Alex
I was in one of my favourite places in the world, Copenhagen, having a coffee in Café Kys and logging a few new colours into Chromatica, when I got an email from Inary.
Hi Alex,
I got your Danish owl, thank you
– wow, the courier had been faster than light; I’d only sent it the day before –
And how’s Chromatica going? Any more purples found?
I don’t think I’ll be back for a while. Months, probably.
Apart from the fact that I can’t speak, which is bad enough, the worst thing is Logan. Yesterday he spent three hours chopping wood – without stopping. Afterwards, his hands were all blistered. He acts normally, but I can see that inside it’s a different story.
So I won’t see you for a while. I’m really sorry.
Dismay filled me like a tidal wave. Suddenly, the coffee tasted like dirty water.
I think I owe you an explanation, about what happened between us, and the way I was afterwards. You know, the way I said it had been a mistake. I never planned to be in a relationship again, after Lewis. But with you . . . I don’t know, things just seemed to happen. The problem is, my life is a bit of a mess right now. I can’t think of anything but Emily and I can’t speak and my brother is in a bad way. Yes, it’s all a big mess. I just couldn’t cope with more complications. It’s so much better if we are just friends. I hope you understand, and please don’t be hurt. It’s just me being all wrong, right now.
Inary x
I closed the email without replying.
As soon as I got home I phoned Kamau, and we went out places. Various places, not sure exactly where. I don’t remember much of the night – just a few hazy scenes, blurred words, the sense of nothing being quite right. I recall having a long, loud conversation in a club, shouting over the noise and downing brightly coloured, unidentified cocktails.
“So that’s what happened. And now she’s gone . . .”
“That’s tough.”
“It is tough indeed, my friend.” Words were quite difficult to form at that stage, but I soldiered on.
“She won’t be back for months. If ever . . .”
“Can you not go see her?”
“I don’t know. Can I? Does she want me to?”
He shrugged. “Worth trying.”
“Nah. Not after what she said to me . . .”
“What did she say?”
“That she couldn’t cope with any more complications and it’s better if we are just friends. And I quote. Because I know that email by heart.”
“You’re in a bad way, mate,” Kamau concluded.
I downed another bright-blue concoction, and after that it all went black.
Kamau must have dragged me home sometime in the early hours. He’d taken my shoes off and put me to bed. I woke up in my clothes, hating myself and the whole world.
As I got up and as everything spun and unidentified sludge sploshed in my stomach, the thought hit me again: Inary and I were to be just friends – in case I didn’t get the message before. Then why did she keep talking to me, turning to me every time she needed someone, like some kind of torture she’d planned for me? Why?
I dragged myself to the kitchen. Kamau was still there, and he was awake, smartly dressed and sitting with a smirk on his face.
“Rise and shine! How you feeling?”
“Rise and shite, more like.” I moaned. “How come you had a change of clothes?”
“I sort of knew what kind of night it was going to be.” He smiled. He was sober, not hungover in the slightest. And he was smug. Had I not been so grateful, I would have hated him too, like the rest of this planet.
“Drink this. And take . . . these.” He handed me a cup of black coffee and pushed two Nurofen out of their packets.
“This coffee is practically solid . . .”
“It’s what you need. And by the way, it’s half past eight, so you have to finish that and get dressed in the next ten minutes. I’ll drive you to work.”
I nodded, and it was so painful I just wished somebody would chop my head off. “Ouch . . .”
“Well, you only have yourself to blame, like my mum always used to say!” laughed Kamau. “’Mon, get going.”
A few agonising minutes later, we were out. The fresh air did take the edge off a bit, but by the time we were in front of my office I just wanted to lie down and die.
“Thank you, mate,” I said as I opened the car door.
“Any time. Oh, and Alex?”
“Mmmm?”
“You know something else my mum used to say?”
“What?”
“What’s for you won’t go past you.”
“Ah.”
“I mean, if she’s meant for you, she’ll come back. Or you’ll go to her. It’ll work out.”
I wasn’t so sure.
