Before You Go Page 5

  ‘So, what’s happening here?’ Ed’s the first to speak.

  I shrug. ‘No idea.’

  He struggles to raise himself up on his elbow and turns towards me, his face looming over mine.

  ‘Ed, look, when you kissed me last week—’

  ‘You kissed me as well, as I remember it.’

  ‘Shush a minute. You know what I mean. You kissed me, and it was great.’

  ‘Is that all? Great? Not amazing? Earth-shattering?’

  ‘Ed, stop interrupting.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘OK, it was more than great. But that’s not the point. The point is that since then you’ve been horrible—’

  ‘Bit harsh.’

  ‘True, though. You’ve hardly spoken to me, most of the time you won’t even look at me. I know you said you’re not ready for anything but we’re going home for six weeks now, and I’d like to know where we stand. If anywhere. Life’s too short to play games.’ The significance of the words are lost on him.

  Ed studies me, his face serious. ‘You’re right, and I’m sorry. I have been avoiding you, because I thought it would be easier.’

  ‘Easier?’

  He looks guilty. ‘You know, we’ve got this house again next year, we’re all going to be living in each other’s pockets, and if we start something and it goes wrong, it’s going to be a nightmare.’

  ‘So you’re refusing to be with me in case it goes wrong? Always look on the bright side, right?’

  ‘I know it sounds crap, I do. But Zo, we’re only nineteen, I reckon we should just chill a bit, see what happens.’

  I wait, let his words sink in.

  ‘So you’re saying you like me but you don’t want to be with me?’

  Ed squirms. ‘Yeah, I think so. I’m sorry, Zo, I really am. I just want to enjoy myself. You know . . .’

  I nod miserably.

  Ed lies back down and we stay like that for a few minutes, listening to Mick Jagger’s voice filling the room. I think about what Ed’s just said and I know I have to listen to him. Nothing has really changed because we weren’t together right now the first time round either. I had to spend the next couple of years admiring him from afar and trying not to think about the other girls he brought home from time to time. It looks as though that’s going to happen again and I’m going to have to let it and hope that we end up together anyway, just like last time. Otherwise, who knows what might happen? I’m too scared to push it any more.

  I haul myself up to a sitting position and swing my legs onto the floor to stand. Ed squints up at me quizzically. ‘You going?’

  I nod.

  ‘OK. Listen, Zo, I am sorry, you know. Truly.’

  ‘I know. Me too.’

  Then I kiss him briefly on the cheek, walk out of his room and into my own and lie down on my bed, staring at my own ceiling. And then I let myself go, the sobs wracking my body until I fall into a fitful, restless sleep.

  3

  18 February 1999

  I’m still half asleep when a sound shatters my peace and I sit up, my heart thumping wildly. It’s the radio, and the Spice Girls’ ‘Stop’ is blaring round the room.

  I lean over and fumble around in the almost-dark, trying to find the source of the racket before it wakes anyone else up. Finally, I smack the top of the alarm with the heel of my hand. The silence is an instant relief.

  I fall back on the pillow, and for a second I feel happy before the pain floods in again as I remember Ed is dead. But then I sit up, heart pounding as I remember ‘yesterday’; I’d tried to change things and I’m dying to find out if I succeeded.

  I look round, trying to work out where – and when – I am. The only light comes from some slats of weak sunlight filtering through a wooden blind hanging at the window. It’s familiar, yet a sense of nostalgia tugs at me. I’m in a single bed and the room is small with just a wardrobe and a chair in the corner and nothing else. As always, a pile of clothes is slung over the back of the chair. There’s a collage of photos pinned onto the wall above it. I can’t make them out from here but I know what’s in every single one of them.

  I know this room well: it’s the room in the first flat I rented in London after university. Jane had moved down with me and we’d scraped together all the money we could find for the deposit on this place. It was tiny – bijou, as the letting agent described it. There was this room, Jane’s room, which was even smaller if that was possible, a small lounge-cum-dining-room-cum-kitchen and a cupboard that passed for a bathroom. But it didn’t matter to us that there was barely more than standing space for two. It was our first flat together in London, and we loved it.

