What Might Have Been (17 page)

‘Americans do.’

Finn folded his arms. ‘Proves my point.’

‘How?’

‘Think about it. Most people – most
English
people, anyway – go out with a series of partners. Learn something from each one. Apply that to the next relationship they look for, then eventually end up with something, or some
one
, approaching the finished product. That way, they’ve manoeuvred themselves into a position where the one they’re with is the one they’re meant to be with. But only after a lot of trial and error.’

‘I’m sorry, Finn – this point you’re trying to prove . . .’

Finn grinned. ‘Is that she obviously didn’t want to put herself through all that time and effort. She wasn’t able to make her mind up about him, so she started seeing you, just to give her something to compare him to.’

‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

‘Doesn’t it?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘Well, it should.’

‘How?’ said Evan, exasperatedly. ‘She chose him. I obviously didn’t measure up.’

‘Doesn’t sound like that to me.’

Evan sighed, then drained the rest of his coffee. ‘Well, it’s what she did, Finn. So it must have been.’

‘Maybe not.’

‘What do you mean, maybe not?’

‘She picks you as her yardstick. You bugger off before she can make up her mind. And either she sticks with him because the clock is ticking, or she feels guilty about what she’s done, or because he senses he might be losing her and redoubles his efforts.’

‘Which might have been all she was after in the first place.’ Evan shook his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Finn. I just don’t buy that.’

‘Okay. Look at it this way. Say you’d ordered a latte, then the minute you did it, you realised you’d made the wrong decision.’

‘This is hardly comparable to ordering a coffee.’

‘That’s not important. What
is
is the uncanny way you know you’ve made the wrong decision the instant after you’ve made what you thought was going to be the right one. Right?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Right.’ Finn leaned in closer and lowered his voice, as if explaining plans for a bank heist. ‘So say Sarah was trying to engineer a proposal out of David. Then one day, bingo. She gets it. Says yes almost automatically, because that’s what she’s been after all along. And then, the second she’s said it, she realises there’s a chance she might be making a mistake.’

‘Well then, you’d just back out of it, wouldn’t you?’

‘Would you? Like you just said, it’s hardly ordering a coffee. And what if by that time you’ve only got the one option, unless you can bluff someone else into making you the same offer, so at least you’re making your decision on a level playing field?’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps because there’s a part of you thinking that this might be your last chance. And so you don’t want to blow it.’

‘So you’re saying that she’s got an offer – an acceptable offer – but she’s decided to use that fact to see if she can leverage a
counter
-offer, just to make sure in her own mind she’s doing the right thing?’

Finn nodded. ‘Oldest trick in the book. Why else would she have placed the announcement?’

‘Because she wants to be rescued?’

‘Rescued? This isn’t the Middle Ages, and she’s certainly not some damsel in distress. If she wanted out of there, she’d be out of there, don’t you worry.’

‘So what, then?’

Finn glanced towards the till, checking for customers. ‘You don’t jump from a sinking ship unless you know the one you’re jumping to can float, do you? So maybe it’s her last shot at getting you to lay it on the line for her, so she can convince herself that her last-minute jitters are just that. Or not.’

‘Yeah, but this is pretty extreme. I mean, she can’t be thinking about, you know, spending the rest of her life with someone after just one night.’

‘Why not? You are.’ Finn smiled. ‘Of course, it could simply be the “kids” thing.’

‘
Kids thing
? What kids thing?’

‘As in her wanting them. Did you two ever have that
discussion
?’

Evan sighed loudly. ‘Finn, Sarah and I didn’t really have time to discuss our views on anything.’

‘Well, just remember that most women are driven by this need at some point in their lives. Sarah’s that age, and if that’s the case . . . she might just see David as the better bet.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Is it?’

‘Yeah. If Sarah did have such a biological urge, why would she have wasted her time having an affair with me?’

‘Affair? I’d check your dictionary definitions, if I were you. One night . . .’

‘And one lunch,’ protested Evan, weakly.

