I look up at the sky, cerulean blue and cloudless, and feel the heat of the sun on my face. It could be the middle of August, instead of May. A little practical voice pops up in my head, and points out that I should probably be wearing sunscreen. I stop for a second and rummage in my bag – I’m sure there’s some in there somewhere.
‘It’s better in May, before the summer holiday tourists appear,’ Alex says. We’re in Regent’s Park near the zoo. We haven’t been out for a walk for a while, or really out together at all since the Marathon; I’ve been flat out with work, and Alex has started a placement in the geriatric ward. He’s been doing nights, which seems to be when they all die, grimly enough, so I’m cautious about asking how it’s going because every tale seems to start with ‘we lost another one last night …’ I don’t know how he does it and stays cheerful. It’s weird. I can’t imagine what would make anyone want to be a nurse, but I’m very glad that whatever it is makes people do it.
‘I’m so tired I could sleep for a week,’ says Alex.
‘We can lie on the grass for a bit. We don’t have to walk ten miles a day if you don’t want to.’
He stops and looks at the grass. Newly mown, it looks quite tempting.
‘Just for a bit?’
‘Just for a bit,’ I agree.
We lie down on the grass, side by side, and look up at the sky.
‘When I was little I used to lie on the beach with my grandpa and spot shapes in the clouds,’ I said. I’d forgotten that until now, looking up at a vaguely snowman-shaped cloud, hovering above us.
‘Do you want to build a snowman …’ sings Alex.
‘You’ve spent too much time doing agency work on the kids’ ward.’
‘Tell me about it. I reckon I know the entire plot of Frozen inside out.’
‘Does it even have a plot?’ I ask.
He turns his head to look at me. ‘Have a plot? I’ll have you know there are academics right now arguing the toss over whether Frozen is a feminist tract or if it’s inherently problematic because of its depiction of the trolls.’
‘Seriously?’
He nods. ‘Seriously.’
‘I think I need to watch it and find out.’
‘Deal.’ He turns his head and looks back up at the sky. The air is heavy with the scent of candyfloss machines, bitter coffee, and the faint waft of something distinctly animal-ish from the zoo.
‘Roaaaar!’
Something flies past our heads and I roll over onto my side just as Alex does, so we are looking straight at each other. His eyebrows gather in a frown, but he’s laughing. He rolls over, and pushes himself up to standing.
‘What the hell was that?’ I scramble up, brushing newly cut grass off my legs.
‘Low-flying zoo escapee?’ he asks.
I point across the park. ‘I think I’ve found the culprit.’
A small child is holding on to a remote control, trying inexpertly to fly a tiny plane, and making sound effects at the same time.
‘Timmy, don’t fly that so close to the people,’ his mother shrieks as she runs toward him, grabbing the remote control, but it’s too late. The plane, which zipped over our heads a second ago, has crashed straight into the newspaper an elderly and grumpy-looking man is reading, while sitting in a striped deckchair. He shuffles the paper and looks at us all over his glasses. Both Alex and I turn away, trying not to giggle.
‘Let’s get out of here before we get into trouble,’ Alex says.
We walk along the edge of the zoo fence, looking up at the netting that hangs over the high rails, keeping us out and the animals in.
A giraffe peers over the fence at us, chewing thoughtfully.
‘Oh look,’ I point to her.
Alex looks up, shading his eyes. ‘Hello, gorgeous.’
‘She’s lovely, isn’t she?’
‘Might be a he. I don’t know how you tell with giraffes.’
‘Sorry. Hello, gorgeous giraffe of indeterminate gender,’ I say, laughing. Alex has his hands in the pockets of his jeans, and he gives me a gentle nudge with his shoulder.
‘Fancy an ice cream?’ he asks.
‘God, yes.’
He points to the stall on the other side of the park. ‘Race you.’
‘What are you, five years old?’ I ask, but he’s already gone. I get there ages after him, realising as I stand with my hands on my knees and my lungs feeling like they’re on fire that maybe it’s time I got some proper exercise.
‘Sorry,’ Alex says, from above where I’m bent over. I take a breath in and unfurl myself, standing up to look him in the eye. He hands me an ice cream, swirled with raspberry sauce and covered in rainbow sprinkles.
