What Might Have Been (23 page)

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Does he know?’

‘Know what?’

‘The whole story.’

‘No.’

‘Don’t you think he deserves to?’

Sarah risked another sip of coffee. ‘Maybe.’

‘Would you like me to tell him?’

She blanched. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Why not? We’re mates now, David and me.’

‘Evan, please.’

‘Oh, don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.’ He folded his arms and stared up at the sky. ‘I used to think I knew you, and yes, I know that sounds funny after how little time we actually spent together. For the last year, I’ve thought of you as my perfect woman, but now? I’m not so sure. You’ve changed, Sarah. And maybe you and David
are
perfectly suited.’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Nothing,’ said Evan, quickly. ‘I’m sorry. I just feel like such a mug.’

‘You’re not a mug, Evan. Maybe I am, for not . . .’ She stopped talking. To say any more would be unfair.

Evan’s heart began to hammer. He wanted to ask outright if he was too late, but didn’t think he’d like the answer, and the trouble was, given these recent revelations he suspected he’d been too late a year ago, and if that was the case, then what hope was there for him now? And while he was angry at Sarah for not being honest with him, given her lack of honesty – or perhaps openness – about so much else, what had he really expected?

Abruptly, he stood up. He needed a bit of distance, or he feared he might say something he’d regret – if he hadn’t already.

‘I have to go,’ he said, starting towards the gate.

‘Evan,’ she called after him, not caring who was listening. ‘Now you know everything. I promise.’

Evan stopped in his tracks, wheeled round, and strode back over to the bench. ‘I wish I could be sure of that,’ he said, then he leaned in close to make sure she’d hear him. ‘But there’s one
important
thing that
you
don’t know.’

‘What?’

‘Back then. When I asked you to meet me in the Tate. It was so I could tell you about the tour . . .’

‘So? That’s old news.’

‘. . . and to ask you to come with me.’

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. ‘Why didn’t you say something?’

Evan gave her a look, then wheeled round and marched straight out of the park, glad he’d let her question hang. Even though he knew most Americans didn’t really get irony, on this particular occasion, he was pretty sure this one would.

39

E
van headed miserably back to where he’d left the car, muttering under his breath as he strode along the busy pavement. Their walk in the park hadn’t exactly been, as Sarah might say, a walk in the park – he certainly hadn’t foreseen the conversation going like that – and although deep down he knew he still loved her, he wasn’t sure he liked her very much at the moment.

He shook his head as he climbed into the Mercedes and started the engine. While he could just about accept her reasons for not
telling
him about being pregnant at the time – even though she’d tried to disguise them as her doing him a favour – surely he’d deserved to know afterwards? Though he knew he was being just as selfish – not once had he asked Sarah how she’d felt. How she’d dealt with the trauma of losing the baby. Whether she was okay –
inside
– as well as emotionally. As he knew all too well, some wounds never
quite heal
ed.

As he drove back towards Bermondsey, replaying their conversation in his head, he briefly considered turning round and going to find her again, maybe even apologising, but suspected that might not be such a good idea. Besides, Evan had a feeling that
throwing
his toys out of the pram – although that struck him as a particularly bad metaphor – might actually have done him some good in the long run. He’d actually been able to get his point across, explain how he felt,
and
leave with both a killer line and the moral high
ground, and he could count on the fingers
–
in fact, on the thumb
–
of
one hand the number of times he’d walked away from an argument with a woman feeling like that.
No
, he told himself,
just keep going
. At the very least, Sarah would need some time to absorb everything he’d said. To let the fact that he’d been going to ask her to come away with him sink in. And at least that might make the playing field a little more level.

He drove slowly across London Bridge, wondering what his reaction would have been if she
had
told him. Would he have been able to avoid the knee-jerk ‘is it mine’ response? Probably not – but surely that would have been a fair question, given the circumstances? And what would he have done if it had been? He wouldn’t have stayed in the U.S., that was for sure. He’d have come back for her. For the baby. To care for them both. And then, well, maybe she wouldn’t have lost it.

