What might have been, p.15
What Might Have Been, page 15
‘Christ, Evan. Your timing . . .’
‘Next week would have been worse,’ he said, attempting to lighten the mood, but judging by her expression, Sarah didn’t find it in the least bit funny.
‘I have to go,’ she said, standing up abruptly.
‘Don’t. Please.’
‘Give me one good reason not to.’
‘Haven’t I already?’
‘Evan . . .’
‘Okay. Well, you haven’t finished your drink,’ he said, desperately.
‘My drink?’ Sarah picked her glass up, then to his surprise, emptied it over his head. ‘Happy now?’
‘What was that for?’
‘For running out on me.’ She grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and started towards the lift. ‘And then, for coming back.’
Evan slicked his wet hair back off his face, causing an ice cube to slip down the inside of his shirt collar. ‘But don’t you understand?’ he said, leaping off his chair to follow her. ‘I came back for you.’
‘No you didn’t.’ Sarah strode angrily into the waiting lift and wheeled round to face him, her expression warning him not to follow. ‘You came back for you.’
‘Sarah, wait,’ he pleaded, as she stabbed the ‘down’ button repeatedly. ‘Both those things are related.’
‘How can they be?’
‘Because I came back for us,’ he shouted, as the lift doors closed.
Though if Sarah had heard him – or even cared – it was impossible to tell.
27
Sarah dug her nails into her palm as the elevator descended, struggling to hold herself together. She didn’t want to cry in front of the group of French students who’d got on at the next level and were now crammed in around her, jabbering excitedly to each other, but something about Evan’s out-of-the-blue declaration had unsettled her.
She fished in her coat pocket for a Kleenex to stifle the tears she knew were coming, though she feared the couple left in the packet might not be enough. With Evan out of the picture, she’d managed to convince herself that accepting David’s proposal made sense, but now, with him back . . . well, she couldn’t help wondering whether she was doing the right thing.
She wasn’t surprised to find she still had feelings for him – that kind of thing didn’t just switch off – but after a year of no contact, she was shocked how strong the physical attraction still was. The one night they’d spent together had been so exciting – they’d almost instinctively known what would turn the other on – whereas sometimes, sex with David . . . She’d joked to Grace once that at times it was like a transatlantic flight: you prayed for sleep in the middle, and that you’d wake up and it’d be over. Once or twice, on the less-frequent occasions she and David made love nowadays – he was often too tired from work, or too drunk after yet another late-night client-entertaining session at those bars and clubs he and the other male partners loved to visit – she’d found herself fantasising about Evan. The way he’d touched her. How he’d made her feel. And the response that that never failed to provoke had, ironically, always put a smile on David’s face.
The elevator doors opened, and she hurried out through the gallery’s foyer and into the fresh air, hoping Evan hadn’t followed her, determined to put some distance between them, although she realised that was perhaps a little futile – the Atlantic ocean evidently hadn’t been enough. The impulse to kiss him had been strong – almost stronger than the anger she felt towards him for loving and leaving her like he did – and she wasn’t sure she could resist it again. Maybe she should have poured the glass of cold water over herself.
She strode along the South Bank, her head still reeling, wondering what she would have done if Evan had decided not to go. It would have been a difficult call – from the off, she’d known David could offer her security, marriage, kids, the whole nine yards, whereas a life with Evan would have meant what, exactly – living from gig to gig? Though that was unfair. Evan made a decent living from what he did – a lot more than most musicians – plus his recent tour must have paid him well, and besides, the money had never been a factor. But David had asked her first, and sometimes, asking first did make a difference.
She glanced tentatively back over her shoulder as she turned into her street, but Evan was nowhere to be seen, so she slowed her pace as she neared her building, replaying what had just happened in her head. It was almost comical, what she’d just done. Melodramatic. Not like her at all. But then again, Evan’s announcement hadn’t been like anything she’d ever experienced either.
With a sigh, she rode the elevator up to her floor and unlocked her front door, then stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of David dozing on her couch. Grace must have let him in before leaving for work, and even though he’d have no way of knowing where she’d been, Sarah was sure it was written all over her face. Her first thought was to sneak back out without disturbing him to give her time to concoct an alibi, but as she reached for the door handle, he jolted awake. Fortunately, by the look of things, he didn’t seem particularly with it.
‘Afternoon,’ she said, as cheerily as she could.
‘Is it?’
She walked over to where he lay, his loafer-clad feet protruding over the armrest, and kissed him tenderly on the forehead. ‘How are you feeling?’
David attempted to sit up, then evidently thought better of it. ‘Like someone’s used my head as a rugger ball. You?’
‘Fine. You know me – a couple of Advil, and I’m okay. Just thought I’d go for a walk along the Thames. Get some fresh air.’
‘So Grace said.’
Sarah made a mental note to thank her. ‘You should try it.’
He groaned. ‘Fresh air’s the last thing I need. A Bloody Mary and a full English, however . . .’
Sarah grimaced at the thought of both of those things. ‘Did you walk round here?’ she asked, remembering his car was parked outside, although on reflection, she knew the answer to that already.
