Jane Green - Bookends

‘Dinner? At my place?’ God, now there’s something I haven’t done for at least five years.

‘Yes. It’s perfect. If I were you, I’d drop in and ask him just as soon as you’re back on your feet. He’ll be over the moon.’

By Friday I figure Si is doing just about okay, or at least okay enough not to need me on permanent standby, but I still feel incredibly fragile. I know I should be going back to the shop, but if Lucy starts being all warm and maternal towards me, I’ll probably just lose it.

But by Friday afternoon the guilt takes over, and I do go in to Bookends, and everything’s fine. Lucy’s fine. Bill and Rachel have been working like demons, and Lucy’s so busy chatting up the regulars she doesn’t really have time to fuss over me as she normally would, which is truly something of a relief.

But then the shop suddenly empties, and Lucy puts down a teapot and flings her arms around me, and I bite my lip to stop the full flood of emotion. ‘What are you doing here? I told you not to come in until Monday.’ She peers at me closely. ‘Cath, my love, you look terrible, you ought to be in bed. You’re all pale and slight.’

Pale and slight. Why is Lucy the only person who could get away with calling me pale and slight? It brings a smile to my face and Lucy says, ‘That’s better. Why don’t you sit down, I’ll make a fresh pot of tea, and then I think it’s back to bed for you, young lady.’

Half an hour later, I push open the door of the estate agent’s and, much like a Wild West saloon, the room goes quiet as five pairs of eyes eye me up and down, presumably assessing how much I would be willing to spend.

The silence lasts a second. A second that is evidently enough for them to realize I won’t be buying that eight-bedroom house in Aberdare. Nor even the three-bedroom conversion in Greencroft. Nope. I am not a buyer to get excited about.

I have never seen the office this busy before. Five men seated behind five large, trendy beech desks, all talking into their phones, some of them managing to conduct conversations into their mobiles at the same time. And these men all look identical. All short, young and dark, neatly packaged in slick dark suits, their eyes constantly roaming, their voices filled with a confidence their age would not suggest.

And then I see James, right at the back, looking completely out of place, with his laid-back manner, lazy smile and tousled light brown hair.

‘Can I help you?’ the bimbo-esque receptionist inquires. I smile and shake my head. James wipes the smile from his face and looks at me sternly as I walk towards the back of the office to talk to him, trying to ignore the eyes that appear to be watching my every move.

‘Hello.’ His voice is guarded. ‘What can I do for you, Cath?’ Oh God. Have I blown it? Have I been so completely stupid and blown it? I look at his arm where the sleeve is rolled up, exposing strong muscles and light brown hair, and my stomach lurches as I realize that I do, in fact, desire this man.

That I have not felt desire for anyone for a very long time. And that I cannot blow it again. I bite my lip as I start to speak.

‘Well…’ I’m nervous, and I don’t want to blurt out a dinner invitation in front of the receptionist, who has left her desk at the front and is hovering near by, pretending to look for something.

Thankfully James picks up on my discomfort, and he ushers me into a room at the back of the office, where there’s a large sofa, and I sit down as he stands in front of me and raises an eyebrow, still as cold as before.

‘James,’ I say. ‘I have to apologize. I don’t know why things come up every time we try to get together, but I feel terrible about it and I was just passing and…’ I am about to ask him for dinner, but I can’t quite manage it. ‘… and I just wanted to come in and say how sorry I am.’

‘Yes?’ James looks up sternly as the receptionist hovers by the sofa, all pretence having gone out the window.

‘Just wondering if you wanted coffee?’ she says brightly, and I say no, because there is something very disconcerting about the way she just appeared when something interesting was being said. Reluctantly she walks back to the front of the office, and James waits until she’s safely ensconced behind her desk and out of earshot before continuing.

‘God, Cath,’ he sighs. ‘This is just so exhausting. All I’m trying to do is take you out for dinner and you’re just making it so bloody difficult for me.’

‘I… er…’ I’m floored. I don’t know what to say, and the emotion that I’ve been suppressing is suddenly threatening to spill out all over this lovely white sofa. I try to blink back the tears that well up out of nowhere, but they don’t go away.

‘Cath?’ James looks concerned, and sits down next to me, trying to look into my eyes, which are busy failing to stop the tears trickling down my cheek. ‘Jesus, Cath. You’re not okay, are you?’ And his voice is so gentle, so caring, that I find myself doing an enormous hiccup and then the hiccup turns into sobbing, and I’m reduced to a wailing heap on the sofa.

I’m aware that this is the most exciting thing everyone in the office has ever seen at work, but he stands up and pulls the door closed, and when he comes back he sits next to me and rubs my back, just as I did with Si.

And it works. It is soothing and calming, and after a while, when the sobbing has gone back to being merely hiccuping, I take a deep breath and James says, ‘Can you talk about it?’

I start to shake my head, but then the tears start rolling down my cheeks, and I know that I can’t keep this to myself any more. And I know it’s selfish, I know it isn’t about me, but there is nobody I can confide in, and I need someone to support me.

I wouldn’t tell Lucy. Nor Josh. They are our closest friends, and it is up to Si to tell them, but I trust James, I don’t know why. Perhaps because that night we saw Josh and Portia together he never asked about it, was so obviously not interested in the potential for gossip. I’m sure that whatever I say to him will go no further, and that I just cannot keep this to myself any longer.

And slowly the story comes out. I don’t refer to Si by name. A friend is what I say, because it makes me feel as if I am still protecting Si, although it is clear from what I say, from the closeness of our friendship, that it could only ever be Si.

I talk about the helplessness I feel; about the fact that this is not supposed to happen to someone like him, not supposed to happen to one of my best friends. I tell him what I told Si, about it being a virus, about people living with it for years and years, but then I tell him that I’ve also seen the films, seen the photographs, and that however far we have come, is AIDS not the inevitable outcome?

And as I talk about it, I picture Si, frail, skinny, hollowed-out cheeks, and I start to cry all over again.

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ James says gently, quietly, still rubbing my back until I am calm again. ‘I think that first of all you should also go to see someone. I don’t know what exists for friends and family of people with HIV, but there are bound to be groups, counsellors, people who can talk to you, help you, because your friend isn’t the only one who’s suffering, and you need to learn to deal with it as well.’

I nod mutely.

‘But you’re the only one who knows right now, is that right?’ I nod. ‘Do you think your friend is planning to tell more people? Because it’s a hell of a burden to shoulder on your own.’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think he’s thought that far ahead.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘Oh shit.’ I check my watch and stand up, grabbing my bag. ‘He must be home from the hospital. I’ve got to go.’