His insides were hurting, and he wound down the window to let some air into the car. Both Sarah and David had believed they’d lost something real. Something amazing. Something that had been a part of them, or at least, part of their lives for a while. They were allowed to feel bad, to mourn, even, but him? There were no rules for the way he was supposed to feel, so long after the event, especially given the lack of certainty. But maybe he was mourning lost chances: The
idea
that he might have been a dad; the loss of a future with Sarah – one that would surely have been cemented by the child she’d been carrying.
Their
child.

Given what had happened, he supposed he could understand Sarah’s behaviour. He was no psychologist, but he imagined the loss must have been incredibly difficult, and that maybe the combination of relief – after all, there was no denying how awkward things might have been if she’d had it – and sadness had churned her up inside. The more he thought about it, the more Evan realised he had no way of imagining what she’d gone through; he’d known about it for five minutes, and already he felt hollow, even though he couldn’t be sure the child had been his.

He checked the clock on the dashboard, remembering he’d promised Mel he’d perform a set this evening, and while playing was the last thing he felt like doing, at least it meant he didn’t have to sit at home with his thoughts on overdrive. There was too much to mull over, too many details he wasn’t sure about, though deep down, Evan knew this baby ‘business’ was just one of those things he’d never find the answer to. He’d be better off just forgetting about it. However hard he suspected that might be.

Besides, he had more pressing things to deal with, namely the silver-embossed invite he’d found in the jacket pocket of his dinner suit earlier – David must have slipped it in there on Saturday night – which was currently sitting on his mantelpiece at home. If push came to shove, would he really go to the wedding? Did he think his presence there might be a last trigger for Sarah, and that she might run away from the altar and into his arms? He’d been to a screening of
The Graduate
at the BFI on the South Bank once, and had been unable to believe how most of the women in the audience had cheered and cried at the ending. But stuff like that didn’t happen in real life. Or rather, in his life.

He drove along Riley Road and pulled into the garage, nearly running over a dreadlocked young girl carrying a tray of food in the process. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a long trestle table set up in the corner, and a huge van with ‘Film Catering’ written on the side. Carefully, he steered the Merc towards its usual spot, and as he climbed out, he noticed Mick sitting in the corner, a half-empty plate balanced precariously on the bonnet of the Porsche parked next to him, and – for some reason Evan couldn’t fathom – sporting a pair of sunglasses.

‘Had enough
of ’er
already?’ Mick said, pulling his Ray-Ba
ns of
f.

‘Pardon?’

‘The Merc.’

‘Oh. No. Just didn’t want to leave it where I couldn’t see it.’

‘Probly best,’ said Mick. ‘Need to keep an eye on sumfink that beautiful. Otherwise who knows what might ’appen to it.’

‘Exactly,’ said Evan, glumly, then he nodded towards the catering truck. ‘What’s all this?’

Mick shrugged. ‘Film catering. Five hundred quid for the day. And all the food I can eat.’

Evan looked at Mick’s distended stomach. By the look of things, that was turning out to be quite an amount, and he wondered whether the film company was beginning to regret the arrangement. ‘What are they filming?’

‘Me,’ said Mick, polishing his sunglasses on his shirt.

‘What?’

‘Fly on the wall documentary. “The Car Park”.’ He pointed to a dark recess behind one of the metal girders that supported the roof. ‘If you look up there and wave, you’ll be in it.’

‘Really?’ Evan couldn’t stop himself from looking, then tried hard to ignore the gloating expression on Mick’s face.

‘Nah. Some advert round the corner. Ain’t seen nobody famous, though. ’Cept for you, of course.’ Mick picked his plate up off the Porsche’s bonnet and held it out. ‘Want some?’

‘What is it?’

Mick shrugged. ‘Some sort of cold porridge. Tasty though. You’re supposed to eat it with these Peter breads.’

‘Pita breads, Mick. And it’s hummus.’

‘Hummus?’ Mick made a face. ‘Christ on a bike. I ’ope I don’t wake up dead tomorrow.’

‘Huh?’

