Precious Little - Chapter 2

            My mum opened the door and greeted me with the kind of sad smile people give each other at funerals.  It was the first time I’d seen her since the breakup.  She was wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon and as she reached out to drag me into a hug, for some reason I got the idea she was going to hit me with the spoon and I winced in preparation for the pain that didn’t come.  My mother is a small, slight woman and it hurt my back to bend down to hug her.  She planted a dry kiss on my cheek, said ‘Welcome home boy’ and slapped me several times very quickly on the back with her free hand.

            ‘Thanks mum’ I said, straightening up.

            ‘What have you been buying in Selfridges?’ she said, rooting around in the bag I was still holding.

            ‘Nothing mum.’

            ‘What’s this wire?’ she said and held it up looking confused.

            ‘I don’t know mum’ I said.  Already I wanted to get out of there.

            ‘Well why have you got it?’

            I thought about not telling her but then decided I would.

            ‘I met Amber this morning.  She wanted to give me some of my stuff that she’d ended up with.’

            ‘Oh right’ said my mum and made a face.  ‘So what’s this wire?’

            ‘I don’t know!’ I said and closed my eyes.  ‘She thought it was mine but it’s not.  But I took it anyway.’

            ‘Okay’ she said, smiled that smile again and turned and walked back down the hall to the kitchen and went in.

            The house smelled of chicken roasting and the musty smell of family life.  From the kitchen I could hear Radio 4 chattering away and from the living room, I could hear the crowd noises and earnest commentary of a football match or something on the TV.  It was all the same.  I could have been fifteen years old again, or ten, or five or back in the womb.

            In the hallway, the photos of me and my sisters at our First Holy Communions stared back at me with childish piety.  My big sister is a few years older than me and my little sister is five years younger.  But there we all were, all seven years old, together on the wall but years apart, hands together, all beaming next to the same mournful statue of the Virgin Mary.  Even at that age, my big sister smiled like she knew something.

            My dad stepped out of the dining room, his hands behind his back like a butler at a formal reception.  He was smiling, his face just one big crease.  There was a serenity about him like he was on something.  I smiled back.  He brought a hand up to stroke my shoulder.  Sometimes words fail my dad and half hearted physical contact is all that will do.

            ‘Hi dad’ I said.

            ‘Welcome home son’ he said and bowed his head like he’d used up all his words he had to offer.

            ‘Is Karen home?’ I stammered, struggling to kick-start the conversation.  Karen is my little sister.  She still lived at home.

            My dad’s eyebrows raised and his eyes widened and he nodded.

            ‘Mmmmm.’ he said.  ‘But she split up with her boyfriend last night.’

            ‘I didn’t know she had a boyfriend.’

            ‘Wayne’ my dad said.  ‘She’s not in the best spirits today.  So I know she’s looking forward to seeing you.’

            I smiled and nodded like the understanding big brother I am.  But really I was thinking that the idea of listening to someone else’s emotional crisis wasn’t what I wanted to be doing.  I wanted to be leaving.

            ‘What did you buy from Selfridges?’ my dad asked, looking at the bag and recoiling a little like it was something foreign and strange.

            ‘Nothing’ I said and took a deep breath.  ‘Nothing.  I met Amber this morning and she gave me some stuff she thought was mine and just happened to put it in a Selfridges bag.’

            My dad shrugged and nodded, his eyes wide and innocent.  I smiled and he smiled back and everything was okay.

            I headed to the kitchen to see if I could help.  My dad hovered just outside the door, either because those were his instructions or because he didn’t want to be too close to the action and have to help.  My mum took a long drink from a large water glass and gasped

            ‘Gin?’ she offered.

            ‘No thanks.  I’ll just have a cup of tea’ I said and made a move towards the kettle.

            ‘I’ll do that’ my dad said and dived in front of me like he was taking a bullet.  Tea was obviously something he thought he could manage.

            Karen stomped down the stairs in a big grubby hoody with the hood up.  It was clear she’d been crying because, well, she was still crying.  She walked up to me with her arms outstretched and her face contorted in a silent wail and hugged me.  I put my arms round her and could feel her sobbing and couldn’t help wondering how this was going to affect my new t-shirt.

            ‘Oh, what a pair we are’ she sniffled.

            At least I’ve got my dignity I thought.  But didn’t say it.

            ‘Hmmmmm’ I said.

            She broke off the hug and held my shoulders at arms’ length.

            ‘How are you?  How are you holding up?’ she asked, her eyes wide and sincere.

            I knew she wanted me to crack up and pour my heart out to her but that wasn’t going to happen.

            ‘I’m sorry about you and...’ I paused while I remembered, ‘Wayne.’

            She looked away and shook her head as if recalling some great tragedy.

            ‘How long were you together?’ I asked.

            ‘Just two weeks.  But it really felt like something special’ she said.

