The Best Thing I Never Had (30 page)

For her fifteenth birthday she had had a sleepover; just her, Harriet and Sukie and a couple of other girls from school. One of them had just read a book where the hero and the heroine were from different dimensions – or something – real cheesy stuff. But it had sparked up a conversation about alternate realities, multiple universes, where as simple a decision as what to have for lunch sent manifold versions of you spinning out through time and space, one for each possible possibility.

That had delighted the fifteen year old Leigha, the idea that somewhere in the universe there would be a Leigha living the perfect life. It made everything seem suddenly much more achievable, like she could conceivably engineer it so that she
was
that Leigha.

She tried to picture the Seth of the reality where the two of them had been able to be together, no Harriet Shaw to come between them. She tried to picture that Leigha; she found that she simply couldn’t.

She opened her eyes; their dancing had slightly shifted where they were in the room. She was facing inwards, to where Miles and Nicky and Sukie and Demi were dancing, the latter couple laughing as they skipped and swerved to avoid treading on the skirt of Nicky’s dress.

Leigha considered going over and asking Seth to dance; he must have noticed that she’d blown him off earlier, and knowing him he was probably feeling awkward and bad about it. Or embarrassed; the last time she saw him he was naked and crying – that is pretty pitiful, after all.

She imagined how dancing with Seth would feel. All those years ago, when he’d first put his arms around her – breathing hot and beery over her face, into her mouth – and still she’d melted, wanted them to press closer together than physics allowed, wanted them to occupy the same time and space, for always.

The track blended into the next: a love song. The couples drew one another closer. Demi cupped the back of Sukie’s head, his fingertips disappearing into the blackness of her hair. Miles and Nicky murmured quietly into one another’s ears as they began to dance cheek to cheek. Leigha found herself feeling something that was just short of wishing that she had the same.

A project, she thought to herself, the thumping-thumping heartbeat under her ear all but drowning out the romantic lyrics of the song. A project to find a man who could overcome her natural distaste for anyone who seemed to like her too much. A man like an alternate reality Seth. What a man that will be.

Roddy wasn’t such a man, of course, and never would be. She knew she shouldn’t have brought him to this wedding – he would be thinking that he meant more to her than he ever could – but she hadn’t been able to face it on her own. She never had liked being on her own.

Leigha was lulled by the rhythmic movement of muscles beneath the cotton of Roddy’s shirt as he gently circled her around and around in time with the music. She closed her eyes again. When they got back to London tomorrow she should finish things with him, or maybe some time next week, when he called to make their usual mid-week dinner-and-drinks date. Either way, it should be soon, to clear the path for Alternate Seth.

Now she had a focus, killing time with Roddy felt a little bit too much like stringing him along, and Leigha didn’t like the prickles of guilt that that thought brought on. It made her think of Johnny. They’d not seen one another for about a month, by the time he’d driven up to take her flat-hunting and she’d realised, belatedly, that she’d let everything get a little too far. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but had known that letting things go on would just end up hurting him more, so she’d bitten the bullet she’d been avoiding biting since the summer.

‘You’re a cruel cow, Ley,’ Johnny had informed her – voice oddly toneless after an hour of pleading and wheedling – as he’d shrugged back into his jacket. ‘I don’t understand you, or what your problem is.’

Of all the many things that she’d been called over the years, that one had stayed with her, felt particularly unjustified.

So then – tomorrow afternoon, when they arrived back at her flat, it would be cruel to put it off. She could do it in the car when he pulled into the car park, even; he didn’t have any belongings at her flat, wouldn’t need to come up. One short, sharp, uncomfortable conversation, which was all it ever took.

The DJ apparently had a line of sight on them and a sense of humour – or it was a rather wonderful coincidence. The track changed to Pat Benetar’s
Hit Me With Your Best Shot
and Adam and Harriet subsided into giggles.

‘Ahhh, I’m quite drunk,’ Harriet lamented. ‘You total pain in the arse.’

‘Bet you’re feeling a little less stressed though,’ Adam beamed at her. ‘And it kept you from leaving early.’ Harriet’s face tightened.

‘How did you know I was thinking of leaving?’ she asked. Adam shrugged, suddenly evasive, looking away.

‘Guessed. I bet I would have felt the same. There isn’t much here for you to hang around for. Except for me and the premium vodka.’

‘The two things I was told to avoid,’ Harriet reminded him.

