What Might Have Been (19 page)

‘Yeah, but like you said, that’s the one thing you don’t exactly have a lot of. Unless you’d be just as happy dating a divorcee?’

‘Huh?’

‘Play the waiting game. So what if she gets married on
Saturday
? If you’re right about her and David, then it won’t take her that long to realise that she’s made a mistake, and if you’re still hanging around, and ready to take her back . . .’

Evan took another mouthful of lager. It wasn’t his preferred alternative, but it was
an
alternative. A way to get what he wanted, albeit not the most direct route. ‘Maybe that’s what’ll happen. After all, it took me leaving to realise I’d made a mistake. So maybe it’ll take her getting married to realise that she has.’

‘Well, there you go. Sorted.’ Mel clinked his glass against Evan’s. ‘Though how long will you give it?’

‘Pardon?’

‘How long will you hang around, not moving on with your life, waiting until she has this epiphany that she’s made a dreadful mistake and realises you were the one for her all along? A month? A year? Five years? Or are you just going to hang around for the seven-year itch?’

Evan put his glass back down. ‘Hang on, this is your idea we’re talking about.’

‘Although, maybe you won’t have to. Maybe you can just be her bit on the side again. After all, that’s how the two of you met, so . . .’

‘That’s not how it was.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No. She . . . she was looking for something David wasn’t
giving
her. And I was it. Then I left. And so . . .’

‘So it wasn’t that important to her anymore, so she decided to get married to him, and didn’t give you and her a second thought.’

‘That’s not exactly what happened.’

‘But it is one interpretation.’

‘Your interpretation, you mean,’ said Evan, angrily.

Mel sighed. ‘Evan, I like Sarah. You know I do. But that doesn’t mean I have to like the way she behaved.’

‘The way she behaved?’

‘Shagging you behind her boyfriend’s back.’

‘Well, that’s because . . .’ Evan sighed. ‘You know her history, Mel. You can understand that, perhaps. Besides, she was confused.’

‘But she isn’t now.’

‘Well, that’s what I’m trying to help her with.’

‘By making her even more confused?’

‘No.’ Evan shook his head slowly. ‘By helping her to see sense.’

‘And that’s your problem, Evan,’ said Mel, grabbing a couple of menus from the next table and handing him one. ‘Love isn’t about seeing sense, but for some reason, it looks like Sarah’s decided to go down the sensible route by marrying David. And until you
understand
exactly why she’s doing that – unless you’ve got some dirt on him – you haven’t got a hope in hell of convincing her
not to.’

As Mel turned his attention to the menu, Evan realised his morals were being tested. Aside from the ‘should he/shouldn’t he tell’ issue regarding David and that lap-dancer, he had to
wonder
whether he was the kind of man who’d steal someone else’s
girlfriend – fiancée
, even?

Given that he’d flown halfway around the world to do exactly that, he decided there and then that obviously, he was. And if that was the case, then what on earth was he waiting for?

33

E
van was feeling like a criminal. He’d been hanging around the entrance to the Robert Dyas store opposite Sarah’s office building for an hour, and the bank’s security guards were beginning to give him funny looks, although he didn’t care. He’d wait here all day if necessary.

He’d thought about simply marching into her office and
pretending
he had an appointment. He could risk David seeing him – after all, he and Sarah were supposed to be old friends, and what was wrong with an old friend dropping by to say hello? But Evan had suspected she might not want to see him, and if that was the case, he didn’t think he could trick – or even fight – his way in past reception. This wasn’t the movies – if it was, he’d have gotten the girl by now. So in the end, he’d bottled it, which was why he’d decided to wait in the street and try and catch her on her way to lunch.

He stood in the doorway, wishing he smoked, or at least did something that would give him a reason to be hovering here like this. Every now and then, groups of office workers would appear on the pavement opposite, puffing away on their cigarettes, one or two of them already on their second or third smoke break, and when from time to time they glanced across at Evan, perhaps surprised to see him still there, all he could do was pretend to be fascinated by the garden furniture display in the window.

Though that struck him as strange. He wondered how many cheap plastic folding chair-and-table sets got sold to a clientele who lived in flats which probably didn’t even have gardens. What on earth was a hardware store doing here anyway, in the middle of all this high finance? Surely the last thing you wanted when you finished your job selling bonds was to go home and put up a shelf, or re-grout your bathroom?

Just when he was beginning to fear he must have missed her – and regretting the two pints he’d consumed earlier and the lack of a nearby toilet – Sarah appeared through the revolving doors. Evan steeled himself to cross the road to intercept her, but stopped on the kerb when he noticed she wasn’t alone; not accompanied by David, fortunately, but by some girl he didn’t recognise. This changed his plans a little – he could hardly confront her with someone else there.

