The Unfinished Symphony of You and Me (23 page)

I leaned back against Julian’s building, breathing in my beloved Brooklyn, and pondered what Julian and I should do about the future.

Immediately I grinned, pinching myself. It had happened! The love thing! Something that
had
a future worth pondering! A solitary flag, left over from a row of party bunting, flapped in the warm breeze above my head. A flying insect landed on the leg of my jeans and I realized I’d not looked at myself in the mirror and thought,
You
look fat in those jeans
, for weeks. Not for the first time, I sensed how deeply happy I was.

‘You look extremely cute, sitting there with Pam.’ Julian came outside with two bottles of cold beer. ‘Please can you sit in my yard for ever?’

‘Even when it’s cold? And snowy?’

‘Yes. I’ll build you an igloo. You’ll be like this funny little mad snowman in my garden and we can have naughty igloo sex.’

‘Sign me up.’

‘Soin meeyoop,’ Julian giggled. His Black Country accent was getting worse.

He sat down on the bench and kissed me. I loved kissing Julian. I loved the feeling of his lips and the scratch of stubble and the way his eyes always opened at the same time as mine. He hooked up my legs and pulled them over his, wrapping his arms round me. ‘Don’t go,’ he whispered. ‘I might die without you. My heart might stop. Then how would you feel?’

I smiled happily. ‘That’s what I was trying to talk to you about just now, you knob.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes. I asked what we were going to do.’

Julian burst out laughing. ‘Oh, my God, you must’ve thought I was a total fucker! You ask about the future and I carry on working!’

‘It’s fine. You were wrapped up in what you were doing. I like you caring so much about your job.’

‘Well, I’m still sorry.’

‘No, I mean it. You’re passionate about journalism, aren’t you?’

For a split second, Julian disappeared somewhere I couldn’t follow. It was a minor thing but it caused a ripple of low-level surprise: I’d grown used to reading him effortlessly. As soon as it had begun, it was over.

‘I guess I
am
,’ he said, as if it were the first time he’d thought about it. ‘Yeah, I guess I am. I didn’t expect that to happen …’

You’re not meant to know everything about him yet
, I reminded myself.

He pulled me in again, kissing my head. ‘I don’t know what we should do about the future,’ he said slowly. ‘But I know we’ll make it work. I could come over in, say, October?’

My heart leaped. ‘To London?’

‘Actually, I was thinking perhaps Iran.’

I pulled back and kissed him all over his face. ‘Yes! Yes, please come to London! I would love that so much!’

Julian laughed. ‘And maybe you could get Christmas off and come here … It’s magical at Christmas. You don’t know shit about overindulging until you have your first American Christmas. I can teach you some lessons.’

‘Yes! Bingey American Christmas!’

There was a happy pause, during which Julian took my hand. ‘And then we can make a more long-term plan,’ he said, looking straight at me. ‘Because in the same way that I know I’ll always have fluffy hair to contend with, I know I’ll always want you in my life.’

Deep happiness dropped anchor in my stomach. I felt like I’d burst. ‘Good,’ I whispered. Good didn’t cover it! ‘That works for me too.’

My phone rang, and I ignored it. ‘Hadn’t you better answer it?’ Julian asked. ‘It might be Fiona.’

Mildly irritated, I answered. It was Fiona, and she was locked out.

‘Oh, well. Let’s go over there and get her,’ Julian said agreeably. A slight condensation formed on the shiny curve of my happiness.

‘What is it, Sal?’

‘Oh … Just Fiona. Is she really going to stay here?’

‘Oh, that … I’m not sure.’

Julian seemed flustered; his glasses slid off his nose. ‘It came up as a possibility,’ he added uncertainly. ‘You’ll have to ask her …’

‘Why does she talk to you? And not me?’ I blurted.
Stop it
, I told myself.
Don’t ruin this lovely moment
.

‘She doesn’t,’ Julian replied. ‘Well, not really,’ he added. ‘I guess it’s cos I’m Raúl’s best friend.’

