Time of My Life (13 page)

‘Her life must be in denial,’ I said. ‘You should take a leaf out of her life’s book.’

‘Or out of yours.’

I sighed. ‘You really are that unhappy?’

He nodded, and he looked away from me. He worked his jaw as he took a moment to compose himself.

‘But I don’t understand how things are so bad for you. I feel fine.’

‘You don’t feel fine.’ He shook his head.

‘I don’t wake up every day singing “Good Morning”, but I’m not,’ I lowered my voice, ‘pretending that things are there when they’re not.’

‘Aren’t you?’ He looked amused. ‘It’s like this. If you fall and break a leg you feel pain and you go to the doctor, they take an X-ray and you hold it up to the light and everybody can see the broken bone. Yeah?’

I nodded.

‘You have a sore tooth, you can feel the pain, so you go to the dentist and he sticks a camera in your mouth, sees the problem, you need a root canal or something, yeah?’

I nodded again.

‘These are all very acceptable things in modern society. You’re sick; you go to the doctor, you get antibiotics. You’re depressed; you talk to a therapist, they might give you anti-depressants. Your greys show; you get your colour done. But with your life you make a few bad decisions, get unlucky a few times, whatever, but you have to keep going, right? Nobody can see the underneath part of who you are, and if you can’t see it – if an X-ray and a camera can’t take a picture of it for you – in this day and age the belief is, it’s not there. But I am here. I’m the other part of you. The X-ray to your life. A mirror is held up to your face and I’m the reflection, I show how you’re hurting, how you’re unhappy. It’s all reflected on me. Make sense?’

Which made sense about the bad breath, the clammy skin and the bad haircut. I mulled it over. ‘Yes, but that’s rather unfair to you.’

‘That’s the card I was dealt. Now it’s up to me to make myself happy. So you see, this is as much about me as it is about you. The more you live your life, the happier I feel, the more satisfied you are, the healthier I am.’

‘So your happiness depends on me.’

‘I prefer to see us as a team. You’re the Lois Lane to my Superman. The Pinky to my Brain.’

‘The X-ray to my broken leg,’ I said and we smiled and I felt a kind of a truce being called.

‘Did you talk to your family about what happened? I bet they were worried about you.’

‘You know I did.’

‘I think it’s better that we both treat our conversations as if I don’t know anything.’

‘Don’t worry, I do. I saw my mum and Riley yesterday. I went to Riley’s. We had Pakistani takeaway and Mum insisted on making me hot chocolate like she did after I’d fallen when I was little,’ I laughed.

‘That sounds nice.’

‘It was.’

‘Did you talk about yesterday?’

‘I told them I was in another office, running an errand, and that I missed the entire thing.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘I don’t know. So I wouldn’t worry them.’

‘Well, aren’t you the thoughtful one,’ he said sarcastically. ‘It wasn’t to protect them; it was to protect you. So you wouldn’t have to talk about it, so you wouldn’t have to admit
feeling
anything. That weird word you don’t like.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. All the things you say sound very complicated and I don’t think in that way.’

‘Want to know my theory?’

‘Go on.’ I rested my chin on my hand.

‘A couple of years ago when Blake …’ he stalled, ‘was dumped by you.’

I smiled.

‘You started lying to other people, and because you lied to them you made it a lot easier to lie to yourself.’

‘That’s an interesting theory but I have no idea if it’s true or not.’

‘Well, we’ll put it to the test. Soon you’ll have to stop lying to others – which will be harder than you think, by the way – and then you’ll start learning the truth about yourself, which will also be harder than you think.’

I rubbed my aching head, wishing I hadn’t got myself into this mess. ‘So how does it happen?’

‘You let me spend time with you.’

‘Sure, weekly appointments?’

‘No, I mean, I come to work with you, meet your friends, that kind of thing.’

‘I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t just bring you to the dinner table at my parents’ house or out with friends. They’ll think I’m a freak.’

‘You’re afraid they’ll know things about you.’

‘If my life – you – sits down at the table they’ll pretty much know everything.’

‘Why is that so terrifying?’

‘Because it’s private. You’re private. No one brings along their life to a dinner party.’

‘I think you’ll find that most people that you love do exactly that. But it’s not the point, the point is we need to start doing more things together.’

‘That’s fine with me, just let’s not you and me do things with friends and family. Let’s keep it separate.’

‘But you’re doing that already. None of them know anything about you.’

‘It’s not going to happen,’ I said.

He was silent.

‘You’re going to turn up anyway, aren’t you?’ I asked.

He nodded.

