Harriet Evans - Love Always

‘I think my boss hates me. Genuinely hates me.’ Cathy is stil staring at my head. ‘Look, forget about that. How was the meeting this morning?’

There’s a noise in the corridor and my eyes dart to the door. I don’t know why I should care; I’m paranoid about anyone, apart from Cathy and Jay, knowing how stupid I’ve been. Even Oli doesn’t know the ful extent of it. I hid it from him, just as he hid things from me. I don’t want Ben, for example, to walk past and accidental y hear the reality of my idiocy. Why should I care what he and Tania think? I don’t know. But I don’t want him to feel sorry for me. I’m sure he already does, and I wish he didn’t. I don’t want him to know how stupid I am either.

‘Um—’ I put the cutlery and plates on the bench and reach for some napkins which I keep in my apron pocket. ‘It was pretty awful.’

‘Oh, no.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ I hasten to explain. ‘I have to find a thousand quid now to pay back the defaulted loan payments. But I can put that on my other credit card.’ Cathy whistles. ‘And I have to pay off the overdraft, two hundred pounds a month plus interest. And they won’t, like, cal the debt col ection agencies in, or the police, or take me to court.’

‘Ha-ha,’ says Cathy. She pul s her ponytail tight with both hands, as though she’s flexing her muscles. ‘Right.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘I’m serious. They were going to.’

‘Jesus,’ she says. She looks genuinely shocked. Cathy has never been in debt, always pays her credit card off each month. She never even gets the ticket gate beeping at her because her Oyster card’s run out. That’s how organised she is. ‘I didn’t realise it was that bad.’ Then she asks awkwardly, ‘How did it – er, how did it get to that stage then?’

‘I know how it got to that stage,’ I say. I gesture to the one chair and give her a plate and fork. ‘I’ve been a fool. Sit down. Eat some of your food.’ I pour her a glass of apple juice into a navy chipped mug that says ‘Tower Hamlets Business Seminars’. ‘Drink.’

Cathy cuts some of the quiche away with her fork. ‘It’s been a hard time for you though, Nat.’

‘Maybe, but it’s my fault. I haven’t been doing it properly,’ I say simply. ‘And I’m fucked as a result. If Granny knew she’d be horrified – she was so proud of me. Man alive.’ I shake my head when I think about Granny now, I think about her in the diary, her impatience with Miranda, her daughter, as though she knew she was a bad seed. Did she know?

No. I shake my head. I have to stop these thoughts, at least til I know more. ‘If she’d had any idea I’d be leaving her funeral early to come back for a business meeting to stop me being taken to court by the bank . . . if she knew how much I’ve screwed it up . . .’ I think of her and how much she loved me, how I felt that love al through my childhood. It’s hard to admit it but I plough on. ‘She’d be so disappointed.’

Cathy is concentrating on her quiche on the plate. She says after a pause, ‘I don’t think she would be.’

I laugh. ‘Bless you. But I think she would. She was real y proud I did fine art at uni. She was so disappointed when I didn’t become an artist, and she was OK with the jewel er thing because she thought it was arty. She didn’t expect me to go bankrupt, did she.’

‘I think you’re being too hard on yourself. It’s real y tough out there at the moment, apart from anything else,’ Cathy says. She swal ows and clears her throat. ‘Not to be rude, but you know, I always thought . . .’ She stops. ‘Actual y, forget it.’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

I’m laughing. ‘Come on, Cathy! What?’

‘I always thought she was pretty hard on you too, if you want me to be honest.’

‘Who?’ I don’t understand her. ‘Your granny, Nat.’

I scoff, it’s so unlikely. ‘No, she wasn’t!’

Cathy says slowly, ‘I just remember, when we went to Summercove, the summer after we’d finished our A levels before you went off to col ege, she’d make you paint instead of coming down to the sea with me and Jay, and then she’d critique you. When she hadn’t painted herself for like thirty years, and you were only eighteen!’ She winces, as though she doesn’t like the taste of what she’s saying. ‘I think it was unfair. Like she wanted you to be something your mum wasn’t. Or Archie wasn’t. You know?’

That’s so outlandish I goggle at her. ‘Cathy, it real y wasn’t like that!’ My voice is rising. ‘I wanted to learn from her.’

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ Cathy is a bit red. ‘I just think sometimes she was using you to make up for disappointments in her own life. Please, I didn’t mean anything by it. Forget it. I’m just glad you’ve sorted it out. You have, haven’t you?’

I think of my already huge credit card bil ; I’ve been putting things for the business on that, too, of late, instead of putting them through the account. I am going to be very poor. These last couple of weeks without Oli to split the bil s for food and cabs and toilet rol s have already taken their tol . I nod. ‘I have. It’s going to be tight, but I think I have.’ I touch the ring around my neck. I’m going to start sketching tonight. I take another sip of apple juice and lean forward, patting her arm. I am perched above her on the stool, she is in a low chair, so this is more difficult than it might be. ‘I’m sick of talking about me, though. How’s tricks? Tel me. I haven’t seen you for ages.’

‘Oh, OK.’ Cathy shrugs, so that the shoulder pads in her suit jacket shoot up, almost to her ears. ‘Had another date with Jonathan on Friday.’ I raise my eyebrows.

‘Hey, how was it?’

Just then the door opens and a thick head of hair pokes round. ‘Nat?’

‘Ben!’ I stand up. ‘Hey, come and have some food.’

The hair advances into the room, fol owed by its owner, my neighbour. He looks quizzical y at the meagre quiche, half-eaten, on the table, and the smal salad next to it. ‘No, thanks. I’m on my way out anyway,’ he says, scratching his head. ‘Hi, Cathy. I just came to see how you were doing, Nat.’ He hugs himself. ‘It’s freaking freezing in here.’

Ben is wearing his usual uniform, which is a large wool en sweater. He has an endless supply of them, mostly bought from junk shops or markets, and they are al extremely thick. His hair is curly and long. It bounces when he’s enthusiastic about something. I am glad to see him, as ever. I’m sure I have a Pavlovian response to Ben, because he represents company of some sort during the day, so it’s normal y lovely to see him.

I’m sure if we went on holiday we’d fal out on the first evening. ‘It’l warm up soon, hopeful y,’ I say. ‘Hey, man. Stay and have a cup of tea.’

‘I won’t,’ he says. ‘Just popped by to say hi.’ He looks at me. ‘So you’re doing OK?’

‘I’l come by later,’ I say. ‘It was quite something.’

‘The funeral? Or the meeting?’

‘Oh – both.’

Ben nods. ‘Wel , I’ve got a shoot this afternoon, but I’m not sure when. Knock me up, chuck.’

‘OK.’

‘Nice to see you, Cathy,’ he says. ‘Nat – see you later. I want to hear about it.’

I nod, and turn back to Cathy as the door closes. ‘I’m sorry about that. Blithely inviting him in when you’re in the middle of tel ing me about Jonathan. Go on.’

‘He’s so lovely.’ Cathy gazes at the shut door. ‘Who, Ben? He’s got a girlfriend,’ I say. ‘I don’t mean like that.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘No, I don’t. He’s just lovely.’ She sighs. ‘Why can’t al men be like him, eh? I don’t get it.’

I think about Ben, who I’ve known vaguely for years because of Jay, and his floppy hair and thick jumpers. I’ve never real y thought about him in that way. ‘He’s adorable. But he’s a bit like a big sheep, don’t you think?’