‘Ok..’ I started to feel nervous now. Any sentence that starts with ‘there’s something I have to tell you’ doesn’t usually end well.
‘WHAT are you two whispering about?’
It was that voice again. Like screeching tyres. Somehow she had managed to double back to catch up with us. I could only assume she had left a path of angry commuters on the floor –those she had either elbowed or stepped on to come back to us.
‘Well, Tom was just about to tell me’ –
‘About the crazy weather here!’ he finished my sentence with a ridiculously exaggerated laugh and tone, it reminded me of someone off Saved By the Bell when they were caught cheating on a test. ‘I promise it’s the weather Mr. Belding!! HAHA!!.’ *laughter track.* There was no laughter track here and I was wondering why he was lying.
‘Ok, well hurry up! Wanna get back Tommy wommy!’
A bit of vomit creeped up my throat as she said the words.
She then smiled at me with cat-that-got-the-cream eyes and walked slightly ahead. It’s a shame they weren’t cat-that-got-drowned-in-the-bucket-eyes.
I looked at Tom and he mouthed the words ‘I’ll tell you later okay.’
We followed her like an invisible thread, mimicking her snaking movements through the clusters of people until we got to the sliding doors. As they opened we were once again exposed to the blistering heat, which seemed to slap us in the face like a warm sheet. I dragged my bags to her car, a beastly vehicle, with chunky wheels and thick metallic panelling. It was a Chevrolet of course. We all squashed into the car, and the first thing I did was check my signal on my phone.
‘Damn it.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s not tri-band. I didn’t think it was. Why did I even bother bringing my phone? I’m going to have to borrow yours, Neil; I’ve got to text my parents to let them know that I’ve landed safely.’
Neil duly handed over his phone. Something you should know about Neil; people in my family thought that he secretly loved me or something. I did not reciprocate the ‘feelings’. The first time I met him I actually thought he was older than the rest of our group. I’m not sure why; maybe it was his massive five o’clock shadow or the glasses that made him possess an authoritarian presence. He would mumble about history and politics and laugh about sitcoms that I didn’t find funny. It was never really a two sided conversation. When he got drunk – he wouldn’t stop talking. Like a Duracell bunny that could go way longer than those adverts. I remember he once came to my room when I was sleeping – with someone else in the bed no less – to tell me about his evening.
‘Neil – it’s late.’ I had whispered.
‘Yeh you’re right.’ He had replied. Thank god, I thought, he’s got the hint. But then -
‘I’ll get a chair so I don’t get tired.’ He then grabbed my chair and sat in the corner in the dark and carried on talking.
My other roommate came in to extricate the man from my bedroom.
Oh, thank god, I thought, she’s come to save me.
Only this was the man in my bed – who she then proceeded to drag out by his feet. Incidentally – she had fancied the guy in my bed since the beginning of university and wasn’t going to just sit by whilst he was in the next room. (It was all very innocent- he had passed out in my bed so I just squashed him up so I could sleep. Hmm… and on a totally separate note, I *may* have been very naive at university.)
She grabbed him by the heels and dragged him over the carpet and chucked him in his own bed. He then woke up the next morning very hungover and covered in carpet burns – he probably assumed he had had a *very* good time the night before.
Meanwhile Neil was left snoring in my chair. I promptly pushed him – still in the chair – out of my room. He may have slept on my landing until morning.
The only thing Neil and I really had in common was the fact we had mutual university friends. Despite this fact we were friends throughout. We were good at driving each other crazy. And I don’t mean rom-com crazy. God knows why he liked me. When he moved to my area back home we both got a job at the same company and every lunch time we would meet and every time I would rant on about something – either how shit my job was, or how my boyfriend was annoying or how people in the street wouldn’t get out of my very important way. And he would listen, and take it in, and maybe even slightly revel in the abuse I dished out to him. But the fact remained that I had met Neil through Tom. And Tom was my best friend at university, and Neil was his best friend from home. It’s amazing how the 6 degrees of separation affect us. I could not link myself to Neil in the way I could to Tom. It was different. Tom and I were inextricably linked, or so I thought.
