Chapter 10
I’ve never been to this café before. Inside, it’s bright.
Beams of sun are absorbed by the little wooden tables and the leaves of the gorgeously green, hungry plants.
The place is populated by a few people who are likely on their lunch breaks.
There are plenty of free tables, but Ben leads us to one in particular.
I take my seat. “This place is cute.”
Ben shrugs off his suit jacket. Again he reveals the bottom of his abdomen. “I come here a lot,” he says. “They do great coffee.”
A waitress politely hands us our menus and pledges to take our order whenever we’re ready.
As she departs, she takes a lingering look at Ben.
She’s a pretty girl, probably the type of girl that Ben would fancy.
This sight arouses an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Chomping on my lip, I realise this feeling is jealousy.
Objectively, Ben is handsome; I don’t dispute this. Still, underneath that beauty is a man that once made me so mad I would’ve moved halfway across the world if it meant I never had to deal with him again. So why do I feel like this?
Minutes later, the waitress returns to take our orders. I order tea and a sandwich, while Ben orders coffee and a panini. Once more, the waitress stares at Ben for a moment too long. However, Ben doesn’t take any notice of her.
“So, why are you staying all the way down in Gorey when you’ve got a big house in Donnybrook?”
First of all, it isn’t a big house. It is a three-bedroom, two-bath semi-detached house with a garden that faces the wrong way. And secondly, it isn’t mine. It never was. And now, I’m sure, it never will be.
I swallow. “I told you already, Ben. Like I said earlier, I’m helping my brother paint his house this week.”
Ben shakes his head. He gives a tight half-smile. “I don’t believe you.”
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He plays with a sachet of sugar. “I think you’re lying to me. Why would you start painting now, when we’re coming into the autumn months? Surely you would’ve painted at the start of the summer.”
My face feels hot under his interrogation. Instead of forming a lazy excuse, I boldly shoot back with, “My turn.”
Ben scrunches up his face like he’s offended. “Your turn to what?”
“My turn to ask you a question.”
“But you didn’t answer mine.”
“I did answer. I’ve told you the same answer twice now. I just didn’t give you the answer you wanted to hear.”
Ben disapprovingly shakes his head again, sending his curls from left to right. “Fine. What do you want to ask?”
There are many questions I would like to ask Ben Kehoe: Why were you such an asshole in college? Why were you so mean to me back then? And why are you being nice to me now?
As I’m formulating my question, the pretty waitress plonks our drinks down in front of us. “The food will just take a few more minutes.”
As I begin to fill my empty cup with tea, I eye the dancing leaf floating in Ben’s coffee.
Ben sits back in his chair. “So, what do you want to ask me?”
Underneath the table, I cross one leg over the other, leaning forwards. “Why do you hate planning so much?”
Ben sucks in a long breath, causing his shoulders to rise.
“I should’ve known you’d ask me that.” He folds his arms across his stomach.
“I just don’t see the point in planning every little detail of your life.
I mean you can spend your entire life planning for something, and then one thing can happen that will knock you off course and change everything. ”
Don’t I know it.
“It’s just…” Ben clears his throat. “I don’t see why people say you always need to have a plan in life. Why not just go with the flow and see what happens?”
“Not having a plan can scare some people, you know. For some people, clinging to that plan is what fuels them, what gets them up in the morning.”
“But something can come along that completely derails that plan, and then what?”
“You make a new plan.”
“Only for that to be derailed when another surprise comes along?”
“Give me an example to support your argument,” I request.
Ben sips his coffee. His forehead wrinkles as he falls deep into concentration.
“Okay. Take love for example. A tale as old as time: boy meets girl when he’s young, falls madly in love.
They go to the same school, have some classes together, stuff like that.
All the while, the boy is falling further and further in love with this girl.
Since he first laid eyes on her, he’s had a plan in his head to marry that girl.
But the girl doesn’t notice the boy. She scowls whenever he opens his mouth in class and mocks everything he does.