‘Whatever. But perhaps some sort of switch has flipped inside her while you’ve been away. Maybe she’s suddenly decided that that
is
what she wants, and that this guy’s in the best position to provide her with them – or rather, provide
for
her and them. And if that’s the case, then you can’t really argue with that.’

‘
Thanks
, Finn.’

‘Don’t mention it.’

A young Asian girl coughed politely from where she’d been waiting patiently by the till, so Finn got up to serve her, and as his friend headed back behind the counter, Evan wondered how he’d feel if that
was
the deal-breaker. Finn’s observation had thrown him a little, and while he liked kids – well, he liked Finn’s kids –
children
were a little off his radar at the moment. He didn’t know many musicians – multimillionaires aside – who were good at playing happy families, perhaps given the piecemeal nature of their work. The only ones he knew with children were those who’d had them accidentally, and either lugged them around on tour like an extra over-heavy piece of luggage, or relied on a parenting technique that involved little more than posting a cheque once a month. If the pram in the hall was rumoured to be an issue for women in the arts, it certainly was for men. You couldn’t play until the small hours
and
come home to a small baby.

Could he see himself as a dad? He supposed so. After all, wasn’t it one of those things that you just
did
, like learning to drive, or playing an instrument – seemingly impossible at first, with too much going on all at once, but eventually it just became second nature? But then again, he only had a one-bedroom flat. He didn’t want to have to move, and yet surely they couldn’t start a family living like that . . .

Start a family
. Evan fought to stem the panic he could feel rising in his chest. He’d had a goldfish a few years ago but had forgotten to feed it, and he’d come back from a series of gigs in Germany to find it floating upside-down in its bowl. Once, he’d even thought about getting a dog, but deemed the responsibility, the commitment, too much. He knew he was perhaps jumping the gun a bit, but for the first time, wondered what he might be taking on. Marriage? And
kids
? The idea was making him break out in a cold sweat.

He looked over at Finn, the former blue-eyed boy of Jazzed now with a couple of blue-eyed boys of his own, noting the lines around his eyes, the flecks of grey in his hair, and what looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a paunch. And no matter how hard he swallowed, Evan couldn’t dislodge the lump that had formed in his throat.

29

S
arah cursed the men doing roadwork outside at such an early hour, then realised the loud rumbling that had woken her was in fact David’s snoring, and wondered where she was before working out that the total absence of light meant they’d gone back to his apartment yesterday evening. He could only sleep in complete blackness, and while she’d joked with him that this wasn’t the kind of fumbling in the dark she wanted, Sarah still hadn’t managed to change his habits. She preferred to sleep with the curtains open, and the black eye-mask David insisted on wearing whenever they spent the night at her place always made her feel like she was sharing a bed with Zorro.

She held her pillow over her head to try and block out the noise, wondering whether it was too late to add ‘earplugs’ to the wedding gift list, then retrieved her mobile phone from the bedside table and checked the time. It was just gone six, and although
she did
n’t have to be in the office for another two hours, Sarah decided she’d get up and go home first.

Careful not to wake him, she slipped quietly out from under the small corner of duvet she’d managed to prevent David wrestling from her as they slept, and – using the light from her mobile as a torch – gathered her clothes from the chair in the corner, crept into the hallway, and pulled her skirt on. She was anxious to get home and shower – at her initiation they’d had sex last night – and while from memory it hadn’t quite been up to her and Evan’s standard from their one night together, she’d made sure she put in a good performance. Even if David hadn’t.

Sarah caught herself, wondering why she’d suddenly become so critical of him. Was it simply pre-wedding nerves, or just that Evan being back on the scene meant she couldn’t help comparing every aspect of her and David’s relationship to how things with Evan might have been? She thought back to Grace’s idea of drawing a line down the centre of a piece of A4 and listing their respective good – and bad – points, wondering whether it’d be useful, but dismissed it again. With less than a week to go, that would be a little desperate.

She finished dressing to the accompaniment of David’s rasping, which to her amazement even penetrated the bedroom door, and wondered whether Evan snored.
Would it make a difference?
she asked herself. And did it really matter that David did?

