Stating the obvious

In retrospect, the sky was grey. And her clothes were all wrong,
too: bright pink skirt, flimsy Indian shirt, and her leather jacket.
What was she thinking? A baggy jumper, an inconspicuous black,
preferably, would have been more fitting. Andy had brought his bomber
jacket, but that was no source of comfort; she hated that bloody thing.
She sometimes wondered what a well-dressed girl like herself was doing
with such a scruffy, unimaginative dresser. But these were the type of
thoughts she tried to avoid. Usually.
But the sun was shining, and the day promised to be a good one. She had
no reason to suspect that, looking back, she would find she had been
wrong on both counts. She was very excited about the trip: A full day,
and night, away from the misery that had been their life for almost a
year now. And the possibility of change. A permanent move. Of course,
she would have preferred Brighton herself, but Andy had apparently
found the concept amusing.
'Brighton?' he'd laughed. 'Do I look like a poof to you?'
So Swansea it was. Not quite as glamorous, but at least she'd be by the
sea. And that was something. And the pub sounded alright: A good size,
in a nice location near the shops. A lot of potential, the area manager
had said. Of course, it was part of the student chain, to remind her
again of another dream she'd given up for Andy. But who said you needed
a degree to be happy? She certainly didn't believe that crap. No,
Swansea would do.
So that's where they were going.

They finally got on the train over an hour later than planned. Jane had
never been particularly superstitious, but it suddenly occurred to her
that this might be a bad sign. That things had started to go wrong
already. The blue weather seemed to lose some of its brightness.
'Oh for God's sake,' she muttered under her breath, 'stop being so
stupid!'
'What was that, darling?' Andy asked from behind The Sun.
She thought of telling him, letting him reassure her that everything
was going to be alright, but she didn't like her chances. The most he'd
do would be to laugh at her.
'Nothing, babe. Don't worry.'
Relieved, Andy went back to studying Sandra from Surrey, the
18-year-old page three model, who believed that 'Big breasts are a gift
from God.'

They had taken seats opposite each other, on the smoking carriage. In
an attempt to get comfortable and put bad thoughts out of her mind, she
kicked her sandals off, lay back in her seat, and put her feet on
Andy's lap. And then it happened: A simple gesture, that she would
later come to regard as the very last sample of unforced affection.
Andy spread his paper on the table between them, lit a cigarette, and
with his spare hand absent-mindedly started to stroke her feet. She
closed her eyes, and for a long time concentrated on the pure pleasure
distributed by his fingers.

When they reached Bristol, he stopped and looked up at her with some
kind of urgency.
'Jane?'
'What, babe?"
'What are we doing here?'
His tone made her uneasy. She got the feeling that they really
shouldn't have this conversation. Fighting the urge to state the
obvious, she settled for:
'Trying our luck.'
Andy shook his head.
'We have none.'
'We have to stay positive.' she urged. 'There's a good chance you might
get this pub. After all, you've been assistant manager for long enough.
I'm sure the company knows that.'
'Yeah?' he said, sadly. 'But that's not what I meant.'
She knew very well what he meant. His question was 'what are we doing
here together?' but that wasn't something she could deal with at
present. Things hadn't been right between them for a while, but maybe
Swansea would sort that out. If it went well. A new start was all they
needed. Maybe.
For a few minutes, they were both quiet.
'It's all down to circumstance, isn't it? How we met, how we got The
Hayfield, how it all went wrong. How we're on this train.'
She considered this, then realised it was another case of stating the
obvious.
'Of course it is, Andy. Everything's down to circumstance.'
'Yeah but it could have easily been different, you know? We have
absolutely no control over it. If Cliff hadn't fucked up yet again, we
wouldn't be here.'

It was true. Cliff was notorious for fucking up, and they always seemed
to end up on his trail. The first pub he'd taken on, The Marlborough,
had been burnt down. After it was re-opened, Andy had been appointed
assistant manager, and she soon became one of his staff. It was there
that they'd met. A year later, Cliff had been forced to abandon his
second pub, The Hayfield, after upsetting a gang of East End boys, who
threatened to trash the place. Andy and Jane were sent to pick up the
pieces. And now, the Smokin' Dog in Swansea was in need of a new
manager, as Cliff's takings were way below budget, and the company was
none too pleased.
But so what? Cliff's bad luck, or incompetence as a manager, had
nothing to do with them. She took a deep breath, and tried to sound
cheerful.
'Yes babe, and a couple more what ifs down the line, and we might never
have met. But we did and we're here, so I don't see what the problem
is.'
But Andy wasn't convinced.
'It's all wrong,' he said, simply.
It was all wrong. The time, the place, her clothes. The colour of the
sky. The relationship, and the fact that they knew it, but still went
through with this trip. With pretending that to move from London to
Swansea would make everything right again. Of course it's all wrong you
fucking idiot, she thought, but we don't have to talk about it. What's
the point? There's nothing we can do. But lie:
'It doesn't have to be. We can make it work.'
She reached over the table and held his hand. It seemed
appropriate.
'I'll tell you what: We'll be in Swansea soon. We'll get off this
train, and it will be sunny and beautiful, and we'll love the pub, and
everything will be fine. From now on, everything will be
perfect.'
Andy managed a smile.
'Yes,' he said. 'Perfect.'
She wasn't being superstitious when she prayed for the clouds to stay
away. Just desperate.

In retrospect, the sky was grey from the beginning. She should have
worn a jumper. Or stayed at home. If she hadn't tempted her luck by
wearing a skirt, it might have been OK. Dry, at least.
But as they walked out of the darkness of the station and into the
darkness of the streets, Swansea greeted them with rain.
They refrained from stating the obvious for another 6 months, but at
that moment, they both knew it was over.