Authors: Lisa Jewell
'I think you're being a little rose-tinted about the whole issue, to be honest, Jem. Friends are an investment, they're not always easy. It's not always fun and laughter and super shared experiences. Friends have needs, problems, demands, insecurities, expectations, and in order to be a good friend you have to at least try to satisfy al of those things as wel as enjoying the good times. I just don't think it's possible to offer that sort of relationship to everyone you pass on the street. I think we're forced to be selective, to take just a couple of chocolates out of the box and leave a few strawberry creams and hazelnut whirls for someone else.'
'Ah,' said Jem, enjoying Ralph's analogy, 'but who gets the montelimar?'
Ralph smiled. 'I think the montelimars end up working in Soho sex shops and going home to an empty flat covered in bat droppings.'
He picked up the bil that the
eagle-eyed waitress had prematurely planted on their table.
'Yeah, I suppose I'm being a little idealistic. Friends can be a pain.
They can be demanding and hard work, But maybe that's because they're the wrong friends. I read a quote once, can't remember who by, but they said that your friends aren't necessarily the people you like the best, they're just the people who got there first. You spend your whole life searching for the right partner but maybe you settle for your friends too soon and then just make do for the rest of your life, never knowing what you're missing out on. Oh, I don't know,'
she sighed, resting her head on her hands and smiling at Ralph across the table, 'maybe I'm talking complete crap. I just feel ...
Pete's just made me feel like I'm missing out, like I'm not living properly. I'm grieving for al the strangers I've never known!' She turned the bil around on its saucer to have a look at the total.
'Pete's one in a milion,' said Ralph, 'it just isn't possible for everyone to be like that. We realy would be in trouble if they were
- human nature couldn't support that level of openness, there's too many of us, we're not equipped for it. We've evolved like this for a reason: survival, the most basic of al human instincts, adapted to living in a city with eight milion other people. It makes sense.' Ralph peeled a ten-pound note from his walet.
'I guess I've just always been the sort of person that can't bear to feel they're missing out on anything. If I've got a choice of two parties to go to I'm always convinced I've chosen the naff one and the one I missed is going to be the party that people wil be talking about for years to come. Grass is always greener sort of thing...'
She stopped abruptly and they looked at each other. There was a moment's silence. Jem stopped fiddling with her napkin.
'Does that apply to your relationships, too?' asked Ralph, semi-flirtatiously, semi-seriously.
'Not usualy,' Jem said, looking down at her hands and examining them nervously.
'Not usualy?' Ralph stared at the top of her head. 'So, sometimes?'
The atmosphere was suddenly deliciously awkward.
Tes, sometimes,' Jem lifted her head slightly and smiled behind her hand.
Ralph could feel that they were clinging on to the precipice by their fingernails - one more milimetre and they'd be there, faling. He couldn't blow it now, couldn't say the wrong thing. He took a deep breath and waited to see if she'd say anything more. She didn't.
They stared at each other, breathlessly, across the table. She opened her mouth, lowered her eyes. Ralph's heart stopped beating. Stil she didn't say anything. His turn.
'When?' he asked gently. Jump, Jem, he thought, I'l catch you. It'l be fine. Just jump, please, let go ...
Jem pleated her napkin into a fan. 'Oh, just sometimes - not usualy.'
'So, you have felt that the grass was greener while you were in a relationship? Was it? Greener?'
The waitress removed their bil and two ten-pound notes without either one of them noticing.
Jem shrugged and carried on pleating. 'I don't know.'
You never found out?' Ralph was fishing.
Jem stopped pleating and looked up at him.
'No,' she said, 1 haven't found out. Shal we go?' She got up abruptly from her seat, which lost its footing and fel backwards. She flustered and tried to pick it up but got her bag tangled on the table leg. Ralph helped her untangle herself and straighten the chair. They stood inches from each other. Jem awkwardly adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder. She looked up at Ralph, He was gazing at her with an intensity that made her glance away immediately.
'Excuse me,' she said, making a pointless effort to get past him.
Ralph took her shoulders and looked into her eyes, "You haven't yet - that's what you said. Do you think you might find out? Ever?
In the future? Maybe?'
Please say yes, Jem, please, for the love of God, say yes.
'No,' she lowered her eyes, 'I don't think so. It doesn't work like that does it?'
