Chapter 9
Eve was sitting in her sister’s kitchen.
Sascha’s was the same sort of kitchen she used to have.
Sascha’s house was the same sort of house she used to have, too: an Edwardian semi-detached with box bay windows, oak floors, marble worktops and a dark oak kitchen table covered with a tablecloth and cluttered with the kind of paraphernalia that belongs to a family – a fruit bowl, magazines and newspapers, a laptop, an iPad.
In the corner, between the dining table and the hallway, there was a soft sofa with bright throws and cushions where Pooh, Sascha’s old springer spaniel, was fast asleep.
Sascha’s kitchen felt warm and full of colour. It felt like a home.
Sascha poured filter coffee into a mug, fetched a milk carton from the fridge and placed both down on the island in front of her sister.
‘So,’ she asked, sitting down opposite. ‘Are you seeing him again? I mean … how did you leave it?’
Eve cast her mind back, remembering how it had felt to be in Joe’s kitchen, to watch him make the tea while the winter sunlight glinted outside the windows.
How he’d removed his jacket, and how she’d tried not to stare at the rise and fall of the muscles in his back and shoulders.
How close he’d sat to her at the table – to her right, rather than opposite – so that she could very easily have reached out and touched his hands.
‘Well, I’m not really sure, to be honest,’ she said.
Sascha looked impatient. ‘What do you mean? How can you not know? What was the last thing you said to each other?’
‘I said I had to get home,’ Eve told her. ‘Because Mackenzie was coming at six thirty and I had to make dinner.’
‘And before that?’
‘Well, I was a bit emotional,’ Eve confessed.
‘So it’s hard to remember everything that was said, and in what order.
I was talking quite a lot about Kenz and Rich, and he was just …
well, listening, really, at that point. And when I finally stopped talking, he said something about a song. We’d been talking about a song.’
‘A song? Which song?’
‘“Everybody’s Changing”. By Keane. You know …’
Sascha started singing the words.
‘Yes,’ Eve said. ‘That one.’
‘What about it?’
‘Well, I told him that’s how I felt. That everyone was moving on, and that my friends were all at a different stage in their lives, and that I was finding it hard to …
I don’t know. To know where I belong. And that’s when he quoted some of the lyrics back at me.
You know, the ones about finding it hard to stay awake and remember your name, which he said is about the existential struggle to make sense of your place in an indifferent world. ’
‘Oh, come on, Evie,’ Sascha frowned. ‘Indifferent? You really think that?’
‘Yes, Sascha,’ Eve said insistently. ‘That is how I feel sometimes. Not all of the time. But sometimes – yes. And he got that. He felt it too. He said, “Some days are better than others.” And he also said, “You just have to take each day as it comes and never stop hoping that something good could suddenly happen to you when you’re least expecting it.”’
Sascha grinned. ‘That’s what he said?’
Eve nodded. ‘Yes. I found it quite uplifting, actually.’
‘You big berk!’ Sascha laughed, then reached a hand out and gripped her sister’s fingers. ‘You’re so naive! He was talking about you!’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Yes!’ Sascha exclaimed. ‘Go on, then. What happened next?’
‘Well, we talked about that song and he said it meant something to him too. He said he remembered it being released for the first time in May 2003, but it didn’t get much airplay, and then it was re-released a year later on a bigger label and suddenly it was massive.
It was being played everywhere. He said that both times it was released, something monumental had just happened in his life and he knew nothing was ever going to be the same for him again.
He said he froze in time and the world moved on without him. ’
‘What did he mean by that?’
Eve shrugged. ‘He didn’t say. But I suspect it was a relationship that ended badly. Or maybe he lost someone he loved. I got the impression it was something pretty big.’
‘You didn’t ask him?’
‘No.’ Eve looked up at her sister. ‘I could see by the look on his face that he didn’t want to tell me. So I just said that I was sorry.’
Sascha sipped her coffee. ‘Well, nobody comes without baggage at your age, Evie.’
‘I know that. I didn’t say I minded. It drew me to him, actually.’
‘Good,’ Sascha said, putting down her mug. ‘You can have your midlife crises together. Keep each other company. So, when are you going round there?’
‘I’m not. He didn’t ask to see me again. That’s what I mean. It was kind of left in the air.’
‘Do you like him? Do you fancy him?’
‘Yes,’ Eve admitted.
