I pull a face. ‘’Til death do us part.’
I glance around my brother and out into the other end of the bistro. There he is, laughing and smiling, not a care in the world. He must feel my eyes on him because he looks my way. I turn away immediately, grabbing at my phone as it starts to ring.
‘What’s with the face?’ Adam asks. ‘Who is it?’
‘John keeps calling,’ I say dismissively. ‘Anyone would think he hasn’t got the break-up memo.’
‘Are you going to answer him?’
I switch the ringer to silent and tuck my phone away where I can’t see or feel it. ‘I’m sorry if this has made work awkward for you.’
Adam shakes his head. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’
‘Yes, but it’s not though, is it?’ I ask. ‘You know, he reminds me of that Gerry Rafferty song, where he sings about thinking you have everything, but realising you were wrong.’
Adam starts humming ‘Baker Street’. ‘I only wish you had given me the heads up so I could be prepared.’
A tap at the window from one of Adam’s old school friends interrupts our conversation. There are excited faces and finger phones and phone numbers scribbled on a napkin and held up to the window.
‘Ah, that’s great.’ Leaning into the window, he grins and waves as they disappear down the street.
‘Remember that thing Mum used to do?’ I ask. ‘Tell me your favourite thing that happened to you this week.’
Mum would do this if she knew we were upset or worried. Concentrate on the good and the rest falls away, she’d say. Adam rubs at his temples and considers his options. Flirting with a random woman in the queue at a café yesterday, he says.
‘It was nice to just feel that flutter?’ He jiggles a hand by his chest as if to illustrate the point. ‘You know what I mean? She was incredibly sweet, but totally unaware of it. Good banter, too.’
I smile and thank the waiter who brings our food. ‘I do love a good bit of bants.’
Adam is grateful for the change of pace. Childhood muscle memory kicks in, passing condiments back and forth. As if we notice it at the same time, we both freeze, him with pepper suspended in the air between us and me handing out more napkins. I laugh and snatch the pepper away.
‘Hey, so, can I ask you something?’ Adam asks, seemingly more sober than he was earlier.
I tip my head as if I don’t understand. ‘You know you can.’
He concentrates on his meal, tearing his pudding apart. ‘How did you know it was over? With John, I mean.’
Ah, there it is. The admission I’d known was coming for months. What strikes me is that the question comes in such a casual manner, as if this isn’t the most important conversation we’ve had in years. Instead of being relieved that he’s finally said something, I feel a terrible sadness wash over me. This sucks.
‘You mean aside from that rubbish at the fancy corporate dinner?’ I pop a lump of potato in my mouth.
Annoyed, he narrows his eyes like that’s not quite how he meant it. ‘But what about before that?’
I place my cutlery aside and fold my hands in my lap. ‘Right, so there were a few things that had been bubbling away, things we’d talked about, things I’d wanted to talk about, but that had never been resolved.’
‘I think he’s realised his mistake, by the way. All I’ve heard this week is “She was the best thing that ever happened, and I let her go.”’
‘Well, if he had made a bit of an effort to define what we were.’ I glare knowingly at Adam. ‘Or, you know, let me introduce him to family.’
‘He really didn’t go in for any of that?’
‘Didn’t want to do family, friends, social functions, any of it.’ I slice the air with a hand. ‘Which is ridiculous when you think about it. Guy’s prepared to sit through a law degree but can’t sit through a Sunday roast. Even dumber is the fact I went along with it for so long.’
‘Well, exactly.’ Adam digs about his plate. ‘Sticking out a degree doesn’t exactly scream commitment-phobe.’
‘Adam, he refused to go to Lainey’s wedding with me. Point blank.’ I place my fork down. ‘And every time I thought we might finally sit down and, you know, define things, he made some excuse about having to work.’
His lips curl. ‘But he’s just so dogged about everything else in his life.’
I raise my brows. ‘You’re telling me.’
‘But, I mean, how do you even have a relationship with someone who works that much anyway?’ he asks. ‘I refuse to believe the guy even sleeps.’
‘Well, it wasn’t much of a relationship, was it?’
‘I suppose not.’
Satisfied that our conversation has taken something of a confessional turn, I shift in my seat before I ask, ‘So, is it over? Has Sophie moved out? We haven’t seen her around for a while.’
Adam shakes his head. ‘No. I think it’ll be me doing the moving out.’
‘I hear there’s a flat in Camberwell going cheap.’ Even though I’m trying desperately to keep things optimistic, something heavy has settled in my chest and I feel that weight in a shuddering breath. ‘Does Dad know?’
‘No. I’m not sure how to tell him.’
‘I won’t say anything,’ I say. ‘It’s your business to tell.’
‘Having said that, I’m not even sure it’s over. We had this massive row a few months back. I’m talking full on screaming match and it’s been one thing after the other since.’ He dithers about. ‘So, it’s like when you know something’s wrong, but no one’s saying anything? It’s the bogeyman who’ll go away if only you don’t acknowledge him.’
‘Have you talked about it at all?’
‘Ah, tried that.’ He nods. ‘More arguing. So, I actually don’t know where I stand.’
‘Right.’
‘I guess the reason I mention that, in a roundabout way—’ he taps his coaster on the table and looks over at the bar ‘—is because I think you should call John and make sure he knows that it’s over.’
‘I thought I made it clear enough.’ I frown, confused. ‘But I’ll throw your offer back at you. Buy me a drink and I’ll call him.’
‘You’re on.’ Adam shuffles off his seat and disappears.
As he disappears, I pull my phone from my pocket and look at another text message that’s come through. It rankles me, but if I do this quickly, get it over and done with, I can get on with my night. Fifteen minutes, tops, and I’ll be on my way. I stare at John’s number tapped out on the screen for an uncounted moment before I hit dial.
‘Kate.’ Relief washes through his voice, so much so I think twice about correcting him. ‘Hello.’
‘Just returning your call,’ I say. ‘Calls.’
‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine, thank you. You?’ I stuff a finger in my ear to hear him better over the din of the pub. A DJ is setting up for the night in the front corner and a rowdy group of guys have just shoved their way through the door and to the bar.