The Cupid Effect (13 page)

‘Nuh, huh, no drugs, we agreed,' I said, returning to my space on the sofa furthest from the widescreen telly.

‘Yeah, Ed,' Jake added, ‘Ceri's old, remember.' Wouldn't mind if the cheeky
get
wasn't only a couple of years younger than me. And Mel was my age.

‘Oh yeah,' Ed said.

‘Whatever, just wait till I've gone to bed.'

‘With your slippers and cocoa,' Mel chimed in.

‘Watch it, you, I get a vote in if you're allowed to stay or not, you know.'

‘While you're up, Cezza, put kettle on,' Ed said.

My bum had almost touched the seat, as well. I sighed and hoisted myself up.

‘Mel can help, to earn his keep,' Jake decreed.

Funny he should say that. I got the impression Mel was going to help me anyway.

Being a Southern Softie, I'd bought a water filter – to the amusement and constant abuse of the lads. I filled the filter from the tap while Mel helped by leaning against the worktop closest to the back door and staring into the mid-distance. The water dribbled and dripped through the filter, I found clean cups, dropped three ordinary tea bags into the three white cups, dropped a strawberry, Southern Softie bag into the fourth black mug. Mel's latest contribution was to stand still in the kitchen.

‘Claudine's nice, isn't she?' Mel eventually said. Very eventually. So eventually I'd thought he'd never get it off his chest. That he'd leave with his soul still burdened with whatever it was he felt so compelled to travel here to see me about. That wasn't arrogance, his lie about forgetting I lived here proved that. And, I didn't want to prompt him to tell me what he wanted to tell me. I could prompt him to reveal the wrong thing.

‘Yeah, she seems nice.' I wasn't sure how much Claudine had told Mel about our impromptu night in the pub, or if she'd even mentioned that night to him. So it was best to use my new-found power of keeping shtum.

‘Oh, she's lovely. I've known her, what, ten years now. We met at The Met.'

‘Ah, right.'

‘We were in the same halls of residence.'

‘Right.'

Silence. More silence.
Come on Mel, spit it out, it might be a bus. And, to be honest, I'm getting spooked stood here in silence near the sink. You know, where water comes from and where the scary clown from the film comes up and grabs people.

‘It was funny you saying that the other day,' he said.

‘About?' I stopped myself adding: “I'm that funny, I need constant reminding of my witticisms.”

‘About me and Clau and how long we'd been together.'

I grimaced. Even though I now knew what I knew, I still physically cringed every time I thought about how I'd done that on my first day here. ‘Yeah, sorry about that.'

‘It's all right,' Mel shrugged. ‘It was just funny that's all.'

‘Funny how?'

Mel shrugged again. ‘Because you obviously guessed how I feel about her. Even though we really are just mates now.'

‘And you weren't before?'

‘I know I probably shouldn't tell you this, but Claudine is the love of my life, she always has been. I was, er, married for four years.' Mel watched the sink while he talked. He cleared his throat. ‘My marriage fell apart over Christmas. The happy season was not happy for me, I can tell you. It turned into the worst few days of my life. But,' Mel had the grace to look ashamed, ‘even before I tied the knot I was gone on Clau. I fancied her from the first year. I mean, you've seen her. She's gorgeous. And, well, last year, just before Christmas we got very drunk and . . . made love.' Mel paused, obviously waiting for judgement or shock from me.

‘I see,' I said. Probably not the time to mention Claudine remembers it differently.

‘It was the first – and only – time it happened. Clau was so ashamed she'd cheated on, Ke— her boyfriend and what we'd done to my wife that she wanted to pretend we'd stopped at the last minute. She and my wife used to get on really well, they were mates actually. They often went out together on their own cos they got on so well. We'd actually planned to spend Boxing Day together, the four of us. My wife and I weren't getting on anyway, but what happened with Claudine turned out to be our death knell. Clau still feels ashamed about it. I try to be normal but she can't seem to forget it.'

‘It's hard to be normal if you think you've ruined someone's life. Especially if yours is still intact,' I replied. This was actually a cleverly-disguised question. I was trying to get him to reveal more about the state of his marriage before he and Claudine got physical.

