Turning Forty (10 page)

‘And it’s going well?’

‘Brilliantly.’

‘And how’s married life treating you?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘And Lauren’s well?’

‘Very well indeed, in fact she’s—’ I stop suddenly and meet Ginny’s gaze directly. It’s pointless not telling her the truth. Sometimes you just have to tell it like it is. ‘Lauren and I have split up.’

‘
What?
’

‘That’s why I’m back,’ I say in an effort to come clean. ‘I need somewhere to crash while Lauren tries to sell the house.’

‘So you’re back at your mum and dad’s again?’

‘For the time being. Oh, and I’ve jacked in my job too. I quit the software thing about six months ago and have done nothing since but sit on my arse and watch TV. I mean, there’s no point in having a mid-life crisis without going all the way, is there?’

‘I’m so sorry to hear about you and Lauren. I can’t really believe it. I know I didn’t know you guys as a couple all that well but you both seemed really happy.’

‘We were, but things change, don’t they?’

‘All the time,’ says Ginny, more to herself than anything. ‘Sometimes I just wish they’d bloody stop for a while so I could get my bearings.’ She hugs me and kisses me lightly on the cheek. ‘Welcome home.’

I keep waiting for her to mention the fact that she’s married but she doesn’t say a word about it. Instead in an attempt to make the conversation a little less intense she starts telling me how she doesn’t normally go shopping straight from work but had to today because she’s had a manic week and completely run out of food and then she stops as she realises that people are getting annoyed at us blocking the aisle.

‘We should get out of the way,’ says Ginny. ‘How’s this for an idea? Why don’t you carry on with your shopping and then meet me out in the car park when you’re done – it’s a bright yellow Beetle, you can’t miss it – and come back to mine for something to eat.’ She gestures to her shopping trolley. ‘I have food now so I can offer you something more substantial than Cup-a-Soup and toast!’

Ginny is referring to the first time I went to visit her during her first year at university. She was so broke that packet soup and toast was all she could afford to feed me the whole weekend. It was one of the best weekends of my entire life.

‘Thanks,’ I reply, ‘but I’d better get back.’

‘Are you sure? It wouldn’t be a bother. Come on, Matt, I haven’t seen you in ages. We’ve got six years’ worth of catching up to do.’

I really don’t want to go. The last thing I need right now is to spend the evening making polite conversation while Ginny and her new husband sit across the table from me looking adoringly into each other’s eyes. I might be a lot of things, but I am nobody’s third wheel.

‘Honestly, Gin, I’d love to but I can’t. Maybe some other time.’

‘Of course,’ she says, but she looks hurt. ‘Some other time, definitely.’ There’s an awkward silence. We both want to get as far away from each other as possible but don’t seem to know how. ‘I suppose I’d better get off then. It was nice to see you, Matt.’

‘You too,’ I reply. ‘And I’ll definitely be in touch.’

I watch for a moment as she joins a queue at the tills and then make my way towards the tinned goods aisle, narrowly missing bumping into Toby Emmanuel coming the other way. Although he’s deep in conversation with one of the shop’s shelf-stackers our eyes meet and I see a flicker of recognition but he doesn’t say anything. To be honest, even if he had I’m not sure that I wouldn’t have told him my entire life story and asked him to spread the word to everyone we know with the express aim of making myself feel worse. I’ve just hurt an old friend for no reason other than ego.

By the time I emerge with a carrier bag full of food designed to appear between two slices of bread, I have beaten myself up to such an extent that all I want to do is go home and go to bed so when I see Ginny coming back into the store I’m half tempted to keep walking.

‘Ginny. What’s up? You looked troubled.’

‘It’s typical. All I want to do is go home and I can’t because I’ve lost my car keys somewhere between here and the tills.’

‘Are they black and attached to a wooden heart key fob?’

‘How did you—’

‘They’re hanging out of the bottom of your trolley,’ I kneel down and pluck them out for her.