If it had been Evan lying next to her this morning, she’d have woken him up so they could have sex once more, then she’d have gone to work with a spring in her step, the taste of him on her lips, and a buzz coursing through her body for the rest of the morning – just like they’d done a year ago. With David, she’d done everything she could not to wake him. And she found that even more disturbing than his snoring.

But this was marriage, she reminded herself, not an affair, and not even dating. Things were
supposed
to be different. Marriage was, well . . . How did she know what it was? Her mother’s disappearance meant she’d not been old enough to see how her parents’
marriage
had worked – though it evidently hadn’t. Her father had done his best to bring her up on his own at the expense of his own love life – and Sarah had always felt guilty about that. And while she knew it was illogical, that was one of the things she wanted from David. Someone who’d always be there. Unless, perhaps, he found out what she’d been up to back then with Evan.

But even that was in the past. History. Besides, if it ever came out, Sarah was sure she’d be able to explain it away as simply keeping her options open. After all, since then, she’d been completely faithful – and in any case, she still didn’t see what she and Evan had done as being unfaithful. Though she knew hers might be the minority view.

She took her coat down from the rack, tiptoed along the
hallway
, and quietly let herself out through the front door, hoping David wouldn’t be annoyed to wake up and find her gone, although that would presume he remembered they’d spent the night together in the first place – his hangover cure, following the couple of Bloody Marys he’d had with their late lunch, had been the best part of two bottles of wine. Besides, why shouldn’t she be free to come and go as she pleased? He might as well get used to it; her independence was one of the things she was determined to maintain after they were married. And as silly as that might sound, given the amount of time that David spent in the office, she was pretty sure that life for her could pretty much go on as it always had. She was planning to keep her room in Grace’s flat – she suspected it might come in handy when she fancied the odd night away – and while David would surely think it an extravagance, they hardly needed the money, particularly with both of their incomes. No, Sarah assured herself, theirs would be a modern marriage. A partnership. Not quite an arrangement, but not far off, and she could be –
would
be – happy with that.

But as she walked home, her coat fastened tightly against the morning chill, she tried not to think of the one major downside to marrying David – that she couldn’t ever allow herself to have anything more to do with Evan. How big a downside that was, she couldn’t really tell, but one thing she knew: It wasn’t one she wanted to
dwell upo
n.

30

E
van walked down Carnaby Street, side-stepping the usual
charity
canvassers hanging around outside the Liberty department store, then turned left towards Soho. Just opposite a large neon art installation of a plug and socket that always seemed to have one or other of its tubes flickering, he stopped by his agent’s
black-painte
d door and rang the buzzer.

‘Fuller Benson.’

Evan smiled to himself as the crackly female voice emerged from the speaker. Having a double-barrelled name gave the agency more gravitas, Johnny had told him once. And he supposed it did. Right up until you found out that Benson was Johnny’s dog.

‘Evan McCarthy. To see Johnny Fuller.’

There was a pause, possibly while the receptionist consulted with Johnny to see if Evan was actually a client, and then the door buzzed noisily open. He made his way inside and headed up the narrow stairwell, but before he reached the top, he was assailed by a familiar voice.

‘I thought you were dead!’

Evan looked up to see Johnny grinning down at him. He hauled himself up the last few stairs by the banister and held his hand out, but instead, found himself enveloped in a bear hug.

‘Not quite,’ he wheezed. ‘Sorry I’m late, though. It’s like
Piccadilly
Circus out there.’

Johnny rolled his eyes at what had become their standard greeting. ‘It
is
Piccadilly Circus out there. When did you get back?’ he said, holding Evan at arm’s length and looking him up and down, as if to check it was really him, and that he still had all his limbs.

‘Friday.’

‘And you only come and see me now?’

‘I’m sorry. Jet lag.’

‘Well, it’s good to see you. Finally.’

‘You too. How have you been?’

‘Worried.’ Johnny led him through into the reception area, where a stunningly pretty girl was staring in bewilderment at a computer screen. ‘Jocasta,’ he said. ‘This is Evan. Evan’s our star client. He’s just been on tour with The Police.’

