Miss Wrong and Mr Right(17)

I wiped my tears away angrily, went to the bathroom and grabbed a wodge of toilet paper. I went back into the hall, scooped up the condom, and then did what you should never do – I flushed it down the loo. I then took a long hot shower, washing all the filth and sweat away. Afterwards I pulled on my huge squashy robe and went into the kitchen. I opened the freezer, took out a bottle of vodka crusted with ice and poured half a tumbler. I was about to take a sip when the door buzzer went. My heart lifted when I thought it might be Benjamin, but I could see on the little screen of the intercom phone by the fridge that Nicky was outside, huddled under an umbrella. I reached out to let her in, then pulled my hand back. I wasn’t in the mood for Nicky’s positive attitude. I didn’t want to be told to look forward, and stay in the present because it’s a gift, nor did I want to take my lemons and make lemonade. I wanted to be British and wallow in my misery.

I saw on the screen Nicky press the buzzer again. She hung about for another minute and then walked away. I stared at the space where she’d been, the rain even showing up on the tiny black and white screen, then it flicked off.

Seeing Jamie tonight had put my life in a different context, or, dare I admit it, had made my life seem hollow. For the first time I felt genuinely old, I felt my mortality.

Fifteen years ago we were engaged. If I’d gone through with it, we would have a house, and memories. We could have a fourteen-year-old child – or more! And I’d have pictures on the fridge made by the kids at school. I got up and looked at my fridge. It was bare save for a magnet. The only thing Benjamin had ever given me. On it was a silhouette of a lady sitting cross-legged. Superimposed on top was a quote from a famous Yogi called Ram Dass.

‘The quieter you become, the more you can hear…’

‘Isn’t that just fancy talk, Benjamin, for shut the fuck up and listen?’ I said out loud. I took the magnet off, but the fridge door was now completely bare, which seemed even worse. I rummaged in a drawer wondering if I had something to replace it with. A magnet from a trip to a cathedral gift shop maybe, but all I could find was an old prescription for thrush cream and a takeaway leaflet. I fixed the Planet Poppadom menu to the fridge, so it concealed the magnet in its folds. I gave up and poured myself more vodka.

I realised that in another fifteen years I’d be fifty. Which I know is by no means old, but where had my life gone? The past fifteen years had felt like two. And time seems to speed up as you grow older. And I was growing older. I looked such a state tonight. Jamie seemed hardly to have aged, he’d just got sexier. And now he was dating that Tuppence Halfpenny, a younger woman projecting an almost ethereal femininity.





Over the years I had filed Jamie at the back of my mind. Life in London was fab, my career was my focus and I had no regrets. After this weird night with Ryan Harrison, and Jamie popping up, the regrets washed over me one after another. It terrified me.

I went back out to the hall, retrieved my bag and went back to the kitchen. My phone was still dead and I put it on charge. I pulled my laptop from my bag, and switched it on. I typed ‘Jamie Dawson’ into Facebook. Thirty-six names came up.

‘You see, you’re not that unique mister,’ I said gulping more vodka. I scrolled down the names and found him. His profile picture was black and white and quite arty with him smiling, his eyes against the sun, but his profile was limited if you weren’t his friend. I’m not a frequent Facebooker; I remembered he had friended me a couple of years back, and I had never accepted. Why didn’t I?

‘I’m not friending you now,’ I said to his picture. I then logged on to Twitter, but again there were too many Jamie Dawsons. Several had no pictures and were just eggs.

‘Which egg are you?’ I said finishing my second vodka and pouring a third.

I then tried Linkedin. Again his profile was limited. I became a bit crazed then and after some more manic googling, I found an article from the Canadian version of The Stage newspaper.

Jamie had spent three years working in theatre production in Toronto, and then another three organising tours around Canada and the States. Then he was artistic director of a theatre in Vancouver, before establishing a successful production company in Toronto. The article finished with a quote:

‘I will always love Canada, and I am thankful for the amazing opportunities I have had here, but England is my home, and I’ve been given an opportunity to establish a presence in London’s West End.’

He must have known I run the Raven Street Theatre. My mother still bumps into his parents every now and again.

I sat back in my chair with just the sound of the rain hammering against the windows. So many emotions came flooding back. What got me most was the smell of Jamie’s hair when he’d leant in to kiss me…Rich and warm, it gave me a rush of happiness and desire I hadn’t felt in years. I wiped my tears with the back of my hand. I thought about ringing Sharon, but it was late. Amy and Felix would be asleep.