The Other Side of the Story (54 page)

Gemma

All day Thursday I was a bit flaky at work - excitement, see? About finally seeing Johnny that evening, see? But every fecking thing conspired against it because I had to work until six-thirty, then I had to collect Dad from the day hospital. He'd had a minor operation (something to do with his prostate, I
so
did not want to know) and because he'd had an anaesthetic, he wasn't allowed to drive himself home. But he took forever to leave, saying goodbye to the nurses as if he'd been there for six months and not six hours, and by the time we left the hospital it was seven forty-five. Johnny's chemist closed at eight, so I took an executive decision.

'Dad, before I drop you home, I've to go to the pharmacy.'

'What do you need?'

'Plasters.'

'But you haven't cut yourself.'

'Tissues, then.'

'Have you a cold?'

'Alright, Hedex,' I said irritably.

'Have you a headache?'

'I do now.'

I parked outside and he clipped off his seatbelt. Anxiously, I said, 'Dad, stay in the car. You're not a well man.'

Not a chance. He'd got wind something was up. 'I need to buy something myself.'

What?'

'Er…' he scanned the window for ads '… Oil of Evening Primrose.'

Clutching his groin, he followed me in.

Lily

After Jojo and her cousin left the wine bar, I walked home, put Ema to bed, then braced myself. It was time to read Anton's letter.

I had no choice. I knew it would not go away.

I lay down on the sofa and slid out three crumpled handwritten pages.

My dearest Lily,

When are you, reading this? six months after we've broken up? A year? No matter how long it is, thank you for doing so. There is only one thing I want to say in this letter and that is to let you, know how very sorry I am for all the wnhappiness I've caused you, but, being me, I'll probably take several pages to do so.

At the moment, you're repelled by our time together, keen to put distance between it and you, and convinced that it was all a big fat mistake from start to finish.

When we first met,the choice you had to make between Gemma and me
-
was a terrible one. I tried to understand, I thought I understood, but at the time I was just one big, insanely happy eejit, so bowled over at our rightness, that I didn't really get it, in retrospect, I don't think I ever fully understood the depth of your guilt and the fear that you'd be punished. In my defence, I tried, but the happiness at our being together kept rushing in and sweeping it away
.

I don't know if you can ever be convinced that our being together was right. But would you please try, don't ruin the rest of your life by dragging around a big sack of shame with you. Would it help if you looked at Ema? she's such a sparky little soul, she makes the world, a better place, and we made her, you and, me. Some good has come out of us.

I would also like to apologize about losing you, and Ema your home. Words are ridiculously inadequate at conveying the extent of my shame.

Looking back at my enthusiasm for buying the house, it looks to me now like I bullied you, which I am sick about. But can I explain how my head was working at the time?' Buying the house was a risk, but as risks go, it seemed, as safe as it got. All the signs were good that the money would pony up
-
Jojo thought so, Dalkin Emery thought so, even the bank thought so
.

I was afraid that if we didn't buy a home for the three of us that we'd fritter away all your hard-earned royalties and end up with a load of crap (cars, stereos, Barbie merchandise) but no security (you know what we're like), it was a stab at behaving like a responsible adult. Buying beyond our means seemed, like the smart thing to do - instead of buying a smaller place for a year, then moving again and paying two lots of stamp duty, it seemed smarter to leapfrog over the intermediate process, like the fool I was, I thought I had vision. But none of that matters now. I didn't listen to your fears, it all fell apart and I hate listening to my pathetic attempts to justify myself.

I thought I was an optimist, you said I was afool; you were right and if I had the chance to do it all again, I would do absolutely everything differently.

With your homelife as a child, it was extra-important to offer you security and all I gave you was mayhem.

I regret the mistakes I made, I bitterly regret the unhappiness I caused you but I will never regret our time together. When I'm eighty and looking back on my life, I'll know that there was at least one good pure thing in it. From that first time we met outside that tube station, I felt like the luckiest bastard on the planet and that feeling never went away. Every single day that we were together I couldn't believe my luck
-
most people don't have in a lifetime what we had in three and a half years and I will always be grateful for that. You will go on and meet someone else and I'll just be a chapter in your tale, but for me, you were, you are and you always will be, the whole story.

Yours always,

Anton

I put down the letter and stared at the ceiling. Stared and stared.

I had known this was coming. I had known for weeks, since before I had gone to Mum's. It had been
why
I had gone.

When I had left Anton I thought I had already made my peace with it. Then, around the time the postcards started coming, I discovered I had made peace with absolutely nothing. I had been as numb as an arm that has been slept on for a week and when I began to feel again, I fled to Mum's, in a fruitiess attempt to outrun the inevitable.

Even then I had known that I would have to make this choice. My love for Anton had crept stealthily back; banished for a while by my heartbreak over the house, it had returned in force, clamouring for me to address it.

And how should I do it?

I had no idea.

At least now I understood what had been going on inside me: I had been very angry with Anton - losing houses was a touchy subject for me. But, and I did not know why - time? distance? - I no longer blamed him. I had thought I could never forgive, but I had.

Even before I had read his letter, I understood what he had been trying to do with the house: he had taken a risk, but as risks go, it had been quite an unrisky one. He had been unlucky.

