Текст книги "One Day"

Автор книги: David Nicholls

Соавторы: David Nicholls
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

‘Excuse me, but don’t I know you from somewhere?’

A hand on her arm, a voice behind her. Dexter was crouching by her side, grinning woozily, a bottle of champagne in his hand.

Emma held out her glass.

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’

With a squeal of feedback, the band began to play and all attention turned to the dance floor, where Malcolm and Tilly were frugging to their special song, ‘Brown-Eyed Girl’, twisting rheumatically at the hips, four thumbs held aloft.

‘Good God. When did we all start dancing like old people?’

‘Speak for yourself,’ said Dexter, perching on a chair.

‘Can you dance?’

‘You don’t remember?’

Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t mean on a podiumwith a whistle and your shirt off, I mean proper dancing.’

‘Course I can.’ He took her hand. ‘Want me to prove it?’

‘Maybe later.’ They were having to shout now. Dexter stood and tugged on her hand. ‘Let’s go somewhere. Just you and me.’

‘Where?’

‘I don’t know. Apparently, there’s a maze.’

‘A maze?’ A moment, then she stood. ‘Well why didn’t you say?’

They took two glasses and discreetly stepped out of the marquee and into the night. It was still warm, and bats were swooping overhead in the inky summer air as they walked arm in arm through the rose garden towards the maze.

‘So how does it feel?’ she asked. ‘Losing an old flame to the arms of another man.’

‘Tilly Killick’s not an old flame.’

‘Oh, Dexter. .’ Emma shook her head slowly. ‘When will you learn?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Must have been, let me see. . December 1992, that flat in Clapton. The one that smelt of fried onions.’

Dexter winced. ‘How do you know about these things?’

‘Well when I left to go to Woolworths you were massaging each other’s feet with my best olive oil and when I got backfrom Woolworths she was crying and there were olive oil footprints all over my best rug and the sofa and on the kitchen table and half way up the wall too, I remember. So I carefully examined the forensic evidence and came to that conclusion. Oh, also, you left your birth control device at the top of the kitchen bin, so that was nice.’

‘Did I? Sorry about that.’

‘Plus the fact that she told me.’

‘Did she?’ He shook his head, betrayed. ‘That was meant to be our secret!’

‘Women talk about these things you know. It’s no use swearing them to secrecy, it all comes out in the end.’

‘I’ll remember that in future.’

Now they had arrived at the entrance to the maze, a neatly trimmed privet hedge affair, a good ten feet high, its entrance marked by a heavy wooden door. Emma paused, her hand on the iron handle. ‘Is this a good idea?’

‘How hard can it be?’

‘And if we got lost?’

‘We’ll use the stars or something.’ The door creaked open. ‘Right or left?’

‘Right,’ said Emma, and they stepped into the maze. The high hedges were lit at ground level with different coloured lights, and the air had that summer smell, thick and heady, almost oily from the warm leaves. ‘Where’s Sylvie?’

‘Sylvie’s okay, she’s being Callumed. He’s being the life and soul, the charming Oirish millionaire. I thought I’d leave them to it. I can’t compete with him anymore. Too tiring.’

‘He’s doing very well, you know.’

‘So everyone tells me.’

‘Crayfish, apparently.’

‘I know. He just offered me a job.’

‘Crayfish wrangler?’

‘Don’t know yet. He wants to talk to me about “opportunities”. Business is people he said, whatever that means.’

‘But what about Sport Xtreme?

‘Ah,’ Dexter laughed and rubbed his hair with one hand. ‘You’ve seen it then?’

‘Never missed an episode. You know me, there’s nothing I like more in the early hours of the morning than stuff about BMX. My favourite bit is when you say that things are “rad”—’

‘They makeme say that stuff.’

‘“Rad” and “sweet”. “Check out these sweet, old skool moves—”’

‘I think I get away with it.’

‘Not always, pal. Left or right?’

‘Left, I think.’ They walked a little way in silence, listening to the muffled thump of the band playing ‘Superstition’. ‘How’s the writing going?’

‘Oh, it’s okay, when I do it. Most of the time I just sit around eating biscuits.’

‘Stephanie Shaw says they gave you an advance.’

‘Just a bit of money, enough to last ’til Christmas. Then we’ll see. Back to teaching full-time probably.’

