Читать книгу: «The Time of My Life», страница 4
‘Yes, and look how swell it’s all going.’
Silence.
‘So let’s cut to the chase. This meeting is about me leaving dinners and parties early.’ That wasn’t so bad, I could deal with that, I would just explain why I left each event, where I was going afterwards. This whole thing could be over sooner than I thought.
He started laughing. ‘Hell, no. I just got sidetracked.’ He looked at his watch. ‘We don’t have much time to cover anything. Shall we arrange to meet again?’
‘We’ve got thirty minutes left.’
‘No more than five going by your usual exit strategy.’
‘Get on with it,’ I said.
‘Okay.’ He leaned forward. ‘So what are you doing?’
‘What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m sitting here, wasting my time talking to you, is what I’m doing.’
For the next part he didn’t need notes, he just stared straight into me. ‘You get up at seven a.m. every morning except Saturdays and Sundays when you arise at one p.m.’
‘So?’
‘You have a nutrition bar from your corner cupboard, a cappuccino from Starbucks at the end of your block, you buy the newspaper, sometimes you drive, sometimes you take the train to work, you do the crossword. You arrive at work between nine and nine thirty, you don’t get started on anything until ten. You take a cigarette and coffee break at eleven, even though you don’t smoke but think it’s unfair that smokers receive extra breaks. You take an hour lunch break at one p.m. You sit alone, you do the crossword. You are always late back to your desk. It takes you until two thirty to begin work again but for the afternoon you are diligent and complete your work. You finish at six p.m.’
‘Why are you telling me things that I already know?’ I spoke like I didn’t care but in truth it was disturbing to listen to. It was disturbing to know that all the little things I did in secret were being noted by somebody, and being logged in a computer for some stressed-out office nerd to read like I was some sort of solitaire game.
‘You go to the gym every day after work. You’re supposed to jog for twenty minutes but always stop at seventeen, you work out for thirty minutes more. You sometimes meet friends for dinner, you would always rather be at home, you always leave early. You go to bed, you do the crossword. You get up at seven a.m.’
He left a silence.
‘You see a theme emerging?’
‘I’m prone to solving crosswords? So what? What’s your point?’
He sat back then, studied me again with his tired unblinking eyes.
‘No. What’s yours?’
I swallowed a large dry lump that had formed in my throat. ‘Well, that’s very profound.’
‘Not really. It’s just a question. Okay, why don’t I speak in a way that you understand. Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to leave here in thirty minutes, exactly on time at the end of our meeting, then you’re going to try to forget everything we’ve talked about. You will succeed. I will be reduced to an annoying frustrating little man who made you waste a few hours of your Sunday and you’ll go back to living your life exactly the way you were.’
He stopped. I waited for more, but there wasn’t anything. I was confused. He couldn’t possibly believe that. Then I got it. ‘That’s a lie.’
‘It’s not a lie if the outcome is exactly the same.’
I didn’t want to ask but I had to. ‘And what’s the outcome?’
‘You’ll be as alone and as bored and as unhappy as you were before you met me, but this time it will be worse because this time you’ll know it. You’ll know it every second of every day.’
And on that note, I grabbed my bag and left. With exactly thirty minutes to go, just like he’d said.
CHAPTER SIX
Silchesters don’t cry. It was what my father had told me when I was five years old and I’d fallen off my bike after taking the stabilisers off for the first time. He had been beside me, guiding me along the driveway of our home, though he was further away than I’d have liked but I didn’t want to tell him that because I knew he would be disappointed. Even at five I knew that. I didn’t hurt myself, I was more in shock over the feel of the hard tarmac as my knee slammed down on it and as the bicycle got crushed between my legs. I’d held out my arms to him for help but in the end I got to my feet by myself under his instructions. I still remember his voice. Move the bike away from your leg. Now stand up, don’t make that noise, Lucy, stand up. I’d stood up, hunched as though my leg needed amputation, until I was told to stand up straight. I’d wanted a hug but I didn’t say so, knew that asking for and wanting one would be wrong in his eyes, but knowing in my heart that it wasn’t. It was just the way he was and that’s what I always understood. Even at five years old. Apart from the time Blake left me and when Life reminded me about it, I rarely cried and rarely felt the need to.
