Don't Marry Thomas Clark (32 page)

‘Well, obviously,' I reply distantly.

‘And on top of that, half the scenes have this lens flare that makes your eyes ache, and
all
the enemies are robots. Basically, right through until the end of the game you never have an enemy that shows any visible emotion.'

God, he can talk. He can talk so
much.
We left the restaurant half an hour ago and he still hasn't stopped. The beauty of it is that I haven't got the faintest idea what he's talking about. I also have serious doubts about his syntax, but I daren't say anything about things of which I'm completely ignorant. I just nod, and try and avoid giving him an excuse to talk about anything else.

His name is Henry, I think. Another blind date arranged by Rufus. Him and Jennifer split up after three weeks, and it's had a disastrous knock-on effect upon my social and emotional life.

‘…And so I decided to turn my garage into a comic shop,' he continues in the meantime.

Oh God. I wasn't listening again and I lost the thread. Damn!

‘An atomic shop?' I ask curiously.

‘No… What are you talking about?' he laughs. ‘A comic shop.'

‘That sounds absolutely fascinating,' I stammer, forcing a smile.

He's not unattractive. Quite the opposite. I mean, a little less belly wouldn't hurt. And maybe not turning up for a first date in a T-shirt that says ‘Nerd Power'.

We arrive at my front door earlier than expected, but still too late.

Would you believe it? I'm exhausted.

‘…would be really cool,' I hear him mumbling shyly.

There we go, I did it again. Now I don't know what the hell he was on about.

‘Sure!' I say and he seems really excited, which sets a warning bell ringing.

‘Great! You know, we've organized a Doctor Who Day for Wednesday.'

‘A… A what?'

‘Oh, it's great. We've set up this treasure hunt involving all the local comic shops. We'll spend all day going round them all, and you have to solve riddles related to the characters and the stories, and you won't get the address of the next shop until you've solved the riddle. Then in the evening we'll all meet up at my garage and have a marathon of the Patrick Troughton series as we prepare for the grand finale…'

Mass suicide? I think. And hope. And pray.

‘And what would that be?' I ask instead, not sure if I really want to know the answer.

‘We're going to have a debate and discuss, point by point, the way the characters have changed over the various series.'

‘Wow…' is all I manage to say. The alternative was a dirty word, but that would have seemed rude after he'd gone halves with me on dinner and walked me back to my house because his mum hadn't given him his pocket money this week so we couldn't get a taxi.

‘Yeah,' he gloats, looking at me lasciviously. OK, now I really have to tell him to get inside.

He moves in.

Yep, this is the
perfect
moment to fake a strategic panic attack.

He approaches my lips.
Ughhhh
… Yuck! I close my eyes and pull back, hoping I've gone far enough, when I hear a baritone voice suddenly shatter the wonderfully romantic atmosphere.

‘May I know why you are pestering my wife?'

I raise an eyelid and find myself staring at Thomas, who is frowning at Herbert with his hands tucked in his pockets. What did I miss?

‘Excuse me?' Henry asks, completely obliviously.

‘He's
not
my husband,' I explain. ‘You're not my husband,' I repeat to Thomas, hoping he'll understand from my pleading look this really is no time to be mucking about.

‘Ah, no?' he says, slipping a ring from his ring finger and reading, ‘Thomas Clark and Sandy Price. Sandy Price… That's your name, isn't it?' he asks, turning to me and showing me the ring.

‘Are you two married?' the guy asks again.

‘No, I'm not married, Harvey.'

‘My name's George,' he reminds me, sounding irritated.

‘It's not the first time this has happened,' interjects Thomas. ‘I think it's a way of getting my attention,' he adds, sounding annoyed.

‘I don't believe it! And it's even cost me dinner,' he says, crumpling up the offending bill and throwing it to the ground in disdain.

‘But we're not… it's not what you think, George…‘

Nothing doing. He stomps off without listening. What a disaster!

