The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 16

‘Thanks for coming to pick me up.’

As luck would have it, as soon as I figured out where I was, I also figured out that Sara’s house was a mere ten-minute drive from where I broke down. I could have gone home, but this seemed like a great silver lining to a dark cloud of a day. She picked me up just after the mechanic confirmed that it was indeed my engine light that was showing, and not, as suspected, an issue with the helicopter.

‘Are you kidding? It’s nice to have a reason to leave the house. And also order in take-out. You’re staying for dinner, right?’

I have no other plans, so, ‘Yes, I would love that.’

‘Great, and I’ve just had a wine delivery, so we can try one of the new bottles!’

Sara considers herself to be an extremely cautious driver, increasingly so with age. But I hate driving with her. It petrifies me. So far at least three other drivers have honked at us out of frustration.

‘Nick’s at home. I hope that’s OK.’

‘Of course. I haven’t seen him for ages.’ I rarely see Nick as he’s often away with work during the week, and I never suggest meeting up with Sara at the weekend; I see weekend time as sacred family time.

‘He’s driving me a bit nuts if I’m honest. He keeps banging on about this person at work. Sam. Didn’t realize until last week that Sam is a girl. I know I should be OK with it, and deep, deep down I am OK with it. But I am also not OK with it. I worry that he is not just banging on about her, but just plain banging her.’

‘He wouldn’t.’

‘He might.’

‘Not Nick.’

She slows to a near glacial pace and turns the corner on to her street.

‘No. I know he wouldn’t. He’s far too loyal and kind.’ It’s a compliment but the way she said it made it sound like a criticism. Yet another car honks at us. I wonder if it’s illegal to drive this slowly. It can’t be safe. She carries on regardless. ‘What were you doing over here anyway?’

‘I met up with Chris.’

She looks at me, turning with her hands too, only narrowly avoiding a car parked on the side of the road.

‘Shit.’ Her eyes go back to the road. ‘How? What? Why?’

A benefit of talking to people in the car is that you can avoid eye contact really easily and it feels like a safe space. It isn’t really, but it feels like it. I imagine this is why so many people pick their nose in the car.

‘I met up with him the other night—’

‘What?! You’ve met up with him twice since I last saw you? Why?’

‘If you let me speak, I will explain.’

Sara’s knuckles are white on the wheel, but she is quiet.

‘I met up with him the other night to talk about his cake.’ I can see her roll her eyes at me. ‘Yes, I realize that this is a poor excuse. And no, I will not deny that a part of me was interested in talking about more than just cake.’ We pull into her driveway. ‘And yes, this makes me a horrible person.’

‘I didn’t say that. It makes you human.’ She puts the handbrake on and takes off her seat belt, but she doesn’t move to get out the car. Instead she turns to me. ‘But he is getting married. To someone else.’

I nod. ‘Trust me, I know. I keep bringing this up myself.’

She exhales before asking, ‘So, what happened today? Apart from your car breaking down.’

I look away from her prying eyes. ‘I don’t know. It’s kinda like—’

Movement distracts me from the corner of my eye – Nick is there, one kid, Henry, in his arms. He looks harried – Nick, not Henry. Henry looks suspiciously pleased with himself. Sara holds up her hand. ‘One minute. We need a minute.’

I don’t know if he can hear her, but he can definitely understand her. He nods and goes back inside. I feel bad taking her away from her children, her family. Her busy life raising actual humans.

But Sara doesn’t seem to mind. She gestures at me. ‘Go on, you were saying …’

‘I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know if I still have feelings for him, or if I just worry that I still have feelings for him. Either way, it’s hard not to get sucked in sometimes, whether I do still have feelings for him or not.’ I pick at some non-existent lint on my knee. ‘And the thing is, he doesn’t seem like such a dick any more.’ He told me that I’m beautiful and it affected me more than I would like to admit. I always worried that he found other people more attractive than me. He never acted on it, I don’t think, but his eyes would wander. I exhale. They didn’t wander today. ‘I worry that I should’ve stuck things out with him a little longer. That if I had, my life, our life together, would’ve been so different.’ Maybe we would be getting married instead. Maybe he was just a little young. Maybe I was too. I look at her. ‘Did I tell you that he ran the London Marathon for Cancer Research UK?’

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes. ‘No. You did not tell me this.’

I look out the window. ‘Yeah, well he did.’ I can see Sara from the corner of my eye. ‘And if I think things through rationally, I’m fine. Chris is getting married to someone else, and I know that all my reasons for breaking up with him were very valid. At the time. For the situation we were in.’ Sara nods even more vigorously. ‘But then, I wonder if he was my only chance and I blew it. And the fact he’s grown up and is now getting married would suggest that it really was me that made our relationship unworkable, not him.’ I keep telling people that I’m not a relationship person, maybe it’s actually true.

