First Person 3

Later on, when my children are in bed I go back to the article, and my memories again – it’s more comfortable than the present, which is a little chaotic what with one thing and another. I will get on top of things; It’s not that I’m giving up, just taking a little bit of time when I don’t have to think about it. It’s fascinating that I can remember so much too. I thought I’d lost most of it, but if I dig deep enough – it’s just like photographs, or a scene from a film, playing in my head.

“Statistically, the children of addicts are much more likely to grow up to become addicts themselves”. Is he hinting that he was an alcoholic too? Or does he mean the smack? I hope he’s ok now.

Outside The Horse and Groom on Heath Street. Matt must be twenty-three by now, and I am three years younger. I haven’t seen him for a while. Just once – a year or so before, I escaped with him on a whim, clinging onto the back of his jacket as we sped off on his bike, laughing all the way to Kentish Town. Then we went our separate ways.

I’m finally feeling more comfortable in my skin - I don’t hate myself quite so much – not now I have two best friends who are always there for me, no matter what. So long as they’re in my life, it’s ok. Joel and T. are worth far more than boyfriends – I am giving relationships a miss for a while.

We’re outside the pub, and it’s the only one in Hampstead we’ve never been into before. We’re laughing about that – Joel is saying it must be because they can’t make proper tequila sunrises. T is pulling his collar up, and he only ever does that when he’s nervous.

I’m nervous too, and not looking forward to this evening. It has nothing to do with meeting her - Matt’s girlfriend. Not because she’s prettier than me. I’m not jealous. We’ve only met once; we glared at one another briefly and that was it. It’s just that I don’t think I should be here at all. We’ve come because Adam says Matt would really like us to – he was quite insistent – so Joe said yes, because he thought it was important. Joe is the kindest person I know.

It feels awkward as we walk in – like going to a funeral or something, and it is a little bit like that I suppose, because Matt’s girlfriend is going to have an abortion in the morning – that’s why we’re all here, why we’ve been asked. They don’t see other people much anymore – they’re both heroin addicts, and Adam says their relationship is pretty rocky. I wonder if that means he hits her too.

I can see why they didn’t want to stay at home the night before – this is a good way of avoiding things – going out, being with other people. It worries me though, that I might make it worse, being there. If I were her, I think I would have put my foot down about me, but maybe she doesn’t care. I don’t like myself for feeling so critical. She has my sympathy – god I am so glad I’ve never been pregnant – it would be awful to have to have an abortion – I am not sure if I could,

It’s so hard not to stare at them, but I try all the same.They’re both very pale; Matt is so thin – and they have shadows under their eyes – dark, like bruises. You can see a muscle moving in the side of Matt’s face. She stares at the table mostly, scowling. She doesn’t seem to notice we’re there.
It’s wrong to notice what she’s wearing, the fact that she’s taller than me.

Adam gets up smiling, and moves some bike helmets to make space for us. We sit down, and take off our coats with relief. It’s very hot in here after the chill of outside. He looks pleased to see us, but anxious, and I notice that his arm hangs in a strange way. It’s been years since he came off his bike and injured it – it must be permanent. He is the same age as me, but he already has lines around his eyes.

After the greetings, there’s an awkward silence. T. clears his throat, and Adam picks up his beer to drink from it. Joel asks Adam about his arm, and then they start talking about football. We all try to join in, except for her – she doesn’t look up and doesn’t say a word.

Half-hidden under the table, so most people can’t see, I notice Matt taking hold of her hand pulling it onto his lap, protectively, tenderly. Then he looks at us, and makes a joke about Margaret Thatcher. The eyebrow goes up, and the skin around his mouth stretches as if he’s trying to smile. We all laugh politely, except for her – she carries on staring at the table, but she hasn’t pulled her hand away from his.

We leave as soon as we can without it looking too bad, and as we head out into the chilly night air, T kicks a can noisily across the pavement at Joel, and he kicks it back. Halfway down Frognal, they tell me that there’s a plan for us to spend the summer on the Mediterranean, at Joe’s house, and I spend the rest of the walk smiling because I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.

The article ends, and I put down the newspaper and get myself a beer from the fridge. There’s a lump in my throat that won’t go away. I wonder if Matt felt better, after writing it all down like that. I’ve seen his name down the years, as a byline in all the newspapers and magazines he’s worked for, but they were just stories – nothing personal.

I turn on the dishwasher and look around, at my kitchen, in the country, far away from London, wishing I were back there, before it all got fucked up. I hope Matt’s found somewhere he wants to be, somewhere he’s happy. Then, turning off the lights, and locking the door, I go upstairs, crying as quietly as I can