The conversation back in the car was dominated by Mariska. She lifted her feet onto the dashboard and immediately started chattering away. I noticed her exceptionally large feet. Elephantism? Would explain her oversized head.
‘Oh my gosh Tom, your friends are gonna meet my parents! Aah this is actually happening. It’s so amazing, you guys will lurvee Montclair, it’s so gorgeous I just – NO, Tom! No! NO! You’ve taken the wrong turning. Oh OHH!! I can’t believe this! Oh gawddd!’
Eddie and I exchanged perturbed looks. She was shrieking and flapping her arms. I thought she was going to cry. (Like she had done on our last visit – because we had missed, OH GOD, a bus. She had then decided to sing, Glee style, to ‘make the time pass more quickly’ – which in itself was debatable - Bipolar come to mind? Yes- thanks for joining me in what I had already suspected.)
‘Calm down. I’m just getting some gas.’ Tom was apparently unaffected by her outburst. The way she spoke reminded me of teenagers on American talent shows, where there’s lots of gushing and endless streams of incomprehensible waffle.
There was that, and the fact that she seemed to punctuate her sentences with animal noises.
‘I’ve still got so much to do- OOH- I need patsy to do my eyebrows!’ (they were like two fat caterpillars crawling across her forehead. Whoever the hell Patsy was, she must have been a miracle worker.) ‘Also I need to wax my legs! ! AAH That’s why I’m wearing this long dress, I hate this dress! Normally I would wear a dress where you could see my legs! I have great legs! AAH – Tom, don’t forget my eye appointment tomorrow!’
I could only wonder what had happened to Tom’s eye appointment. Did I say eye appointment? I meant what-the fuck-are-you-doing appointment? If I had to live with this I would have killed myself. She made his last girlfriend Emily - who hated my guts – seem like a dream in comparison. At least *she* hadn’t been passive aggressive. I always knew where I stood with Emily – on the edge of a tall building with her hand in the small of my back.
‘Yep, yes, I know.’ Tom glanced into the rear view mirror and I caught his eye. He lingered there a little longer than any of us were comfortable with.
‘Tom, look at me baby!!’
‘I’m driving honey, I have to keep my eyes on the road.’
‘Well anyway! Mom and dad are gonna have us over on Tuesday for dinner. It’s gonna be awesome, we are having a roast, and Elouise will be there and – Oh NOO!! I just dropped my sandwich! AAH! My dress! Oh, it’s ruined for EVERRRRRR. No! No! No!’
Tears? Maybe this time her head would spin off and save us the hassle of spending the week with her. One could only hope.
‘Oh TOM! My dress!!! This is so freakin crappy! I was supposed to beeeee waring it toneyeee ’ The screeching began and I was pretty sure only dogs and canaries could understand her at this point.
I had to make it stop. ‘That’s okay, you hate that dress anyway!’ I piped up, thinking I was being funny.
She didn’t answer, and carried on swatting the pieces of food away from her lap. One flung off and hit me on the cheek. Apparently she was unaware. There wasn’t even a stain on her grocery bag material dress. It was so hardcore I don’t think much would have affected it. She looked at me quickly then back to Tom as if checking the trajectory of our eyes.
‘I can’t believe this. But ANYWAY! We can drop these guys off and then go to my parents to pick up my new jeans. OH! And I need to pick up my wallet from your nightstand before we do. These guys can unpack their stuff while we do that, I’m sure that will keep them busy.’ She looked behind her, back to me, her chin poking over her shoulder.
‘And then we can make some more arrangements for my’-
‘Mariska!’ Tom interjected suddenly.
‘What honey!?’
‘Don’t forget to remind me about washing my football kit tonight! Need it for tomorrow! Otherwise I’ll be on the pitch naked!’ He let out a nervous laugh and there was that Saved By the Bell tone again. It was very bizarre – had he become a product of all the American TV shows he was consuming or just trying to be comedic?
My washing! Mr Belding!! I mean, Mariska! *laughter track*
Perhaps I should tell them it wasn’t funny.