‘I don't know why she'd think that. She of all people knew that my marriage was far from perfect. I'm sure Fran, that's my wife, told her about it – Clau spent more time with her than I did at one point. We talked, me and my wife, but it always seemed to be about bills or what was for dinner. That's how I got to know Jake and Ed so well – I started spending almost every night out, joined a footie team. Then I spent time here with them. As it got to Christmas time, I spent all my time with Clau . . . I'm not saying the means justify the end, but for me it was always going to be that end. Me and my wife splitting up.'

‘So it could've been anyone, not just Claudine?' I asked.

Mel's face narrowed into a fierce frown. ‘What are you saying? I adore Claudine.'

‘So you said,' I replied.

His eyes narrowed to slits, his face twisted.

Mel was the angry type. Great time to find
that
out. The Angry Type scared me. They were the type neighbours said of, months later, as bodies were unearthed from their back garden, ‘I always thought they had killer eyes.' I had no intention of going that way. I opened a cupboard, the nearest one to me, and started moving things around, seeking biscuits and sugar, even though both things stood in clearly labelled jars on the worktop. I couldn't face his look of anger and betrayal and not fear for my life.

‘Why did you marry your wife?' I asked, my head still in the depths of the cupboard.

‘Because she was beautiful. And nice. And funny. And clever and lovely.'

‘Did you love her?' I might as well get buried for a cow as a mouse. (The saying went something like that.)

Mel slammed down his cup with such force, I expected a loud smashing sound to follow it. His tea was surely slopped all over the worktop. I couldn't see, I still had my head in the cupboard.

‘
What?!
' he snarled.

‘You said you were gone on Claudine,' I said, moving the pepper onto the marmalade. ‘You adored her when you got married. So, did you love your wife at all?'

‘Course,' Mel said quickly. ‘Of course I did. It wasn't just a simple case of I loved Clau and didn't love Fran.'

‘Right, I see. Did you like Fran?'

Silence was Mel's reply. Not angry silence. Not even silence lightly flavoured with indignation. Just plain ol' silence. It was safe to out myself now. I withdrew my head from the cupboard. Mel was staring down into his cup of tea, making patterns on the worktop with the spilt tea. Jake would love that, Mel staining his real wood worktop with his thought-filled tea circles.

‘Yeah I liked her,' he mumbled. ‘Course I liked her.'

‘Oh, so she was a mate, too? I mean, did she match up to all your other friends?' In other words, was she as good a friend as Claudine?

Mel's tongue started to explore his mouth, seeking renegade bits of food to dislodge and chew on. I stared at him rather openly as I waited for his answer.
Come on, tell me, did your wife match up to Claudine in the friendship stakes?

‘Erm, the lads will be gagging for these by now,' Mel said. He threaded his fingers through two cups with one hand and picked up his cup with the other hand. ‘You know how much they love their tea.'

The poor cow never had a chance, did she Mel?
I picked up my cup, the strawberry scent filling my senses.
She thought she was marrying someone who she was going to spend the rest of her life with; you, well you wanted something completely different. She stood a snowball's chance in hell. Poor, poor woman.

During the second part of
It
, Mel cast me long, thought-filled looks, redrawing those tea circles with his eyes over the space I occupied in the room. He was rethinking his marriage; his ‘friendship' with Claudine. The lads probably thought he was running through the
Kama Sutra
in his head with me.

Ed started to skin up the second the credits rolled on the film. I dragged myself from the sofa, and headed for bed.
Can I hold off going to the loo or brushing my teeth until morning?
I wondered as I shuffled out of the room.
No way am I going near any kind of water when that clown could appear out of the plug hole. In the morning, the lads will hear sounds of my demise if the clown does appear.

‘See ya,' I called.
Only goody two shoes brush their teeth twice a day anyway. And remember how you once held off going to the loo for six hours when you were in Egypt? If I go to bed straight away, I'll wake up in the night and not remember the clown until after I've used th—

‘Oh, Ceri, hang on.' Mel handed the joint to Jake and skipped out of the room after me. I stopped on the second step, my eyes hurt from telly-watching without my glasses, I blinked a couple of times to ease their discomfort and strain.

