Men like Jack did not want to go out with a real woman – they wanted the idea they had of what a woman was. That was probably why I intrigued Jack: I wasn’t cute and cuddly, and every time there’d been an opportunity to become a ‘lady’ I hadn’t taken it – I’d been nothing like the idea he probably had of womanliness in his head. That presented a challenge. And if there was anything men like Jack craved more than a demure woman, it was a challenging woman to tame.
At this time in the morning, most of the benches in Soho Square were occupied by people who had nowhere else to sleep; while the paths were littered with used condoms and spent needles. But I never let that bother me, those were cosmetic, inconsequential flaws – beneath them, Soho Square couldn’t help being divine: a small, perfectly formed green jewel hidden and cosseted in the middle of a busy city. I often spent lunchtimes here, and I liked the idea of having breakfast here, even though it hadn’t had a chance to get its game face on.
Jack balanced the tray on his lap and asked, ‘Sugar or no sugar?’
‘Whichever,’ I said.
‘I got one of each, so pick.’
‘No sugar.’
He removed the white cup nearest to me and handed it over. ‘Sweet enough already, huh?’
‘Do you actually listen to the things you say?’ I asked him as I uncapped the coffee and took a grateful sip of the warm foam.
‘Not as much as I should. I admit that was a bit lame.’
‘Were you just going to wait out there until I showed up at some unknown time?’ I asked him. He picked up the white bag, which was now greased through with butter from the croissants, and held it out to me.
‘No, Paloma told me that you often get in just before eight.’
‘You asked her that?’
‘Yes, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ask as many questions as possible about you. She had nothing but good things to say. She thinks you’re fantastic at your job even though being a beautician wasn’t your first choice of career, and she suspects other salons are always trying to tease you away from her. She also told me you had a weakness for coffee and croissants, even though you know how they wreak havoc on the skin.’
‘She said all that?’ I asked, surprised and more than a little chuffed. ‘That was so nice of her.’
‘There was a lot of pride and affection in her voice when she spoke about you.’
‘And she didn’t mind that you weren’t going to ask her out?’
‘No. She has no shame – when I told her I liked you, she asked me if I had any single friends. I’ve set her up with Devin – he’s American and rich. He’d love her.’
Vera Wang dress, here she comes, I thought affectionately and enviously. I admired Paloma for knowing what she wanted in life and love. I sometimes wished I was as focused as her. ‘To be happy’ was something I always aspired to. If I didn’t like what I was doing, if it wasn’t making me happy then I tried to do something else but somehow, at thirty-four, ‘to be happy’ didn’t seem enough of a goal any more.
‘Are you ambitious, Jack?’ I asked.
I watched his face, symmetrical and smooth, with well cared-for skin and a healthy bronzed glow. He had incredible bone structure, and amazing eyes, while his lips … There was no doubting how desirable he was and, sitting here, sipping coffee and eating pieces of croissant, he wasn’t the person I had met in the showroom. He was normal. Considered, deliberate, contemplative. No question was answered without it being thought through. If I had met this Jack I might not have had such an aversion to him. ‘Yes, in some ways. If I want something I go for it, if that’s what you mean.’
‘No, it’s not what I mean. I’m asking if you know what you want in life.’
‘Careerise-wise, family-wise, money-wise?’
‘Yes. And no. I mean, are you working towards some big goal in life? In the big picture do you know what you want?’
He shook his head as he frowned. ‘I thought I did. I thought I had it. But it didn’t last. At that time, I thought what I wanted, what my big ambition in life was – wait for it – was to be happy.’
‘And it wasn’t?’
‘No, it soon became apparent that happiness shouldn’t be a destination in your life. It should be part of the journey of your life. Profound, I know, for someone as shallow as me, but take it from a man who knows: putting everything on hold to achieve the one thing you think will make you happy will actually mean that you’re miserable along the way to getting there, and when you get there, you might find that the thing you wanted doesn’t make you as happy as you thought it would. Or worse, you’ve completely forgotten how to be happy.’
‘That really is profound,’ I said.
‘I do have gems of profoundness hidden in my shallows.’ He ran his hand through his hair and I caught sight of his wrist as he moved: 8:35.
‘Sorry, Jack, I’ve got to get to work.’ I stood, scrunched up the paper bag. He stood too, a grand figure that slotted in perfectly with the quiet glamour of the park.
‘I’ll walk you back,’ he said, his eyes scanning the park for a bin for our rubbish.
‘That’s kind of you, but no. I’ve had a nice time, despite my initial reservations, and you’ve given me something to think about, but I … I don’t really want this to go any further. And if you walk me back, it’ll feel like a date and it’ll be awkward with whether you try to ask me out again. Let’s leave this as a nice little interlude, OK?’
He said nothing for a moment. I could see he was trying to think of the right thing to say in reply because, to him, this was clearly not OK. ‘You make me tongue-tied, you know. I’m sure it’s not your intention, but I always have to think before I speak because I know you’ll pick up on anything that’s fake or double-edged in meaning.’ He sighed. ‘No. It’s not OK that you want to leave things at this. But I’ll call you and ask you again. Hopefully you won’t put the phone down. You’ll remember that little moment of profoundness I visited upon your life and you’ll give me a chance.’
