Before You Go Read online

  I put the phone down and before I’ve even turned round, Jane’s out of her door.

  ‘Well, where are you going?’

  ‘You were listening!’

  She shrugs. ‘Course, every word. Who wouldn’t? So, where are you going?’

  ‘Dinner. Covent Garden, at eight.’

  ‘So, blowing me out for a boy, are you?’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Why the bloody hell would I mind?’ Jane glances at the clock. ‘But it does mean we’ve only got just over two hours to get you looking gorgeous and out of the house. Come on, let’s go!’

  She dashes into her room and I walk to the bathroom and start the shower going. As the room starts to fill with steam I watch my reflection fading in the mirror, my features smudging and blurring as the steam gathers. This is the first time today I’ve had a chance to stop and think, and I believe I might actually be happy.

  Two hours later I’m ready and Jane’s trying to bundle me out of the door.

  ‘Come on, you’ll be late and whatever you think, that’s not cool,’ she says, handing me my bag. ‘Right, you’ve got your money, keys, make-up, toothbrush . . .’ She grins wickedly as I shoot her a look. ‘What? It’s best to be prepared, isn’t it?’

  I roll my eyes and grin back at her. ‘I guess it is. And Jane?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ She looks at me for a second longer and I think she’s going to give me a hug. But then she leans forward, moves a stray piece of hair from my forehead and says, her face serious, ‘Anyway, I couldn’t let you go out looking like that, could I?’

  I stare at her a second and then we both burst into giggles. ‘You cheeky mare.’ I lean and plant a kiss on her cheek, then stand and nervously smooth imaginary creases from my top. ‘Right, this is it. Wish me luck.’

  ‘Good luck. Hopefully see you tomorrow.’ She winks and practically pushes me out of the door.

  And here I am, on my way to meet Ed again. As the Tube rattles towards central London my heart thumps wildly, thinking about enjoying a date with Ed again, a date when we still actually like each other.

  Before, back in 2013, Ed and I had hardly been friends any more, let alone lovers. We were at breaking point. Life had become less about ‘us’ and more about trying to get pregnant, and in the process, it was as though we’d forgotten who we were. Could it be that I’ve been given the chance to see where we went wrong and do something about that now – to tell him I still loved him and that it was him I wanted, and that I wanted to stop trying for a baby and be his wife again?

  I feel dizzy at the thought.

  The train pulls into Tottenham Court Road and I push my way to the doors before they close, joining the throng heading towards the exit. I’m walking the rest of the way, and as we stream onto the packed pavement the sun is still glowing in the hazy sky and I feel my spirits soar.

  I’m meeting Ed!

  I arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early and settle myself at a window table, happy to people-watch until Ed arrives. A couple stroll hand in hand down the road, stepping off the pavement to let a man in rolled-up chinos and boat shoes pass who’s talking urgently on his mobile. I let myself imagine, fleetingly, that chino man is going through the same as me, reliving a strange, parallel day from some other time, and wonder whether, if that were true, he’d try to make some changes to the first time around. Of course he would. Who wouldn’t?

  There’s a gentle movement at my shoulder and I whip my head round. Ed’s there, and the sight of him almost takes my breath away.

  His hair is lighter than I’ve seen it in a long time, sun-kissed, and longer, past his collar and touching his shoulders. It flops sexily over one eye. He’s also obviously made an effort and looks a little uncomfortable in a short-sleeved shirt and slim jeans. My heart contracts as I jump up and launch myself at him, engulfing him in a bear hug.

  ‘Ooh hello, nice greeting.’

  We sit down and suddenly I feel shy. He looks so young, so much like the Ed I’ve held in my mind, that I can hardly speak.

  I’m saved by the waiter’s arrival.

  ‘Can I get you any drinks?’

  ‘Oh, I er . . . white wine, please. Large.’

  ‘Red, please,’ he says. ‘Large too.’

  The waiter bustles away and Ed turns to me, his eyebrows raised.

  ‘Dutch courage, eh?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  There’s a silence and I pick at the corner of a paper napkin.