‘Matt, you’re a life saver!’

‘No, I think you’ll find I’m a misery. I’m sorry about turning down your offer to feed me.’

‘It’s fine, you’ve obviously still got a lot on your mind.’

‘That’s just it. I haven’t.’ Ginny smiles. ‘OK, maybe I have a bit but it was really rude of me to say no like that. So if losing your keys hasn’t put you in too much of a bad mood I’d like to take you up on your offer if it still stands.’

‘I can’t think of anything that would cheer me up more. Come on.’

As we approach Ginny’s car it occurs to me that my parents are expecting me home.

‘You carry on,’ I say, getting out my phone. ‘I’ll be with you in a sec.’ I wait until Ginny is well out of earshot before dialling my parents’ number.

‘Hi, Mum, it’s me. I’m just calling to let you know I won’t be back for tea.’

‘What do you mean you won’t be back for tea? Where are you going?’

‘I’ve bumped into an old mate and she’s offered to make me dinner so I’ll see you later.’

‘But what about all that food you were getting?’

‘I’ve got it.’

‘So you’re bringing it home then?’

‘Do you need it right now?’

‘Well no, it’s for tea tomorrow.’

‘Then I’ll bring it back with me later tonight.’

‘Why don’t you just bring it now? I don’t want your dad eating ham that’s been sat out all night.’

‘It’s fine, Mum, honest. Ginny’s got a fridge.’

‘Oh, it’s Ginny you’re seeing? That’s lovely. How is she?’

‘She’s fine, Mum.’

‘She’s not still single is she? The single life can be hard for a woman, you know.’

‘No, Mum, she’s married.’

‘How lovely! Have they started a family yet?’

I look over at Ginny and wave so she knows I’m still coming. Little does she know that I’m discussing intimate details of her life with my mother. I have to end this conversation.

‘No, Mum, not yet. Listen—’

‘What’s she waiting for? She’s the same age as you isn’t she? I bet she’s one of those career women like Lauren. It’s never a recipe for happiness. I was reading an article in a magazine at the dentist about these career women. They’re all full of regret, you know.’

‘Really, Mum I—’

‘One especially, an Irish woman I think she was although now that I think about it she could have been Welsh, lived in a huge house in London which she shared with two cats. It was decorated lovely though. The curtains especially were—’

‘I’ve got to go,’ I say finally.

‘Oh,’ she says, sounding disappointed. I feel terrible.

‘Listen Mum, it’s not you, it’s just that I’ve got to go. I promise we’ll have a proper chat soon.’

Mum seems to accept my apology in the spirit that it was given but this doesn’t stop her reminding me twice more to put my dad’s ham in the fridge before I end the call.

Returning the phone to my pocket I look over at Ginny in her car and she waves. I wave back and as I walk over to her I think to myself that even if she is married, I’m still grateful to have her back in my life.

14

We reach her house without me having to say much. Ginny seems happy to chat away and the only response required from me is those ‘Mmm, mmm,’ I’m-a-really-good-listener-noises at the appropriate junctures in the conversation. Of course it’s not like I don’t want to talk to Ginny, I think I’m actually desperate to, but not right now when I know so little about her situation. And although I learn about changes to the high street (there’s a fancy new French café on Poplar Road) and how she spent Christmas (with friends in Nottingham) the one thing I don’t glean any information about is her husband, so I let my imagination go to town. I imagine he’s called Hugo, works at an art college and specialises in multimedia disciplines (whatever that is). At the weekend he plays football and squash and is currently in training for the London marathon. In addition to this he plays the saxophone, is younger than me, and permanently smells of cinnamon. Make no mistake, Hugo is a right tosser.

I help Ginny unload the shopping from the back of the car and walk up the front path towards her house. It’s strange being back here after all these years because during my last extended stay in Birmingham I had actually lived here with Ginny, first as her lodger and then as substantially more than that. We had had a lot of fun times in this house, watching TV, eating takeaway, playing daft games, making each other laugh. Those days now felt like a lifetime ago. The pasts of two altogether different people.