‘Have you any idea how hard it is to find a shred of a man at Christmas?' I ask, and this time my words are directed at Thomas, who doesn't seem the least bit sorry.

‘Why haven't you answered my messages?' he says, ignoring my protests.

‘Because I didn't listen to them.'

And it's true. Well, partly true. Alright, only slightly… Anyway, he can't prove that it's not, so there!

‘Why not?'

‘Because after what happened, I didn't think having second thoughts was a good idea,' I explain, leaning against my front door.

‘And, once again, you decided without consulting me.' I don't know whether he's more depressed or shocked.

He looks thinner, but that might be the coat. It's been a really punishing winter. Like me, he's all bundled up in scarves, hats and woollen gloves, so it's hard to say what's under there.

‘I thought that you wanted to get back to your life,' I defend myself, launching a kick at a can of pop lying by the curb.

‘You
were
my life.'

At these words I feel my strength fading.

‘Did you really not listen to my messages?' he asks, incredulous.

I nod.

‘Aren't you curious to know what I had to say to you?‘

‘Tell me now,' I murmur, my eyes reddened by the wind.

‘I don't know if I want to now. Why are you crying?' he asks when he notices the tears I'm unsuccessfully trying to hold back.

‘You've already broken my heart once…' I whisper, as the memories come flooding back.

‘So have you.'

And those three simple words floor me.

‘But you hated me.'

‘Of course I did. You were so beautiful, and you wouldn't speak to me. What did you expect?'

‘I was beautiful?' I repeat, in a small voice.

‘As if you didn't know it…' he says sarcastically, but something in my eyes seems to make him reconsider.

‘Didn't you know?'

This time it's a question. He takes a step forward and tries to take my hand, but I pull back and don't let him touch me.

No, I'm not going to fall for it, not this time.

‘Leave me alone. You're just a liar. I saw them, the photos!'

‘What photos?' he asks, looking as though he genuinely has no idea what I'm talking about.

‘The ones Frank sent you. You had me followed. I found out when I got back from London. I didn't want to open that envelope, but I couldn't help myself. I shouldn't have, I know, but it was better that way, at least I found out who you really are,' I say, and I turn around, but my eyes are too blurry with tears for me to get the key in the lock.

‘Wait a minute!'

He puts his hand on my shoulder, but as soon as he touches me I push it away, hoping that will make him stop.

‘Sandy, what photos do you mean?'

‘Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!' I almost shout. ‘The ones you got Frank to take of me with Mike right here, in front of the house.'

‘Is that what he's called? Mike?'

‘Didn't they tell you?'

‘No, they must have forgotten,' he says, rubbing his chin nervously. ‘Sandy, the idea of following you came up long before the two of us began seeing each other. I'd completely forgotten about it. Those pictures meant nothing to me, because I knew that night that you'd chosen me. You could have stayed in London, but you got into your car and drove to Garden House. I won't say that I jumped for joy when I saw them, but we've both made mistakes and that was the perfect opportunity to clean the slate and start from scratch.'

‘You're actually going to tell me that you had no intention of using them against me to contest the will?'

‘Even if I did, you wouldn't believe me. But that's the way it is. And Frank knew it too. He sent them to me because I didn't want anyone having evidence that might cast suspicion on our marriage. If they'd ended up in the wrong hands, they could have been used to prove that it was a sham.'

He seems so sincere, but the more plausible his answers become the harder I find it to listen to them. An uncontrollable form of rejection is growing inside me, and it forces me to interrupt him before he can go any further.

‘You know what? I don't believe you anymore. People don't change, and you're still the same. I've let you take advantage of me too many times. You ruined my childhood, you destroyed my adolescence, I'm not going to let you have the rest.'

‘I destroyed your adolescence? What are you talking about?'

‘That kiss you gave me by the swimming pool. You say that I've broken your heart, but it wasn't me who led
you
on. I didn't humiliate you in front of your friends and treat you like a stranger. Don't you remember? But then, what do I expect? As far as you're concerned, there's no difference between me, Trisha, Sara…'

‘No, hang on – are you really going to bring that up?'

