Nine Lives, Page 2

me to things I would never have dreamed of trying before; and more than that, enjoying them. I regularly watched her play hockey, sat through her collection of DVD musicals, cooked with her without coercion and even tried a Yoga class. My contact with Elaine dwindled to an occasional text and I convinced myself that I was now in love with Jacky. Having been scolded by the farmer the fox had taken refuge in the henhouse.

  Then out of the blue I got a phone call from a voice I tried not to recognise telling me that we needed to talk. I came close to telling her over the phone that there was no point, that I had ‘moved on’, as the saying went. But part of me realised I owed Elaine a face to face explanation of the jolly festive period I had enjoyed without her. And besides, I really didn’t need to punish her by saying no. I would see her one last time at the pub where we’d had our first date. I thought it best not to tell Jacky.

  The pub was not yet full when I arrived, it was still early. Elaine was sitting in a corner by herself. She looked taller somehow, more mature, self-assured. Her hair was different, short and wavy, and she made a point of showing her legs, as I’d always told her she should. I smiled when she looked up, but when the smile was not returned I knew someone had blabbed about Jacky.

  That should have made things easier but a little spasm in my guts suggested otherwise. I took a pint over to her table. My mouth was dry and I thought she might appreciate something substantial to throw over me.

  ‘Elaine…’

  ‘I know,’ she said, too loud. The words chased around my head like two angry wasps and for the first time I felt the full weight of guilt.

  ‘Is it serious?’ she asked, looking at the barmaid.

  In my head I said ‘Yes’, but my mouth was too honest to open. I noticed a frown creasing her otherwise faultless brow and had an impulse to tip the beer over myself. In recent weeks I hadn’t thought much about Elaine, what she was doing, how she was feeling – out of sight, out of heart - mainly because I was too busy having fun with Jacky. But now, sitting here in a room stuffy with consequence, two words seemed to encapsulate everything: fool’s paradise. Perhaps having a good time wasn’t everything after all, and so like any man backed up in an emotional cul-de-sac I reverted to the usual male platitude used the world over: ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Mum said I shouldn’t even talk to you, that I should just pour whatever you’re drinking over your head and leave.’ Great minds, indeed. ‘Dad’s driving me back to London on Sunday with the rest of my things. I’m not coming back,’ she declared, as if that was the worst punishment she could impose on me. And sitting within touching distance of a lover I had once missed squash for I realised that it was and a wave of panic flooded through me.

  ‘I shouldn’t have come. I have to go,’ she said, reaching for her bag. The crease in her brow was squeezing a tear from the corner of her eye. Endure a brief outburst of expletives and then high tail it round to Jacky’s place: that was the outcome I had wanted – wasn’t it?

  ‘Don’t!’ I said firmly, laying my hand decisively on her arm. I felt the muscles beneath stiffen then relax. This was definitely not in the script. My heart put words in my mouth and refused to let me disown them. ‘I’m so sorry, Elaine.’

  Still Elaine refused to meet my gaze, which by then was making me look spellbound, as if she were the most beautiful girl in the world and I had only just set eyes on her. In those precious moments I remembered every little thing I had fallen in love with two years earlier and realised the feelings were still there.

  ‘I know. You said. There’s no need to make a scene.’

  ‘No, you didn’t hear me. I’m really sorry for what’s happened. I regret it more than anything I’ve ever done before or ever will do. I’ve lost you forever when I should be with you forever. I’ve found something special and treated it with contempt. I’ve hurt someone without thinking and now all that’s left is spending the rest of my life thinking of how much I ended up hurting myself. Forgive me, Elaine. Give me another chance.’

  Or at least that was what I wanted to say. But somehow it all got choked up inside me. In the end all I could manage was the pathetic ‘Give me another chance’ at the close. But that was hard enough.

  Her tears were flowing freely. ‘How can I ever trust you again, how..?’ Her body stiffened and for a minute I thought she was going to run out sobbing, just as I imagined she might do. If she had I would have chased after her, chased her down the street - even chased her to London. But instead she threw her arms around me and sobbed into my breast pocket. I could smell her perfume and remembered it was one I had bought her. I could taste her breath and feel her heartbeat pounding through our clothes. I was more alive in those few seconds than I ever have or will be again. I’d been preparing myself to say farewell to the wrong woman.