‘You’ve decorated?’ I say as we enter the house. The walls in the hallway used to be a pale cream but are now a sophisticated shade of grey.

‘You sound surprised.’

‘No . . . well yes . . . you know what I mean. It’s just that, you know, it’s weird when you expect one thing and get another.’

Ginny laughs. ‘You’ve never been good with change, have you?’

We head along the hallway and even though I haven’t heard anything to warrant this thought I’m convinced that Ginny’s Mr Perfect will be in the kitchen. I brace myself for the impact but the only thing that comes my way when I open the door is an overweight tabby cat.

‘Is that Larry or Sanders?’ Although I’d never been much of a cat man I’d always had a soft spot for Ginny’s when I’d lived here.

‘Neither,’ she replies, kneeling down to fuss the cat. ‘Larry got sick about five years ago and I had to have him put down. Then a month later the same thing happened with Sanders. This one’s name is Hank. I got him as a kitten from a rescue centre.’ She kisses the top of his head, ‘You’re my boy, aren’t you, Hank?’ and right on cue Hank purrs loudly.

Still unsure which moment she will choose to unleash ‘Hugo’ I enter the kitchen, which has changed too. It’s all swanky-looking white gloss units in a not altogether dissimilar style to my own back in London, set against a dark-grey porcelain tiled floor. I set down the shopping on the pale wood counter and she begins to pack it away. For the first time I look at her hand and notice the absence of a wedding ring.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ I ask, even though I haven’t the faintest clue about how her kitchen is arranged.

‘That would be lovely,’ she replies, laughing. ‘Be my guest.’

It’s clearly a challenge, but one that I feel I am up for and even though I have to open every cupboard to find the mugs and tea bags and every drawer to find the teaspoons, the tea gets made and although it’s a small victory it makes me feel great.

‘It really is good to see you,’ I tell her, as we sip our tea.

‘You too. It’s been too long. When was the last time?’

‘My wedding.’

‘Wow. A lot of water under the bridge since then, eh?’

‘At least an ocean’s worth.’

I decide to ask the question I’d been dying to all evening.

‘I heard on the grapevine that you’ve finally taken the plunge.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know, got married. It’s just, I didn’t like to ask because – like me – you’re not wearing a ring.’

Ginny stands up and pours herself another cup of tea. ‘Well I don’t know who you’re getting your information from, Matt, but they’re wrong. I’m not married.’

‘Oh,’ I say, trying not to sound too pleased. ‘I must have got the wrong end of the stick. No one on the scene at all then?’

Ginny laughs. ‘Not unless you count Hank.’ She fetches a pouch of cat food from a cupboard and forks some into Hank’s bowl. I sense that she’s not particularly comfortable with the conversation and so I change the subject quickly and tell her about my parents and their plan to move to the country.

‘Do you think they’re serious?’

‘Leave the house where they raised four kids, the site of all our family Christmasses and countless birthdays? No way. That place holds way too many memories.’

‘Maybe they want to make some new ones. Not everyone wants to live in the past.’

As a kid it had just been Ginny and her mum and apart from a brief stint living with her nan the house in which we were now sitting had been the only home she had known up to the age of nineteen when she left to go to university in Brighton. Eight years on, having established a career as an art teacher, Ginny returned to Birmingham to look after her mum who was seriously ill. Her mum died within six months of her return, making Ginny at the age of twenty-seven the owner of her own home, and having lived there ever since it now looked like she too was thinking about moving on.

‘You’re really considering moving?’

‘To tell you the truth I think anywhere would be fine if it meant I was making a change and moving on. No one knows more than I do about the importance of keeping hold of memories but it’s like I said earlier, you can’t always live in the past because if you do you might just find yourself stuck there for ever.’