            She was still looking away and it was just as well because I could not stop my face contorting in disbelief, my mouth open, my eyes squinting.  Six years.  Six years Amber and I grew together then fell apart.  Two weeks?  Not to belittle her grief, but what a fucking charade.

            I composed myself and said, ‘Ah well.  “The course of true love never did run smooth.”’

            ‘I think it’s path.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘I think it’s “the path of true love never did run smooth”’ Karen said.

            ‘Okay’ I said and I smiled and hugged her, even though she was wrong.

            My dad handed me a cup of tea.  I took a sip and gagged a little as I swallowed it.

            ‘Has this got sugar in dad?’

            ‘Just one’ he said.  ‘Do you not take sugar?’

            ‘No.’  And I added ‘Sorry’ for some reason.

            ‘No!’ said my dad and stared at me like he was arguing.

            It seemed tea was not actually something he could manage.

            ‘Don’t worry about it’ I said and laughed a little.

            ‘Here, I’ll make you another one’ he said and reached out to take the mug.

            ‘It’s fine’ I said and moved the mug out of reach.

            ‘You sure?’

            ‘Absolutely’ I said and smiled and he seemed to relax.

            I went into the living room and sat down.  Karen came in.

            ‘What did you buy in Selfridges?’ she asked.

            After dinner we sat around in the living room, stretched out on chairs, feet crossed at the ankle.  We were all full and drowsy from too much food and we half watched something on TV.  My eyes kept closing.  Mum had cooked a ton of roast potatoes because she knew they’re my favourite and even after everybody else had finished eating, she was offering them to me for seconds, thirds and fourths.  I kept eating them because she’d made them especially and she kept offering them because I kept eating them.  I’d eaten so many potatoes I felt sick.

            Whenever my dad laughed at anything on the TV, he looked to see if my mum and my sister and I were laughing too.  I didn’t find anything funny but I smiled whenever I felt him looking over.  In response to my dad, my sister put a hand up by her face and played with her hair as if shielding herself from the eyes of someone she didn’t want to talk to.  My mum sat in an armchair on her own reading a book.  When my dad explained the jokes to her she said ‘yes dear’ and didn’t look up.  She always claimed she could concentrate equally on book and TV.  It wasn’t true.

            ‘How’s the new place?’ my dad asked, realising at last that he couldn’t force other people to derive the same pleasure from the TV as he did.

            I’d just moved into a new flat in Wood Green, North London.  It wasn’t an area I knew all that well but it was close to Crouch End where Amber and I had lived for a few years.  It was the first time I’d ever lived alone.  And all said and done, I was quite enjoying myself.

            ‘It’s fine.  It’s a nice flat’ I said.  ‘And the areas not that bad.’

            He nodded.

            ‘Oh my god,’ started Karen, ‘my friend George lived in Wood Green for a year while he was studying at Mountview, y’know, the drama school there?  Anyway, he said it was actually the worst year of his life and he absolutely hated it.  He was actually mugged by a man outside the law courts there.  I mean, can you imagine?  How awful.  And the irony of being mugged outside a court’ she said and shook her head as if cutting irony is as dreadful as street robbery.

            I wasn’t even sure if this was irony so I zoned out and thought about that while she rambled on about how terrible my new home was.

            All through dinner Karen had regaled us with stories about her friends, none of whom I’d met or heard of and who sounded like the most dull, self involved people in the world.  Mum feigned interest by making all the right noises while my dad wolfed down his food like a kid who knew that the sooner he finished his dinner, the sooner he’d be allowed out to play.  I occupied a space somewhere between the two, aiming for tolerant politeness. 

            But I’d had enough.

            ‘Right’ I said, getting to my feet.  ‘I’d better be getting home.’

            From the way Karen glared at me, I could tell that I’d interrupted her.

            ‘Thanks so much for dinner.  And thanks for having me.  Lovely to see you all’ I said.

            They all followed me out to the hall and watched me put on our shoes and jacket and we all mumbled things about seeing each other more often.  We hugged and said goodbye and my dad handed me the Selfridges bag, which I was on the verge of forgetting.  I was hoping that one of them would offer me a lift to East Croydon so I could get the fast train to Victoria but nobody did.  So I trudged off in the dusk to Wallington Station to catch the slow train homewards, hoping I didn’t meet anyone I used to know along the way.

Precious Little - Chapter 1

            I leapt up the stairs at Oxford Circus and out onto the grey majesty of Regent Street.  It was 11.57 on a Sunday morning and the street was more or less empty.  The sun was high in the sky, the air was light and cool and I swore I could smell the spring scents of Regents Park, even through the exhaust fumes.  I took a deep breath and felt a surge of optimism as I walked.    