'You mean Smith?' said Ralph.
'No, I don't mean Smith. We're not talking about Smith, are we?
We're talking hypotheticaly here.'
'Oh, right — I see,' Ralph felt himself shrinking. 'Cross wires!' He attempted a smal laugh. Fucking Smith. 'Guess we'd better go.
Let's see if we can find a cab.'
Neither of them had alowed the atmosphere to linger. The conversation, as blatant, as explicit as it had seemed at the time, seemed more and more ambiguous as it receded into memory.
They took a deft U-turn in the conversation as they sat in the back of the heated cab and watched early-hours London flash by in a multicoloured series of twinkling vignettes. By the time they got home they were friends again. But it was a rather poor patch-up job, a temporary fix, because they both knew deep inside that they hadn't imagined the conversation — there were no cross wires.
Ralph lay in bed that night, flat on his back, his duvet up to his chin, his hands clasped together underneath on his chest, staring at the ceiling. He was tired but he didn't want to close his eyes. If he did his head would fil with images, images that hurt too much now.
Images of a paralel universe in which he had brought home the peonies, had made more of an effort, hadn't gone to bed first on that fateful evening, had taken more care over his career, his destiny, a paralel universe in which Jem had made the right decision, had chosen him. Tonight had been one of the best nights of his life. He'd never had such fun with a girl before, never had such adventures. The whole night had been like a film -magical, surreal, wonderful. And he was more in love with Jem than ever before.
A tear formed, he blinked and it ran down the side of his nose.
She'd said no, it wasn't going to happen. He'd never felt so sad in his life.
'Morning, Jem,' chirruped Stela.
'Morning, Stela,' Jem replied.
'New jacket?'
'No — very old jacket, actualy.' Maybe Stela was finaly beginning to exhaust her repertoire of compliments.
It's lovely — it suits you. How was your weekend? How's your poor flatmate?'
'Oh, he's much better now. The bruising's gone down, his wrist's starting to heal — the doctors reckon there won't be any lasting damage.'
'Oh, good, good. That's marvelous news. My auntie Kate broke her wrist - it never healed, gave her pain for the rest of her life, she was never able to use it again, but then, she was eighty-two, I suppose, and old bones are so weak. Like my mother's hip - she broke one hip and had to have it replaced, waited three years for that operation, dreadful NHS, and then her knee went and she had to wait another two years to have that replaced, she walked like a duck after that, waddle, waddle, waddle, and ...'
Jem's thoughts began to wander, as they did on the rare occasions that Stela talked about her own life. They wandered back to her weekend, such a strange, but wonderful weekend. It had been magic, their night in Soho. And then there'd been that big, plump moment
of awkwardness in the Chinese restaurant, when they'd nearly ...
oh, God. They'd been so close to going to a place that Jem didn't want to visit. Ever.
Jem's feelings were al over the place and she suddenly found herself subconsciously making mental pro and con lists: Smith: sweet, generous, handsome, peonies, her friends liked him, she liked his friends, good job, lots of money, nice flat, reliable, affectionate, easy to be with, man in her dream?
Ralph: sweet, generous, handsome, sexy, stacks in common, great sense of humour, easy to talk to, always in a good mood, creative, passionate, vulnerable, potential for
After Hours
living, man in her dream?
Smith: a bit restrained, tendency to moodiness, not very adventurous in bed, predictable, likes kormas, thinks girls should drink dry white wine, not creative, introverted, settled, no potential for
After Hours
living.
Ralph: unstable career (but he
was
trying), bad taste in women (but he
had
finished with Claudia), oversexed (no, she crossed that one off her mental list) ... she racked her mind for more cons ...
longjohns (no, he didn't wear those any more) ...
Jem shuddered slightly, trying to shake the thoughts out of her head.
Stela had finished her catalogue of GAP joint-replacement stories and Jarvis, her boss, had arrived in a flurry of paper and camp complaining. 'Oh, Jemmy, darling, please, please can I relieve myself on your desk — I'm desperate,' he whined, dropping a thick folder in front of her. 'It's that repugnant Scots witch, she's in ful broomstick mode - wants me to negotiate another 5 per cent for her from Carlton for. that dreadful quiz show. I ask you! She's lucky anyone
wil hire her at al — face like a rhino's arsehole witl piles. Could you, would you, Jemmy darling? I've goi the hangover from Gomorrah and my back feels like Roy Castle's been tap-dancing on it al night in stilettos - thank you, thank you.' He blew her a kiss, disappeared into his office and fel asleep face down on his sofa, Jem and Stela looked at each other and exchanged a smal smile.