‘And what’s it about? This book.’

‘Not sure yet.’

‘It’s about me, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Dexter, it’s a whole thick book entirely about you. It’s called “Dexter Dexter Dexter Dexter Dexter”. Right or left?’

‘Let’s try a left.’

‘Actually it’s just a book for kids. Teenagers. Boys, relationships, that kind of thing. It’s about a school play, that production of Oliver!I did all those years ago. A comedy.’

‘Well you look very well on it.’

‘Do I?’

‘Absolutely. Some people look better, some people look worse. You are definitely looking better.’

‘Miffy Buchanan tells me I’ve finally lost my puppy-fat.’

‘She’s just jealous. You look great.’

‘Thank you. Want me to say you look better too?’

‘If you think you can pull it off.’

‘Well you do. Left?’

‘Left.’

‘Better than during your rock and roll years anyway. When you were giving-it-large or whatever it was you were doing.’ They walked a little way in silence, until Emma spoke again. ‘I was worried about you.’

‘Were you?’

‘We all were.’

‘Just a phase. Everybody’s got to have a phase like that, haven’t they? Go a bit wild.’

‘Do they? I haven’t. Hey, I hope you’ve stopped wearing that annoying flat cap too.’

‘I haven’t worn a hat for years.’

‘Pleased to hear it. We were thinking about staging an intervention.’

‘You know how it is, you start with the soft hats, just for kicks, then before you know it, you’re into flat caps, trilbies, bowlers. .’

Another junction. ‘Right or left?’ she said.

‘No idea.’

They peered in either direction. ‘Amazing, isn’t it, how quickly this stopped being fun.’

‘Let’s sit down shall we? Over there.’

A small marble bench had been set into the hedge walls, lit from beneath by a blue fluorescent light, and they sat on the cool stone, filled their glasses, tapped them together and bumped shoulders.

‘God, I almost forgot. .’ Dexter reached into his trouser pocket, and very carefully removed a folded napkin, held it in his palm like a conjurer and unfolded it, a corner at a time. Nestling in the napkin like birds’ eggs, were two crumpled cigarettes.

‘From Cal,’ he whispered, awed. ‘Want one?’

‘No thank you. Haven’t touched one for years.’

‘Well done you. I’ve stopped too, officially. But I feel safe here. .’ He lit the contraband, his hand shaking stagily. ‘She can’t find me here. .’ Emma laughed. The champagne and the solitude had lifted their mood, and both were now feeling sentimental, nostalgic, exactly as they should feel at a wedding, and they smiled at each other through the smoke. ‘Callum says that we’re the “Marlboro-Light-Generation”.’

‘God, that’s depressing.’ Emma sniffed. ‘A whole generation defined by a brand of fag. I’d sort of hoped for more.’ She smiled, and turned to Dexter. ‘So. How are you these days?’

‘I’m fine. Bit more sensible.’

‘Sex in toilet cubicles lose its bittersweet charm?’

He laughed and examined the tip of the cigarette. ‘I just had to get something out of my system, that’s all.’

‘And is it out now?’

‘Think so, most of it.’

‘Because of true love?’

‘Partly. Also I’m thirty-four now. At thirty-four you start to run out of excuses.’

‘Excuses?’

‘Well, if you’re twenty-two and you’re fucking up, you can say, it’s okay I’m only twenty-two. I’m only twenty-five, I’m only twenty-eight. But “I’m only thirty-four”?’ He sipped from his glass, and leant back into the hedge. ‘It’s like everyone has a central dilemma in their life, and mine was can you be in a committed, mature, loving adult relationship and still get invited to threesomes?’

‘And what’s the answer, Dex?’ she asked, solemnly.

‘The answer is no, you can’t. Once you’ve worked that out, it all gets a bit simpler.’

‘It’s true; an orgy won’t keep you warm at night.’

‘An orgy won’t care for you when you’re old.’ He took another sip. ‘Anyway, it’s not even as if I was getting invited to any in the first place, just making a fool of myself, screwing things up. Screwed up my career, screwed up with Mum—’

‘—well that’s not true—’

‘—screwed up all my friendships.’ For emphasis, Dexter leant against her arm, and she leant back against his. ‘I just thought it was time to do things properly for once. And now I’ve met Sylvie, and she’s great, she really is, and she keeps me on the straight and narrow.’

