After You Left(82)

‘I believe that wholeheartedly. Eddy knows.’





THIRTY-SEVEN


I am eating a smoked salmon wrap at the Theatre Royal café when I get a text from Justin.

Need to see U. 6 p.m. BB?

Bookshop Bar. One of our regulars.

I knew it. He’s cleared his head and seen sense. He wants to come back.

I stare at the words like I’m trying to crack a code. Trying to decide how I feel about this. What I will say. It takes me ages to work out how to reply. Then I simply type,

OK.



He’s seated at our regular table by the window. I spot him from across the road. The naturalness of this makes my heart somersault. He’s wearing one of his best suits. He has his head down, and is fiddling with his BlackBerry. How many times have I seen him like this? He was always there first – the ever-punctual Justin. How many times have I knocked on the window, and he has looked up, already smiling, knowing it was me?

When it’s safe, I hurry across the road, unable to pull my eyes from him. We can do it. If that’s why he’s here. We can go back and make it work . . .

He must sense my eyes, because he looks up. We are separated only by the window. He smiles. But the smile is different: distant. For a second or two my feet slow down and I think, Oh my gosh! I can’t go in!

Walking here, I’d had it sorted. We’d take the baby at weekends – give Lisa a chance to find another man. We’d buy that house we’d been planning to buy, the one we had never quite found. Dylan would have his own room, of course, and a special set of clothes that he’d keep at ours. There’d be another room for when we adopted – maybe a little boy from Syria or somewhere; a child who would make Dylan realise how lucky he was. Maybe Dylan would even help us find him when he got a bit older.

Justin looks at me again, as if to say, Why are you just standing there? So I walk to the entrance and go in, flooded with hope and dread. The bar is packed. I squeeze past bodies. A few men glance me over – how many times has this happened, too? I arrive at his table. He stands, kisses me cautiously on the cheek. As I pull out the chair, I have to catch my breath at the familiarity of it. It’s as though there never was a baby. Lisa is long in the past. It’s just us, meeting after work on a Friday, something I’ve looked forward to all day.

When we are seated, almost touching knees, he looks expectant, and I feel a confusing flurry of possibility again.

‘So . . . ?’ I say.

His gaze settles on my throat, on the small silver Tiffany starfish pendant he bought me for my birthday. I’d put it on this morning and hadn’t thought to take it off when I’d got his text.

‘How are you?’ he asks. He sounds like he genuinely needs to hear.

I don’t know what to say. I don’t want to talk about how I am. ‘If you lose any more weight you’ll disappear,’ I say, instead.

He holds my eyes. ‘Regular meals are a bit of a thing of the past.’

I am saved from adding anything by the arrival of the waitress. We order two apple martinis, as normal.

‘Can we have a bowl of spiced nuts?’ Justin asks the girl.

Our routine. The martinis – two of them each – would always be followed by dinner. ‘Why am I here?’ I ask. It might be direct, but I need putting out of my misery.

He sits back, and crosses his arms. His head tips back slightly. He sighs. Sally would have said he was being dramatic. I can’t help but think, For God’s sake, just be settled in your choice, now that you’ve made it – if you’ve made it!

Seeing him still looking like this – like he’s in emotional traction – I regret taking any pleasure in him not kissing Lisa. Life’s too precious for me to live it like my mother.

‘I really wanted to see you, Alice. I miss you, naturally, and I think of you so much, and I’m trying so hard to keep it all together . . .’

Sally would say, He’s playing the victim, when it’s you who is the victim! But in a way we are all victims.

‘Will you ever be able to forgive me?’ he asks. I’m sure this isn’t what he’s come here to say. ‘I know it’s insane for me to even hope that you ever could. I just can’t stand knowing how much I’ve hurt you.’

So I should forgive you to make you feel better? Or myself? ‘I’m not sure it’s something that requires forgiveness, Justin. It’s, well, it is what it is. That’s all.’ I hate that expression. But this one time it’s appropriate. Surprisingly, I feel no animosity toward him. I feel nothing. I stare out of the window at the rush-hour traffic sliding to a stop at the light.

‘I suppose, maybe I understand you, if that makes you feel any better. I understand why you did it. I mean, I think I do.’

He wipes a hand across his face. He looks as though he’s woken up from a long nap and hasn’t managed to pull himself together. Is he back to work now? Is he still sleeping in Lisa’s spare room? I remember what Evelyn said. You mustn’t care.

The waitress brings the drinks. She asks if we’re planning to order dinner, and Justin answers with a pretty straight-out no.

‘What’s been going on, then, in your life, lately?’ he asks when the girl leaves. The no is still echoing. He doesn’t even sound like himself. This isn’t something he says.