  Now my heart is hammering with the same excitement I felt yesterday. Nothing’s changed as far as I can tell – there’s no sign of Ed, no clue he’s been here – but I’ve been given another chance. Maybe I will see Ed again today.

  With a knot of anxiety deep in my belly I pull the duvet back and climb out of bed. It’s colder in the room than I expected and I shiver, pulling the duvet round my shoulders as I stand. There’s no mirror so I walk over to the chair – about two steps – and rummage around for something to wear. A pair of tight tartan trousers and a black polo neck fall out. I sniff them. They seem fairly clean so I yank them on and walk to the bathroom. It’s locked and I can hear the shower running behind the door and Jane humming tunelessly, so I go into the kitchen instead and flick the kettle on.

  There’s a bag hanging from the back of a chair and even though I recognize it as mine I still feel guilty when I open it up and have a peek inside, as though I’m raiding someone else’s private things. I’m not sure what I’m hoping to find, but it would be good to have even a tiny clue about what I’m meant to be doing today. There’s a small diary inside and, amazingly, it’s marked by a ribbon.

  ‘Thursday, 18 February 1999.’ I’m not a hundred per cent sure that’s today or whether it was yesterday but at least I know roughly when I am. Underneath the date some words are scribbled in my terrible handwriting.

  8 p.m., Andy. The Bull?

  My heart sinks. Andy. The boy I’d been out with for a few half-hearted dates and then never seen again. If I’ve arranged a date with him then it really looks as though yesterday changed nothing.

  I reach over and flick the radio on. ‘Give It Away’ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers fills the room and despite myself I smile. It’s funny how music can bring memories flooding back more lucidly than anything else. The first thing that comes to my mind when I hear this song is dancing at my favourite indie club at university with Ed and all my friends.

  The song comes to an end and I listen carefully for any mention of the date. In the bathroom I can hear Jane shuffling around and I know it won’t be long before she comes out and I have to pretend everything is normal. Finally, the DJ announces the news.

  ‘Here is the news for Thursday, 18 February,’ he says.

  My heart sinks. It is Thursday, which means I’m meant to be meeting Andy tonight. I’m not sure I can face that. It’s not just the thought that I might have to kiss someone who isn’t Ed after all these years, although that is a worry, of course. It’s more that I’m not sure how I can pretend to feel anything for anyone else when my heart is still broken, when I’m still missing Ed. When I still love him with all my heart. How am I meant to get on with things and pretend that it isn’t happening?

  But I’ll deal with that later. For now I’ve got enough to contend with, keeping Jane from getting suspicious and working out where and when I have to be at work.

  At that moment the bathroom door swings open and Jane’s face appears round the side.

  ‘Morning,’ she grins. ‘You making coffee?’

  ‘Yes, I just . . .’ I gesture to the cooling kettle and smile. ‘Sorry, I got distracted. I’ll make one now.’

  ‘Thanks, Zo.’ She looks at the clock on the oven. ‘Aren’t you going to be late?’

  I glance at the clock too. It’s 7.50. I’m not sure what to s
ay. Late for what?

  ‘Er, I suppose so.’

  Jane’s face furrows. ‘Zo, you OK?’

  ‘Yes, yes, course. Fine,’ I mumble. ‘It’s just . . . I can’t remember what time I’m meant to be at work today.’

  She looks at me for a second, a look of confusion flitting across her face before clearing. ‘Haven’t you got an interview with Madeline before work today, for the junior job? Have I got the wrong day?’

  It only takes a second for the memories to whizz around like a fruit machine and slot into the right place, but it feels as though I’m standing there under Jane’s confused gaze for ages before my brain unscrambles the information. Of course! For the first few months in London I’d been working for a charity on a work placement. It was unpaid so I’d had to work behind a bar in the evenings to pay the rent. Now, finally, my boss Madeline had decided I was ready and when a job as a junior copywriter had come up, she’d asked me to apply for it. I’d been excited and nervous about this day for ages. No wonder Jane thought I’d gone mad.