‘Do you think so?’ I wasn’t convinced. But if it wasn’t that, what was it?

Julian kissed me again, his hands on either side of my face. ‘I do think so, yes. Anyway, it’s settled. I’ll visit in October, you’ll visit at Christmas, and then we’ll do something more radical. Deal?’

‘Deal.’

‘I’d do anything to make you happy,’ he told me simply. ‘You are my favourite thing in the whole world ever.’

Four days later I finished at the Met and began my final hours in New York. Bea was organizing farewell drinks on the roof of the Wythe Hotel, where Julian had fed me English tea and cheese toasties on our first night.

Everyone we had met during our time in New York was coming and Julian had bought me the most beautiful
dress from a boutique near his house. I’d never imagined a man could choose a dress for a woman but it was perfect: simple, silky and yearning for my chunky silver necklace. ‘Unstructured,’ Julian said wisely, then rolled around giggling like a boy. ‘UNSTRUCTURED? I couldn’t believe it when the shop assistant said that! You women are mental! It’s a dress!’

There was a sad end-of-term feeling to our final day. The sky was torpid and swollen; change was in the air. I had packed, cleared out my locker at the Met and taken a final walk through the East River State Park on my own, remembering happier times there with Fiona a few weeks before.

Fiona had now officially told me that she would remain in New York for the time being, but she was refusing to tell me anything about her plans. I was doing my best at trying to be understanding but it was hard. I wasn’t used to being the enemy: Fiona had always told me everything. Always. If it weren’t for the promise of Julian looking after her, I would have had to resign from my job and stay.

By three o’clock I was packed and done, needing only to buy some shoes for tonight. I set out to get them in a final pilgrimage to SoHo.

The sky was heavy but my heart was light as I came up out of the subway at Spring Street. SoHo exploded around me: tourists with large cardboard shopping bags spilled in and out of the large chain shops while sleek, groomed rich girls tried on priceless jewellery and examined handbags behind the locked doors of posh boutiques. The traffic moved sluggishly along Broadway and a woman in
a long skirt shouted about the love of Christ to an accompaniment of honking horns and human indifference. I stood watching her, curious, when suddenly I heard another female voice, which I knew very well.

I looked round sharply. Fiona was literally feet away from me, walking along Spring Street towards Mercer, her arm linked companionably through Julian’s. I stared at them, inexplicably paralysed. Julian looked down at Fi and chuckled at what she was saying. Then he glanced at his watch and said something. They picked up their pace and walked off into the crowd.

I watched until they were out of sight and wondered why I felt so afraid.

Surely they weren’t …

No. That was absurd. Julian had not been some sleazy flirt with Fiona, he’d been a good friend to her. How could I be anything other than grateful for that? If she hadn’t latched on to him she’d have isolated herself completely.

Without realizing what I was doing, I dialled Julian’s number.

‘Sal!’ He answered almost immediately. A fire engine was forcing its way down Broadway and I could hear its sirens relayed through his phone.

‘Hi!’ I sounded falsely bright.

‘What’s up, little ferret?’

‘Nothing! I’m just shoe shopping and I thought I’d say hello.’ My heart pounded sickly in my chest. I didn’t want to lie to him.

‘Oh, well, hi there, baby. I came round to yours earlier to do some groping but you weren’t there.’

‘Right.’

There was a noisy silence as the sirens made their way out of our call.

‘I was joking,’ he said, less confidently.

‘I know! So, what are you up to?’ I hated myself. Hated that my stomach was bracing in fear of what he might say. Terrified that he might lie.
Please tell me you’re with Fiona in SoHo. Please
.

‘I’m off to interview someone,’ Julian said, after a split-second pause. ‘Just walking to the Village to meet them now. But I’ll be back in plenty of time for the drinks.’

I said nothing.

‘I want to watch you getting ready in your new dress,’ he added. ‘Paint a moustache on your face, that kind of thing.’

Before I had a chance to think I ended the call and turned the phone off so he’d think I’d run out of battery. Everything had gone baggy and limp. I was not well.

