I walked between the two warring factions, found the middle ground (a table equidistant to both tables) and placed my tray on it but I didn’t sit. I went to Mel, because I’d met him first, ‘Come join me,’ I ordered. It was a pleasant order, but an order nonetheless.
Mel was overjoyed at being invited to join me at the big table. Who knew eating with me would be so exciting – many men before him would’ve paid good money not to eat with me. He got up, picked up his tray and magazine, minced over to where my tray was. The campness came from trying, through his walk, to stick his tongue out to Claudine. Na, na, Ceri loves me more.
While Mel minced, I sauntered over to Claudine. ‘Come join me,’ same tone, same order.
‘No thanks,’ she replied, glaring at Mel.
‘It’s not an invite,’ I explained, ‘it’s an order.’
Claudine’s eyebrows shot up. You are ordering ME? those eyebrows said.
‘Claudine, you have burdened me with the very minutiae of your love life, the least you owe me is joining me when “invited” (I made the dreaded air quotes) to.
‘And you, Melvin Rivers, can sit your butt back down,’ I said, very loudly, so it carried and everyone who was dotted around the middle ground and Claudine’s corner, heard. Humiliation wasn’t out of the question. This Cupid thing had some perks and being outrageous, saying anything, was one of them. The Universe, Fate, God, Karma, Whatever, expected it of me.
‘Well?’ I said to Claudine.
She sighed, screwed up her face, then reluctantly got up, gathered her tray and book. ‘Don’t expect me to talk to him,’ she warned in a low voice.
They sat as far away from each other as possible, but were still technically sat opposite me. Had I really done this? Had my Cupid curse really prised these two close people apart?
In that moment, I felt a flash of power. It passed as quickly as it came, overtaken by annoyance at these two people who, literally, should have known better. Because not even me and my big mouth and my pheromones and other ‘qualities’ could’ve torn apart their friendship if they weren’t so bloody pathetic. They should know better, they knew they should know better, but insisted on playing games. And, not very good games, either. My six-year-old niece could play mind games better than these two. If I thought for one minute either of them was genuinely attempting to hurt the other one, I wouldn’t be so annoyed. Annoyed and frustrated. It was clear, if you thought about it. And, hey Mel, hey Claudine, I’m sure you’ve done nothing else but think about it. You both know what is ticking away in your hearts and minds, neither of you wants to face it, though. You’d much rather live in discomfort than face the truth.
‘OK,’ I smiled. ‘Dearly beloved, I have brought you together today, because I think you both need to be told what’s going on in your minds.’
I paused, struggling to get warmness back into my voice.
‘Claudine, news flash, you do not have to be “in love” to “make love”. It’s all right to have sex with a man and find that afterwards, you don’t want to run away with him. Admittedly, your boyfriend might not see it that way, but you did what you did. You can’t unsleep with Mel. Pretending it didn’t happen won’t change things either.
‘I’m telling you, categorically, you’re not in love with Mel. You may love Mel, but you’re not in love with him – I know it’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the truth. And he certainly doesn’t compare to Kevin. If he did, you’d have left Kevin, life or no life. Well, you’d have at least done it more than once.
‘So, bloody stop trying to convince yourself that sex equals love. You might be an old romantic, you might want to be in love with Mel, because, well, you’ve known him for years and he’s lovely and he’s a good friend and he’s a great shag, but you don’t. Just because all the elements are there, doesn’t mean it’ll work. You know I’m right, it’s already in your mind. Which is why, when I asked you that night at my house why you didn’t go round to Mel’s and shag him senseless, you were horrified. You wouldn’t do that to Kevin, not twice.’
Claudine opened her mouth to speak.
‘Shut up. I’m talking.
‘Before I realised what I wanted to do with my life was wreck it by coming up here, I read this quote. It went: “Ours is a world where people don’t know what they want and are willing to go through hell to get it.” That’s you, except you do know what you want, can’t accept that, so are willing to put yourself through all types of hell to get what you think you should want.