‘Well she’s a lovely girl.’

‘She is. She is.’

‘Very beautiful. Serene.’

‘A little bit scary sometimes.’

‘She’s got a lovely, warm sort of Leni Riefenstahl quality to her.’

‘Lenny who?’

‘Doesn’t matter.’

‘Of course she’s got absolutely no sense of humour.’

‘Well that’s a relief. I think a sense of humour’s over-rated,’ said Emma. ‘Goofing it up all the time, it’s boring. Like Ian. ’Cept Ian wasn’t funny. No, much better to have somebody you really fancy, someone who’ll rub your feet.’

He tried and failed to imagine Sylvie touching his feet. ‘She told me once that she never laughs because she doesn’t like what it does to her face.’

Emma gave a low chuckle. ‘Wow’ was all she could say. ‘Wow. But you love her, right?’

‘I adore her.’

‘Adore. Well “adore” is even better.’

‘She’s sensational.’

‘She is.’

‘And she’s really turned things around for me too. I’m off the drugs and booze and not smoking.’ She glanced at the bottle in his hand, the cigarette in his mouth. He smiled. ‘Special occasion.’

‘So true love found you in the end.’

‘Something like that.’ He filled her glass. ‘How about you?’

‘Oh, I’m fine. I’m fine.’ As a distraction, she stood. ‘Let’s keep walking, shall we? Left or right?’

‘Right.’ With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet. ‘Do you still see Ian?’

‘Not for years now.’

‘Nobody else on the horizon?’

‘Don’t you start, Dexter.’

‘What?’

‘Sympathy for the spinster. I’m perfectly content, thank you. And I refuse to be defined by my boyfriend. Or lack of.’ She was starting to speak with real zeal now. ‘Once you decide not to worry about that stuff anymore, dating and relationships and love and all that, it’s like you’re free to get on with real life. And I’ve got my work, and I love that. I’ve got I reckon one more year to really make a go of it. The money’s tiny, but I’m free. I go to the movies in the afternoon.’ She paused momentarily. ‘Swimming! I swim a lot. I swim and I swim and I swim, mile after mile. God, I fucking hate swimming. Turn left, I think.’

‘You know, I feel the same. Not about swimming, I mean about not having to dateanymore. Since I’ve been with Sylvie, it’s like I’ve freed up this vast amount of time and energy and mental space.’

‘And what do you do with it all, this mental space?’

‘Play Tomb Raidermostly.’

Emma laughed, and walked a little further in silence, worrying that she was coming across as less self-contained and empowered than she had intended. ‘And anyway, it’s not like I’m completely, you know, boring and, and loveless. I have my moments. I had this thing with a guy called Chris. Called himself a dentist but he was really just a hygienist.’

‘What happened to Chris?’

‘Just fizzled out. Just as well. I was convinced that he was always staring at my teeth. Kept nagging me to floss, Emma, floss.Going on a date was like going for a check-up. Too much pressure. And before that there was Mr Godalming.’ She shuddered. ‘Mr Godalming. What a disaster.’

‘Who was Mr Godalming?’

‘Another time. Left, right?’

‘Left.’

‘Anyway, if I ever get really desperate, there’s always your offer to fall back on.’

Dexter stopped walking. ‘What offer?’

‘Do you remember you used to say if I was still single when I got to forty you’d marry me?’

‘Did I say that?’ He winced. ‘Bit patronising.’

‘I thought so at the time. But don’t worry, I don’t think it’s legally binding or anything, I’m not going to hold you to it. Besides, there’s still seven years to go. Plenty of time. .’ She began walking again, but Dexter stood still behind her, rubbing his head like a boy who is about to reveal that he’s broken the best vase.

‘I’m afraid I’m sort of going to have to withdraw the offer anyway.’

She stopped and turned.

‘Oh really? Why’s that?’ she said, but a part of her knew already.

‘I’m engaged.’

Emma blinked once, very slowly.

‘Engaged to what?’

‘To be married. To Sylvie.’