‘You know. Post-hummus.’ He nudged Evan in the ribs, then made his way back towards the catering truck. ‘Geddit?’

Evan smiled, then made his way out of the car park and past the camera crew outside. Bermondsey was often being used for filming – people couldn’t get enough of the old warehouses and the ‘real’ London streets. He’d even extra-ed in one himself once, at Mel’s club, an advert for some new ‘designer’ beer which had paid him a couple of hundred quid for a morning’s work and given him the worst hangover he’d had in ages. Afterwards, he’d made the mistake of mentioning it to Finn, and then had to put up with his teasing for the two months it had been on television. ‘You don’t have a clue how to act,’ Finn had told him.

And as he walked back to his flat, Evan didn’t find it at all funny that now, as then, exactly the same thing was true.

40

S
arah was waiting for Grace by the entrance to Borough Market. She loved this place – another one of London’s delights that Evan had alerted her to – and as she watched people mill around the stalls, she wondered whether he was somewhere here too, perhaps meeting a friend to pick up some dinner like she was. She doubted it, though. Given the expression on his face when he’d stormed off earlier, he’d looked like he needed to be alone. Or at least, nowhere near her.

A year ago, after he’d left, she’d occasionally walk nervously around here with David – at least on one of the rare times she could convince him to ‘slum it’, in his words, and buy something to eat from somewhere he held in the same regard as the burger vans you found at sports events – wondering if Evan had perhaps come back to visit, and whether they’d bump into him, and what would
happen
if they did. She’d even gone as far as working out a strategy: Chat like they were old friends. Not linger. Certainly not suggest going for a coffee, or a drink. That was one threesome she’d been keen to avoid.

A tap on the shoulder made her jump – Grace, breathless from another over-running day dealing with the sick and the depressed. Sarah, worried that she was turning into the latter, kissed her friend hello, and they made their way in through the iron gates.

‘How was work?’

‘Crazy!’ Grace rolled her eyes. ‘Which is also a pretty good description of most of the people who come and see me. Including your ex.’

‘Evan’s
not
my ex.’

‘No? Are the two of you back together, then?’

Sarah smiled, despite herself. ‘Grace . . .’

‘What did you say?’ Grace cupped a hand over her ear as she surveyed the bustling market. ‘I can’t hear you for that rumbling sound.’

Sarah frowned. ‘What rumbling sound?’

‘My stomach.’ Grace laughed, then gave Sarah a hug. ‘What’s it to be? I’m starving.’

Sarah shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe just a coffee. I’m not that hungry.’

‘Have you eaten anything today?’

‘Just breakfast.’

‘Which was?’

Sarah had to think. ‘Coffee.’

‘Tell me this is just some last-minute get-into-your-dress diet?’

‘No, it’s just . . .’ For some reason, Sarah couldn’t start the conversation she’d been desperate to have since Evan had stormed off.

‘Don’t tell me. Evan?’

‘He came to find me.’

‘Oh. And?’

‘And what?’

Grace smiled. ‘I’m a doctor, Sarah. Not a dentist. And
sometimes
, asking you about Evan can be like pulling teeth.’

‘Sorry. Well, we talked.’

‘And how did that go?’

‘Pretty good. If you can call
him
stomping off this time pretty good, that is.’

‘Well, that makes it quits, doesn’t it?’ Grace linked arms with Sarah, and led her through the stalls. ‘Although I assume he didn’t throw a drink over you, so maybe not.’

‘He might as well have done.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He said he was going to ask me to go with him. Back then.’

‘Go with him? To America?’

Sarah nodded. ‘Yup.’

‘That was a bit of a low blow.’

‘He said it because he loves me, Grace. Not because he’s trying to be mean.’

‘You’re sure it’s not just because he’s selfish? Because he can’t stand to see you happy?’

‘I was the selfish one, Grace. It was me that expected him to be happy about being picked up and then being dumped. I hardly thought about his feelings.’ Sarah stood back as a man pushing a trolley laden with fish came round the corner. ‘Besides, Evan’s not like that.’