A raindrop fell on my forehead, followed by another. In my state of petrification they felt like bullets on my skin.

Rain began to fall harder, yet the sun was still out. It blazed in the upper windows of the tall buildings lining Broadway, casting a strange, hyper-real glow.

It must be OK
, I thought wildly.
Julian loves me! He’s probably just indulging one of Fi’s whims!

But why?
my head countered.
Why did he lie?

I drifted sideways into a shoe shop and stared blankly at a pair of men’s trainers for ten minutes before an assistant came to ask me what I was looking for.

From:
Sally Howlett

To:
Fiona Lane

Sent:
15/10/12 23.01 GMT

Message:
New York

 

Fiona,

I feel very weird emailing you about this. I nearly didn’t, because the last thing I want to do is upset you when you’re out there alone in New York … But I kind of have to.

The day of our leaving party, just over a year ago, I went shoe shopping in SoHo and I saw you and Julian walking along Spring Street together. You were going in the direction of the Village. You had linked his arm. You were laughing.

I don’t know why but I couldn’t bring myself to stop you. I panicked. It’s not that I don’t trust you, my darling, I just … I dunno. Something felt weird.

I rang Julian and he lied. He told me he was off to interview someone for the magazine. And later, when he came round to our apartment before the leaving party, he lied again.

I don’t want to talk to him about this or anything to do with New York. I’m finally beginning to relax at college and I’m trying to have a relationship with Jan. Which, God knows, isn’t easy with Julian around.

So I’m asking you instead. I hate myself for doing this but I have to know. Will you tell me, Fi? Will you tell me, because I love you and I loved him once and I need to know what was going on?

All my love

Me xxxx

From:
Mail Delivery subsystem

To:
Sally Howlett

Sent:
15/10/12 23.02 GMT

Message:
Mail Delivery Failure

Your message has not been delivered to the address below
.

Error: account has been deleted. This is a permanent error
.

I stared at the message on the screen and let it take me: the terrible, bottomless despair that I had tried so hard, for so long, to avoid. Barry was in the bedroom next door, laughing on the phone to a friend. As I listened to him chatter away, a muffled voice from another world, I found myself strangled by a truth too terrible to bear.

I cried slow, quiet tears of anguish at my computer. I cried until my body began to fold in on itself.

And then, as abruptly as I’d started, I stopped.

I wouldn’t do this. I wouldn’t go back there. Couldn’t. If Fiona was determined to cut herself off from me, that was how it would have to be.

The farewell drinks were bittersweet. Infectious party spirit mingled with deep sadness as we drank cocktails and said silly things, like
Let’s all set up a commune in France! Let’s meet up next year and climb Mount Kilimanjaro!

The afternoon rain had cleared, leaving a sky that seemed to have been swept clean with a giant brush. It bled pink as the sun dipped behind New Jersey, while Manhattan’s buildings lost their lines and became light-dotted silhouettes.

I had something bitter and appley in my hand and was talking to Barry, who was standing with a man we’d seen quite a lot of lately but who Barry claimed was ‘Just a friend, Chicken.’

‘It’s a sad moment all right,’ Barry said, gazing at Manhattan. ‘It’s been a time of glory, has it not, Chicken?’

I nodded. ‘Glory is a good word.’ Barry’s ‘friend’ wandered off to get more drinks.

‘What’s going to happen with you and Julian?’ he asked
slyly. ‘Do you reckon he’s going to, like,
propose
tonight? I wouldn’t put it past him and I’ll tell you that for nothin’.’

Worry tried to ambush me but I squashed it down. Julian had been sweet and lovely and silly this evening – dancing around my room with a coffee sock on his willy, telling me I was absolutely beautiful in the dress. ‘You
cannot
leave me,’ he shouted, laughing. The coffee sock slid off and he jumped around the room naked. ‘Look! Look at what you’re abandoning! Are you INSANE?’

There had to be an explanation for him lying to me about being with Fiona. And I had to wait patiently for it.

