“Lunch would be ideal.” I check my watch; it’s 3p.m. Later than I thought, but I really need to talk to her. Mark’s barefoot pacing is stuck on repeat in my brain. I need to talk about Mark’s job. I don’t want tobut I have to. I have to talk to someone. Even though it feels like a betrayal talking about our relationship to other people. It’s usually the other way around, Mark and I discussing them. We don’t talk about each other to outsiders. We’re our own unit. Impenetrable. Secure. There’s us and then there’s the rest of the world. Until now. Until this.
It’s not Mark, though; he’s not the problem. I just don’t know what to do. How to fix what’s happening. Caro must read it on my face.
“Come on. We’re going to George,” she declares.
Yes, George. George will be quiet at this time of day. It’s a gorgeous members-only restaurant with a canopied deck set back from the street in deepest Mayfair. Her gallery gets Caro in everywhere. She takes my arm and guides me further into Mayfair.
—
“What’s up?” she demands once the waiter deposits two dewy glasses of ice water and disappears.
I eye her as I gulp my water down, the lemon tapping insistently against my top lip.
She smirks. “There’s no use telling me nothing’s up; you’re an awful liar, Erin. And you’re obviously desperate to tell me. So talk.” She lifts her glass to her lips and sips expectantly.
I’ve run out of water. My ice rattles. “If we have this discussion, you have to forget it afterwards. Promise me.” I put the empty glass down gingerly.
“Bloody hell, babes. Yeah, fine, promised.” She leans back into her chair, eyebrows raised.
“It’s Mark. He’s been fired.” My voice is slightlyquieter than before; I’m aware of the businessmen three tables away. You never know.
“Huh? Laid off?” She leans forward, lowering her tone to match mine. What a pair we are. Bloody hell.
“No, not laid off. They’re paying his garden leave but there’s no financial package. No lump sum. They made him resign in exchange for references. If he said no, they’d have just fired him anyway, no references. Apparently that’s what they wanted to do until his boss talked everyone around to the voluntary resignation.”
“What!? What the actual! That’s just—that’s ridiculous! Bloody hell, is he all right?” Caro’s shifted up an octave. A businessman swivels in his chair to look over at us. I hush her.
“It’s fine. I mean…he’snot fine, but it is fine. It’s tricky because I really want to be there for him but at the same time I don’t want to…you know, emasculate him by actually helping him, you see? It’s delicate. I have to sort of fluff him up without him noticing. And don’t get me wrong, it’s not because he needs bolstering or anything. It’s because I love him, you know, Caro. I want him to be happy. But he won’t let me make him happy. It’s like he thinks the worrying focuses him or something, like it’s going to help fix it all. I’ve never seen him act like this, you know? He’s always got a plan, but this one’s falling apart. This whole EU situation, fucking Brexit, the bottom falling out of the pound, sterling at an all-time low, the government, the new prime minister, the new foreign secretary, for God’s sake. Donald Trump! Everything is fucked. It’s the worst possible timing for this total shitstorm.”
“Humph.” Caro shakes her head in solidarity.
I charge on. “And I know as well as he does, it’sruining his chances of getting something else. And not only that, but even if someone is looking, it’s going to be hard to sell the idea to a future employer that he resigned from his job before getting another position. He says they’re going to wonder why on earth he did that. It just looks weird, apparently. Well, that’s what he’s saying. But I say: Just tell people you didn’t like it there. Or say you wanted a break from work before the run-up to the wedding. I mean, it’s not a crime to take some time off. But then, I do see what he means. It looks weak. To them, I mean. Like he can’t handle the pressure and had to ‘take a break.’ Like he had some kind of breakdown or something. Argh! God, it’s so annoying. Seriously, Caro, it’s driving me nuts. I can’t fix it. Everything I suggest gets batted down. I don’t know what to do. So I just sit there, listening and nodding.”
I stop talking. She shifts in her seat. Looks out at the street and nods sagely before answering.
“I don’t know what to say, hon. It’s fucking frustrating. It’d drive me mad. Mark’s a smart guy, though, isn’t he? I mean—come on, he could do anything, right? Why doesn’t he just get another job? He could work in any industry, really, with his experience. Why doesn’t he just look for something else?”
The answer to that is simple. It’s the same answer I’d give if Caro asked me to change my career. I don’t want to do something else. And Mark doesn’t want to do something else either.
“Hecould,definitely. But, you know, hopefully it won’t have to come to that. We’re still waiting to hear back about a couple of things. It’s just that thewedding’s coming up and it feels like he’s checked out of it a little bit.”
“Of what? The wedding planning? Or the actual relationship?”
“The…the planning? I don’t know. I don’t know, Caro. No, not the relationship. No.” I feel bad now.
“Is he being an arsehole?” Her tone is now uncharacteristic in its extreme earnestness. I can’t help but laugh out loud.
Caro looks instantly concerned; I guess I’m not acting very characteristic myself right now. I must look nuts.
“Sorry! No. No, he’s not. He’s not being an arsehole.” I glance at her worried face, her crinkled forehead.
There’s no point in this conversation, I realize suddenly. Caro doesn’t know what I should do. She has no idea. She doesn’t even know that much about me. Not really. I mean, we’re friends but we don’t reallyknoweach other. I’m not going to find any answers here. I need to talk to Mark. I’m just making a mess here, with this conversation. We should be talking about flowers and cake and hen weekends. I snap myself out of it.
“You know what, I think I’m just hungry! No breakfast,” I confess. “Nothing’s wrong, really, I think I’m just getting jittery about the wedding. And low blood sugar. What I need, what Ireallyneed, is a Caesar roll and some of those straw chips. And wine.”
Caro’s smile returns instantly. I’m back. Everything is fine, all stress forgotten. Confession erased. Slate wiped clean. I’ve turned a corner and she’s completely on board. We move on.Thank you, Caro. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why she is my maid of honor.
—