A moment passed, perhaps half a second when their faces said what they felt, and then Emma was smiling, laughing, her arms around his neck. ‘Oh, Dexter. That’s amazing! Congratulations!’ and she went to kiss his cheek just as he turned his head, their mouths glancing for a moment so that they tasted the champagne on each other’s lips.

‘You’re pleased?’

‘Pleased? I’m destroyed! But really, seriously, that’s fantastic news.’

‘You think so?’

‘More than fantastic, it’s, it’s. . rad! It’s rad and sweet. It’s old skool!’

He stepped back from her and searched inside his jacket. ‘In fact, that’s why I dragged you in here. I wanted to give you this in person—’

A thick envelope of heavy lilac paper. Emma took it gingerly, and peered inside. The envelope was quilted with tissue paper and the invitation itself had hand-torn edges and seemed to be made of some sort of papyrus or parchment. ‘Now that—’ Emma balanced it like a table on her upturned fingertips ‘– that is what I call a wedding invitation.’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘That is some elaborate stationery.’

‘Eight quid each.’

‘That’s more than my car.’

‘Smell it, go on. .’

‘Smell it?’ Warily, she held it to her nose. ‘It’s scented! Your wedding invitations are scented?’

‘It’s meant to be lavender.’

‘No, Dex – it’s money. It smells of money.’ Carefully, she opened the card, and he watched her as she read, remembering the way she used her fingertips to brush her fringe across her forehead. ‘“Mr and Mrs Lionel Cope invite you to the marriage of their daughter Sylvie to Mr Dexter Mayhew—” I can’t believe I’m actually seeing this in print. Saturday, September 14th. Hang on, that’s only. .’

‘Seven weeks away. .’ and he kept watching her face, that fantastic face to see how it might change when he told her.

‘Seven weeks? I thought these things were years in the making?’

‘Well they are usually, but I think this is what they call a shotgun wedding. .’

Emma frowned, not quite there yet.

‘For three hundred and fifty guests. With Ceilidh.’

‘You mean?. .’

‘Sylvie’s sort of pregnant. Well not sort of. She is. Pregnant. Actually pregnant. With a baby.’

‘Oh, Dexter!’ Once again, her face was against his. ‘Do you know the father? I’m kidding! Congratulations, Dex. God, aren’t you meant to space your bombshells out a bit, not just drop them all at once?’ She held his face in both hands, looked at it. ‘You’re getting married?—’

‘Yes!’

‘—and you’re going to be a father?’

‘I know! Fuck me – a father!’

‘Is that allowed? I mean will they let you?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Don’t suppose you’ve still got that cigarette, have you?’ He reached into his pocket for her. ‘How’s Sylvie about it?’

‘She’s delighted! I mean she’s worried that it’ll make her look fat.’

‘Well I suppose that is a possibility. .’

He lit her cigarette. ‘. . but she wants to get on with it, get married, have kids, make a start. She doesn’t want to end up mid-thirties and all alone—’

‘Like ME!!!’

‘Exactly, she doesn’t want to end up like you!’ He took her hand. ‘That’s not what I meant, of course.’

‘I know. I’m kidding. Dexter, congratulations.’

‘Thank you. Thank you.’ A momentary pause. ‘Let me have a go on that, will you?’ he said as he took the last cigarette from her mouth, placing it between his own lips. ‘Here, look at this. .’ From his wallet, he unfolded a square of smudgy paper, and held it down to the sodium light. ‘It’s the twelve-week scan. Isn’t that incredible?’

Emma took the scrap of paper and peered at it dutifully. The beauty of the ultrasound scan is something that only parents can appreciate, but Emma had seen these things before and knew what was required of her. ‘Beautiful,’ she sighed, though in truth it could have been a Polaroid of the inside of his pocket.

‘See – that’s its spine.’

‘Great spine.’

‘You can even make out the tiny little fingers.’

‘Awww. Boy or girl?’

‘Girl, I hope. Or boy. Don’t care. But you think it’s a good thing?’

‘Absolutely. I think it’s wonderful. Fucking hell, Dexter, I turn my back for one minute. .!’

She hugged him once again, her arms high round his neck. She felt drunk, full of affection and a certain sadness too, as if something was coming to an end. She wanted to say something along these lines, but thought it best to do this through a joke. ‘Of course you’ve just destroyed any chance I had of future happiness, but I’m delighted for you, really.’