*
I walked into my office, every step a stab between my eyes. It was just Sharon and me.
“Hi, Sharon,” I called. My voice sounded very loud. I winced.
“Hi. Good night?”
“Not exactly,” I replied, hanging my jacket up. The office was oddly quiet for this time of morning. “Where is everyone?”
“Gary is on holiday, Molly and Clark are in Manchester, and Alena is sick with the flu. She phoned this morning. Looks like it’s just you and me. You look terrible. Coffee?”
“God, no.”
I sat at my desk, and for a second I thought I was having some alcohol-induced hallucination. There was a toy owl sitting in front of my computer. It was a plush one, baby blue, with huge round eyes and a patchwork of textures. How did that thing get there?
For a wild moment, I thought – I hoped . . . of course, it must have been Inary! I looked around frantically, as if she were about to jump out of a filing cabinet. I lifted the owl up, and a small envelope – the same blue as the owl, appeared from under it.
I opened the note.
For your collection, it said.
What?
I met Sharon’s eyes over my computer. She was smiling. Her lips were very red and her hair styled in smooth, silky waves. Sharon wasn’t just pretty – she was beautiful, cinnamon-skinned and dark-eyed beautiful.
It dawned on me.
“I got it for you,” she said.
“Oh. Oh, thanks.” I didn’t know what to say. Why an owl? How did she know . . . ?
“Gary told me you were hunting for owls. Not literally!” she laughed. “He said you were looking for a nice one in Copenhagen. That you collect them. So I thought . . .” Colour was rising in her cheeks.
This couldn’t be happening. And my head was killing me. Oh God please make the drilling in my head stop, I prayed.
“Well, they were for a friend . . . But thank you.”
A cloud passed over her face. “Oh.”
Oh indeed. I suppose if a man is buying statuettes and says they’re for a friend, it’s likely they’re for a woman.
“Well, you can give it to your friend.” She laughed a brittle laugh. I felt terrible for her. What a mess.
But we were adults. Professionals. We could handle it.
We were professionals who left plush toys on people’s desks. I pressed my fingers to my temples. Please Lord, make me die. I’ll never touch a drop of vodka again, ever, as long as I live.
“You okay?” she asked. “Look, I’m sorry. It was a bad idea. What was I thinking? Honestly, just give it to your friend and let’s forget about it. I’m going for a coffee across the road . . .”
“No, I’ll keep it for myself.”
“You don’t have to . . .”
God, I felt for her. She’d really put herself on the line. Like she really cared about me, and she was willing to take a risk to get closer to me.
Like I mattered.
“Listen, Sharon . . .” I took a breath.
“I’ll be back in ten, okay?”
“Sharon. Please stay.”
She stopped in her tracks.
I had to move on.
“Yes?”
I had to try again to free myself from Inary.
“Alex?”
I owed it to myself. It’d been three years, for fuck’s sake. And she still felt confused.
I’d had enough.
“I’ve been in the mood for Thai food for ages. I don’t suppose you . . . ?” I blurted out.
“Oh . . . I love Thai food,” she replied, a tentative smile on her lips.
“Great. I’ll book somewhere. Should I come and get you at eight?”
“Sure.” She was smiling now. “Sure.”
*
It was a good night. We never ran out of things to talk about, we made each other laugh, and whenever she brushed my fingers with hers – not on purpose, of course, by complete accident – her skin felt soft as silk. There was a candle on the table, and its light made her eyes liquid, like dark honey.
Later, I invited her home and into my living room. On the very spot I’d held Inary, I let Sharon wrap her arms around me. She smelled deep and dark and womanly, like some night-blooming flower. I stood still for a few seconds, and then I took her face in my hands and kissed her.
*
I woke up sated and starving all the same time. She was in a peaceful, undisturbed sleep, her dark hair scattered across my pillow, her arms cradling her head. She looked very young, though I knew she was my age, thirty-one. She looked vulnerable. Spending the night with her had been . . . good. And it hadn’t been enough, somehow.
I stroked her hair and wished with all my heart I could fall in love with her. And I would – once Inary was out of my system.