Out Late with Friends and Regrets (55 page)

“I know, my love, it’s the worst feeling in the world, being betrayed and having your heart broken.
 
But hang on in there.
 
It’ll hurt for a while, it’ll hurt badly. You just have to believe it’ll get better.”
 
She held Fin’s shoulder as she swallowed the hot whisky, and gave a little squeeze.

“You won’t do anything daft, now.”
 
It was a command.
 
“I’ll be back tomorrow afternoon.
 
Don’t worry, just me.
 
I know you want to be private.
 
Now sleep.”

Rachel turned off the bedside lamp and decended the stairs.
 
Fin heard her open the front door, and close it behind her.

Her whisky dreams were highly coloured, vivid.
 
The feel of Marie came to her, pale and soft, came to her and passed right through her body, leaving only the faint smell of spice and oranges.

It was just like being ill.
 
Waking from a drowse, the return of memory and pain, a creep to the bathroom and back. Curling up and shivering in the womb under the duvet, hoping for the mercy of sleep.

By afternoon, Fin was in the tossing and turning stage, the view of each wall and the ceiling reinforcing her discomfort and despair.
 
She wrapped herself in the duvet and dragged downstairs, wondering whether to make herself a cup of tea.
 
She turned on the television.
 
There was a black and white film on, a drama of love and betrayal, in the throes of unfolding.
 
She stared at the well-crafted suffering on the face of the heroine, glycerine tears sliding down the porcelain cheek on discovering her lover’s perfidy.
 
The slant of a stylish little hat created a black shadow which partially hid one perfectly arched eyebrow, and a veil dappled the cheekbone.
 
A crashing concerto from a very grand piano underlined the emotion of the moment.

Fin almost twitched a smile.

“Come on, dear,” she muttered, “I’m sure you can find a lace-edged handkerchief somewhere in your reticule.”

The heroine duly obliged, and dabbed daintily.
 
Fin pressed the off button on the zapper.
 
She blew her nose, got up to make tea, and the doorbell rang.
 
Clutching her carapace around her, she shuffled to the door, hoping it was Rachel.

Rachel’s grin on seeing her made her feel a little foolish.

“How’s the patient today?” she said, putting two carrier bags inside the door and closing it behind her.

“Bit better, thanks, Rachel.
 
Had a good sleep, thanks to the drink.”

“Well, that’s a real help.
 
I’ve brought a few bits, some soup – I want the containers back, if you wouldn’t mind, next week-end’ll do – milk, and a loaf, and a couple of organic eggs I thought you could have for your tea; even if you don’t feel like eating, you can always manage an egg,
I
think.”

“Rachel, you’re just lovely,” said Fin.

Rachel looked hard at her.

“If you don’t mind my saying, Fin, I think it would be helpful if you took that duvet back upstairs and put a dressing-gown on instead.
 
Give your face a quick wash, and I’ll make a pot of tea.
 
Have you had any breakfast?”

Yes, she did look like shit, Fin thought as she recoiled at her reflection. A broken heart was not a pretty sight.
 
Washed and dressing-gowned she returned downstairs.
 
Rachel had poured the tea, and was spreading the last of the honey on two slices of toast.

“Sit.
 
Eat.” she said.

“I don’t think-”

“Yes you can.
 
You’ve got to turn round and climb up again, and you’re going to need your strength.”

As Fin ate the toast and they both drank tea, Rachel talked family matters.

She’s trying to distract me, thought Fin.
 
Rachel poured her a second cup.

“So what are your immediate plans, Fin?”

Plans.
 
Plans?

“Nothing... just now.
 
Think I need to take some time out before I can...”

“OK, what about the course?”

“Oh... the course.
 
I may not bother going back.”

“So, say you took a week off.
 
How much catching-up would you need to do?”

“Mm, it would be too late to pick it up then.
 
It’s too intensive.”

“So in fact you really need to go back tomorrow.”

“I... I can’t.”

Granny, stern: “There’s no such word as ‘Can’t’, Fiona.”

“Fin, I want you to think about this.
 
Are you going to let this girl take your future away, as well as your present?”

Fin sighed, wishing Rachel would go away.
 
And Granny.

“What are you going to say to your tutors? Would you be telling them why you’re not coming back?”

“Of course not.
 
But in any case, I could just e-mail and say I’m not coming.
 
I don’t have to give a reason.”

“You know what? I think the course might be the best thing for you right now – the only option, in fact.
 
I mean, just look at you.
 
I don’t mean to be harsh, but-”

“You think I’m just going to sit here and feel sorry for myself?”

Rachel did not reply.
 
Fin waited a moment, before saying, “You’re not going to respect me if I don’t go back, are you?”

Rachel was right, she was feeling horribly sorry for herself, and dangerously close to making it a lifestyle choice.

