Chapter 8 #2
I make a conscious effort not to roll my eyes. ‘This really is people’s sticking point with me, isn’t it? Everyone wants me back out, acting wild to make themselves feel better.’
‘I’m not talking about you being wild. Even tonight, this is the hottest cave à manger in the city, and I can tell you’re not into it.’
Why is he so offended that I’m not enjoying the cramped ambiance of this place?
‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. ‘I’m not ready to go back to my old life. I’m not sure if I’m that person anymore.’
When I finally get home, I say a sad farewell to the dress, as I no longer want to look like I’m on my way to the Love Island villa.
I then throw on some joggers and a T-shirt and go in search of non-slivered food.
Through the kitchen window I spot Wuffy sitting in loaf position on the fence, yet when I try and beckon him in, he stares right through me.
My phone vibrates. It’s Cian and I’m pleased, because I’ve been thinking of him since last Friday.
‘Zoe –’ he sounds panicky, – ‘are you at home?’
‘Yeah. What’s wrong?’
‘My dad claims there was a tubby tabby on the high street. Said everyone was making TikToks of it dodging traffic outside Lidl.’
‘What are you talking about? Wuffy is here, in my garden.’
‘You sure?’
When I pull my phone away from my ear, I see not only how late it is, but also my call history. ‘You called me five times for this.’
‘Shit. I’m way too involved with this animal.’
‘I didn’t realise it was you calling. I was out.’
‘On a Friday night?’ he hollers. ‘How did it feel to be dancing on a table again?’
‘Hardly. I was at some Parisian-style wine bar where all the influencers go to take photos of their food. Blue Orchid. Have you heard of it?’
‘No, but I already hate it.’
‘They have a stunning selection of biodynamic wines, all served in a breezy cosmopolitan setting.’
‘Zoe,’ he moans, as if about to scold me, ‘why were you there? I thought you were retired from going out.’
‘I am. Ikenna invited me.’ I point and flex my battered toes.
‘Right,’ Cian says, and that’s it. Right.
‘Yeah,’ I start, then I’m lost. ‘We hadn’t seen each other in a while.’
‘That’s strange, seeing as he’s your boyfriend.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend. He never was. We were just, sort of, you know.’
‘I’m losing track of social boundaries,’ Cian mumbles, ‘because I’m compelled to ask why you wouldn’t want Ikenna to be your boyfriend. Isn’t he hot?’
‘You think Ikenna is hot?’
‘Fuck yeah. Have you seen him in a suit?’
‘We weren’t exactly a good fit. Also, he found it hard to deal with my, my uh—’
‘Your laugh,’ Cian says, then cracks himself up.
‘You know what, yes. He hated my laugh. I always tried to keep it down when I was with him.’
‘You were with someone you tried to laugh quietly around?’
‘You make it sound so bad. Ikenna isn’t bad.’
‘No?’ Cian asks, his voice high.
‘No. Ikenna really is as perfect as he seems.’ While there weren’t tons of feelings between us, I still feel like I’ve been through a double-speed breakup.
I pick a few lychees from the huge selection of tropical fruit Eric bought to rot in the bowl.
‘We weren’t together, we were . . . No judgement? ’
‘No judgement,’ Cian confirms.
‘We were casual with each other, like very casual, if you get what I mean.’ Lychees are more work than I want, so I grab a banana instead.
‘You don’t need to spell it out.’
‘Then, well, a lot of stuff was happening, and I couldn’t really deal with it, and he was there.
And because he’s that sort of person, he stayed there.
Stayed with me even when it stopped being fun.
’ I’m aware I’m talking fast, possibly rambling, yet it’s cathartic to get it out, to do a rough version of a relationship debrief.
‘I was meant to be this fun person to be around, then I turned into this depressed person he felt obligated to be with.’ This was possibly too much unloading.
‘I actually don’t want to talk about this. ’
‘We don’t have to.’ Instead of making an excuse to end the call, Cian asks, ‘Would you like a change of topic?’
‘Yes,’ I say, grateful. ‘Yes, please.’
‘Tell me about Jimmy publicly humiliating the sales team today. I heard— Ah, hang on, my mum is calling me.’
‘Your mum? I thought she lived in Eastbourne?’
‘She does. I’ve been sent here so my dad can have a break from nursing me.’
‘I’ll let you go,’ I say.
‘No, don’t. She only talks to me in soundbites. Stay on the line, I want to talk to you.’
Their conversation is muffled yet I pick up on a difference in his tone compared to when he speaks with Brendan: it’s noticeably less warm. By the time he comes back on the line I’ve moved from the kitchen to the living room.
‘Zoe?’
‘Were you getting told off?’
‘Always.’
‘Is your mum not pandering to you enough?’
‘My mum wouldn’t know how to pander to me. I only came here because she was guilt-tripping me about not seeing her in a year.’
‘You hadn’t seen your mum in a year? How did that happen?’ I almost add, teach me your ways yet don’t want to make light of what sounds like a fraught situation.
‘My sister, Fiona, used to make it happen, but since she moved abroad, I just haven’t got around to it.’
‘Isn’t Eastbourne really far? How did you get there?’
‘My dad drove me. It was fucking terrible. We were in traffic for hours, then he argued with my mum on the doorstep for ten minutes before driving straight back to London.’
‘How long have they been divorced?’
‘Weirdly, they’re not. They’ve never even acknowledged they’re separated.’
‘That’s mad, Cian.’
‘My dad’s had girlfriends over the years, but judging by the way my mum is bitching about me eating everything and being noisy, she’s not used to sharing her space with anyone.
This has been a good reminder of why I don’t come here that often.
’ He tags on an empty-sounding laugh. ‘Anyway,’ he says quickly, ‘I’m ranting at you. ’
‘You’re not.’ I don’t want to the call to end. ‘I can’t believe I’ve found someone to talk on the phone with. Though I do keep getting the urge to ask what you’re wearing.’
‘What I’m wearing?’ he asks, confused. ‘Oh, I’m hanging up now,’ he claims, yet stays on the line. ‘What are you doing this weekend?’
I lie back on the sofa and close my eyes. ‘I’m meant to start a cooking class at the community centre tomorrow.’
‘Doesn’t the community have enough problems without having to teach you how to cook?’
‘My mum used to warn me about boys who teased.’
‘I’m not teasing you. I’m excited you’re going to share your strange ideas about sandwich fillings with the world.’
We fall quiet and it instantly becomes too intimate.
God, I feel lonely, and worse than realising this is realising how much I want to tell Cian. How much better I think I would feel after saying, I’m lonely, to another person. ‘I’m tired. I should go to bed.’
‘Course, it’s late. Can I say one more thing?’
‘Is it about what you’re wearing?’
He groans. ‘You’ve made it awkward for me to say what I wanted to say.’
‘Sorry. Go on.’ I hold the phone closer and wait.
‘I think you’re fun to be around.’
I exhale and close my eyes. ‘Thanks. Night, Cian.’