The Best Thing I Never Had (18 page)

The house felt odd as she let herself in.

‘Harriet!’ Adam called, as he passed the threshold. ‘It’s only us.’

‘Sweetie?’ Nicky called, bending down to pull off her shoes. As she did so her gaze fell upon a small pile of metal on the bottom step of the stairs. At first she was confused, but quickly recognised what they were. ‘Whose keys are these?’ she asked, puzzled; they had no keyrings.

Adam glanced at the keys; Nicky saw a muscle bunching in his neck and suddenly he was gone, taking the stairs two at a time.

‘Adam?’ Nicky called after him, alarmed, before cold understanding dawned and she hurried to follow him.

Adam was standing stock-still, just a few steps in to Harriet’s empty room, his breathing laboured from his dash up the stairs. Nicky made an involuntary little gasp of shock before belatedly clasping her hand to her mouth.

‘Oh, she hasn’t…’ she said, redundantly. ‘She hasn’t.’

She glanced nervously at Adam as he suddenly moved, rearing back his right arm; there was a horrible wet crack as he punched the nearest wall with all his strength. Nicky screamed and grabbed at his arm as if to stop him from doing it again. Adam’s face was bone white, his features tight with the pain he’d just caused himself.

‘You idiot!’ she screeched. ‘Stop it, you’ll break your hand.’

‘I can’t believe her,’ Adam muttered through his teeth. ‘I can’t believe her. That bitch.’

‘Adam, come away downstairs,’ Nicky said, worriedly. Adam held his injured fist protectively in his other hand and curled his body away from her. ‘Let me look at your hand.’ Carefully she led him away from that intolerably unoccupied room and everything that it must symbolise to him, resolutely swallowing the lump sitting in her own throat as she concentrated on steering her shaken friend safely down the stairs.

The room seemed smaller, the walls paler, although surely, now free of all of his mess and belongings, the opposite should hold true?

Adam could hear his mother bustling away downstairs as she re-cleaned the already reasonably clean kitchen, banging cupboard doors and running the water cheerily as she filled the time she had to wait for Adam to finish clearing out his room. They were alone in the flat, Johnny and Miles having vacated over the previous weekend, as had the girls, parts of his life stripping away bit by bit. Adam listlessly cast his eyes over his small bedroom again, almost hopeful that there would be something he had forgotten to pack, to clean – anything to put off the moment of departure just a little while longer. But there was nothing else to stay for; Adam gave a wry smile at that thought, because it was the understatement of the century.

‘All finished?’ Adam jumped at his mother’s voice, hadn’t heard her come to stand in his bedroom doorway. She looked at him expectantly. He looked purposelessly around his bedroom for one final time.

‘Yup, finished,’ he told his mother, following her down the stairs.

February & March 2012

Nicky had fallen half in love with Leigha at first sight.

She had turned up at the Languages social during Freshers’ Week, wearing two ropes of plastic beads and a denim mini-dress. She had a mouth made just as much for sulking as for smiling and ended all her sentences with a rising intonation, making everything into a question that everyone rushed to answer. Girls like Leigha had never spoken to Nicky back in school. After an hour – when the complimentary alcohol was finished up – Leigha had suggested to Nicky that they head out to one of the campus bars; Nicky had almost fallen over herself in agreement.

Nicky’s degree was in Politics, with a minor in Modern European Languages, and she focused her language course time on French. Taking full and sensible advantage of the subsidiary offered her, she had signed up for extra-curricular Italian lessons, keen to expand her repertoire; maybe she’d do German in the second year, Spanish in the third.

As it happened, she stuck with Italian the whole three years as that was what Leigha had signed up for, on a whim at the Freshers’ Fayre; such whims were – Nicky was soon to learn – very typical of Leigha. And through Leigha she had been introduced to Sukie and Harriet – girls who had been at school with Leigha – and that was that – a ready-made friendship group. Sukie was the funniest person Nicky had ever met – caustic, but loyal – and Harriet was straightforward and sweet and always there to listen.