‘My advice, the last bit of advice you get for free is this: tell Mel you’re not in love with him. Once you say it out loud and the sky doesn’t come crashing in, you might actually believe it.
‘Then, go home, talk to Kevin. Sit him down in a room, look him straight in the eye and talk to him. At the root of all of this is the fact that, despite how beautiful you are, how lovely a person you are, you have low self-esteem. Mel made you feel good, he gave you the attention you craved from Kevin. You needed Mel to tell you you’re beautiful and worthy. You probably felt indebted to him for giving you that ego boost when you needed it most. That doesn’t mean you have to talk yourself into being in love with him. Tell Kevin you need his attention and his time, roger him senseless, and then start building the next stage of your life together.’
I twisted a fraction in my seat. ‘Mel. You are a commitmentphobe. There is nothing wrong with it, some of my best friends are commitment-phobes, you just shouldn’t have got married when you did.
‘You felt the fear, you did it anyway and you screwed over three perfectly great people in the process.’ I raised my fingers.
‘Number one: your wife. She never stood a chance because you thought you wanted a mythical person who was gorgeous, fertile, funny, fun, etc., etc., when all you really wanted was a friend. Which, she wasn’t. That was her one fatal flaw.
‘Number two: Claudine. She was your get-out clause – not just with your wife. I’ll bet you’ve compared every woman you’ve met to her. And, I’ll bet my flat, my savings and my lunch that none of them matched up. They were all in a different league, none of them good enough. When you were looking for a way out of your marriage, Claudine became the reason. Not the fact Fran wasn’t the type of woman you wanted in the first place. If you loved Claudine like that, you’d have done something about it. Don’t give me that, “you have no idea how it is to love someone from afar” look. I do, I’ve done it far longer and far more intensely than you could ever do, and you know what? It’s bollocks. If you truly love someone, truly, you would do something about it. Anything to get them to love you. I learnt that the hard way. You wouldn’t wait until you want a reason to get out of your marriage to engineer a one-night stand. To basically do something you felt was so unforgivable that you’d be forced to end your marriage. If you love someone, really love them, you would, at least, have done the whole, sit them down the night before you get married thing and tell them how you feel.
‘Much as you love Claudine, she has always been Ms Convenience. And now you’re free, she’s Ms I Should Want Her. Mel, if you really love her, really want her, then get down on one knee and propose right now. And find out what she says. But you won’t cos you’re not in love with Claudine, no matter how much you love her.
‘The third person you’ve screwed over is you. You have spent so much time avoiding yourself and your fear of being tied down, you ruined your marriage, almost ruined your friendship with Claudine, got smacked in the face. You’re allowed to be friends with a woman without wanting to shag her. You need to be friends with women without shagging them. It’s a radical, scary concept, but as Mark Twain said, “Courage is the mastery of fear – not the absence of it.” Be brave. Accept what happened before Christmas for what it was – a way to get out of your marriage, a drunken fumble, then be friends with Claudine again, instead of a reminder that you had sex. Despite what you’ve been led to believe, sex isn’t the be all and end all, it’s just sex. If it was more with Claudine, you wou
ld’ve done it more than once.
‘And, once you’re friends with Claudine again, try getting on the phone and apologising to your wife. The fact you hardly spoke to her for the last however many months of your marriage should tell you something, namely, you’d both forgotten what it was like to be together as two people rather than as “a couple”. Which is the root of your commitment-phobic nightmare – the reason you want a friend, not a wife. You’ve always thought that once you get settled, fun goes out the window but that doesn’t happen with friends. It doesn’t have to happen with couples, but you don’t know that yet. In time, I reckon you’ll sort out your head, you’ll get some perspective on the whole thing and will be able to have a settled relationship and not run away from it, but for now, apologise to Fran. It’s not her fault you wanted to live in a fun house twenty-four/seven.’
I paused, sagged in my seat, spent. I never thought I’d get tired of hearing myself speak; I’d never thought I’d get tired of talking.
