Chapter 7 #2
John glowered at her. She didn’t remember him being a glowerer. It felt incongruous, but also intriguing, like she’d just unlocked a new mode.
“It’s just, if I had a dog, I would probably say that so I could take him places,” she said, pausing as the glower deepened. “No one ever checks the certificate, do they?”
“That would be an abuse of the system,” John said, his voice giving nothing away.
“Right, I know. Of course.” She pinched her lips closed.
“You haven’t stayed in touch with Sean, then, I take it?” John asked. She shifted in her seat, impatient to get going.
“No, but I’m happy for him, how well he’s done.”
John’s face softened now. “I’m sorry that you never patched things up after, well…”
Chloe felt her face flush red. She hugged her arms across her chest. John’s words transported her right back to third year—the whispers, the questions, that awful moment on the lighting bridge.
“After he got a girlfriend who couldn’t stand me,” she said, shooting him an empty smile.
“To be fair to Susie, would you have wanted your boyfriend spending that much time with the person he thought was his soulmate?” He rubbed the stubble at his jawline and shifted his gaze to Richard.
She took her sunglasses off her head and folded them on her lap.
At the front of the bus, the doors finally clunked closed.
“When they broke up, he could have got back in touch. He didn’t,” she said.
“Maybe he was embarrassed,” John said quietly.
“I tried to reconnect, you know. A few years after uni, I emailed him—”
“Chloe.” John’s voice softened. He cleared his throat.
“Can we not go over all that again?” Right.
John hated being caught in the middle, back then too.
It had all fallen apart so quickly, after that night at the theater.
Sean told her he loved her, that he wanted to be more than friends.
She didn’t feel the same way. Some part of her wanted to, it would have been so easy…
but her body, some primal instinct inside her, had said no.
She’d done everything she could not to make it awkward, to show him they could still be friends, still sit on her bed and write plays.
Then two weeks later he had a new girlfriend, someone from the year below.
Suddenly he didn’t “think they should spend so much time together.” John had tried to remain neutral, refused to talk to one about the other.
Kiko too. But the reality was, they’d each picked a side.
“Sorry,” she muttered. Then before she could stop herself, she asked, “Do you think we were? Soulmates, I mean?”
“I don’t know if I believe in soulmates.”
“But if you did?”
He looked down, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not my area of expertise.”
The bus pulled away from the station and Chloe was glad for the distraction of motion.
“Well, I have a boyfriend now anyway, so…,” she said airily. The soulmate comment had unsettled her for some reason.
“Ah yes, the elusive Rob Dempsey,” John said. “Where is he? Are you renting him by the hour?”
“Ha ha. He was on the bus we missed.” She glanced at her watch; it shimmered gold in the sunlight that streamed through the bus window. The face of it had some strange quality where it looked a different color in certain lights. She’d seen it blue, green, even translucent.
“Nice watch,” he said.
“Thanks.”
“Always helpful to have a watch that doesn’t tell the time.”
“It tells the time,” she said, tapping it, though she hadn’t actually worked out how to make it tell the time.
Now that she thought about it, Avery had never called it a watch, only a device.
Maybe it didn’t tell the time. John held up his wrist to show her the analog watch he was wearing.
It had a cream face, simple black hands, and a worn leather strap.
It looked familiar, and she realized it was the same watch he’d worn ten years ago.
Richard pressed his nose against John’s leg and John reached down to stroke his smooth velvety head.
“No wonder she missed the bus when she’s got a watch too smart to tell her the time,” he said to Richard. Chloe elbowed him in the ribs and he laughed. There was the John she recognized.
“That is not why I missed the bus, doofus. It’s just on some weird setting.” She covered the watch with her right palm.
“Let me see,” he offered, but she pulled her wrist away. Time to change the subject.
“So, John Elton, apart from getting a dog and a haircut, what else have you been doing with yourself?” She shifted slightly, turning her body toward him.
As she looked at him, she took in the more nuanced changes in his face, how he’d grown into his features.
His cheekbones were more defined now, the soft roundness of his face replaced by something sharper, more mature.