They moved into the little four-bed on Dell Road in June 2005; Nicky was the last to arrive, and on that day, as she had rounded the corner in the taxi full of boxes and bags, she had immediately caught sight of the sheets of paper tacked up in the window of her new bedroom: WELCOME HOME NICKY! And a home it had been; those two years had been the happiest years of her life.

Nicky shifted at her desk, aware that she was staring blankly at her screen, her distraction a little too obvious if a manager happened to look her way. The ring on her left hand glittered as she moved it, reflecting the spotlights above.

No managers around, she opened Internet Explorer with a lazy double-click of the mouse, loading up eBay and the three bridesmaids’ dresses she’d ordered in from China, paying a premium to ensure their delivery within the month; there was just over two to go until the wedding.

Miles knew that she was still very emotionally attached to their old university and the years she had spent there. Back before Christmas, mid-way through saving for the ring itself, Miles had called up the Chaplaincy Administrator at the university and enquired as to the likelihood of being able to book out the chapel and reception space one Saturday in 2012. Apparently there had been a waiting list upwards of eighteen months.

But the administrator was an old romantic, and – after five minutes of Miles’ waffling about how much he loved his (hopefully) future fiancée and how they had met and fallen in love in one of the campus bars – she’d promised to do what she could for the two alumni. So therefore, Miles had not only proffered a ring at the proposal, but the date and the venue as well – Easter Saturday, in fact, less than nine weeks away.

It wasn’t strictly a date the chapel was meant to be bookable – they’d have to arrange their own priest – but it was better, Miles had thought, than waiting two years. There was no time for an engagement party, or to arrange Stag and Hen dos, and the loss of these traditional celebrations needled Nicky slightly. But it would have been churlish to complain, not when Miles had gone to all the trouble. After all, it was nice to know that he wanted to make her his wife as soon as he could.

At least the other girls had always been at least passably fond of Miles; it would have been awful if they’d taken against him. To be honest, their relationship wouldn’t have stood a chance if she’d had the feeling that her housemates didn’t like him. As it was, they’d been the ones encouraging her to see him again after their drunken one night stand, make a proper date of it.

Nicky had worn white, a dress she’d borrowed from Leigha, and the irony hadn’t been lost on her.

‘It’s okay, isn’t it?’ she’d asked, worriedly. ‘It’s not a little, you know, Here Comes the Bride?’ Leigha had burst out laughing.

‘As long as you don’t accessorise with a veil,’ Sukie had smirked.

‘Or a large bouquet of flowers,’ Harriet had added. Nicky had rolled her eyes at her extremely unhelpful housemates.

‘It just seems weird, wearing all white, especially on a date,’ she’d insisted, twisting her body to better inspect the back view in the mirror. She’d dropped her voice. ‘Slutty even.’ Leigha had exploded into laughter again.

‘Nicky, you’re so funny,’ she’d giggled. ‘The stuff you come out with. Of course white isn’t slutty, it’s
pure
and
virginal.
’

‘And we’re back to Here Comes the Bride,’ Nicky had frowned, focusing again on her reflection.

‘Nic, you’re overthinking,’ Sukie had said. ‘This guy is mega into you. You could turn up in a bin bag and he’d still be salivating.’

‘That would definitely get rid of the weddingy impression,’ Harriet had pointed out, mock-thoughtfully. Nicky had laughed, rolling her eyes.

‘Okay, well how about, if me and this guy get married one day, I’ll wear the bin bag then,’ she’d pledged. ‘That will even it out.’

‘And I suppose we – your beautiful bridesmaids – will wear matching Tesco bags?’ Leigha had drawled, amused.

‘Naturally,’ Nicky had agreed, whilst twisting and contorting herself to survey her reflection some more.

‘As long as it doesn’t start a trend,’ Sukie had said, ‘like we each have to wear a different shop’s bags for each of our weddings.’

