This Could Have Been Our Song!: A coulda woulda shoulda ballad (23 page)

“
And she’s British. Mate, she’s bloody gorgeous!” Nigel says, giving it to Jeff.

“
So why
didn’t
she blow you off?” Jeff asks, giving it back to me. “And please don’t say the M word; she’s not welcome in this circle.”

Because I left without saying goodbye.
Because I found her and McMullen again, laughing and dancing like a couple in love who haven’t seen each other for weeks. And because, once again, I felt like the intruder. She must have been feeling much better than Beesly thought after all.

“
It wasn’t like that –” They all stop me. Have I been saying that a lot throughout the years? “It just wasn’t meant to be,” I say with a wicked smile. “Unlike Arlene and Tommy.” We all burst out laughing and I realize that this is the first time in days that I’ve seen Patrick this relaxed.

I stare down at the plate Patrick put in front of me. I’m not sure what that mush is supposed to be. According to him, it’s shepherd’s pie. He has been here now for three weeks, rearranging my furniture and unsuccessfully trying to cook every meal. Sally and the kids are in Melbourne for another couple of weeks. Why doesn’t he join them? He could sneak out and eat meat there like he has been doing here – anything but inflecting his awful cooking on me. The last shepherd’s pie I ate was Lucia’s on Canada Day. It didn’t look or tasted the same.

I take another sip of the merlot he graciously bought to drink with his
dish
. “Well this was…something. You really don’t have to cook for us,” I tell him.

He, on the other hand, polished off his plate.
“You really don’t like my cooking? When did you become such a food snob?”

“
The same day you traded your doctorate in medicine for an interior design one,” I snap back. We stay quiet for a moment. “Sorry. Just stop moving my things around. I live alone for a reason.”

“
Yeah, your fiancée dumped you before she even saw the house,” he quietly says.

Bastard!
“Touché. But you have both a wife and a home of your own. Pat, what’s going on?”

“
I told you before; I’m on holiday! Sally went to see her parents and I came to see you. It’s never bothered you before,” he says. He gets up and takes my plate away.

There, I
’ve done it again. I’ve been walking on egg shells these past weeks. Patrick just refuses to tell me what’s going with him and Sally. In the past when he would come to London for a much-needed break, we would have a blast seeing our mates and going out. But he has been very moody and tight-lipped since I got back from Toronto. However, he painted my living room, reorganized my disc collections, move my piano out of the music room. Yes, I now have a music room with no visible instruments in it. I’m very proud of my three-storey townhouse. It’s located just off St John’s Wood station. I bought and renovated it to what it is today; I even have a small garden in the back. And without anyone’s help; not Mum, Dad, Patrick or even Mary. She wanted a more posh-looking place. I wanted a little bit of the countryside in the city.

“
I’m just worried about you. You’ve been…nesting. Are you and Sally pregnant again?” I ask him in the kitchen. I love my kitchen but I barely use it. Lucia would have found it great as well. I could see her waking up in the middle of the night and going through one of her midnight cooking frenzies. She would be wearing nothing but some sexy boy shorts, a small tank top, with bare feet, her glasses on and her hair completely pulled back. I would be entertaining her between…batches.

“
I only have fifteen minutes, Marcus,” she would say to me and guide her to the sofa.

“
I can manage,” I would tease back. But I never could.

Patrick still hasn
’t answered me.

“
Okay, so you’re not expecting. I really wouldn’t mind a nephew,” I casually say. He just turns around and leaves the room. Splendid! Another successful conversation. Something’s up between him and Sally; one way or another, I’ll get to the bottom of this. And I had better do it before he starts ordering new furniture.

I follow him back to the living room and
find him in the foyer.

“
You have a visitor.” He moved away from the door.

“
Hi, Bloody,” I say to Mary. I’ve been expecting her to show up uninvited at some point.

“
Hi, Silly,” she answers before entering the room. “Why is Pat here? Has Sally finally kicked his spineless self out?

“
As always a displeasure, Mary,” Patrick tells her and heads to the second floor.

“
What? He can’t take a joke now?” she asks me. She comes closer to me and wraps her arms around my neck. I take her glasses and coat off. “Just a small disguise.” I turn my head from her kiss but she brings it back. “God, I’ve missed you, Marcus. London hasn’t been the same without you,” she says before kissing me again.

This time I don
’t move my head. It was Mary after all. No, instead I bring her slender body even closer. Mary in my arms; now I’m officially home.

I put the tea and treat in front of her and sit across. She looks stunning but when hasn’t she ever? Her neat makeup hasn’t been affected by the rain, nor her short, red dress. And her hair is shorter, much shorter. The last time I saw her, it was down to the middle of her back; it’s barely off her shoulder. And red. When was the last time Mary had red hair? She quietly takes her cup while still examining me with her piercing blue eyes.

“
So, do you like it?” she asks me, touching her hair.

“
You’re a natural redhead,
Mary O’Connell
. This color has always suited you,” I say, serving myself some tea.

“
I know but I haven’t been one in a very long time and I’ve never been this kind of red. But do
you
like it?” she asks again. She takes a treat and eats it. “This is bloody good! Are you having tea parties? Look at you all domesticated,” she adds laughing. She gets up and sits next to me. “Don’t you dare not ring me back again, Silly.”

“
Bloody…”I whisper. I trail my finger along her neck, her perfect neck, her soft, pale skin. “What did you mean by London is not the same? You don’t live in London anymore,” I ask, moving my fingers away from her.

“
So doesn’t Patrick, but still there he is in your townhouse in September. Let me guess; he’s responsible for all this.” She’s pointing at the room and the treats.