I sighed. ‘I don’t lie to everyone, you know.’

‘I know. The wrong number.’

‘See? Another weird thing.’

‘Not really. Sometimes wrong numbers are the right numbers,’ he smiled.

CHAPTER TWELVE

He wanted to begin our journey together by seeing where I lived. I think he felt seeing it would unlock all the great mysteries about me to him. I didn’t agree, I felt it would merely unlock a door to an unkempt studio flat and send putrid fish smell blasting in his face. Metaphor understanding was merely the beginning of our differences. We were debating it when Claire returned from the hospital and looked anxiously at the stranger and me sitting on the floor outside her apartment. I stood immediately.

‘I didn’t let him in,’ I said.

Her face softened, and she looked at him. ‘You must think I’m rude.’

‘No, you’re perfectly right,’ Life said. ‘Though I’m surprised you let her in.’

She smiled. ‘I appreciate Lucy’s help.’

‘How’s your mother?’ he asked.

I knew he was still testing my alibi and I’d passed the test, because her face said it all. Nobody could pretend to be so distraught.

‘She’s stable … for now,’ she said. ‘How’s Conor?’

‘Em. He’s asleep.’

‘Did he drink his bottle?’

‘Yes.’ I’d poured it down the sink.

She seemed happy and fumbled in her bag for her purse and produced some cash. ‘This is for your time, thank you so much,’ she said, thrusting it at me. I really wanted to take it. Really. Sebastian needed so much repair work, the carpet still needed to be cleaned, my hair could do with a professional blowdry, I could do with buying something other than microwave dinners but no, Life was watching me so I did the right thing.

‘I couldn’t possibly take that.’ I pushed the words out, though they were dying to stay inside. ‘It was my pleasure, really.’

Then came the moment. I put the key in the lock and turned it. I held out my hand for him to enter before me. He looked excited. I felt anything but. I followed him and closed the door, painfully aware of the smell and hoping he would be polite enough not to mention it. Mr Pan stirred and stretched, and then came slinking forward to meet our new guest, his hips slowly and lazily going from side to side in a hypnotic state like the campest cat in the world. He looked at my life and then ran himself along his legs, tail high in the air.

‘You have a cat,’ he said and went to his knees and stroked him. Mr Pan bathed in the glory of his attention.

‘This is Mr Pan, Mr Pan this is … what do I call you?’

‘Life.’

‘I can’t introduce you to people as that, we’ll have to think of a name.’

He shrugged, ‘I don’t care.’

‘Okay Engelbert.’

‘I don’t want to be called Engelbert.’ He looked around the room at my numerous Gene Kelly photographs in frames, and at the poster for
Singin’ in the Rain
on the bathroom door. ‘Call me Gene.’

‘No, you can’t be called that.’ There were only so many Genes I could have in my life. One, and a Don Lockwood whom I’d told never to call me again.

‘Who’s the other guy?’ he asked.

‘Donald O’Connor, he plays Cosmo Brown.’

He put on an American fifties accent. ‘Well then, call me Cosmo Brown.’

‘I’m not introducing you to people as Cosmo.’

‘It’s Cosmo or Life, doll.’

‘Okay, fine. Let me show you around.’ I stood at the front door like an air steward and held out my arms as if going through the emergency procedures. ‘To my left is the bathroom. If you want to use it you must put on the kitchen extractor fan light as the bulb is gone in there. To my right is the kitchen. Further to my left is the bedroom and further to the right is the living room. Tour over.’ I bowed. He could see everything from where he stood, all he had to do was move his eyes.

He surveyed the space.

‘So what do you think?’

‘It stinks of fish. And what is that on the carpet?’

I sighed. He couldn’t even do a minute of politeness, the very foundations which my life was built on. ‘It’s prawn cocktail, Mr Pan spilled it and walked it into the floor. Okay?’

‘Okay, but I meant that.’ He pointed at the writing on the carpet.

‘Oh, that’s the name of a carpet-cleaning company.’

‘Of course it is.’ He looked at me and his eyes were smiling. ‘I’m not going to ask why it’s written on the floor. Call them,’ he said and went straight to my corner cupboard and rummaged through my treats. Mr Pan followed at his heel, the traitor. Life sat up on the counter and munched on some cookies, which annoyed me, I was planning on eating them for dinner. ‘The carpet is disgusting; you have to call them.’

‘I don’t have time to stay home from work to let them in. Things like that are always a bother.’

‘Ask them to come at the weekend and if they can’t, there’s always the strong possibility that you’ll be fired tomorrow.’