The lines around his eyes had deepened, as though his expression had been seasoned by amusement.
She noticed a few new imperfections too, the kind that only served to make a face more interesting: a scar above his left eyebrow, a patch of skin near his jaw where stubble failed to grow.
There was a quiet confidence about him. And while John had never smiled as readily as some people, it meant that when he did smile, it felt all the more gratifying, like feeling that first warmth in the sun after a long winter.
“What are you staring at?” he asked, raising a hand to his chin.
“Look at you, all grown up,” she said with an overblown smirk.
“I see you haven’t,” he said. “Still teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing you. I’m just seeing you in a new light, Tiny Dancer.” She grinned, then reached out to squeeze his knee.
He put his free hand over hers, slowly removing it from his knee, and she felt a flush of embarrassment that he was not laughing. As he did so, her watch flashed, a mauve line shooting across the screen.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice soft but firm. She felt a strange swooping feeling in her belly and turned to look out the bus window while she tried to shake it off.
“I think it’s the modern clothes, they’re throwing me off,” she said, clearing her throat. “You were always so well-dressed at Oxford. Not that you’re not well-dressed now, I just mean, you had a particular style.”
“A youthful affectation,” he said, finally cracking another smile. “Trying to blend in with my surroundings rather than my contemporaries.”
“Well, I liked it,” Chloe said, and he gave a brief nod, then shifted in his seat.
“So, are you still writing plays?” he asked, eyes intent on a frayed thread he was pulling loose on his jeans.
“Here and there, when I can,” she said, which wasn’t a complete lie. But when John looked at her now, it felt like he knew. She quickly turned her attention to Richard, stroking him under the chin. He lifted his head appreciatively.
“I’m glad you’re still writing, that you haven’t been deterred,” he said.
“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling herself prickle.
“Nothing, I just know it’s a tough industry, hard to get things made.” He watched her face. “Sean said you had an acting agent for a while. I always loved watching you perform, you had a wonderful stage presence.”
This took her by surprise. How did Sean know she’d had an agent? Did they talk about her?
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “But I quickly learned that just because you’re good enough in college, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily good enough in the real world.
” She looked out the window, lost in a confusing mix of emotions.
When she glanced down at her watch, she saw a gray line dart across the screen.
“You were good enough,” John said gently. “These things don’t often come down to merit.” And now Richard pressed his nose on her knee, as though he sensed a shift in her mood and was trying to comfort her. She patted his head, already a little in love with this dog.
She and John both turned to look out the window, watching the urban sprawl of London disappear as the bus reached the motorway. The noise of the other passengers receded and suddenly, the coach didn’t feel quite as unpleasant as it had when they’d got on.
“So where are you living? What do you get up to when you’re not working? Are you still a cryptic crossword whiz?” she asked, keen to picture what John’s life was like now.
“I still do the cryptic every day,” he said, looking pleased she’d remembered this about him.
“I rent a ground-floor apartment near Abbey Road. It’s tiny, but it has this amazing domed sunroom.
The owner is a horticulturalist, and all these unusual plants came as part of the lease.
I’ve become an unwilling expert on keeping exotic South American plants alive.
” She smiled at this, imagining him with a watering can, googling obscure cacti.
He shrugged as though unsure what else to tell her.
“I play the organ at a church in Kilburn and I’m part of this volunteer archaeology group.
Whenever I get time off work, I’m off somewhere in Europe digging up old bones and pots that no one else finds interesting but I find endlessly fascinating. ”
“That sounds fun,” she said, then after a beat, “I remember reading this article about Agatha Christie. She said an archaeologist is the best husband a woman can have, because the older she gets, the more interested he is in her.” John blushed slightly.
“Not that I’m judging your husband potential,” she quickly added.
“I just thought that was a funny thing to say.”
“Richard doesn’t like it when I go away,” John said. “But he likes digging up bones even more than I do, so he can’t really talk.”
She laughed at this, and the awkward moment passed. “Who looks after him when you go away?”