“
He’s always been a nester. But he’s just on holiday and Manchester is only three hours away. You moved to Barcelona last year.” What has she been up to here? She was supposed to be on a European tour all spring.

“
I like London. How are you enjoying your personal space?” she jokes and moves her perfect body towards me. “Where is Pat now?” she whispers in my ears.

“
Waiting for you to leave I’m sure,” I whisper back, smiling. I take her hair away from her face. “Where have you been staying all this time?”

“
With friends. You’re not the one friend I have in this city,” she teases and then goes for a kiss. The femme fatale act is not working on me tonight. “What’s wrong, Silly? You seem…different,” she pouts.

I grab her hand before she gets it in my pants.
“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. Or just not in the mood,” I say.

“
Alright! Don’t get your knickers in a twist.” She moves away, “But I have missed you, Marcus. Did you miss me?” she adds.

“
Should I? I remember our last
sober
conversation very well. No more gloomy England for you. Your life is in Spain now, with that famous writer. What was his name again?”

“
Alright, I get it! Eric and I are taking a small break as you may have read in the magazines or saw on the telly. And it made me think about us. Have you thought about us at all?”

She
’s unbelievable! But as usual, straight to the point. “I’ve been busy, Mary,” I say, trying to sort out my own thoughts, leaving her on her own on the sofa.

“
I know! You haven’t been returning my calls. How’s Miss Silicon Valley by the way? I heard that Matty finally dumped her fake ass for Linda again,” she says.

“
We both know Matt will never leave Beesly. He’s crazy about her. And she’s doing fantastic
by the way
,” I say.

“
Still up to her evil ways I see. She never fooled me; that Barbie doll witch!”

“
Bloody hell! The both of you just have to sit down and –”

“
Drink some fucking tea! That American will never be one of us.” She angrily crosses her arms.

“
Mary, you’re not one of us anymore.” As I say that to her, I realize how much this is true and begin to understand Beesly’s motives. “We just work together now. We haven’t been a couple since the last time you dumped me.”

“
I see that you have been brainwashed; must have been that undeclared Canadian weather. Or Beesly,” she says. She gets up and joins me. “We broke up and I didn’t dump you. So stop playing the victim.”

“
You’re right; you chose the writer and left for Spain. But sorry, love, those are my mates more than they were ever yours,” I tell her.

“
Have you been listening to anything I’m saying? I’ve missed you a lot. I’ve changed my hair. Silly, I’ve changed.” She’s getting closer and closer. Too close to resist.

“
Bloody,” I whisper between kisses. “I think I have too,” I say, releasing her.

She holds up her hands and walks away from me.
“I’ve changed, Silly. The old me would just try to seduce you. The new me will be leaving,” she says, retrieving her coat.

“
You have tried, Bloody. And a few times,” I tell her and can’t help laughing. I open the door for her.

“
Don’t you dare gloat,” she laughs. She gives me a quick snog. “Lunch on Friday our favorite place. I’m telling you now –”

“
Mary…”

“
It’s about the album. We do need to talk. Don’t keep me waiting,” she says then closes the door.

“
Maybe there is still hope for you after all,” Patrick says behind me.

“
Eavesdropping? Really?” I say and begin to clean up the coffee table.

“
I don’t know if
she
has changed at all, this one. But I really believe you have. For once you were not drooling all over her.” He follows me to the kitchen. “How great of a cook was she?”

“
Luce?” I ask, starting the dishwasher. “The compulsive passionate type. And she eats meat,” I add, smiling.

“
Brilliant! I would really like to meet her,” he says.

We both know that it won
’t be happening anytime soon. “Maybe I could give her back her charm bracelet,” I joke too. The wedding is next week so all the Mpobo-Riddell should be in London now.

“
Marcus.”

“
Yes.”

“
Sally and I are separated. She might stay in Melbourne with the kids until Christmas. But I’ll go visit. A lot,” he tells me. Finally! I wonder if Mum knows or Dad or… “No one knows yet.”

“
Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him. Anything is better than nesting.

“
Not really,” he shrugs.

“
Did you just shrug off ten years of marriage, Pat?”

“
Looks like it.”

“
Do you want to drink it off at least? I need a drink or twelve myself,” I say.

“
I’ll get the beer,” he eagerly says before going to my cellar. Yes, I have a cellar. “And Marcus?”

“
Yes.”

“
Thank you, mate.”

I purposely came fifteen minutes late to our lunch date. But it wasn’t enough, she still kept me waiting for another thirty. Now it’s the middle of the lunch rush at Hartley’s Pub and in early September it’s full of students from the University Of Westminster or The Royal Academy of Music. I’ve missed the West End’s energy these past months, but Toronto has its own charm. I finish my beer and order another one just in time to see Mary walking toward me and not alone. Her faithful assistant/manager/publicist/sister, Cally, made it this time. And no disguise, and on a rare September sunny day, she is wearing a designer blouse and skinny jeans. Everyone in the pub is recognizing her. Cally is not far behind and Paolo, her bodyguard, stays close to the entrance.

“
Miss O’Connell, you look ravishing,” I tell Cally, hugging her. And she does; her once-very-thin figure has been nicely filling itself out in all the right places.

“
Marcus, I need a ciggy. That witch made me stop three weeks ago,” she whispers in my ear. Nothing has changed. Mary is still trying to run her older sister’s life. “You little tease! You look fantastic; Canada did you some good. Away from
it
all,” she says, louder, moving her natural red hair away from her face. “We’re late. Sorry. Mary had a photo shoot this morning and double-booked herself without telling me.”