In Another Life

‘I want to see you again. X.’

Unconsciously I flex my free hand before I delete the text message and set my mobile back up on the table. Even as I sit back in my chair, I’m already wondering just how long I can keep up this charade with Harry.

It had started off innocently enough. He’d truly sounded disappointed when I cancelled our lunch, but he had acted understanding. Nearly three days had gone by before he’d asked to see me again, but again I feigned plans and left it at that. Now he’s messaging me every day, and I can tell by his tone that he’s getting frustrated with me.

But what am I supposed to do? Am I just supposed to tell him that I know? I know he’s been going out with other girls while he’s been talking to me, I know that I’ve been the farthest thing from his mind, because he’s clearly more interested in being with a girl who isn’t as awkward as me, who just isn't me.

Maybe I don’t want to be the one to throw those statements out into the open, because if I do, then I’ll be the one admitting that Harry isn’t that serious about me. Which means that I’ve been the only one in this relationship who’s been thinking about the future where we might become a serious couple.

“Do I look okay?” Jeanette reappears at our table, and I focus my attention on my friend as she settles herself into her chair with a coffee in her hands. “I mean, I don’t look too… off?”

I shake my head, gladly accepting my Styrofoam cup of tea. “No, I think you look fine. Your hair looks brilliant today, at any rate. I want to know who did it—they’re clearly fantastic with hair.”

Underneath the table, I feel her sandal toe me in the shin and I fake a look of intense pain. “Shut up. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Relax,” I reply, sobering up a good deal. “This is your father, the man who looked for you for ten years. I doubt that he’s going to be concerned with the clothes you’re wearing, and the way you have your hair styled. He’ll be more interested in you.”

“I know that,” Jeanette states, but the way she says it makes me think that perhaps she hadn’t thought of it this way. She’s told me that Roger and his new wife have done very well for themselves—perhaps she’s worried that they won’t think she’s good enough just because she doesn’t have any money to her name? “I just… it’s a really weird situation to be in. I’m not sure how to act.”

“Act how you feel,” I shrug my shoulders and rotate my cup around in my grasp. “Are you happy to see him? Excited? Nervous?”

She inhales deeply and then exhales, drooping quite a bit as she does so. “All of the above, I think. I just don’t want him to hate me, or Sarah. I don’t think I could take it if he turns out to be…” Here she trails off, clearly not knowing how to finish her phrase.

“A complete nutter?” I supply helpfully, grinning toothily from across the table. “Don’t worry. If he turns out to be batty, then you don’t need him. You’ve gone 20 years without him, and you’ve gone nearly ten without Debbie. You are a strong, independent woman and you don’t need anyone else but yourself.”

“You sound like some horrid feminist, or something,” She giggles, the tension in her face slowly slipping away.

Here I adopt a silly expression and do my best elderly woman impression. “Didn’t you know it was 1915 again, young girl?”

“You’re weird,” She answers, trying to keep a straight face. “Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m amazing,” I reply airily, leaning back in my chair and taking a long drink from my tea. “And because you’d be homeless without me.”

It’s quite blisteringly hot outside. The rain of last week had sadly disappeared, and the muggy awful sun had come back out. It’s been relentless since then, as if the sun felt that it had to make up for the two days of much-needed rain.

Jeanette and I are sitting at a fairly busy outdoor café, shielded from the heat by a heavy colorful umbrella. There’s a group of tourists across the street from us, Americans if I’m not mistaken. With their maps prominently displayed and their loud voices carrying across the alley, it’s not difficult to mark them as foreigners.

Eventually I tire of going over their outfits (though one woman is wearing the most fetching pair of trousers that nearly make me salivate. I’d half a mind to ask her where she purchased them.) and settle instead for turning my gaze back to my table.

Much to my surprise, Jeanette is studying me closely and she doesn’t seem the slightest bit abashed at my catching her. It’s only when I raise one eyebrow up and clear my throat that her trance is broken and she shifts in her chair uncomfortably.

