Bluff, page 4
‘I don’t have time for this,’ her mother muttered, pulling out clothes and putting them next to her on the bed. ‘Don’t think we’re leaving you here, madam.’
Joanie closed her eyes and tried to tame her breath, like a wild horse. Four. She managed two. Seven. She held for two. She made an embarrassing rasp.
Her mother tutted, turning to leave. ‘You’ve got two minutes.’
Joanie clung to the numbers Erin had spoken and her breath started to settle. She gripped the bedspread. She was going to be OK. She wasn’t going to die.
Tinsel jumped up to greet her, purring. Joanie gently stroked the black fur, until her lungs began to regulate themselves.
Her mother and Gary were waiting in the car by the time Joanie was downstairs. Joanie observed them numbly. Her mother seemed to be growing thinner by the week and older than her years. Gary was in his fifties but still had the round-cheeked look of a sulky toddler. Elise, now buckled into her car seat, was waving a board book. Joanie smiled mechanically at her baby sister, as she strapped in next to her. She would move her body from A to B, shutting out any errant feelings, and figure out the rest later.
‘We’re going to be late,’ her mother said. ‘I’ve had enough of your drama.’
Joanie pretended she hadn’t heard.
They were looking forward to her leaving. She could have told them, there and then, about Adam, but there was a strong chance that their reaction would make things worse and she would start crying all over again.
Instead, Joanie fixed her eyes on the passing scenery and let her mind fly up into the trees like a bird. Four, seven, eight, she breathed softly.
Church was a marble lung, decorated with saints and stars. As they entered, she saw Tatey’s mother and his two sisters, kneeling in one of the back pews, their black hair falling over their faces as they bowed their heads in prayer. Tatey hadn’t come back here since he had been in trouble. Most Sundays Joanie’s family were the first to arrive, but today they had to pass the rest of the congregation who were whispering, praying, fiddling with their Order of Mass, as the first notes of the organ started.
‘In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen,’ Father Thomas declared, making the sign of the cross. He was tall and grey, in cream robes. Joanie’s hand moved as if by its own volition, crossing her body in answer. As it did so, she glanced around, hoping to spot Cameron on the other side of the aisle. He should have told her something was going on last night. Had he been annoyed with her about the prank in the library?
When it came time for Joanie to kneel on the embroidered hassock in front of her, a voice inside her head said, Adam, Adam, Adam, like the hammering of her heart. Maybe there was a way to make sense of this. O Lamb of God, the choir sang gently, thou takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us.
During Father Thomas’s homily, about simple acts of compassion, tears started to trickle down Joanie’s face. She couldn’t stop them, didn’t know what was happening. She was simply crying, her palms together, heart pierced by tiny swords. The priest would see her. Wasn’t this sort of the point, though? To feel compassion, sadness, grief, guilt. Her mother shifted uncomfortably in her pew.
Wiping tears away, Joanie croaked through the hymns and performed each ritual as if in a trance. Her mother believed that the more Joanie went to mass, the easier she would lose her anxious habits. It wasn’t entirely untrue. Something about going through each motion, each muscle memory, helped. Genuflecting in the aisle, bowing towards the smoking thurible, taking communion, they were all actions that focused the body and purified the mind. Devotion put an end to suffering.
Later, when Father Thomas said, ‘Let us offer each other a sign of peace,’ Joanie could not see Cameron, just his parents and sister Kirstin, as she turned to shake hands with the people behind her, her eyes darting to each corner of the nave. He must be hungover. Tatey had essentially been banned. Adam and I are done, Joanie texted Cara, half hiding the phone up her sleeve. Feel like shit. He hasn’t even messaged me.
By the end of the service, the tears were still coming. Her mother put an arm round her shoulders to hurry her out of the doorway, where Father Thomas was waiting to greet them. ‘It happens,’ he said, smiling kindly as they passed. ‘It happens.’