“My sister, but she’s got a baby now. It’s not so easy.”
“I’ll dog-sit for you if you like,” she offered without even thinking. Then she imagined she’d have to sleep in John’s bed, surrounded by all his things, and the thought sent a strange jolt of heat through her. She shifted her gaze to the aisle. John cleared his throat.
“Thanks. How about you, then? Tell me more about this new boyfriend of yours,” John said, his voice slightly strained, as he turned his attention back to the loose thread at the bottom of his jeans.
“How do you know he’s new?”
“Because you didn’t know his name until two weeks ago,” John said.
“He’s not that new, I just didn’t know if he could come,” she said, shifting her eyeline back to Richard. She found it helpful having a dog to pet whenever the conversation got awkward.
“More than a month?” John asked, his interest clearly piqued. She didn’t respond, but he must have seen her eyes flicker. “Less than a month? Less than a week?” His whole face flashed into a smile. “Oh right, new new.”
She pushed her thigh hard against his. “That’s none of your business, Tiny Dancer.”
John laughed, and she noticed his laugh hadn’t changed.
It was still rich, warm, entirely unselfconscious.
“So bringing this new almost-boyfriend has nothing to do with the fact that Sean’s going to be there?
” he asked, shooting her a mischievous side-eye.
Then, as though it had just dawned on him, he said, “Rob Dempsey is your emotional support boyfriend.”
“He is nothing of the sort,” she said briskly. He was teasing her. John never teased. He’d always been the quiet observer, occasionally chiming in with a wry remark or relevant quote. This was new. “What about you? Is there a Mrs. Tiny Dancer? Any teeny weeny Tiny Dancers?”
“No,” he said, cracking a smile.
“Significant other?” she asked, and he nodded toward Richard.
“People are overrated,” he said, then pointed to her phone. “Show me this boyfriend of yours, then.” She pulled up a selfie she’d taken of the two of them in the park this morning. John rolled his eyes.
“Right, so apart from looking like a Grecian god, what’s so great about this guy?”
“Everything,” she said. “He’s smart, he’s thoughtful, he motivates me.” As she said it, she realized she didn’t need to embellish or exaggerate. Rob really was wonderful.
“Richard is all those things,” John said.
“He’s a pet, it’s not the same,” she said.
John frowned and covered his dog’s ears. “Don’t call him that. He doesn’t like it,” he whispered.
“Ha ha,” she said dryly, though she found herself smiling. “So, are you dating, or happy to be man and his dog and his rare plants forever?”
“Forever is a long time,” he said lightly, but his eyes held the weight of something unspoken.
He cleared his throat. “Chloe, I don’t want to be rude, but I have some work I was planning to do on the journey.
Would you mind if I did some scribbling?
I’m just worried I won’t have much time this weekend. ”
“No, fine. Sure. You do what you need to do,” she said, blinking at the abrupt change in tone. It had felt like they were slipping back into an old groove, but now his voice was polite, distant. He half-rose from his seat, gesturing toward the overhead locker.
“I just need to get something from my bag.”
“Sure,” she said, standing up and moving into the narrow aisle so he could get past. As he reached for his bag, she caught the way his shirt pulled tight across his shoulders, his brow knitted in concentration, as he opened the backpack.
Looking around, she noticed all the rows of empty seats around them.
“Why don’t I just sit over here,” she said, gesturing to the seat opposite, “let you and Richard have some space.” He patted the notepad in his hand, gave her a single nod, then silently tucked himself back in by the window with Richard.
Chloe reached for her own bag and pulled out The Age of Innocence.
In her new seat she crossed and uncrossed her legs, sat straighter, trying to get comfortable.
Why would this side be less comfortable?
She felt off-kilter, like being on an escalator that suddenly stopped.
She glanced over at John. He was already hunched over, swiftly writing musical notes on staff paper in a thick, worn leather notebook.
He looked lost in thought—not unfriendly, just elsewhere.
She flicked through the pages of her own book listlessly. A strange, unfamiliar feeling came over her. This never happened…
She didn’t feel like reading.