‘For this—’ I take it from him and lick a trail of ice cream that’s dripping down the side of the cone ‘—I will forgive you. This time.’
‘How’s your friend Gen getting on with her property guardian thing?’
‘Oh—’ I look up. He remembers so much detail. Alex pays attention to little things, I’ve noticed. He’s the only one in the house who remembers how everyone takes their tea and coffee and doesn’t have to ask. It’s nice. ‘I forgot I told you about that. She’s fine, I think. A glitter ball in the bedroom is very much her style.’
‘I wanted to ask your advice about something,’ Alex says, as we start walking again. I look at him sideways. He’s biting the edge of his ice cream cone, frowning in concentration as he twirls it round. I’ve never seen anyone eat an ice cream like that.
‘Go on.’ I scuff my toe on the gravel of the path. A flock of tourists fly past us on Boris Bikes, shrieking with laughter, and we jump out of the way.
‘It’s about Emma.’
Oh.
No.
My ice cream becomes very interesting and I look at it intently, hoping that I haven’t gone red in the face. Alex stops, turning to look at me. I try to put it off, but I have to look him in the eye and I swallow as I do so. ‘Emma?’ I say, breezily. ‘What about her?’
‘Well, the thing is …’ He tails off, biting his thumbnail and gazing into the middle distance, back towards the zoo animals. I see the tall shape of the giraffe reaching up to take a mouthful of leaves from one of the trees. A plane flies past, with an advert hanging from the back of it, old-fashioned style. Bees are humming, and children are shrieking, and gravel is scrunching, and I’m waiting for him to say something, and then it all comes out in a jumble of words.
‘I don’t know if you know …’ He pushes a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t want it to be awkward.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say, airily. ‘I mean, I think everyone must have some idea, so it’s not going to be a major deal. And I’m sure you’ll be very happy. You make a nice couple.’ I think I’ve done quite a good job of that. Might be better to stop talking now, mind you. I press my lips together before any more words escape.
He runs a hand through his hair again, making it stand on end. I half want to laugh, but I also want to burst into tears and shout it’s not fair like a child and run away. I like him, and he likes me, and we get on and make each other laugh and I’ve never seen him and Emma laughing together, and why does it have to be the case that I’m always the—
‘We’re not together,’ he says firmly. ‘And I don’t want us to be. That’s the problem.’
‘Ohhh.’ I raise my eyebrows, trying to look sage, and knowledgeable, and definitely not relieved. I’m not sure how well I manage it.
‘Thing is, she mentioned something about me on the phone to a friend the other week and I – God I feel really awkward saying this. I’m not being a massive ego on legs. I just got the feeling that she’s wanting more than …’
He screws up his face and goes a bit pink in the cheeks, then bites his lip, waiting for me to say something.
‘Oh, but Emma’s lovely,’ I say, magnanimously. I can afford to be nice now. God, am I a bitch? I make a mental note to ask Gen and Sophie if they think I am.
‘She is. I don’t want to screw things up,’ Alex says.
‘God, no.’ I think of Albany Road and try to imagine someone else moving into Alex’s room. We’ve all become accustomed to each other, and anyway, I don’t want Alex moving anywhere. Not if his relationship with Emma’s definitely off the cards.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just explain to her you don’t want to be caught up in anything serious just now, or something like that.’
He looks serious then for a moment. ‘We had that conversation at the start. It was her idea, actually. Maybe I need to make sure she realises it now. I think it’s time to just knock it on the head.’
‘Yes,’ I say. We start strolling along beside the lake, watching the swans and the ducks swimming along, enjoying the sunshine.
Ooh, I think, maybe this means there’s a chance after all. Not now, of course. But this was already the start of a beautiful friendship … maybe it could lead to something more.
But then Alex drops the bombshell, and I remember that being a daydreaming romantic doesn’t mean the world’s going to fall into place just to suit me.
‘Thing is,’ Alex says, thoughtfully, ‘I’m just not ready to be in a relationship with anyone.’ He sighs. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I got a reminder email the other day about my upcoming wedding.’
I open my mouth and shut it again. I’m not sure what the correct response to that is.
I go with ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, don’t be,’ he says, turning to look at me and smiling so his lovely crinkly eyes twinkle in a way that makes my knees go a bit funny. ‘I mean it was clearly not meant to be with me and Alice. She wanted the whole package. House, money, lawyer husband, kids …’
‘She could have had the almost-package,’ I point out.