‘Now, one final thing. Something aimed at the two of you. In all of this, you seem to have forgotten something very important: you two are friends. Beyond the sex, the marriage break-ups and the face-punching you two are real friends. Nothing should stand in the way of that. So many people are crying out for someone they can trust, for that kind of friendship. You’ve got it – stop fucking about with it.’
I dropped the leaf of lettuce I’d used as a pointer and got up, picking up my tray as I stood. I didn’t hang about to see what they did next. I didn’t need to. All those two really needed was someone to say what they didn’t want to hear. Voice their inner turmoil.
I took my tray up to my office – my office buddy Sally wasn’t in on Wednesdays – and I sat at her desk so I could stare out the window as I ate.
Knock! Knock! came two minutes later. I was never going to have lunch, was I?
‘Yes?’ I called, twisting in my chair to look at the door. I had a crisp piece of iceberg lettuce poised to go into my mouth. I lowered it when Gwen’s head popped around the door.
‘Hi, Gwen,’ I said, steeling myself for a rant. She had over a month’s worth to deliver. ‘Come in.’
‘Just a quick word,’ she said, fixing me with her blue eyes. ‘There’ll be a memo coming around later, but I wanted to tell you in person first.’
‘Oh?’ I said. The funding to the department’s been cut – I was out on my ear.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’ve resigned.’
She didn’t even look serious, much less sound serious. ‘Got to go. Bye.’
Oh my giddy aunt, uncle, nieces, nephews and unlikely to be born grandchildren.
chapter thirty-six
The Real Gwen
This was something I never thought would happen. Gwen and I sitting in the Fox & Hound, having a drink together. I’d bolted after her to check she was serious. She confirmed she was. Before I knew what I was doing I was saying we should go for a drink round the corner and down the road.
She’d leapt at the offer like a thirsty woman in a desert. I’d forgotten that I was the nearest thing she’d got in college to a best mate. Or a mate.
‘What’s going on?’ I asked her.
I’d got myself a beer and her a brandy. I remember her saying once she liked brandy.
She lit up a cigarette, I held my breath.
‘I’ve resigned,’ she squealed. Then she covered her solar plexus with her hand. ‘That feels good and scary to say at the same time.’
‘Why?’
She shrugged. ‘I felt like it.’
‘Have you got another job?’ This was like pulling teeth.
‘No.’
‘And you’re going in a month?’
‘Yes. They want me to do the summer, supervise the exams and whatnot. But I’m going in a month.’
‘You’ve got interviews lined up?’
‘No.’
It’s all right. Don’t panic. She’s got a husband, he’ll take care of her if she falls on hard times. And you’ve probably got nothing to do with her screwing up her life by leaving the only paid position she’s qualified to do.
‘When you wrote to me about a position in the psychology department, did you have other things lined up?’
WHAT THE HELL HAVE I GOT TO DO WITH IT? ‘No.’
‘But you still took a chance on giving up your life. What if we’d written back saying “no vacancies”? What would you have done?’
‘No, you see, I hadn’t resigned from my job in London when I wrote to you.’
‘Emotionally you had.’
‘What?’
‘Ceri, you don’t really believe we’d have given you an interview on your qualifications and experience if we thought you were committed to your job in London, do you?’
It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault, la la, it’s not my fault.
‘The reason I gave you that first interview was because of the passion in your letter. Everyone who read it said your enthusiasm and passion and joie de vivre came through in it. That’s very, very rare. Almost extinct these days. You put everything into that letter and you couldn’t have done that if you were happy with your job.’
‘I was still doing it though. Still getting paid. Still paying the mortgage, etc.’
‘You had emotionally left. I emotionally left my position here ages ago. And now, I’m physically leaving too.’
‘What does your husband say about all this?’
Gwen moved her gaze from me, to the other side of the bar. ‘I wonder what it’s going to be like, waking up on the day after I finally leave and know that this is the first day of the rest of my life.’