Maybe she should become a nun, lock herself away in an abbey and never have to deal with boys again. Normally, after the service, her family went to the church hall, where they would be drinking tea and diluting juice. Instead, to Joanie’s relief, her mother ushered them into the car. They had somewhere special to go today, she said tightly. ‘So cheer up a bit.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Joanie, putting her head into her hands in the back seat next to Elise. No one seemed to notice. What’s up? Cara had texted back, but Joanie couldn’t bring herself to reply. She felt like a small child. Joanie repeated herself, louder, and her mother shrugged, which made her feel worse. This was just a shock. She couldn’t refund her flight. She couldn’t sit next to Adam for eleven hours in a confined space. She couldn’t go to Canada without a job. Surely he didn’t want to be with her either. If he apologized, there was a sliver of possibility that she could board the aeroplane.
As they set off in the car, Joanie picked at the frayed sleeve of her jacket until she felt sick. She watched people coming out of other churches in the town. The streets were busy. Religion had created St Rule and religion still nourished it.
Even university students had somewhere to be on a Sunday morning. Joanie caught a glimpse of them, walking in a crocodile out of the university chapel, in their famous magenta gowns. As was ancient tradition, they were on their way to the cobbled town harbour, to process back and forth along the grey stone arm that stretched out to sea.
Gary pulled up outside Giovanni’s, the family restaurant they always went to on special occasions. He got out without looking at any of them, his lips pouting downwards.
‘Hope you’re feeling better,’ Joanie’s mother said flatly, as her small, bony fingers fiddled with Elise’s car seat. It wasn’t a question. ‘We wanted to take you here as a surprise.’
An awful realization dawned. This was a farewell meal in honour of Joanie’s year in Canada, planned in advance. She should have told her mother what had happened, back at the house. The worst thing she could do was cry again.
They took their seats at a table spread with a red checked tablecloth, while black-and-white photographs of Italian actors stared down at them. The whole place was cluttered with framed newspaper clippings and art-nouveau posters for Campari and mopeds. Joanie examined the menu intently, tapping her fingers on the table. Nothing had changed since the previous time she had been there, or the twenty before that. ‘Order whatever you like,’ Gary said emotionlessly. Her mother looked at him fondly. He meant something cheap to middling.
The truth bubbled up inside Joanie and she felt her mouth go dry. ‘I’ve got to cancel the flight.’
‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’ her mother asked, her hand touching her earring, a small Celtic cross.
‘Adam was with another girl,’ Joanie muttered, looking down at the table. She couldn’t say anything more graphic. Her mother believed Adam had never gone further than to kiss Joanie, let alone anyone else.
‘Was what?’ her mother replied. ‘I thought he dropped you off last night. Are you sure?’
Was she sure? The question stung with a particular kind of parental acid as the sex scene from the previous night flickered in her memory.
Joanie sniffed. ‘Obviously.’
Her mother carried on: ‘I can’t believe he would do that.’
‘So. Yeah.’ Joanie wiped away a tear forcefully. ‘I’m pretty upset. As you can see.’
Gary was staring, heavy-lidded, into the distance, as he did whenever things became heated.
‘That’s knocked me for six,’ her mother continued, looking around the room as if Adam might appear at any moment. ‘He’s such a nice boy. I really can’t believe he would do something like that. You’re so good together. And what about the trip? You have everything ready. Are you sure you can’t—’
‘Mum.’ Joanie glared.
‘OK. No need to take that tone,’ said Gary. A tiny pool of spittle had gathered at one side of his mouth. ‘Your mother’s only trying to help. So, let’s get this straight: you’re saying you’re not going to take the flight with Adam.’ He was no doubt thinking the meal was a waste of money.
‘No. I can’t. Not when he was shagging another girl.’ She wanted to walk out of the restaurant without looking back.
‘Joan. For Heaven’s sake,’ her mother said. ‘Language.’
‘Elise won’t understand me,’ Joanie replied, knowing this wasn’t the point. Her little sister was watching her, a kids’ menu crayon in each hand. She swivelled her head, looking around. The restaurant was filling with other families, here for a Sunday treat. A waiter caught Joanie’s eye from the other side of the room and started to stride towards them. He was a boy from school, in the year below. Joanie didn’t know his name. Had he been at the party? Did he know what had happened to her?
