Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

We sat at a long white table in the garden. He arched his eyebrow at a gravy stain on my linen napkin. That would have been your dress, honey. He touched the lace.

It’s vintage lace, I said. He whispered that he didn’t give a fuck what it was, he’d be ripping it off me later.

A glass was tapped, and my dad stood.

Happy wedding day, darling daughter. I remember when you were six years old, running around in this garden. It’s hard to believe that we’re all here now, in the exact same place, to celebrate your marriage to a man that I’m proud to call my son. When you announced that you were moving here, to the house that we lived in all those years ago, I didn’t know what to think. And then Ruth decided to move here too!

The room laughed, and Ruth toasted herself.

Dad concluded: What a strange and misunderstood thing time is. Please be upstanding for—Enola, are you taking his name?

There’s the sound of the train again.

I turned to him, but there was just a bright light and loud noise and everyone was waiting for my answer. I told Dad that I was still thinking about it.

It’s getting louder.

Don’t worry too much, my girl. What’s for you won’t go by you. From far away in space, all of this has already happened.

Meaning?

You didn’t have a choice.

He reached for a kiwi and threw it to me.

M Y HEAD IS THROBBING . I can hear Ruth saying, Eat something, Laa. It’s gone six and all I’ve had is an apple. I go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of cereal but the flakes are stale, and I imagine them in my stomach like dead leaves in a puddle. I leave the bowl and go back to the bedroom where I find my painkillers in the drawer and take two. There is a modicum of relief in knowing that I’ve solved one problem, until, at the back of the drawer by an unopened packet of condoms, I notice the CD he made me for my twenty-eighth birthday.

I always assumed I’d have my life figured out by the time I was thirty. I thought I would have a stable job. I thought I would be in a real relationship. I thought I would know how to work the oven timer. The generation below evaluate us the way that we evaluate our parents. They talk like we’re a completed, finished thing: millennials. But I’m not finished, I’m incomplete, I’m temporized, with a bruise on my collarbone darkening like fruit.

Well, this is going pretty well, isn’t it?

H E HAD BEEN IN Norwich for ten days and I was crouched like a goblin between my bookshelf and wardrobe. We hadn’t spoken since I’d called from the club, and there were three unread messages on his phone from me. On mine, one from Amy:

Enola, I need to know if he’s coming to the evening do. Please let me know by tonight!! x

I was hoping to bring up the subject of Amy’s wedding again when he was back, but I still didn’t know when that would be, and at this point, I had to admit the loss.

Hey, Ames, sorry but no he can’t. Thanks so much though! x

I remembered his arms as the sun went down, the Tusker on his breath, our laughter in snorkeling goggles. How had we gone from that to this? Was he even going to tell me that he loved me that night? Or had he got to Norwich and realized that it was just too much work?

The buzzer went, and I rushed to the intercom and waited.

Oh dear, Ruth said when she saw me.

I sunk back down in the corner while Ruth raised the blinds. That’s better, she said, injecting morning into the room. Then she made the bed, positioning cushions haphazardly and pulling the duvet too high (Ruth never made her own bed). She sat cross-legged on the floor and took my hand. They said you called in sick. What happened?

I shrugged. I just feel sad.

Ruth paused while she thought about how to say what she wanted to. Enola, I know that you don’t want to talk about it, but I really think you should. Going back to Kenya must have triggered—

Don’t use that word. It was a holiday, not Vietnam.

Ruth dropped her chin and smiled. Laa, there is a sliding scale from drama queen to war veteran.

I told her that the trip had been hard on occasion, but that I wasn’t triggered . She traced my palm and asked if I had eaten. I shook my head. She asked if I had spoken to my mum yet, and I shook my head again. Ruth looked down. I know that you loved your dad, but I think maybe you should— Her eyes drifted to my arms, to the little marks. I snatched my hand back.

Enola, when did—

I don’t want to talk about it!

Okay, but—

Roo, stop! You’re looking me like I’m… Yes, I’m picking, and yes, I appreciate that it’s anxious behavior, but I’m not taking a knife to my skin. I just scar easily, okay? The sun turned them brown. That’s all.

I lowered my other sleeve so that she didn’t see the elastic band. It felt sometimes like Ruth could see through me and it was impossible to breathe around her.

She ran her tongue over her teeth. Fine, she said, voice deeper, we don’t have to talk about that. But let’s talk about him . What has he done?

I wanted to defend him like I always did, but this time I couldn’t. The warnings were unavoidable: cartoon signs predicting danger ahead; red traffic lights refusing to turn green; a toothless man selling pies, warbling Turn back . And so I told her everything and saw the relief on her face at my confession. I said that he had been wonderful at first, but then things changed, or I had changed—I wasn’t sure which. I told her that when I told him that I was struggling, he got angry.

Ruth made a noise under her breath, and so I quickly explained that, in his defense, I had been a complete nightmare.

But were you actually a nightmare or did he just tell you that you were?

I ignored her and said that now nothing was the same between us, and I didn’t know how to fix it. And if I keep messaging then I’ll keep pushing him away, but I miss him. Like, I really miss him. And before you tell me how pathetic I am, I know. I’m completely pathetic. All I can think about is him, wondering when he’ll message, if he’ll message, if I’m allowed to message. And, look, you were right. You and I should have gone there together. We should have walked along the beach to the rock and eaten papaya and, like, I don’t know what I’m doing, Roo. I just—

My words dissolved, and Ruth put her arms around me. She hushed me as I cried. But then my phone vibrated. I could see from the shape of the letters that it was him. I sprung from her arms and read the message like I was drinking cold water on a hot day.

Oh my god.

I dropped my head back against the wall. Ruth cleared her throat, but before she could speak, I said that I was just hormonal. It’s probably just a delayed suicide Monday from the drugs.

Don’t do that, Enola! This feels like an honest conversation for once.

What do you mean “for once”?

You just sat here telling me that something is wrong and—

Okay, but I didn’t actually know if anything was wrong. I knew there was a chance that I was just being insecure and crazy.

Has he called you crazy?

No, I’m calling me crazy.

But you’re not crazy! You had a difficult holiday and he wasn’t there for you and—

I didn’t say that!

You did! You just said it was a mistake!

I told her that wasn’t what I meant; I meant that we should have gone there together like she wanted. She said that she wasn’t upset about that. Yes, I wanted us to go back together, Enola, but that’s not why I didn’t want you to go with him! I don’t like how he treats you and how you treat yourself when you’re with him. You were just telling me how upset you are and now you’ve flipped because he’s texted you back?

I told her that she couldn’t hold everything I said when I was upset against me. Roo, if I held you to every time you said you wanted a new job, you’d still be standing on people in the name of medical research. Please just forget it, Roo. Please? Please .

Ruth squeezed her hands and then stood up. She said that she was putting the kettle on. If you’re not going to eat, then you have to at least drink something. She went to the kitchen, and I read the message again and again and again, trying to recapture the feeling of when I first saw his name on the screen.

I’m back this Friday. Drink? Xxx