Jocasta smiled up at him. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-one, twenty-two at the most, probably there on internship from University like most of the agency’s previous staff – a strategy Johnny justified by insisting it gave them an opportunity to get a foot in the door and gain some hands-on experience, though Evan suspected it was more so he could get out of paying them, and – given that they were usually picked more for their looks than their brains – get some hands-on experience of his own.

‘Wow. The Police. Cool,’ she said, wide-eyed, although Evan was pretty sure she hadn’t even been born when they were famous. Possibly hadn’t even heard of them until Johnny had mentioned them just now.

‘Impressive, eh?’ said Johnny, proudly, and Evan couldn’t help feeling flattered. Sometimes Johnny had the ability to make him feel like he was his only client. Maybe he was. Certainly Evan had never seen anyone else whenever he’d visited the agency. ‘Anyway. Enough being star struck,’ Johnny continued, taking Evan’s arm and escorting him past Jocasta and into his office, where a scruffy black dog of indeterminate breed lay in front of the radiator. As they walked into the room, Benson briefly twitched his tail, and then, as if the effort had been too much for him, yawned and went back to sleep.

Johnny leaned over his desk and pressed the intercom button. ‘Two coffees, please, Jocasta,’ he said, though he could have just as easily voiced the order through the open doorway. He raised his eyes to Evan. ‘Black, right?’

Evan nodded, and Johnny beamed back at him, pleased he’d got it right. At times, he was as eager to please as a puppy, though thankfully not as toothless when it came to negotiating on his
clients
’ behalves.

‘And see if you can find some biscuits,’ continued Johnny, causing Benson’s ears to twitch at the word.

‘Not for me, thanks,’ said Evan.

‘What makes you think they were?’ Johnny grinned, then walked round behind his desk and flopped dramatically down into an expensively upholstered leather chair. Evan hadn’t seen this particular piece of furniture before, and wondered whether he’d paid for it; the tour had been lucrative, and Johnny had taken his agent’s cut gladly. ‘So . . .’ There was a luxuriant squeak of leather as Johnny leaned back and linked his fingers behind his head. ‘How are things?’

For a moment, Evan was of a mind to tell him, but his agent had never really been much of a confidante. ‘Fine. You?’

Johnny shrugged. ‘Can’t complain. Could do with some of our clients getting out to work a bit more often, though. You up for a few gigs now you’re back?’

Evan shook his head. He’d only reluctantly agreed to a night at Mel’s, and playing was the last thing he felt like doing, especially since for the last few weeks of the tour, it had taken the greatest of efforts just to walk out on stage. ‘I need a break.’

‘Fine. But just remember, a break’s one thing, career suicide’s another. And why on earth did you come straight back here? Why not head down to Hawaii for some R&R?’

‘I had some things to take care of.’

‘Have you seen Finn?’

‘I might have done,’ said Evan, suspiciously.

‘Did he say anything?’

‘No – apart from asking me whether I’d spoken to you yet. As did Mel, come to mention it.’

‘Good.’

‘Why?’

‘Well . . .’ Johnny leant further back in his chair and hefted his feet up onto the desk, then caught himself as he nearly overbalanced. ‘There’s a possibility of a thing. In America. For you and Finn.’

‘Johnny, I’ve just got back, and I’ve told you, reforming Jazzed isn’t . . .’

Johnny held a hand up. ‘It’s hardly reforming. You just have to play together the once. These reunion gigs are big business all of a sudden. And people like you are in demand.’

‘People like me? In that case, find someone like me and get them to do it instead.’

‘It’s good money. National television. Finn’s up for it.’

‘He didn’t mention it.’

‘That’s because I told him not to. Didn’t want you getting the wrong end of the stick.’

Evan sighed, pretty sure that particular stick had two wrong ends. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Will you at least think about it? Please?’