And running alongside all of this, like an unshakable sense of anxiety, is an extra layer of guilt, of totally illogical, unworkable guilt, connected to Noah. I’ve tried to squash the image of his face, but have so far been unsuccessful. I knew I should have stayed away when he was ill, and I definitely should have left his apartment when Iwas ill. Because if you don’t leave, this is what happens, irrational and unworkable attachment. Attachment that I am sure I would totally fuck up if given the chance.

I don’t know when she stopped, but Sara is no longer nodding.

At this point, the front door opens again, and Nick appears. He is now topless, Henry still in his arms, but both are now covered in sauce. Sara makes a very frustrated noise.

‘Those fucking kids are ruining my life. They have made my life, but they are also bloody ruining it. And they have sapped me of my sex drive.’ Nick runs back into the house, leaving the door wide open like an insistent invitation for tea from a weird neighbour that you just can’t turn down. The kind that comes with homemade baked goods that you really don’t want to eat. ‘We’d better head in.’ She opens her car door. ‘I apologize in advance for the state of the house and also my children.’

We grab our bags and head inside. I’m almost nervous. I normally only ever hang out with Orla and Henry in public places when they are on their best behaviour. I’m not sure I will be able to handle them at home where they have free rein over everything.

I enter and close the door behind me, my eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light in their hallway.

I invited them all over for lunch at my flat once. Once and never again. I made a huge effort to make my home as welcoming as possible. I cleaned, I fluffed the cushions, I even moved the armchair from one side of the room to the other in order to help the feng shui. Had I thought about it more, instead of cleaning, I should have thrown the contents of my wardrobe around the room. But I didn’t. Henry and Orla were visibly uncomfortable for a long time, until they finally broke and started using my sofa as an indoor trampoline. Having them over was both the best and the worst thing I could have done. The flat had never been so full of life, but I was so happy when they were gone.

I’m still by the door, unsure of how to act in this family setting. But even from here I can see that their house is full of noise and so many things. Things on every surface. The whole place is like a children’s soft play, but not purpose-built. It’s been made this way by time and pressure. You could probably catapult yourself down the banister and be fine – your fall would be cushioned by all the coats and a healthy choice of shoes.

A mini tornado in clothes comes rushing towards me. It’s Orla.

‘Paige!’ She whams into my legs, and I bend down to give her a kiss. She hugs fiercely, especially for an eight-year-old. I don’t actually think she likes me very much, but she knows that her mum likes me, so she pretends to.

‘Hey kiddo. It’s good to see you.’

She stares up at me, smiling. She smells like food and a day of running around.

‘I can see that you had spaghetti for dinner.’ She nods. ‘Was it good?’

At this her face turns a bit upside down.

‘Well, Daddy made it, so it wasn’t as good as Mummy’s. But he did make us cheesy bread, so I guess it was OK.’

‘Sounds delicious.’ And it does. Kid menus are always full of crowd pleasers. Chicken nuggets. Pasta with butter and cheese. Cheese toasties. All delicious. All beige, until you add ketchup.

‘Come on then, you little squirrel! Time for a bath.’ Nick comes around the corner – Sara following with Henry in tow – and tugs on Orla’s pigtail. Henry looks like he has only just stopped crying.

I try to catch his eye. ‘Hey little guy.’ He turns even further away from me and into Sara’s cheek. I can see that his hand has left a lovely trail of red on Sara’s top. And also in her hair.

‘Ignore him. He needs to go to bed.’ I have learnt that this means he’s grumpy and tempestuous. I know how he feels, I just wish it was socially acceptable for adults to cry when tired.

‘Can I help with anything?’

‘No, don’t worry. We’ll be down in fifteen minutes – go help yourself to wine.’

‘Great. Will do.’ They all head up the stairs and I head into the kitchen. I feel more than a bit useless. I definitely do not feel like an adult. Sara might be older than me, but the age difference isn’t big enough to account for the gap I feel.

In the kitchen, it looks like something bad went down. There is more food on the floor than the table. This is one thing I could help with.

Half an hour later and the kitchen is spotless. For the first time today I feel like I have achieved something. Something good.

‘Wow.’ The voice comes from Nick. ‘I didn’t know we still had a kitchen under all that mess.’ He has an expression of awe on his face, as though he is looking at the Sistine Chapel. ‘You did all this while we were upstairs?’ He comes over to me and gives me a hug. He is now wearing a top, no tomato sauce to be seen.

