Chasing Charlie (23 page)

ED

I sat back in my seat with relief. I didn't expect to be so pleased to be leaving London. I thought I'd feel a bit sad about the prospect of no Sam for three weeks but now I couldn't wait to get away from her. The whole thing had made me feel exhausted and more than a little disgusted. Charlie's party had been an endurance test, putting up with Rebecca as she flirted with her plastic smile, angling for any interaction she could get with Charlie, and making sure her fingers or head were on my arm whenever Sam was in the vicinity. She was witty, I had to give her that, but her humour was invariably patronising, sarcastic, caustic or all three at once and always, always delivered with her Cheshire-cat smile. It made my skin crawl, recalling it. And out of the corner of my eye, dear old Sam, tottering around looking peaky, trying so hard to ignore Charlie and then looking so lost and bewildered after the big scene. It was all a pile of meaningless bollocks.

I stared out the window, watching the last of London dissolve into countryside. She hadn't even remembered to say goodbye to me last night. I'd told her I was off early on Monday morning but she was too busy mooning over that drunken fool of a man.

No more, I thought to myself. No bloody more. It was time to get away, move on, maybe even meet someone who actually cared about me. It was time to leave her and all her pettiness behind me.

SAM

A cold wind whipped down the street, made even colder, I thought, by the imposing buildings that seemed to be looking down at me in contempt. What are you doing here, you pathetic, scruffy excuse for a human being? they seemed to say. I scowled back. I was there on an important mission. Something that really mattered. This was about love! One human concerned about another. Something you'd know nothing about, you . . . you . . . buildings. Ha! I told them, all right. I am on a mission. I am chasing Charlie, no less. Operation Chasing Charlie. I liked that. I smiled and then stopped. Focus, focus, focus, girl. My eyes were glued to the main entrance of the hospital, a revolving door simultaneously sucking people in and spitting others out.

Just to be clear, I wasn't chasing him – I just wanted to see his face. It had been three days since his party and he hadn't been in touch. So far I had successfully resisted contacting him but my will was being gnawed away by an impatient and hungry heart. If I could just glimpse him I would be able to get through another twenty-four hours without calling him, through til Wednesday, perhaps even Thursday. But then it would be almost a week since it had happened and surely he'd have been in touch by then?

I needed to see his face for myself. Even a fleeting glance would do. Would he look drawn or happy? I was hoping for happy but, then again, if he had reached that point after the break-up, why hadn't he called? And if he was still depressed – well, I had to hope he wasn't pining after Lucy. A biting wind whipped around my legs and I dug my hands further into my pockets.

After waiting for twenty-two cold minutes he finally left the building. He strode out and turned left, and I felt as if my gaze was somehow glued to him, so intensely was I looking at him. Surely he would feel it and turn my way? But he strode off and turned left towards the nearby Tube – which I dared not follow him on – and was gone. That was it. I'd seen him. And he looked, I thought, decidedly unhappy.

MARA

After a cup of tea, and a few minutes lost in
Review
, left over from the Saturday paper, I opened my laptop. I rarely used it, especially during the week. I felt like I got plenty of screen time during the day, thank you very much. But I really should check my bank account to make sure everything was ticking over as it should. While Ed had been around I'd forgotten to look as often as I usually do, letting it lapse for at least two weeks, which was most unlike me. I pride myself on keeping everything very neat and tidy in that department, always putting a little aside for emergencies. I was most definitely not interested in living in a reactionary fashion when it came to money.

So when I saw that my bank balance was in the red I gave a yelp of surprise. George looked at me, confused. He didn't normally hear me yelping, in surprise or otherwise. I scrolled down the history and frowned, then stood up and fetched the calendar from the kitchen wall, placing a finger on the last three Thursdays one at a time, and searching for the corresponding date. The twenty-fifth – nothing. The eighteenth – nothing. The eleventh – nothing.

Nothing! For three bloody weeks!

My mind clattered through the past few weeks, totting up everything Sam had spent money on that wasn't her bloody rent. Toiletries and make-up for that bloody party. And the dress. And the nights out. God, she was so selfish. So completely and utterly self-absorbed. I logged out and shut the laptop, then went to the toilet (comprehensively scrubbed with disinfectant the day before – and not by Sam either), seething as I peed my tea away and wondering how much longer I could put up with it. How long could I continue living with this child before I'd have to take action?