‘So, go round. Knock on his door.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Why not? What have you got to lose?’
Eve pondered the question. ‘The fantasy that he likes me back.’
‘Are you stupid? Of course he bloody likes you!’ Sascha sighed. ‘If you don’t go round there and knock on his door, I will.’
Eve waited until the following Sunday, an intoxicating blend of dread and excitement creeping up on her all week as she talked herself in and out of what she was about to do.
She ate an early lunch, then washed and straightened her hair and put on a bit of mascara and eyeliner – not too much – and at two o’clock, she set off across the Parks, a handwritten note with her phone number folded up in the pocket of her bumbag in readiness for the possibility that Joe might not be home.
She had decided to walk instead of cycle to give herself time to think about what she was going to say if he was home, and because she felt so nervous.
She went along the path that led to the High Bridge, then over it and past the duck pond where she used to take Mackenzie when she was small, then stopped and sat on the bench by the water, remembering her date with Online Chris and how she’d been stood up.
Was she really ready to deal with another rejection?
Her fingers found the note in her bumbag, the one it had taken her all morning to write. She pulled it out and read it:
Hi Joe. Eve Shotton here. We met a week ago on Friday. You gave me some oregano and a cup of tea! I wanted to thank you for the chat, which really helped, and I wondered if you’d like to get a coffee sometime? Or tea!
She’d added her phone number and signed off with a smiley face.
It was fine, she decided, tucking it away again; the tone was about right. And if Sascha was wrong and there was nothing between them, then at least she’d be able to move on. Get back online again. Chat to someone new.
She continued up the path towards the exit by Lady Margaret Hall, noticing how lovely the snowdrops now looked, interspersed as they were with crocuses – a huge carpet of purple and white lining the way.
The house was still and silent as she approached.
The Volvo was outside, the back gate shut.
Joe had said it was usually unlocked, but was it better to knock at the front or back door?
She wasn’t sure. She stood outside on the pavement for a moment or two, trying to decide what to do, when the gate opened and Joe stepped out onto the driveway carrying a ladder.
He moved like a ghost towards the garage door, then saw her and stopped.
For a brief second, she thought she saw an expression that could have been displeasure, or could have been fear, but then he smiled, faintly, and put the ladder down on the gravel, standing it upright.
‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry to just turn up, but—’
‘You want some more oregano.’ Once again, she couldn’t tell if he was joking.
She took a breath. She could say yes. It would make things less awkward. He could cut her some oregano, they could chat for a minute, then she could leave. No harm done.
‘No,’ she said with resolve, stepping forward. ‘I came to see you.’
He looked taken aback for a moment, then their eyes met and it hit Eve once again how striking his were, the absorbing shade of blue, the heavy lids, the creases in the corners. It was his eyes. They had captivated her from the get-go.
He hesitated for a moment, blinking a little, then nodded towards the garage. ‘OK. I’ll just …’
‘Of course.’
Unable to move, Eve watched as he pulled a fob from his pocket and pointed it at the garage door, which then clanked and clattered open. He picked up the ladder and took it inside, re-emerging a moment later and again pointing the fob at the door, which swung back down.
He turned to face her. ‘Do you want to come in?’
‘Sure.’ She stepped onto the drive and followed him into the garden, closing the gate behind her and watching as he jumped up at a scaffolding board and grabbed some belongings – a small radio, a denim jacket – and then opened the back door.
‘Don’t let me stop you if you’re working,’ she said apologetically.
Joe shook his head. ‘It’s fine. I was just doing a bit of prep ready for tomorrow. It’s getting cold out here. Let’s go inside.’
He stood back to let her go first. Eve stepped into the kitchen and then moved aside for Joe to get past her. As he did so, she felt his arm brush against hers and a spark of nervous energy made her jump away.
‘Sorry,’ they said at the same time, and because they’d both danced this particular dance more than once before, they laughed.
‘How did it go?’ he asked. ‘The dinner with your daughter?’
‘It was fine.’
‘Just fine?’
Eve inhaled. ‘Just fine. She didn’t stay long. She’d had a long day and they had an early start the following morning – she and her boyfriend. They were off to Dorset.’
Joe filled the kettle and flipped her a sorry smile, scrunching up his nose in recognition of the fact that her daughter’s early departure couldn’t have helped the way she’d been feeling that day.