‘Are you always this honest?’ I asked him.
‘Almost never,’ he replied. ‘But I will call you, ask you out again, because in my heart of hearts I’m hoping you’re going to say yes.’
‘Like I said last time, anything’s possible. Bye.’
‘Bye,’ he replied and moved his intense gaze to my lips. It wasn’t a particularly long look, but it was noticeable.
And it had me thinking about him, and happiness on the journey of life, all the way back to work.
‘This is Libby Britcham, thirty-six, involved in RTA. Had to be cut from the vehicle. Suffered multiple contusions and lacerations to body, head and face, also possible concussion although was lucid and responsive at the scene. Could not make sounds while speaking, possible Aphonia from shock.
‘Hypotensive throughout. She had PEA en route but responded to resuscitation and a further fluid challenge and we got her back after five minutes of resuscitation. She had two lots of IV epinephrine. She’s had 900mls of gelofusine so far and two litres of normal saline, has a tender abdomen – looks like an intra abdominal bleed, probably spleen. Husband, Jack Britcham also involved in the RTA being treated in exam room two.’
‘OK. Libby, can you hear me?’
Yes, I can hear you, I think at her, there’s no need to shout.
‘My name’s Doctor Goolson. You’re at the hospital. We’re going to take very good care of you.’
There’s that bright light being shone in my eyes again. Why do people keep doing that? Are they trying to blind me?
‘Pupils responsive on both sides, set up the scan and get plastics as well as neurosurgery on standby. Get four units of O negative until we can cross-match. Also need a morphine IV here.’
August, 2008
I am so unfit! I thought as I forced myself to move forwards and chase after Benji, my nephew. He was five years old and pretty adept with a ball. It always seemed that whenever he came to stay with me for the weekend he was somehow gi
fted with even more energy than before while I was somehow less able to keep up with him.
He kicked his ball across the grass at Hove Park. I much preferred this park to the one near where I lived, but it only made sense to come here now because I could drive us here. Benji preferred it, too: it seemed more spacious and the greens were flatter, making playing football much easier.
I was in goal, standing between our two jumpers, but he’d kicked the ball and chased it in the opposite direction to where I was standing, heading closer and closer to the agreed boundaries for this game. If he went beyond the boundaries, I’d find it difficult to catch him up – he was that fast. I’d abandoned the goal to dart across the grass after him, calling to him to stop. Fear made me faster and I got to him in half my usual time. Just as I was about to reach out and grab him back, he shot me a wicked grin and turned around and started kicking his ball towards the now unprotected goal.
‘Why, you!’ I called, aghast that I’d been so tricked by one so young. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. His father, my brother, was master of the double-bluff as well as being reckless and devious. He was a lone parent because his girlfriend – Benji’s mother – had finally seen the light and had walked out, telling him he should try living her life while she lived his by going out to have some fun. I loved my brother, but he was not good boyfriend material – I’d been surprised that someone as seemingly intelligent as his ex had thought he was.
Running as fast as I could, I tried to get back to the goal, just as Benji kicked the ball straight down the middle of the two jumpers.
‘GOAL!’ he screamed then ran around with his hands in the air, as he’d no doubt seen his father do on many an occasion.
‘You!’ I said to him, scooping him up and spinning him around. ‘You tricked me!’
‘All’s fair in love and football!’ He laughed, his mahogany-brown face alight with pleasure. ‘That’s what Dad says.’
‘I’ll bet he does.’
A jogger who’d just run past on the path that snaked around the park reappeared suddenly and crossed the grass towards us. Jack. He was unmistakable, especially against this backdrop. He was sweaty, slightly red, his hair was damp and his grey T-shirt had a dark, V-shaped patch of sweat on his chest where flesh and cloth made contact, but he still had that ‘togetherness’ he always had about him.
‘Thought it was you from a distance,’ he said, unhooking his white iPod headphones from his ears. ‘Knew it was you from up close.’
‘Hi,’ I said.
‘Hi.’ His gaze moved to Benji, who stared back at him undaunted and unafraid. ‘Hi.’
‘My name’s Benji. What’s yours?’
‘Jack.’
‘Are you my auntie Libby’s boyfriend?’
‘No,’ Jack said. ‘I’m sort-of a friend.’
‘How can you be sort-of a friend? I only have friends or not friends, not sort-of friends.’
‘Because even though I’ve met her a couple of times, she won’t come to dinner with me, so we only sort-of know each other.’
‘But why should she come to dinner with you if you’re only sort-of friends and only sort-of know each other? I don’t have my dinner with everyone I meet.’
Jack looked at Benji, then looked at me. ‘You can tell you’re related.’
‘Because we look alike?’ Benji asked, eagerly.
‘No, because I have to think before I say anything to you.’
‘Do you want to play football?’ Benji asked. ‘I keep scoring against Auntie Libby. She thinks I’m a sneaky little so-and-so cos I keep winning.’