‘I don’t think he’s going to propose,’ I said firmly. ‘But he is coming over to London in three weeks …’

‘Oh, my days! He never is!’

‘He is.’

‘He loves you,’ Barry stated. He looked very pleased.

‘He does, actually.’ I blushed. ‘God knows why!’

‘Don’t you encourage me to smack you, Chicken,’ he said calmly. ‘By the way, did you see that Raúl’s here?’

‘Yeah. I hope it’s OK.’

Barry grimaced. ‘Nothin’ about Fiona is OK right now,’ he muttered. ‘I think we need to do something when we get home. Go up and see your parents or somethin’.’

‘Are you out of your mind? Tell my parents she’s on drugs?’

Barry nodded. ‘Hmm, you might be right, Chicken. Well, we’ll have a pow-wow on our return, OK? You, me and Bea? We’ll sort her out. Somehow.’

‘Do you think?’ I asked weakly. For the first time ever I’d begun to lose hope.

‘Deffo,’ he replied firmly. ‘She’s a fuckin’ mess but she’s
not that bad. Not stealin’ or nothin’! I promise,’ he added quietly, ‘we will sort this out. I want you to enjoy your night with Mr Fancy Pants, do you hear me?’

‘Yes.’ For the first time in weeks, I felt a chink of positivity about Fiona. Of course I couldn’t sort her out alone. I’d have Barry and Bea to help me, and I’d have my lovely boyfriend on Skype. Maybe, just maybe, we could do it.

‘Now, Chicken,’ Barry said briskly. ‘What did you bring for your present? Anything good? If so, can you describe your wrapping paper so I make sure I choose yours?’

I clapped my hand to my forehead, cursing. Of course! The presents! Bea, who had organized tonight, had come up with the idea that everyone at the party should bring a present. We would put the presents on a table and, once we were all there, we would all take one without knowing who it was from. ‘It prevents us buying two hundred goodbye presents,’ she had explained. We’d all gone along with it, even though probably none of us except Bea would have bought goodbye presents in the first place.

I had meant to get mine in SoHo this afternoon, but after I’d seen Julian and Fiona I’d struggled even to buy a pair of shoes.

‘Oh dear.’ Barry sighed. ‘Don’t let Bea know you haven’t brought a present. She’ll eat you for dinner, Chicken. Find something quickly, I urge you.’ The sunset was bleaching his face and he suddenly looked incredibly distinguished in his expensive shirt and jeans.

‘I love you, Barry,’ I told him, haring off to find my handbag. ‘I really, really love you.’

‘Massive lesbian, that one …’ I heard him say to his handsome friend.

My handbag was round the corner, on the part of the terrace that faced east across Brooklyn towards Queens and, somewhere, the Atlantic. It was mostly empty, save for two people in the far corner.
Julian and Fiona
, I thought childishly.

Then I saw that it was, in fact, Julian and Fiona.

‘Um, hello,’ I called, rummaging through my handbag for my wallet. I’d run off and get something from one of those little shops around Sixth and Bedford.

‘Hello, my little garden gnome,’ Julian said, walking over. Fiona watched him go, with a face of vague resentment. Just for a moment, I hated her. He was
mine
. My boy. She didn’t get to be cross.

Julian came over and folded himself around me, hugging me hard. ‘I feel sad,’ he said.

‘Me too,’ I muttered.

‘I know I’m going to see you in three weeks but it’s just … wrong. I’ll miss you so much.’ He pulled back slightly and kissed my forehead, thumb stroking the back of my neck. ‘I love you, Sally, you moron. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Oi, stop that!’ Fiona called. She was on her way over. To my surprise, she was drunk. Fiona’s current method of getting off her head was calorie-free but now she had what looked like neat vodka in a glass of melting ice. My stomach spasmed nervously. I’d have to look after her tonight if she was drinking on top of everything else.

But I felt furious too. Could I not have one night enjoying myself? Would it ever end, this terrible, guilty, maternal pull?

‘Hey, turnip,’ Julian said quietly. He was looking down at me. ‘What’s going on in there?’