In the end it had all ended so quickly. We were together for five years, we had a sociable, fun, busy life together. We had talked about marriage and all of those things and while we weren’t remotely ready to do any of them yet, the understanding was that we would eventually. To each other. When we grew up. But in the process of growing up, I lost him. Somewhere along the way. Not over one day, it happened gradually, he disappeared a little more and more every day. Not his presence, we were always together but I felt like he was going somewhere, even when we were in the same room. Then he sat me down and we had the chat. And that was it. Well, the chat came after an important conversation.
He’d just signed the deal to do his new travel show at that time so he’d started travelling on his own, I suppose it was kind of practice, or that’s what I thought it had been at the time but maybe it was something more. Maybe he was searching for something he just couldn’t find in our converted bread-factory apartment. Sometimes now I think he was seeing somebody else but I have absolutely no reason other than paranoia to back that up. He had been on a trip to Finland and when he returned you’d swear he’d just walked on the moon or had a religious experience. He wouldn’t stop talking about the calm, the quiet, the peace, how much he was at one with whatever the hell else could survive in minus forty degrees. He kept telling me how I had no idea, I couldn’t possibly understand what he was talking about. I told him I could understand. I understood the calmness, the clarity, the contentment in life when you have that perfect moment. Yes I did, I understood. I didn’t use the same words when he was describing it, my eyes didn’t light up to a pure icy blue as if I was seeing the gates of heaven, but yes I understood those feelings.
‘Lucy, you don’t understand, believe me you do not understand.’
‘What do you mean, “you” do not understand? What’s so different about me to other people that I couldn’t possibly understand what it’s like to have a moment of fucking contentment? You don’t have to go to Kathmandu to find inner peace, you know, some of us have it right here in the city. In a bubble bath. With a book. And a glass of wine.’
And then followed the chat. Not immediately after, it may have been a few days, it may have been a few weeks. But whatever it was, it was afterwards. It had given me enough time to digest that he felt I was a different type of person from him, one who didn’t understand the depths of him. I had never felt that before. I had always known we were different, but I didn’t know that he knew that. It sounds like a small detail but actually when really thought about, it became everything. When I travelled, I travelled to see new places; when he travelled, he travelled to find new parts of himself. I guess when you’re trying to find all the parts of yourself, it’s difficult to be with someone who’s already fully intact.
Then here’s where we did a stupid thing, and he walked me into a scenario that I wish I could change every day of my life. Obviously, I was upset. I was very upset, I was so upset I turned to religion – the Silchester religion of worrying about what People would think. He told me that if it made me feel any better we could tell people that I left him. Now, in my current reasonable-ish state I don’t know why I would have agreed to that. But I did. It helped me after the break-up, it gave me a strength that I needed while having those conversations with friends and family so I could say, ‘It just wasn’t working, I had to leave him.’ Because when I said that, there were fewer questions. If I’d told them he left me, there would be endless amounts of pity, of trying to figure it all out on my behalf, what I did wrong, how was it my fault, then them being afraid to talk about it when they met him or saw him with a new girlfriend. My dumping him was to make everything easier. Only it wasn’t easier because he had left me and I had to listen to every little thing about him and pretend it didn’t hurt, and then see him on his TV show and pretend it didn’t hurt and whenever I got angry at him I had to listen to how I had no reason to be angry and how hurt he might be, the poor thing, and I was trapped in this big fat lie.
Because I ended up carrying around this big secret that nobody knew about, this big ball of hurt that had turned to anger, which often turned to pity, then loneliness because I never had those necessary conversations to help me get over it properly, I felt alone in my secret reality. So in the initial stages I carried that hurt and anger and pity around with me and due to circumstances I may reveal at a later date, got fired from my respectable job that paid well, but to be able to tell people why I got fired I’d have to tell them why I got fired and I couldn’t do that because after so much time it would just frankly be weird to admit a lie of that magnitude, so I told everyone I quit and then the rest of my life fell into its own new place following a bunch of big fat lies. And they were big fat lies no matter how much the outcome was still the same.