‘Bagsie Marks and Spencer for my wedding then. No pun intended,’ Harriet had sniggered.

‘In which case I’ll go with Waitrose,’ Leigha had put in, immediately. Sukie had rolled her eyes.

‘Of course you will, you posh bitch,’ she’d teased, affectionately.

Harriet had come to stand behind Nicky, who was still stood in front of the full-length mirror and had clapped her hand on her friend’s shoulder reassuringly.

‘I think you should pre-warn this Miles guy that if he hopes to marry you one day, he’s going to have to deal with three batty girls wearing carrier bags as dresses.’

‘I think that’s a little heavy for first date conversation,’ Nicky had laughed, using the pad of her index finger to blot her lip-gloss a little more.

Her desk phone rang, jolting Nicky back into the present and she fumbled the receiver as she answered the call. And while she jotted down the inane message for her manager with one hand, she wiggled the fingers on her left, making her engagement ring and wink and wink.

Johnny liked being with Iona; it made him feel like a man. She was petite – a good five inches shorter than him – but it was more than that. She let him pay for her, patronise her, made no demands on his time other than what he was already willing to offer. She made him feel nineteen as well, in her bed with sheets that smelt like cheap laundrette detergent, in bars drinking Snakebite from pint glasses still warm from the dishwasher.

‘You’re as young as the girl you feel!’ Adam had crowed with delight when informed about Iona; that was the general reaction amongst his acquaintances, they were all very wink, wink, nudge, nudge about it.

Sometimes on Sunday mornings he would lie in bed watching her back make shapes as she reaches to move her hair straighteners up and down along her dark hair, and feel like a total arsehole for thinking about someone else.

Leigha always used to bite her nails, a habit that grew worse with stress. He remembers once gently taking her hand away from her mouth and rubbing his thumb across her nail to dissipate the pinpricks of blood, red as the lipstick she wore on weekends, like the colour of the dress she’d worn that on New Year’s Eve. He remembers Harriet doing it once too, plucking Leigha’s fingers from her teeth as she worried at them, curling their hands together in her lap as she carried on talking to him and Adam without so much as a pause.

He liked it: the nail-biting, that is. It made Leigha seem like she needed someone. Sometimes, Iona bites absently at a hangnail and Johnny is startled into looking for something in the angle of her face, something that won’t ever be there, then feels a hot annoyance in his stomach that he’s ashamed of.

‘The thing with you is…’ Demi paused to pull the condom off with a snap, ‘you want to be all things to all people.’

Sukie, on her second drag of a post-coital cigarette, gasped and spat smoke incredulously. ‘You total hypocrite! You’re all
cock
to all people. Aren’t you worried Rob will smell vagina in this bed?’ Demi gave an indolent smile, lighting up himself, apparently extremely unbothered as to what his boyfriend would think if he found out about his – his words – bit of fanny on the side.

‘Which reminds me, don’t you need to be getting in the shower?’ he replied, mildly. Sukie took a third drag, as obstinate as she dared. He was right. She had to be home soon and needed to wash the sex and nicotine from her hair and the creases of her body. She stubbed her cigarette out with a sigh, moved to the edge of the bed and fished around on the floor with her foot for her discarded underwear.

‘Did you have fun at the library then?’ Demi asked with a mock serious face; it was where they’d met, where her father and sisters thought she still spent her days. Sukie looked over her shoulder at him.

‘I’ve read better books,’ she smiled. Demi laughed in delight and reached across the bed to pull her back, but she slipped out of his grasp. ‘Demi, I’ve got to get in the shower!’

‘Ah, go then,’ Demi slapped her bottom lightly as she stood. ‘You’ve got to get the dinner on, Cinderelly.’ Sukie ignored him; turning the shower on hot and full blast she methodically washed lovely, stupid Demetrios off of her. These days he had given up protesting that she worried too much, that she was a grown woman and could fill her days – and bed – with whomsoever she fancied.

