Going Home (36 page)

When I’d woken up that morning I’d had a funny feeling about today, as if normal service was suspended in some way, like when you get sent home from school early because of a power cut: the regime by which you normally live your life suddenly seems flimsy, as if anything could blow it away. I realized as I talked that that was the cumulative effect of the weekend: I wasn’t worried about anything any more. But neither was I convincing myself that everything was perfect when it clearly wasn’t, which was what I’d been doing when I was going out with Miles.

As I drained my second coffee I looked at my watch. It was a quarter past two. ‘We should be getting back,’ I said.

‘In a minute,’ Jaden said. ‘There’s time.’

‘How’s Alina?’ I said. Alina was Jaden’s sister, chief services executive with a globally recognized brand of computer printers. She lived in Houston and was unlike her brother, from what I had gleaned.

‘She got a haircut,’ Jaden said. ‘Are you going to call David, then?’

‘What about – what was her boyfriend called? Pete? Paul? Did he make tenure?’

‘Yes,’ said Jaden. ‘Another coffee, please. My gut is going to be shot to hell. Thank you,’ he said, to the alarmed-looking waiter. ‘So, are you going to call David?’

‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘About Paul. Pete.’

‘Lizzy…’

I gazed around Market Place, the merry lunchtime drinkers, the gorgeous clothes happily hovering in the windows of Reiss opposite. ‘Why would I?’ I said.

‘Because you’re still in love with him.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake.’ My stomach lurched at the thought of having conveyed the situation so inadequately. ‘No, I’m not. And that’s not the point…The point is that it’s all over, and it’s sad, but I know it’s for the best.’

‘What a load of bull!’ Jaden said. ‘Don’t sit there and tell me what happened on Saturday and then say you’re not going to call him.’

‘I’m not.’

‘The guy calls your house Christmas to try and sort it out. He comes round to your place in March and has to watch you behave like a total bitch – I’m sorry, forgive me – while you flirt with his brother, then kiss him, then flirt with me. He calls you to tell you he’s still interested, and you brush him off. You hook up with his freaking brother and he has to stand by and watch! Jeez, Lizzy!’

So this was why Jaden didn’t drink coffee. ‘I’m not stubborn,’ I said, equally heatedly. ‘I’m not – listen to me,’ for I could see he was about to interrupt again. ‘I know all that. But I was angry with him then. I thought he’d…I’m not like you. Neither’s David. I don’t like talking about it, when there’s nothing to talk about. That’s not what either of us wants.’

‘But!’ Jaden smacked his head with his palm. ‘Listen to yourself! You’re talking about him as if you’re a couple! If you know he thinks that and you know you think that then do something about it!’

I set my jaw. ‘I’m not like that,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ve spent nearly a year getting over him. I’m not letting myself in for all that again.’

Jaden was more worked up than I’d ever seen him. He glared at me. ‘Lizzy.’

‘Yes?’ I said.

Jaden said, ‘I have three things to say to you, in a calm, rational way, and then we won’t talk about it again. And I want you to listen to these three things and confirm them with me as I say each one. Because I’m right about them.’

‘OK,’ I said, looking anxiously at his fresh coffee.

‘One. You and David were in love with each other when he went to New York, right?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Yipbibibibi – no interrupting. Yes or no?’

‘Yes.’

‘Two. Basically, you guys split up because someone else tried to break you up. OK, you were both totally useless about the whole thing and kinda rolled over like sheep at the first sign of trouble, but you were told he’d slept with someone else and he was told you didn’t love him any more. Right?’

‘Well…’ I began.

‘Lizzy,’ Jaden said again, dangerously.

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Three, and this is really important. Can you imagine feeling that way about anyone else?’

I was silent.

‘Can you, Lizzy?’ Jaden said quietly. ‘Do you think he was the one?’

‘It’s—’ I tried to speak.

‘You do, don’t you?’ he said softly.

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

‘Right,’ Jaden said, sitting back in his chair. ‘How many other people out there do you estimate there are for you?’ I shook my head at him, bewildered. ‘Exactly. So what are you gonna do about it?’

‘I…’

‘Come on, Lizzy!’ Jaden barked.

‘I’m going to…write to him,’ I said, suddenly brave, feeling like I was in a revivalist meeting.

‘Yes!’ Jaden punched the air. ‘Why don’t you call him instead?’

‘No, it’s too weird,’ I said, feeling momentum surging through my body at the idea of this course of action. ‘He’s in New York. I’ll write to him. I want to put it all down so it’s there in black and white. Everything, so he knows.’

‘Great,’ Jaden was standing up, carefully removing coins and notes from his man-bag and depositing them on the table. ‘Let’s get back. My work here is done.’