He twisted his head to look at her, and suddenly something was moving between them, something alive and vibrating in his chest.

Emma placed her hand there. ‘Is that your heart?’

‘It’s my mobile.’

She stepped back and allowed him to retrieve his phone from his inside pocket. Glancing at the display, he gave his head a little sobering shake, and guiltily handed Emma the cigarette, as if it were a smoking gun. Quickly he recited, ‘Don’t sound drunk don’t sound drunk,’ assumed a tele-sales smile and answered.

‘Hello, my love!’

Emma could hear Sylvie through the receiver. ‘Where areyou?’

‘I’ve sort of got lost.’

‘Lost? How can you get lost?’

‘Well, I’m in a maze, so—’

‘A maze? What are you doing in a maze?’

‘Just. . you know. . hanging out. We thought it would be fun.’

‘Well as long as you’rehaving fun, Dex. I’m stuck here listening to some old dear bang on about New Zealand. .’

‘I know, and I’ve been trying to get out for ages, it’s just, well you know – it’s like a maze in here!’ He giggled, but there was silence from the phone. ‘Hello? Are you still there? Can you hear me?’

‘Are you with anyone, Dexter?’ said Sylvie, her voice low.

He glanced at Emma, still pretending to be captivated by the ultrasound scan. He thought for a moment, then turned his back to her and lied. ‘Actually there’s a whole gang of us in here. We’re going to give it another fifteen minutes, then we’re going to dig a tunnel, and if that doesn’t work we’re going to eat someone.’

‘Thank God, here’s Callum. I’m going to talk to Callum. Hurry up, will you?’

‘Okay. I’m on my way. Bye, darling, bye!’ He hung up. ‘Did I sound drunk then?’

‘Not in the least.’

‘We’ve got to get out of here right now.’

‘Fine by me.’ She looked in both directions, hopeless. ‘We should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.’ As if in answer, there was a hum, a click, and each of the lights that illuminated the maze clicked off one by one, plunging them into darkness.

‘That’s handy,’ said Dexter. They stood still for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the gloom. The band were playing ‘It’s Raining Men’, and they listened hard to the muffled sound as if it held a clue to their whereabouts.

‘We should get back,’ said Emma. ‘Before it starts raining men.’

‘Good idea.’

‘There’s a trick, isn’t there?’ said Emma. ‘As I remember it, you put your left hand on the wall, and as long as you don’t let go, you get out eventually.’

‘Then let’s do it!’ He poured the last two glasses from the champagne bottle and placed the empty bottle on the grass. Emma removed her heels, placed her fingertips on the hedge and, a little gingerly at first, they began to walk along the dim corridor of leaves.

‘So you’ll come? To my wedding.’

‘Of course I will. I can’t promise not to disrupt the service, mind.’

‘It should have been me!’ They both smiled in the darkness and walked a little further.

‘As a matter of fact, I was going to ask you a favour.’

‘Please, please, don’t ask me to be the Best Man, Dex.’

‘It’s not that, it’s just I’ve been trying to write a speech for ages now, and I was wondering if you might give me a hand?’

‘No!’ laughed Emma.

‘Why not?’

‘I just think it’ll carry less emotional weight if it’s written by me. Just write what you honestly feel.’

‘Well I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. “I’d like to thank the caterers, and by the way I’m scared shitless.”’ He squinted into the darkness. ‘Are you sure this is working? It feels like we’re going further in.’

‘Trust me.’

‘Anyway, I don’t want you to write the whole thing, just give it a polish. .’

‘Sorry, you’re on your own there.’ They came to a halt at a three-way junction.

‘We’ve definitely been here before.’

‘Just trust me. We keep going.’

They walked on in silence. Nearby the band had segued into Prince’s ‘1999’, to cheers from the guests. ‘When I first heard this song,’ said Emma, ‘I thought it was science-fiction. 1999. Hover cars and food in pill form and holidays on the moon. Now it’s here and I’m still driving a Fiat bloody Panda. Nothing’s changed.’

‘’Cept I’m a family man now.’

‘A family man. Good God, aren’t you scared?’

‘Sometimes. But then you look at some of the idiots who manage to raise kids. I keep telling myself, if Miffy Buchanan can do it, how hard can it be?’