  ‘Bugger, of course,’ I say, jumping up. I run into the bathroom and close the door behind me. I’m not sure exactly what time I need to be there, but everyone else starts about 9.30 so I’m guessing 9.00. Including the walk to the station, it takes me about forty minutes to get from my flat in Tufnell Park to Camden where my office is, and that’s on a good day, if the buses and Tubes are kind. That gives me about half an hour to get showered, dressed, and work out what on earth I’m going to say in this interview.

  I’ve got no time to lose.

  In the end I’m at the office five minutes early. I’m hot and sweaty and I’ve got a blister forming on my toe from the cheap high heels I’m not used to wearing, but I’m here and, I hope, on time. Even though I haven’t been here for fourteen years the building is still familiar. It’s a 1960s monstrosity on a busy corner. The windows are always filthy, the floors are stained with years of unidentifiable spillages, the lift rarely works and the heavy door makes a loud creaking sound as I push it open. It seems strange, after all this time, that the details haven’t faded. It’s funny, what the mind chooses to remember.

  I reach the top of the stairs – it’s three flights up but there’s no way I’m risking the lift. Then I take a deep breath and walk towards Madeline’s office and knock on the door.

  ‘Come in!’ calls a sunny voice from the other side. I’m glad it was Madeline I had to deal with today. She’s lovely, and the sort of person who disproves the theory that you have to be a bitch to get to the top. She never has a bad word to say about anyone and although she never raises her voice and is never rude to anyone, she always gets what she wants. She’s earned the respect of everyone who works for her.

  ‘Hi, Madeline,’ I say, holding out my hand to shake hers.

  ‘Oh, don’t be silly, there’s no need to be so formal,’ she says, gesturing for me to sit in the chair opposite her. I sink onto the hard plastic and sit, stiff-backed.

  ‘Don’t look so nervous, Zoe, you know as well as I do that this is only a formality. You’ve been doing this job for the last few months and you’re great at it. I’m confident you can do it, I just really want to know if there’s anything you want to ask me about it?’

  I feel my body relaxing as she speaks, and I wrack my brains for something to ask her, but my mind’s a blank.

  ‘Er, I don’t think so,’ I mumble, stupidly.

  ‘Don’t you even want to know how much we’re going to pay you?’ she grins, wickedly.

  I smile back. ‘Yes, I suppose that would help.’

  ‘Well, it’s not much to start with, I’m afraid, but I’m hoping it will soon go up. How does a starting salary of £18,000 sound, with an increase after three months if all goes well?’

  I nod. ‘That sounds great,’ I say. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Right,’ she says, clapping her hands. ‘Well then, that’s that. Are you on board?’

  ‘Of course, that would be brilliant, thank you.’

  I’m aware I sound like a bumbling idiot but at this point I don’t care. I’m just relieved to have got through it without slipping up.

  I stand to shake her hand but instead she comes round the desk and pulls me into a hug. Her soft hair brushes my cheek and she smells of a musky perfume that still makes me think of her when I smell it. ‘Well done, Zoe, I think you’re going to be brilliant.’ I pull away, trying to blink back the tears. It’s all thanks to the faith Madeline put in me today that I’ve got as far as I have in my career. I have her to thank for a lot. I brush away a tear before she notices.

  ‘Right, let’s get to work then,’ she says, grinning. ‘I’ll let everyone know you’re the new girl later.’

  ‘Thank you, Madeline,’ I say, opening her office door and walking to my desk. The office is still deserted and I fire my computer up. It’s one of the original iMacs, all round and sleek and see-through. Mine’s purple, but there are oranges and blues and greens dotted all round the office. At the time it must have looked cutting-edge but now, to my 2013 eyes, it looks cutely retro.

  I leave the computer warming up while I go and make myself a cup of tea. I look out of the grubby window for a few minutes, watching the cars inch slowly through the heavy traffic along Camden Road, and wonder where Ed is right at this minute. The thought makes my head reel. Because the fact is, somewhere out there, among the jumble of buildings and people and cars, is Ed, alive, getting on with his life, not knowing the love, happiness and heartache that his future is going to bring.