‘Why are you doing all this for me, Jaden?’ I said, as we walked back to the office.

‘I’m the scriptwriter,’ he said. ‘Put it this way. I like being the
deus ex machina
once in a while.’

That night I went out with Georgy, and she said the same thing as Jaden, except we drank a lot more and she screamed a lot more and waved more cigarettes in the air. So when I got home late on Monday night, fired up by all of this, I sat on my sofa and thought about what I wanted to say. In the end I decided I couldn’t put it
all
down. It was too complicated. So I took the photo of us in front of the Eiffel Tower, found an envelope, and wrote David’s address on it very neatly. I wasn’t going to take the risk of this being one
of those ‘And she addressed the envelope whilst drunk, and put the wrong street number on, and he never got her letter and he died a broken man six months later’ things.

The windows in my little flat were wide open as I sat there chewing my pen. The contents of my bag sprawled on the floor where I’d thrown it down in my eagerness to complete my task. I could hear the late-night sounds of the city outside. In David’s apartment the portable aircon had whirred all night, I remembered.

I stretched my legs and glanced at the window-sill, where my geraniums were poking their heads up, searching for the sun. I loved my flat. It was my home, and only I had the responsibility for making sure I was happy there. The one thing the last year had taught me was that your home had to be where you live, where you put down roots, not where ghosts of past lives and emotions flit about. While Keeper House would always be my favourite place in the world, I knew now that I also belonged here, in my tiny flat off the Edgware Road, near the joke shop, the market and the canal, where photos of Georgy and Tom were on the fridge and, on the noticeboard, the efficient list of tasks to do that I’d drawn up that morning. Renew the insurance. Get the front-door lock checked. Glue together the mug I’d broken. Get the photos of Chin’s wedding developed.

I thought about Rosalie and Mike, safely back in their home, unpacking the bubble-wrapped pictures and hanging them on the wall. Rosalie would probably be the one with a hammer and tack in position, Mike advising her, a glass of wine in his hand, as the lights of Manhattan gleamed through the window. I thought of Kate, sitting outside her cottage with a cup of tea, listening to Radio Four, watching the stars. Was she thinking of what might have been with Mike? Was she remembering Tony? Did she look up to the sky and search for a sign of him? And I thought of Mum
and Dad, labelling boxes, walking around our home, where Mum had stroked our hair and sung us to sleep, where Tony had slept on the night before he died, where Edwin Walter had stood one spring morning a hundred years ago and decided he was going to build a family.

Inaction was the thing to fear. I picked up the photo again, and looked at it. And on the back I wrote,

David
,

I’m sorry for everything that’s happened. What a mess.

I just thought you should know, I love you. I always will. I never stopped, even though I tried to pretend I had.

It’s no big deal if you don’t feel the same way, and I wouldn’t be surprised. Just ring me up and tell me to go away if you want, and then at least it’s sorted out, once and for all.

Lxxx

I posted it the next day. A week went by, and I heard nothing. Then two weeks. Then three, and I went on holiday knowing by then that it was all over.

The stuffy trains were taking people to the leafy, lawn-filled suburbs and towns outside London: Hanwell, Windsor, Henley, Oxford. The hot weather gave the station a festive, holiday feeling. Gone were the black accountants’ suits, women in sensible court shoes, people hurrying with newspapers under their arms. Instead, as the heat of the day rose from the ground and the setting sun cast beams of light across the huge iron-and-glass tunnel of the station, the mood was relaxed, happy, friendly. Girls in flip-flops with pastel flowers on them, little tops, flowery skirts. Boys, who are always less sure of themselves in this temperature, in trendy long shorts, baggy shirts and designer shades. Above the concourse rose a babble of sound, the happy murmur of conversation and purpose, as passengers disappeared towards their trains.

I waited for Georgy under the huge electric timetable, sitting on the hard shell of my suitcase. She was late and we were about to miss the first Heathrow Express, but I was relaxed: we had time. I spread my hands and idly examined my forearms – the sun of recent weeks had turned them a light honey brown, the soft hairs on them white-blond. I
wiggled my toes, painted a bright new pink for the holiday ahead. In my suitcase I had an assortment of clothing, lots of glittery makeup and sandals, books I’d probably never read. In my handbag I had a travel guide to Corfu and the book I’d picked to start first, then cast aside in favour of magazines. Suddenly my phone rang. I idly plucked it out of my bag.

‘Where are you?’ Tom’s voice demanded.

‘At Paddington,’ I replied. ‘Why?’

