Alexander McCall Smith - The Dog Who Came In From The Cold

“She never had her nails painted in London,” Dee had said at the time. “She’s changed, and that’s not the letter of somebody who’s coming back. She’s finished with London.”

Caroline had agreed. Jenny had paid three months’ rent in advance before she left; in another month they could let her room again.

If she could talk to neither Dee nor Jenny, that left Jo. Jo at least was approachable, and seemed the type to listen. So Caroline waited in the kitchen, flicking through a magazine, hoping that she would hear the sound of a key in the front door that would signify Jo’s return from the gym.

She waited an hour or so before her flatmate returned, coming into the kitchen in a light blue tracksuit with a sweat band round her forehead.

“Hello Caroline. Haven’t really seen you in a while. How are you doing?” Jo asked.

This was Caroline’s opportunity. “Not so well.”

Jo frowned. “Not so well? What’s the problem? Going down with something? There weren’t many people at the gym, you know – I think there’s a bug doing the rounds.”

Caroline shook her head. “No. I’m not sick.”

“Well, you look a bit crook to me.” Jo used the Australian expression; Caroline had heard it before and knew what it meant to be crook. No, she was not crook – at least not in the physical sense; the emotional sense might be another matter.

“I don’t think I’m crook,’ she said. “I’m just … Well, James and I are splitting up.”

Jo sat down opposite Caroline. She peeled the headband off her head, releasing her hair. “Oh. So that’s it. Boyfriend trouble.”

Caroline nodded gloomily. It was so clichéd, this whole thing. Boyfriend trouble – what a cliché.

“Except I didn’t think he was your boyfriend,” Jo said. “You know what I mean?”

Caroline looked at her indignantly. “I don’t, actually.” She felt loyalty to James. What did Jo know about his inclinations? There were plenty of straight men who were artistic – a bit camp, even – and why should she not think that James was one of these. It was a blatant case of prejudice.

“Well, he doesn’t strike me as the sort to have a girlfriend,” sad Jo breezily. “I thought that you and he were just friends. Know what I mean?”

Caroline could not constantly say no, she did not know what Jo meant. Of course she knew what the other woman meant.

“It’s not like you think,” she said. “He’s not gay. He’s … he’s … Well, he’s nothing in particular.”

Jo was silent for a few moments. Then she said, “I see. So you and he are not … you know, actually sleeping together?”

Caroline shook her head. “No. And he doesn’t want to.” She paused. “I’m so miserable, Jo, I really am. And I’m so confused. I love James. I love him, and he’s not interested in me.”

She started to cry. Jo reached out and took Caroline’s hand, and held it in silence. She caressed it, gently, and her touch was warm and reassuring.

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. That’s bad luck, Caroline. Rotten luck. But that’s the problem with men. They’re not really interested in us – not really. They use us. But that’s all.”

Caroline sniffed. Jo handed her a tissue, which she used to blow her nose. “I don’t know if all of them do. Some, maybe. Not all.”

Jo shook her head. “No,” she said. “All of them, Caroline. All of them use us.”

“But how has he used me? I don’t see how you can say James has used me? If anybody’s used anybody here, it’s … it’s me. I’ve used him.”

“He’s used you subtly,” said Jo. “And that’s often the worst way of being used. You don’t know it, you see, and then you realise later that you’ve been used. And that hurts – it really hurts.”

“So what do I do?” Caroline asked. “What do I say to him?”

Jo shrugged. “I don’t see that you need to say anything to him. I thought you had gone over that ground. He’s told you what he feels – or doesn’t feel, in his case. So now you both know and you can move on.”

“Move on?” People always talked about moving on, but Caroline wondered precisely what was involved in moving on. She assumed that you had to have somewhere to move to before you actually moved on; where did she have to move on to?

There was a faint smile on Jo’s lips as she said, “I take it that you’re sure about yourself?”

Again Caroline was puzzled. “Look, I’m sorry, you must think me really stupid, but I’m not sure what you mean.”

“What I mean,” said Jo, “is this: are you sure that men are where you’re at?”

“That men are where I’m at?”

“Yes. Do you like men? Are you sure?”

Caroline looked at Jo. “What about you?”

“This isn’t about me,” said Jo quickly. “It’s about you. I’ve already moved on. You’re the one who’s to decide whether to move on or …”

“Or stay where I am?” Was that the alternative to moving on? she wondered.

“Yes, that’s about it.” Jo paused. She was watching Caroline closely. “There are alternatives, you know. You don’t have to stay in the place you’re at.”

Caroline thought quickly. No. Female solidarity was important, and sustained a lot of women – but she did not want to be too solid.

“I don’t think so, Jo,” she said quietly. “I know that for lots of people, that’s … well, that’s where they’re at. But I don’t think so. Not in my case.”

Jo looked down. “Fair enough. In that case, just give it time. Move on, and wait.”

Caroline was intrigued. Moving on and waiting seemed to be a new option.

Jo explained. “Be single. There’s no pressure. Enjoy your life. Wait for somebody else to come along. He will. Eventually.” She paused. “Does that make sense to you?”

Caroline nodded.

“And here’s another bit of advice,” she said. “You’ve got a home, haven’t you?”

“You mean parents? All of that?”

“Yes, all of that. Your olds. People forget about them, but they’re always there, aren’t they? Go and chill with them.”

Caroline resisted an urge to laugh. The idea of chilling with her parents in Cheltenham … And yet, and yet …

“I’m not sure if they do chilling,” she said. The picture came to her of her mother, with her pearls and her county attitudes. And her poor father, with his utter certainties and his tendency to talk in platitudes. There was a vague sense of failure there, which was strange, as in many terms he had succeeded, certainly by the standards of those with whom he mixed. Neither of her parents had moved on, she decided. They were both still in the place they were at.

“It’s hard for me to get back home,” said Jo. “When I was at uni over in Melbourne and my folks were back in Perth, you couldn’t go back for the weekend. But sometimes you could go for a week, maybe. I remember feeling really bad once. Something had happened. Something messy and I felt all raw inside. You know that feeling, when everything is just pointless and you feel that you’re on the edge of a void – a void of meaninglessness? That feeling?”

Caroline nodded.

“I went and bought a cheap flight back to Perth. I didn’t even tell my folks that I was coming back – I just got on the plane, and when I reached Perth I jumped in a taxi at the airport. Coming into Perth is fabulous, you know. Suddenly there are the hills – we’ve got these low hills just outside the city, you know – and there they were with all their trees, and there were the houses, with their large yards and gardens. And the smell of it. The eucalyptus. The dryness, which has a smell, you know. The taxi driver in his blue shorts. And I started to cry, there in the taxi, and he was really sympathetic, in the way that these guys sometimes can be. Like a father. And I said that he shouldn’t worry, that I was just pleased to be home, which of course was exactly how I felt.