Miranda Dickinson - I’ll Take New York

‘So – how do you know?’ Bea asked, before she could think better of it, quickly adding, ‘If you don’t mind me asking?’ when she saw the slight droop of his shoulders.

‘About relationships? Because I received divorce papers this week.’

Instantly, Bea felt awful. Choosing to walk away from a relationship was one thing; having the decision made for you was something else. ‘Gosh – I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked …’

‘No, you should. It’s OK. Pretty much everyone else here knows already, so there’s no reason why you should escape the bulletin.’

‘That’s awful.’ Bea wished the floor would open and swallow her up. Her one interesting acquaintance in the room was now smiling so sadly at her that she felt like she’d just kicked a puppy.

‘Yours isn’t divorce, then?’ The joke was clearly intended to make her feel better and Bea appreciated it.

‘We didn’t make it as far as marriage,’ she smiled, finding the act of sharing such personal information with a relative stranger surprisingly liberating. ‘And I called it in the end.’

‘How long?’

‘Five years.’

Jake shook his head. ‘That’s tough. My marriage was seven, with three years before.’

‘Wow.’

‘I know.’

‘I probably should be sitting at home tonight, wishing for him back. But actually, I don’t want him back. Not like we were. It’s taken me standing in a room full of couples I don’t know and toasting a happy couple I don’t know either to discover that. The more I think about it, the more I think relationships and me are incompatible.’ She checked that Jake was still smiling at her. He was. At least that was something. ‘It might sound strange, but the thought of not being in a relationship isn’t scary to me any more. I have so much in my life that’s already working: why focus on an aspect that just makes me unhappy?’

‘I hear you. I’m sick of trying to explain that to people. Truth is, I don’t think I want another relationship.’

‘Me either!’

‘I mean, when the one you think was The One turns out not to be, what hope is there, huh?’

He had a nice laugh, Bea thought. Maybe it was the wine, but the more she talked to the barman, the happier she felt. ‘I am so glad I met you tonight, Jake. I was beginning to think I was losing my mind.’

‘When, instead, we are probably the only two sane individuals in the room tonight.’

‘In the Upper West Side!’

‘In the whole of New York!’

Bea’s heart was racing. ‘People are so dead set on finding someone else to share their lives with. But they forget there are so many things you can do when you’re single that you can’t do when you’re in a relationship. Like assuming the sole use of the remote control.’

Jake chuckled. ‘Amen, sister. Or heading out for dinner on a whim without having to check schedules …’

‘Going to the cinema by yourself and eating all the popcorn – I love that.’

‘Or reading the Sunday paper all day without interruption.’

‘Only going shopping when you feel like it – and never having to feel guilty about dragging someone else along.’

‘Long baths on a weeknight listening to Lou Reed …’

‘Watching five episodes of a box-set in one go …’

‘Setting out from your apartment on a Saturday morning and wandering wherever you want to.’

‘I love that! I haven’t done that for years.’

‘Me either. Know what, Bea?’

‘What?’

‘We should start again.’

Bea smiled, despite the blush she knew was now spreading across her cheeks. ‘We should.’

‘Because we live in the best city on earth,’ Jake said. ‘Why wouldn’t we want to explore it?’

‘Exactly. I love this city.’ Bea turned to the stunning night view from the tall window. ‘Look at that: isn’t it the most amazing view?’

‘It is. There’s a big city out there, just waiting for us.’

‘And we’ve wasted too much time being trapped by someone else already.’

Jake nodded, an unmistakable fondness in his expression. Bea recognised it instantly because it was how she felt. ‘Gotta love this city.’

‘Absolutely.’ Her earlier consternation forgotten, Bea looked back at her surprise ally. ‘I’m really glad I met you this evening.’

‘Me too. It’s refreshing to find someone else who understands where I’m coming from.’

Jake offered the bottle to Bea, but she declined, enjoying the conversation far too much to be distracted by any more alcohol.

Snapping his fingers, Jake grinned at her. ‘Hey, you and I should make a pact.’

‘What kind of pact?’

An impish twinkle danced in his eyes. ‘That we will never get involved with anyone, ever again.’

A few days ago, this suggestion would have horrified Bea. But after all she had experienced tonight – and the enjoyable conversation she was having with the barman – Bea was keen to agree. ‘Absolutely. I’m done with relationships.’

‘OK, here it is: we solemnly swear that no matter what, we will avoid relationships. That we are through trying to find true love. From now on, it’s about us, celebrating the parts of our lives that work and not obsessing over those that don’t. We will be successful, happy, self-fulfilled individuals, who don’t place responsibility on anyone else for our happiness. Nobody writes the book of our lives but us.’

Bea loved that idea. So often in her life she had felt at the mercy of unseen scriptwriters who blindly dictated the ebb and flow of her happiness. The only author of Bea James’ life story should be herself. ‘That’s brilliant.’

‘Then are you willing to agree to The Pact?’

She grinned at the audacity of it. ‘Yes, I am.’

He held out his little finger. ‘Then we must solemnly seal it. With a pinky shake.’

‘A what?’

He couldn’t hide his amusement. ‘Trust me. This is the only way.’

Giggling, Bea locked her little finger with his. ‘I hereby agree to The Pact.’

‘No more relationships for Jake and Bea.’

‘No more relationships for us.’

It was a beautiful moment: an unexpected gift of understanding between two people who barely knew each other. It felt deeper than the light-hearted banter of strangers and significant in a way that surprised them both. It was the end of a struggle and the beginning of a new chapter in their lives. And, with her finger locked with Jake’s, Bea suddenly didn’t feel alone any more …

Much later that evening, watching the lights of the city passing by the taxi window, Bea was lost in her thoughts. Celia and Stewart had waved her off, reasoning that her quietness was due to fatigue and maybe a little too much wine. Bea barely said two words as the cab pulled away, waving absent-mindedly as she tried to work out how she was feeling.

She should have felt elated by the twist the evening’s events had taken. She should have felt justified in her new decision to live life for herself. But beneath the glow of an evening unexpectedly well spent, a gaping hollowness refused to be filled by any of the above. Why did she feel like she’d missed something?

Should she have asked for his number? It would have been nice to have a friend in New York who didn’t have an ulterior motive for pairing her up with someone.

But then, Bea told herself, maybe Jake was being polite. He was serving at the bar at a private party, for goodness’ sake; it was his job to entertain the guests. She didn’t doubt that he had enjoyed talking to her, but what if that came from a longing to make his work shift pass more quickly? It was entirely possible. And why did it matter, anyway?

Of course it doesn’t matter , she told herself. It was a bad night made better by a barman with a crazy pact. One of Manhattan’s unexpected surprises. And it was over now.