Life and Soul of the Party (16 page)

‘No such luck,’ replied Paul. ‘I wasn’t sure I was going to come. You know how it is: the last thing I want to do tonight is cause trouble but I wanted to be here for Laura, you know?’

‘She’ll be really pleased that you made it, mate.’

‘So how is she?’ He sat down in the seat next to me. ‘All ready to go?’

‘As ready as she’ll ever be.’

Paul glanced around the bar. Chris picked up on it straight away. ‘If you’re looking for Mel I think she’s downstairs.’

‘Does she know I’m coming?’

‘Laura told her.’

‘And what did she say?’

‘I’m guessing she probably said a lot of stuff but I don’t think any of it was bad. She’ll be pleased that you’re, you know . . . alone.’

‘A room full of my ex-girlfriend’s best mates. I think even Hannah knew it would be a nightmare.’ He paused. ‘So is Mel alone?’

Chris shook his head. ‘She’s been seeing some new guy for a while. I’ve met him a few times. He seems okay . . . if a little on the young side.’

‘How old?’

‘I think Vicky said he was twenty-five.’

‘And they’re happy?’

‘How should I know? She looks fine to me.’

‘That’s good to hear,’ said Paul. ‘She deserves to be happy.’

‘How about yourself,’ asked Chris. ‘You still doing okay?’

‘Hanging in there. Hannah’s good and everything’s still cool with the baby. We had a scan last week.’ A smile broke out across his face. ‘It was brilliant. Best thing I’ve seen in my life.’

Chris smiled. ‘I remember that moment with William. I’m really pleased for you, mate. It’s great to hear some good news for a change.’

‘How is William? Is he still mad about Daleks?’

‘He’s obsessed. He gets more and more fun with each passing day.’

‘It must feel good to be so sure about something,’ said Paul. ‘To have no doubt in your mind that William’s everything to you. I’d kill to have something I could be that sure about. I’d kill to know one hundred per cent that the way I felt was the way I would always feel.’ He paused, obviously hoping that Chris or I would chime in with something that would make him feel that we were on his wavelength.

‘I know what you mean,’ I replied, even though I wasn’t sure that I did. ‘It is hard to be sure about stuff sometimes.’

‘I think I’m already feeling what you’re supposed to feel,’ said Paul. ‘I know it’s only early days, but when this kid . . . this baby . . . when it’s actually there in my hands and not just on some monitor or kicking out in Hannah’s belly . . . I feel like I’ll know for sure. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ He laughed self-consciously and then drained his pint. ‘Here endeth the sermon,’ he said setting the glass firmly down on the table. ‘Who wants another one?’ Before we could respond he was making his way over to the bar.

‘This doesn’t bode well.’ I watched him waiting to be served. ‘I’ve seen him like this before.’

‘Like every day after he and Melissa split up the first time round,’ agreed Chris. ‘And the way he’s knocking back the drink . . . I’m guessing he’s definitely on a mission to forget.’

‘Absolutely, let’s just hope that this time round he doesn’t do too much damage to himself or anyone else along the way.’

It was just after midnight, I was more than a little drunk and I was standing out of the way of the crowded upstairs bar while Melissa got us some drinks. The evening so far had been good given that I was meeting so many of Melissa’s friends for the first time. Laura, whose party it was, had seemed the most fun. But then again that could be because she was really fit and looked like a cut-price Jennifer Aniston. Her boyfriend Cooper seemed a bit grumpy but warmed up when I told him I was a City supporter, while his brother Chris had seemed okay, if somewhat distracted. Chris’s wife Vicky seemed lovely and had even joked to Melissa about taking me on a date to the Cornerhouse if they ever showed a revival of
The Graduate.
But the person I was most curious to meet (albeit for the second time) was the one proving to be the most elusive. And although I’d heard that Paul was actually here at the party I’d yet to see him and I got the impression from the others that he was doing his best to avoid both me and Melissa.

Just as I was working out what to say to Paul if I ever did get to meet him again, I felt someone reach around the back of me and put their hands over my eyes. In a pitifully disguised voice my mystery assailant whispered: ‘Guess who?’ I knew straight away that it was Freya and before I could say a word she threw her arms around my neck in her usual overly familiar flirtatious way. Part of me wanted to peel her off me but most of me would’ve been happy to let her stay.

