The Year I Met You (28 page)

‘You’ve a headhunter hunting you for a job you would have taken by now if you were in any way interested, and a friend who wants you to help her set up a website about dresses. I was in your house, I heard,’ you explain, seeing my reaction. ‘Of course you need help.’

I’m silent.

‘I know you don’t like other people’s opinions. You think they’re wrong. That they’re not open-minded. Don’t look at me like that, you’ve told me this. Sometimes – just sometimes – I think you look at things entirely the wrong way. I don’t know what you think you’re defending yourself against, but it’s all the wrong things.’

You let that hang for a while. I preferred it when I hated you and we didn’t speak. But seeing as you’ve picked through me and my issues, I feel we’ve reached the point where I can tackle yours. ‘What’s with the Guns N’ Roses song?’

You look at me blankly. ‘What do you mean?’

‘“Paradise City”?’ I smile. ‘It’s blaring out most nights when you come home.’

You stare at me blankly. ‘Nothing. The CD player in the jeep is jammed. It’s the only song that plays.’

I’m disappointed. Where I thought I found meaning in you, it turns out I am wrong. Where I thought I had a glimpse of something, I am mistaken.

‘I better get back to bed, the kids will be up early in the morning. We’re picking our peas tomorrow and planting tomatoes.’

I make a faux impressed face. I’m actually jealous. My peas failed.

‘You okay here?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Just for the record, Jasmine: I would have said the opposite about you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If it wasn’t for you, I would have been alone too many times. I’ve never felt lonely in your company, not for a second.’

My breath catches in my throat. I watch you disappear inside the house. I suddenly feel stone-cold sober. Although I’m dizzy, I have clarity of thought. I’m sitting at the head of the table, at the seat you usually sit in. Your drinking table. How the tables turn in life.

22

The following morning I’m woken by the sun streaming in on my face and the doorbell is ringing. My head is hot, as though I’ve been lying on the tarmac with a magnifying glass held over my face, God’s childish joke on me. I didn’t bother closing the curtains when I fell into bed. Everything comes back to me in an instant, as though I’m being hit over the head with a stone-filled sock. The christening, Laurence. I don’t even care that I dragged you out of bed last night, it is Laurence that beats everything, hands down. The doorbell continues to ring.

‘She’s not here, Dad!’ I hear a little girl’s voice shout beneath my window. Kylie. Or maybe Kris, whose voice hasn’t broken yet.

‘She’s there. Keep trying,’ I hear you shout across the road.

I grunt as I open my eyes and try to adjust to the white light. My mouth is like sandpaper and I look to my bedside locker for water and instead see an empty bottle of vodka. My stomach heaves. This is becoming all too familiar and I know, I just know, that this is the last time this will happen. I can’t take any more. Wanting to be out of my system is now all out of my system. I want to come back now. My alarm clock tells me it is noon and I believe it, the midday sun on my hot cheeks.

I trip going down the stairs and catch myself on the banister. My heart is pounding from the shock, but it gives me the wake-up call I need. I pull open the door and two blondes and Monday stare at me, two looking my dishevelled state up and down with distaste, the other with an amused expression. I immediately close the door in their faces and I hear him laugh.

‘Come on, kids, why don’t we give her a second to get ready.’

I open the door a little for him to enter and then run upstairs to take a shower and humanise myself. I come back downstairs feeling refreshed but tender. Everything is achey – my head, my body …

‘Rough night?’ Monday asks, mildly entertained by my state. ‘Or are you still ill?’ The last sentence comes out angry, and it makes me wince.

I can barely look at him, I feel so guilty about not showing up for the interview, but mostly for not having the nerve to inform him I wouldn’t be. He has made coffee, he’s dressed casually, and somehow he seems more vulnerable out of his business suit. This doesn’t feel like a business call, he can’t hide behind the work persona that he usually disappears behind. Suddenly I feel guilty in the pit of my stomach about Laurence, as though I’ve betrayed Monday, even though there was never anything between us. He is a headhunter and I am unemployed and there was never anything more, or even a hint, but the deception I feel tells me that there was something. It was silent and hidden but it was there. And of course it took sleeping with someone else to realise that.