‘Anyway,’ her mother continued, ‘let’s see. You never know.’
Had her mother misheard what she had said? Joanie studied the empty glass on her table. She heard the boy clear his throat behind her left shoulder.
‘Two more minutes, please,’ her mother said briskly, before the waiter could open his mouth. ‘I’d hold off on cancelling anything for now,’ her mother continued. ‘I’m sure it’ll all come out in the wash.’
This reaction was even worse than Joanie had expected. It was true that they liked Adam very much and thought she was ‘difficult’ to live with, but this was ridiculous. A betrayal of the highest order. Adam’s infidelity was too inconvenient to be acknowledged.
‘Mum,’ Joanie said, again, ‘this is real. It’s, like, tomorrow. I’m not going.’
‘Well!’ her mother replied, exasperated. ‘I don’t know what you want us to say! What now, then? What now?’ There was a histrionic note in her voice, almost sarcastic, like she was mocking Joanie.
‘I need to think about it,’ Joanie said. She was starting to zone out.
‘Of course, of course,’ Gary said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. ‘So, on the bright side, this isn’t a goodbye meal after all, eh?’
Joanie smiled weakly. It would have taken a lot for him to say that.
8
Cameron, Christmas Eve 2023
‘Morris!’ It had been a couple of years, but I’d recognize Graham Donaldson’s voice anywhere. Guys from home were the only people who called me by my surname. Tonight it was booming across Altman’s, our favourite pub, like the past ten years hadn’t happened. I saw him now with a large group of people from school, standing in one corner of the dim cellar bar. A Christmas Eve tradition.
‘Donaldson!’ I replied, making the international gesture for ‘I’ll get you a pint.’
Tatey went straight to one of the tables and started joking with a couple of guys, who were sitting with the ease of regulars. I was happy to delay talking to anyone by going to the bar.
On the way over, the streets of St Rule had looked different. There were even more preppy clothing boutiques, decorated with holly. Artisanal gin and Celtic jewellery glistened in the shop windows, framed by baubles. The twinkling Christmas lights had looked bigger and brighter than in years past. Despite my earlier feelings, seeing the town in all its festive glory was a bit like being hugged by a favourite aunt at Christmas. I had missed this place. Altman’s Bar, with its wood-panelled walls, felt as worn and welcoming as an old pair of slippers. Upstairs by the entrance, a girl with an acoustic guitar was playing a folksy rendition of ‘Santa Baby’. Her voice reverberated through the ceiling above us, taking me back to the gigs we used to go to as teenagers.
Not much had changed about the place. Among the dartboards, beer mats and tinsel trod the spectres of our adolescence. As I brought the drinks to the table, I noticed small differences in the faces of my former classmates: a bit of weight gained, some hair lost. I didn’t recognize a couple of the girls at first – they looked so, well, sophisticated now. God, there was Chloë. We had got off together, years ago, at the party at Boar’s Raik. There was awkward kissing. I got sand in my mouth. I remembered waking up early on the Sunday morning at her house and having to sneak out before her family woke up. There had been a bit of explaining to do once my parents had come back from church too.
Chloë and I had gone out for a few months. It had been hard to keep seeing her, once I started a summer job at a pub in Dundee, mostly staying with my aunt and uncle. As the summer came to an end and I packed my bags for uni, I had decided to call it off. Maybe that had been mean, but she hadn’t seemed particularly upset. She had been busy, trying to get experience in media, mostly online magazines.
We had bumped into each other a few times since then, but I never knew what to say to her. I looked at her now. I was pleased to know that her hard work had paid off. She was a journalist and had written for some major newspapers. I can’t say I didn’t keep a look out for her byline. The women she was sitting with exuded the kind of glossy confidence that suggested boardrooms and spin classes. When she looked up, I turned the other way. What did I look like to Chloë and the other girls from my year? Could they tell I was a French teacher? That I had spent the past seven years in London? I probably seemed out of shape. Maybe Chloë had already looked me up too.
