Sweet Sorrow(120)

‘And what a truly terrible word that is. Well, if it’s any consolation, it’s pretty loveless. Isn’t that right, Fran?’

‘It’s true,’ said Fran, appearing at his side. ‘It is grim.’

‘Hello, Fran.’ I leant over the bulge, tapped her cheek with mine.

‘Come with me,’ she said, taking my hand. ‘And I’ll tell you all about the dark side.’





Pleasure


The pub had a roof that overlooked the terraced gardens of Stoke Newington, the air misty with fog and Sunday-night stove fires. Crates of empty bottles, a rusting barbecue, tropical palms turning brown. ‘Are we even meant to be up here?’ she said, looking for somewhere dry to sit.

‘Doesn’t look like it. Do you want to go back down?’

‘If we go down, people will talk to us.’

We sat on an old bench damp enough to soak through our overcoats and, just as when we’d first met, took it in turns to summarise great chunks of time. I was more inclined to answer questions now than at sixteen, and it seemed that she knew something of what I’d been doing, though I didn’t ask how.

‘You’re doing well.’

‘Not bad, for the moment.’

‘Well, I’m pleased but not surprised. I knew you’d find something,’ she said and placed her hand on the bulge of her stomach.

‘How long now?’

‘Three weeks to go.’

‘Boy or girl?’

‘A boy.’

‘Name?’

‘We’re calling him … well, the fact is we’re calling him Charlie.’

Not really, she said and laughed, said they’d not decided, though Charlie was a nice name. I asked, how had she been? In general, she’d been quite unhappy, she said, which had surprised her. An accidental marriage, a thwarted career, worries over money. ‘My twenties – they were brutal. I thought that would be my time. I had all these hopes and expectations of how it was going to be, like a party that you think about and plan what you’re going to wear, clothes all laid out, and how you’re going to behave. Then you turn up and the people aren’t nice, the music’s terrible, you keep saying the wrong thing …’

‘Mine was the same, except I was off my face for most of it.’

‘Well, there was a bit of that too, with this lunatic – I got married, did George tell you? Some couples, you know how they get drunk and go and get tattoos together? Well, we got married. Christ, what was I thinking? If we’d got tattoos at least they’d have lasted. We argued once – this was when I knew I’d made a mistake – about whether seahorses were related to horses. You know, on a genetic level. “Frances, I just refuse to accept that it’s a coincidence!” That’s a very good impression, by the way.’

‘Uncanny.’

‘All my best impressions are of people no one knows. I shouldn’t be mean about him, he was charming and handsome and he’s still Grace’s dad, but basically he was an idiot. My parents, oh man, my parents hated him.’

‘More than me?’

‘They never hated you! My mum loved you. She said she caught you throwing little stones up at my window once. She said it was the most romantic thing she’d ever seen.’

‘I remember that. At the time she looked pissed off.’

‘Well, now she thinks it was very charming.’

‘And how do they feel about George?’

‘Oh, George is a doll. George can do no wrong.’

‘George Pearce, eh?’

‘Professor George Pearce. Now he knows the difference between a horse and a seahorse.’

‘No dark side then.’

‘The worst thing he does – if he’s in a restaurant and we’ve finished eating, he starts to clear the table. Scraping the leftovers, stacking the plates. He’d load the dishwasher if he could, it’s really maddening.’

‘Well if that’s the worst thing …’

‘Exactly. I’m much happier now. Found a job I wanted to do, found someone I wanted to be with. He was worried about you coming, you know.’

‘Was he?’

‘He wondered how you might take it. He thought that you might lash out.’

‘Twenty years ago, I would have.’

‘Or some old spark would reignite and we’d elope.’

‘Well, that is why I’m here.’

She laughed. ‘What does it say on the box? “Don’t return to the firework once lit.”’

‘There’s got to be a time limit though, hasn’t there?’

‘I think twenty years is long enough.’

‘Twenty years is safe,’ I said, but a thought had occurred to me, paranoid I knew, but still I had to ask. ‘Hey, you didn’t … like George back then, did you?’

‘When we did the play? ’Course not.’ She took my hand. ‘I was in love with you, wasn’t I?’

‘Well, you too.’

‘I mean you must have noticed?’

‘I did.’

‘I loved you a lot, and I mean a lot.’

‘Well, the same.’

‘Which doesn’t happen often, believe me.’