‘Am I interrupting something?’ I can’t see her, but I can hear Sara. She comes over and separates Nick and me, and then takes his place in the hug. ‘That’s better. If you are going to hug anyone, it’s going to be me. Otherwise I’ll get jealous.’ Nick laughs.

It takes her a while, but then she squeals in my ear and the hug turns from being nice to being a bit too strong. ‘Oh my god! You cleaned the kitchen!’ She pulls away from me so she can look around properly, but keeps a firm hold on my shoulders. ‘Oh my god, it looks spotless. I hope your car breaks down again. But only if you are close enough to come clean.’ She pulls me in for another hug. ‘Thank you so much.’ I think she might be about to cry. Nick rubs her shoulder on his way to the cupboard.

‘I think we could all do with a glass of wine.’ When the wine is poured, she lets go.

The doorbell rings.

Sara looks at Nick.

‘If that’s your mother again, she can’t come in. We have a visitor. Even if she says she won’t stay long don’t let her in. She always stays long.’ Her eyes are very wide. She is very determined. She is also very wrong.

‘Oh, no. It’s not Nick’s mum. At least I don’t think it is.’ Sara and Nick turn to face me. I shrug. ‘I was hungry, so I ordered us dinner. I hope that’s OK.’

This time it’s Nick that looks like he might cry. Sara goes to open the door.

‘Sorry, it’s been a rough few weeks, sleep-wise. Orla keeps sleep-walking. It was funny at first, but she’s getting into the most bizarre places, at all times of night. It makes me a light sleeper. And I cry when I haven’t been getting enough sleep.’

I pat his arm, in what I hope is an affectionate gesture, when Sara comes shuffling back into the kitchen.

‘You ordered enough food for ten people.’ With two large bags in her hands, she’s forced to walk sideways through the door frame.

I shrug. ‘I didn’t know what you guys would want, so I ordered a selection.’ Also, I am ravenous from all the emotions of the day. I didn’t want to have to restrict myself to a polite portion size.

Sara starts to unpack the bags straight on to the kitchen table, whilst Nick sources some plates and cutlery. I grab the bottle of wine.

‘So what were you doing in our neck of the woods today?’

Sara cuts in before I have a chance to reply, unusually blunt. ‘She was being an idiot, that’s what she was doing.’

Nick doesn’t say anything straight away. Instead he looks between the two of us. ‘I assume there is more to the story.’

‘Thank you, Nick,’ I say pointedly to Sara; she half shrugs. ‘There is more to the story.’ We all sit down and start to help ourselves. But although there is more to the story, I try to sell him on the naive, emotionless version. ‘It’s not a big deal, but essentially a few weeks ago, I was holding taster sessions for potential couples when my ex-boyfriend walked in with his fiancée. And since then, we’ve met up a couple times to discuss their cake.’ I pause. ‘Mostly.’

Nick, again, looks between the two of us. He isn’t sold on my story. ‘What, just you and him?’

When he says it like that, it’s hard not to feel like an idiot.

Having listened patiently, unlike Sara, to the rest of the story and a brief history of me and Chris, Nick sits back. He might be thinking. He might be digesting. Talking of which, despite being extremely hungry, I haven’t yet had the chance to eat anything. I pounce on the opportunity and dive straight in for a spring roll.

‘I’m confused.’ This comes from Nick, but I’m confused too. ‘I’m gonna need more of an explanation.’

‘OK. On what part?’

‘This Chris guy …’

‘Yes?’

‘He sounds like a total prick.’

Well … ‘Yes. At least he was. With me. To me.’ Because of me.

‘So why are you still bothered about him?’ A good question, although slightly barbed. Sara kicks him under the table. She’s protecting me, but she doesn’t have to. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean that to come out quite the way it did.’

‘It’s OK.’ And it is. He has a point. ‘I guess … history? Lost time. Lost dreams. Wishing things had been different.’ I think a bit longer. Saying everything out loud has also made me consider another option. ‘Stupidity.’

‘Well from where I’m sitting you had a lucky escape the first time around.’

‘Maybe. But … what if he is the only person who will ever love me?’ I look at my wine. I don’t quite know how I’ve managed it, or when I managed it, but I think I am on my third glass. Three glasses and little food equals severely decreased inhibitions.

‘That’s total bollocks. I love you.’ This comes from Sara, obviously.

I smile at her. ‘Thanks.’ I don’t tell her that she doesn’t really count.

‘But it probably doesn’t help that you always put a best-before date on any potential relationship.’ This comes from Nick, but I look, accusingly, at Sara. My method of madness wasn’t meant to be shared. It was meant to be kept between the two of us. In a safe space where it won’t be judged and misunderstood. ‘It’s over before it’s even started if you do that.’