‘Yup,’ Adam agreed. ‘Those same two things.’ Harriet rubbed her fingers over her temple; they were tacky with the splashback from pouring so many shots of vodka.

‘What’s your game?’ she asked Adam, but not in a tone that suggested she expected an answer. ‘I can’t work it out.’

‘No game,’ Adam answered. ‘Aside from Never Ever, ha. Just trying to make things a little easier for you, like I said that I would yesterday.’ Harriet shifted, a dry smile on her face; she had her right arm crossed over her torso, her fingers resting lightly against her left shoulder. With her left hand she fiddled with her bracelet.

‘Make things easier for me?’ she echoed. ‘Oh, Adam, mate… I doubt you’ve ever made anything easy for anyone, especially not me.’ She smiled to soften the force of her words but she could see that they had stung him all the same. He poured himself another half-shot of vodka, not meeting her face.

‘Yeah, well.’ He quickly downed the shot. ‘I’m just being a friend. Like you wanted.’ Confusion creased Harriet’s forehead. ‘You wished that we’d been friends,’ he clarified.

‘We were friends…’ Harriet said slowly, still muddled.

‘No, like how you said yesterday,’ Adam muttered. ‘About how you wish that we’d
just
been friends.’

‘Oh.’ Realisation dawned. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. It was a compliment. It meant that I – you know – would have preferred to have stayed friends than nothing. Like, I would rather have us never been together and still been good mates today, than what actually happened. You know?’ she repeated, weakly. Adam glanced up.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel that way at all.’

‘I just mean that ignorance is bliss, or something!’ Harriet flustered, trying to undo the damage. Adam’s stare hardened.

‘I guess,’ he said, slowly, finally dropping his eyes again. Harriet exhaled uneasily. ‘It’s just that you were a better lover than you were a mate,’ Adam finished, shrugging. Harriet’s mouth fell open.

‘What?’

‘What?’ Adam asked, innocently. ‘It’s a
compliment
,’ he said, in a sing-songy tone, repeating her earlier excuse.

‘Excuse me?’ Harriet was rankled. ‘I think I was – I
am
– a really good friend!’ Adam shrugged again, nonchalant.

‘One who left me standing in your emptied-out bedroom on my 21st birthday,’ was all he said, still in that irritating, sing-song voice. Harriet scowled.

‘Well, it wouldn’t have
gotten
to the point where that was my only option if, you know, you’d been more supportive!’

‘Supportive!’ Adam looked incredulous. ‘How the fuck was I not supportive? Holed up with you in that little room every night, bringing you takeaways because you were too timid to go downstairs and use the kitchen! Telling you I loved you, trying to counter all the poison that those bitches dripped in your ear. Don’t you dare tell me that I wasn’t supportive.’

Harriet briefly closed her eyes. ‘It just… it wasn’t… you just weren’t supportive enough,’ she managed, finally.

‘And what was it you were expecting?’ Adam asked, sarcastically. ‘What could I have done to fix it? All you ever said was that I shouldn’t get involved.’

‘I—’ Harriet began to protest.

‘Oh, don’t make a scene, Adam!’ Adam put on a high-pitched voice to imitate her. ‘Don’t go and talk to them about it! Don’t make it worse!’

Harriet had no response; they fell silent. Harriet felt a warmth stinging in her chest, and behind her eyes, the wine and the vodka churning in her stomach. Now, she thought, now is the time to say my goodnights.

‘I’m sorry,’ Adam said, gruffly, unexpectedly. ‘I promised I wouldn’t get in to all this with you. It doesn’t matter.’

‘No, I’m sorry,’ Harriet said. ‘But that seems to be all I’m saying to you this weekend. I think I’m going to call it a night.’ As she spoke she rose to leave.

As she rose she lifted her hand to her face; her bracelet raced along the length of her arm; something caught his eye.

‘Hey,’ Adam said, standing too. ‘Show me.’ He reached out and took her right arm; three little black Vs were inked onto the inside of her wrist and forearm.

‘Oh, yeah,’ Harriet said, uncomfortably. ‘Hence the bracelet. Wasn’t sure Nicky would approve of a tattooed bridesmaid.’

‘What, are they birds?’ Adam asked, running his thumb over the first one; Harriet nodded. ‘Wow. You’re still full of surprises, Shaw. Didn’t have you pegged for a tattoo. You always said they were tacky.’