‘Monday,’ I take his hand, which takes him by surprise. ‘I am so sorry about last week. Please don’t think that it was a decision that I took lightly, because it wasn’t. I want to explain everything to you now and I hope you’ll understand.’

‘So you weren’t sick then,’ he says flatly.

‘No.’ I bite my lip.

‘I don’t think we’ll have much time to talk,’ he says, looking at his watch and my heart falls.

‘If you can, please stay, I’ll explain everything—’

‘No, I’m not leaving,’ he says, leaning against the kitchen counter, folding his arms and looking at me.

I’m confused but I can barely hold his look without smiling. He softens me so much, turns me to mush. He finally smiles and shakes his head, as though doing so is against his better judgement.

‘You’re a mess, you know that?’ he says it gently, as though it’s a compliment and I take it as such.

‘I know. I’m sorry.’

He watches my lips and swallows hard and I wonder when on earth it’s going to happen, I mean, I think it’s really going to happen, maybe I should say something, make the first move to kiss him, but the doorbell rings and he jumps, startled, as though we’ve been caught.

I sigh and open the door and in you walk with your blonde children, my dad, Zara, Leilah, who is looking very apologetic, and behind her is Kevin, closely followed by Heather and her assistant Jamie. Heather is looking very proud of herself. You look like you’re finding this hilarious. Monday is suddenly looking at me with concern. He steps away from the counter and drops his folded arms.

‘Are you okay?’

My body has started to tremble from head to toe. I’m not sure if alcohol withdrawal has something to do with it, but the sense of terror that has engulfed me over what is to come is certainly playing a part. The earlier heart-pound of passion is gone, now it is dread, anxiety, nerves. My brain is telling my body to
run
. Now! Fight or flight, and flight has well and truly kicked in. I know what this is, I know what they’ve done. I can tell from the proud look on Heather’s face that she feels she is doing this for my own benefit, that I will be happy about this.

Kevin gives me a warm hug, which makes me freeze with my hands elevated in the air, away from his body, unable to touch him.

You chuckle, my life your Saturday entertainment on this match-free summer weekend.

Finally Kevin pulls away. ‘Heather asked me to invite Jennifer, but she wasn’t home so I thought I’d come along myself.’

I open my mouth but no words come out.

‘You’re the gardener?’ Kevin says to you, remembering you from the day he called by.

You look at me, amused by the entire situation.

‘Matt is my neighbour. His son was helping me out with some work around the garden a while back.’

Kevin fixes you with a steely stare.

‘Come on, don’t tell me it’s the first time you’ve been cock-blocked,’ you say, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

Everybody moves to the living room and sits, some taking the kitchen chairs with them as there isn’t enough seating. You’re looking around with a big smile on your face, all eager beaver. The kids sit together at the kitchen table, with their colouring books and Play-Doh. I pace the kitchen pretending I’m making tea and coffee, but I’m making escape plans, excuses, get-out clauses. Monday has hung back, though I am so much in my head I am not present any more.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks.

I stop pacing. ‘I want to die,’ I say firmly. ‘I want to fucking die now.’

He drops his hand and looks over at the gathering, biting his lip with his front chipped tooth. He looks as though he’s trying to figure out a way to get me out of here. I cling to hope.

Jamie makes her way over to the kitchen. I can hear the soles of her feet sticking and unsticking to her sandals as she walks. I think I prefer it when she wears her sport socks.

‘I brought some biscuits,’ she says putting a packet of Jaffa Cakes on the counter. I hate Jaffa Cakes.

‘Jamie, what the hell is going on? What is this?’

‘Heather wanted to do this for you,’ she says. ‘It’s her circle of support for you.’

‘For fuck’s sake,’ I snap, a bit too loudly, and I hear you chuckle in the living room.

‘I’ll have coffee, two sugars, splash of milk, dear,’ you call.

Caroline walks in, wearing black sunglasses large enough to cover half her face. ‘Oh my God, I’m so hungover. These christenings are killing me. Oh my God!’ She slaps me playfully on the arm and hisses, ‘I heard you slept with Laurence last night!’

I cringe. I know Monday is right over my shoulder and he has heard. I feel his eyes searing into my back. I feel sick. I look at him and he looks away, busying himself. He brings a tray of cups into the living room and sits down.