‘Yup?' I asked Mel.

I could feel, rather than see, the lads leaning out of their seats to catch a snatch of our conversation.

‘You won't tell anyone what we talked about, will you?' Mel asked in a lowered tone.

‘Course not,' I replied in the same low tone.

Mel smiled at me, placed a hand on my hand. I could feel the lads' eyes widen. I took my hand away before they gave him a pack of condoms and directions to my bedroom.

‘Thanks for listening,' he said.

‘My pleasure,' I said. ‘Good night boys.'

‘Night Cezza,' they called back.

And good luck with all that thinking and rethinking you've got to do, Melvin, I know it won't be easy.

chapter eleven

Only the Lonely

Who thought that seeing this little bit of dirt track road, made up of pebbles and mud and huge great holes, would make me so happy. That I'd feel my heart leap with joy as I turned off St Michael's Lane into the road I now called home. I'd been deeply depressed for the past five hours or so. Actually, for most of the weekend.

I was returning from a weekend in London.

London, my home. Ha!

I'd decided to go back, visit my parents, visit my brothers and my sister, get some more of my belongings and remind myself that London was a trillion times more hip than Leeds. That while I was settling in Up Norf, my heart was buried deep in the south. Ha, ha, ha. (That was a humourless, bitter laugh.)

Bloody Oprah and bloody heart's desire.

It'd felt like I was entering a strange land when I got off the train at London's King's Cross. Even in a month things seemed to have changed. By the time I got to South East London, where my flat was, I felt as though I was on the moon.

Ridiculous really, since I'd grown up in London. Twenty-four of my twenty-nine years on this planet had been spent in London. But, I didn't feel like I knew anything. Everything seemed smaller, dirtier, stranger. Alien. I felt like ET walking into my flat (he wouldn't have spent so much time bealing on about going home if he'd been confronted with what I had when I'd stepped over my own threshold). The woman who'd taken over my flat for the year had made her mark on the place. Not with the decor, she hadn't painted or lain new carpet or owt, which would've been nice cos I hadn't really done that in the two years I'd lived there, either. But she'd taken down the huge framed photo of Angel/David Boreanaz that previously hung over my fireplace. My videos had been stacked up in boxes, in their place were books.
Her
books. Rows and rows of the tomes and ‘intellectual' novels people put on display but few people actually read.

My books, of which there were over six hundred, had mostly been boxed up too. They had those ‘intellectual' tomes amongst them, and I had actually read them. And I'd read all my Judge Dredd graphic novels too. I was widely read like that. Her tomes all looked untouched by human hands. My cushions and stuff had been moved to the spare room, which was now an office again. An office-cum-second bedroom. The metal-framed futon was now put up as a sofa instead of put down as a bed. My clothes were all folded and hidden away in suitcases under the futon. My beloved Batman bust was back in its box.

She and her boyfriend had moved into my bedroom, of course. I'd valiantly ignored thinking about the two people having sex in my bed thing, just made a mental note to buy a new bed the
second
I moved back to London. I'd felt like I'd sold my flat years ago and was visiting to see what they'd done with the place. It was my place still. Except it wasn't. My name was on the mortgage papers and on the lease, it was my furniture but that was it. The shell was mine, the soul of the place now seemed to be hers.

I thought it'd always be my place. Home is where the heart is,
n'est-ce pas?
I hadn't been prepared for the shock and ill feeling I'd got when I went around. I could've made those adjustments, I could've had those brown suede cushions and cream cotton cushions on that cream throw in the living room. I could've put up those blinds. I could've had rugs, dammit. It hurt so much I had to spend the night with my parents. I'd have been cheating on my own taste if I'd slept there. Just to compound the upset, none of my London friends had been around for the night, owing to having husbands, wives and children to think about, so I'd spent the night in with my parents. Saturday night with my folks. Much as I love them, fun as they are, Saturday night sipping cherryade in front of the news was akin to hell.