Sara looks back at me. At least she has the decency to look a little sheepish. ‘Sorry, I know I wasn’t meant to tell him, but you’re the only interesting thing I have to talk about, really the only thing I have to talk about besides my children.’

I turn back to Nick, needing to defend myself. ‘It makes life less complicated.’

‘Why?’

‘It just does.’

‘Why?’ Nick’s tone is a little less patient.

But so is mine. ‘Asking me the same question will get the same answer.’

He starts to change tack.

‘There is more to this than you are admitting.’

Begrudgingly, he isn’t exactly wrong. ‘I …’ I stumble over my non-existent words. ‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’

‘OK. Well, I just think it’s a shame. I think you’re being unfair on men.’

I scoff.

‘No, no hold on.’ He waves off my scoff. ‘I’m not done. Just give me a minute here.’ He shifts to get comfortable and buy himself a bit of time. I wait, semi-patiently. He hasn’t started the argument well, but I’m intrigued to see if he can dig himself out of this hole. His hand gestures become increasingly flamboyant as he makes his argument. ‘Given your history with Chris, I can see why you’ve implemented this – kind of strict, and also kind of stupid – rule, but there is one huge flaw in your logic.’ He pauses and stops gesturing. Initially, I thought he wanted his next point to have more emphasis, but then Sara rubs his back and he lets out a little burp. It’s kinda gross, but also kinda cute that she knew what he needed. I’ve never been close enough to someone to be able to recognize when they need to burp. He gives her knee a thankful pat and carries on. ‘You can’t judge all men by the way Chris acted.’

I raise my right eyebrow a bit. I’m unconvinced.

‘Take me for example. I was in a similar position to Chris and I didn’t act the way he did. Did I?’

At this point he looks at Sara. She looks back at him. I’ve never seen her with so much love in her eyes. She loves her children, sure, but this is a different look. A different love. I haven’t seen it before, and it takes me aback a little bit.

‘No. You didn’t act like a prick. You acted like a superstar.’

He looks back at her with just as much love in his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t go that far. All I really did was turn up.’

‘That’s all that really mattered.’ She leans across to him and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re a keeper.’

He smiles back at her. I hate to ruin this lovely moment, but …

‘That’s all well and good, but it’s not just about Chris. It’s also about me. I don’t want to date anyone. Not seriously. I like my freedom and only having to plan things around my schedule. I like my individual identity. I like doing what I want to do.’ Nick turns his attention back to me, and I can’t blame him. I’m not too sure who I’m trying to convince. I feel a bit bad for breaking them up, but when I get high on hunger, I get low on tolerance. He can’t just dismiss the logic I’ve been busy building up and fortifying; this logic has been keeping my otherwise empty bed warm for years.

‘Well, first, if you’re going out with the right person, they shouldn’t rob you of your identity. If anything, they should make you more comfortable to be you. And secondly, how do you know that someone else won’t want the same things that you do? Or that you might find someone, and together what you want might start to change?’ He shifts in his seat; he’s really getting into it now. I wonder if he ever talks to his man friends about this kinda thing. If he doesn’t, he should. He’s not the worst at it. ‘Before I met Sara, I didn’t think I would ever get married, but in her I found someone I wanted to … just do things with. To exist with. I couldn’t help but fall in love with her. And as I fell in love with her, my goals and needs and wants and desires all changed.’

‘Eugh.’ I can’t help the noise that escapes. I am not a romantic. I am not mushy. ‘You can’t tell me that love overcomes all. That’s a load of bollocks.’

‘Agreed, but it does help.’

‘Yeah, well I loved Chris, and look how that turned out.’

He shakes his head. ‘Did you really?’

‘Really what?’

‘Really love him?’

I think.

‘Yes.’ I yield a bit. ‘Maybe.’ I try to claw something back. ‘I don’t know. How does anyone know?’

Nick starts to answer. It was meant to be a rhetorical question, but I listen anyway.

‘Well, for me, it wasn’t the big things that made me fall in love with Sara. Yes, they were important – I could never have married someone who sang well and put me to shame’ – Sara hits him playfully on the arm and pretends to be offended – ‘but it was all the little things that really did it for me, the things I knew I would miss if I no longer got to experience them.’ Sara immediately stills. ‘The face she makes when she puts her mascara on. The way she makes me burnt toast whenever she thinks I am coming down with a cold. The way she lied and told me she had ridden a bike but then kept falling off on our first bike ride together. The way she wiggles her toes under me on the sofa to keep them warm. All the stupid stuff, I guess. Although’ – he pins Sara with his stare – ‘lying about being able to ride a bike was actually quite dangerous.’

