Clean sheets I have in abundance; clean sheets and clean towels and a bath robe I could comfortably share with . . . with someone else; I have shampoo and shower gel that smells of sandalwood, and a bed that feels as big as a continent, and I can’t help but remember when a cramped cot draped in mosquito netting felt like it held every thing a continent had to offer. It’s maybe better not to think about that just now.
I knew when I called to confirm that I’d be arriving the next day that something wasn’t right. There was a pause and then something I hadn’t heard in his voice before, a trace of bitterness, as he said yes of course he remembered, it would be great to see me, he was looking forward to it. There are some lies which are told just to break your heart and others that are meant to protect it but break it anyway. And I knew all this, I heard all this but I turned the volume right down so I could ignore it altogether.
But he met me at the airport and I wanted to cry when I saw how much better he looked, wanted to grab the people all around us and say “Doesn’t he look great?”
I’d thought about seeing him, about him holding me, about being able to smile up at him, to kiss him, all the time I’d been away from him but the reality of it, of him, outstripped even my fantasies. I’d forgotten how good he felt, and smelt, how completely he engulfed me, forgotten all of it, and I was glad that I had because the rediscovery of all those things took my breath away.
oOo
There was another toothbrush in the bathroom. I stood very still looking at it for a long time. Well, Gillian, why should you imagine he’d have no-one around? A quick inspection of the cabinet on the wall showed me no other evidence – no face cream, no box of tampons, no scent or tweezers or hairbrush or nail polish, nothing. So, whoever this was, she had no permanent presence here. That was good. Was this where the bitterness had come from? Had she been and was now no more? I inspected my face in the mirror for signs of concern, smoothed my features and smiled. She wasn’t here and I was and I would not worry about what was not here.
And, you know, it’s amazing what a couple of hours in bed with the man you’ve been thinking of every minute of every day for months can do. I didn’t want to shower, didn’t want to wash him off me but he pulled me in there after him and that turned out not to be such a bad thing after all. I was rinsing suds from my hair when I heard the doorbell; dinner I supposed and realised I was ravenous.
It wasn’t dinner and he didn’t tell me who it was but he seemed ill at ease suddenly and I wondered whether, if I opened the door, I’d catch the scent of someone, a scent which would have been left on him some time, a scent which, if I ever smelled it again, on the subway or in the street, would hit me with a little jolt.
oOo
I’m not sure why I did it really; I’ve learned enough in my time to know that it’s never a good idea to surprise a guy at his place of work, but we didn’t have a lot of time together and I thought maybe I’d run into John and we could all get coffee together or something. And maybe I thought I’d see enough to be able to put a face to the owner of the toothbrush.
For a moment I hardly recognised him. A shirt and tie, lab coat, he looked like a regular doctor and that made me smile. He let me kiss him, didn’t really kiss me back, and told me he couldn’t get away. I told him I’d see him at the end of his shift and when I did, when I walked in and saw him talking to the little blonde, I knew. She glanced over her shoulder, following his gaze, saw me, said something and walked away from him, rage written in every line of her body.
I lasted as far as the ambulance bay, trying to coax him into going dancing, ready to say we could dance alone at home, that would be as much as I needed. His silence was deafening, deafening even for me and oh Jesus the words were coming out of my mouth and I was asking if he was in love with her, the little nurse, and he didn’t answer and didn’t have to, because I knew that if he wasn’t he thought he might be one day soon and even if that never happened, what we were to each other – or what I was to him – wasn’t what he wanted any more.
I knew then that I should have told him before, stopped whispering the words so he couldn’t hear them, that it was too late and it wouldn’t matter if I hired a sky writer to trail them across the Chicago sky, they weren’t words he’d ever hoped for from me. I wanted to be angry with him for not telling me what I was walking into but I couldn't, I just couldn't.
It took a few seconds for me to realise I was crying and that I really, really had to get away because once I started in earnest it would take a very long time for me to stop. I had no right to be jealous and I was; I had every right to kiss him and wish him well and I did and he never spoke.
I don’t expect ever to hear his voice again. I didn’t tell him that I’d ended it with Jean because it isn’t fair to a man to sleep with him while you think of someone else, and I didn’t tell him I’d been checking out nursing vacancies in Chicago, I didn’t tell him any of that and now I’m glad that I didn’t because if he knew how far I’d fallen I think he would have found it even harder to look at me.
oOo
I have a beautiful view here; I can see for miles over the city, and it’s cold and clear so the lights twinkle as I look at them. The one good dress I brought with me, the one I was going to wear when I told him I’d finished with Jean, is very becoming, though I say it myself. I’m looking good; no-one would ever know that my heart is broken, and that the literal, physical truth of that cliché has never been more real to me than now. Well, there are ways to mend a broken heart, aren’t there?
The hotel bar is large, dimly lit, sparsely populated, and the guy at the bar looks surprised for a moment when I slide onto the stool at his side. He’s tall, clean shaven, good looking, and, obviously, as his left hand dips into his pocket to emerge a moment later, fingers flexing, married. I smile at him in the mirror behind the barman.
“Good evening ma’am, what can I get you?”
“Vodka rocks with a twist.”
“Coming right up.”
As he sets the drink down in front of me I hold out my key card and right on cue the guy at my side says “Allow me.”
His name is Mike, he’s in medical equipment and he’s in town for a sales conference, some big contracts to be had, he has high hopes for his commission and what is it that I do?
“I’m a nurse”
“No kidding! How about that! You work in Chicago?”
“Montreal, I’m just here visiting.”
“Family?”
“A friend.”
“You meeting them here? The restaurant is good.”
“No, I’ve kind of been stood up. He has to . . . work.”
And there it is, the light has snapped on in his head and he changes gear. He talks smoothly over more drinks and I talk back, laugh a little, just enough to egg him on. His eyes are a very bright blue and they’re twinkling at me with something like genuine good humour and joie de vivre and I need that very much right now. I like him.
Around midnight he leans even closer to me and slides his arm around my waist. I know what’s coming next, I know how it will go, I’m an old hand at this.
“It seems a shame to break things up.” I don’t answer and he leans in to me, his mouth close to my ear, just close enough to raise gooseflesh on my arms as his breath brushes over me.
“You know, what happens in Chicago . . . stays in Chicago.” Still I don’t answer but my heart is beating a little too fast. He brushes my arm with the backs of his fingers. I close my eyes and I’m thinking of hazel eyes and dark hair and long, long fingers and eyelashes that could sweep your heart clean out of your chest, and I’m aching to be held and not to have to care about an afterwards, the old dance, it works, it works for me every time. He’s stood up and is speaking again. “What do you say – you want to go back to my room?”
I open my eyes and see not dark hair but fair, not hazel eyes but blue. The spell is broken, the ache recedes and I look up at him with a smile, knowing that it works for me every time, knowing it will work this time, and through my smile I say “You know what - I don’t believe I do.”