‘Oh,’ she says sensing the atmosphere. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know you two were—’

‘Doesn’t matter.’ I rub my face tiredly. ‘You knew about this meeting though?’

She nods, takes a pack of headache pills from her bag and knocks two back with a bottle of water. ‘Wasn’t allowed to tell you. Heather wanted to surprise you.’

I am panicking inside. I want to run, I really do, but one look at Heather – who is sitting at the head of the circle wearing her best blouse and trousers, looking so proud, beaming, confident and bright-eyed about what she has pulled together – and I know I can’t back out on her now. I must endure.

I sit down in the single armchair that has been left free for me, all eyes on me. Yours are twinkling with merriment, so happy to see me looking uncomfortable and vulnerable, vulture that you are. Monday’s eyes are hard and cold and he stares at the leg of the coffee table, whatever previous concern he had for me now dead and buried. Caroline’s eyes are bloodshot and she refuses the passing plate of Jaffa Cakes as though it’s a ticking bomb.

Kevin is staring at me intently, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, trying to channel his good happy positive pervy thoughts in my direction. This is unsettling. His hairy toes in his flip-flops poking out from beneath his skin-tight brown cords are unsettling. He is unsettling, period. Leilah is afraid to look at me, I know it; she’s chewing on her lip and looking around the room and wondering why she didn’t marry a man with a less complicated family. Dad is on one side of her, texting slowly with big thick fingers. Monday is squeezed on the other side of her.

‘Have you two met?’ I ask, and they both nod simultaneously, Monday still not looking me in the eye.

Jamie begins. ‘Thank you all for coming here today. Heather has taken the time to contact you all individually, she has put a great deal of planning and thought into this, and you’re all welcome. Over to you, Heather.’

I tuck my legs up on the couch and hug them, protecting my body. I try to tell myself that I’m doing this for Heather, this is an exercise for her, she has organised this and, as patronising as it sounds, it’s true, and it helps me. But as soon as I hear her voice I want to cry, I’m so proud of her.

‘Thank you all for coming. For over fifteen years, my sister Jasmine has been coming to my circle of support and it has helped me so much, now I want to give her the same experience. You are Jasmine’s circle of support, her circle of friends.’ She looks around proudly.

I look at the people who have shown up and I feel pathetic. You wink at me and stuff a biscuit into your mouth and I want to physically harm you. I
will
physically harm you.

‘We want to show you that we love you and support you and we are here for you,’ Heather says, and starts clapping.

The others join in, some enthusiastically, Caroline gently because the noise is hurting her ears. You wolf-whistle. Dad looks at you like he wants to punch you. It is as if Monday is not here, but I know he is, I feel his energy every time he’s in a room, my eyes are drawn to him each time I’m near him, my body is drawn to him each time, every single part of me wants me to move towards him.

‘My little sister Jasmine was always busy. Busy busy busy. When she’s not busy, she minds me. But now she is not busy and she doesn’t need to mind me any more. She needs to mind herself.’

Tears spring to my eyes. I cover myself with arms, legs, hands, everything twisted and folded and saying ‘Closed’.

They all stare at me. I. Want. To. Die. Right now.

I clear my throat, stop hiding behind my legs and instead place them on the ground. I cross them.

‘Thank you all for coming. I’m sure you all know this is a surprise so I’m not really prepared for this, but thank you, Heather, for organising it. I know you have my best interests in your heart.’ I’m going to keep it basic. Give them something but nothing, not let anybody in, but look like I’m playing along. Take all constructive criticism with a smile. Thank them. Move on. That’s the game plan. ‘Losing my job in November was really tough. I did
love
that job and it’s been very difficult the past six months, not being able to get up in the morning and feel … useful.’ I clear my throat. ‘But now I’m realising – or
have
realised – that it isn’t as bad as I thought.’

Would telling them that I’m enjoying aspects of it, in a way I never thought I could, give too much away? I look at your eager face, then at Kevin so engaged, at Monday who instantly averts his pan-faced gaze to the coffee-table leg, and decide they don’t need to know about my gardening therapy. Telling them that it’s helping me would be tantamount to admitting that I needed help, and I don’t want to go there.