4. Evan
CHAPTER 4
Evan
The Great Expectations pub isn’t anything fancy. In fact, that’s why Marlon and I chose it as our spot back in the day. Just a basic drinking hole with a few barstools to prop up its patrons. They barely sell packets of nuts, let alone crisps, and they certainly don’t serve hot food. Many a night we’d soldiered our way through several pints, then hit up the kebab place around the corner before crawling home and somehow making it to work the next morning.
As I walk through the door on Saturday night, I expect a wave of nostalgia to hit me. Instead, I just wrinkle my nose at the scent of stale beer and old man cologne.
Am I an old man now? Is that what my aftershave smells like?
No. This place has a definite whiff of despair about it that either wasn’t here before or I was too messed up to notice.
Over the music system, a Christmas rock song from the seventies plays at a low enough level that it doesn’t disturb the people chatting. A few skinny lengths of silver tinsel are strung out above the bar. They look and smell like they’re also from the seventies.
Well, this is where Marl wanted to meet, so there’s no point in grumbling about it. In fact, I feel the tiniest glimmer of hope that I haven’t wanted to spend my time here in a couple of years now. I’m still not the life and soul of the party by any means. But at least I’m not dwindling my days away here anymore.
There’s no sign of Marlon yet. I manage to find two tall stools next to each other and catch the bartender’s attention to order myself a house red. No point trying to ask if they have any decent wine—it’ll just cost twice the price and taste as bad as the regular stuff. Besides, the point of the drink is to occupy me, not necessarily to sit and savour it.
When the guy asks if I’d like anything else, I pause, wondering if Marlon still has the same order. I figure getting a round in is the polite thing to do, even if I am here to chew him out for putting me in such a shoddy position. Part of me wants to tell him he can buy his own drink.
Then I think of Christian’s sad, simple response of ‘Okay’ to my explanation text, and decide that both Marl and I are the fuck-ups here. The least I can do is be the slightly less shitty man.
I order the pint of bitter then nurse my wine until the door opens again, blowing in the cold and also my old mate.
It’s hard not to react too obviously. But holy hell the last few years haven’t been kind to him. His grey suit under his black coat is shabby and baggy. His hair is scraggly and his stubble several days beyond trimmed. The skin over his nose and cheeks is ruddy and not just from the cold. Even with his glasses on, I can see the bags under his eyes.
When we’d seen each other regularly, he’d always had a healthy robustness to his countenance. But it’s as if he’s soured in the time we’ve been apart.
Still, when he spies me, he musters a smile, lifting his hand in a wave. “Zegler!” he cries, shambling over and taking the free seat beside me. He points at the pint I got him. “Oh, you legend,” he says appreciatively, clapping me on the back as he picks it up and drains half of it in one go.
“It’s good to see you,” I say, not sure if I mean it or not. He was a decent friend in my era of desperation. The kind of company I needed in that moment. But all I feel now at seeing him is sadness and a general unease. Whatever we shared back them seems to have evaporated now.
“Ah, no, it’s not good to see me. You’re pissed at me, I know.” He grins and winks my way before polishing off the last of the bitter. I’m mildly shocked at his speed, but before I can say anything, he flags the barman down and jerks his thumb my way. “Another round of the same, boss.”
The guy nods, quietly pouring our drinks as Marlon fishes a crumpled twenty out of his pocket and leaves it on the sticky counter.
“You know why I texted, then?” I ask. I messaged out of the blue last night asking to meet up, not sure if I was relieved or not when he said tonight would work just fine.
“You found out I signed you up for that blind date thing at the club, yeah?” His tone is strange, like he thinks what he did was hilarious but at the same time his shoulders sag and he’s definitely…rueful? Sheepish?
“I suppose you had your reasons,” I say diplomatically. I sip my wine, eyeing up the fresh glass that’s been placed in front of me. I doubt I’m going to get through this one, let alone start that one. But I don’t want to reject Marlon’s hospitality.
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” my old friend says around the lip of his second pint before taking a gulp. At least with this one he’s slowed down and doesn’t look like he intends on necking it.
I sigh and rub my thumb against the stem of my glass. “I only found out about it last night. It’s not something…I’m not interested in that, Marl. But the young man I was paired with…” I sigh. “It felt like a particularly twatish move to stand him up the day before.”