‘I thought you were supposed to make me feel better.’

‘I thought you wanted to get fired.’

‘I did. But I wanted a redundancy package, not to get fired just because I don’t speak Spanish.’

‘It’s hardly a small detail, you are supposed to be their languages expert.’

‘I speak five other languages,’ I snapped.

‘Ooh, but you don’t speaketh the truth,’ he laughed before putting an entire cookie in his mouth.

I looked him up and down, disgusted. ‘You have moobs.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Check it in your little computer, why don’t you.’

‘I will.’ He took out his iPhone. ‘Now call them, the carpet is disgusting. It hasn’t been properly cleaned since you moved in and I suspect even longer so it’s got yours and some stranger’s skin and hair and toenails, and cat hairs and whatever bugs and bacteria are living on him engrained in it and every time you breathe in, you are inhaling it into your lungs.’

Disgusted, I immediately grabbed his phone from his hand but he held on tight. ‘That’s my phone, use your own. I’m Googling “moobs”.’

I blocked my nose and dialled directory enquiries to connect me. A second before it was answered I hoped Don would answer again. But he didn’t. It was an older man named Roger and in two minutes I’d arranged for him to call by on Sunday. I ended the call feeling quite proud of myself. I had done something. But Life wasn’t about to congratulate me, he was glaring at me angrily.

‘What?’

‘Man boobs.’

I laughed. ‘Well, you’ve let yourself go a little, haven’t you?’

‘Through no fault of my own.’

‘I work out five days a week,’ I defended myself.

‘Which is probably the only reason why we’re both still standing,’ he said, hopping off the counter, climbing over the back of the couch and sitting down.

‘I can’t help commenting on your appearance. You look so … dirty. You need a make-over. Do you have anything else in your wardrobe?’ I paused. ‘Do you have a wardrobe?’

‘This isn’t
Clueless
, Lucy, I’m not a project. You don’t get to spend a day polishing my nails and perming my hair and everything is okay again.’

‘What about a back, sack and crack?’

‘You’re disgusting and I’m ashamed to be your life.’ He bit into another cookie and nodded in the direction of my bed. ‘Any visitors over there?’

‘I don’t feel comfortable talking to you about that.’

‘Because I’m a man?’

‘Because … I don’t think it’s important. And yes. Because you’re a man. But I’m not prudish.’ I raised my chin, and then climbed over the back of the couch to join him. ‘The answer is no, nobody has ever been in here but that’s not to say there hasn’t been any activity.’

‘That’s disgusting.’ He rolled up his nose.

‘I don’t mean in that bed.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘I mean in my life.’

‘Hold on.’ He smiled and reached into his rucksack and took out an iPad. ‘That’d be Alex Buckley,’ he read. ‘Stockbroker, you met him in a bar, you liked his tie, he liked your tits but he didn’t say that out loud. Not to you anyway, he did say it to his colleague Tony who replied, “Why the fuck not.” Charming. But he did say to you and I quote, “There must be something wrong with my eyes, I can’t seem to take them off you.” Unquote.’ He howled laughing. ‘
That
works for you?’

‘No.’ I picked at a feather in the cushion, pulled it out. Mr Pan watched me, moved closer to play with the feather. ‘But the drinks he bought for me did. Anyway, he was nice.’

‘You went back to his place,’ he read, then he looked disgusted. ‘I don’t think I need to read all of this. Bla bla bla, then you left before breakfast. That was ten months ago.’

‘That wasn’t ten months ago, that was …’ I counted back in my head. ‘Well, it wasn’t ten months ago anyway.’

‘Last time you saw any action,’ he said, mock-disapprovingly. ‘Outside of this apartment anyway.’

‘Shut up about that. So I’m fussy when it comes to men. I can’t just sleep with any guy.’

‘Yes, because Alex Buckley the stockbroker who liked your tits was so special.’

I laughed. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘Fussy is an understatement.’ He became serious. ‘You’re just not remotely ready for men. You’re not over Blake.’

‘I’m so over Blake, it’s ridiculous,’ I exaggerated, sounding like a petulant teen.

‘You’re not. If you were over him, every man you’ve met since would not have involved a large intake of alcohol. If you were over him, you’d be able to move on and meet someone new.’

‘May I remind you that feeling complete is not about meeting a man. It’s about being content within yourself.’ I tried not to laugh when I said it.

‘To thine own self be true,’ he said and nodded. ‘I believe that. But if you’re unable to meet somebody else because you’re stuck in the past then that’s a problem.’