Grace looked at her for a moment, then stopped in front of a busy stall. ‘Jesus Christ Souperstar?’ she said, pointing to the sign in front of them, and Sarah was glad for a reason to change the subject.

‘Whatever do you think it sells?’

‘You’d think it’d be loaves and fishes, but it appears to be soup.’

‘Is it any good?’

‘I read about it in
Time Out
as the latest place to eat, so probably not.’ Grace laughed. ‘Still, only one way to find out. Come on.’

They joined the queue, and Grace continued her inquisition. ‘Forgetting Evan for a moment, how are things otherwise?’

‘Otherwise?’

‘Well, you’re obviously not yourself. Does David suspect
anything
?

‘No. How could he? I mean, he didn’t back then, when there was something going on, and now . . .’

‘There’s still something going on between you and Evan. In your head, at least.’

Sarah half-smiled, then sighed. ‘You’re right. And it’s not helping seeing him. Stirring up all these old feelings. It’s the last thing I need right now.’

‘Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s exactly what you need. To make sure you’re doing the right thing.’

‘I should know that already.’

‘Yes,’ said Grace, as the queue inched forward. ‘You should. But you quite plainly don’t.’

‘I thought I did. Or rather, I thought I’d convinced myself that I did. But seeing him again . . .’

Grace looked at her, and Sarah couldn’t tell whether her expression was concern or frustration. ‘You told me you’d managed to forget about Evan.’

‘I had. Almost. But he’s just gone and reminded me, hasn’t he?’

Grace sighed. ‘Reminded you of what? How he fucked you, then fucked off ?’

‘I didn’t exactly give him a lot of choice in the matter.’

‘Interesting.’

‘What is?’

‘How you’re defending him now.’

They were at the front of the queue, and Sarah was grateful they’d have to break off their conversation to order. Grace made her selection, and, finding the prospect of decision-making
exhausting
, Sarah just held up a couple of fingers to indicate she’d have
the sa
me.

They paid for their soup, then wordlessly pushed through the crowds until they found a bench opposite Southwark Cathedral. ‘So . . .’ Sarah drummed her fingers on the plastic lid of her soup carton, but made no move to start eating. ‘What would you do?’

‘You’re asking someone who doesn’t have a boyfriend to help you choose between both of yours?’

‘Grace, for the last time, Evan’s not my boyfriend.’

‘He thought he was once. And he’d like to be again.’

Sarah put her carton down on the bench and stared at the Thames through the gap in the buildings in front of her. ‘It was just a fling. A bit of fun. Now it all seems so . . . serious.’

‘Welcome to real life.’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Sarah looked uneasily across at Grace. ‘What if I’m not ready? I mean, marriage, that’s such a huge commitment, right? And you’ve got to be sure.’

‘And you’re so obviously not.’ Grace patted her hand sympathetically, and when Sarah didn’t respond, she exhaled loudly. ‘Well, the way I see it, you’ve got two options.’

‘Don’t tell me: Go through with it, or don’t go through with it.’

‘Actually, you could ask for a postponement. So there are three.’

‘If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. And I can’t ask for a postponement. That’d be the same as telling David I don’t want to marry him. How can I not be sure after all this time?’

‘Is that a rhetorical question?’

Sarah leaned forward and put her head in her hands. ‘I suppose that depends on whether you’ve got an answer or not.’

‘Tell me something.’ Grace rubbed her back comfortingly. ‘Would you still be feeling like this if Evan hadn’t come back?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.’

‘Is that why you resent him? For making you face the truth?’

Sarah spun round, almost knocking her soup over. ‘What is the truth, Grace? That I’m making a mistake by marrying David? How can I resent someone for making me face up to that? After all, it would still be a mistake even if Evan hadn’t arrived back on the scene.’

Grace pulled the lid off her soup carton, releasing a cloud of steam into the cool early evening air. ‘Hey – don’t shoot the
messenger
. And that refers to me
and
Evan.’

‘Sorry. It’s this whole thing. It’s just not very . . . straightforward.’

‘It is from where I’m sitting. If you think you might be making a mistake, don’t go through with it.’