That is all that I will admit to because, as it turned out, I felt happy with how my life had settled. If Life had tried to meet with me two years ago, I would have understood, because I felt like I was falling but not now, not any more. I’d fallen from a great height and was wedged into what some may assume was a rather precarious place that could easily snap and break and send me falling again, but I was very happy, cosy even, and everything was fine, absolutely fine.
When I reached the lobby of the depressing Lego building, American Pie was gone. I left the chocolate bar I’d brought for her on the counter, the one she said she liked when we spoke on the phone, and exited the building and tried to forget about the frustrating little man who wasted a few hours of my Sunday. But I couldn’t. That frustrating little man represented my life and for once I just couldn’t forget it. Right in that moment I had no distractions to take my mind off it – no car to fix, no email to send, no paperwork to fax, no family member to call, no friend’s problem to delve into – and I was experiencing a mild feeling of anxiety. My life had just told me that I was going to be alone and miserable. I don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that information, I really don’t. He didn’t tell me how I could not be alone and miserable and all I wanted to do was fight the reality, like patients who have received news of an illness and feel in denial about it, because you might be diagnosed but you still don’t feel the symptoms. I saw a café at the next corner and found the solution. I like coffee, it makes me happy in the small way that things you like can lift you, so I figured a café would mean I was in company, and the coffee would mean I was with something that made me happy. No more alone and miserable. Inside was full, with the exception of one small table. I squeezed by the tables, chatter loud in the air. I was happy about that, other voices would take my mind off my own. I ordered a coffee and sat back, satisfied that I could eavesdrop on other people’s conversations. I needed to stop thinking about it. My life was fine, absolutely fine. I was a single woman with a job who was happy, I needed a distraction. Any kind of distraction. The café door opened, the bell rang and half the café automatically looked up. Then the straight males went back to their conversations and the remainder continued gawking because in walked the most beautiful man I had ever seen in the flesh. He scanned the café and then headed in my direction.
‘Hi,’ gorgeous man smiled, resting his hands on the chair opposite me. ‘Are you alone?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Is anybody sitting here? The café’s full, do you mind if I join you?’
There was actually a free seat behind me but I wasn’t going to point that out. The man had a beautiful face, perfectly proportioned nose and lips and eyes and a jawline you could grate cheese on. I thought about my family signing off on Life’s intervention, I just couldn’t figure it out; why on earth Life had come to me, there were plenty of people who were unhappy after relationships ended, surely this wasn’t an emergency case. I had moved on, I was living my life. I wasn’t afraid to meet new people. I wasn’t stuck in the past. What did they think was wrong with me?
‘No problem,’ I said, then drained my cup as he sat down. ‘In fact, you can have the table to yourself, I’m just leaving to see my boyfriend.’
He looked disappointed but nodded his thanks.
Okay, I lied.
But in only a few hours from then, the outcome would be the same.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘We were up at four thirty this morning,’ he panted, beads of sweat trickling down the sides of his face and getting lost in his suntanned stubble-lined jaw. ‘The trail from the hostel to Machu Picchu has taken about one and a half hours. We were told to wake up that early so that we could leave Wiñay Wayna by five thirty to get to Machu Picchu before sunrise.’ He was wearing a navy blue T-shirt, the sleeves were tight around his biceps, sweat marks were on his chest, on his back, under his arms. He wore beige combat shorts and walking boots, his legs were tanned and muscular like the rest of his body. There was a long shot of him walking the trail and I paused the TV.
Mr Pan jumped onto the couch beside me. ‘Hi, Mary.’
He purred.
‘He’s doing the Inca Trail today. We were supposed to do that one together. Let’s see who else he’s doing it with now …’ I studied the girls in the long shot. She wasn’t there. I pressed play again.
‘As you can see the trail contours around this mountainside and drops into cloud forest before coming to an almost vertical flight of fifty steps leading up to the final pass at Intipunku, which means Sun Gate.’ Lots of shots of him panting, shots of scenery, close-ups on him, his walking shoes, his rucksack, the back of his head and the view before him, the reflection in his sunglasses. All of them were new, nothing I’d bought him. ‘And here we are,’ he smiled at the camera, big white perfect teeth. He looked off into the distance, took off his glasses to reveal his beautiful eyes and his face changed. ‘Wow.’
