Who Do You Think You Are?. Claire Moss
Coalface of My Life” must be worth at least five-hundred quid. I might even net a couple of hundred for “Divorced and Orphaned in the Same Week”.’
He smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘So, you told me what happened with your mum and dad. And … you did say you’d tell me what happened with your husband too if I wanted you to.’
Oh shit. ‘Do you want me to?’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Very, very much. You’re starting to intrigue me here, Tash. I’d like to know more about you and, don’t worry, there’s not much you could say that would make me like you any less.’
That’s what you think. ‘I slept with his best mate.’ He was being so charming, so heart-tremblingly intense and interested and perfect. I wanted to put a stop to it now, before it went any further. And telling the truth seemed a pretty effective way of doing that.
There was a second or two when his face was fixed, unreadable, then I could see him begin to shut down and withdraw. So quickly and with just a few monosyllabic words, I had drained all the warmth from him.
‘So,’ I shrugged, determined to brazen it out. I would scare him off if it killed me. ‘There you have it. Pretty good grounds for divorce, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Well,’ he said slowly, as though he was trying to buy time in which to find the right words. ‘I suppose that depends on what exactly happened.’ There was a moment’s silence, the classic interview technique of trying to get your subject to give away more of themselves than they intended. ‘But, no,’ he continued. ‘Don’t tell me if you don’t want to. Jesus, we’ve only just met, I’m pretty sure none of this is any of my business.’
I swilled the wine around my glass, watching it slop about, the dregs sticking to the sides of the thick, artisan glass. Suddenly every part of me ached with fatigue. The blood travelling through my body felt slow and sticky, the breath in my lungs was heavy and cloudy. My skin ached with the effort of holding my body together. What the hell was I doing here, in this calm, homely bar with this sweet, handsome man? Why was I allowing myself to do things like this, to come to nice places, to meet nice people? I wasn’t supposed to like it here, I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it, I wasn’t supposed to be happy. Soon I would be back in London, soon Tim would be home and I had to be back there so that he knew where to find me. I was going back soon, that was the plan. I would go back to the place where I truly belonged and stop living out somebody else’s life in this slow, provincial nowhere that I kept on telling myself was no longer home.
I sighed heavily, too tired to stop myself. ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I probably shouldn’t tell you. Not because it’s none of your business, but because I don’t have many friends up here and I can’t afford to lose any potential ones.’ I forced a smile. ‘I’m probably going to be stuck living here for a little longer while I sort out all of Mum and Dad’s estate. I don’t want to alienate you by going into the details of what a heartless bitch I really am.’
The tone I had been aiming for was light-hearted and self-deprecating, but I think what came out was probably more world-weary and self-hating. He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then smiled. ‘I know we haven’t known each other long, and despite what you say, I know none of this is any of my business, but you don’t seem like a heartless bitch to me. If what you say is really how it happened, then I’m sure you had your reasons.’
Did I? I wondered. Did I have my reasons? I had excuses, if that counted. And yes, maybe I had made things sound a little bit worse than they really had been. But let’s face it, what I had done was bad enough. Ed deserved to know that I was not the kind of woman he deserved.
I smiled at Ed now, determined to draw this part of the conversation to a close. I was so tired of it all: tired of thinking about it, tired of talking about it, tired of the person it had made me into. ‘Well, maybe I had reasons. I’m sure I did. I’m just not sure if they were good enough reasons.’
‘So,’ he said, attempting to make his tone light-hearted, ‘I guess things with your husband are definitely…’
He was asking what my circumstances were, I realised. Was I still hung up on Stephen? Was Stephen still hung up on me? Was there untold unfinished business and dirty laundry just waiting to be aired, were he to make the mistake of getting involved?
I shook my head. ‘It’s over.’ I laughed, humourlessly. ‘Well, you can’t blame him, can you? Forgiveness would be rather a lot to ask after that, wouldn’t you say? Even from someone like Stephen.’
‘He’s a good guy then?’
I nodded. ‘Yeah, he’s a good guy. I should never have married him.’ I shook my head. It really was time to change the subject. Maybe I was trying to be upfront with Ed so that he knew that I wasn’t interested in any romantic funny business with him, but I was worried that I was in danger of coming across as one of those people who wallow constantly in self-pity as a way of mining compliments from the other person. ‘So anyway, we’ve established that neither of us wants to talk about my horrendous personal life. Now let’s try yours. Why didn’t you tell me you were Peter Milton’s brother?’
‘It’s Pete,’ he said, unsmiling. ‘Everyone called him Pete. The only ones who didn’t were Mum and Dad.’ ‘And they’re both gone now’, remained unspoken.
‘OK, then why didn’t you tell me you were Pete Milton’s brother?’
‘So you would take me seriously,’ he said. I rolled my eyes at him, even though I knew that if he had come to my desk with this query and told me it was about a member of his family I would have filed him with Dolly’s Who Do You Think You Are? nuts and hardly given him the time of day. ‘And also – ’ he spread his hands ‘ – I’m not ashamed of who I am, I’m not. Or where I come from. And I hate to admit it, but – I didn’t want you to know that I was from Oldfield, or that my family were miners, or that my brother was that guy who went missing among all sorts of dirty rumours.’ I opened my mouth to protest. ‘Remember,’ he said, gently mocking, ‘you are very London.’
I faked a frown. ‘I am not London, we’ve been through this. I grew up here too. I remember the strike, I remember what went on.’
‘Yes, sure, but – well, what did your mum and dad do?’
That past tense never failed to sting. I would never get used to it. ‘They were teachers. Then when they retired they bought a shop – do you know Apple Tree Books? The one with the café?’ He nodded. ‘That was theirs. But – ’ I could see him about to say something else ‘ – I know what you’re thinking, what does this middle class girl know about being from a pit community? And I don’t know anything really, you’re right. But I think I might understand a bit. Mum and Dad – Mum especially – they got really involved during the strike. They even went down to the picket lines a few times. And they were heavily into the welfare side of it. They used to bring food, cook food, donate clothes and stuff. Not in a Lady Bountiful kind of way, just – she cared, she wanted to help, she thought it was the right thing to do. Believe me, I couldn’t care less where you’re from.’
His eyes narrowed affectionately and the whole of the middle of my body felt warm once that smile hit his lips. ‘I can tell that now,’ he said, smiling, and my stomach heaved with something close to pleasure.
Tash finished her glass of wine and went to the toilet while she waited for the next one, allowing me time to mull things over. It was going well, I decided. All this intimacy and soul baring, this sharing of our pasts, was, in my experience, a good sign on a second date. These were dates weren’t they? Were they?
Later I walked her to the taxi rank and when a taxi arrived and I ushered her into it I thought about kissing her goodnight – you know, properly, on the lips and everything – but it seemed I must have thought about it for