‘Yah, right.’ He smirked. ‘So how did it go?’
‘It?’
‘Last night.’
Sarah nodded. ‘Good. Fun, in fact.’
‘Were you surprised when he turned up?’
Sarah froze in the middle of shrugging her coat off, as if playing a game of musical statues and the music had just stopped. ‘When who turned up?’ she said, glad she had her back to him.
‘The stripper. Emma let slip she was getting you one. Asked my permission first, of course.’
Sarah gave him a look. ‘I didn’t know your permission was required.’
‘So were you? Surprised?’
‘A little,’ said Sarah, sitting down in the armchair opposite. ‘But I didn’t let him, you know . . .’ She flushed slightly at the thought of Evan taking his clothes off. ‘Strip.’
David widened his eyes, the effort obviously causing him some distress. ‘Why ever not? I thought you’d be desperate to see another man naked. After all, it’s only been me for the last year. Though I suppose when you’ve been used to steak at home . . .’
He grinned, and for a moment Sarah toyed with the idea of reminding him the rest of that quote was something about everyone fancying a hamburger once in a while.
‘And how was your evening?’
‘Expensive.’
‘Where did you end up?’
David reached up to massage his temples. ‘Some place that Hans knew.’
‘I bet.’ Sarah knew better than to ask what kind of place, particularly given the nickname of ‘Wandering Hans’ that the younger PAs in the office had given him. Trouble was, she did want to ask about Evan, but aside from mentioning him by name, she couldn’t think of a way to bring the subject up. ‘So,’ she said, eventually. ‘Did everyone have a good time?’
David shrugged, wincing with the effort. ‘I’d say so, judging by the size of the bar bill. Although I’m not sure about your friend.’
‘My friend?’
‘Evan.’ He peered at her. ‘Tell me something.’
Sarah braced herself. ‘Uh-huh?’
‘Does he bat for the other side?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Is he, you know, gay?’
Sarah had to concentrate hard to stop herself from laughing. ‘I don’t think so, no. Why ever would you think that?’
‘At the club. All the chaps were enjoying themselves with the girls, but he seemed . . .’ David shrugged again. ‘Offended by the whole thing. In fact, I think he might have left. Certainly didn’t say goodbye.’
Sarah stared at him, strangely pleased to hear that. ‘Maybe he was just tired,’ she said, after a moment. ‘He said he was jet lagged.’
‘Ah. Of course.’
‘And what about you, David?’ she tried to ask levelly, but couldn’t keep the suspicion out of her voice. ‘Did you “enjoy yourself” at the club?’
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ He yawned, then rolled onto his side and buried his face in a cushion. ‘But you know how it is. What goes on tour stays on tour, and all that.’
If only, Sarah thought, half-wishing Evan had stayed on his. ‘Fine. I won’t ask,’ she said, making her way into the kitchen.
She carried the kettle over to the sink and turned on the tap, then had to lean heavily against the counter. She’d realised what it had been, why she’d never allowed herself to consider a future with Evan, and it had almost knocked the wind out of her. It was obvious, now she thought about it: the one thing he hadn’t done, the only thing she’d wanted him to, was simply to ask her.
Exactly like he appeared to be doing now.
28
Evan watched the numbers count down on the display, not knowing what to do next. The other lifts were all on different floors, so he sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time as he fought his way through the hordes of dawdling visitors. As fit as he was, he knew seven flights of stairs was a big ask against the gallery’s modern lift system, and as he’d feared, by the time he reached the ground floor, Sarah was nowhere to be seen.
He ran through the turbine hall, up the ramp, then round towards the South Bank, scanning the crowds anxiously, not knowing which way she’d gone, before collapsing helplessly onto the nearest bench and putting his head in his hands. His hair was still wet from the soaking Sarah had given him, and water dripped from it onto the pavement in front of him; with his chest heaving from the effort of the run, any casual observer could be forgiven for thinking he was crying.
Cursing softly, he caught his breath, then leaned back and stared up at the cloudless sky. He’d seen some dramatic exits in his time, and he had to hand it to her – that had been by far the best one. And while he hadn’t expected Sarah to pay him back for crashing her bridal shower by giving him a drenching, at least he’d had a chance to state his case. To say what he’d come back to say. And if she still didn’t want to see him after that, well, he’d just have to find a way to live with it. After he’d exhausted every opportunity to change her mind, of course.
He replayed their conversation in his head, still a little troubled by Sarah’s ‘what are you offering?’ remark. Had she meant financially? Thanks to the tour he was a little more secure, although nowhere near what he imagined David’s league was, but while he knew he couldn’t compete with David on paper, that didn’t worry him; real life was never played out on paper.
He shook the water from his hair, then hauled himself up off the bench and headed west along the South Bank, not really sure where he was going. The cinema at the NFT was showing Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, but that was the last thing Evan wanted to see, particularly since he didn’t actually believe that it was. Not after what had just happened.
As he reached the top of the steps by Waterloo Bridge, a jogger heading in the opposite direction almost knocked him back down them. She was pretty, and about Sarah’s age, and as she smiled her apology at him, her expression changed to one of surprise.