“So,” Her voice is loud and bright and I already know what the next words out of her mouth are going to be. “Have you and Harry spoken lately?”

“No,” I say curtly, biting down on my lower lip as I reach for a sugar packet in the center of the table. “We have not.” Which is completely 100% true. He’s spoken to me, yes, but I’ve not replied in two days, so technically we haven’t exactly spoken.

She huffs in an annoyed manner. “Why not? You’re not mad at him, are you?”

“I have no right to be angry with him,” I state slowly, ripping my sugar open and slowly drizzling it onto an empty plate. “It’s not like we were exclusive or anything. So he had a night out with some mates, and some girls? Big deal, I’m not even worried about it.”

“Liar,” Jeanette mutters, shaking her head. “You have to talk to him, Bryn. You can’t just ignore him until he goes away. I’ve seen the way he is around you. Clearly you mean something to him and it’s not like him to just give up.”

“I’ve been busy,” I announce, and my voice raises several octaves, which is a sure sign that I’m beginning to get frustrated. “It’s not like I can just wait around for him to make time for me. Our schedules just haven’t,” Here I wriggle my fingers and then interlock them for emphasis. “Haven’t connected.”

“Or you’re not making any attempt to talk about it. He doesn’t even know that you’ve seen the photographs, for God’s sake. The man is probably driving himself insane wondering why you’re ignoring him. You at least owe him an explanation, and—” She raises her voice in order to be heard over my protests. “And you deserve one as well. Stop being such a prat, and talk to him about it.”

“Fine, I will,” I reply through clenched teeth. Clearly I’m not nearly as convincing as I need to be, because Jeanette shoots me a dark look. “I will! God, you haven’t even given me a chance.”

But she isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to me, because there’s a man making his way towards our table with a woman in tow. He’s tall and his gray hair is balding. He's sporting thin glasses and a neatly trimmed goatee. He’s dressed impeccably. I can’t help but go over the trendy trousers and the expensive silk dress shirt and down to the leather tasseled loafers on his feet.

The woman has her hair cropped close to her head, a la Victoria Beckham in 2008, and it suits her narrow frame quite well. She’s sporting a designer bag and sunglasses, along with a professional looking trouser suit and towering heels. She’s even coordinated her manicured nails to match the tone of her outfit.

Bloody hell. Jeanette was not kidding when she said they were loaded.

“Jeanette?” The man asks quietly, looking almost hesitant to interrupt our conversation.

Jeanette does nothing, but stare at the man with wide eyes. Her cheeks are growing increasingly pale and I have to admit that I’m a bit alarmed at how suddenly she’s gone completely still.

“Yes,” I take charge of the situation and gesture for the both of them to have a seat. “This is Jeanette, and you two must be Roger and Abigail. It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m Bryn Matthews, I’m Jeanette’s friend and I’m here for moral support.”

“That’s sweet of you,” Abigail smiles at me. Her voice is light and childlike and I’m reminded of Owi for a split second. “Please call me Abi, and this mute next to me is my husband, Roger.” She nudges him forcefully and he comes to life with a start.

“Bryn,” He shakes my hand absentmindedly, only having eyes for his estranged daughter. “So lovely to meet you. Is Sarah here?” He looks around eagerly, as if expecting Jeanette’s sister to materialize out of thin air.

I aim a sharp kick at Jeanette’s bare shin and then feign innocence over my tea as she glares at me. “No,” She offers him a weak smile. “Sarah wasn’t able to make it out. It’s just me today.”

“No, no, that’s fine. That’s great actually. It gives us a chance to-to talk,” He returns her smile with a tentative grin of his own before Abi pulls him into a chair.

It takes us nearly ten minutes to flag down a waitress and put in their drink orders. Abi even orders some light appetizers after she insists on picking up the tab for our meal together.

Drat. In that case, I should have ordered the scotch.