Jem sighed and puled open the folder What a start to the week.
She hated having to negotiate rates, especialy with the people at Sin 'n' Win, who were notoriously tight with their budget. The phone saved her from having to contemplate this unpleasant job.
'Good morning, Smalhead Management/ she triled in her sily phone-answering voice.
'Morning, Smalhead Management/ said a strange nasal voice, 'I've got quite a smal head and it's a bit out of control at the moment and I was wondering if you could manage it for me. And, do you do big ears and fat ankles by any chance?'
Jem smiled and turned away from the office towards her desk.
'Ha ha ha, McLeary — funny boy, very, very funny.'
'Too quick for me, Ms Catterick, and how are you today?' He sounded terribly bouncy but just a little nervous, a slight breathlessness catching in the back of his throat.
'Not bad, not at al bad. How are you, and to what do I owe this delightful honour?' Her heart was pounding. This was Ralph, for God's sake, dear old Ralph. Why on earth was she feeling so ... so
... giddy?
'Oh, knackered, bored, miserable without you.' He produced a peculiar strangulated laugh that said he
shouldn't have said that - that was the sort of thing you said to your girlfriend, not your flatmate, not your best mate's girlfriend.
'Not going to the studio today?' Jem replied, deliberately ignoring his last comment.
Yeah, yeah,' he said, Tm here already. I've been here since nine o'clock. My fingers feel realy supple today, I think I might be able to use them — give it a bash anyway.'
That's the spirit.'
They were silent for a second, awkward, almost.
'And I just wanted to say, thank you—for the weekend -1 realy enjoyed myself.' Ralph cracked the silence.
Yeah - it was good, wasn't it? I enjoyed myself too.'
'And I wondered if maybe ...'
'Uh-huh...'
'... Wel, there's this restaurant in Bayswater... and I know Smith's working late tonight... does the best jal frezi in town ... and maybe...
wel, you're probably going out or maybe you fancy a night in, but if you fancied it we could meet up later ... er ...'
'Uh-huh
'It was just a thought. Nothing fancy, you know, just a curry ... and
... um ...'
'OK.'
Yeah?'
Yeah, OK. What time?'
'Straight from work? Six-thirty maybe. I could meet you outside the Tube. Bayswater, not Queensway.'
'OK.'
'OK, then. Excelent. Wel... have a good day and I'l, er, see you later, then.'
Yeah, see you later. Work hard.'
'I wil. You too. Bye, then.'
'Bye, then.'
'Bye.'
'Bye.'
Jem put the phone down. She needed to take a few deep breaths to bring her heartbeat back to normal human, resting levels. Bloody hel. If she wasn't quite mistaken, Ralph had just asked her out on a date - and she'd accepted. This was it. The beginning of the end.
She ignored Stela's curious gaze and began fumbling through the folder on her desk.
Shit. What had she done? And why was she so bloody excited?
The tape recorder made a hissing noise, then a whirr, then a click.
The room fel silent. Siobhan jumped slightly. She lifted her hand heavily to tuck her hair behind her ear. She put her head in her hands. She stood up. She paced the room. She sat down again.
The clock said eight-thirty. She stood up. She squeezed at her temples and stared at the floor. A car puled up outside. She went to the window and threw open the curtains. It wasn't him. She looked in the mirror, adjusted her hair and wiped away the deathly streaks of mascara that had formed under her eyes from the tears she'd cried. When she was hurt. Just before she got angry. A long time before she'd started hating him. She searched through the debris on the floor for her hairbrush, pushing pieces of broken vinyl out of the way, lifting cushions off the floor and putting them back, peering under the up-ended Christmas tree and shattered picture frames. She found it in the halway, where she'd thrown the contents of their "bits and pieces' tray - the carpet glittered with multicoloured foreign coins and hairpins, plectrums and keys. She untangled her hair from its velvet elasticated band and began to comb it vigorously, til it gleamed and every strand was in place.