‘You’re him, aren’t you?’ she said, pulling her headphones out of her ears and jogging back over to where he was standing.
Evan made a face. ‘No I’m not,’ he said, continuing on his way.
‘Yes you are,’ she said, running backwards in front of him as she studied his face, but as Evan tried to go around her, she blocked his way, then put both hands on his shoulders.
‘Yes?’
‘You’re . . .’ She stared at him, then let out a frustrated yelp. ‘No, you’re going to have to tell me.’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Who you are.’
Evan frowned. ‘So hang on. You stop me and tell me I’m someone, then you have to ask me who it is that you think I am?’
The woman was still jogging on the spot in front of him, dodging from side to side, preventing him from passing. ‘Yeah. Come on.’
Evan shrugged. ‘The Pope? Nelson Mandela?’
‘No, silly!’ The woman grinned. ‘That guy from that band. You know who I mean.’
Evan felt the familiar sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. ‘What band?’
‘You were on TV the other day.’ The woman was hopping from one foot to another now, as if she needed the toilet. ‘Some programme about one-hit wonders. “Where Are They Now”, it was called. Or something like that.’
Evan sighed resignedly, realising there was only one way out of this. ‘Jazzed?’
The woman shook her head. ‘No. I’m just out of breath from my run.’
‘No, the band. It . . . We were called Jazzed.’
‘I don’t think that was it.’
‘Yes it was. I should know. I came up with the name.’
‘Jazzed?’ The woman narrowed her eyes and thought for a moment. ‘What was your biggest hit?’
‘Do you remember the theme to Rising Falls?’
‘Never heard of it. Name another one.’
Evan looked at her. ‘What was that programme about again?’
‘One-hit wonders. Why?’ The woman stared back at him, then realisation dawned. ‘Ah. Right. Sorry. So how did the theme from . . . What was it?’
‘Rising Falls.’
‘Rising Falls go?’
‘Forgetting for one moment the fact that I don’t have my sax with me, you surely don’t expect me to play it, here on the street?’
The woman looked as if that was exactly what she expected him to do. ‘You could hum it?’ she suggested.
Evan raised his eyes to the heavens and mentally counted to five. ‘Listen, it’s always a pleasure to meet a fan, but you’re quite clearly not one, so if you don’t mind . . .’
As he resumed his journey, the woman’s face fell. ‘Okay,’ she called after him, disappointedly. ‘Sorry. But it was nice meeting you.’
Whoever you are? said Evan, under his breath. He kept on walking, then heard footsteps running up behind him, so he swivelled around, hoping it might be Sarah.
‘Me again,’ said the woman, then she reached into the pocket of her running top and removed a sweat-moistened business card. ‘Here.’
‘What’s this for?’
The woman blushed, which, given how her face was already red from her run, made her look as if she was suffering from sunstroke. ‘In case you fancied a coffee some time,’ she said, giving him the briefest of smiles before jogging off in the opposite direction.
Evan shook his head as he watched her go, and realised he did fancy a coffee – along with the side order of advice Finn usually served up with it, so he changed direction and headed towards Borough High Street. As he walked, he examined the card the woman had just given him, then tossed it into the nearest bin. Under different circumstances he might have taken her up on her offer, but given his current obsession with Sarah, he’d barely registered it. This had been a common occurrence on tour, and one of the reasons he’d known the thing with Sarah was unfinished business – despite all the women he’d met in the U.S., he just hadn’t found himself interested in anyone else. Hadn’t even slept with anyone for the best part of six months, and even when he had, it had been down to loneliness rather than anything else – once, Evan had been plucking at a guitar during rehearsals, and a girl had come over to tell him the song he’d been playing was nice. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her he’d just been tuning the instrument, and then later that evening, hadn’t had the heart to tell her he didn’t want to sleep with her either.
Strangely, if anything, it had only made him more sure of how he felt about Sarah. He’d woken up in shame the following morning, almost as if he’d been unfaithful, and had tried to justify what he’d done by telling himself that everyone had one-night stands. Maybe, he sometimes feared, that was what Sarah had been. But you didn’t fall in love with someone you had a one-night stand with – and he had to hope that Sarah saw things the same way. What he’d do if she didn’t, he didn’t dare think about.
He reached the café and peered in through the window, pleased for his friend that the place was pretty busy, then spotted a poster advertising some upcoming nineties revival night on the wall next to their framed gold disc, the thought of which made Evan shudder. While Finn still played at the odd nostalgia gig, he’d never been tempted to join him, always of the mind that you should never try to relive past glories – although he found it ironic that he was ignoring his own advice where Sarah was concerned. He pushed the heavy glass door open, loosened his coat at the blast of heat that hit him, and made his way towards the counter, where Finn was noisily frothing a jug of milk. Smiling at the woman waiting by the till, he cleared his throat loudly.
‘I’ve got a complaint!’ he shouted.
Finn stopped what he was doing. ‘Well, the doctor’s surgery is two doors down,’ he said, then he looked up, a huge smile on his face. ‘Look what the cat dragged in.’
‘Nice to see you too.’