‘The station?’ he said, sounding almost cross. ‘You’re on the main bit? The concourse?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m waiting for Georgy. Why, what’s up?’

‘Oh, nothing,’ Tom said. ‘I just wanted to know how you were getting to the airport.’

‘Eh?’ I said. ‘Why?’

‘Are you sure that’s the quickest way? Oh, well, it’s your decision, better go now. Whereabouts are you waiting? I like it outside Dixon’s.’

‘What?’ I said, confused. ‘Tom, are you drunk? Why do you care where I’m waiting?’

‘Oh, you know. Ergonomics. There should be benches.’ He sounded less and less sure. ‘So, where are you?’

‘I’m underneath the main sign, right in the middle,’ I said. ‘By the tourist bureau. That way, I can see the trains and spot Georgy in case she comes off the Tube. Does that make ergonomic sense to you?’

‘Great, thanks. ‘Bye,’ said Tom, and simply put the phone down. I was astonished yet again by the eccentricity of my family, which revealed itself to me on a near-daily basis. I swivelled round to lean against the upright handle of my suitcase and watch the scene in front of me.

The sounds and smells of an early summer’s evening washed over me, the bustle and hurry of people on their way, smiling, frowning, the station guards chatting lugubriously
at the gates, train drivers wandering around. I yawned and stretched. A booming voice reminded me that the seven forty-five train to Exeter departing platform nine prevented me from dozing into a light sleep and possibly sliding onto the floor.

A movement out of the corner of my left eye caught my attention. Someone was skidding through the crowds, running for a train, and had bumped into an old lady. I closed my eyes again, listening to the footsteps hurry past her. They were coming in my direction. I opened my eyes.

David was standing in front of me. I blinked and looked again. Yes, it was definitely him.

‘Hello?’ I said, uncertainly.

‘Hello,’ he said, pausing for breath. He’d obviously been running for some time. His T-shirt clung to him and he was flushed. He swallowed, and looked down at me. ‘Lizzy,’ he said blankly. He was holding his phone. I stood up, determined to be friendly.

‘Hello again.’ I leaned on my suitcase, surprised to discover my legs were shaking. ‘Off anywhere nice?’ I asked politely. ‘Had any interesting post lately?’ I said in my head. ‘Any letters from people telling you they’re still in love with you? Yes?’

David brushed his hair off his forehead. ‘Yes, I’m off on holiday, actually,’ he said, more calmly.

‘Lovely,’ I said. ‘Where?’

‘Corfu.’

My heart sank at the sheer bad luck that bedevilled my every waking move. ‘Oh…that’s nice,’ I said, rooting around nonchalantly in my bag, as I tried to stop my stupid legs from shaking. Then I looked at him properly. ‘Why haven’t you got any bags or anything?’

‘I – I had to leave in a bit of a hurry,’ he said. ‘All my stuff’s at the airport – I’ve just landed. You see—’

‘I’ve got to go,’ I interrupted. ‘Sorry, David. Great to see you. I’m waiting for Georgy’ – why did I still want him to know I wasn’t going on holiday with a love rival? – ‘and I’ve just seen her going into WH Smith’s.’

‘No, you haven’t,’ said David calmly.

‘Yes, I have,’ I said, raising my arm. ‘Over there, in the blue dress.’

David caught my arm. ‘You haven’t. She’s not there. She’s not coming.’

‘She is,’ I said, wrenching my arm away. ‘We’re going on holiday together, as if it’s any business of yours.’

David took my hand and held it, stroking my palm. ‘Georgy’s not coming. She’s in her flat, getting ready to go out – or she was when I spoke to her five minutes ago. I’m coming with you. We’re going to Corfu together, and then I’m moving back to London, and we’re going to live together, and in the future – well, who knows? Well, I know one thing for sure.’

‘What’s that?’ I said, hardly daring to breathe.

David moved closer towards me. ‘I made the mistake of not coming to find you before, Lizzy,’ he said, and I could feel his warm breath on my cheek, ‘and I’m not doing it again. No matter how brave you pretend to be. I want to be with you. I always have. Since the moment I first met you.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I said, feeling as if I’d been winded. People were walking past and staring at us as we stood a few inches apart, eyes locked. I stepped back a little, David still holding my hand. He was here. He was standing in front of me and he was in love with me. I’d spent so long thinking I’d seen him at the pub, at a party, in a post office, and now he was actually here, and I knew without a doubt that the most natural thing in the whole world was for me to be with him.

‘I got your letter last week, Lizzy. But I’d already decided I was going to come and find you. After the wedding – I was being stupid. Proud. I dialled your number a thousand times, but I was too chicken. I thought it was too late. I thought you were over me. Or that it was just too complicated.’