“Yeah,” he says glumly. “That wasn’t my intention. Didn’t think about that bit. Poor lad. Hope he’s okay.”
I frown. When we used to tear up the town, Marlon used to laugh at any boys if they showed even a hint of…what is it the youngsters say nowadays? Catching feelings? ‘Love ’em and leave ’em’ was Marlon’s motto. It never sat well with me, but I was always very upfront with anyone I tangled with that it was strictly for sex. So I figured he was just doing the same in his own way.
Now he cared about Christian Prior?
Guilt swirls in my guts even though this mess isn’t of my making. I genuinely don’t know if Christian is okay or not, despite that being the word he used.
“Why did you sign me up? And on the sly?” That’s my main reason for asking him out to the pub tonight. I thought perhaps he’d done it for a laugh or as an excuse to hang out again. But as I look at him picking at the edges of his cardboard coaster, I don’t get that impression from him at all.
He sighs after a few beats, taking another swig of beer. “I was at Bootleg a few weeks ago.”
“Really?” I raise my eyebrows.
He chuckles darkly. “Yeah, it’s been a while, I know. I asked around about you. A couple of people said you still hadn’t moved on. That you were a sad sack wasting the best years of your life.”
I bristle immediately. “Hold on just a minute—” I begin, but he waves me off, like my indignation is boring.
“I know, I know. No one could ever replace Beau.”
Ice rushes through me and I freeze in place. I want to tell him to get Beau’s name out of his mouth, but he turns to me with such sad eyes, the words catch in my throat.
“And you’re right. No one could, should, or ever would replace Beau. But that’s not what it’s about, mate. It’s about…urgh.”
He scowls and apparently changes his mind about his drink, chugging it down, his Adam’s apple bobbing as a trickle of beer slips down his chin. He wipes it away irritably with the back of his hand and signals the bartender for another. Thankfully, he doesn’t get me anything else.
“We were fucking idiots,” he spits out. His leg is jiggling against the stool, and he starts ripping the coaster up, so the server gives him a fresh one under his new pint. “Breaking hearts like it was all a joke.”
“I wouldn’t say I exactly—” I try and protest, but he cuts me off again.
“I met someone.”
I blink, too stunned to speak for a moment. “Really?” It’s probably rude, but it was hard to imagine Marlon settling down back in the day, let alone now when he’s looking so rough. However, I’m genuinely happy for him. “That’s great, I?—”
“No, met,” he snaps. “As in past tense. Didn’t you wonder why I stopped bugging you to go get pissed all the time?”
I did, but I honestly just figured I outgrew him as my grief became slightly less raw. Rather than ask him more questions, I sip my drink and wait for him to talk in his own time.
“He was beautiful,” he says before laughing sadly and shaking his head. “Beau means beautiful, doesn’t it? Anyway, he—my boy—was way too good for me. A clever clogs, sweet as candy floss, made the most incredible noises when I fucked him.” I glance around, but the bartender is carefully not listening to us.
“So what happened?” I ask, unable to stop myself.
He scoffs and glowers into his pint. “Me, of course. I happened. I was terrified of commitment. I always said I never wanted to get tied down and I clung to that stupid notion like a fucking spectre clinging to the grave. I messed him around. Played games. Cheated on him. I was so busy getting him to break up with me so I wouldn’t have to man the fuck up and marry him that he finally did. He dumped me, like he bloody should have. And when that last straw made him lose my number and disappear forever, then— then— I realised I’d lost the love of my fucking life and there was no way I was ever getting him back.”
He takes another gulp of beer, licking his lips and trying not to make a big deal of rubbing at his moist eyes.
“Fucking idiot,” he snarls.
The moment hangs between us for a heartbeat. “Marlon, I’m so sorry,” I tell him sincerely.
He shakes his head and laughs. “Nah, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.” He looks so far from fine I almost want to hug him. I refrain, though, sure he’d loathe that. “But you…you were always the gentleman of us two. The nice one, the kind one. You made it clear you didn’t want to stick around but you’d always order them a taxi home or some bollocks. You had love. Real love. It’s not your fault it got snatched away.”
