Comet
Olivia and I are sitting at the kitchen table with tea. Nash has gone upstairs to give us space.
‘I gave Peppy back to his owner if that’s what you’re here to ask,’ Olivia finally says. I know she’s trying to make light of the situation, but I’m in no mood for jokes.
‘Who are you? You have a house? A husband? You don’t even have the same voice,’ I say in a frantic whisper, cautious of Nash being in the house.
She flicks her eyes up at me.
‘I’ll explain,’ she mutters. I lean back in my chair with my arms crossed, prepping myself for the story.
She exhales and begins. ‘Nash and I have been together since we were 12. We met on the first day of senior school in art class. We were asked to draw any animal and we both drew a platypus, and that was that. We went through school together, and both left at 16 and have been working ever since. When I was 22, we got married at the town hall, and then we bought this house. Recently, we started talking about starting a family . . .’ She drifts off.
I frown. It’s not the traumatic story I was expecting.
She’s got the house and a man who clearly adores her, isn’t that what people are striving for?
‘Sounds like the perfect love story,’ I say tightly. ‘Unlike my one.’ I show her my bare hand without the engagement ring on. She does a sharp intake of breath, like she has seen a nasty cut.
‘Oh, Amy. I’m so sorry . . .’ She winces and then says, ‘But probably for the best, though. Right?’
‘Probably,’ I say as I stand up. ‘But it still hurts.’ I go to the kitchen window and look out at the garden, which is a concrete space with a rusting round table, bare flowerpots and a string of fairy lights dangling from one side to the other. In the corner, a BBQ is covered in shrivelled leaves.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that,’ Lace says. ‘I just meant—’
I cut her off.
‘You knew more about my relationship with Josh than anyone else. I didn’t tell my best friends the things I told you. And yet, I didn’t even know your real name, let alone that you were happily married and lived in a lovely house with a . . . a . . . BBQ.’
‘It’s only a cheap thing from Homebase,’ I hear her mutter.
‘I’m just confused, Lace. Olivia. Whatever. I feel lied to.’
I look at her, and she dips her head.
‘I know, I’m sorry.’
The photo hanging by the farmhouse clock catches my eye.
I go over to take a closer look. Olivia and Nash are standing on wet concrete steps surrounded by confetti.
She has lace from her neck to her wrists and a bright white skirt with a long train being held up by her bridesmaids.
Nash looks like a true hipster in chequered trousers that hover above his ankles and a green bowtie that matches his green socks. They are a disgustingly cool couple.
‘That was the first wedding dress I made,’ she says.
‘It’s stunning. Naturally,’ I say and sit back at the table.
‘The thing about me and Nash is we’re so close. It’s like we’ve moulded into the same person. Where Nash is, I am. Where I am, Nash is. Our lives have been so intertwined that it’s almost impossible to know who I am without him.’
‘Sure. I get it. Relationships can be suffocating, but it’s quite something to run away to London, change your identity, make friends with strangers, and let’s not forget, steal a cat .
. .’ I pause. She avoids my eye contact.
‘Surely a spa weekend would have done the trick? I just don’t understand—’
‘Mum left when I was eight,’ she cuts in. ‘She flew to America with some guy. She couldn’t deal with it anymore. It, being motherhood. It, being me.’ She laughs, even though we both know it’s not funny.
Now I feel awful.
‘Olivia. I’m so . . .’
‘It’s fine. Or it was until last year, when Nash and I started talking about having a family.
The more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself that I couldn’t do it.
What if I get bored and ran away like Mum?
That’s another kid on this planet who’s fucked up.
I should have said something to Nash sooner, but I was terrified he would think I was broken.
Society has never warmed to women who are not ga-ga about babies.
So, I spiralled. I began making arguments out of nothing.
The placement of the soap dish was a real lowlight.
I knew I was being horrendous, and he didn’t deserve it.
So, I told him I needed some space. And that’s when I came to London and became Lace.
’ She says this as if it were the most natural solution to the problem.
‘Okay,’ I say, pausing to absorb the story, which was upsetting, yes, but also very baffling. ‘But why would you pretend to be someone else?’
‘I didn’t see it like I was pretending to be someone else.
Lace is me, just a very exaggerated version.
Does that make sense?’ I nod as if it does, even though it doesn’t.
As far as I’m concerned, I am Amy Elman, there’s nothing more to it, but each to their own.
She continues. ‘I always wondered what my life would be like if I hadn’t met Nash, if I lived this alternative life in London. And so that’s what I was doing.’
Nash appears in the doorway. ‘Smuggins, do you know where my earbuds have gone?’
Did he say, smuggins? How could she laugh at Lab Rat, when she gets called bloody smuggins?
‘By the sink,’ she says, glancing at me, aware that I have noticed her nickname.
‘Thanks,’ he calls out as he walks away.
‘He always leaves his earbuds by the sink,’ she explains to me. ‘He likes to listen to the William Tell Overture when he’s brushing his teeth. He’s done it ever since the iPod came out.’ She shakes her head and smiles to herself.
‘You really love him, don’t you?’
‘Yeah. I’m lucky.’
‘Sounds like you won the love lottery.’
‘I have. However, it’s still hard work, which is why, God forbid, don’t settle.
Please don’t settle, Amy. I see so many marvellous women settle for something that isn’t real.
Sure, Josh and you got on, he’s a good guy.
But I could tell immediately that he didn’t set your world on fire.
You didn’t want to rip his clothes off. You weren’t even excited about your wedding.
You were ticking off a checklist of what life should be, rather than what it could be. Who you, Amy Elman, could be.’
I look down at my mug still full of tea and feel the weight of my current reality. ‘I don’t know what I want my life to be anymore. See, I thought I did, but . . .’ I drift off.