Fiona was only a few metres away now. I shook my head, saying I’d talk to him later.

Suddenly she was on us, throwing her bony arms round both of our backs. ‘GROUP HUG,’ she shouted. We all made group-hug noises and I wondered if Julian and Fiona felt as uncomfortable as I did. When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I pulled away.

‘Are you OK, Sally?’ Fiona was peering at me, breathing – yes, vodka fumes – into my face. Her skin had got so dry that her foundation had begun to flake and her lipstick clung to her chapped lips. Up close she looked like an extra in a medical drama. Scrawny, unkempt, potentially dangerous. But so vulnerable too. Her eyes searched mine, desperate that she wasn’t the cause of my mood.

‘I’m fine,’ I said, after a pause. ‘I just forgot to buy a present.’

Fiona crossed her arms and swayed slightly. ‘What’s really wrong? Well, if it helps, I’m having a
nightmare
. Fucking
Raúl’s
turned up. I mean, what the fuck?’

I sighed. There was no point. ‘I’m just sad that it’s our last day. I love New York. And I love …’ I trailed off, embarrassed.

‘Me?’ Julian suggested, not embarrassed at all.

I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Maybe.’

Fiona shouted, ‘YEAH! Even if I got dumped, at least you two are going strong!’ and downed the rest of her vodka. She slammed the glass down on the table next to us but missed and it smashed on the floor. ‘Ah, fuck,’ she
said conversationally, vaguely kicking some glass out of the way with her high heel. Her leg looked like a golf club.

‘I’m going to get some water,’ I said pointedly. ‘Do you want some?’

‘I’ll have a double vodka, please.’ She held my eye, daring me nervously to challenge her; beseeching me not to hate her.

I turned and left, expecting Julian to fall in next to me.

But he didn’t. I looked at them as I went back inside to get the drinks, and he was standing very close to her, saying something that was making her smile grudgingly.

‘Chicken?’

It was Barry.

‘Chicken, you’re not … worried, are you?’

He too was watching them.

‘No,’ I said automatically. Then, feeling slightly sick: ‘Well, more just annoyed. They spend a lot of time together. There’s obviously
something
, even if it isn’t dodgy. Do you have any idea?’

Barry gazed at them. ‘Nope.’

I shivered. ‘I’m going out to buy a present for the table,’ I told him. ‘Go for a little walk.’

To my horror, Barry took my hand and said something very, very scary. ‘Don’t go, Chicken. Stay and fight for your man!’

I swallowed painfully. ‘Um, really? You think I should be worried?’

Julian reached forward and squeezed Fiona’s freckly nose and she batted him off, laughing.

‘I need a drink,’ I said. My voice was not steady.

‘Probs a good idea, Chicken,’ Barry said kindly. ‘Now,
about that present. Do you have anything in that there handbag you could use?’

‘No.’ I sounded dead.

‘Nonsense. You must have something.’ He was rooting around. ‘Here we go. A block of Post-it notes. Perfect.’

‘I can’t leave a block of Post-its,’ I said distractedly. ‘How about I … I dunno, how about I write down a pledge on one of them? Like, the person who wins this gets brunch at Schiller’s or something?’

Barry thought about it, then had a better idea. ‘How’s about you offer them a night on the town in London?’ he suggested. ‘I mean, you’d be happy to take out anyone at this party, Chicken! Save for maybe Fiona,’ he joked bravely.

I smiled a thin, mirthless smile. ‘I’m not giving up on her just yet,’ I said. ‘We just agreed we’d sort her out.’

‘I know,’ Barry said. ‘And we will. I’m not properly worried, Chicken, cos I know Julian loves you, but she’s drinking as well as getting high and we don’t want her lunging at your man, do we now? That’s all I’m sayin’.’

I wasn’t sure that was all he was saying, but I left it.

The recipient of this Post-it note gets a night out in London on me
, I wrote.
You’ll find me at
36
The Old Wharf
, 89
Bevan Street, London
N1 2ZM
. Sally
.