Chapter 3 Jules “Islands in the Stream” #2
“It’s a shame you didn’t find someone out there,” I say, pushing the memory away. “Or did you?” I ask, picturing his über-cool PA Anastasija and the way she was staring up at him during the karaoke just now.
“Oh, I found plenty of people,” he says, that cheeky smile back, the spell he’d woven between us broken.
“Just not the right one. But c’est la vie, eh?
Maybe one day.” He shrugs, looking thoughtful as he scuffs the path with his moccasin.
“You know I’ve always secretly envied you guys.
What you have. Kids. Each other. I mean, you really lucked out, right?
You got everything, Jules. All the really important stuff. ”
This admission of jealousy momentarily floors me because, well, just look at this house.
It’s so unexpected, in fact, that for a moment, I consider confessing everything to him—about how I don’t feel I’ve lucked out at all.
About how far from having everything I really am.
About feeling useless and unseen. About how Adam and I hardly connect anymore, and I’m increasingly absorbed with layer upon layer of regret.
“Nothing’s perfect,” I say. “I mean, nothing ever is.”
“Like what?”
“Like my career…it’s pretty much at a dead end. There were some opportunities, but…” I fizzle out.
I’m shocked I’ve been so honest. After all, I’ve been avoiding giving anyone—especially Adam—the full financial picture of Jules’s Kitchen.
Don’t get me wrong. Adam’s always been supportive enough of me being a caterer, so much so that he even put his own career ambitions on hold, going part-time when I first started freelancing and the private dining contracts were rolling in.
Back then, he did the lion’s share of the parenting and was pretty incredible, but then the recession kicked in and somewhere along the line, it was decided that he should go back to being the main breadwinner, as if I’d had my turn.
Since I started back up again after lockdown things have gone from bad to worse.
I’ve had to slash my prices to stop my regulars leaving for the competition, while the cost of all my ingredients has skyrocketed.
Even though I’ve always promised Adam I’d stick to his golden rule of paying off our credit cards each month in full, the truth is that I’ve long since resorted to paying the minimum amount on my business card and now everything’s snowballed.
“But Jules, you’re the best,” Darius says, as if it’s a given. “With all those big dreams to match.”
“No.” I bat away his flattery. “That was always you. Look at all this.” I stretch my arms out wide.
He tips his head bashfully. “Okay, so this catering company of yours has somehow not taken off. How do we fix that?” he asks.
Like it’s just some puzzle to solve. His voice is warm and concerned and I’m relieved we’re back on safe ground.
We’re friends, I remind myself. Old friends.
The same as we’ve always been, except for that one tiny blip.
“I don’t know. I’d love to try something else. I’ve always wanted to run a pop-up restaurant. Something classy. Quirky. You know?”
“Then you must,” he says decisively.
I feel it then. A beat of my old confidence. A bounce.
But before he can say any more, Doodles calls out for him on the mic to come back to the stage, and I notice Adam heading up the path toward us.
“I’ll come over,” Darius tells me. “We’ll discuss.” He points at me, then Adam, as he arrives. “Gotta go,” he says. “DJing duties call.”
Then with that, he’s off, walking backward, gun-toting his index fingers at us like he’s Kiefer Sutherland or Emilio Estevez in some Brat Pack flick, before spinning away.
“Discuss what?” Adam says, more than a little drunk.
“Jesus, what have you been drinking?”
“I’m fine. Hey, shall we go dance?”
Oh, so now he wants to party? Whatever that karaoke shyness was all about has just vanished? As he slings his arm around my shoulder, I shrug him off, not wanting him leaning on me all buddy-buddy like we’re students again. Not after he just let me down.
I’m also shaken by how frank my chat with Darius was, and by how good it felt to be listened to. I need some time to process what’s just happened. To see if I should feel as guilty as I do.
“I think we should call it a night. I’m tired,” I tell Adam. I think of my early start and all the stuff I’ve still got to get organized for the council lunch tomorrow.
“French exit,” he says, tapping the side of his nose. “Good idea.”
—
It’s like leaving Narnia. Outside on the pavement, I shiver as we’re spat back out into the real world.
I pull out my only slightly moth-eaten cashmere throw from my handbag and wrap it around me.