A bit of an awkward silence descends upon our table. Jeanette is busy looking anywhere but at her father, her cheeks a bright and vivid red. Roger, meanwhile, is drinking in the sight of his child and completely ignoring everything and everyone else.

Abi and I make eye contact and we both share an indulgent smile before I clear my throat and make an attempt to strike up a conversation.

“So Jeanette tells me that you two have three children together?” I wait for the waitress to set their drinks down before I continue. “What are their names?”

Abi beams with motherly pride and nods. “Yes, we’ve three of our own. Connor is ten, and absolutely wild. Flossie is seven, and thrilled to death that she has two sisters.” Abi falters here and glances over at Jeanette. “I mean, two, uh—two—other relatives that she hasn’t yet met. And then there’s Harvey, who’s two and an absolute duck.”

“They sound lovely,” I reply, and then lean back in my chair all the while staring pointedly at Jeanette. “Don’t they, Jeanette?”

She finally meets my gaze and nods, looking unbelievably frightened. “They really do. I’d… I’d like to meet them, if you don’t mind, Abi.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and the older woman takes pity on the poor girl thankfully.

“Of course, darling. I would love for you to meet the children. You know, we wondered for years about you and Sarah. It was always so upsetting that we were never able to find you two,” Abi touches her husband’s elbow. “Wasn’t it?”

Roger nods and finally appears as if he’s come back to life. He looks at me properly for the first time, and nods, looking pleased. “To think I could have spared you 20 years with Debbie, if only she’d—but that’s all in the past now, isn’t it? There’s no point in dwelling on what we can’t change.”

“There actually is something,” Jeanette starts up slowly, and then stops altogether once she realizes that everyone at the table is looking at her. She begins again only when I give her an encouraging smile. “Mum—Debbie showed up at the flat. I guess my gran had told her about me getting into contact with you. She said you were suing her, that you were only using me to get—”

“To get money?” The look on Roger’s face is quite unattractive and I watch in quiet fascination as the color creeps up his neck and into his cheeks. “That hateful vile woman. That’s something she would do if the situations were reversed. Jeanette love, I care nothing about the money. I only want to show her that what she’s done is wrong. It’s unfair and disgusting. She kept you and Sarah from me for 20 years and she thinks she’s going to get away with it. She’s not. Someone has to show her that how she’s acting, how she’s raising her family, is completely wrong.”

“Roger and I both decided that if the case even goes through and we do win, that we would give all of the settlement money to you and Sarah. The two of you deserve it, because you've suffered the most because of her selfishness. This has never been about the money.” Abi sounds so sincere that I almost wish that she were Jeanette’s mum, and not Debbie.

“I’m so glad,” Jeanette blurts out and the tension drains noticeably out of her shoulders. “Here I was, absolutely dreading this meeting, because all I could think about was maybe you were using us, that I would never know what it means to have a proper parent.”

Roger tentatively reaches across the table and touches Jeanette’s hand lightly. “I know that I—that we,” He corrects himself with a significance look at his spouse. “Haven’t been a part of your life, but we want to be and we’re going to try our best to do so. I know nothing will change my absence, but we have to start somewhere.”

Jeanette beams happily at her father and I realize that this meeting has gone well. She didn’t even really need me here at all. These two people are so lovely and genuine and I know that my friend will never have to worry about family issues again.

Our conversation is interrupted by the waitress bringing by the finger foods that Abi had ordered earlier. There’s a chaotic few moments in which Abi serves up the food and then Roger passes it around the table.

Jeanette digs in happily (which is a relief as she was too anxious to eat this morning), and starts to tell Roger about school. I, myself, listen quietly, content in witnessing a family mending itself back together.

It’s only when Abi touches my arm lightly that I come back to reality. “Dear, your mobile, it’s ringing.”

I snatch up the device and the frown on my face deepens as I see that it’s Harry’s number up on the screen. Determined that I will not let any thought of him ruin this afternoon out, I hit ignore and set my phone into my lap, all the while muttering my apologies to Abi for not silencing it earlier.