            Amber wanted to meet me. I was due at my parents’ for dinner in the afternoon but if things went the way I thought they might, I’d cancel on them in a second.  12 o’clock at Starbucks near the Church of All Souls.  I knew it well.  We knew it well.  We’d killed a lot of time there.           

12 o’clock.  And it was 11.57.  I needed to play it cooler than this.  I slowed my walk to a saunter.  I stopped to look at my reflection in the windows of Topshop and tried to figure out if I had good side.  Both sides looked the same.  I carried on.

            At 11.59, I was loitering over the road from Starbucks and realised that this was not playing it cool.  I considered walking around the block.  But what if she was in there and saw me walk past?  She would know exactly what I was doing. 

            So I stood there, waiting, getting bored.

            At 12.01 I headed inside.  I don’t suppose that constitutes fashionably late but at least I wasn’t early.

            I craned my neck and looked around as I walked in, trying to make it obvious to everyone that I was there to meet someone.  There were only about three people sitting down drinking and it was clear she wasn’t there so I breezed past the counter and headed for the stairs down to the lower floor.  At a table, three teenagers looked at me in sudden silence like I’d stumbled across their secret meeting.  I glanced round the otherwise empty floor and headed back upstairs.

            ‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone’ I said to the smiling barista.

            ‘Okay’ she said.

            ‘She’s not here yet’ I said.

            ‘Okay’ she said again and I could tell by the fact that her smile had been joined by raised eyebrows and nodding that she wasn’t all that interested.  ‘What would you like to drink?’

            I was already perusing the menu.  My usual order would have been a grande latte but coffee equals bad breath.  That could have been a problem.  Plus, it was a bit obvious.  Those iced drinks weren’t appealing yet – it was still too cold outside.  Maybe in summer.  So I opted for a chai tea latte.  It was a change.  I hadn’t had one before.  Plus, it was important to show Amber that I had changed so I decided it was an all round good choice.

            I ordered, paid and hovered at the end of the bar waiting for my drink.

            Choosing a seat, I opted for one of the high stools by the window.  Against the full length window and with the gentle yellow grey spring light shining in, I deemed it to be the ideal setting for the solemn, thoughtful pose I was going to strike.  I imagined there would be a perfect way to sit so that all my bones, organs and nerves would be aligned.  And the stars and god and whatever.  And Amber would walk in, take one look at me, throw her arms around me and say we’d made a big mistake and then we’d say how much we loved each other and then everything would be alright.  So I shifted around in my seat, trying to get it right.  I attempted to lean my head against the glass and look sad, but in leaning over the ledge on which my drink was sat, I had to arch my back to such a degree that I ended up with my face pressed up against the glass like a school kid pulling faces.  I looked tortured, but not in the way I was hoping.  So I rested an elbow on the ledge, put my head in my hand and played with my hair, hoping I could pull off the dishevelled look.  Then I remembered that it took a lot of effort to make my hair not look shit this morning and set about trying to rectify any damage done by looking at my vague reflection in the window and patting my hair back down, hoping that this wasn’t the moment she walked in.

In the end I decided that while aligning the universe through a pose was a worthy aim, it was unlikely Amber would even notice and I might have be expecting a bit much.  So I just sat, half looking out the window, half watching the door.  I sipped my drink, which tasted a little like Christmas.

            At 12.22 Amber walked in.  She was wearing a jacket that may or may not have been real fur, a pair of shorts, dark tights, boots and a long, off white vest top.  She looked around.  The coolness I had planned for the occasion evaded me as my reflexes threw a hand into the air to let her know where I was sitting.  What I would have given for her to come in and notice me staring out of the window, lost in my own deep thoughts.   She made her way over, a tolerant smile on her face, looking out the window as she walked as if she’d rather not have been there.  I stood up as she reached me like I was some kind of Victorian gentleman.  There was a moment where we were stood facing each other, shallow smiles and silence.  And that’s when I realised I was nervous.

            ‘Here’s some of your stuff that got caught up with mine’ she said and handed me a small, bright yellow paper bag. 

            ‘Oh thank you’ I said and took it.

            It was a Selfridges bag with black writing on it and black string handles. 

            ‘I’m just going to get a drink’ she said and went to the counter.

            Inside the bag was a deck of cards, a pair of sunglasses, two CDs I’d never seen before and a long black wire in a neat coil.

            I sat down.  Amber collected her drink and joined me.  She was holding a takeaway cup which meant she wasn’t planning on staying long.

            ‘What you drinking?’ I asked.

            ‘Black Americano’ she said.

            I wanted her to ask what I was drinking but she didn’t.  Nor did she notice the new t-shirt I was sporting.  Nor did she notice the new jacket draped casually over the back of my chair – the jacket that she thought I looked good in and encouraged me to buy but I didn’t at the time because I thought it was too expensive.  She was looking out the window like she would if she was on a coach trip.  I tried to think of something to say.

