Chapter 25.
Then
Lara was dating someone. Sam. She’d met him over the summer, while she was interning. He was a few years older, worked in prosthetics for film and TV. Maybe she’d been hoping to make a good contact, or maybe she liked him because they had stuff in common. Perhaps a little of both. They’d been out a few times. Nothing serious yet, as far as I knew – although it was the most dates she’d ever had with one guy. So maybe there was something there.
Every time she came back from his place – a house share up on Pottergate – she and I would climb into her bed together with mugs of tea, and she would tell me everything.
That morning, we were listening to Coldplay. Jamie was already on the phone to his mum, reassuring her about God knows what.
‘He doesn’t laugh much,’ Lara said about Sam, wrinkling her nose. ‘Takes himself quite seriously. And he wears T-shirts in bed.’
‘So?’
‘My dad wears T-shirts in bed.’
‘But he’s hot. Sam, I mean,’ I clarified, quickly.
‘I know. It’s quite annoying.’
Next to me, her tumble of blonde hair was splayed like a mermaid’s on the pillow. She is so beautiful , I thought. I hoped Sam thought the same, when he looked at her.
‘Neve, do you ever worry... that you’ve settled down too soon?’
I stared at her, surprised. Lara was almost as close to Jamie as I was. ‘No. What? Why would I?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Because everyone has flaws? Even Saint Jamie.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘I never said he’s perfect.’
‘But that’s what you think.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Okay. Name one . . . imperfect thing about him.’
I had to think really hard before deciding that maybe, sometimes, Jamie could be a tiny bit stubborn. Like when he knew he wouldn’t enjoy a certain TV show before he’d even seen it. Or refused to ever get Indian takeaway because of one bad experience with a too-hot jalfrezi.
‘I’m waiting,’ Lara said.
‘Okay. Maybe sometimes he... can be a bit stubborn.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s not an imperfection. That’s a superpower. Take it from me.’
‘Being stubborn is your fatal flaw, and you know it.’
‘Anyway. That’s it? That’s seriously the worst thing you can think of?’
‘You asked me to name an imperfection, not the worst thing about him.’
Morning was seeping through a crack in the curtains, a slow buttermilk trickle of daylight.
She sipped her tea. ‘Okay then. What’s the worst thing about him?’
‘Probably his dad.’ I felt bad, even as I said it. ‘I really can’t stand his dad.’
‘Wow, you two really are off-the-charts scandalous, aren’t you?’
I stick out my tongue. ‘I can’t help it if he’s the best person ever.’
‘Okay, get out of the way. I think I’m going to puke.’
I wondered about that, later. Why I’d let Lara talk me into bad-mouthing Jamie, even though it was really only his dad I’d criticised. Still, when I curled up in bed with him that night, I felt guilt for not being as loyal as I could have been. I could have just said, I can’t think of anything. He’s perfect .
The following afternoon, Jamie popped out for some bread and milk. He left his phone on the coffee table in the living room. I only glanced at it when it flashed with a call. Probably his mum.
But it wasn’t his mum. Heather was the name on the screen.
To this day, I have no idea why I picked it up. Why I thought it was even remotely my place to answer.
‘Hello?’
A held note of hesitation. If slipping up had a sound, I felt sure this was it.
Then she asked for Jamie, in a voice as cool and smooth as cream.
‘Sorry. He’s out right now. Can I take a message?’
‘No, that’s okay. Thanks.’ And then she rang off.
I don’t know why the call made me feel so uneasy. I stayed where I was on the sofa, the phone a mudweight in my hand.
Jamie had never mentioned anyone called Heather.
‘Heather rang,’ I said, when he got back. I don’t know why I said it like she was someone we both knew. The words were out of my mouth before he’d even shut the back door.
I listened to him sling his keys onto the kitchen worktop, put away the bread and milk. Then he called out, ‘Oh, really? Okay. Cheers.’
‘I picked it up... because I thought it might be important.’
He wandered through to the living room, set his wallet on the coffee table. He nodded, but didn’t seem bothered about retrieving the phone from my hand. He didn’t pass further comment, appeared completely unconcerned.
‘She didn’t want to leave a message.’
He nodded again. I noticed his cheeks were ruddy from the walk. Or was he slightly flustered? ‘Fancy the pub?’
‘Okay.’ I took a breath, passed him the phone. ‘Who...? Who is she? Heather.’
He started scrolling, I couldn’t tell on what. ‘Oh, just someone from A&L.’
Archibald & Leicester, the firm in London where he’d spent the summer.
I waited.
He looked up. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah, I was just... wondering who Heather is, that’s all.’
He frowned. ‘I told you. Someone I worked with at A&L.’
‘You never mentioned her.’
A beat. Tension clung like sweat to the space between us. ‘Why would I?’
‘I don’t know... because you have her number in your phone?’
‘Well, she was my mentor, so she gave it to me.’
I could feel my skin prickling. I wasn’t the jealous type, never had been. I wouldn’t have dreamed of policing Jamie’s calls, or his friendships, or anything. In the last days with my dad, we’d all lived on a boiling tide of my mother’s accusations, each one wilder and more devastating than the last. It was hard to witness, and I’d sworn to myself I would never be like that.
Still, some new reflex was compelling me to dig deeper. ‘But how come... you never mentioned her? If she was your mentor, I mean.’
Jamie shrugged. ‘I hardly had anything to do with her. She didn’t take the role of mentor that seriously, if I’m honest.’
‘So why is she calling you?’
‘I have no idea, Neve.’
‘Aren’t you curious?’
‘Not really.’
My insides bunched with frustration. What aspiring architect receives an unexpected call from the company they spent the summer with – a prestigious architectural firm – yet claims to be not in the least bit curious why? ‘What if they’re ringing to offer you a job?’
‘Heather’s not senior enough to offer me a job. And I wouldn’t be interested anyway. I don’t want to move to London. I told you that.’
He was so casual, so bemused by my apparent concern. But I simply couldn’t understand it – why she was in his phone, why she was calling, why he apparently didn’t care what she wanted. ‘Aren’t you going to ring her back?’
He groaned. ‘Neve. Maybe later. Come on, are we going to the pub or not?’
The thing was, I did trust him. He’d never given me reason not to. I knew how affairs looked – the way they sounded and smelt and felt. I would know if he had something to hide. So I resolved to put it to the back of my mind. Heather was his mentor, that was all there was to it. Heather was his mentor – but I was his girlfriend, and we were in love.