After a moment’s deliberation, he followed the two of them from his side of the street, relieved when they ducked into a
Moroccan
deli on the next corner, although now Evan didn’t know what to do: wait for Sarah to emerge – and perhaps be faced with the same problem – or give up and go home. Too cold to wait any longer, too desperate for the toilet, and with no intention of giving up on her, he crossed the road and followed them inside.

The deli was one of those wooden-floorboards-and-distressed-furniture affairs, cheaply decorated, but – judging by the menu on the chalkboard on the back wall – with prices at the other end of the scale. It was busy, full of City workers picking up lunch and coffee-to-go, and two queues had formed in front of the tills at either end of the counter. As Evan glanced over to where Sarah was standing, her back to him, chatting animatedly with her friend, he was pleased to see she hadn’t noticed him come in, so he joined the adjacent line, grateful for a few moments to work out what he was going to do.

As he watched her, enjoying his view of her backside in her snugly fitting business suit, he weighed up whether the old ‘accidental meet’ might work. But even if it did, how would he get rid of the friend? Maybe he wouldn’t be able to. Perhaps this was Sarah’s tactic: to come out with a chaperone, as if she was expecting him to surprise her.

His queue was moving faster than Sarah’s, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself at the counter. Never mind his dilemma as to what to do with Sarah, he had more immediate problems to deal with.

‘What can I get you?’ said the man behind the till.

Evan looked blankly back at him. He wasn’t hungry, but what the hell was he doing here if that was the case? ‘Er, just some water.’

‘You need to get that before you join the queue,’ said the man, pointing over to a large, unmissable fridge in front of the far wall, which was packed with bottles of mineral water, and sporting a sign which read ‘Please collect before paying’.

‘Ah. Right. Sorry.’ Evan realised he’d have to push past Sarah and her friend to get one. ‘How about a coffee instead?’

‘Coffee?’

‘That’s right.’

The man looked at Evan, perhaps wondering if he’d ever been in a deli before, then his eyes flicked to the growing queue behind him. ‘What sort?’

Evan shrugged. ‘Surprise me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t surprise you. You have to order something. Then I make it. That’s how it works.’

Evan frowned, conscious he was holding the queue up, and therefore in danger of making a scene. He hadn’t realised there were so many rules for buying lunch nowadays – things certainly had changed since he’d been away.

‘Do you have espresso?’

‘Espresso, espresso . . .’ The man stroked his chin and pretended to think for a moment, then he nodded. ‘I think I can rustle one of those up for you. Single, right?’

‘Well, yes, I am, but . . .’

‘Your
espresso
. Single? Or double?’

‘Ah. Sorry. Single. Thanks. Oh, and make that “to go”,’ he added, just in case Sarah made a run for it and he had to give chase.

The man turned away, and Evan suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder. Assuming it must be Sarah, he fixed his best ‘surprised’ face, and spun round.

‘Well, hello again.’

Evan went white. It wasn’t Sarah, but the girl she’d come in with. And she seemed to know him.

‘You don’t remember me, do you?’ she said.

He peered at her face. His first thought that was she was
yesterday’s
jogger, but that would have been way too weird. Close up, she was pretty, and though not quite Sarah’s level, still the kind of girl you’d notice on the street, and for a second, he thought about maybe flirting with her in front of Sarah, but quickly dismissed that as being immature.

‘I’m sorry, I . . .’

‘The other night.’ The girl smiled. ‘You wouldn’t take your clothes off in front of me.’

Evan frowned down at her, acutely aware she’d said that rather loudly, then had a sudden revelation. She must have been at the hen night, and – assuming Sarah hadn’t set everyone straight – would still think he was a stripper.

‘Yes, well, like I said, health and safety . . .’

‘Here’s your coffee,
sir
.’

Evan looked round. The man behind the till was sliding an espresso across the counter towards him, an amused expression on his face, and Evan did his best to ignore the sarcastic tone. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to the girl, then he reached into his pocket for some change, and realised with a start he’d fed the last of his money into the parking meter. ‘I, er . . .’

The girl removed her purse from the bag over her shoulder. ‘That’s okay,’ she said, finding a couple of pound coins and placing them down on the counter. ‘Have it on me.’

‘Thanks. And I’m sorry. I don’t usually . . . I mean, this has never happened before.’

‘I hope you don’t make a habit of saying that to women?’

‘No. No, I don’t.’ Evan picked up the tiny paper cup and moved out of the queue, a little disorientated. He didn’t even want a coffee, and certainly didn’t want someone who thought he was a stripper to be buying it for him, particularly when the woman he loved was . . . He glanced back over to where Sarah had been standing. Where
was
she?

‘Evan.’