‘You can’t take babies to cocktail bars, you know. They get funny about that kind of thing.’

‘S’okay. I’m going to learn to love staying in.’

‘But you’re happy?’

‘Yeah? I think I am. Are you?’

‘Happier. Happyish.’

‘Happyish. Well, happyish isn’t so bad.’

‘It’s the most we can hope for.’ The fingertips of her left hand passed across the surface of a statute that seemed familiar, and now Emma knew exactly where they were. Turning right, and then left would bring them out into the rose garden again, back into the party, back to his fiancée and their friends, and there would be no more time to talk. She suddenly felt a startling sadness, so stopped for a moment, turned and took both of Dexter’s hands in her own.

‘Can I say something? Before we go back to the party?’

‘Go on.’

‘I’m a little drunk.’

‘Me too. That’s okay.’

‘Just. . I missed you, you know.’

‘I missed you too.’

‘But so, somuch, Dexter. There were so many things I wanted to talk to you about, and you weren’t there—’

‘Same here.’

‘And I feel a little guilty, sort of running away like that.’

‘Did you? I didn’t blame you. There were times when I was being a little. . obnoxious.’

‘More than a little, you were bloody awful—’

‘I know—’

‘Selfish, and stuck-up and boring actually—’

‘Yes, you’ve made that point—’

‘But even so. I should have stuck it out a bit, what with your mum and everything—’

‘That’s no excuse though.’

‘Well, no, but it was bound to give you a knock.’

‘I’ve still got that letter you wrote. It’s a very beautiful letter, I appreciated it.’

‘But still, I should have tried harder to get in touch. You’re meant to stick by your friends aren’t you? Take the blow.’

‘I don’t blame you—’

‘But even so.’ To her embarrassment, she found that there were tears in her eyes.

‘Hey, hey, what’s up, Em?’

‘I’m sorry, drunk too much is all. .’

‘Come here.’ He put his arms around her, his face against the bare skin of her neck, smelling shampoo and damp silk, and she breathed into his neck, his aftershave and sweat and alcohol, the smell of his suit, and they stood like this for a while until she caught her breath and spoke.

‘I tell you what it is. It’s. . when I didn’t see you, I thought about you every day, I mean every dayin some way or another—’

‘Same here—’

‘—even if it was just “I wish Dexter could see this” or “where’s Dexter now?” or “Christ, that Dexter, what an idiot”, you know what I mean, and seeing you today, well, I thought I’d got you back – my bestfriend. And now all this, the wedding, the baby – I’m so, so happy for you, Dex. But it feels like I’ve lost you again.’

‘Lost – how?’

‘You know what happens, you have a family, your responsibilities change, you lose touch with people—’

‘Not necessarily—’

‘No really, it happens all the time, I know it. You’ll have different priorities, and all these new friends, nice young couples that you met at ante-natal classes who’ll have babies too and understand, or you’ll be too tired because you’ve been up all night—’

‘Actually, we’re going to have one of those babies that aren’t too much trouble. Just leave them in a room apparently. With a tin opener, a little gas stove.’ He could feel her laughter against his chest, and at that moment he thought that there was no better feeling than making Emma Morley laugh. ‘It won’t be like that, I promise.’

‘Do you?’

‘Absolutely.’

She pulled away to look at him. ‘You swear? No more disappearing?’

‘I won’t if you won’t.’

Their lips touched now, mouths pursed tight, their eyes open, both of them stock still. The moment held, a kind of glorious confusion.

‘What’s the time?’ said Emma, twisting her face away in panic.

Dexter tugged his sleeve and looked at his watch. ‘Just coming up to midnight.’

‘Well! We should go.’

They walked on in silence, unsure about what had happened and what would happen next. Two more turnings brought them once again to the exit of the maze, and back to the party. Emma was about to open the heavy oak door when he took her hand.

‘Em?’

‘Dex?’

He wanted to take hold of her hand and walk back into the maze. He would turn his phone off, and they would just stay in there until the party was over, get lost and talk about all that had happened.

‘Friends again?’ he said eventually.

‘Friends again.’ She let go of his hand. ‘Now, let’s go and find your fiancée. I want to congratulateher.’