  I didn’t see Elaine again that weekend. It was too soon, she said. But of course I did see Jacky. I asked her to come over to my flat – a flat I would shortly be selling – on Sunday evening about seven o’clock. I spent that Saturday night scouring the internet for job vacancies in the city. The plan was to up sticks and move in with Elaine as soon as possible. I told Jacky that it was a mate’s birthday; blokes only, sorry.

  ‘See you Sunday, then,’ she huffed and it struck me for the first time how much both women loved me. Every man’s dream – only this was anything but. The temptation to simply disappear from Jacky’s life right there, head for the capital, stole through my mind. But it would never have worked. I couldn’t just hand my notice in without anything to fall back on. Then there was the flat to consider, my parents, my friends… I had to carry on living round here for weeks if not months; long enough for fate to throw Jackie into my path one more time.

  In the end my few beers Saturday night quickly turned into a few too many. Consequently, I awoke in time for Sunday lunch. By six o’clock the discomfort of the hangover was replaced by that of anxiety. Rehearsing what I might say only made me feel worse, so I kept myself occupied by sorting through my drawers and cupboards, looking for things I could throw or give away before the move. The distraction worked too well, for when the doorbell rang I was not expecting it.

  I stood upright in the middle of the bedroom and saw it for what it was: the scene where the wicked philanderer shows his true colours and breaks another heart. There could be no suspicion that I was about to redecorate. As the backdrop to the termination of a meaningful relationship, tactful it was not. I suddenly felt small and feeble, and had an overwhelming urge to turn the lights out and hide under the bed. The doorbell rang again, but this time something deep inside me set my legs moving mechanically towards the door.

  My face must have betrayed me instantly, for Jacky said, ‘Well, I’m pleased to see you, too!’ Then she moved forward to kiss me and I let her, not knowing how to avoid it without hurting her; even though that hurting was inevitable.

  ‘Come through, Jacky,’ I said woodenly. The tone alone must have confirmed to her that all was not well.

  I sat her down like a doll. Again she moved forward to kiss me. I look her hands in mine instead and stared at them. She had the loveliest hands I have ever seen, but I could never tell you why. I cut to the quick with an emotional bone saw.

  ‘Listen, Jacky: it’s Elaine.’

  ‘She’s around. I know. Someone told me.’ I’m not sure I was listening.

  ‘We’re getting back together and I’m moving. To London. With her.’ Jacky’s hands did not stir, but everything inside them suddenly went cold and heavy. I looked up into her eyes and shared the shock I found there.

  ‘When did this happen?’ she whispered at length.

  ‘Friday night.’

  ‘Oh,’ was all she could say.

  I held on to her hands, now limp and pale like dead chicks fallen from a nest. I thought back to all the good times we had shared, the laughter and cries of pleasure, our holiday plans, and knew that it had all been a lie, a ‘mistake’. I wondered how she would recover from such a devastating betrayal and a voi
ce from the depths of my soul screamed out at me, ‘you selfish little shit!’

  The tears came freely then, as I knew they would. They rolled at first, and then gushed like a mountain stream, the tiny sobs sending a spray down into our laps. The tears ran and ran, and looked as if they might never stop. I was shocked beyond words, not by the fact of this heartfelt lament, but by its origin. The tears were mine.

  Jacky sat watching me impassively for what felt like an hour, until finally she stood up and said, ‘I ought to go now.’ They were the last words she ever spoke to me.

  I only realised she had gone when the front door slammed behind her. When I pulled the blinds apart it was in time to see Jacky reach for the door of her car. She sat out there in the darkness with heaven knows what going through her mind, and I stayed there watching, wrestling with my shame. Then the headlights came on and the car slowly disappeared round the corner, our two lives diverging in opposite directions, never to meet again. Or so I thought.

  Within two years I was married to Elaine and moving back from London through necessity: we both had parents that suffered premature infirmities. When a year of not accidentally bumping into Jacky also passed I assumed she had moved away and started to forget. Perhaps if the radio had been tuned to