The Beard (23 page)

Besides, after the way Sam had reacted, by the time she’d found the line relating to him, her feelings for him would’ve changed. As such, it was an impossible question to answer.

“No, I thought not,” said Tom, looking downwards, as if embarrassed. Amy, still baffled, stared in silent curiosity at the statement he’d just made. “If you’d loved him, you wouldn’t have hesitated to reply. You’d have said so.” Amy was about to chall
enge this simplistic assumption when Tom cut her off – still looking down. “You like to think you’re complex, and you are – to a point. But in some areas, you’re as easy to read as a book. You wear your emotions on your sleeve and no one is in any doubt about how you feel about something. You come out of a movie and bore us to tears with a breakdown of your opinions. You make snap judgements about people and, again, tell us all. If you HAD loved him, you’d have told us. You’d have told me. I’m not saying you couldn’t have loved him, and I wouldn’t. I’m not saying you weren’t falling in love, but you weren’t in love with him. You were flattered by the attention and the lavish life on offer. You fell in love with the possibility of falling in love. But you know, Amy, someone who can take an immediate and loathsome dislike to a milk jug or a set of chopsticks isn’t the kind of girl who takes time to fall in love. She either does or she doesn’t. And you didn’t. That’s why – in my opinion.”

Amy hated Tom when he was like that: succinct, accurate and able to analyse her better than she could analyse herself. It made her froth with envy and anger. At the same time, she knew he was right. Tom had the capacity to reach in and untwist each emotional wire, leaving everything operational. As much as Amy admired it, she also hated it. It made her feel simple.

“Maybe,” she whispered. The words and the tone indicated a clear concession to Tom’s opinion. It was an irritable admission that her friend’s instant, ‘just add water’ critique of her frailties and feelings was spot on. “Hey!” Amy suddenly blurted out. “You changed the subject. Why didn’t you like him?” Tom smiled. The conversation had moved on. There was no need to go back over old territory. Say what you like about Amy, Tom thought, but, like Ash, she’s a quick healer. Fickle.

“OK,” said Tom frankly. “Do you want the truth?”

Amy nodded – a cute trick. In future, she could claim never to have said yes, and a head movement is always open to wild interpretation. Tom had taught her well in the art of subterfuge, but he had no plans to be taken in by it.

“Do you?” he asked again.

“Yes!” she squalled theatrically.

Tom smiled. Little did Amy realise but, in dragging out the moment and playing a few mind games, her strength was returning. In many respects, her focus was already changing. “Well,” Tom began, “truthfully… I agree with him. I don’t think you are good enough for him.” Amy looked at him in total disbelief. “I mean, he’s really successful and you’re, well, you know, you.” Amy’s eyes were as wide as her disbelief. She stared at Tom, dumbfounded. “He was also good-looking, whereas…”

It was at this point that Tom started laughing and ran furiously away from Amy. It took a fraction of a second, but she was soon chasing him out onto the landing. She started throwing cushions down the stairs at him. “YOU SHIT!” she shouted. “You’d better behave when we’re married!” She turned around, a half-smile creeping across her face.

“Sorry,” said Ah-Lam, trying to pass Amy to get to the bathroom, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

“Oh, Ah-Lam,” said Amy. “I’m not mental. I’m not – honest.” A woman with mascara running down her face and cheeks puffy from extended bouts of crying was trying to convince a nervous exchange student of her sanity while throwing pillows at her gay husband-to-be. Smiling like the Joker, as a bubble of snot appeared from her nose, did little to persuade Ah-Lam of Amy’s roadworthiness. The Chinese student smiled and shuffled quickly to the bathroom, where the door was slammed shut and locked loudly. Tom appeared at the foot of the stairs as Amy collapsed her head on the wooden rail.

“That’s unfortunate,” he said, looking towards the bathroom.

“I know,” was all that Amy could manage from under her mop of frizzy hair. “She really thinks I’m a lunatic!”

Tom walked a few steps up, until he was more or less level with Amy. “Well, yeah, that and the fact that Ash was right – you could do with a shower. You do reek!”

