‘I was a bit of a tearaway, slept with a lot of guys,’ she once told me. ‘I was underage and wild. I did it to get at my dad. He was so strict, he’d try and lock me in my room, so I’d climb out the window.’
‘At least he cared?’ I’d offered.
‘Too much,’ she said, and I’ll never forget the look on her face. ‘That’s why I don’t have a door on my bedroom.’
I remember putting my arm around her, and it was then I realised that, in very different ways, we shared lost childhoods. Hers was spent escaping home, and mine was spent searching for one.
I was nine years old when I moved into my first foster home. Mum couldn’t cope, but I believed it was my fault, and living with strangers was my punishment for causing her distress. I didn’t understand then that her drug addiction was the reason she couldn’t function as a mother, it’s only now I realise how my life was blighted.
Meeting Alex last night gave me a little glimmer of hope that I could meet someone with whom I could make a life I’ve always dreamed of, and even a real home. I just have this feeling he wants the same things I do, and I finally have the chance of having something good in my life. If only he’d call.
‘Go on the app, prove me wrong and find Mr Right.’ Jas had laughed through a haze of alcohol that night weeks ago in The Orange Tree. As the evening had worn on, she’d become more tipsy, and more keen for me to try it out. I distracted her for a while by putting ‘Wonderwall’ on the jukebox and singing along to it with her, but she’s like a dog with a bone, is Jas.
‘As your boss, I’m here to tell you that you work too hard, so it’s time for you to chill, have sex and have fun.’
‘I do have fun,’ I’d protested.
‘Oh yeah, I’m sure you do, sitting at home every night writing up reports, checking up on teenagers to make sure they’re in their own bed and not someone else’s?’
‘That’s why I’m in this job, to try and keep them safe.’
‘Well, I think you should get out more. Ooh, he’s hot.’ She pointed to a photo on the app. ‘A handsome solicitor, living minutes away and gagging for a thirty-something woman to complete his life? Yes please,’ she gushed. ‘Hannah, he’s only just gone on the app – it’s like buying a house, when a great one goes on the market, you need to pounce.’
‘I’m not pouncing.’ I laughed. ‘I’ve online dated before – and it’s not for me.’
‘Look, just click “yes” now,’ she yelled impatiently (she’s always loud in bars), ‘and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll have your sloppy seconds, he’s gorgeous!’
So, fuelled by her enthusiasm, and alcohol, I clicked, and about fifteen minutes later he clicked on me. I suddenly felt nervous. What was I letting myself in for? I told Jas I’d changed my mind, but – typical Jas – she wasn’t having that.
‘Just give it a go, Hannah. You’re going on a date, not marrying him for God’s sake.’ She’d laughed. ‘Have some fun, and then, when we both get to sixty and we’re still single and childless, we’ll move in together.’
I laughed, hoping against hope that wasn’t all I had to look forward to. I love Jas, but she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. She has so much energy but sometimes doesn’t know when to stop. She can take over if you let her, which is often irritating, but sometimes in life you need someone to take over, to pick you up and brush you off and tell you in a loud voice to your face that it’s going to be all right. And after my break-up with Tom, she did all that, and she fixed me.
I’d been so crazy about Tom at first, I asked him to move in with me after a few weeks. But I realised pretty early on that this had just been infatuation on my part, and once I’d got past the blue eyes and the killer smile, there was little else. He’d wander in from work, turn on the TV, spread himself across the sofa, open a beer and be on his phone all night. I’d hoped for more – sustained eye contact or a conversation would have been a start. But things didn’t change, and after the first few months what little flame there had been just sputtered and died. It was like living with a flatmate; there was soon nothing between us.
I gave it almost a year. Thing is, he just didn’t know how to be a partner. He never listened to me, and often on a Friday he’d hand me a cheap bunch of flowers and think that made it okay for him to spend the weekend at the pub. As Jas pointed out at the time, ‘He’s just a rubbish boyfriend, and he won’t ever change.’
So one Friday night, when everyone at work had been talking about their plans for the weekend, and I’d realised I didn’t want to spend mine with him, I asked him to leave. It was really difficult because, as he’d said, he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. But I told him I had too much work and didn’t have the time for a relationship – but in truth I just didn’t love him. ‘You’re just tired,’ he’d said, and turned the TV volume higher to drown out my words. Which said it all really. Eventually he’d agreed to pack his bags and left that weekend.
I’d felt guilty, but I was also relieved. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone who didn’t give me anything. I felt I deserved more.
After he’d left that Saturday, I immediately called Jas, who’d reassured me I’d done the right thing. But Tom started phoning in tears, begging me to take him back, and even turned up at work and asked if he could walk me home. By then, he was sleeping on a friend’s sofa and I felt so bad about making him homeless, I began to think it might be easier to just let him move back in. But Jas gave me the strength to say no – with kindness. And later when he turned nasty, and said it was my fault he’d been suspended from his job, she was there for me every step of the way, and without her support I don’t know what I’d have done.
Jas was right, of course. The relationship would never have worked and I had to end it. But I saw Tom in a bar a few months back and he looked sad and rather dishevelled, and I worry that the break-up had a more lasting impact on him than I’d realised.
But I push away troubling thoughts of Tom, when I see the phone on my desk flashing. I pick up and catch my breath. It’s a voicemail message from Alex.
Chapter Three
‘I wondered if you’d like to meet up again? Er… if you did, please call me.’
Short, sweet and possibly life-changing? I never expected Alex to call me at work. I didn’t give him the number. He must have googled it. Just hearing his voice makes me want to do a little dance in the middle of the office – but I resist.
I check the next message, it’s from him again. A moment’s silence, no slick, scripted lines, just lovely flawed sentences, broken words.
‘I… just realised, I left you a voice message and didn’t leave my number. Don’t feel under pressure to call. I like you, but I understand if… look, I’ve read situations wrong before, so no worries… Oh I’m rambling now. Sorry. Anyway, call me back if you had a good time, we could go out again, tonight, tomorrow, next week? Call me…’ Reciting his number, he was clearly about to put down the phone, and I was about to melt into a puddle on my desk, when he said, ‘Oh… also, you’d told me where you worked, so I thought it better to call and leave a message rather than call your mobile.’ He paused, and I realised I was smiling from ear to ear like an idiot. ‘That way, you can ignore the message. If that’s what you want to do. And… if we bump into each other in the street, then you can pretend you didn’t see me or you didn’t get the message. Bye.’