  I grab the windowsill to steady myself as a memory floats into my mind. It must have been about eighteen months before this day: our last day of university, and the last time I’d seen him. We’d got through to the end of the four years at university sharing a house, and I’d learned just to bury any feelings I had for him. He never had a girlfriend for more than a month and, although it broke my heart seeing him with other girls, I learned to close my heart to it, smother my feelings and stay friends with him. Friends, I decided, was better than nothing.

  When we left university we all agreed – and meant it – that we’d see each other all the time. The trouble was, life got in the way. I’d had to move back home to Doncaster for a few months to earn some money. Living with Mum and Dad and Becky again had been fine, but I longed to make the move I’d always planned down to London.

  Finally, a year ago, in March 1998, Jane and I had scraped together enough cash to make the move, and although we were skint, we loved every minute of it.

  There was just one thing that had bothered me. I hadn’t heard from any of the boys since we’d left the house. In my heart I’d expected it from Rob and Simon – I knew what boys were like about keeping in touch, at the best of times – but the radio silence from Ed had been harder to deal with. Not having him in my life should have been easier, should have given my heart the chance to get over him and move on. And to some extent it had. But the truth was, I missed him. I missed his laugh, I missed his face and most of all I missed the way he teased me mercilessly.

  ‘Just ring his mum, find out where he is,’ Jane said when I told her how I was feeling. But there was no way I was doing that. I’d just have to hope that fate would bring us together again.

  ‘Fate?’ Jane rolled her eyes. ‘You make your own fate. Just ring him and stop being so lame.’

  But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, and so it’s now eighteen months since I last spoke to him, and I still have no idea where he is.

  Except, I realize with a jolt, I do know exactly where he is. And I know exactly when I’m going to speak to him next. I glance at the clock. In just a few hours, if all goes the same as it did last time.

  My heart leaps with excitement. But at the same time I feel a crushing sense of disappointment deep in my chest. Because if I’m right it means that, despite my best efforts to make a difference this time, nothing has changed at all; things are still exactly as they always were. Ed and I are still not together; at least, not
yet.

  I turn to open the fridge and pull some milk out. I sniff it. It seems OK and I splash some into my tea, squeeze the teabag out and go back to my desk. A girl I used to sit next to has arrived. As I walk across the office I try desperately to think of her name.

  ‘Morning,’ I mumble, sitting down at my computer, hoping she won’t drag me into conversation.

  ‘Hi, Zoe,’ she says. ‘You OK?’

  ‘Yeah, good, thanks.’ Then I remember to be polite. ‘You?’

  ‘Yeah, great. Bit of a late one, though, I need coffee.’ She grins. ‘Want one?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ I hold up my cup sheepishly. ‘Sorry.’ She grins, leaps up then mercifully disappears into the kitchen, giving me the chance to work out what I’m meant to be doing today.

  The morning passes surprisingly quickly. I find what I’ve been working on, Madeline announces my new position, and everyone congratulates me. I make polite small talk without engaging in anything too deep and meaningful. And then it’s lunchtime. I need a sandwich but I’m also waiting hopefully for the phone to ring. I sit drumming my fingers impatiently on the desk.

  And then it peals out and I almost fall off my chair.

  I pick it up, my hand shaking.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, could you tell me who I need to speak to about water coolers, please?’ The voice is deep and familiar and it sends a warm buzz down my spine. I try to stay polite, make the conversation seem normal.

  ‘I’m afraid you need to speak to Lizzie, the secretary, but she’s not here at the moment.’ My voice is wobbly but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’

  ‘Ed, is that you?’

  He pauses, clearly suspicious.

  ‘Ye-eees?’

  ‘Ed, it’s Zoe. Morgan,’ I add, just in case.

  ‘Oh my God, it’s you!’ he says. He sounds happy, at least. ‘I can’t believe it!’

  ‘Me neither. How are you?’

  ‘I’m good, really good,’ he says, and I can picture him, nodding his head as he speaks. ‘How about you? How have you been?’