And what about me? I had been there too, I could have stepped in. Instead I had been complicit and passive, clinging to the position where I could blame if I needed to.

Anton was undeniably careless with money. But I was not any better. Let she who is without debt write the first cheque.

But was understanding where we had gone wrong any guarantee that things would not go pear-shaped again? If it were just Anton and me, we could afford to take risks with our feelings, to try again, knowing that if it, once more, did not work out, we would survive. But we had a child, who had already been through far too much in her short little life. We owed it to Ema to make our next move very carefully. A thought shot into my head: surely it would be better if her parents were together? But perhaps I was just talking myself into this, because I loved him.

And what about Gemma? Could I ever get beyond what I had done to her? If I could have had a choice, I would never have caused her a second's pain. But I had visited untold misery on her. It had happened, I could never undo it, not even if Anton and I remained apart for ever.

I sighed long and wearily, still looking up at the ceiling, hoping to see answers there.

Happiness was a rare thing and you have to take your chances where you find them. I wanted to do the right thing — but how do we ever know? There are no guarantees.

I could rationalize until I was blue in the face but I had no idea what was right or wrong.

I decided to make a list, as if the biggest decision of one's life could be made by writing out bullet-points on the white margin of the TV guide. Well, it was as good as any other way…

•
Ema would be better off if her parents were together.

•
I felt able to get past my guilt with Gemma

•
I had forgiven Anton for the house and we would be more sensible with our finances in the future.

•
He was my most favorite person in the whole world. By a million miles (Apart from Ema)

Hmmm…

Well, I thought, it couldn't hurt to
talk
to Anton. So, invoking the forces of the universe, I made a decision. I would ring him - right now and just this once - and if I did not get him, I would take it as a sign that we were not meant to be. Carefully I picked up the phone, hoping to convey to it how important its next mission was. I wondered where Anton was right now, what the plan for us was. Then I pressed the numbers, put the phone to my ear, heard it begin to ring and prayed.

Jojo

At the Dalkin Emery author party, Jocelyn Forsyth was loitering by the door, bored out of his skull. He'd been finding his retirement difficult — still hankering after the action. But perhaps asking for an invitation to this party had been a mistake. So far, it had disappointed terribly. The place was overrun with Young Turks. No fillies to speak of. Then, just coming in, he saw something that filled his heart with gladness. 'Jojo Harvey! We'd given you up for dead.'

She was looking particularly luscious and accompanied by a creature almost as delightful, whom she introduced as her cousin Becky.

'Well done, you, on your wonderful news with Lily "Lazarus" Wright. Her career pronounced dead on the slab how many times now? Always a gamble setting up on one's own.' He leant closer.' That was a beastly business with young Gant. Delighted it's all working out for you. Of course, if anyone could do it, it would be you.'

Jojo shook back her hair and beamed. 'Thanks, Jocelyn,' then moved away. She didn't have time to stand around chatting, she was on a mission. Of sorts.

Becky at her side, she moved through the crowded space, accepting plaudits and praise. Her senses were on red-alert, her nerves were stretched like cat-gut and she did a lot of hair-tossing and over-animated laughing. Even when she was only talking to Becky, the show went on, until Becky hissed, 'Stoppit, you look like you're on coke.'

Jojo hissed back, 'But what if he's here? I've got to look happy!'

'Jojo, maybe you're not ready for this.'

'I'm gonna have to meet him some time. I can't be sneaking around scared of bumping into him. It's time.'

But after twenty more minutes of being on show, she admitted to Becky, 'I don't think he's here. Let's get some chicken satays and leave.'

Gemma

Shadowed by Dad, limping like he had had his bollocks removed, I hurried into the chemist. I was nearly
sick
with anxiety. There was a man behind the counter, he was wearing the regulation-issue white coat, he had the right size body, but I couldn't see his face.

If he turns around and I'm looking at Hopalong, then I'm giving up, I thought. Me and Johnny the Scrip are just not going to happen.

Then, with excruciating slowness, the man turned and -
oh, thank you, God
— it was Johnny!

'Gemma!' His face lit up, then he looked inquiringly over my shoulder.

'Oh, that's my'dad,' I said. 'Just ignore him.'

'Right.'

I stepped closer. 'I got your letter,' I said shyly. 'Thank you. Did you really like the book?'

'Yes. Particularly the love story between Izzy and Will.'

'You did?' I'd gone the colour of a fire engine.

'It was nice the way they got it together in the end. He seemed like a nice bloke.' He flicked a slightly perplexed look behind me, at Dad.
Selfish old fucker. Why did he have to come in
?

'Oh, Will
is
a nice bloke,' I tried to focus on the job in hand, which was securing the heart or at least the interest of Johnny. 'He's great.'

'So's Izzy.'

Behind me, I heard Dad exclaim, 'Christ Almighty, you're Will! Out of the book!' He hobbled forward. 'I'm Declan Nolan, the father that does the runner —'

I stopped him; this was getting way too pally. 'And I'm Izzy.'

'Good girl.'

'As in Will and Izzy.'