From the other side of the high brick wall, I can still hear the beat of the music and see the colorful lasers stretching up to the stars.
Despite the fleet of cabs that have been promised in an hour’s time, there’s not one on the street and Uber is fully booked, so we have no choice but to walk the two miles home.
I guess it’s no bad thing, because the night air seems to sober Adam up, although I start limping.
The blister from my pre-lockdown wedges is killing me.
Adam offers to lend me his socks, and as we sit on the curb, he takes them off and I put them on.
An old custom of ours. I look ridiculous wearing slingbacks and socks, but who’s judging?
There’s no one around and the night is warm, the lampposts spreading a yellow glow onto the road. An owl hoots and, ahead, a fox stops and looks us up and down with disdain.
“Why didn’t you want to sing with me?” I ask. “He was an even worse singer than you.”
“You didn’t look like you needed me.”
I glance sideways at him. Is he jealous? No, just stating a fact.
“Yeah, well, you missed out.” I stop myself saying more. There’s no point in punishing him. “But all in all, a pretty good party, eh? And he had everyone there.”
Then we’re off, bantering about the outrageous opulence of the whole thing and how Darius managed to dig out all of the old crowd, putting some people’s noses well out of joint with his absurd display of wealth.
Adam doesn’t mention Mickey Ratty even though we’re soon on to the gossip from our schoolmates, some of whom we haven’t seen for years.
The who-ran-off-with-who roll call is like the Wikipedia page of a particularly tawdry soap opera.
“So, what’s the deal with Meredith?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Is she your office crush?” I tease.
“What? No! She’s just a colleague. Seriously?” he adds, as if I could have been genuinely serious. Like he’s the kind of guy who would get a crush on his co-workers.
We approach the Dyke Alehouse at the top of the hill by the Tesco garage and, without warning, he gently pushes me against the wall.
“I kissed you here once, remember?” he says, his breath a little sour with beer.
“Yes, when we were kids,” I point out, trying to wriggle away. There are people in the shop of the petrol garage opposite. “Don’t. They’ll see.”
“Let them,” Adam says, stroking the hair away from my face.
There’s a beat and then he kisses me. It’s hardly up there with the tongue tangos of our courting years, but with our faces up close, it feels like a moment of connection, and somehow much more real than what we attempted in bed this morning.
Peeling ourselves apart, we head down toward Seven Dials, chatting again about the party.
We automatically take the shortcut down Crocodile Walk, between the sixth form college and the playing fields, the familiar trees casting long shadows on the moonlit soccer pitch where Nelly used to play on the girls’ team and Adam and I used to roar from the sidelines.
“Are you happy?” he suddenly says.
“What, right now?”
“Even though we don’t have the fancy car, or the biggest house?”
Aha. Darius has got up his nose.
“ ’Course,” I tell him, hoping he doesn’t hear the tremor in my voice.
Why has he instigated this conversation? Has he guessed that I’m not, or not as happy as I could be? Or—and I’m nervous now—is he feeling the same way too? About me.
“But if you could change anything, what would you change? Be honest,” he presses.
He gives me that “lay it on me, I can take it” look, when we both know for a fact that he can’t. But fine. Screw it. He’s not the only one who’s had a drink.
“I’ve been thinking lately that it might be all downhill from here. Not just because of us, but because of our age. You know, we might end up doing the same old routine, on and on, until we die.”
He stops. Stares. I can almost hear the tumbleweed blowing past.
“But we’ve got what most people want,” he says a moment later. “A family and…” But whatever long list he was thinking of seems to peter out.
“What happens when the kids go?” I ask.
“If they ever go.”
There’s a pause as we both acknowledge the truth of this. “One day they will,” I decide. “And then what? Have you even thought about it?”
“I guess I’ve just been too busy. Dealing with the here and now.”
Only he doesn’t, really, does he? Deal with much of any of that. It suddenly annoys me that he’s so un-self-aware. I can see now that he’s regretting asking me the question.
“We used to talk about building something together. Remember?” I say.
“Like what?”
I take a punt, my conversation with Darius fresh in my mind. “Like my pop-up idea?”
“Oh God, this again,” he says, rubbing his head. “I thought we’d put that to bed.”
“You had, maybe.”
