Hello stranger, p.15
Hello, Stranger, page 15
‘I’m not, it’s just …’ I hear Jamie let out a long breath. ‘I feel bad about you selling your place. I know how much you love it. We can just go for somewhere cheaper, you know? It doesn’t matter.’
I feel instantly relieved. ‘Don’t be silly. The place we’re viewing looks amazing. A proper garden! We can have barbecues, dig a vegetable patch. There’s room for a hot tub. And views that we can gaze on when we’re sipping our champagne amongst the bubbles. It even has a walk-in wardrobe for God’s sake. I won’t have to vacuum pack my summer wardrobe in winter and vice versa in summer. We can have a proper size dining table and have dinner parties …’
Jamie laughs. ‘You’ve clearly thought this through.’
‘Absolutely. You don’t need to worry. I’m sure about selling the house.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’
The woman that shows us round is one of those really annoying estate agents who treats you like you’re stupid and that you can’t, in fact, see the obvious damp on the walls (it’s just the shadow – amazing the tricks the light can play, isn’t it?) or realize that the kitchen needs to be completely ripped out and replaced (nothing a lick of paint can’t fix). Luckily for her, we love it despite any flaws it might have, and can see its huge potential. The kitchen/diner is open plan and big enough for a lovely wooden dining table (like the one this family have got) plus room for tons of cupboard space so that I can actually access my pans without them all getting wedged in the pan drawer, preventing it from opening. The lounge has a feature fireplace with a wood burner (another essential) and – the jewel in the crown – the large garden with its stunning views out over the valley.
‘Imagine how amazing it’ll be without the trampoline. Perfect spot for my hot tub,’ I say, as we peruse the outdoor space.
The estate agent smiles. ‘I agree. I don’t know why anyone has these nasty trampolines. They’re such an eyesore. I’m just glad they weren’t really a thing when my kids were growing up. Anyway, do you want to have a look upstairs now?’
I look at Jamie, who is staring into the distance. ‘Jamie?’
He shakes his body as if he’s just woken up. ‘Yeah, thanks.’
The estate agent leads us upstairs and we walk into the second bedroom, kitted out with toys and unicorn bedding and kid’s drawings framed on the wall.
‘Good size,’ Jamie says before quickly moving on.
Next we go to the master bedroom, which shares the garden’s amazing views, and then the estate agent, rather reluctantly it appears, leads us to the third ‘bedroom’, which definitely had the clever camera angle treatment in the photographs.
‘Now as you can see they’re using it as a snug, but I think it would make a gorgeous nursery.’ She looks at me and smiles, clearly trying to tap into my maternal instinct to disguise the fact there’s no way you could fit a bed in here. I lower my eyes, and the estate agent clearly picks up on a ‘vibe’ as her face flushes. She probably thinks I’m infertile and that she’s just made a huge faux pas.
‘It’s not actually big enough to be classed as a bedroom though, is it?’ Jamie says, breaking the awkward silence.
‘Oh yes, it’s been measured and you could fit a single bed just there.’ She points to the one wall, where even if you could just about fit a bed, you’d struggle to get in and out of it.
‘I think it’s pushing the trade descriptions act a little bit,’ Jamie says, turning around to leave the room.
‘Would you like to see the garden again?’ the estate agent asks, a little desperately, as she leads us back downstairs.
‘No, I think we’re good, thanks. Unless you want to?’ Jamie turns to me and I shake my head then he addresses the estate agent again. ‘Thanks for showing us around. We’ve got another viewing after this and then we’ll be in touch if that’s OK?’
We haven’t got another viewing and it’s pushing six o’clock so I’m sure the estate agent can tell Jamie’s lying, but I expect she’s used to the games that are played with property purchases.
‘Of course. But I really think this place will be snapped up soon, so I wouldn’t leave it too long if you like it.’
I try not to smile as I watch the two of them making their moves against each other like a game of chess and then she shows us out and we wander back to Jamie’s car, which is parked down the road. The estate agent drives past and we wave her off with a smile.