‘It’s packed in here tonight,’ she said looking around the bar. ‘It’s never usually this crowded.’

‘There’s a party on downstairs.’ I noticed that she had moved one arm down to circle my waist.

‘Who are you here with?’ she asked. ‘Seb and Brian?’

I felt odd talking about Melissa to Freya.

‘I’m actually with another mate tonight,’ I replied.

Freya raised her eyebrows suggestively. ‘Girlfriend?’

I nodded guiltily. ‘Look, it’s early days . . . but, yeah, I think I could describe her as my girlfriend.’

‘Well done you,’ said Freya as though I’d won a competition that had more to do with luck than actual skill. ‘I’m really thrilled. Who is she? Do I know her?’

I shook my head and Freya gazed around the bar clearly trying to spot Melissa. ‘At first I thought it might be that girl over there,’ she pointed to a blonde in a cream beanie hat, ‘but then I realised she wasn’t quite right so I thought it might be that girl there.’ She pointed to a pretty girl with black hair and a severe fringe. ‘But I was wrong again. That’s when I realised that it’s that girl over there with the brown hair and the denim jacket?’

I was confused by her accuracy. ‘How did you . . . ?’

‘Easy. She looks exactly the kind of girl you’d go for. She works in here sometimes, doesn’t she?’

‘Just part-time. She’s actually at the university studying Art History.’

‘And she’s how old?’

I was surprised by Freya’s directness.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Now you’ve made me really want to know. Come on, how old is she?’

‘Why does it matter?’

‘Well, it obviously matters to you if you won’t tell me. She’s easily over thirty.’

‘She’s thirty-five,’ I said finally.

Freya nodded sagely. ‘Good for you.’ Something in her face changed as though she was hatching some kind of plan. ‘Well, I’m here with Gina and Lou. We’re heading off up to the Jockey in bit. You should come . . . bring your girlfriend too.’

‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ I replied, unsure whether I should be relishing the thrill of turning down Freya. ‘This is sort of an important night for Mel and me, so I’ll have to give it a miss this time.’

I’d been contemplating the sorry-looking gerbera floating on the surface of the water in the pint glass that we used as a tip jar and wondering why no one had thought to put a fresh flower in there – when I looked over at Billy and saw him talking to a pretty girl in her early twenties. I guessed straight away that the girl was Freya, as she looked exactly as Billy had described her: ‘cool’, ‘pretty’ and ‘more than a bit self aware.’

Much to my amusement the second Billy saw that I was looking over at them his whole being seemed to cringe, as though he imagined I might think that there was something going on. The truth couldn’t have been further from my mind. Seeing Billy with this girl made me realise how much he was unlike any guy I’d ever been out with. I didn’t feel any pangs of jealousy. I didn’t feel the slightest bit insecure. And it wasn’t as though he wasn’t a catch – more than once when we’d been out I’d spied girls eyeing him up – it was more to do with the fact that I knew that I could trust him completely.

‘Hi,’ I said with a smile, ‘you must be Billy’s friend Freya.’

Freya looked as though she hadn’t expected Billy to have been open enough to tell me about her. ‘I am,’ she replied. ‘And you must be Melissa. I was just saying to Billy that he must be really mad about you because I haven’t seen him in ages. He always used to be hanging around somewhere handy but not any more.’ She laughed, as if to make it clear that she was joking. ‘Anyway, it’s really nice to meet you.’

‘What are you up to tonight?’

‘Freya’s just off to the Jockey,’ said Billy, clearly trying to minimise the amount of time that she and I shared the same air space.

‘You should stay,’ I said to Freya. ‘My friend’s having a leaving do downstairs and friends of ours are DJ-ing. It’s been a great night so far. You and your friends should come down for a while. I’m sure no one would mind.’

‘I’d love to,’ replied Freya, ‘But like Billy mentioned, my friends and I already have plans.’ She nodded over to where a group of ridiculously pretty girls were pretending that they weren’t watching us. ‘Maybe next time. It was nice to meet you.’ She looked at Billy. ‘And good to see you too.’

‘I had no idea she was going to be here,’ Billy said quickly. ‘That wasn’t too awkward, was it?’

I laughed. ‘It was fine.’

‘And when you say “fine” do you mean “fine” or do you mean something else?’

‘I mean “fine” as in it was fine. She is pretty though. I can definitely see what you saw in her.’