Sukie, however, knew better. Her father wouldn’t approve of her eating a kebab; she was pretty sure frequent and fairly filthy sex with a Greek bisexual would be rather past the line.

Leigha saw that Roddy had already ordered her a large glass of rosé as soon as she stepped through the door. It sat in front of him, the glass sweating condensation, dainty and blush-pink. She almost didn’t have time to banish the frown from her features before he spotted her, jumping from the barstool and pumping his arm energetically to wave her over.

She found him a little embarrassing, the way he shouted and sprung around like a child, all six foot something of him replete in blue power suit and Windsor-knotted tie. That he presumed to order her a drink – and, perhaps more so, that he had chosen correctly – didn’t sit well and her stomach pinched uncomfortably.

When she neared him, Roddy hooked her closer with an arm to the small of her back, went to kiss her, missed her cheek, got her ear instead. Leigha scratched at it as she climbed up onto her bar stool; his five o’ clock shadow had irritated her skin.

‘You look great!’ It was Roddy’s standard greeting and Leigha inclined her head in mute recognition of the compliment.

‘Thank you for the wine, is it a chardonnay?’ she asked, reaching for the glass.

‘Yes, I remembered you prefer drier wines.’ He looked across at her, eager for approval. Like a dog waiting for a pat on the head.

‘Did you have a good day?’

‘Well, seeing you has made it.’ He punctuated the cheesy line with an equally cheesy smile, twisting to take his jacket off and hang it off the back support of the stool, then pulling his tie loose and unbuttoning the top of his shirt, as if he could relax now Leigha had arrived. His adam’s apple bobbed as he took a drink from his stout, drawing her attention to the blonde curl of chest hair hinted at by the now open V of his shirt, the broadness of his chest and shoulders below. He was a fine looking man. She felt agreeably dark and elfin opposite him, perched high with her legs wrapped around the silver poles of the barstool. She took a deep mouthful of wine to match him, felt her worries ease off.

‘Roddy, what are you doing Easter weekend?’

‘Er…’ Roddy consulted his phone calendar with a swift movement of his thumb. ‘The whole weekend? Got drinks on the Good Friday. Why, I could cancel if you want to go away somewhere, together?’ Leigha took another mouthful of wine, held it there for a moment to feel it cold against her teeth, sharp against her tongue.

‘No, just the Saturday, really. Wedding. My old uni housemate.’

‘Oh.’ Roddy put his phone back into his trouser pocket. ‘So, you’re looking for a plus one then?’

‘Well, yes. I’m a bridesmaid though, so I’m afraid there might be points where you’ll have to, you know, fend for yourself…’

‘A bridesmaid!’ Roddy wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Hot!’

‘Hmmm, well I wouldn’t count on me looking too hot. I’ve heard rumours of yellow dresses,’ she dropped her voice conspiratorially. Roddy laughed.

‘As long as you contravene tradition and please don’t shag the Best Man!’

Leigha immediately flushed the colour of her wine. ‘That’s unlikely,’ she answered, reaching down to fiddle inside her handbag in a fraught attempt to distract from the bile her tone had just exposed. She grabbed randomly at her lipgloss. ‘Besides…’ She paused as she pouted her lips and reapplied, ‘that’s meant to be the Maid of Honour.’

‘You’re not the Maid of Honour then?’

Leigha slipped the lipgloss wand back into the tube and closed it with a firm turn. ‘Nope.’

‘Ah, who is, bride’s sister?’

Leigha shook her head, kept her eyes to her hands as she placed the lipgloss tube back into her handbag with exaggerated care. ‘Someone else from Uni.’

‘Oh, well it sounds like fun. Of course I’ll go with you.’

Leigha hung her handbag back on the hook under the table. ‘Great. Thanks. It’s just a little way out of town, so I’ll drive. It’s on my old University campus, actually.’

‘Oh that’s even better. Get to see your old haunts and meet your old friends all in one day. Can’t wait!’