            ‘So, what’s this wire?’ I asked.

            ‘I don’t know.’

‘I don’t know either.’

‘I presumed it was yours.’

            ‘Don’t think so.  What does it do?’

            ‘I don’t know.  I thought you’d know.  I thought it was yours.’

            ‘No, it’s not mine.’

            ‘Well.  If you don’t want it…’ she said.

            ‘No, no.  It’s fine.  It probably is mine’ I said, even though I knew it wasn’t.

            Then there was a break in the conversation.  Or rather, the conversation was a break in the lull between us.  We were both looking around and I started to realise that I’d rather be somewhere else.  Anywhere else.  This was not what I was hoping for.

            ‘I’m not sure these CDs are mine either…’

            ‘Oh for fuck’s sake’ she said and looked angry. 

            We sat not looking at each other for a little while longer.

‘I’d better get going’ she said.  ‘I’m running a bit late.’

            ‘Yeah me too.  Where you off to?’

            ‘South Bank.  Meeting up with some friends.’

            ‘Oh, who?’ I enquired.

            ‘Just Zo and Ben.  And I think Ian, Jess and Sue are going to be there too.’

            These were all mutual friends.  All of them had sent me sad texts saying things like ‘So sorry to hear’ and ‘Chin up mate’ and ‘You know where I am if you need me’ on the day we broke up.  Nothing since.  Partly my fault I suppose.  I hadn’t exactly made an effort.

            ‘Oh and John said he’d be there and Mel.  And I think Charlie?’

            Her face became a questioning grimace as she said the name.  Fucking Charlie.  Every story about work had involved the wonderful Charlie and his great sense of humour and how he said this and how actually he’s quite good looking but don’t worry.  I was convinced Charlie was in no small way responsible for our breakup.

            ‘Charlie?’ I repeated.

            ‘Yeah.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned Charlie.  From the firm?’

            The firm.  Amber trained as a solicitor and couldn’t refer to work simply as work.
            I stuck out my bottom lip and shook my head.

            ‘Nope.  Don’t remember a Charlie.’

            ‘Oh.  Well, he’ll be there.’

            ‘Right.’

            ‘Oh and Tristan.  From the firm.’

            ‘Right.’

            ‘Where you off to then?’ she asked.

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘You said you had to go too?’

            ‘Oh.  Just up to Camden to meet a couple of friends’ I said.  I couldn’t possibly have told her I was off for dinner with my parents.

            ‘Oh who?’ she asked.

            ‘Oh just…’ I clutched around in my head for names and in an instant I decided it had to be a girl’s name.  I looked out at the church and the first name I got to was ‘Mary.  Aaand…’ I paused, trying to think of another name.  ‘Magdalene’ I said.  Then I wasn’t sure if that was actually a name so I said ‘Madeline’, as if correcting myself.

            Amber stared at me.

            I couldn’t think what people did when they were telling the truth so I stared back, my gaze not wavering from hers. 

            ‘Mary and Madeline?’

            ‘Mmm-hmm.’

            ‘Who are they?’

            ‘Just a couple of friends.  From work’ I said and nodded, hoping that nodding would encourage her to believe me and move on. 

            We both knew I was lying.  I just wanted to drop it.

            ‘Okay’ she sighed with a shrug and got down off her stool, dextrously looping the strap of her vintage handbag over her head.

            I stood too and holding my Selfridges bag we headed outside. 

It was colder than I’d remembered.  Optimism, it seemed, could make you warm.

‘You’re going to Camden, yeah?’ Amber said.

‘Yup.  Yeah that’s right.’

‘Well you can catch the C2 from over there’ she said, pointing across the road.  ‘It’s easily the fastest way from here.  And if you hurry, you can catch this one.’

Sure enough, one of the bastard buses was making its way through the junction at Oxford Circus and crawling up the street towards us.

‘Righty-ho’ I said, never ever having said it before in my life.  ‘Well.  Have a nice day.  See you soon.’

I nodded to Amber and she winced more than smiled and she waved at me from all of two feet away, a small wave that kept her elbow joined to her hip.  I wanted nothing more than to hug her, to throw my arms all the way around her thin frame and hold her and sniff her hair.  But the idea of us touching was not on the cards.  So I turned and stepped into the road, just as a cyclist came hurtling past, millimetres away from taking my face off.

‘Watch it you fucking moron!’ he shouted, swerving to avoid me and zooming off down the street.

I considered shouting something after him but didn’t have the strength.  I didn’t turn back to Amber.  I just plodded across the road, my shoulders sinking, my head down, and reached the bus stop just as the bus was pulling in.  I stepped on.

As the bus lurched away, I looked out of the window to wave to Amber.  But she was already halfway down the street with her back to me.  I stayed on the bus for one stop before I got off, walked back to Oxford Circus and caught the tube to Victoria.