‘Sarah?’ He wheeled round, relieved to hear her voice, and tried to sound surprised, but only succeeded in squeaking pre-
pubescently
, something he feared was probably appropriate given the way he was acting. As they regarded each other silently, Sarah’s friend cleared her throat.

‘You two know each other? Apart from the other night.’

‘Well . . .’ Evan was unsure how to answer, but Sarah evidently wasn’t.

‘Oh yes,’ she said, quickly. ‘In fact, we’re old friends.’

As Evan wondered whether that was in fact the way Sarah saw things, the girl let out a short laugh.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘What a coincidence.’

Sarah nodded. ‘Which is why I didn’t want him to, you know . . .’

‘Strip,’ said Evan, miming a little dance, doing his best to play along.

‘Shame.’ The girl smiled. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce us?’

Sarah shot Evan a glance. ‘Of course. Amanda, this is Evan. Evan,’ she added unnecessarily, ‘Amanda.’

‘And is he single?’ Amanda asked, shaking the hand Evan had offered her.

Evan raised one eyebrow at Sarah, but she just stared evenly back at him. ‘No,’ he said, after a pause. ‘I’m taken.’

Amanda let his hand go. ‘Another shame. Well, I’ve got something important to get on with back at the office,’ she said,
indicating
the coffee and pastry she’d bought, before handing Evan her business card.

‘What’s this for?’

‘Just in case.’

‘In case of what?’

She leant in close to him. ‘In case you’d like someone to take their clothes off for you for a change.’

As Evan’s mouth dropped open, Amanda waved goodbye, winking at Sarah as she left. Sarah was smiling, and he supposed this was a good thing, although he also suspected she’d guessed straight away his being here was no accident.

‘A bit forward, isn’t she?’ he said.

Sarah shrugged. ‘You don’t ask, you don’t get,’ she said, then she reddened slightly. ‘Bit off your usual patch, aren’t you?’

‘Not at all. This place is one of my favourites.’

‘Really?’ She folded her arms. ‘What’s good here?’

‘Er . . .’ Evan glanced back up at the chalkboard behind the counter, unable to recognise – or even pronounce – half of the Moroccan dishes listed there. ‘Everything.’

Sarah’s smile disappeared, as if a switch had been flipped. ‘Seriously, Evan, what are you doing here?’

‘I needed something to eat.’

She nodded down at his espresso. ‘Are you going to eat that?’

He thought about trying to make a joke, then sighed exaggeratedly. ‘Guilty as charged.’

‘So you’re following me now?’

‘Well . . .’ He took her arm gently and steered her towards a nearby table, relieved when she didn’t resist. ‘Maybe.’

‘Why?’ she said, as she sat down. ‘Or is that a dumb question?’

‘I had to see you. Especially after the last time.’ He slid into the chair opposite, put his coffee on the table, then made a play out of moving it out of her reach, and she half-smiled at the gesture. ‘I couldn’t leave things like that.’

‘Things?’

‘Us.’

Sarah went to move his coffee back into the middle of the table, and instinctively he grabbed for it, their fingers brushing, her touch sending a shock through his body.

‘Evan, I’m sorry. Maybe it was out of order . . .’

‘Don’t worry about it. It was only water.’

‘Not that. Like you said – us. I mean, what you and I have.
Had
. . .’ – she corrected herself quickly – ‘. . . was something
special
. Something I’ll always treasure, even though it was just the one night. But . . .’

‘Don’t give me
“
but”, Sarah. Why won’t you even think about what I said?’

‘Because it
was
just the one night. And I can’t,’ she said. ‘I just . . . can’t.’

‘Okay.’ Evan sat on his hands to stop them from shaking. ‘But just tell me something, and I’ll leave you alone.’

‘What?’

‘Tell me that David makes you feel the same way I do.’ He
swallowed
hard. ‘Or, you know,
did
.’

She met his gaze defiantly, and for perhaps the first time since he’d been back, Evan thought he caught a glimpse of the old Sarah. ‘I can’t, Evan. You know that. But David makes me feel . . . cherished. Loved in a different way.’

‘And is that what you want?’

‘Maybe it’s what I need.’

‘But he’s not right for you.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because I . . .’ He wanted to say ‘am’, but couldn’t get the word out. ‘Know you.’

‘How? How can you possibly?’ She looked away. ‘Don’t try and sow these seeds of doubt. It’s not very nice.’

‘What else am I supposed to do?’

‘You’re not supposed to do anything, Evan, apart from stay away from me. Leave me alone. Not come back here and try to . . .’

‘Win you back?’

‘I’m not some sort of prize’ she said, angrily.

‘That’s not how David sees it, I’ll bet.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing. Sorry. I’m just . . .’ He held his hands up, and Sarah’s expression softened slightly.

‘Why can’t you just accept that I’m with him now? You had your chance.’