SAM

I had it all figured out. The next step in Operation Chasing Charlie was to view him at home. Not his London flat. No, this mission would take me further afield, to the countryside, to his parents' house. Well, not to the house itself but certainly nearby. My trusty sidekick Facebook told me that was where he was going tonight. I had made do with the single glance of him across the courtyard outside his work and had somehow made it to Friday without contacting him but now I was hungry for more. It was like a scab sitting there on my knee just asking to be picked. I had to know – was he still unhappy? Or had he been having a particularly bad day when I saw him? If he was still unhappy this weekend, I'd feel better about the fact that he still hadn't been in touch. If he was happy . . . well, I didn't want to think about that.

I sat on the Tube, turning over my plan and feeling very pleased I actually had one. It was preferable to giving in to my miserable heart, which was busy feeling utterly lost and really wanted to go to bed and cry for a long time. I was still reeling from the anti-climax Charlie's birthday party had proved to be. But I wasn't going to give up now. Not after all the hard work I'd put into luring him so far. I would keep on moving forwards. I had to get there; I just had to be patient.

A bunch of women sat opposite me, obviously friends going home together after work. They were deep in discussion about a mutual friend and the steamy affair she was having with her boss, completely oblivious to the other passengers on the train.

‘She may as well be wearing a sign around her neck—'

‘Totally glowing—'

‘It'll only end in tears.'

‘No, it'll be worth it. Look at her!'

‘I saw her workmate the other day, whatshisname, Robert?'

‘Is that the cute one?'

‘What, the cute gay one or the cute dark one?'

‘Aren't they both dark?'

‘OMG, stick to your story.'

‘OK, so he said that—'

‘Isn't Robert the one with the square face? You know. He looks like a Lego man.'

‘No! He left ages ago, got a job somewhere else—'

‘That's right! He got a job in marketing at Legoland.'

‘Really?'

‘No!'

How long had it been since I had had time like that with my girls? I thought back. I couldn't remember. Too long. Far too long. I sat up straighter. I had the distinct impression my head had been pulled out of a hole. Had I been so wrapped up in this Charlie business I'd become the kind of girl that dropped her friends for a man? Had I really become that kind of person? I shook my head. I couldn't bear listening to the friends a minute longer so I stood and moved towards the door, ready to leap out at Queen's Park. The need to immerse myself in my friends was suddenly urgent, as pressing as the need to think non-stop about Charlie had been ten minutes ago.

Hurrying along Harvist Road, I imagined a relaxed Friday night in with Mara. I'd ask all about how she was and really listen to her. Be the best friend I could be.

But there was no one there. Not even a note. I frowned. Friday night, and Mara wasn't home? My tummy dropped. Friday night. It was Friday night and no one had called me to organise meeting up. I blinked, thinking back. We hadn't met up last Friday night either. I called Claudia but her phone was off.

CLAUDIA

I sat at the kitchen table while Mara made coffee, absent-mindedly running the tips of my fingers across the smooth surface. It was late on Saturday morning and the kitchen was filled with Mara's crossness. I didn't prod her for details. I found that, given space and time, Mara usually got around to talking about whatever was bothering her. Sam had never understood this, which I always thought was unfortunate and remarkably blind of her.

‘Where's Sam?' I asked.

‘I don't know. She was here this morning, her door was shut before I went shopping but she left without doing her Saturday jobs.'

I raised my eyebrows. ‘She has Saturday jobs?'

‘Well' – Mara set a plunger and two mugs down – ‘I don't mind if she does them on Sunday but I'd prefer she did them on Saturday to get the weekend off to a good start.'

Mara's mouth was pinched as she poured warm milk into both mugs, stirring the liquid aggressively as she added the coffee. She sat down and looked at me.

‘What?'

‘I didn't say anything.'

‘You not saying something usually means something, Claud. Am I being unreasonable?'

‘Unreasonable? Oh what would I know? I don't have to share my space with anyone else. I imagine some ground rules would be helpful. But perhaps . . .' I paused, about to rephrase what I wanted to say, then decided against it. ‘You might be treating Sam a little bit like a child?'