Imagine my embarrassment when it immediately begins to ring again. A quick glance down confirms that it’s once again the prince calling and I realize that I’m going to have to answer his call sooner or later.

Hastily excusing myself, I stand up and walk a bit away so that the table won’t be able to hear my conversation. I’m a bit nervous, actually. It’s obvious that I’ve been dodging his calls and messages for the past week. What if he’s horrendously furious with me?

That nagging voice in my head kindly points out that it’s my own damn fault for ignoring him so pointedly in the first place. If I’d only been brave enough to ask him about the photographs outright, then clearly I would not be in this position right now. So it’s up to me to fix it.

But still I delay. I know that I should just answer him and get all of this over with, but to my horror, I find my finger rubbing up against the end call button teasingly. Truthfully, I don’t owe him anything, do I? If anything, he owes me.

It’s not like someone forced him to dance with that girl, to kiss that girl, to grope that girl’s arse like it was some sort of—of sodding meat! He should know that I’m avoiding him at all costs, and he should be sweating about it, too.

The anger at his betrayal (that truly isn’t really a betrayal, since I have no claim on him) is still quite fresh in my heart and I make the decision then and there that I’m not going to answer him. Maybe I’ll decide to pick up tomorrow, or maybe I’ll have a change of heart tonight and call him.

Resolutely I begin to press the decline button, but my finger slips and I touch the answer button instead. The call connects and as the timer starts to count in the corner, the realization of what I’ve done dawns on me.

“Shit!” I hiss, completely panicking. I did not mean to do that.

It’s not like I can very well just press end and pretend that I never got his call in the first place… Can I?

I shake my head, embarrassed with my own childish behavior and bring the mobile up to my ear. “Hello.” It’s neither a question, nor an admission. My voice sounds dull and irritated even to myself.

“Bryn,” Harry breathes in relief and my stony resolve melts a bit. “You’ve picked up, thank god. Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I say shortly, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring down at the ground. The concrete is horridly dirty with bits of litter and rocks and I find myself wondering if anyone ever sweeps out here.

I know that I’m being horrendously rude by not asking after his own health, but the immature, wounded part of me refuses to grant Harry that generosity. It’s easier to just be a complete witch to him then it would be to be gracious and kind.

“Good. I was so worried when you wouldn’t return my calls. I-I really would like to see you. I’ve missed you,” He adds on so quietly that I fear that my lovesick brain has imagined it entirely.

“I’ve been busy,” I manage as I sink down onto the stone wall ledge and cover my face with my free hand.

He chuckles quietly on his end. “I know you have been, and I’m absolutely thick for thinking that you should drop your entire life to suit my schedule. You’re bloody awful to try to get a hold of, did you know that? What’s a lad got to do to score himself a lunch date with you?”

I want to bite back with some scathing reply that shows him just exactly how hurt I am, but my mind is annoyingly blank with witty comebacks, so I settle for shrugging my shoulders and murmuring something noncommittal back.

He pauses. Clearly the icy front that I’ve put up isn’t going to melt under his warm advances. “Are you… sure you’re alright? You’re acting—”

“Upset.” I snap and much to my chagrin, my eyes start to fill up with tears.

On the other end of the line, Harry exhales heavily and I can almost picture him running his hands through his hair and making a disgusted face. “You saw the pictures, didn’t you?”

I don’t have to reply. The sniffle that slips out is enough of an answer for him, and he launches into a particular colorful string of curses that would certainly make the Queen ashamed.

“Look Bryn, it’s not what you think it is. And I know I sound like every other bloke who’s ever made up an excuse, but it’s the absolute truth. I swear to it,” He sounds a bit desperate and on the inside, I’m touched by his sincerity. “Please let me explain it all to you. Let me fix this. Let’s have lunch tomorrow, and I’ll explain everything. I just—please?”

“Okay,” I whisper, and I sound fragile and exhausted, even to my own ears. “Tomorrow it is then.”