Turning Thirty (25 page)

There was no sign of Ginny but I could hear music coming from her CD player upstairs and the sound of running water emanating from the bathroom. She was listening to Mahler's third symphony and had it turned up incredibly loud. This, combined with a bath so early in the evening, meant she was trying to cancel out the effects of a really bad day at work.

‘Hello?' I yelled up the stairs, trying to make myself heard above the music. ‘Ginny!'

‘I'm in the bath!' came a muffled voice from behind the bathroom door. ‘Leave me alone until I'm human!'

‘I was just . . .' I tried to work out what to say next. ‘I was just making sure you were all right.'

‘I'm fine,' she yelled back. ‘Long, terrible, torturous day. I'll tell you about it later.'

I left her to it and dropped off the shopping in the kitchen. As I walked through the living room for the second time it occurred to me to check the answerphone in case Ian had called. Sure enough there was a message for her from an agitated Ian asking her to call him urgently on his mobile. He was evidently trying to make sure that he got in his side of the story before I presented mine. I erased the message, put away the shopping, made two mugs of tea and headed upstairs. Ginny was out of the bath and was now in her bedroom drying her hair.

I knocked on her bedroom door. ‘Are you decent?'

‘As I'll ever be,' she said. ‘Come in.'

I pushed open the door with my shoulder. Ginny was sitting on the edge of her bed in her dressing-gown, hair-dryer in hand. ‘What can I do for you, Mr Beckford?'

‘Cup of tea for you, m'lady,' I said. ‘No sugar. No milk. Not too strong. Not too weak.'

‘Just how I like it,' she said, then looked puzzled. ‘What's this in aid of?'

‘Nothing,' I told her. ‘It's just a cup of tea.' I paused. ‘Maybe it's in aid of having such a nice landlady.'

Ginny narrowed her eyes at me. ‘You want to borrow some money, don't you?'

‘No,' I replied. ‘Although if you're giving it away, I'll have some. No, I was just thinking how nice it is when someone does stuff like this. I can stop if you like and be a miserable arse like your good self, if you want.'

Ginny laughed. ‘No, I like this considerate-Matt persona. Is he staying for long?'

‘Dunno. I'm not sure how much mileage there is in being nice.' I took a sip of my tea.

‘I don't know how Elaine ever let you out of her grip, you know.'

I smiled. ‘Did the phone ring while you were in the bath?'

‘No,' said Ginny, rubbing her head with a towel. She stopped and thought again. ‘Actually, come to think of it, yeah, it did. I was so exhausted that there was no way I was getting out to answer it. Was it something important?'

‘No,' I lied. I just wanted to check whether she'd heard from Ian. ‘It was just a message for me. My parents. I just wondered what time they'd called. No one else phoned?'

‘Not to my knowledge,' she said. ‘Anyway, enough of telephone messages. Ask me how my day was.'

‘How was it?'

‘The worst. Everything that could go wrong did go wrong.' She sighed heavily. ‘I'm thinking about running away.'

‘Where to?'

‘Somewhere where life is easier.'

‘Somewhere with a beach, maybe?'

‘Definitely. Somewhere in the Caribbean. I could sit on a beach all day and teach art to the local kids.'

‘You could make collages using shells and seaweed,' I suggested.

‘Excellent.' She smiled. ‘I'd like that. Are you going to come with me?'

‘To your Caribbean island? What for?'

Ginny laughed. ‘Even in Paradise you need your mates with you.'

‘Does that mean we've got to take Gershwin too?'

‘It'd be mean not to.'

We laughed again and there was a moment's silence when I knew I should have told her. But I didn't. Or, rather, I couldn't. ‘What are you up to tonight?' I asked.

‘Ian's busy as usual. How about you?'

‘Nothing much.'

She looked at me thoughtfully. ‘You've got the I-want-to-go-back-to-America blues again, haven't you? I can tell.'

I pulled a face, signalling that this was still something of a sore point. ‘Are you hungry?' I asked.

‘Is that an offer to cook?'

‘It might be,' I said. ‘What do you fancy?'

‘Comfort food,' she said.

‘You want comfort food?' I repeated.

Ginny looked puzzled. ‘That's not such a strange request, Matt, really. What I'd love right now would be potato products like frozen waffles or hash brown or Alphabites, beans and a fried egg. With a dash of tomato ketchup.'

‘That's all?'

‘And someone to slob out in front of the TV with for the rest of the evening so that I don't feel alone in loserdom.'

‘Okay,' I said, relieved. ‘I'll sort out your potato products and baked beans and a fried egg.'

‘What about the someone to watch TV with?'

‘Will I do?'

‘Definitely.'

‘And can we play
ER live!
again?'

‘Of course.'

It was now eleven thirty in the evening. Ginny and I had eaten our stodgy dinner. We'd watched endless crap TV. Played
ER live!
And I still hadn't got round to telling her what I knew. So it wasn't until she yawned and said, ‘Right, I'm off to bed,' that I decided to speak.

‘I saw Ian in Safeway this afternoon.'

‘You see everyone in Safeway,' said Ginny. ‘Did you say hello?'

‘He was with a woman,' I replied.

There was a barely detectable pause and then she bounced back, ‘Don't tell me Ian's got his own supermarket stalker,' and laughed. But by then it was too late. As brief as the pause had been it made everything click into place.

‘You already know, don't you?'

‘About lan being in the supermarket?' she bluffed.

I looked into her eyes and I could see I was right. ‘You already know he's married, don't you?'

‘I've always known,' she said, then bit her lip as tears filled her eyes.

I put my arms around her and gave her a hug. Neither of us said another word until her tears had subsided. When they eventually did, I stood up and got both our coats from the hallway.

‘Let's go,' I said, handing her her denim jacket.