‘Okay, okay.’ Evan nodded reluctantly. ‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Fab.’ Johnny beamed at him again as Jocasta made her way into the room with two mugs of coffee and a plate of biscuits and placed them on the desk, the sound of which made Benson haul himself up from his prone position. ‘And there have been other enquiries too. Another American tour. There’s not that many people who can just drop everything and go like you can.
No ties
.’

Evan winced at the comment. ‘Really?’ he said, flatly.

‘Yes, really. Makes you a valuable commodity.’

Evan raised both eyebrows, tempted to ask how valuable, but instead reached for his coffee. It looked like it had been made with some instant powder, remnants of which were dotted around the mug’s rim, so he left it where it was.

‘And what if I decided to stay in London for a while? What would my prospects be then?’

The colour drained from Johnny’s face. ‘What would you want to do something like that for?’

‘Just say I did.’

Johnny picked up a biscuit and broke it in half. ‘You really want to go back into session work with something like this on offer? And after what you’ve just done?’

‘It pays the mortgage.’

‘Do another tour and you won’t
have
a mortgage.’

‘I just want to know what my options are.’

‘Your options?’ He tossed a piece of biscuit to where Benson was sitting, and the dog caught it expertly. ‘Strike while the iron’s hot. While you’re flavour of the month. The minute you drop off the radar, they forget about you.’

Evan swallowed hard, hoping that hadn’t been the case where Sarah was concerned. ‘Isn’t your job to keep me on the radar?’

‘Which I can’t do if you go back to playing those little clubs and venues in the middle of god-knows-where . . .’ Johnny gazed theatrically up at the ceiling. ‘Christ, Evan. What is it with you? The minute you’re on the verge of getting what you’ve worked for, you turn and run in the opposite direction.’

Evan opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. Johnny didn’t know the whole story, and had been the only agent keen to take him on when Jazzed had come to an end, and Evan valued his advice. Besides, given how he’d done exactly that with Sarah, he feared he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

‘Tell me something. What is it exactly that I’ve worked for?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What have I really got?’

Johnny dunked the other half of the biscuit into his coffee, causing Benson to emit a low whine. ‘A career, Evan. Doing something you love. And how many musicians do you know who have that? How many
people
can you say that about?’

‘Yes, but what’s it all for? I go on stage every night, playing someone else’s songs about how much they love someone else. It’s time to write my own songs, for a change.’

‘You’ve tried that before, remember, and you weren’t exactly Lennon and McCartney. Or even just McCartney. Even when he was writing that ridiculous one with the singing frogs.’

‘I don’t mean
actually
write them.’ Evan sighed. ‘I was speaking metaphorically. I just want some material. That’s all. Someone to write
about
.’

Johnny leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. ‘Is this all about some woman?’

‘Not just some woman, Johnny. The woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.’

‘And does she feel the same way?’

Evan picked his coffee up and blew across the top of the mug. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said, taking a sip, then trying not to grimace. ‘But I need to know that if she wants me to be here for her, then I can actually be
here
for her.’

‘Of course you can. After you’ve done the America thing, obviously. Though that’s where the money is. And one thing often leads to another, in my experience.’

‘I don’t want to sell out.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with selling out – especially if you’re selling out stadiums.’ Johnny paused to let his point sink in. ‘It’s how the world works. You want to live, you have to pay for it. So the more someone pays you for what you do, the better.’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who you play for. Just that you play. So you might as well play for the person who pays the most.’

‘It’s not all about the money, you know?’

‘No?’ Johnny raised one eyebrow. For him, it obviously was.

‘Fine.’ Evan reached for a biscuit, and Benson ambled over and rested a paw on his lap. ‘Like I said, I’ll think about it.’

‘Great.’ Johnny beamed across the desk at him, then his
expression
changed. ‘You haven’t gone and got this girl into trouble, have you?’

Evan let out a short laugh. ‘Not yet,’ he said, holding the biscuit a few inches above Benson’s nose, but as the dog angled his head, Johnny tutted.

‘He won’t beg, you know.’

‘Why not?’

Johnny shrugged. ‘It’s just not in his nature.’

And as Benson stared patiently at the biscuit, Evan found himself wondering whether it was in his.