  ‘I’m sorry it took me so long, Zoe,’ he says, after a few beats. ‘Jen – things were just harder than I expected.’

  I nod, tearing a strip off the napkin, then another. ‘But it’s definitely over, now?’

  He nods. ‘Definitely. And don’t worry, I haven’t been awful. She’s OK. It’s all fine.’

  He knows me well. But I’m still keen to move the conversation away from Jenny.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome.’ He peers down at the table. ‘Nervous?’

  I look down and see the napkin ripped to shreds, and grin. ‘Sorry, bad habit.’ I pull my hands away and pick up the menu, but I’m hardly able to take in the words. Having Ed so close yet not being able to touch him is torture, and I can’t seem to think about anything else. He’s studying the menu, a line creasing his forehead in concentration. Every now and then his tongue comes out, dampens his lips, disappears again; his arms are lean, his skin warm and tanned from being out on his bike, the tiny hairs lightened and soft, the tendons standing out, tensed. One hand rests gently on the table, tapping out a muffled beat on the tablecloth, and my eyes are drawn to his long fingers, moving to a silent rhythm in his head. I long to reach out my hand and stroke them.

  ‘Ready?’

  I jump, and look up to find Ed watching me, the waiter waiting patiently by the table.

  ‘Um, yeah.’ My face feels hot, and I’m glad Ed can’t read my mind. I order the first thing that comes into my head: seafood pasta, the same as I always had when we came here. The waiter leaves and I turn to Ed and find him looking at me curiously.

  ‘Are you OK, Zoe? You seem very – distracted.’

  If only he knew.

  ‘I’m fine, really. Just happy to be here, with you.’

  ‘Me too.’ He reaches over and grabs my hand and his touch feels like I’ve been electrified. ‘So.’

  ‘So.’ I shrug.

  ‘What now?’

  That’s the big question, isn’t it? What now. Before, we’d spent the evening chatting about our lives, friends, work. But it doesn’t seem enough now, it seems too everyday. It seems – the thing that’s been playing at the back of my mind since I woke up this morning – that this is the perfect chance to have another go at trying to change something. It hasn’t worked so far, but so what? Who’s to say it won’t? Who’s to say the butterfly effect doesn’t still stand?

  My mind races through the possibilities. There are so many. Perhaps if I could bring up the subject of babies, make it clear from the beginning that I don’t think I want them (even if it’s not really true – I don’t want them now, I’ve got too much I want to do first, but I might do one day), just maybe I could change something later. Maybe if Ed believed all along that I’m not sure about having a baby, it would be easier to cope with further down the line.

  It’s a serious subject to bring up on a ‘first’ date, but I reckon I know him well enough. It has to be worth a shot.

  ‘Let’s talk. I mean really talk. You know, about the future, what we want, what we don’t want.’ He looks surprised, so I plough on. ‘I mean, we’ve never really talked about what we want from life before, have we? And I’d like to know.’

  A cloud crosses his face briefly, then clears. ‘Right, blimey. OK.’ He looks worried.

  ‘Shall I start?’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘OK, a boring one, this, but I’ve always wanted t
o travel the world, see different places. But I’ve always been a bit scared, worried that if I took a break from school, or uni, or work, I’d never get back into it, and so I haven’t really been anywhere, apart from France on family holidays. So now here I am at the ripe old age of twenty-two, and I’ve hardly seen anything of the big wide world. I want to see more.’ I look up. ‘Your turn.’

  ‘Oh, OK, right. Well, I’ve done some travelling, obviously, so mine is a bit different. You know it’s always been just me and Mum, right, growing up? Or as near as matters.’ I nod. ‘And it’s fine, I mean, it’s great. Mum’s great. But the flat was always quiet, and I spent a lot of time playing on my own or with second cousins twice removed or whoever they were. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a huge family, a massive house in the country filled with kids, a huge garden to play in. I know it’s a fantasy as nothing is ever as idyllic as I picture it, but the kids bit – well, I’d love that.’

  My face must have paled because when he looks at me he shrugs. ‘Well, you did ask.’