Tom sped away again as Amy managed a “bastard” in his direction and followed him in manic, deranged pursuit.

Amy and Tom decided that, all things being considered, a slap-up all-day breakfast in one of their favourite cafés was more important than making good time on the road. Amy’s mother had only insisted that they both attend on Friday to ensure that they would, in fact, be there. As such, as long as they got there in one piece, together and on that day, everything would be fine.

The café was an old-fashioned “greasy spoon” – although, as Mae the proprietor kept telling anyone who chose to listen, she grilled and griddled most things, and the only grease around was in the patron’s hair. The café was small, holding only nine tables in three rows of three. An ancient glass, curved counter ran the stretch of the shop, with a till stationed at one end and enough space for the one waitress to get in and out.

The black and white checked floor tiles set the classical tone. Solid, but tired, wooden furniture with chipped layers of lacquer provided the spine. The waitress, who’d unceremoniously kick anything in her way out of her way, kept the two aisles that ran down each set of tables clear of debris.

The place was small, friendly and forever busy. The steam from the coffee machine, the smell of meat being heated in various ways and the allure of toast drew any passer-by in. The clatter of teacups, coffee mugs and cutlery over the hum of chatter was therapeutic. The café had operated in this manner for decades and offered a time-gone-by reassurance, along with the fortification of a good breakfast.

The waitress, her hair done in a bun, her face steamed but rarely touched by a smile, was always warm. Men were always viewed with arm’s-length skepticism and women were taken to her
ample bosom.

The clatter and chatter of the surrounds also ensured a sense of privacy – no one could, or would want to, listen to conversations. It liberated the diner to relax and get anything off his chest. Despite this din, half of the clientele would almost always be si
tting in silence, reading a red-top.

As the mugs of coffee were plopped onto the table with little fanfare, Tom decided it was an appropriate time to talk about
his and Amy’s relationship. After everything that had happened, surely now it was time to come clean.

“We have to go through this weekend for my mother,” said Amy, matter of fact.

Tom knew that Amy’s mother was, ultimately, where all of this had started. Surely, after everything they’d been through, it was no longer necessary to kid her any more.

“Surely, this is as good a time as any?” he asked. “I mean, if we go down and act like the happy couple, we can’t then just split up afterwards. It’ll look odd. You’d need a reason to split with me – and no, you can’t say I was unfaithful.”

Amy again looked pensive. In recent weeks, it had been her default setting. She looked down at her mug. Reaching for the giant glass sugar dispenser, she twirled it this way and that on the table. Tom wasn’t sure if she was feeling tender because of what had happened or because she simply didn’t want to be alone. He was sure that, while not pushing the matter, it should be addressed.

“Look,” he said after a period of noticeable silence, “I’m not saying I’m not coming or that I won’t do it. I will. I’m just saying that this is a good opportunity to come clean. I’ll come down and ’fess up with you if it helps. I’m not trying to dodge the bullet.”

Amy’s eyes brimmed with tears as the waitress delivered their breakfasts. Seeing Amy crying, she automatically assumed that Tom was to blame. “You alright, hun?” she asked. Amy nodded yes and grabbed some napkins from the silver box dispenser to dab her eyes with. Amy’s breakfast was carefully placed in front of her, Tom’s was thrown down with a scowl.

“It’s not me!” he said in protest.

The waitress remained in situ, in a gesture to make sure that Amy was OK. Not seeing the waitress standing there through her cascade of hair, hanging down like tangled vines, Amy managed to say, “Mum’s found a lump.”

Tom looked back at her, shocked at the revelation. The waitress reacted with surprise and looked at Tom. Tom gave her a “told you so” glance and she touched his shoulder sympathetically. “If you need me, I’ll be over there,” she said, stating the obvious.

“What do you mean a lump?” Tom asked. He knew full well what she meant. After all, when someone says that, they mean only one thing.

“Mum told me the other day,” Amy continued. “She says she’s been for some tests. She says she didn’t want me to know. Didn’t want to get me worried.”

“So why tell you?” Tom asked instinctively.