The lump rises in my throat, so I quickly take a mouthful of red wine to try and chase it away. It doesn’t quite work. He’s rambling, mixing up the guys I hooked up with and Beau, but I manage to follow what he’s saying.
Marlon turns and looks earnestly at me. “You shouldn’t be hiding yourself away still, Evan. You don’t need to punish yourself for something that was in no way your fault. You deserve happiness as much as the next bloke. I just thought if I put your name in for that thing, it might give you a kick up the arse or something. Don’t…don’t be me. Or one day you’ll look around and realise it’s too late. That you let something incredible slip through your fingers like a fart in the wind. Don’t be me.”
I’m so stunned, I just watch as he shakes his head, downs the third pint, then slips off his stool to stand once more. He only sways a little, which is quite impressive given the circumstances. Still, I’m definitely worried about what he’s doing to his liver.
“I won’t bore you anymore,” he mumbles. “Feel free to text me if you want. But I think I’m going to go and…and I don’t know? Get my shit together maybe? New year’s resolutions and all that bollocks you used to bang on about. You were always better than me. Don’t shut everyone out before they even have a chance to get close. You deserve happiness. You’re not trying to replace Beau. You just deserve to be happy. He’d want that.”
And as if he hadn’t just dropped the most devastating clanger of them all, he grips my shoulder briefly, then trudges towards the door, back out into the biting cold.
For several moments I just sit there, not really looking at anything, numb yet also prickling all over. With a jilt, my hand reaches out and seizes my wine glass almost of its own accord. Mimicking my departed friend, I gulp the rest of it down then take a deep breath.
Of everything I’d expected from this meeting tonight, it went in every other direction it possibly could have. I’m reeling enough without the wine hitting my system on an empty stomach.
Part of me wants to shake off his chilling warning and say I could never end up like him. But what exactly am I doing differently with my life? Barely letting anyone speak to me, let alone get close. Spending my evenings alone in my dark house. Trying my best to avoid the biggest, brightest holiday season of the whole year.
I was a parody of living. I might as well be haunting my own life.
Is that really what I think Beau would want for me? Is that how I should be honouring his memory?
I’m contemplating starting the second glass of wine after all, when my phone pings, telling me I’ve got a text. It pulls me from my reverie for a moment, enough to get me to fish my mobile from my pocket to see who’s contacting me on a Saturday evening.
When I see the name, I almost drop the blasted thing. It appears, though, that Christian has more to say to me than just ‘okay’.
CHRISTIAN: Hi, Evan. Thank you for letting me know yesterday that you were unaware we’d been matched for the Secret Santa blind date. I appreciate that you didn’t choose to put yourself forward for it. However, I was excited to spend some time together. You seem nice, and my friend Charlie said you sometimes volunteer at Battersea Dog’s Home, which I think is so kind. I felt like we could have enjoyed an afternoon today, even if it was last minute. I respect that you said you’re not looking to date right now. I’m not necessarily, either. I just thought that since we got matched, it might have been worth exploring. I was really sad that you cancelled. If I don’t hear back from you, I completely understand. But now at least you have all the facts. Enjoy your weekend, and if we don’t speak again—Merry Christmas. Tian xxx”
I don’t know how many times I reread the long message. At some point I realise that half of my second glass of wine has disappeared, and I push it away, worried if I don’t, I’ll get sloppy and do something I regret.
Christian—Tian—didn’t have to write that. In fact, after the way Marlon and I mucked him around, I’d have thought he’d never want to talk to me again.
He thinks I’m kind?
I wasn’t aware that anyone knew I tried to pop down to the big cats’ and dogs’ home at the weekend. I was planning on going there tomorrow, actually. Animals were simpler than people. I like letting them know that even if they’ve been abandoned or lost, they’re still worthy of love.
Oh.
That lump rises in my throat again, and I recall Marlon’s words just now.
You deserve to be loved. Don’t be me.
I was abandoned, even if it wasn’t on purpose. I’ve certainly been lost for a long time. If I was a dog, I wouldn’t punish me for that. I’d say I deserve a good home to go to just like anyone else.
I’m not sure I want to take the metaphor that far, but the wine is certainly working through my system. I ask for a glass of water and decide to get some chips as soon as I leave. But before I do…I want to write another text. A good one.
Tian deserves that much.