  I smile weakly. ‘I did.’

  ‘So, what about you? Do you want kids, marriage, the works?’

  The million-dollar question. My whole future might turn on a pin with the answer to this, but I don’t have much time to think about it.

  ‘Well . . .’ I pause, gather my thoughts. This has to sound right, authentic. ‘I guess, I’m not sure. I’d like to get married, but kids, I don’t really know. I mean, everyone always assumes they will, right, that they’ll have kids one day even if not right now? But when I actually think about the reality of having children and what that would mean to my life, I’m honestly not sure. I love my life as it is, I love my job and, as you know, I’m ambitious. I want to work hard, work my way up, do well. I know I’m only twenty-two and people always think you might change your mind but the truth is – I can’t see it. I just don’t think it’s what I want.’

  Speech over, I feel drained and sit back in my chair. Ed’s looking at me with a curious expression on his face.

  ‘Wow.’

  I smile weakly. ‘Well, you asked too.’

  ‘I did. It’s just, you sound so sure.’

  ‘I am, for now. Who knows what will come in the future – ’ I wince at the irony of my words – ‘but for now, that’s me.’

  It feels as though the silence that follows is going to stretch on forever, so I’m relieved when the waiter appears and presents us with our food. The fuss – the clatter of cutlery, the discussion about how good the food looks, the adding of parmesan, pepper, the pouring of more wine – all serves as a welcome distraction from the intensity of the conversation. I tuck into my plate of pasta, trying hard not to meet Ed’s eye, sure he’ll know there’s something amiss.

  I feel cruel, being so blunt, shattering the dream of a perfect family life he’d just so clearly laid out before me. With anyone else it wouldn’t have mattered – nobody assumes on a first date that they are going to stay together. But me and Ed have history – quite apart from all the stuff I know about that is still to come – and this is more than a first date. This is us working each other out, planning to be together.

  I have to hope my little speech didn’t blow it completely.

  ‘I hope you don’t think I was being harsh.’

  Ed’s eyes are unreadable.

  ‘Not harsh, no.’ He seems to consider his words for a moment. ‘I just hope it’s not a bad sign that we want such different things in life. I hope it’s not a bad omen.’

  My heart hammers wildly.

  ‘God no, I don’t think so. I mean, people always work things out in the end, don’t they? We’re only young. There’s plenty of time to worry about all that later.’

  He studies me a moment longer, then clearly decides to change the subject.

  ‘You’re right. Let’s not start the date this way. Let’s talk about something else. What about music? Are you still into that godawful metal stuff you used to listen to at university?’

  ‘Godawful? You sound like my dad.’

  ‘That’s because your dad has taste.’

  ‘That’s because my dad wouldn’t know good music if it smacked him in the face. Anyway, I thought you liked my music?’

  ‘Some of it. But that loud, shouty stuff? Not for me. Give me a bit of Rolling Stones any day.’

  I nod. ‘I have to give you that. Which reminds me. What happened to your band? I take it the gigs didn’t get you a record deal?’ I try to hide my smirk but he sees it.

  ‘No, they don’t know what they’re missing.’ He grins. ‘To be honest, Zo, I love playing guitar but we were bloody terrible. I don’t think it’s where my future lies.’

  ‘So where does it lie? Surely you’re not planning to sell water coolers for the rest of your life?’

  ‘No, not water coolers. It’s a pretty soul-destroying job, cold-calling. Although it did me all right, because I found you again.’

  His face has turned serious, and I shiver with delight. ‘You did. Thank goodness for water coolers, eh?’

  ‘I’ll drink to that. To water coolers, and all who drink from them. And to us, and whatever this – ’ he waves his hand between us – ‘turns out to be.’ We clink glasses and take a drink, each lost in our own thoughts.

  We finish eating and the restaurant starts to empty but we stay where we are, holding hands across the table, giggling. The owners of the restaurant must hate us but I can’t bring myself to care. This might be my last day with Ed, and I don’t want it to end.