‘Where to?'

I smiled, took her hand and kissed the top of her head. ‘We're running away.'

‘Parks are weird at night,' said Ginny, ‘but weird in a good kind of way.'

‘I know what you mean,' I replied. ‘It's like the whole place is here just for us.'

As if on autopilot we'd walked from Ginny's house to King's Heath park, which, although it was past midnight, was still inviting. As soon as we got there Ginny said, ‘Let's go to our bench,' and I thought that was a good idea. The bench was an old wooden one overlooking the fountain in the centre of the park. Back when we were exam-stressed teenagers the seven of us had met up there for a break between revision. It was hard to believe it was still here after all this time. I would have bet good money on vandals having had their evil way with it a long time ago, but although it had suffered the ravages of schoolkids armed with marker pens and knives, it hadn't suffered too badly.

‘So are you going to tell me how all this happened?'I asked, after a few moments had passed. ‘You don't have to if you don't want to. We can just sit here if you like. But if you do want to talk then, well, I can listen.'

She was quiet for quite a long time. All the time we had been walking, mainly in silence, I'd been thinking about Ginny's situation and how it must be affecting her. It was obvious that she had probably been holding back the tears since they'd had first begun the relationship.

‘It's like I said,' she replied numbly. ‘It's all my fault.'

‘What do you mean?' I asked.

‘It's the way I am. I've got friends who, when they see a good-looking bloke, think, I'll have some of that! I always feel like a fake when I join in because you could put a naked, greased-up male go-go dancer in front of me and, frankly, I'd be more interested in whether he could make a decent cup of tea. It's my fault I'm like this. I don't find strangers attractive. Not at all. They do nothing for me. If I don't know anything about a guy I'm not interested.' She stopped and glanced at me. I met her eyes briefly and then she looked away. ‘Anyway, I'd been single for a while. I think I just got tired of putting all that energy into relationships when I knew right from the start that they weren't going anywhere. So I focused on my friends and I focused on work and I focused on Mum . . .'

‘And then?'

She looked up at me again. ‘And then lan started supply teaching at King's Heath.'

‘In the geography department?'

‘You know that,' she replied, and gave me a half-smile acknowledging that I was teasing her. ‘I couldn't stand him at first. I'd have a conversation with him and would come away feeling like he was playing games with me. I can't explain it, really. But whether it was out of curiosity or persistence, he grew on me and we started going for drinks after work. Then we built up a real friendship – a solid friendship. A friendship that continued after he moved to a different school. He was a really good friend to me when Mum died. I was finding it hard to cope with things, and he always seemed to be there at the right time to pick up the pieces. He sort of made himself indispensable – filling in all the gaps in my life. Nothing had happened between us at that point, but I knew I was falling in love with him. Then, one evening last summer, we were round at mine sitting in the garden, and the sun was going down and I looked at him and at that moment I knew he was it – and, well, here we are now.'

‘When did you find out he was married?'

Her voice became smaller, quieter. ‘He told me that night. I know this is going to sound pathetic but he told me right after the first kiss.'

‘And?'

‘And by then it was too late.'

‘What do you mean too late?'

‘I'd fallen in love,' she replied unsteadily.

I put my arms round her. ‘It's all right,' I said, holding her tightly. ‘It's all right.'

‘It's not all right,' she said, between sobs. ‘It's not all right at all. I know I sound really flippant about all this but I'm not. I can't begin to tell you how much this hurts. I've tried to end it a million times but I can't. I love him. It's so stupid. It's so pointless.' She stopped and allowed herself the benefit of a really good cry. ‘I hate how this makes me feel. I feel like a right bitch and I'm not. I'm not.
I
don't do these kinds of things. That's why I haven't told anyone else. The only reason I even introduced him as my boyfriend when you and I bumped into each other on Gershwin's birthday was because I thought I wouldn't see you again after that night. I can't stand to have people think of me like that. I can't stand to have
you
think of me like that.'

‘It's okay,' I said. ‘I don't think of you like that at all, I promise.'

‘Why am I doing this? He's got a kid, you know – a little boy.'

‘I take it his wife – Susanna – doesn't know?'

She shook her head. ‘No. I've met her – which is worse. Ian used to tell her he was working with me on a project for the lower school as an excuse for us to meet. Then one day she suggested that he invite me round for dinner and Ian couldn't say no without it looking suspicious. It was horrible, one of the worst nights of my life.'

‘So where does Ian tell her he is when he's with you?'

‘Out with his mates, playing five-a-side, working on his Ph.D. at the library. You name it – he's probably used the excuse.'

‘Is he going to leave her?'

‘No. He made that clear from the start. He says he loves her in his own way, and he loves his little boy, Jake, more than anything. He's not going to mess that up for me, no matter how much he loves me.'

‘And he does love you?' I didn't want to ask this question, but I needed to be sure.

‘Yeah, he does,' she said. ‘When I've tried to end it before he's been in tears trying to get me to stay with him.' She paused. ‘It's funny, but I only told him about you and me being not-quite-but-nearly-exes last week and I was surprised. He was actually jealous, even though it was years ago.'

We carried on talking for the next quarter of an hour or so. I didn't say much, just the odd comment here and there, but she must have realised that I was being quiet so she asked me the one question I really didn't want to answer.

‘What do you think I should do?'

When friends ask that question they never want you to tell them what
you
think they should do, they want you to tell them that the decision they've already made is the right one. It's only natural. It'd be exactly the same for me. But if I'd learned anything from the time I'd been with Elaine it was this: what you
want
to hear is rarely, if ever, what's good for you. That's why if I ever asked Elaine that question she'd always give me her honest opinion, even if it hurt. It was one of the qualities I most admired about her.

‘You know you've got to stop seeing him, don't you?' I said.