He finally got it. 'I'll, ah, leave you to it.' He stepped towards the door and I turned back to Johnny. I had a sudden dreadful vision of us stuck like this for all eternity: the melamine counter splitting us right down the middle, me asking for stupid medical things I didn't need and him selling them to me, kindness in his eyes. This was the moment of truth. Something had to be said to move things beyond this point.

'Gemma,' he said.

Yes?' I was holding my breath.

'I was thinking.'

Yes?'

'Something you said ages ago.'

Yes?'

'About going out for a drink.'

Yes?'

'Well, isn't it about time… ?'

Yesssssssss!!!!!

Some time later, back in the car, Dad said, 'I can't believe that. You drove over to a man and laid your cards on the table. What's the world coming to?'

'Come on, Dad, what's the big deal? It's not like I asked him to leave his wife of thirty-five years, is it?'
Did I really say that
? We looked at each other, watching warily.

Eventually Dad spoke. 'I think we might have to go for family counselling or something. What do you think?'

'Dad, don't be ridiculous, we're Irish.'

'But this sort of bad feeling can't go on.'

I thought about it. 'It'll pass. Just give me time.'

'Time heals everything, doesn't it?'

I thought about it. 'No'. Then I conceded, 'But most things.'

Jojo

And then, halfway through flicking her hair over her shoulder and into Kathleen Perry's drink, Jojo saw him - at the far wall and wearing a dark suit; he was watching her. Their eyes connected and it hit her like a punch in the stomach. It was just like (those dilating-pupil novelists again) they were the only two people in the room.

Her heart was pumping hard, the hand around her glass was instantly sweaty and everything felt super-real. He mouthed something at her: 'Wait.' Then, 'Please.' Then he turned his shoulder and began pushing through the people, moving in her direction.

'He's coming over,' Becky hissed. 'Run!'

'No.' This had to be done. There could only be one first time for them to meet again, it might as well be now.

He disappeared from view and then reappeared, hacking his way through a nearby thicket of Young Turks. Becky melted into the background.

And there he was, right in front of her.

'Jojo?' It sounded like an inquiry, as if he was checking she was real.

'Mark.' Even saying his name felt like a relief.

'You look -' he sought a good enough word — 'great.'

'That's me,' she quipped. He lit up with delight and for a moment it was like old times. Until Jojo asked, 'How're Cassie and the kids?'

Warily he answered, 'OK.'

'You and Cassie are still together?'

He hesitated. 'She found out about, you know, us.'

'Shit. How?'

'After you left it was obvious that something was wrong.' He half-laughed. 'I went to pieces.'

She hadn't exactly been, like, on cloud nine herself. 'Had she known?'

'She'd guessed there was somebody. She didn't know it was you.'

'I'm sorry. I'm sorry to hurt her.'

'She says - I mean, who knows? — but she says it was a relief to finally find out. She says pretending not to notice that I was never there was doing her in. For the past few months we've been trying to patch things up.'

'Having a big party to renew your wedding vows?'

He managed a smile. 'No. But going for counselling. We're doing our best,' he stopped. 'But I still think about you all the time.'

She'd been moving closer, reeled in by him. Straightening her shoulders, she shifted away - too scared of catching even a hint of how he smelt, that would be the undoing of her.

'Could we meet some time?' he asked. 'Just for a drink?'

'You know we couldn't.'

Suddenly he blurted, 'Even now, every day, I can't believe I got it so wrong. I was so selfish, thinking about us instead of you. If I could have that hour in that meeting again —'

'Stop. I've been thinking about it too. It wasn't just the partnership thing. The guilt and stuff about Cassie and your kids — when it came down to it, I think I couldn't do it. Close, but no cigar. And you know what? I don't buy much into psychotherapy stuff, but I guess you couldn't go through with it either. That's why you stitched me up.'

'No,' he protested. 'No way.'

Way,' she said firmly.

'Absolutely not.'

'Whatever. Just a theory.' She wouldn't persist with this. It didn't matter enough.

People were looking at them, their intimacy all too obvious.

'Mark, I have to go now.'

'Do you? But-'

She pushed her way through the crowds, knowing everyone, smiling, smiling, smiling her way to the door.

Once outside, she walked at speed, Becky skipping in her wake, trying to keep up. When they were at a safe distance, she abruptly stopped in a doorway and jack-knifed over, clutching her stomach, her hair streaming towards the ground.

'Are you going to throw up?' Becky whispered, circling her hand on her back.

'No,' she answered, thickly. 'But it hurts.'

They stood for several minutes, Jojo making funny whimpery noises that Becky found unendurable, then Jojo straightened up, tossed her hair back and said, 'Kleenex.'

Becky found one in her bag and passed it over. 'You could get back with him, you know.'

'That will never happen. It is so over.'

'How can it be? You miss him terribly.'

'So what? I'll get over him, hey, I'm nearly there already. And if I want, I'll meet someone else sometime. I mean, look at me — I run my own business, I've got all my own teeth and hair, I can fix bikes —'

You look like Jessica Rabbit.'

'I'm a cryptic crossword ninja.'

You do a brilliant Donald Duck impersonation.'

'Exactly. I'm
fabulous
.'