t want to be with anyone new, do you? You want to be with her.”

“I do, but she needs to come to me.”

“What?” Sylvia sneered.

“I can’t go back to her begging.”

“I hope you haven’t had any fantasies of her showing up on your doorstep begging you to take her back…not that it sounds like you ever really had her in the first place, but you know what I mean.”

Indeed, I did have those fantasies all the time. What was so wrong with them? “Isn’t she the one who needs to realize Trey is a jerk and then dump him?”

“Yes, but even if that happens, coming back to you is difficult.”

“How so?”

“Because you’re a man perpetually on the make who always has a woman around. She’s not going to fly all the way to London and beg if she thinks you’ve just gone back to your womanizing ways.”

I rubbed my eyes in exhaustion from Sylvia’s interrogation and the long workday. “Supposedly, you were going to help me. What would you have me do?”

“You need to send her a sign that you’re still here and still interested. Sort of a smoke signal.”

“You’ve been in America too long. A smoke signal? I’m not an American Indian.”

“They’re called Native Americans.”

“Whatever. They’re just another set of indigenous peoples who got screwed over by the English.”

“Can we get back to your love life? Or should I say lack of love life?”

“Get on with it then. What is this smoke signal then?”

“A note or a little gift. Just something that apologizes.”

“What do I have to apologize for?”

“You did put her in an awful position. You did make her feel like an idiot over Trey.” She craned her neck closer to me. “What do you mean ‘what do I have to apologize for’? You, of all people, always have something to apologize for.”

“I don’t know…”

“Trust me.”

“I’ll consider it.” Even if I thought it was the greatest fucking idea on earth, I’d never tell her that so quickly. “So what’s going on with your love life, Sylvia? Are you dating anyone?”

“Not right now.”

“There’s always Angus…”

“Angus!” She was about to sip her wine, but she set it down instead. “I’ve given you some sound advice and you, in turn, suggest I go out with Angus? He’d just give me a venereal disease.”

I mulled it over. Other than work, I had plenty of time to think. I wasn’t seeing anyone. At a time when I should’ve been making an effort to see other women, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I had no interest in finding a woman, and the ones who threw themselves at me were even more unappealing. So there was plenty of time to mull over what to do about Allison.

After a few days, I sat on my sofa late one night, watching football highlights while I replayed my life’s lowlights. As painful as it had been to have been rejected by her, the easy way out was to ignore Sylvia’s advice and move on. Granted moving on might’ve taken a few years, but eventually it would happen. The harder thing to do was to try again because the odds of me being rejected again were high.

I hated how things ended between us—and not simply because she left me. Somehow I wanted to have the last word, and I wanted it to be a positive one. There would be no opportunity, though. Unless the stars aligned and we were again in the same airport, there was no reason that we would ever bump into each other again.

Probably because I was watching football, but that silly saying came back to me—you miss one hundred percent of the shots you don’t take. I sank deeper into my sofa, realizing it was true. Wasn’t Allison worth one more shot? If I didn’t take another shot, I’d be giving up on her. She’d been a sweet friend. I couldn’t give up on that.

The next day, I began digging in my desk drawer looking for the stationary that Elinor stocked for me. With the blank page before me, I stared at it wondering what I could write that wouldn’t be so awful if Trey read it. I decided to keep it simple.