‘Me too,’ I said, moving closer to him. ‘I thought it was just me, and I’d have to get over it.’

‘I rang Tom when I got back to New York. I didn’t know what to do. And he arranged it all.’

‘Tom,’ I said, comprehension dawning. ‘He just rang me.’

‘I couldn’t find you,’ David said. ‘I was running around looking everywhere so he called you to make sure you were still here.’

‘God, I’m going to kill him,’ I said. Then I thought about it. ‘No, I’m not. I’m going to buy him a huge bar of Toblerone in Duty Free.’

David held my hands to his chest. I could feel his heart beating. ‘I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Lizzy,’ he said, as the noise around us faded. ‘Not once since the day I met you. Even after we split up. It was hell. I didn’t know what had happened. I couldn’t understand why you’d suddenly changed your tune, and I was so angry with you for being weak and throwing it away.’

‘But I wasn’t—’ I’d had this conversation in my head countless times and I couldn’t believe it was really taking place. I looked around me, to remind myself of where I was. I was still in the station, with the same noises, bustle, purpose around me, but everything had changed. David put a finger to my lips. ‘I want to say this. I’ve thought about saying it so many times. Oh, Lizzy,’ he said softly, ‘when I think about it, what we went through, how miserable I must have made you, and that – that stupid,
stupid
brother of mine.’

‘It was other things too. I was stupid. All these different
bits and pieces, like Mike, the house and all that, Miles…’ I took a deep breath. ‘Well, Miles being a total wacko. And what my family was on about and stuff – and you most of all. I’ve been blind. But not any more.’

David smiled. ‘Really?’ he said.

‘I’m wise now,’ I said. And I meant it. ‘Even without you. Those things can’t hurt me any more. It’s just…the idea I hurt you so much. I hate that.’

I cupped his chin and kissed him. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

David pulled me to him, and said, almost angrily, ‘It’s not you, darling Lizzy. It was never you. I hate what I did to you. The idea of anyone hurting you makes me so angry. So full of – of rage, I don’t know what to do. So when I think about how much I must have upset you, how vicious I was to you…’ He trailed off, then said seriously, in a much quieter voice, ‘And all the time I was furious with you, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And you were there, whatever I did. I could hear your voice, the funny things you say, the way you look curled up on my sofa, in my bed, walking through the park. You were everywhere. I couldn’t get you out of my mind. Never have been able to.’ He paused. ‘We should
be
together, Lizzy. We always should have been. It was my fault – it was your fault too, but it was my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to New York.’

‘Yes, you should. I just shouldn’t have been so pathetic about it.’

‘I was scared, you know. I loved you so much but I thought if I go away and we stay together that means it’s marriage and babies and everything – and I didn’t know what you wanted. You were a bit distant. I was on my own so much, I had too much time to think about stuff. I started to think you – perhaps you…Well, that it was me who felt more, and you weren’t missing me…’ He coughed. ‘And I was so angry with you at Christmas when I saw you. I really
thought I hated you. For ending it, for not loving me enough. I couldn’t understand it, or why it had gone wrong, so I just assumed it was something you hated about me and never asked you to talk about it properly. It was my fault.’

‘God, no – that was my fault too,’ I said. ‘I was thinking the same thing. I hated you – at least, I thought I did. I never worried about anything till you weren’t there…I should never have believed Miles. I should have trusted you.’

‘Well, I did snog Lisa,’ said David, reasonably. ‘Sort of. She snogged me.’

‘I know…but how about we let that one slide, eh?’ I said, equally reasonably. I put my hands on his chest and he pulled me to him. It felt like coming home. I could feel the warmth and hardness of his body, his fingers digging into my back. He bent his head and kissed me, and I forgot where I was or what had happened over the last year. It was as if we’d never been apart. Tears ran down my cheeks.

‘I love you,’ David said, and kissed me again. ‘Fuck, this is strange.’

‘Don’t swear,’ I said, patting my pockets for a tissue.

‘Here,’ said David, handing me one and taking my suitcase. ‘Now we should go or we’ll be late.’

‘Right, sir,’ I said, and slung my handbag over my shoulder. I grabbed his hand as we walked towards the Heathrow Express. David stopped and kissed me again. ‘God, Lizzy, I can’t believe I’m here with you. If you knew how much I’d missed you—’

‘Don’t,’ I said, squeezing his hand. ‘I do know, remember?’

‘And there’s no crazy cousins or brothers or friends to get in the way and screw things up. We can do it all by ourselves.’

‘But I don’t think we will,’ I said, and rested my head on his shoulder as we walked towards the train.