I look at Sara.

‘Anything to add?’

She breaks her connection with Nick and inhales. I brace myself, and my logic, for another attack.

‘Only that I think having cancer just speeds up what happens in life anyway.’

Sara’s guest bed is extremely comfortable. They have one of those really expensive mattresses that is firmer than I would normally go for, but is actually really good for your lower back. I’ve never felt so supported.

Even so, sleep is very far away from me this evening. My mind won’t switch off.

Nick is right. The truth about how I feel and why I avoid relationships is somewhere beyond what I tell Sara.

I’m not lying when I argue that being alone is easier, but I am lying about why. I’m not keen to be single solely from a logistical perspective, even though this is what I tell her.

I’m worried about all the emotions that come with being in a relationship. Being alone means that I won’t risk disappointing, or risk being disappointed by, anyone.

Because I did disappoint Chris. After my diagnosis, I couldn’t be the girlfriend he wanted me to be: the girlfriend with an impressive job and a rigorous exercise regime. I couldn’t go out and have casual Friday-night drinks and impress all of his colleagues. I couldn’t be perfectly put together and always washed and coiffed. I couldn’t be eternally optimistic. I couldn’t be his girlfriend, first and foremost: I had to prioritize other things.

But he disappointed me too. I was disappointed when he didn’t seem at all upset that I had breast cancer; he never cried, he never said he was sorry (as useless as that would have been), he never even asked any questions. I was hurt and ashamed when he told me to stop looking at images of boobs that were scarred from undergoing a lumpectomy. I wanted to know what I was in for, but I can still hear him say, ‘Stop looking at that. It’s gross. I don’t want to look at that.’ I was disappointed when Chris chose to go out for dinner instead of being at home with me on my first night back from hospital. I was disappointed when he told me, less than a week after my surgery, ‘Life has to move on. So move on.’ I agreed with the sentiment, but not his delivery or his timing. At the time I still hurt too much to flush the toilet. I was disappointed when he stopped looking at me. It was like he couldn’t bear to see me, to see what I had become.

Being let down by the people who are meant to love you, the people who are meant to look after you, was the thing that made me feel so broken and undesirable and unlovable.

I also hate having the ‘I’ve had cancer’ conversation. I hate it. Even now, even with so many more people talking about it, you are still met with pity and awkwardness.

And so, I choose to be alone.

This is the stark truth behind my dating methodology. I never want to feel that bad about myself again.

At this point Noah’s unsquashable image resurfaces. Mika warned me that he disappears when he gets bored or loses interest. I imagine the cancer conversation is just the kind of thing that would make him lose interest. It would make a lot of people lose interest.

I exhale and turn over on to my stomach. Staring at the ceiling isn’t making me fall asleep so maybe diagonally starfishing on my belly will.

I don’t even count to ten before another thought barges into my brain.

Nick was also right about the fact that Chris was a total prick.

So why has his reappearance in my life upset my balance so much? Because he is finally saying all the right things? Because he finally apologized for the way he acted? Because he is looking at me again?

Because he is making me realize how stupid I was, and apparently still am? I was a fool to think that I could ever forget him entirely, he was a big part of my life; but fooling myself into thinking that he has changed is even more of a farce. If, fingers really fucking crossed it won’t, but if my cancer should come back, what would stop him from reacting in the same shitty way that he did before? Sure, we’ve had some nice conversations. Sure, it felt like old times. Sure, it was really, really weird seeing where he was going to get married and sure, it made me think about our own wedding, the wedding I used to see in my future. But if he had actually changed, he wouldn’t be flirting with someone who isn’t his fiancée. If he had changed, he wouldn’t be trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants. I doubt he even needs any help. I doubt he even thinks I am beautiful. I imagine he just wants me back under his thumb.

And on top of all this, Sara’s words keep replaying in my head.

Did having cancer just speed up what would have happened anyway? Would Chris and I still have broken up?

It’s hard to remember exactly what situations felt like once you are past them, and so it is hard for me to remember exactly how I felt about Chris when we were going out, particularly before the cancer. I know that along with all the things I liked about him, he also did things that pissed me off. Things that upset me. Things that were too big to ignore.

Did I love Chris? I don’t know. Did he love me? I also don’t know.

But I do know that the look of affection between Sara and Nick this evening made me feel surprisingly jealous. It also made me feel like an idiot – I never actually thought a love like that could exist. Chris certainly never looked at me that way.

I turn back over to stare at the ceiling.

At least I have an answer to one of my questions.