7

MARA

Eventually I gave up waiting for Ed to return and set out for the supermarket. I was trying very hard not to feel hurt and failing miserably.

‘I don’t want to sponge off you, Mars, and I’d rather see him in person to see if he has any shifts,’ he’d said.

Of course Ed was right. Max was his best friend and had been his main source of income for the past couple of years, so why shouldn’t he see him today? It wasn’t fair on Max for me to feel jealous. Ed was damn lucky to have him in his life. He could ask Max for any shifts on his coffee cart when he needed them, fitting his photography in around it. We could spend time together another day.

My brother the photographer! I felt a flutter of excitement every time I said that to myself. I loved that he was following his dream, even though it meant pulling coffees just to get by when we both had turning thirty just around the corner. Yes, I worried about how he would survive when he was old. Would he have enough of a pension to live comfortably? Maybe. Maybe not. Did it matter? Wasn’t it more important that he was doing what felt right today? Puff puff went my breath as I strode out, and I pushed those thoughts out with it. Photography was Ed’s gift. Of course he was doing the right thing.

Before he went to India, he’d become more and more interested in documentary photography, spending hours and hours in one area of London at a time, shooting people going about their everyday business. Maybe he’d invite me along to do that soon. I don’t know how he did it – the idea of taking photos of strangers made my blood run cold but I loved watching him. People didn’t seem to notice him, and if they did, he just chatted as if he’d known them forever, his lovely smile illuminating his face. Sometimes it felt like he got all the social skills that were being dished out to us in the womb, leaving me with nothing.

I was halfway across the park. The sun was actually managing to brighten the wintery yellow grass. My cheeks were cold but I was snug inside my duffle coat and couldn’t help but feel lighter as I walked along. Sainsbury’s wasn’t far away, and I never tired of the simple pleasure of being able to walk there and back with my shopping bags. I’d always been partial to a bit of efficiency. Sam teased me, but she just didn’t understand the pleasure of something working. Walking to the supermarket with a couple of jute bags – and walking back – worked. She didn’t even do the shopping most of the time, which was no bad thing really. Left up to Sam, she would – admittedly warm-heartedly – march off to the supermarket for supper and come home with Jaffa Cakes, Gorgonzola and crisps, when what I really would have liked was a nice piece of haddock. I ran over my list again: ham for sandwiches, rice, milk, mustard and chocolate. There was something else. Oh yes, razors for Sam. Some things never changed.

Sam. God only knows who she was flitting off to meet this time. He’d be one of two varieties:

 

1. The Handsome Rogue: funny and charming, usually swept Sam off her feet, spent a lot of time in bed with her, she wanted him to meet her friends and family (which he avoided), allergic to commitment, invariably broke it off with her within a few weeks.

2. The Handsome Better-off-as-a-Friend: sometimes younger than Sam, funny and kind-hearted, she swept him off his feet, he spent a lot of time in bed with her, wanted to spend time with me and meet Sam’s family (which she avoided), fell in love with her, but Sam broke it off with him within a few weeks, saying they would be better off as friends.

 

I’d been watching Sam hurtle between the two varieties like a thoughtless pinball for years; bouncing from one or two handsome rogues in a row into the arms of a better-off-as-a-friend, then back to another rogue. She knew the rogues were no good for her so, bless her, she tried to be with a good man, but she was never attracted to the better-off-as-friends. So surprise surprise, she then fell for the next rogue that crossed her path because he was exciting. Round and round the same old circuit. It was deeply tedious.

And the blame for this cycle I placed fair and square on the palatial doorstep of Charlie Hugh-Barrington, Sam’s first – and as far as I could make out only – love. The inaugural handsome rogue. I would have loved to take him down a peg or two. The guy sounded like a complete and utter rake. Thank goodness Sam wasn’t in touch with him. He was the last thing she needed in her life.

I crossed the road. Not far now. My mind flipped back to Ed again. Specifically Ed and Sam. With Sam’s chequered history, a series of pointless and inevitably flawed dalliances, I had always been clear that he mustn’t go anywhere near Sam romantically. It was obvious which category he fell into, and the last thing I wanted was to be comforting him as he licked his wounds. I would be so cross with Sam too, so flipping cross it made my stomach churn just thinking about the possibility. It would wreck everything.

I had hoped that India would get Sam out of Ed’s system. He’d never spoken to me about it but it was obvious how he felt. He’d always lit up when she was around, and the year before he went away he might as well have had his tongue hanging out he was so besotted. But for lots of reasons we’d never quite got around to discussing it. Mainly because I didn’t want to make it any more real than it was. Amazingly Sam hadn’t noticed. So far. But he’d returned from India still daft about her. Daft about her, and more determined. Or something. I couldn’t figure out what exactly. There was an urgency to Ed that concerned me. He felt . . . complicated. And there was still the mystery of why he was completely out of touch for the last two months of his trip, save the odd email to let me know he was still alive. I should have been able to feel how he was, even long distance. But this time I couldn’t feel a thing.

The supermarket was quiet. Ham first, then the condiment aisle. There it was. I reached up for some mustard. A couple next to me were discussing what sauces were missing from their cupboard. Neither of them could remember what they needed. They were pale, half awake and completely at ease with each other.

‘I don’t know, some horseradish, let’s try that,’ the man yawned.

‘OK.’ The woman sounded doubtful but was reaching for the shelf. ‘Why not?’

Why not? Why not? I know I needed a bit more ‘why not’. I’d kept myself carefully packaged up, safe and sealed from another relationship since Mark. I caught the man’s eye. He smiled in a friendly, relaxed way, no agenda. Just a ‘hello stranger, I’m wandering round the supermarket on a Saturday evening’ kind of way. No hint of darkness below. No hint of Markness. I lowered my eyes and walked down the aisle towards the bread. Yes, there are nice men out there, Mara, but you can’t trust them. It was always the same old voices, the same old battle inside. Stop it! This was dangerous territory, worrying about myself. Focus. I would go home and make a nice supper, and have a chat with Ed, try to find out what was going on with him in India and why he was home now, so much earlier than expected.