But the boy doesn’t let this stop him. Like you said, he clings on to the plan he’s made.
Maybe today will be the day, he thinks. When he finally works up the courage to ask the girl the question that’s been part of his plan, she just mocks him again and disappears.
What happens then? What is he supposed to do? ”
“That’s oddly specific,” I note, slurping my tea. “Speaking from experience?”
Ben shrugs. “Not relevant.”
“I see your point.”
Ben wears a hooked smile. “Thank you. So why spend your life planning when everything is out of our control?”
I wipe my tongue across my front teeth. “Like I said before, to have something to cling to. At least until everything went tits up for that boy in your story, he had something to get him out of bed every morning. And I doubt he just instantly fell out of love with the girl. Maybe he’ll just adjust his plan.
Wait until he and the girl have matured and try again later in life. ”
“You think he’ll never stop loving the girl?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I admit. “His feelings might be depleted over time, but I think love isn’t something you can just turn on and off.”
Ben tilts his head and surveys me. His expression isn’t the usual look of disapproval that I’ve become accustomed to. No. This time, his eyes are contemplative, interested, like he actually cares about what I’m going to say. “You really believe that?”
I do think that. It’s what I’ve been clinging to for the last few weeks. If there’s even the slightest chance that Tom still loves me, I’ll cling to that.
“Yes.”
The waitress comes back, a long white plate in each hand.
She carefully places them in front of us.
She only looks at Ben when she asks, “Is everything else alright for you guys?” We thank her and tell her that everything is great.
With that, she leaves to clear another table, sneaking one last look at Ben as she does so.
As I’m about to take a bite of my sandwich, Ben confesses, “I always knew which twin you were, by the way. Ever since first year in college.”
I feel my complexion redden. “You did?”
“Well, you and Brendan don’t look very alike, in fairness. And there was what happened at that party.”
Here it is. A reminder of that night. The night we said our goodbyes. The last night we spoke to each other.
It was the third and final year of our college course.
One week after our class had finished our final summer exam – European Union law – Brendan and I hosted a party.
There was food, alcohol, music, probably drugs, and plenty of bad decisions.
We invited everyone from our course. That meant the invitation was also extended to Ben Kehoe, even though neither Brendan nor I wanted him there.
Some shocking things happened that night.
A few people were so drunk they fell asleep in their chairs; others cried; I witnessed one boy snort a line of powder off the floor I’d neglected to hoover, and our neighbours lodged a noise complaint for which Brendan and I were fined a hefty amount.
Most shocking of all, however, was seeing Ben Kehoe at our front door.
Brendan let him inside because I was too busy dancing.
As soon as he stepped inside, Ben was engulfed by a swarm of girls.
He stayed with these girls for most of the night.
He drank with them, danced with them, but never kissed any of them.
For my part, I spent most of the night peering into the throng, staring at the boy who was surrounded by this group of girls.
Ben looked so good in his jeans, and his T-shirt seamlessly hugged his torso.
His wavy curls were hidden by a backwards baseball cap, which accentuated the symmetry of his handsome face.
When one of the girls left Ben’s circle to get another drink, I was exposed.
Ben caught me red-handed, staring right at him.
I quickly looked away, pretending to be engrossed in something else.
Timidly, I snuck a glance back over my shoulder.
This time, Ben was staring at me. And I felt his heavy stare behind me for the rest of the night.
When he followed me to the balcony. When I sat down with a crying girl.
When Brendan started to eat an entire pizza all by himself.
I later rejoined the frenzy of drunk, dancing students.
The crowd of shuffling dancers pushed me closer to Ben.
We continued to be pushed forwards until we ended up side by side.
At first, I pretended not to notice his presence.
I’d already said my goodbyes to him outside on the balcony and didn’t have anything more to say.
But when a pair of warm hands massaged my shoulders, I couldn’t resist the urge to face him.