As soon as we’re in the car, I turn to Jamie excitedly. ‘You love it, yeah? We’re going to put an offer in?’
Jamie reaches into his pocket for his car keys, puts them in the ignition and starts the car. ‘Well, yeah. I think the price is a bit high though. I mean, that third bedroom is definitely not a bedroom. Legally, I’m not sure they can call it a three-bedroom property.’
‘But we don’t need a third bedroom, do we?’
‘Yeah, I know that we don’t need it.’ It’s probably just me projecting my own insecurities but his tone seems a little ‘off’. ‘But it will have affected the asking price. A two-bedroom property could be as much as forty grand less.’
I nod. I know that it’s good to think about all of these things practically. Jamie is probably a very important yin to my yang. But right now I just want us to be excited and ‘carried away’. You only buy your first house together once, and I want it to feel magical.
Jamie reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh. ‘I’m sorry. I’m being a killjoy. I’ll ring her first thing in the morning and put an offer in.’
‘Can’t we do it tonight?’
‘I think it’d be better to wait. We don’t want to seem too keen. And are you happy for me to go in fifty grand below the asking price because of the bedroom?’
‘Well, I don’t want to lose it. And we should have the money if mine sells for close to the price it’s on for.’
‘I know. But I don’t want to be ripped off. And we could do with some money left over to sort out the damp problems and buy a new kitchen, which it desperately needs.’
‘OK. I’ll trust your judgement with this one.’
‘Thanks. And don’t worry, if it looks like we’re going to lose it, I’ll quickly go in with something a bit higher.’
When we arrive outside my house, Jamie switches off the engine but remains seated.
‘Aren’t you coming in? You’re welcome to stay over.’
‘Oh, thanks, but I’ve got a ton of work on. We’re organizing this big event for the weekend and Matt and I really need to sit down together and plan the logistics tonight.’
‘Oh right, OK. Maybe tomorrow then?’
Jamie looks at the floor awkwardly. ‘I actually promised Mum I’d go there for dinner after work. I’m trying to make an effort to see her more regularly.’
I notice that he doesn’t invite me to join him. It’s strange, but I sense the tide has changed, the balance of power. I find there’s always this moment in a relationship, the moment that I surrender, that I allow someone in, lower my defences, that suddenly it feels like I lose the power battle, that I’m terrifyingly vulnerable. And today it feels that way more than ever, like Jamie is pulling away, but I’m not sure if I’m just imagining it.
‘But how about the next day?’ he continues. ‘Hopefully we’ll have our offer accepted on the house and we can go out and celebrate?’
Maybe I am just imagining it.
‘Yeah. That sounds good.’
He leans across the handbrake and kisses me, but it’s more friendly than brimming with passion and I wonder if I should grab his face, kiss him back hard, but it feels a little desperate.
‘Night then.’
I leave him and go inside, telling myself that gripping on to something tightly doesn’t mean it won’t slip through your fingers if it’s really meant to.
Jamie
We sit around Mum’s dining table and it reminds me of when I was younger, after Dad died, when this table suddenly felt too big – as if the size of it was mocking us both. I wondered if Mum might buy a new one when she moved here rather than transporting this cumbersome thing all that way, but she didn’t. In fact, she brought all the old furniture with her. And I get it – that leaving the house she shared with Dad was hard enough; to get rid of the stuff in it was a step too far.
Tucking into Mum’s delicious spaghetti bolognaise (I learnt from the best), I wonder how to broach the subject that’s never far from my mind. Mum and I don’t really do heart-to-hearts, but at the same time I don’t know who else to talk to. If Dad were here, I would’ve spoken to him. I could talk to him about anything – the shame I experienced after my first wet dream, the girl at school that I had a huge crush on, the lads I never really fit in with. He never looked embarrassed at anything I had to say, never judged or lectured. God, I miss him. Some days it’s just a dull ache, but others, like today, it’s like a parasite.