I paused it on his face. Studied him and smiled. Knew that it was for real, that it hadn’t been filmed twenty times already for his best look, knew that he was in heaven right there, right then and in a funny way I felt like I was experiencing it with him. Just like we used to do together, years ago. The camera panned and then I could see what he could see, the whole of Machu Picchu spread out before us.
‘There it is, Machu Picchu in all its glory. A fantastic sight. Beautiful,’ he said, taking it all in. There was a wider shot of him assessing the view. I paused the TV again and studied the girls around him. She wasn’t there. I pressed play again. It cut to later, he had wiped the sweat from his face, had changed his T-shirt to a fresher version of the same one, was sitting down and looked rested, had caught his breath for the final wrap-up scene. He gave his little summary of his journey and then, ‘Remember that happiness is a way of travel, it’s not a destination.’ Then he smiled, those teeth, those eyes, that hair, those arms and hands – I remember them all around me, sleeping beside me, showering with me, cooking for me, touching me, kissing me. Dumping me. ‘Wish you were here,’ he said with a wink, and he was gone and the credits took the place of his face.
‘Me too,’ I whispered. I swallowed a hard dry lump of nothing that had stuck in my throat. Had that awful sick feeling in my stomach, and the pain in my heart that came when the credits finished and it hit me that he was gone. I waited for the initial pain to go and then I paused the credits and searched. Her name was still there. I used my laptop to go on Facebook and check her status. Single.
I was psychotic and I knew it but I also knew that most of the time my paranoia was correct, and that most of the time it wasn’t paranoia, it was gut instinct and most of the time that was correct. But it had been almost three years and they hadn’t, by the looks of it, gotten together. I didn’t even know how present she’d be in his life as a production assistant; I didn’t know how TV shows worked, but when he’d first signed the deal to do the show we went to meet with the team. I’d met her and I got a feeling about her. That was all, one of those girlfriend feelings that you get about other girls. Then when we broke up I got a huge feeling about her, and those feelings had manifested into something so massive it was bordering on obsessive. But I couldn’t help it. Her name was Jenna. Jenna was a bitch. And every time I heard the name Jenna I thought of her and immediately hated the poor unrelated person named Jenna. She was from Australia and I hated everyone from Australia. It was a very weird thing that had taken over me, I didn’t even know her and I’d previously liked Australia, but I’d created this persona around her, this dislike for her and her country and anything, however minuscule, that I knew about her.
Just to taunt myself I imagined them having sex on the top of the mountain as soon as the camera was turned off and I wondered who he’d camped out with all those nights in that tiny little tent, in those close overcrowded little hostels. All of the environments he was in were too close for him to share with another woman, especially Jenna, especially the character that had grown in my mind. She would crawl into his tent in the dead of night and reveal her naked self to him, he would try to fight his urges but he wouldn’t be able to because he was a man and he was all pumped up from the walk up the mountain, and being in touch with nature made him even hornier. Every time I watched an episode, I pictured them together. I didn’t even know what a production assistant did but I Googled it to find out. I didn’t know if she was a set PA or an office PA; a big difference because it either meant she was with him all the time or their paths rarely crossed. Occasionally I looked through the other names on the credits to make sure someone else hadn’t slipped in that could also be sleeping with him on location, but I had investigated them through the power of Google and surmised that Jenna, the bitch from Australia, was the only woman he would go for.
My mobile rang, and took me out of my latest daydream. It was Riley again. Since lunch the previous day I had had nine missed calls from Riley and two from Mum. Silchesters didn’t ignore people, make a drama or cause a fuss, so I had texted them both that I was unavailable to speak and that I’d call them back as soon as I could. It wasn’t a lie. I just didn’t know how to be with them. I couldn’t be angry with them because as concerned family members they were only trying to help, but I couldn’t entertain mindless chit-chat because I was genuinely hurt, flabbergasted even, that they felt I was in such dire need of help that they couldn’t come directly to me to tell me. I had always done my best not to reveal anything about myself to my family, even to Riley. Despite him being my accomplice during family gatherings, he was not my best friend; he was my brother and there were things that brothers didn’t need or want to know.
I ignored the call and as soon as it stopped I immediately sent a polite text about how I was currently out with friends. He texted back straight away.