‘Yeah, well I’m glad I’ve moved on,’ said Billy uncomfortably. ‘Shall we head back downstairs?’

Billy took my hand. It was then that I saw Paul. He was over by the cigarette machines, standing with Claudia and a bunch of her other friends as though he had been hijacked on his way to somewhere else and he was looking directly at me.

I didn’t want to talk to him right now. The whole thing would be too awkward.

‘What’s up?’ asked Billy.

I shook my head. ‘Nothing, I’m fine. Let’s just go.’

I’d lost Paul almost as soon as we’d come downstairs to the party; Vicky and Laura were constantly flitting about in a triangle consisting of the dance floor, the toilets and the collection of sofas at the far end of the bar; Melissa seemed to be surgically attached to her new boyfriend and so by default I’d spent most of the evening together with Cooper floating in and out of conversations with Laura’s mates’ boyfriends.

Now I was at the bar waiting to be served in a queue three people deep. The longer I waited the more people gave up and headed upstairs in the hope of getting served more quickly but I was glad of the opportunity to have some time on my own to think through the decision that I’d made to finally finish with Polly.

Over the past few months this thing between us had become out of control. Each time I saw her I took greater and greater risks, the most recent of which had seen me inventing a conference I had to attend in Brighton when in fact Polly and I were planning to drive down to London and spend the night together in a hotel.

Everything had been fine on the journey down but when we reached London I realised that I had left my work mobile – a phone on which I fielded an average of thirty to forty calls a day – at home. Even though I’d booked the day off work, all it would take for me to get caught out would be for a single person to call me. Part of me had wanted to drive back up to Manchester straight away but Polly begged me to stay, assuring me that everything would be all right. We did stay but the night away was ruined. Back at home I searched high and low for my phone only to find it switched off, on the table in the hallway. When I asked Vicky if it had rung at all, she said that just after I had left someone had called but she had missed them as she had been upstairs getting William dressed. Reasoning that I could probably do without the disturbances she had simply turned off my phone and gone back upstairs.

Then a week ago Vicky complained that we still hadn’t booked a summer holiday, so the very next evening we devoted ourselves to looking through brochures and the interent trying to find somewhere to go. Nothing. It felt as though there were far too many choices to even begin to narrow it down. But the whole evening had got me questioning what I was doing with Polly. It made me think about the fortnight William, Vicky and I had spent in Sardinia the previous summer. How much I had enjoyed having every day with William unimpeded by the distractions of work and how well Vicky and I had got on together. And it occurred to me that if I carried on down the route I was travelling with Polly that kind of holiday would never be repeated. I didn’t want that to happen. I wanted William to have good memories of his childhood holidays just like I did. Mum, Dad, me and Cooper stuck in a static caravan in Tenby. The funny-smelling toilet. The tall grass growing out of the sand at the beach. The wind that made the sea feel ten times colder than ice even on a sunny day. Holiday memories I could never forget.

But the one thing above all others that convinced me it was time to end things with Polly was a conversation I overheard in the toilet at the party. Two guys had joined me at the urinals. Standing either side of me, they swayed gently from side to side, very much the worse for wear as they began talking across me about a girl that one of them had just met. The guy on my right asked his friend if he thought the girl fancied him and his friend replied he thought she did. The guy on the left said that he thought she had a great arse and followed up by asking if his friend was going to do anything about it. Right guy smirked and said: ‘It would be rude not to.’ Left guy asked if he was bothered about his girlfriend finding out and the guy on my right sniggered and said, ‘Well, she never found out all the other times,’ and then they both cracked up.

I didn’t want to think that I had anything in common with either of them: I was me and they were something different entirely. But like it or not, my affair with Polly meant that I was treating Vicky with the same brand of contempt that the guys in the toilet had used on their girlfriends. I’d turned my life into a big fat cliché: bloke halfway through his thirties has crisis of confidence, goes in search of the meaning of life between the thighs of another woman and risks family, home, reputation – in fact pretty much everything that he’d worked so hard to create – in order to indulge himself, if only for a moment, in the fantasy that the last ten years hadn’t happened. My fling with Polly had been nothing more than an attempt to prove to myself that time wasn’t moving forwards. That things weren’t changing. And the months we’d been together were essentially nothing more than an aid to memory – like a photograph, a memento or a diary – to help me recall the highs of my twenties, underscoring in my mind the flawed belief that my best days were behind me.