Jack looked at his black runner’s watch, and visibly tried to calculate something. Then he returned his attentions to Benji. ‘I might stick around and score a few goals. But don’t think I’m going to let you off because you’re shorter than me – I know you’re really a top player. Your auntie Libby can go in goal.’
‘Oh, can I now?’
‘Yes!’ they both said at the same time.
‘Right, well that’s me told.’
Benji and Jack ran rings around each other: tackling, double-bluffing, stealing the ball. For the most part, they didn’t actually need me because they spent so much time playing with each other, but when they did come towards me with a goal in mind, I did the obligatory throwing myself on the ground to try to save the ball.
After half an hour or so, Jack looked at his watch again. ‘I really should be getting back,’ he said to me. ‘I’m having dinner with my parents.’ He placed his hand on Benji’s short, neat Afro. ‘Thanks, mate, you’ve given me a good game. Shall we call it a draw?’
‘Nooo!’ Benji said. ‘I scored six goals and you scored four.’
‘Gah! I was banking on you not being able to count. Oh well, you’re the winner. It was nice to meet you.’
‘You too,’ Benji said politely and shook his hand. ‘I hope Auntie Libby comes out to dinner with you one day.’
‘Me too, mate, me too. Maybe you can work on her for me.’
‘Maybe,’ Benji said.
Jack grinned at Benji then turned to me. ‘Nice to see you, Libby.’
I nodded.
His eyes held mine for a moment, asking if I’d changed my mind, if I would go out to dinner with him. Despite what he’d said when we had coffee and croissants, he hadn’t called me in the last two weeks but he was asking again for a chance. When I didn’t respond, his upset spun a web of disappointment over his face, and he dropped his gaze to the grass, then turned away slowly. He headed back to the path, pressed an earphone into his ear.
He wasn’t so bad. Twice now he’d shown me he wasn’t so bad. The man I’d first met was so far removed from the man who’d brought me croissants and who’d played football with Benji. Maybe he wasn’t like the other men I’d met, maybe he was worth a chance.
‘Jack,’ I called as he moved the other earpiece to his left ear.
Earpiece aloft, he turned to me questioningly.
‘OK,’ I said.
‘OK?’
I nodded. ‘Next Saturday, if you’re free.’
He smiled, his expression a mixture of delight and shock, and nodded.
‘Call me at work.’
He nodded again, waved to Benji and then began jogging back the way he’d come.
Benji and I watched him jog towards the park gates, but he wasn’t completely out of sight when he jumped up and punched the air.
‘Why did he do that?’ Benji asked, turning his head up to me.
I looked down at him. ‘Don’t know,’ I said. ‘Just a strange man, I guess.’
‘Suppose you’re right,’ Benji said. ‘Can I get an ice cream?’
‘Looks like a ruptured spleen, causing the abdomen to fill with blood. We’re going to have to take her up to theatre straight away.’
I wish everyone would stop shouting. I can’t hear myself think. Or remember.
‘Page plastics and neurosurgery again, they’re going to have to meet them up there.’
Please, stop shouting. It’s not going to get anything done quicker, you know.
‘Someone needs to tell her husband what’s going on.’
August, 2008
We bounced off each other – putting aside the way we’d met – we chatted and teased and bounced off each other like we were old friends. He showed me glimpses of who he was or who he could be if you scraped away the shiny, gaudy veneer of a man who’d had life too easy. He was self-deprecating, and constantly asked me questions or tried to make me laugh. And my laughter was easy, it fluttered from my lips, having blossomed in my chest and my heart. He laughed in the same way.
He was impressed rather than disparaging that I worked as a beauty therapist, and he told me that he was a junior partner in a firm of solicitors in Brighton. I told him I’d moved to Brighton from London to go to university and had stayed because I couldn’t imagine living in a place as big as London again; he told me he’d grown up in the Sussex countryside and to him Brighton and Hove w
ere big cities. We shared our stories and our trivia and, as the night wore on, the atmosphere around us fizzed. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such fun on a date.
We stood outside the restaurant in Hove after dinner, still talking, and he cautiously slipped his hand around mine and suggested I come back to his place, which was around the corner, to call a taxi home.
There was no expectation – no nudge-nudge, wink-wink double-talk – simply a genuine desire not to end the evening right then.
‘Before you say or think anything,’ he said as we turned into the road where he lived, one of the roads that lead down onto the seafront, ‘I bought this place years ago, and when it was merely a shell. I have had to spend a lot of man hours and money getting it habitable. I am proud of it, but please don’t think I bought it ready-done for the current million or so it could go for. I paid nowhere near that. OK?’
‘OK,’ I said as we stopped outside a huge double-fronted Victorian villa with cream-coloured render, stone steps that led up to the black front door, and a lower floor that was probably accessed from the inside. Every floor was studded with huge sash windows.
My head creaked around to look at him.
‘I told you!’ he insisted.
‘I’m saying nothing,’ I said.
The front door gave way to a wide internal porch with coat hooks and a sunken floormat, and another internal door made of glass, then a long, wide corridor with stripped wood floors, and a sweeping, breathtaking staircase. To the left of the front door there was a white console table with bowed legs beneath a huge gilt mirror. There was a door beside the mirror and further down the corridor I could see two more doors.