‘Bring it in, big man,’ Graham Donaldson said, in his gruff monotone, hugging me and taking a pint out of my hand at the same time. He worked in recruitment now. Or perhaps it was consulting. I had forgotten. He had bulked up, for sure, and his skin had a sun-bed hue. Only he could have come out of the post-pandemic years looking better than before.
Graham told me about the recent golf championship at St Rule and I told him about the journey up. He had a way of talking in which his mouth barely moved. I scanned the room, privately wishing that Joanie would bounce in.
‘So have you and Vanessa set a date yet?’ Graham asked abruptly.
My blood ran cold. ‘Not yet, man, a lot going on,’ I said, scratching my head. It wasn’t a lie, just an omission of the truth, which was easier right now. My tone made it clear I didn’t want to talk about it, but he carried on, asking if we would be getting married in St Rule.
‘Ach, no, I don’t think that’s on the cards,’ I said, running my hand through my hair.
It was vague enough to be true. This wasn’t the place to get into it. I didn’t want to kill the festive buzz.
An American guy in a puffer jacket was talking loudly beside me. ‘The sound in here is diabolical. The acoustics … Hey.’ He caught my eye. ‘Cameron Morris! Long time no see.’
I looked again. His blond hair was short and he had a beard, but he was unmistakably my former classmate and adversary. Adam. ‘Oh, my God. I didn’t recognize you,’ I said.
He laughed his old, generous laugh. ‘Time hasn’t been kind,’ he said. What a douche.
‘That’s not what I meant,’ I replied. He was as good-looking as ever. ‘I haven’t seen you since …’ Since we were eighteen and he was trying to humiliate me at that beach party. I could still see his friends’ faces in the firelight. ‘… school. You sound so American,’ was all I could think to say.
‘Canadian. I work in Vancouver now,’ he said, laughing that laugh, like someone who hunted moose for sport. ‘Software. It’s been a minute.’
It’s been a minute. More like a decade. Did he even remember what a dick he’d been? He didn’t show any sign of it.
I took a gulp of beer. ‘You still see Joanie?’ I asked, trying not to sound too eager. He used to hate us being friends. Then I remembered. He’d got off with some other girl at that beach party. I remembered Joanie running off into the dunes, the soft slopes making her stumble. Maybe I went after her. The image was unclear. Even if Joanie was in town, there would be no way she’d want to come here.
He crossed his bulky arms. ‘No, I don’t see Joanie any more. You?’
He knew I didn’t. I could tell by the way he was looking at me.
‘It’s been a minute,’ I said, and took another gulp of my beer.
‘Right.’ He zipped up his jacket and clapped me on the back, definitively. ‘I’m heading off, but I hope you have a great Christmas.’
‘Same,’ I said. I hoped his Christmas was shit. With a self-important salute to his loyal fans, he made for the staircase and my eyes swivelled around the pub once again.
Tatey was playing darts with some girl. Graham was buying me a pint. It was probably a good thing Joanie hadn’t shown up.
I started to make my way back to the bar when I felt two slim hands on my shoulders. ‘Hey,’ a voice said in my ear.
I turned.
It was someone else. A woman with dark curly hair. Her name was on the tip of my tongue. All I managed to recall was her social-media handle: @BookDragon. Somehow that had replaced her real name in my head. From her posts over the years, I knew that she had lived in Bristol, moved back here, worked in a bookshop and liked wild swimming. Myra? What was I thinking? No sane parent would call their daughter Myra post-1965.
‘I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,’ she said. Her eyes, now that I noticed them, were deep and brown. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, but she didn’t need to. If she wasn’t part of this reunion class, I would have thought she was a few years younger than me.
‘No, no, just catching up,’ I said, trying to sound friendly.
‘About Joanie,’ she replied, giving me a look I couldn’t quite fathom. Had she been eavesdropping?
‘Are you drinking mulled wine?’ I asked.
She looked a little forlorn. ‘I remember you were friends. I haven’t seen Joanie for a long time and …’ she looked around her ‘… it’s actually a little concerning.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked.
‘Well, I—’