–Then u left ur tv on cos I’m outside ur door.
I leaped up, Mr Pan did too but he didn’t follow me. His courage always gave out when we got to the bathroom door. He nipped in there to defend me from behind the wash basket.
‘Riley?’ I called through the door.
‘Yes.’
I sighed. ‘You can’t come in.’
‘Okay. Can you come out?’
I unlocked the door, barely opened it so he couldn’t see inside and slid out to him. He tried to look in. I closed the door.
‘Have you got company?’
‘Yes. A hot naked man with a large erection is lying on my bed waiting for me, if you want to come in.’
‘Lucy.’ He had a pained expression.
‘I’m only joking.’
‘So there’s no one there?’
‘No, there is.’ It wasn’t a lie. Mr Pan was waiting for me.
‘Sorry. Is it … you know?’
‘Life? No. I met him in his office earlier today.’
‘Him?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Weird.’
‘Yeah.’
‘How did it go?’
‘Yeah, good. He was nice, just wanted to check in and have a chat, that kind of thing, I probably won’t have to meet him again.’
‘Really?’
‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ I snapped.
‘Okay.’ He shifted his weight to his other foot. ‘So everything’s okay?’
‘Yeah, he was a bit confused as to why he had to meet me at all really.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah, it’s just like one of those random breath tests only it’s a random life test. They picked me completely at random, unfortunately for me.’
‘Oh. Okay …’
I let the silence hang.
‘Well, I’m here because I found these.’ He took a pair of shoes out from behind his back. ‘I’m checking around the kingdom to see who they fit.’
I smiled.
‘May I?’ He got down on bended knee, lifted my foot, saw I had odd socks on and visibly tried hard not to comment. He removed my sock and slid my foot into the shoe. He looked at me in mock surprise.
‘Now do we live incestuously ever after?’ I asked.
He frowned, then leaned against the door frame and stared at me.
‘What?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What, Riley? You didn’t just come here to give me my shoes.’
‘Nothing,’ he repeated. ‘Just …’ He looked like he was going to say something serious. ‘It’s just that I met someone who used to work with you a few years ago in Quinn and Downing and he just said a few things to me …’ He studied me. I tried to look confused, not fearful as I felt, and he changed tack. ‘Anyway, he was probably wrong.’ He cleared his throat.
‘Who was it?’ I asked coolly.
‘Gavin Lisadel.’ He studied me intensely some more.
I rolled my eyes. ‘The biggest drama queen I’ve ever worked for.’ In truth a perfectly reputable guy. ‘I’ve heard he’s coming out with all kinds of weird stories about me. Don’t worry, whatever it is, it’s a lie. I heard he’s been cheating on his wife with a man for years, so you know …’ He was a happily married family man as far as I knew. I had just destroyed Gavin’s perfect image in less than one minute but I didn’t care, he had destroyed mine too, not that it had ever been perfect and even if he had, he probably wasn’t lying. Then I felt bad about what I’d said so I added quickly, ‘But everyone really likes him and he’s really good at his job.’
Riley nodded, still not convinced but he changed the mood. ‘I still can’t believe you said Father wasn’t the breastfed kind.’ He started laughing, then threw his head back and laughed even louder.
Eventually I joined in. ‘Well? Do you think she’d have bothered? Old wrinkly tits?’
He shook his head, disgusted by the thought.
The door opposite me opened and a friendly apologetic face popped out. ‘Hi, Lucy, I’m really sorry, do you mind keeping it down a little? I’ve just— oh hi,’ she said, noticing Riley.
‘Sorry,’ Riley apologised. ‘I’m just leaving.’
‘No, it’s rude of me to ask, it’s just that I’ve got …’ She pointed her thumb back into the apartment but didn’t say anything. ‘You look so alike. Are you Lucy’s brother?’ she asked, studying him.
‘I am. Riley.’ He reached out his hand and they shook, which was weird because I couldn’t even remember my neighbour’s name; I’d forgotten it the moment we met and it seemed rude as the time went by to ask so I just never addressed her, there was a lot of hey and hi and hello you and I had a strong suspicion it was Ruth but I’d never had the full confidence to go for it.