‘Lucy has put her place on the market and we’re looking to buy somewhere together.’
‘Oh, that’s great news, Jamie. I’m really happy for you.’ There’s always a formality in Mum’s tone. Sometimes I wish she’d just give me a huge bear hug like Dad would’ve done. ‘I could tell you were serious about her when you came over together. So how does Matt feel about this development?’
‘He’s moving in with Mia. It was that that kind of spurred me on, I suppose.’
‘Well, there’s definitely more of a spark between you than there was with Anna.’
I’m surprised that she’s picked up on that. Maybe she knows me better than I give her credit for.
‘Oh, yeah. I feel totally different than I did with Anna.’ I eat a mouthful of spaghetti. ‘We’ve found a place we really like in Chalford. She wanted me to put an offer on it today.’
‘But you didn’t?’
‘It’s not worth the asking price.’
Mum nods slowly. ‘So what’s the real reason you’re not sure about it?’ She smiles and again, it feels like I’ve underestimated her in the past – her ability to read me. And I suddenly feel sad for all the years we’ve wasted not really being that close.
I smile too, acknowledging that she’s caught me out. ‘Lucy told me she doesn’t want kids.’
Her reaction is much the same as mine was to start with – what’s the big deal? ‘Oh, well, she’s still pretty young. The maternal drive doesn’t kick in for everyone straight away. You’ve still got plenty of time for all that.’
I shake my head. ‘She says she’s sure she’ll never want them. That she wants us to travel instead. She seems fairly certain.’
‘Well, maybe she’s wise. I mean, having a child is a wonderful thing, but it also changes your entire life and it’s full of heartache and guilt and regret.’
It hurts to hear her talk about motherhood in this way – that I’ve unwittingly caused her so much pain. Although I’m sure in part she’s talking about Thomas.
‘But would Dad have been enough for you? If he’d not wanted children, would you still have married him?’
Mum nods and although I appreciate her honesty, it’s an odd feeling. To think that she would’ve chosen not to have me if that’s what my dad had wanted. ‘Now you’re here, of course I’d never change things. But if your dad had said he didn’t want children, I would’ve still married him. That said, I’m not sure I’m as natural a mum as I think you would be a dad. You’re more like your father.’
I feel tears threatening and work hard to hold them back.
‘If he’d had to choose,’ she continues, ‘between you and me, I mean, he would’ve chosen you, I think. Nothing made him happier than being a father.’
I struggle to swallow my food. ‘So what do I do?’
Mum laughs. ‘I hope you didn’t come here to ask me that.’
I shrug.
‘I can’t answer that for you, son. Depends how much you want a child. And how much you love her, I guess. Could you be happy, just the two of you, do you think?’
‘I know that I love her. That she makes me happy. But I have always wanted a child. And after what happened with Dad and well …’
‘Thomas?’
It feels odd to hear her say his name. We never talk about what happened.
I nod. ‘I guess I’m just scared of life always feeling that little bit empty, of there always being that hole …’
The words catch in my throat so I have to stop talking, and when I look up at Mum, there are tears in her eyes too, which just makes it even harder not to cry myself.
I still remember the day Dad died as if it were yesterday. I was at school and, at the time, I was so mad at Mum for not calling me, for waiting until I’d got home. She said it wouldn’t have made a difference. He’d had a huge heart attack. There was no time for goodbye. But I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d been messing around with Bunsen burners in my science lesson, me and my mates giggling when our teacher got stressed because we were all setting fire to our pencils, our ties. I’d been acting like a dick, I’d been laughing, when my dad had been fighting for his last breath.
I didn’t fall apart. Not in the way everyone expected me to. It was a couple of months before my GCSEs so all my teachers thought I was destined to fail – they pushed for an extension so as not to waste all the hard work I’d put in over the two years. But I didn’t want it. I told them I’d be fine taking my exams, and I was. I felt bad about that for years. About the run of As I got when my dad had just died. Now I see it was my coping mechanism, to focus on the revision, to shut out what had happened, to pretend that life could carry on as normal. But rather than it getting easier, as grief is supposed to, time being the great healer and all that, for me it just got harder. The gap that Dad left just kept growing until I felt like I was more holes than solid pieces.