‘Not many people do, but you have the freedom of choice. That’s more than most have in this world.
’ She reaches her hand across the table.
I look at the ring on her wedding finger, a gold band with a sapphire.
I slowly reach my hand out, and she squeezes it.
‘I’m sorry I lied to you,’ she says, looking me dead in the eye.
I want to be angry at her for making me feel like an idiot, but then, I can’t ignore the fact that she saved me. She was a stranger who gave me confidence when I needed it the most. And without her, I probably would have made one of the most colossal mistakes of my life.
‘The reason why I came here today was not to catch you out. I came here to see if you’re happy. Are you?’
She nods and lets go of my hand. ‘I am now.’
‘Well, that’s the main thing.’ I spot the time on the farmhouse clock and groan. It’s past three already. Time goes quickly when you’re solving mysteries.
‘I need to get back to London. I’m seeing Woody’s band play tonight.’
‘I didn’t think you liked Woody’s band?’
‘I thought you only drank red wine, smuggins?’
‘Touché.’ She raises her eyebrows and smiles. ‘I’ll walk you to the station.’
I take my mug to the sink and have one last look at the garden. I suppose there is no dream life; everyone is paying a price somewhere.
Olivia links her arm in mine as we walk down her street.
She tells me she and Nash are going to start trying for a family in the next few months.
She also tells me she’s going to stay away from London for a long time, if not forever.
‘I’m not saying I didn’t have fun,’ she says, ‘But they were dark days.’
‘What was it that got you to come home?’ I ask.
‘Ah,’ Lace said through a sigh. ‘Nash rocked up one Sunday out of the blue, and gosh was I a bitch to him. He wanted me to come home, but I wasn’t ready.
When I went back to my studio that night, I had never felt so alone.
I cried and cried. Poor Peppy sat on the French daybed, glaring at me like I had lost my mind. I suppose, in a way, I had.’
‘You should have called me,’ I say, feeling terrible because I knew where I was that evening, watching another episode of Making a Murderer, of course.
‘No, it was my mess. I called Nash around 2 a.m. and finally said everything I was feeling about being a mum, and he understood me. Of course he did. He always has done. He said that we didn’t have to be parents, but he thought it would be a shame, because he believes that I would be the kind of mum who makes costumes for plays and tries to solve every problem, even if it’s just a silly playground drama.
The kind of mum who would spend ages writing out tooth fairy letters in tiny handwriting to make it look more believable.
And he was right, that would be me. It clicked after that.
Life with Nash, motherhood, it was less scary because I wasn’t focusing on how I could fail, but how I could be great.
I know that sounds dangerously close to some Pinterest malarky .
. . but it’s true. I went home after the wedding dress fitting, and now we’re patching ourselves back up again, slowly. ’
‘God, you didn’t wait around for my dress fitting, did you?’
She tightens her arm around mine. ‘I wanted to. I worked hard on that dress. It was one of the best I had ever made. Plus, I wanted to say goodbye to you properly that night. But you ran off to peg Josh before I could.’
I laugh, still embarrassed about that night. ‘Ah yeah, that didn’t go well.’
‘Clearly. What are you going to do with the dress?’
I think of it lying on top of a cardboard box. It feels like such a waste that it’s not going to be worn after all her hard work.
‘Why don’t you have it? Maybe another client will fit into it?’
‘No. It’s yours. I made it for you. Wear it for Halloween, or the next wedding, perhaps? I don’t know. You’ll find a purpose for it. Maybe sell it and buy a telescope.’
‘Maybe.’ I smile.
We cross the road at the traffic lights and begin the uphill climb towards the station, passing the rush hour traffic as we walk.
‘Do you regret coming to London?’ I ask her.
She takes a deep breath. ‘I regret the lies, but selfishly, no. I needed to step out of my painting to view it from the outside, so I know just how beautiful it is. How lucky I am. If that makes sense?’
‘You know I’m not good with poetic stuff.’
‘You’re better than you think.’
The smell of fish and chips makes my stomach rumble, and it reminds me to call Nina about dinner as soon as I’m on the train. She’s not going to believe Olivia’s story.
We go against the flow of commuters coming in from London as we go into Brighton station. There is a train to Blackfriars, which leaves in four minutes from platform seven.
We turn to say our goodbyes. I see every freckle on her face and how her eyelashes flick up naturally. She’s still nauseatingly beautiful.
‘Oh, these are for you,’ I say, pulling out the envelopes from my bag.
‘Ah, so that’s how you found me.’ She checks over the envelopes and whispers sadly, ‘Oh, Frankie.’ She looks like she’s about to cry.
‘Can I ask?’ I say. ‘Were you two doing it?’
‘Amy,’ she says in a disapproving way. ‘Ask me the question like we’re grown-ups.’
‘Fine. Were you having sex with Frankie?’
‘No, we weren’t,’ she says with a straight face. ‘But, if I’m honest, I knew he wanted to have sex and more, and I used that to my advantage, which is worse, in a way.’
‘Hmm, yeah. That’s not great.’
‘Could you tell him I’m sorry?’
‘I’ll try,’ I say and grimace, because I can’t imagine Frankie wants to hear a second-hand apology from me.
‘Or, maybe I’ll send him a letter,’ Olivia says, reading my face.
‘That might be kinder.’ An announcement tells me my train is ready to depart. ‘Well, this has been . . . surreal,’ I say, laughing, awkwardly, unsure of how to navigate this farewell. But then, Olivia pulls me in, and we give each other the tightest hug. She lets go and begins walking backwards.
‘Paint the most magnificent picture, Amy Elman,’ she shouts across the people passing between us.
Again, I’m not sure what she means, but I shout back, ‘I’ll try.’ She turns away and disappears into the crowd, like a comet disappearing into the night sky.