Veronica
I didn’t expect him to show up at The Ivy House. Now, I wished I’d taken time to re-do my hair rather than just re-apply my make-up. I feel the flush of embarrassment as his bruised eyes stare at my large glass of red wine sitting upon the pristine white table cloth.
‘Hi Joel, sorry… I ordered.’
‘No problem… have you been here long?’
I confirm no, I’m trying my hardest to be polite.
‘It’s fading.’ I indicate to his face.
‘I know, it’ll be gone in a few more days,’ he says, settling himself opposite.
He’s wearing the blue Ralph Lauren shirt that compliments his eye colour – a birthday present I purchased whilst in Milan.
How many times have I told him not to button the collar – he looks strangled.
As the waitress takes his drinks order, I watch his gentle smile creep across and crease his five o’clock shadow.
Has he not shaved? Joel always shaved before going out.
‘What is it you’d like to discuss?’ he asks, fiddling with the cutlery place setting.
This was a new Joel, not my Joel from The Peacock. He was never usually off hand, nor as direct and straight forward when we were together. He’d always been a slow burn, an around the houses type of guy in any conversation before getting to his actual point. I had expected his polite conversation, the usual waffle about work, weather or wellbeing. But no, he’s gone straight in.
‘When are you signing over the flat?’ he asks.
‘I think it’s time we talked…’
‘We’ve spoken each time I’ve seen you, I have never ignored you but it’s made no difference regarding you signing over the flat.’
‘Talked properly?’
‘Veronica, we’ve gone through the talking properly period. You outlined what you wanted, I eventually agreed and we contacted the necessary people. I don’t see… thank you,’ he says to the waitress as she interrupts his flow to deliver the pint. ‘I don’t see what more there is to discuss.’
Another waitress approaches and Joel shakes his head at the leather-bound menus she’s clutching.
‘Purely drinks,’ he says, politely.
‘Joel.’
He sips his pint and sits back, his dark eyes never leaving my face.
I fiddle with the cloth napkin, before sipping my red wine.
He’s waiting. He has no intention of speaking or being distracted by polite waffle – here goes.
‘I wondered if we’d… you know?’ I wave my hand linking the two of us.
He stares, blinks and stares some more.
That had been his cue to speak but he doesn’t… he simply stares and waits.
‘Do you miss me?’ I quickly change tack.
He inclines his head and sighs before reaching for his drink.
What’s that supposed to mean?
‘Well?’ I urge impatiently.
‘Veronica, we’ve been over this. You made a decision. You chose to leave. To move out of our flat and move on with your life.’
‘Yes but…’
‘When I asked you to reconsider you hadn’t time to discuss or listen to what I had to say and now months later… now you want to talk.’
I bite my lower lip.
He’s not buying this. Maybe I was hasty? But surely…
‘Cut to the chase, Veronica – what is it you’re after?’
‘Joel!’
‘No seriously, you’ve made all the decisions and I’ve gone along with them.’
‘Is there no possibility… of us?’
Without a moment’s hesitation, he shakes his head.
‘You didn’t even think about it.’
He sighs.
‘Veronica, I did nothing but think of it those first few months but now, sorry but no.’
‘Are you with someone?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘It is!’ I knew it wasn’t but it was worth a shot. I knew that Scott wouldn’t waste any time dragging him out and showing him the ropes again. The boys’ weekends away, the hottest clubs, the ladies… I bet he’s got his eye on someone. Poor love-sick Kylie, no doubt or even that Bede girl.
‘No, it’s not. You chose to leave – I dealt with the situation and now, my life has regained a normality.’
I cringe, he wasn’t supposed to say that. Had he discovered that the beermat was missing? For several days, I’ve repeatedly played this moment in my head – he was supposed to jump up, take me in his arms, kiss me, hold me and we’d start afresh. I could pack my essentials into a few bags and canvas holdalls and move straight back in. We could have returned to our nights of passion and…
‘Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?’
‘What?’ I say. I can hear the narkiness in my tone.
‘Signing the papers for instance… though now I understand why it’s probably taken so long given that you seem unsure of your decision.’
‘Phhh!’ I snatch at my wine glass. ‘Unsure of my decision… phhh! Me and Gordon are great, I’ll have you know… we’ve made plans for the Maldives, Fiji and Goa.’
I glug at my wine to drown the truth.
‘I understand, I’m not trying to be difficult but for me… this,’ his hand waves back and forth between us. ‘This is finished, I’ve moved on.’
I stare at him over the top of the wine glass.
How did I let this happen? We had plenty of good times, had a rosy future in fact and yet… Gordon really hadn’t been worth it. Yes, he was an older gent with an affluent lifestyle, a considerable amount of property and nice interests. Everything was calculated in relation to his pleasure and his gain, no thought of mine. And now, Joel sits as brazen as you like, rejects my suggestion and gives such a straight answer.
I glance around the restaurant at numerous couples enjoying their meals and intimate conversations beneath mellow candlelight. Was anyone else struggling to connect or was it just us?
Now, where am I to go with this discussion? I want to linger on the subject of a rematch but how can I when it would appear needy.
‘What would you say to putting the apartment on the market to test the interest of a buyer?’
‘Instead of me buying you out?’
I nod eagerly – where did that idea come from?
‘Are you serious?’
Was I? I hadn’t thought about it until now, when he’d rejected my other offer. I’d arrived and delivered my practised lines only to have him refuse me.
Time seems to be suspended as we both stare at each other.
What’s he thinking? Planning? Is that what he wanted me to say? Or have I walked into a trap to buy him out of the property or lengthen and secure our ties for another few months?
‘Yes,’ I whisper, unsure of the plan.
‘No thanks… you agreed on the price, the valuation was a fair one and I was able to find the funds to buy you out. Why change it now?’
‘Wouldn’t you prefer somewhere new for a fresh start?’
I’d pondered that idea on my fleeting visit a few days ago. Why hadn’t he purchased additional furniture to fill the gaps – the place seemed so sparse.
‘Not really, I like the flat.’
‘It’s an apartment actually,’ I correct him.
When will he ever learn?
‘Whatever… its location is pretty decent – as you said when we viewed it, ‘location, location, location’ – I thought you said that was the most important aspect of property.’
‘But surely there’s too many reminders of me?’
My annoyance flares as he pauses to think about it.
‘I’ve switched things around, made a few changes and now it feels like home.’
A few guitars and a bookcase? Shoot me down, why don’t you!
He gently nods, purses his lips and picks up his drink.
‘That’s good to hear,’ I mutter, before sipping my drink. What the hell is he playing at? I thought he’d fall over himself to have me back. I’ve even waxed my legs and told Gordon I wouldn’t be home for supper.