His 'n' Hers (15 page)

Alison is due to go to London tomorrow for her interview. She’s spent ages getting her clothes ready. I am in the pub with Nick. I needed to get out of the house for a while. Nick is good for distraction. We talk about nothing much. Nothing that matters, at least. I’m just beginning to feel okay when he says, ‘Al’s off to her interview tomorrow.’

‘Yeah,’ I reply.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘No.’

He shrugs. ‘Okay, I was just asking.’

‘Things are strained between us,’ I say, without further prompting. ‘They have been since she announced she was off. I admit it’s all my fault. It’s just that I can’t help but feel a bit . . .’

‘Cheated?’

‘Yeah, that’s it. Cheated. I’m just getting my life sorted for the first time. I’ve got a great job, a great girlfriend. Everything’s in place and now . . . well, now it’s not going to be. She’ll get the job. I know she will. And when she does that will be it. She’ll be off. And we’ll be over.’

Every day since the interview Alison has been waiting to hear something from Cooper and Lawton about the job. After the first week she couldn’t sleep and even her twenty-fifth birthday turned into a bit of a non-event because she was so worried. After the second week it was all I could do to stop her calling them to put her out of her misery. Finally last night I said to her that, whatever time it is, when the letter arrives she should call me and we’ll open it together. So, when the phone rings as I’m making breakfast, I already know she’s got news.

‘Hello?’ I say.

‘I think the letter’s here,’ says Alison.

‘I’ll be there in a second,’ I say, and put down the phone.

Alison’s in the hallway with Jane and Mary when I let myself in.

‘Morning, babe,’ she says, greeting me with a kiss.

‘Is that it?’ I say, looking at the letter in her hand.

She nods. ‘It’s got their postmark on it.’

‘Well, go on, then,’ says Jane. ‘He’s here now so you can open it.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Open it.’

‘I can’t,’ she says. ‘It’s too weird.’

‘I’m one hundred per cent sure you’ve got it,’ declares Mary. ‘Just open it.’

Alison hands the envelope to me. ‘You do it for me.’

‘I really think you should do it, Al.’

‘I can’t. Please, Jim, just do this one thing for me.’

I hand the letter back to her. ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘You open it. I’ll be right here with you.’

She opens the envelope and scan-reads the letter. Her face says it all.

‘Well?’ demands Jane.

‘I didn’t get it,’ says Alison. ‘They said I was an excellent candidate but they’ve given the job to someone with more experience.’

I put my arms around her and she begins to cry. Jane and Mary make a diplomatic retreat. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I really thought you were going to get it. There’ll be other jobs. Everything will work out okay in the end.’

‘No,’ she says. ‘I don’t think there will be. I knew I was no good and I was right . . . At least you’ll be happy anyway. You never wanted me to get that job. I could tell.’

‘If you’re asking me if I’m glad you’re not moving to London the answer’s yes,’ I tell her. ‘Of course I am, because it would have made life difficult for us. But if you’re asking me if I’m happy that you didn’t get the job then, no, I’m not. I was sure you’d get it. And I wanted that for you. I wanted you to be happy because that’s what being in love is supposed to be about. And if you’d got the job I would have tried my best to be happy for you even if it had torn me up inside. And do you know why? Because making you happy is what I’m supposed to do. It’s my job. And if you’re not happy I can’t be happy either.’

Alison’s just called me to compare reactions.

‘So what did they say your end?’ she asks.

‘Nick’s fine with you moving in,’ I tell her. ‘But don’t get too excited. He does have some reservations.’

‘Which are?’

‘You’re not allowed to start moaning at him to keep the place tidy. Basically I think if you live here you’re going to have to lower your standards . . . a lot.’

‘Is that it?’

‘Oh, and Nick says he’d prefer it if you didn’t bring any pot-pourri into the house because, and I quote, “Dead flower petals in a bowl is the biggest scam ever.”’

‘Why does he think I’m going to bring pot-pourri with me?’

‘I have no idea. He only has the vaguest concept of women at the best of times. Anyway, what did the girls say?’

‘They were a bit reserved to begin with. I think they think it will mean that they won’t be able to walk about naked any more.’

I laugh. ‘Tell them I only have eyes for you and that they can feel free to walk around naked. In fact, I’ll encourage it.’

‘I bet you will. The other thing they mentioned is that they don’t want us having rows in any public area of the house.’

‘We don’t row much anyway. Except for the occasional sulk – like last week when we were play-fighting and I dropped you on your head – we’re very good at being nice to each other.’

‘I know, but they did say it.’

‘Fine. We can agree to that. What else is there?’

‘That’s it. The bottom line is that they think it will be nice to have a man around the place to kill spiders, take out the bin-bags on rubbish day and programme the video. Having said that, I don’t think they were being entirely serious about that last bit.’

‘So, that’s that, then,’ I say finally. ‘They’ve both said yes . . . Which room do we go for? Yours or mine?’

‘Well, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but I’d rather you moved into mine. My house is nicer. Do you mind?’

‘I do, actually. The telly at yours is tiny.’

‘And that’s your only reason?’

‘What can I say? I hate tiny TVs.’

‘So what do we do?’

I reach into my pocket and take out a fifty-pence piece. ‘Heads we’ll live at mine, tails we’ll live at yours.’

I toss the coin into the air and catch it in the palm of my hand.

‘What is it?’ asks Alison.

Tilting my hand I look at the coin and can clearly see the Queen’s head. I’ve won. But suddenly I realise I don’t want to win. Alison’s right. Her house is a million times nicer than mine, plus Disco will like living at her house more than mine. And I want Alison to be happy.

‘It’s tails,’ I lie. ‘We’re moving into yours.’

Alison’s been on the phone so long that I’ve turned on the TV and I’m watching one of those terrible daytime chat shows. Today’s debate is entitled: ‘Should We Bring Back the Death Penalty?’

I’m engrossed in it when the bedroom door opens and Alison returns. I can tell straight away that her whole mood has changed. ‘What’s up?’ I ask. ‘Is your mum all right?’

‘It was the woman who interviewed me at Cooper and Lawton. Apparently they’ve got a vacancy for a junior in their publicity department and because I interviewed so well they want to know if I’m interested in filling the position.’

‘I thought you wanted to work in editorial?’

‘I can’t afford to be choosy. I really want to work in publishing so I’ve got to take anything I can get.’