Maybe that was why I stayed with Anna for so long; because I’d given up on ever feeling whole again, or even close to it. Of ever feeling the kind of happiness I used to feel sitting next to Dad, fishing at the lake, him telling me about his childhood or teaching me the strengths and weaknesses of all the Superheroes or trying to scare the life out of me with ghost stories. He was always such a brilliant storyteller. Mum used to mock him – ‘not another one of your convoluted stories’ – but I loved all the little details he put in, the way he could make anything come alive. He gave me my first beer on one of our many fishing trips, and I remember him laughing when I winced. He taught me how to make a fire using the sun and a magnifying glass, the names of the birds that woke us up in the morning, explained to me what lived in all the different shaped holes that we passed in the woods. We whittled sticks to make spears, played baseball with branches that had broken off the trees and fallen apples. Even when I hit fifteen and all my mates mocked me for still wanting to spend a lot of my weekends with my dad rather than being out drinking with them, I didn’t care. Because that’s when I was at my happiest.
It feels like my life ever since has been spent trying to find that again. And now I have it with Lucy – or at least something close to it. But that’s been tainted now, somehow, and I think that’s what I hate the most; that I can’t find my way back to that heady feeling I used to feel when I was with her.
‘Talk to her, love,’ Mum says, placing her hand on top of mine. ‘People do all sorts of things for the person they love. Maybe she’ll come round if you tell her what it means to you.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘Then I guess you need to decide whether she’s worth sacrificing a family for.’
It feels like Sophie’s Choice – I either lose Lucy, who is most definitely the love of my life, or I say goodbye to the chance of ever having a family of my own. It’s tricky, because the one idea feels ethereal, some distant vision of how I expected my life to turn out. Whereas the other is right here, right now, flesh and bone. This person that I have come to depend on. And, truth be told, I’m still hoping that she’ll change her mind one day. But what if she doesn’t? It wouldn’t be fair to turn around in however many years and break her heart over something she has been completely honest with me about.
‘I think maybe I thought having a family of my own one day might finally fill the hole, you know?’
‘I guess it’s hard to know until it happens.’
‘I know. You’re right. Either way it’s a leap of faith.’ I finish my food and put my cutlery down on the plate. ‘Thanks, Mum.’
She smiles. ‘I know I’m not as good as your dad was with matters of the heart, but I am always here. I hope you know that. I might not have the best advice to give but I will listen.’
‘I think you’ve done a great job with the advice.’
‘I wish I could tell you what to do, love, but that wouldn’t be fair. Or right.’
I nod, knowing that she’s right but still wanting someone to just make the decision for me.
‘I do know that you light up when you’re around her though.’
I smile, stand up and collect our plates, taking them to the dishwasher and putting them in. It’s so empty, just a single cup and plate, and it makes me sad for Mum, living all alone way before her time, and although I’m tired, I suddenly want to stay a little longer.
‘Fancy a film night?’
Mum is unable to hide the shock on her face. ‘You’re not going to inflict one of those terrible DVDs you and your dad used to watch on me, are you?’
We go in to the lounge and I scan through our family DVD collection. So many memories in that box alone. It’s weird how simple possessions can hold so much emotional weight. I hold up Indiana Jones – it was always the only film Mum would tolerate because she had a crush on Harrison Ford.
‘Good choice,’ she says, biting her lip.
And for once she doesn’t automatically sit down on the other sofa. She sits beside me, and we watch the film, and I can almost feel Dad beside us, chatting away with his running commentary that always used to drive Mum mad.
Lucy
I never thought that domesticity would be something I could feel this excited about. But I’ve already had an offer on my place (only two grand below the asking price), and we’re just waiting to find out if our offer on the new house has been accepted, and it feels like a huge adventure.