‘Yeah! Pathetic, aren't I?' I snap, sounding terribly bitter.

‘I don't know about pathetic, but you're way off track, that's for sure.'

‘OK, then. I think that we've said everything we've got to say to each other,' I conclude, and go back to fiddling with my keys, which finally decide to enter the keyhole.

‘I don't believe it!' he continues behind me in the meantime. ‘All this is because of something that happened almost ten years ago? And I ruined your adolescence, when it was you who dumped me like an idiot without even deigning to give me an explanation? Are we really talking about that time?'

My hands freeze along with the rest of me.

‘All right,' he resumes, forcing me to turn around. ‘If that's what you want, let's talk about it. Maybe you've forgotten, but that winter I'd lost my parents, so I'd moved to grandfather's house and had spent a year practically never leaving my room. After nearly six months without me saying a word to a soul, summer arrived and, like every year, you came to Garden House with your parents. I don't know if it was because you realized that I was struggling or God knows what else, but for the first time you stopped avoiding me and I slowly started going out again and I owed it all to you, because with you I felt safe. You already knew everything about me. You knew the good and the bad, I didn't have to prove anything to you. And I liked you. I'd always liked you, and I couldn't believe that you finally wanted to spend some time with me. Have you any idea how much courage it took to come over to you in the swimming pool? Have you ever asked yourself how I felt? I was in seventh heaven. Yes, it probably sounds like total bollocks, but I was just a kid and you were the unapproachable one everyone fancied. The next day I didn't even dare
look
at you. I'd spent the entire morning trying to think up pretexts for coming to see you, then when I finally found you, what did you do? You avoided me. You stopped talking to me out of the blue, and I found myself alone again.'

I'm speechless.

‘Funny, right?' he continues. ‘And now, ten years later it's happened again. I'm here in front of you again, looking a fool, only this time you waited until I'd lost my grandfather to do it.'

‘Thomas…'

‘Why didn't you listen to my messages?' he repeats, then shakes his head, turns and walks off towards his car.

‘Thomas, no, wait, don't go…' but this time it's him who brushes away my hand, which I pull back as though I'd burned it.

‘No, forget it. I've already made enough of a fool of myself. Pretend I never came,' he murmurs icily, before guiding his BMW off into the traffic.

And all I can do is go inside.

Sinking into the cushions, I set my vintage answering machine going. The worn tape squeaks as it rewinds. I don't know how many times I've listened to it. It's been my drug, my torment, my guiltiest secret over the last few weeks. It's taken all my strength not to pick up. Not to answer. For the last week I'd actually started ignoring it, deciding that it was just a pointless torture to mull over it every night, and hoping that if I did something would magically change. Yet here I am, giving in once again.

It's time to put an end to this and turn the page. One last time, then erase the tape, and Thomas and me with it. Today, he will go back to being one of my childhood memories, which is what he should have stayed as all along.

Beep

Hello Sandy, it's Thomas. How are you? Are you already in London? I'm still at Garden House. I'm waiting for them to finish the renovation work. It's slowly getting back to business as usual, but I've decided to leave the Mona Lisa in the bathroom. I've actually grown quite fond of it. Let me know how it's going.

Hey, where are you? I've been trying to get in touch with you for a week, but your phone's always off. Everything OK?

Sandy, it's Thomas. I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving for Moscow, but I get back on Monday and I've got a few days off before I have to go to Lisbon. Do you fancy getting a coffee? I'd like to see you again…

Sandy, it's me again, Thomas. Can you call me back? I need to talk to you…

Darling, it's me. I… I really don't understand. I've been thinking about it for days, but I just can't work it out. What happened? Why did you run away on our wedding day? I can't believe it was just because of the will. Did I say or do something wrong? Please call me. I miss you like mad…