‘Alice wasn’t really an almost sort of person. She’s a bit like your Sophie.’
‘Ah,’ I say. It all falls into place a bit then, and I think that maybe it’s time I got a grip and recognised that neither Alice nor Emma were anything like me, and therefore I am very definitely not Alex’s type, and that I should move on, in a very grown-up and sensible manner. To hide my face, I pull out my phone and take a photograph of two swans resting by a bush, their long necks intertwined. Even they’re paired off, I think, crossly.
Later I meet Sophie for an emergency dinner summit. I’m all ready to dump all my feelings of angst and woe on her, but as soon as I walk into the pasta restaurant we love, I see her sitting at the table with her chin in her hand, looking glum.
‘You okay?’ I shove my bag under the table and look at her intently.
She nods. She’s got her pale blonde hair tied up in a sleek ponytail, and her clothes and make-up are immaculate, as always. If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t have a clue anything was wrong. But I could see that something was troubling her.
‘It’s not Rich, is it?’
She shakes her head. A waiter appears and asks what we want to drink.
‘I’ll have a glass of the Montepulciano d’Abruzzo,’ I say, handing him back the menu.
‘Lemonade, please,’ says Soph.
I raise my eyebrows.
‘That’s what’s wrong.’ Sophie gives a gusty sigh. ‘I’m doing all the right things. I even did that bloody headstand again in bed last month after we had sex, because I read a thing on Mumsnet that said it can help you get pregnant.’
‘Oh my God. You’re not?’ I pick up the wrong end of the stick completely. ‘Is that why you’re drinking lemonade?’
Sophie pleats the tablecloth with her fingers and looks at me. For a moment, her habitual cool and measured manner are replaced with an expression of genuine concern.
‘You know, I just thought maybe it’d save time if I got pregnant now, and we’d be married in autumn, and then I could take maternity leave in the next tax year.’
I realise my mistake and blush. She’s not pregnant after all. ‘Oh my God Soph, you can’t organise your life like that. Babies don’t just come on demand … I don’t think.’
‘It’s not organising,’ she says, sounding slightly cross. ‘It’s more like multi-tasking.’
The waiter reappears with our drinks, and she sticks a paper straw in hers, sucking it gloomily. ‘It’s the first thing in my life that hasn’t been under my control.’
God, I think about my chaotic life. The weeks between one payday and the next. The fact I’m utterly besotted with a man who thinks I’m well and truly in the friend zone. The fact that it’s been ages since I saw my mother who was last sighted stacking essential oil equipment on the kitchen table and announcing that it was going to make her a fortune, and that I’m living in a subsidised house-share and if Becky decided to pull the rug out from under me I’d be screwed. ‘I don’t think I have anything in my life that is under my control.’
Sophie smiles ruefully at this. ‘I suppose I should get a grip and stop complaining, really, shouldn’t I?’
I shake my head. ‘It’s not that easy, though, is it?’ I say. ‘It’s weird. Remember when we were little kids, and we thought being grown up meant having all the answers? Now we’re almost thirty, and I feel like I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.’
‘Me neither,’ says Sophie. She pushes back her chair. ‘I must just run to the loo. If he comes while I’m gone, tell him I want the carbonara with some green salad on the side. No dressing.’
I watch her making her way across the room. With her long ponytail of blonde hair, height and long, long legs, she’s always attracted attention. The waiter watches her with unashamed admiration before coming over to our table when I meet his eye.
‘Your friend, she is very beautiful lady.’
I agree.
Very beautiful, and a slightly painful, jab-in-the-ribs reminder of just how far I have to go in my life to start to feel like a fully functioning adult. How many years will it be before I even begin thinking about having a baby? I try to imagine it – I haven’t even really given it much thought, and yet I am turning thirty this year. God, if I had a baby at, say, thirty-seven – I start doing sums in my head, and rapidly extend them to my fingers – I’d be fifty-seven by the time it turned twenty. That sounded like a lifetime away.
I think when Gen and Soph and I were young, we’d all been quite certain that by this age we’d all be settled and happy. Domestic bliss felt like a lifetime away for me. I guess that’s what happens when you start all over again at the age of almost thirty.