‘It’s hardly a big skull or a thorny rose or a scroll that says ‘Mother’ across it,’ Harriet rolled her eyes. ‘And I only said that tattoos should be meaningful, not just for their own sake.’

‘Okay,’ Adam nodded. ‘And what does this mean?’ Harriet hesitated, tilting her head as she considered her answer. Suddenly Adam remembered the bird earrings he’d once bought her, and how they had dangled and spun whenever she had tilted her head like that.

‘They remind me,’ she said, finally. ‘Of what’s important. Of before.’

‘Christ!’ Adam said, looking down at the three little birds again. ‘I hope it’s not: this one’s you, this one’s Sukie and this one’s Leigha?’ He traced the birds outwards from her wrist as she spoke. Harriet shook her head and brought her own fingers down next to his.

‘Not at all,’ she told him. ‘They are all me. Where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going.’ Adam looked at her, their faces close; he still held her arm.

‘That’s very… zen, or something,’ he said finally, not really knowing what to say. ‘Harry, come on. Stay. No more forced shots, I promise. I’ll even get you some water.’ She hesitated; the expression on her face looked like a no. The pulse in her wrist jumped under his fingertips. ‘Harriet.’ He said her name again like the repetition of it could make her stay. ‘Don’t go. It’s been really good to be with you.’

And it had. There was still so much he wanted to talk about: whereabouts did she live now, what her job involved day to day, had she voted and how, what did she think about London having the Olympics? He wanted to know more about this grown-up Harriet. He hadn’t intended to bring up the past – not at all – but it was everywhere, inescapable, sitting on the chair next to them, within the lyrics of the music, in the taste of the vodka, in the look in her eyes.

But still, the no on her face wavered and became a half-smile.

‘I’m quite tired,’ she said, apologetically. ‘It has been nice to catch up, though.’ She stepped to the side, sliding the chair back into place under the table. Adam felt something like panic rising up, a heat inside his body.

‘Come on,’ he tried, one last time, speaking before he had time to consider his words. ‘You owe me.’

He regretted the words the second that it was too late. Harriet’s brows snapped together and she pulled her arm away from in between their bodies.

‘Good night, Adam,’ she said, her voice clipped.

‘Look, do you want to take my number?’ Adam tried. ‘Maybe we should try a proper catch up in a less stressful environment?’ Harriet shook her head.

‘I don’t think it’s a great idea. Anyway, “just for the weekend”, wasn’t that what you said?’

‘Oh, come on,’ Adam snapped, his patience thinning. ‘You’re just being difficult, as per usual.’

‘As per usual?’ Harriet echoed in disbelief. ‘What does that even mean?’

‘Whatever. Nothing.’ Adam underlined his indifference to the conversation by sitting back down, clamping down on the anger roiling inside his belly. She was so many extremes to him, it was unsettling; the person who being with was the easiest thing in the world, and the person who seemed to live to make things hard. With one last dark look Harriet swept her little beaded clutch bag from the table top and began to move away. ‘See you at the Silver Wedding Anniversary party,’ he called after her, desperate for the last word. ‘Maybe by then you’ll have grown up.’

Harriet turned on her point and marched the few steps back, throwing her bag back on the table and placing her hands on her hips; Adam rose to his feet to meet her wrath.

‘Just leave me the hell alone,’ she hissed.

‘Oh, poor Harriet, Harriet the victim,’ Adam mocked. ‘Running off again. Do you know? I was really pleasantly surprised by you this weekend. I thought you were “old Harriet”, back from the dead. Clearly, I was wrong.’

‘What the hell do you mean, “old” Harriet?’ Harriet balled her hands into little fists. ‘When are people going to understand that there’s just
Harriet,
not as many versions as there are opinions; just one, just me!’

‘Well, according to your own arm there are at least three Harriets,’ Adam jeered. She stared at him; he imagined that she was also wondering how they’d deteriorated so damn quickly.

‘I’m sorry that right now I’m not acting like what you
expect
of me, or fitting nicely into whatever
box
you think I should, but, don’t you dare presume to tell me that I’m “not myself”. You don’t fucking know me.’

‘And whose fault is that?’ he shot back.

‘At the end of the day,’ Harriet said, dropping her volume. Adam realised that their angry voices had drawn the attention of some strangers on neighbouring tables, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to care. He
was
angry, damn it. His very veins were pulsing hot, like they had no blood in them, only a mixture of resentment and vodka.