‘She is one though! She missed her bloody rent this week for the third bloody time!' Mara held up three indignant fingers.

I stepped around my thoughts once more. Mara was obviously burning up about all this. But it had to be said. ‘Could it be she acts like a child because she gets treated like one?'

‘I don't know. Maybe. It's a pain in the neck though, regardless of how it's come about. She's almost thirty years old! Honestly.' Mara took a long sip of coffee and sighed. ‘I don't know what to do about it, Claudia. I can't carry her for much longer. She's gone completely silly over this Charlie business. Every day for two weeks there's been a new exfoliator or body cream or something in the bathroom. Not to mention the dress – and the rest. But no bloody rent!'

‘I paid for her dress,' I added, instantly regretting it.

‘Great! So that was money that could have gone to rent and it didn't. It's disrespectful – to me, to our friendship, to' – Mara waved her arm in circles at George and the kitchen – ‘our home!'

I reached out and caught Mara's angry hand and squeezed it. ‘Babe, you're really upset about this, aren't you?'

‘Wouldn't you be? If one of your best friends gave such a small shit about you?'

‘But she does care about you, of course she does. She can just be horrendously ditzy.'

‘Call it what you want, Claud. I'm completely over it.'

It always amazed me how effectively anger smothered memory, leaving only a handful of irritating traits to chew over relentlessly, as if they were the only food the angry person had available. I saw it time and again with conflicts I was required to mediate at work – people who had once been friends, who knew each other really well, pacing around their grievances, completely forgetting that the person they were upset with had any feelings at all – let alone complex ones. And here was Mara, chewing over a few – highly irritating, I agreed – misdemeanours of Sam's, as if that was all there was to her. Completely ignoring her warmth, years of loyal friendship and the highs and lows they'd shared. Forgetting all the weeks she had paid her rent or hadn't brought a bug into the house. Forgetting who she was beneath the dizzy exterior. But what would I know really? I pictured my tidy, peaceful flat. Nobody else to negotiate; no one at all. But in that moment the image of my empty flat was far from comforting and I felt my chest squeeze a little.

‘I've got some news, actually,' I said before I could stop myself.

‘Good, let's talk about something else.' Mara set her cup down and smiled.

‘It's not good.'

‘Oh?' The half-hearted smile fell off.

I felt a lump lodge in my throat, out of nowhere. For a moment I thought I wouldn't be able to speak.

‘I . . .' I swallowed. ‘I've been diagnosed with an STI.'

‘What?' Mara looked shocked.

‘Don't look so shocked, Mara, you know what I'm like,' I said, more bitter than I wanted to.

Mara frowned. ‘Yes, I know you're a grown-up, onto-it woman!' She reached across the table and grabbed my hands. ‘And here I am bleating on about Sam, when you've got much more important issues.' Then a change came across her face and she grew paler.

‘Wha-what . . .'

‘It's only chlamydia,' I finished for her.

Colour flooded back into Mara's cheeks. ‘Oh thank God.' She let out a huge sigh through her teeth.

‘Indeed.'

‘Do you know—'

‘Who gave it to me?'

‘Yes.'

‘Well, strangely enough, yes, I think I do. At least tests point in his direction. But—' I shook my head. ‘I can't believe it could be him, he's so . . .'

‘Grown-up?'

I looked up at her in wonder. That was it! That was what I had been trying to put my finger on. He was an adult, not a boy in a man's body.

‘That guy from work, I take it, John something or other?'

‘How did you know?' What was going on? Mara had her ignorant blinkers on thinking about Sam but then turned her head towards me bursting with insight.

‘I could tell by the way you've talked about him in the past.'

‘I've hardly spoken about him and not very nicely when I have.'

‘Exactly. If you didn't care about him you would have got a lot more mileage out of it. And this time, even when you made fun of him, you were holding something back. There was something in your eyes.'

‘There was?'

Mara shrugged as if it was completely obvious. If it was so bloody obvious, I thought, why had it taken me so long to realise how I felt about him?

Mara collected the mugs and cafetière and took them to the sink, casually asking over her shoulder, ‘So when are you going to tell him you like him?'