Clearly, transparently, screamingly obviously she didn’t want to talk about what her husband said about her decision. When has that ever stopped me wading in mouth first?
‘What does your husband think about your decision to quit?’
She replied first with the filthiest look known to womankind. Part of me expected her to jump up onto the rickety table and sing: ‘Hey you! Don’t rain on my parade!’
Once my face was smeared with her filthy look, she said: ‘He’s fine with it. Whatever makes me happy makes him happy.’
When I first saw Cat On A Hot Tin Roof, I’d never heard the word mendacity before. Immediately after I saw it I heard mendacity everywhere. And now, I was sitting beside a woman whose very name could be mendacity, she reeked of it so. At the very least her husband didn’t approve; at the most, he didn’t know. Actually, at the most, he didn’t exist.
‘I still haven’t been around for dinner yet,’ I said. ‘I’m free most nights for the next couple of weeks, how about we fix a date?’
‘Vernon is away,’ Gwen said, faster than a speeding bullet. ‘Business.’
‘For two weeks?’
Gwen sighed the sigh of an annoyed creature. ‘Why are we talking about Vernon? It’s me who has resigned.’
‘You haven’t resigned in a vacuum, there are other people who’d be affected, namely your nearest and dearest.’
‘Keep talking, Ceri, you’ve just about disinvited yourself to my leaving do.’
Well slap my face and call me Cupid, Gwen had a nasty streak. She wasn’t simply demented and unable to be happy, she had viciousness behind them there squeaky vocal cords.
‘I suppose I’m just being selfish. If you leave, who’ll – [suffocate me with smoke/bend my ear by whining alone/make me grateful for my deep voice] – encourage me? Who’ll – [remind me to avoid pastel flowers/show me how not to teach/make me avoid the common room] – be my champion in the psychology department?’
Gwen looked away, lit a cigarette, I wondered if she was fighting to put that nastiness back in its box, or if she was formulating a clever way to tell me to fornicate off.
‘You’ll survive,’ she said. Ah, so we were still being nasty.
‘I guess I’ll have to.’
‘You haven’t done that badly so far. I’ll have to
do your assessment before I leave, and you haven’t done too badly.’
There it was again – praise so faint it was damning. First Mel, now Gwen.
‘You’re very popular with the students,’ she went on. ‘Although, that’s not always a good thing. You’re there to assist their learning, not befriend or entertain them. Students need someone to look up to, to respect, they can’t do that if they think of you as nothing more than a buddy.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’
Gwen looked at me.
‘No, really, you’re right. I’m a big interfering nerd, but I can’t help it. I just have this gift for being too nice. You know, when people vent on me, I don’t have the gumption to ignore them, or tell them I’m not interested, I just sit there and listen. If some student looks bored, I try to make things more interesting.’ I slid down in my seat. ‘I wake up every morning saying to myself: “If someone tries to embroil me in their life today, I’m not getting involved. I’m not allowed. Just don’t listen; just don’t care. Let them go about their screwed up lives without you.” And then, someone will sit down beside me, start to unload, and rather than go glassy-eyed and tune out so they don’t do it again; rather than get up and walk away, I listen. I care. But you’re right, I’ll try so much harder next time to be short, uninterested and to be the unfriendly lecturer that everyone respects. Thanks for that reminder.’
Yes, I actually said that. Out loud. She was leaving, I could. Also, I was thinking, What’s the worst that could happen if I said what I thought? She could glass me was the worst. Seeing as I couldn’t imagine that vividly enough, I went ahead and spoke my mind. Jess would’ve been proud of me. Jess would’ve glassed me. But that was my best friend for you.
Moreover, I wasn’t sat in the Fox & Hound, passively smoking and drinking on an empty stomach for my benefit.
‘I, I didn’t mean to upset you,’ Gwen said, suddenly sounding much more squeaky again.
‘You haven’t. I’m crap. I needed to be told, didn’t I? Cast ye not pearls before swine and all that. I might’ve gone on through life, being nice to people for the sake of it.’