Amy continued to look at the table. “We were talking and she said she knew this nice man, if it didn’t work out between you and me. A doctor. And I just said, ‘Oh, what, our family doctor?’ Because he’s, like,
a hundred. And she said, ‘No, one at the hospital.’ And I was, like, ‘What you doing at the hospital?’ And she went all prickly. So we kind of had a row and she told me. But she hasn’t told Dad. Didn’t want him to worry. So she made me promise that I wouldn’t tell a soul. Then, when I spoke to Dad, he was going on about how he’d never seen Mum happier, knowing we were coming down for the weekend and everything.”

Tom rocked back in his seat and stared at Amy in silence. What next? he thought. He reached his hand out and grabbed hers. “So, how long has she known? I mean, when are the test results back?”

Amy shook her head. “I don’t know. I get the impression soon, but not soon enough.”

Once again, the news took time to digest, as they both sat in silence. The waitress returned to their table, scooping both plates up. “I’ll keep these warm,” she said, before taking them away.

“So, why keep it a secret – to the extent of not telling your dad?”

Amy, who was now half looking up, shook her head. “Apparently, she wanted the focus to be my cousin this weekend and didn’t want people feeling sorry for her. Besides, we all know what my dad’s like. She gave me the whole ‘I’m sure it’s nothing’ speec
h, but until the tests are back we won’t know.”

Tom couldn’t think of anything meaningful to say. Sometimes, news hits you like a truck and all you can do is stay stunned. “Shit,” he managed. “Is that why you didn’t go with Sam?” he added, the idea occurring to him and the words leaving his mouth without any screening or consideration.

“A bit,” was Amy’s instant reply. “Like you said, I don’t think I loved him. I just loved the idea of being in love. It’s been a while. So I had to be sure that he was The One if I was going to jet off and leave my family.” An elongated pause inserted itself naturally into the conversation. Anyone could’ve predicted what would come next. Finally, it did. “But he wasn’t The One,” Amy declared.

Tom rubbed his face in his hands, keeping them up as a shield against the day’s events.

“Well…” he began, trying his best to remain upbeat, “if it is cancer, they can treat things these days. Besides, we don’t know if it is, do we?”

Amy shook her head. “That’s what I keep telling myself. I just want to talk to her about it. Find out more. But she says she wants to stay upbeat, stay focused on the wedding. She’s asked me not to talk about it with her until after the wedding. I said it’s going to be hard, but what can I say? I mean, what can I do? I just said, ‘Yeah, sure.’ I can’t even talk to my dad. I mean, it’s a mess. That’s why you had to come down. Sorry, I should’ve told you, but she made me swear to keep it a secret and I had to. I really did.”

Tom nodded. “I know,” he said. “Although, if you were all honest in the first bloody place, none of this nonsense would happen! You lying to her, her lying to you… Isn’t it all a bit… a bit… tedious?”

Amy offered only a weak smile that roughly translated into, “No lectures, not right now.”

Tom looked up at the waitress, who brought two fresh breakfasts over, both of which were gently laid down. “Thank you,” they chimed together as the waitress squeezed Amy’s shoulder upon departure.

Tom looked down at his breakfast. “So… we both go down to this wedding and pretend to be a couple, while your mother pretends that nothing’s wrong. We also pretend that you haven’t just had quite a dramatic break-up. Then, once we’ve done that, we find a reason why we aren’t a couple and discover why everything isn’t OK with your mother – or not. Have I got that right?”

Amy didn’t move her head but looked up at Tom tartly – it was the only reply he was going to get. “Eat your breakfast,” she said. It was a task they both set about with less fervour than they’d imagined when they left the house.

After many minutes of studiously silent eating, Amy was the first to speak. “I’m pretty sure Mum is going to be OK. I don’t know why, it’s a gut feeling. Maybe it’s wishful think
ing. But until I know for sure one way or another, I’m not going to tell her about us, about the fact that there
is
no us. As soon as I know that she’s fine, or I know that she’s actually ill, I’ll tell her. That’ll be the time for honesty, just not now. She’s got enough on her mind already without knowing all the crap that’s happening to me, too!”