Triptych part 2 of 3

I felt a knot in my stomach as soon as I saw her in the shop, the one I used to feel when my mother called me to the car to go see my grandfather at the nursing home when I was kid. I tried to steer clear, to move Melissa over to the lamp and fittings section. I knew she’d seen us when I saw her hiding behind a designer vase. It was original, would have looked nice on our dining room table, but I couldn’t very well show it to Melissa with Clair hiding behind it.

Just as I was about to give up and walk over to say hi, Melissa drew me behind some plants and kissed me. She does that all the time, surprises me in unusual places and makes out with me like we haven’t done it in months. I think it’s a power thing, and I go along with it most days, but it really wasn’t the time. I felt bad. I knew Clair would think I’d done it on purpose, just to make things clear to her, but I didn’t. I would have explained if we’d been alone, if there had been occasion later on. But it wasn’t like I could give her my new number, not with Melissa standing right there.

Not that I’d want to. I’m not a person that likes to rake over the cinders in a relationship for the sheer nostalgia of it. But it would have been nice to catch up, over a coffee or something, to find out if Cambodia was everything she’d hoped for. She was so excited about it, that camp director job. And although it’s what ultimately broke us up, I don’t hate her for it. Not in that traditional, selfish bitch kind of way Brian uses when he’s talking about Estelle. I would never talk about Clair like that, not to other people at least, though I did think it in the months after we sold the flat, when I had to live at Mum’s before I could find somewhere affordable.

I couldn’t believe she was back in town. If she’s moved back, Estelle will have her new number. They were always pretty close, I’m sure they stayed in touch. Not that she’d tell me if they had; Estelle’s not like that. Especially not now, when Melissa’s just moved in, when she knows how much effort we’ve put into our relationship and it wouldn’t make any difference anyway, whether I had her number or not. Still, I wonder if she has it.

I thought there’d be a scene of some sort, though I don’t know why. It’s not like we were in a Channel 4 drama, in which case Clair would have smashed the vase over Melissa’s head and I’d be trying to tear them apart. Clair’s nothing like that, not the jealous kind. Seeing her turn up like that was just a bit of a shock, after so long. Melissa took it well, smiled and everything, though it bothered me that she lied like that – about her having heard a lot about Clair. Maybe my mates talk to her about my exes. I don’t know, but she sure hasn’t heard much from me.

It didn’t take long to find a rug we liked. Melissa didn’t say anything when we left the store and carried it to the flat, each holding one end, getting in the way of everyone and everything on the pavement. It looks good in the living room, goes well with the colour we chose for the walls. We had Marks and Spencer chicken tikka for dinner and went to bed early, because there was nothing on TV and I needed to get up earlier than usual for a board meeting.

We had sex. We do most nights. It’s good to have that certainty; that I can always get it if I want it, which I do most days. It wasn’t like that with Clair. We had sex less often but, when we did, it was always something special. Not that it’s not special with Melissa. It is, it’s good, but more of a routine than a treat. I guess it’s different with different people. Even if you still like the same things, it’s bound to be different because it’s someone else, someone completely new. Melissa and me are hardly new. We know each other so well. We haven’t got to that stage where we finish each other’s sentences but we’re getting there. It’s just a question of time.

Clair and I had that closeness going, before she told me she wanted to take off to help starving Cambodians. I could take a shit in front of her without being embarrassed. I didn’t hold back my farts anymore. I couldn’t do that comfortably with Melissa, not yet. Actually, I don’t think I ever could. She wouldn’t like it, she hasn’t got the same frame of mind when it comes to domesticity. In any case, it takes a hell of a lot of time to reach that stage. I thought I was there with Clair, for good.

That night, on the day we got the rug, we were lying in bed after sex and Melissa asked about Clair. She never had before. Not really, not in detail.

“Was that weird for you, in the shop?” she asked.

“Was what weird?”

“You know, with Clair turning up like that? I mean, it must have been weird. You haven’t seen her since she left, right? Not even once.”

“No, not once. I’ve heard about her though, through mates.”

“Through Brian?”

“Yeah, through Brian.”

“God. Do you think him and Estelle are ever going to get back together?”

“Dunno.”

It’s a game, talking about other couples breaking up. You talk about it, quietly, as if it’s too dangerous to air loudly. You ping-pong it back and forth between each other, like a grenade, bringing it up at weird moments like when you’re in bed, after you’ve had sex, with the faint disappointment following an orgasm. As if it’s less dangerous then, because you’re naked in each other’s arms and it seems less of a threat. It’s stupid, because I can’t imagine breaking up with Melissa. We have our arguments but we get along well. Then again I couldn’t have imagined living without Clair, at the time.

“I hadn’t pictured her like that,” Melissa said, smiling. “I thought she’d be shorter, a little fatter.”

“What made you think that? I haven’t shown you any pictures.”

“No, but you always say how slim I am, how much you like it. I figured you weren’t used to it.”

“Nah, it’s nothing like that. You’re just different.”

People break up for the most stupid reasons. At least they sound stupid to other people, like Brian and Estelle’s break-up does to us, but they’re dead serious for the couple concerned. I suppose it could have worked out, between Clair and me, if I’d been willing to relocate to a god-awful country, or if I’d decided I would wait, had convinced myself that long-distance relationships work. But I wasn’t - convinced. It wasn’t something I was prepared to deal with, and she didn’t want to pass over the opportunity to do something she had always dreamed of. So it made sense really. It wasn’t an unreasonable or passionate split. Nobody broke plates, though I’m sure we both wanted to at times.

I’m happy with Melissa. She’s good for me. If I think about Clair from time to time it’s only normal, it’s human nature. You can’t live with someone for that long and not think of them. She changed me, and I changed her, and we’re not the same people we were when we met. I think that’s a good thing. I talked about it with Melissa that night. She asked me if Clair was the one. I told her I didn’t know; that she probably wasn’t because if she had been, we wouldn’t have broken up. It makes sense. I do wonder what it would have been like if she hadn’t taken that job, if I’d accepted to wait until she got fed-up and came back to civilisation. Looks like she might have done that now. But it’s no use wondering. It’s done. There’s no going back and so there shouldn’t be. I don’t suppose we’ll ever see each other again, unless by chance, like in the shop.

I think I’ll ask Brian about her, see if he has any news, just out of curiosity. She looked well, happy. A bit tired maybe, circles round the eyes. Bet they kept her busy down there. I told her it would be hard. I liked that red skirt she was wearing. Never used to wear red - always blue or black. A bit of a boring wardrobe really, but I didn’t mind. I wonder if Estelle dragged her out after we split, took her on one of those retail therapy things girls do after break-ups. They would have hit the bars; knowing Estelle, dressed up like tarts. Maybe she met someone. Maybe she had a one-night stand, a casual shag with a random guy, just to get over me.

I’m calling Brian tomorrow.

Read Triptych part 1.

Copyright: Emily Connes
Emilie Connes is French by birth and learnt English in Africa. She also writes in French and Spanish. She completed a degree in English Literature and Creative Writing at Lancaster University, experimenting with short stories and poetry. It was followed by a Masters in Creative Writing at the same institution, her final portfolio being a collection of short stories entitles Loose Ends. She is currently living in Romania, working for a publishing company in Bucharest and working on a novel.

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