‘I’m Claire.’
And it was just as well.
‘Hi, Claire.’
Riley was giving her one of his best cute but sweet but strong and masculine, you-can-trust-me, flirtatious looks, which freaked me out but Claire wasn’t completely delusional, she untangled herself from his web of silent promises, and quickly said her goodbyes.
‘Must be losing your touch, Riley.’
He looked at me, serious again.
‘Don’t worry, it happens to us all.’
‘No, not that …’
‘What, Riley?’
‘Nothing.’ He aborted the thought, and made his way to the elevator.
‘Thanks for the shoes,’ I said more gently.
He didn’t turn around, just lifted his arm up in a salute and disappeared into the elevator. Just before I closed my door I heard my neighbour – whose name I’d already forgotten – open her door and quickly say, ‘If you ever want to come in for a coffee or anything, just come straight over. No notice needed, I’m always here.’
‘Oh. Okay.’ It felt awkward. It had been at least a year since I’d met her and apart from the chat in the elevator it was the longest sentence either of us had ever said to one another. She used to never speak when I saw her. Probably spending all that time cooped up inside had made her desperate to talk to anyone, including me.
‘Thanks. Eh … likewise.’ Then I couldn’t think of anything to say so I closed the door.
Only I never wanted her to call over for a coffee and I never wanted Riley to come into the apartment. He’d never been in before, none of my family had. None of my friends had either. It was my space. But it was becoming an eyesore even to me. The carpet had to be cleaned. I would clean it myself without telling the landlord because I didn’t want him checking it and seeing the burns and then charging me for the damage. I searched for where I’d written the company name on the carpet and grabbed the phone and quickly dialled directory enquiries before I changed my mind. I knew something monumental was happening. I was doing something that needed to be done and I felt the burden of it every step of the way. As they connected me and the phone rang, I began to think of hanging up. It wasn’t just the phone call; it was having to follow through that bothered me. I’d have to stay in from work one day, I’d have to wait for some stranger to arrive hours after he’d promised and then I’d have to show him all the personal private stains that I wanted removed. How humiliating. It rang and rang, and then it sounded like it was about to be answered or go to an answer phone when it went through another bout of ringing. I was about to hang up and abort the situation when a man answered.
‘Hello?’
It was noisy. Pub noisy. I had to move the phone away from my ear.
‘Sorry, just be a minute,’ the voice shouted and I wanted to shout back that it was okay, that I’d got the wrong number, partly because I’d changed my mind – I didn’t want the hassle of a stranger in my home – and partly because I was beginning to think I had genuinely been connected to the wrong number. I searched for the business card I’d been given by American Pie to see if it matched the number on my screen. But the phone wasn’t by his ear to hear me explain, it was being rubbed against his body or dozens of other bodies as he made his way to somewhere quieter.
‘Just a minute,’ he shouted again.
‘Actually it’s okay,’ I yelled despite being in a silent room. But he was gone again.
Finally there was silence, I could hear footsteps, then laughter in the distance, then, ‘Hello? Are you still there?’
I fell back on the couch. ‘Yes, hi.’
‘Sorry about that, who’s this?’
‘Em, actually this is going to annoy you seeing all you had to do to get outside but I think I’ve got the wrong number.’
‘After all that,’ he laughed.
‘Yep, sorry.’ I climbed over the back of the couch and was in the kitchen. I looked in the fridge. Nothing to eat as usual.
He went quiet, then I heard a match and he inhaled. ‘Sorry, bad habit. My sister said if I took up smoking I’d meet someone.’
‘I pretend I’m a smoker at work to get more breaks.’ I was surprised I’d said it out loud.
‘What if they find you not smoking?’
‘If someone’s there, then I smoke.’
He laughed. ‘That’s a long way to go for a break.’
‘I’ll do anything for a break.’
‘Like talk to wrong numbers?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Want to tell me your name or does that break the wrong-number code of ethics?’
‘I’ve no problem at all telling a complete stranger my name. It’s Gertrude.’
‘That’s a lovely name, Gertrude.’ I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘Why, thank you.’
‘I’m Giuseppe.’
‘Nice to meet you, Giuseppe. How’s Pinocchio doing?’