  But of course it must, and finally we can’t eke it out any longer. The remains of our desserts sit on our plates, melted ice cream and smears of chocolate cake, and our wine glasses sit empty, smudged round the edges where our hands have been holding them all night. The rest of the diners have left, and the waiters are milling around, clearly desperate to shut up and go home but too polite to ask us to leave.

  I don’t want to leave Ed’s side but I don’t want to take him back to my flat – I can’t subject him to Jane’s interrogation, not tonight. I want him to myself. So I do something totally out of character.

  ‘So, shall we go back to yours, then?’

  Fuelled by wine and the certain knowledge that he’s mine and he loves me – or at least if he doesn’t now then he soon will – I feel bold.

  ‘Come on, then.’ He pays the bill and pulls me by the hand all the way to the Tube, a sense of urgency in his actions.

  Less than an hour later we’re back at his flat, and Ed’s pouring us a glass of wine each. It feels as though I’m floating outside my own body, watching things unfold like a film. Ed is here, and he’s mine, and something inside me explodes with happiness.

  I perch on the edge of the sofa, clutching my glass, and wait for him to sit down. But then he’s standing in front of me holding out his hand and saying, ‘Come on, let’s stop pissing about and go to bed.’

  I take his hand. ‘Such a romantic proposition,’ I say, smiling at him as I follow him across the room.

  He shrugs. ‘Well, you know me.’

  He pulls me towards him and we fall onto Ed’s bed, a tangle of limbs, and it feels amazing to be back in his arms. His lips almost burn my skin, I’ve missed him so much. I can hardly believe he’s here and this is happening. I don’t ever want it to end.

  And then I’m lost, not caring whether this changes anything or not.

  Afterwards we lie on the bed together, still, watching the shadow of a tree sway gently in the orange glow from the streetlight outside, and I’m the happiest I’ve felt in months, maybe even years. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined I’d ever get the chance to be with Ed again and I still can’t really believe it’s happened. But for now I’m here, tucked safely into the crook of Ed’s shoulder, and as I watch his chest rise up and down, up and down, I relax. And then, finally, I close my eyes.

  When I open them again it takes a moment to work out where I am. I’m not sure what I’m expecting, but I’m surprised to fi
nd I’m still in Ed’s bed, where we ended up last night. I’m still nestled in the crook of his arm, and his other arm is slung across the bed, opening his chest up to the room. Gingerly I pull myself into a sitting position and look around. It’s dim, the sun seeping gently round the edges of the blinds, but there’s enough light to see and I can tell instantly it’s not only the room we were in last night, but it’s the next morning, not weeks or months later: there are my clothes in a pile on the floor, Ed’s next to them; across the room I can see our wine glasses in the brighter light by the window, half drunk, smudged and abandoned in the heat of the moment. My face flames at the memory and I smile.

  I need a drink so I pull Ed’s shirt on and wrap it round me and pad along to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. As the cold liquid hits the back of my throat I try to work out what’s going on here. It’s different from normal – or whatever has become normal – and I’m not sure what to make of it. Why have I woken up the next day rather than days or months later?

  Who knows? But it means another day with Ed, so I can’t complain. I walk back into the bedroom and climb into bed. As I do, Ed stirs and opens his eyes, squinting at me in the semi-darkness.

  ‘Morning, you.’ His breath is stale but I kiss him anyway and he responds hungrily. When he pulls away he’s fully awake and he smiles at me.

  ‘So, last night was fun.’

  I rest my chin on my hand and look down at him.

  ‘It was.’

  He sits up and adjusts his pillows so he’s facing me. ‘So what do you want to do today?’

  I meet his gaze. ‘How do you know I’m not busy?’

  He shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips. ‘I don’t.’

  I elbow him in the side and he falls backwards onto the bed.

  ‘Oi!’ he wails. I ignore him.

  ‘As it happens I am free and it would be nice to do something, yes.’

  He grins again and glances at the clock. It’s 9.30. ‘How about a picnic?’

  ‘Ooh, yes.’ I clap my hands together. ‘I love a picnic.’