“Oh, Fin.
 
I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s your life, and I’ve no right to interfere.
 
It’s just that you’ve got all this strength, all this potential-”

At least in college the pain wouldn’t be concentrated in the area within the four walls. There would be constant distraction; oh, wouldn’t there just.
 
The struggle to learn difficult things, master strange skills, grind her way through hours of homework, if only she could hold it together.
 
Well, maybe she could.
 
She could work really hard, and catch up with the others.
 
There was no reason why she couldn’t be as good as any of them.
 
No reason, in fact, why she shouldn’t be better than a lot of them.
 
Or even better than most.

Only then did it strike her how much her motivation must have been sapped by Marie, a continuous presence in her consciousness, a daydream constantly blurring her focus.
 
And she hadn’t even realised.
 
She remembered toiling over diagrams of muscle groups, and thinking it didn’t really matter, as long as she could get a few of them memorised.
 
That wasn’t like her.

“I’m sorry, Fin,” said Rachel.
 
“I can see it’s knocked you for six, and you need a bit of recovery time.
 
Everyone’s different.
 
You must think I’m an awful bully.
 
No, you take all the time you need, and you
know
your friends will be there for you all the way.”

Fin stood up.
 
Making a decision had dispelled some of that horrible invalid feeling, and she made Rachel stand up too, to receive a hug.

“I’m going back.
 
You’re right, Rachel, I needed telling.
 
And it’ll do me far more good than sitting here playing the tragedy queen.”

“Now, are you sure about this? I haven’t talked you into it? Quite honestly I think it’ll help, but it has to be your decision, girl.”

Fin took a deep breath.
 
The heaviness in the region of her diaphragm was still there, but she pulled her shoulders back and down, standing in the aligned posture as taught by Pro-Train.
 
They were right, it did make one feel better, and ready for action.
 
She glanced at the clock.

“Oh, hell, it’s half past three.
 
I’ve got to get moving.”

“Hey, steady on there, you’re not going right now are you? Why not leave it till tomorrow?”

“I’d rather travel this evening, and get stuck into the stuff I should have been doing over the weekend.
 
God, I’ve got no kit washed, I need to get a load in, pronto...”

“Heavens, Fin, don’t trample me in the rush! Can I help at all?”

“No, nothing, thanks.
 
Oh Rachel, you’re wonderful.
 
Thank you
so
much.
 
I’ll have the eggs before I go, promise, a nice cheesy omelette, and I’ll think of you as I’m eating it.”

“I’ve never been so pleased to be given a hint to make myself scarce,” said Rachel.
 
“And nor have I ever seen such a turnaround in anybody!”
 
Her face was bright with pleasure.

Fin tried to smile, but it wobbled and didn’t quite work.
 
It was going to take a while, like Rachel said, but if she could channel the hard stuff, make it work for her...
 
She hoped Rachel hadn’t seen the giveaway twitch.

“I’ll just get some money for the groceries, Rachel.”

“You most certainly will not.”

“Oh please...”

“Come on, Fin, allow me the pleasure of feeling I was able to administer a bit of first aid to the wounded, will you?”

“You’re the best.
 
Thank you.”

Now what do you want me to tell Ellie? She’s been seriously worried about you.”

“Ah, that’s- nice.
 
But I don’t think I can speak to her, not just yet.
 
Just give her my love and tell her I’ll be in touch.”
 
In her present vulnerable state the thought of Ellie’s robust sympathy was not comfortable.

After Rachel had left, Fin moved swiftly about her preparations for the week away, and the sheer act of movement, of doing things, helped to process and shed some of the clinging, heavy hurt.
 
It would return, of course, when she was still, but for now she had another direction to take.
 
She ate the omelette on the go, not actually enjoying it, but appreciating its sustenance.
 
She erected the ironing board and began packing her holdall, taking a forkful of supper every few minutes.
 
She set herself a deadline of seven o’clock for leaving the house, and even this small thing helped to keep thoughts of Marie at bay.

Ready.
 
And only half past six.
 
A little victory.

She looked around the living room of her house before taking her bag out to the hall.
 
Marie had always been going to come over, but it had never quite been convenient, with her schedule.
 
It was something Fin had vaguely thought might happen at the point when they decided to move in together, as some day they surely would.
 
She was beginning to realise just how much she had drifted along in Marie’s wake.
 
And her mental picture of Marie had always been against the background of the funny little flat in Grain Street. Now, somehow, it was difficult to imagine her here, in front of Fin’s favourite painting, surrounded by Fin’s things.

No, Marie was Grain Street, Marie was dark, beer-fragrant bars, cradling her guitar, making it sing along with her, the poignancy of the music echoed in her expressive eyes.
 
Totally beguiling.
 
Would she ever play the guitar Fin had bought her?