Just as I was thinking about this, the iconic silhouette of the Empire State Building started to rise into view. Driving along the New York highway was just like you saw it in the movies. Long strips of road, heavy traffic and the black Manhattan skyline, tantalisingly close in a misty orange sky. I couldn’t wait to burst out of the car and explore. We headed away from the city, because Tom lived in New Jersey, the rural part of the state. He lived in Montclair, a sleepy town that was defined by its leafy suburbs and defiant train thruway. By the end of my stay I would be very familiar with the sound of it hooting and whistling along the beaten tracks. Having said that, it could have been hooty and whistly Joe, That sweet man with tourettes. Probably related to Mariska.
We drove the grid of Montclair for quite some time. It was all avenues and streets; a microcosm of the New York block system. Finally, we pulled up at 3 Oaks Street, Tom’s place.
It was a huge white panelled house, which comprised wooden slats, each one with its last lick of paint curling in the dry heat. The door was a swinging hinge contraption, made of a sheath of fine mesh, designed to keep out the bugs rather than the burglars. People didn’t seem to lock their doors here. Parallel to the house was the train track, and three large oak trees, rustling in the light breeze.
‘That’s my room, on the top floor.’ Tom pointed up to a small window beneath the triangular part of the roof. One of the Oaks reached as high as the house and its thick branches intertwined with the gutter pipe, meeting Tom’s window. The leaves pressed against the glass, scraping its surface with rusty coloured limbs.
‘You only need to know that because you are ALL staying in his room.’ Mariska looked at me.
‘In fact, didn’t you say you would put Eddie in bed with Lana, Tom?’ she cackled to herself and stroked his face while saying the words.
‘No I don’t think I said that..’
She carried on laughing and stroking his hair. It seemed so disingenuous.
We all grabbed our bags and wrestled them through the mesh door.
Immediately inside the house was a cast iron staircase that climbed to the first floor. It was here that Tom shared a kitchen with two other boys who lived in the house with him. They were footballers too. Tom had gone to America to complete a football scholarship – teaching American children the art of our fine English game and getting paid to do it. It was ideal; Tom loved playing football and what better way to mix a job you love with travelling and adventure?
Although it would be an amazing experience, we always assumed that Tom would come home.
Upstairs his area was quite spacious for a single person; he had a bright living space with deep blue walls on one side and off white on the other side. There was a TV tucked away in the corner, a computer on a desk in the other corner and a purple sofa under the window. It was in just the right place to balance on and look down over Montclair. The bobbles on the pillows signified how sun starched they were. Slightly blocking the view was an extractor fan that was wedged in the bottom half of the window, a device that continually blew cold air into the room. Without it the room would have been like a bread oven, baking us. In the middle of the room was a blue sofa bed that was tucked neatly under the slanting roof. And on the other side was his own bed, and a door with a clock on it. The clock had two times on it – within the main face was a smaller face; on the smaller face was England’s time, and on the large face, was New York time. I thought this was cute; NY might have been in the present, but ultimately he would always be on England time. And don’t make me point out the metaphor – I know you guys get what I’m talking about.
It was so hot I decided to take some layers off. First my jacket, then my long t-shirt. Then my leggings – certainly not necessary here. Soon I was standing in my denim mini with a strappy vest top.
Mariska gripped her wallet and cocked her head to the side to examine me. I looked back at her and she smiled with her lips turning down. She looked as if she was weighing me up and had something up her sleeve to blow me away with. Indeed she had ammunition big enough to blow a whole in my stomach. Tom was standing beside her, pre-occupied by grabbing some DVDS from the shelf and searching for one in particular.
‘I know Tom hasn’t got the balls to tell you yet, but I thought you should know sooner rather than later…’ At the mention of his name his head popped straight up.
She had her hand draped over his shoulder.
‘Tom and I are getting married.’
She sneered at me and revealed those giant white teeth. As soon as the words ‘married’ left her lips she clutched on his shoulder with a claw like grip. It was like one of those animal TV shows where they have a stand off between potential mates.
She may as well have pissed all over him to mark her territory – in case I didn’t get it.