Sarah turned her attention back to the river, watching the passenger ferries thrum up and down past the massive bulk of HMS Belfast. ‘I’ve always loved boats,’ she said, after a moment. ‘My dad was in the navy. And he told me once that some ships were so big that if you wanted to stop them, you had to start the process way in advance. And that’s the deal with this wedding, Grace. I can’t possibly stop it now. Not so close to the day. And certainly not without consequences.’

‘Surely you could ask for a postponement. If David loves you, he’ll understand.’

‘He won’t, Grace. I’m not sure I do. And what do I tell him? “The guy I had a fling with just after you and I met – the guy I might have dumped you for had he stayed around – has come back on the scene, and it’s made me question what I’m doing getting married to you”? I can really see that going down a storm.’

‘Don’t tell him anything. We’re women. We’re allowed to change our minds.’ Grace waited for a group of menacing-looking teenagers to shuffle past, then swivelled round on the bench to face her friend. ‘What’s worse? Pissing David off a little, or making a calamitous mistake that you might not be able to live with?’

‘Don’t you understand? If I call it off, it’s the end of everything. David, my job, maybe even being here . . .’

‘Surely not.’

‘Grace, I’m American, not British. I can’t just stay in England indefinitely. And it’s unlikely I’d find someone else to offer me the same arrangement.’

‘You mean work-wise, right?’

‘Yes, work-wise!’ Sarah shook her head. ‘No – the easiest thing is to go through with it.’

‘Since when have you been someone who’s always taken the easy option?’

‘Well, maybe now’s the time.’

Grace put her soup down and grabbed her friend by the shoulders. ‘Christ, Sarah. How can you expect me to stand there on
Saturday
and fix a smile on my face if I know this is how you’re feeling? It’s hypocritical. It’s unfair. And above all else, it’s wrong.’

‘Maybe not. Maybe the only thing to do
is
to marry David. See how it feels. Give it a while. I mean, I can always get, you know, divorced, if . . .’

‘Just listen to yourself, will you?’

They sat in silence for a while, Grace sipping her soup, Sarah just holding hers for warmth, then with a mumbled ‘Sorry,’ Sarah hauled herself up, dropped her cup into a nearby bin, and headed for the river.

With a sigh, Grace followed her, and they made their way along the Thames path towards Tower Bridge. Eventually, Sarah stopped, and leaned heavily against the railing.

‘Help me Grace,’ she said, the tears visible in her eyes. ‘What would you do if you were me?’

‘I’d marry the person I loved. Or rather, I certainly wouldn’t marry someone I didn’t.’

‘That’s the thing. It’s not that I don’t love David, but my
feelings
for Evan were . . . different. Intense. Even after knowing him for such a short period of time.’

‘And do you still feel like that about him?’

Sarah stared up at the bridge. ‘I don’t know. I assumed when he left that that was it. And while of course I’ve thought about him, you kind of file the feelings away, don’t you?’

‘Do you?’

‘Whereas David . . . It’s different. I’m very fond of him. And . . .’

‘Grateful?’

Sarah shot her a glance. ‘In a way.’

‘You can’t marry someone out of gratitude.’

‘It’s not just that, Grace. And besides, all this love and marriage stuff . . .’ She sighed. ‘It’s not about that any more. It’s . . . well, like you said, it’s an arrangement.’

Grace laughed. ‘Only if it’s an arranged marriage.’

‘You don’t think this isn’t? David set his sights on me when he first saw me in New York. Everything he’s done since then has been with the one aim of making me his. And that’s flattering . . .’

‘If not a bit scary.’ Grace produced an apple from her bag. ‘But tell me something,’ she said, peeling the sticker off, balling it up, and flicking it expertly into a nearby bin. ‘If it’s an arrangement, what do you get out of it?’

Sarah thought for a moment. ‘Security. I get to stay here. To give up work if I want to.’

‘And become a kept woman? That’s not really you, is it?’

‘Who knows? Maybe I’ll get to like it.’

Grace puffed air out of her cheeks. ‘And once David’s got you, what do you think he’ll do?’

‘Huh?’