Perfectly Ordinary People(70)

I was suffering from a bit of brain fog still, so I really wasn’t sure I got his point. But Suzie came looking for him then, effectively saving me from our discussion.

After lunch, I managed to corner Dad. I admitted to having copied Ethel’s phone number from the pad and meeting her in Brighton, but he didn’t seem to mind that much, or even be that interested in what had been said. At least I’d passed on the message about her having something she wanted to give him.

‘I’ll call her,’ Dad said, sounding curt. ‘I just haven’t got around to it, but I’ll call her.’

‘That’s not really true though, is it?’ I said.

‘What isn’t?’ Dad said. ‘Which bit?’

‘That you haven’t got around to it. Because the truth is that you’ve been avoiding her like the plague. And you had no intention of phoning her back at all.’

‘Not avoiding her, as such,’ Dad said. ‘It’s just . . .’

‘It’s just what, Dad?’

‘I’ve never been that keen, if truth be told.’

‘You’ve never been that keen on Ethel?’

Dad nodded vaguely. ‘That is what I said.’

‘Because?’

Unexpectedly, he raised his voice. ‘Jesus, do you like everyone?’ he asked. ‘Do you get on with abso-bloody-lutely everyone?’

‘No,’ I said, taken aback. Dad never really raises his voice like that and so it actually made me feel a bit scared.

‘I’ve told you. I’ll call her,’ he said. ‘Now, basta!’ And then he stomped off out into the backyard to join the smokers.

Harry, who’d caught the last few seconds of the conversation, asked what it was about, but I just forced a smile and shrugged.

That evening, I joined Gina for drinks in a new bar that had opened in Notting Hill. She had her eye on the ridiculously pretty barman – her reason for the choice of venue.

I ordered my traditional hangover pint of orange and lemonade and then explained the whole commitment debate to her. Once I’d finished, Gina raised both eyebrows and shook her head.

‘Fuck me,’ she said.

‘Yeah, I know, right? It’s twisted.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘No, it’s . . . I don’t know. But no, not twisted at all. It’s really quite deep.’

‘Deep?’ I said. ‘Explain.’

‘Well, I’ve left relationships because I felt cornered. I think you have too. I think everyone has. Actually, that’s pretty much why I left Johnny when he asked me to marry him that time. D’you remember? And Evan. And Pete.’

‘Pete didn’t ask you to marry him, did he?’

‘No,’ she said, sipping at her gin and tonic. ‘Don’t be daft. But I felt like I was being sucked in.’

‘So are you saying that might have ended differently if you’d only realised how commitment is just a concept?’ I asked, using a silly, pompous voice.

But Gina wasn’t laughing. ‘Yeah,’ she said, earnestly. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

‘I still don’t get it,’ I told her. ‘I really don’t.’

‘OK, so it’s like, I left because . . . I suppose I left because I thought I couldn’t leave, yeah? Or because I was scared I wouldn’t be able to leave at some point in the future. I mean, that’s what feeling trapped is about, right? But it wasn’t true, was it? And I kind of proved that by leaving. D’you see the point? As soon as you leave a relationship because you’re feeling trapped, well, you didn’t need to leave after all. Because the fact that you’ve left proves you weren’t.’

‘Oh!’ I mouthed silently, belatedly understanding what everyone had been trying to explain to me. Of course it was Gina, lovely Gina, who finally put it in words I could understand.



I didn’t see much of Dan during the final weeks of November both because he was working hard and because I had a stinky cold that Dan couldn’t afford to catch. But on the last Wednesday of the month, we finally managed to spend an evening at mine.

Dan had brought a selection of his newly developed verrines, and with the addition of a single crispy baguette, these made up our supper. And Dan had totally pulled it off: they were every bit as good as the exorbitant ones we’d sampled at fu:d. In fact, the tomato and tapenade version has to be one of the most delicious things I’ve ever tasted.

Later, as we were brushing our teeth side by side, bumping heads as we tried to access the tap, he pointed at my blister pack of Ovranette and spluttered, through toothpaste, ‘Still taking those, then?’

‘I am,’ I spluttered back.

Once in bed, instead of the sex I’d been looking forward to, Dan continued the discussion. ‘Did I upset you the other time,’ he asked, ‘when we talked about commitment?’

I forced a laugh. ‘I’d be lying if I said no,’ I said. ‘But in the end I worked out what you meant, I think.’

‘But you’re still taking the pill.’

I shrugged. ‘We hardly ever see each other, Dan. And you did remind me of all the get-out-clauses that mean you might leave at any moment.’

Dan frowned at me and said, ‘Get-out clauses?’

‘Yes, you . . . Oh! Sorry, that was Harry. We had a very similar discussion about marriage and he listed all these unwritten get-out clauses that mean wedding vows don’t count. But he was totally on your side on the whole commitment-is-a-concept thing.’