“For good reason. It’s crazily expensive and anyway, you hardly have a platform to promote it from.”
I feel this like a physical slap. He knows I’m insecure about my social media skills and that I’m not exactly great at blowing my own trumpet. But worse is the feeling that we were about to talk properly, and even, dare I say it, be honest with each other, and he’s gone and shut me down.
This is precisely why we don’t discuss this stuff, I remember too late. Because when we do, he does this.
I stalk ahead of him, feeling properly cross.
“I’m just being practical,” he says, catching up.
“No, you’re pouring cold water on yet another one of my ideas.”
“I’m just pointing out the business problems you might come up against. It’s called anticipating,” he says.
“Oh, piss off, Adam. Like you have any idea about business.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I grit my teeth. Sod it. Why shouldn’t I say it? It’s not like he’s holding back. “Well, if you really want to have this out, fine. Being good at business means taking risks. We could have done so much more with our lives if you were only prepared to take a risk. Just once.”
I hear my raised voice echoing in the dark.
“That’s out of order,” he says.
“Doesn’t it even bother you that Darius is up there flashing his cash, when half of that could have been yours?”
Boom bada boom. She lands. The elephant in the room.
In the light of the streetlamp, I can see Adam’s thunderous expression. “It could have gone the other way,” he says, his voice catching. “He could have lost everything. And then we’d have lost everything too.”
Like Adam’s dad did. I don’t say it, but that’s what he’s terrified of.
“But Darius didn’t lose everything, did he?” I snap. “He took the chance and you…you made us just carry on here and get stuck.”
We stomp on toward home, yards opening up between us like we’re on different forks of a road.
I can feel angry tears shaking in my chest.
“And what about Australia?” I say, on a roll now, because if we’re having it out, we might as well have it all out.
“You’re accusing me of being stuck in the past? That was over twenty years ago!”
“We had it all worked out, Adam. Childcare. My dream job.”
“My parents died, Jules. I had that. Them. The house. The debts. Everything to bloody sort out.”
“We still could have gone after all that was sorted.”
“I had a new job by then. We needed the money.”
“Yes, but what about me? I ended up stuck at home. For the next God knows how many years.”
“You wanted that,” he protests. “To bring up the kids. We agreed. You agreed. And I supported you, didn’t I? Once they were older.”
“Oh, well, thank you so much,” I say, my voice laden with sarcasm. “For being such a noble man. For actually putting a woman first.”
“It’s not my fault your business didn’t work out. And for your information, going part-time, that’s what’s cost me the chance of a proper promotion.”
“Oh, so now that’s my fault too?”
We walk on locked in silence, the resentment crackling. We’re now at our tatty cul-de-sac approaching our even tattier house at the end. I feel ashamed of myself because I know it’s not bad. We have a decent roof over our heads and we’re keeping the wolf from the door.
“We could have been in Australia, Adam. That’s all I’m saying. We could have had a whole other life.”
“Yeah. One you wanted. Not me,” he says bitterly.
“You seemed pretty keen on it at the time,” I remind him.
“Not if I’d known how much it would fuck everything up.”
I stop by the gate, astonished he’s actually said this out loud. “What?”
“It’s true,” he says, gritting his teeth. “If we hadn’t gone to the airport that day, Mum and Dad would still be alive.” His eyes blaze.
“Oh, so now it’s my fault they died? Because I’m the one who wanted us to go more. Wow.” My voice chokes. “Wow,” I repeat, winded.
“I’m…I’m not saying that.” He knows he’s gone too far.
“You just did.”
I walk furiously up the path but somehow get caught on the long shoot of the rosebush. As I yank my dress away, the thorns snag and tear the fabric.
Tears blind me as I get to the front door. I fumble with the keys in my bag, my hands shaking. When I open the door, Groucho Barx growls, scared. I look back toward the gate, where Adam is standing in silhouette.
“You think I signed up for a life stuck here living in your parents’ shitty house? Well, I didn’t,” I hiss. “And do you know what I’d really change about you, about us, about all of this if I could?”
Nothing. He says nothing.
“Everything,” I half say, half spit, the words tasting just as bitter and vile as I know they are.
But then before I have the chance to change my mind, I march inside and slam the door as hard as I can.