‘Who says it’s my problem? I’m always open to meeting someone new.’ I grabbed the cookies from him.

‘What about the guy in the café, the Sunday we met? I practically threw him at you and you didn’t give him half a look. Quote, “I have to go see my boyfriend,”’ he mimicked me. ‘Unquote.’

I gasped. ‘You set me up?’

‘I had to see how bad you were.’

‘I knew it. I knew he was too attractive to be a normal person, he was an actor.’

‘He wasn’t an actor. You’re not getting this. I synchronised your lives. Made your paths cross in order for something to happen.’

‘But nothing happened so you failed,’ I snapped.

‘Something did happen. You turned him down and he went back to his girlfriend whom he was missing dearly and was regretting breaking up with. Your response to him made him realise.’

‘How dare you use me like that.’

‘How am I using you? How else do you think life happens? A series of coincidences and occurrences have to happen somehow. Our lives all crash and collide and you think there’s no reason or rhyme to it? If there wasn’t any reason for it all, what would be the point? Why do you think anything happens at all? There is an outcome, repercussions and occurrences to everybody you meet and everything you say. Honestly, Lucy.’ He shook his head and bit into another cookie.

‘But that’s the point, I didn’t think there
was
one.’

‘Was a what?’

‘A point!’

He frowned, confused. Then he got it. ‘Lucy, there’s always a point.’

I wasn’t sure I believed that. ‘Who else have you
synchronised
my life with?’

‘Lately? Not many that would stand out to you. Just that nice American lady at reception. I can tell by your face you’re shocked by that one, and by the way, you can thank her I’m here today because it was her that made me want to give you another chance after our last meeting.’

‘Like you weren’t desperate to meet me again anyway.’

‘Believe me, I wasn’t. But when you left her the chocolate bar I had a Willy Wonka moment.’

‘Is that secret code for something private?’

‘No. You know the part where Slugworth tells Charlie to steal the everlasting gobstopper and he’ll take care of his family forever but Charlie doesn’t and leaves the gobstopper on Wonka’s office desk at the end of the film which shows Wonka Charlie’s true worth as a person?’

‘You’ve just given the whole thing away.’

‘Shut up, you’ve seen it twenty-six times. You left the bar of chocolate for Mrs Morgan and that was a very thoughtful thing to do.’

‘Yeah, well, she said she liked them.’

‘It reminded me that you do have a heart, you do care about people, that’s never been the problem. I just have to try to make you care about me.’

That just simply broke my heart. Nobody had ever uttered words like that to me before and there he was, this young exhausted desperate-looking man with bad breath and a crumpled suit just wanting to be liked.

‘So that was the point to you hiring her? So that I could get another chance with you?’

He looked surprised. ‘I never thought about it like that.’ Then suddenly he yawned. ‘Where am I sleeping?’

‘Wherever you usually sleep.’

‘I think I should stay here, Lucy.’

‘OK, that’s no problem,’ I said calmly. ‘I’ll just be at my friend Melanie’s house if you need me.’

‘Ah yes, Melanie, who’s annoyed at you leaving everything so early all of the time.’ He messed around on his iPad again. ‘The same Melanie who said straight after you left the restaur ant the other day, quote, “There’s something up with her, I can’t wait to get her on her own to find out what,” unquote.’ He looked pleased as punch. I was horrified. Time alone was not what I needed with Melanie right now and I wasn’t going to go back to Riley’s to stay with him and Mum.

‘You can sleep on the couch,’ I said, defeated, then climbed over the back of the couch to get to my bed.

He slept on the couch with Mr Pan, covered by a spare dusty blanket that I dug out from the top of the wardrobe while he shone the torch inside for me, all the time tutting. Not out loud, but I could hear it in my head, a constant rhythmic tut-tut-tut-tut like the grandfather clock we had in the echoey hall when I was a child that used to scare me and keep me awake at night until I stuffed a pillow in its pendulum and then blamed it on Riley. He snored so loudly that for the first time in a long time, my life kept me awake all night. Remembering the grandfather clock trick, I threw a pillow at him somewhere around two a.m. but I missed and ended up sending Mr Pan into a fit. Four minutes past eleven was the last time I saw on the clock before I fell asleep and was woken at six by him taking a shower, then he sneaked out and arrived back shortly afterwards, clattering the keys down on the counter and banging around and making enough noise to wake the building. I knew he was trying to disturb me so I deliberately kept my eyes closed at least ten minutes longer than I actually wanted. Finally the smell stirred me. He was sitting at the counter eating an omelette. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his hair was wet and slicked back. He looked different. He looked clean.