Page 49 of Things We Never Said
I had run out of fresh excuses and I think you sort of trapped me by asking if I’d come along or whether I’d be having another headache. I said, ‘No, of course I’ll come, why would you even say that?’ I pretended to be a little outraged, I think.
I packed our picnic and threw in the book I was reading as well, reckoning that I’d be able to hide my nose in it and appear all aloof and clever. That was the plan, anyway.
We met at Scudamore’s and rented three punts. Maggie came in ours, and she was lovely to me from the minute we met. She spotted the book I was reading – it was Armistead Maupin, I think – and she was reading the same series, so we compared notes. We were both in love with Michael ‘Mouse’ Tolliver.
Everyone was drinking, and you and an older guy from work, whose name I’ve forgotten, punted us along the river. I was surprised by how good you were at it. With nothing to do but drink and chat, Maggie and I got quite drunk.
April, who was wearing a little life-jacket they had lent us, trailed her hands in the water while I held on to her feet. We glided past the backs of the colleges and past lots of other punts filled with laughing students and tourists, and eventually ended up in Grantchester where we unfolded our blankets and spread out the food. Once we had eaten everything, we dozed in the sun.
I can remember the exact moment I changed my mind about Cambridge, and it was there, that day, in Grantchester.
I had my head on your chest – you had fallen asleep with a blade of grass between your teeth – and Maggie was playing with April in the shade of a tree.
Some students who were picnicking nearby had an old gramophone player, one of those wind-up ones, and they were playing a really scratched old record of ‘Mood Indigo’ over and over. I think they only had one record with them.
One of the students, one of those posh ones you see everywhere in Cambridge, in a waistcoat and shiny, proper shoes, came over. He asked us if we wanted some cake. It was someone’s birthday and they had this huge birthday cake with them, but they’d eaten too much and were stuffed, he said.
Out of habit, I said no. But April had heard the magic word ‘cake’ and came running over begging for a piece, so the guy in the waistcoat cut her a bit and then one by one we all caved in. It was lovely cake.
We gave them some of our wine, and you shared your cigarettes and they played the B-side of the record and within half an hour we had moved our blankets together to form one big group.
The students were all quite posh, but they were also shockingly friendly and chatty and open. It was the first glimpse I ever had of what makes Cambridge so special.
When you live in a town like Margate, where so many people are unemployed and no one has any money, you’re always, I suppose, a bit suspicious of other people’s motives.
But the opposite is true as well, and in a town like Cambridge where, at least back then, everyone had a job and everyone could afford cake and wine and cigarettes, well, no one worried about sharing stuff, did they? People’s first reflex wasn’t ‘what does he want from me?’ or ‘how is this person trying to rip me off?’ It was more, sort of, ‘Oh, how nice. Another person in the world.’
I didn’t grasp all of this that day, I don’t think. But slightly drunk, on a blanket, on the grass, I did feel unexpectedly relaxed and unthreatened by anyone or anything.
It still felt a bit wrong to be living in that little pocket of wealth when other places were struggling so hard. But I think I realised that if I could just let myself go a bit, it could be a very comfortable place to live and, above all, a very charmed existence for our daughter. Because when you have a child, the world turns into a theme park of possible dangers. And Cambridge suddenly felt like a very reassuring place for her to be.
Eventually the sun went down and it got a bit chilly, so we all divvied up into the boats again and headed back. I had decided that I really liked Mags and I had decided I would make her my friend, so I made sure I was in the same boat heading back.
I asked her if she had a boyfriend, and because she looked embarrassed and said no, I thought for a minute that I’d made a boo-boo, so I asked her if she had a girlfriend. She laughed so much she made the boat rock. She then said something that has stuck with me the whole time I’ve known her. She said, ‘I’m not very good at relationship stuff.’ It seemed a strange remark to me, because I had never considered relationship stuff as a thing you could be good at or bad at. Up until then, I thought it was just something that happened to you. But when I asked her about it, she was adamant that it was like a subject you might learn at college. There were many aspects to it, she explained. There was choosing the right person and wooing them correctly. There was the ability to resolve conflicts and choose gifts and remember important dates. ‘They should run courses on it,’ she said. ‘They really should, if only for people like me.’
Over the years, I think we’ve both come to see that she was right. She’s always chosen the wrong guys, and when she has chosen someone nice it’s always gone wrong, even when, like with gorgeous Ian, that wasn’t her fault. But I feel sad for Mags. I feel a little guilty even, that she never had what we had. But more of that later. I’m tired now. I need to sleep.
On Sunday, Sean accepts an invitation to a pub lunch with Maggie and Dave.
Maggie pulls up outside his house just before twelve and hoots her horn.
‘Hello!’ she says, beaming from the side window of her little Fiat. ‘Jump in. You’ll have to fight it out with Dave over who gets the back seat.’
‘Sean does,’ Dave says, leaning down over Mag’s lap and waving up at Sean. ‘There’s no way I’m getting in there.’
‘We can take my car, if you want,’ Sean offers hopefully. ‘It’s parked down the end. You can have my space, Mags.’
‘Oh, stop being such a wimp,’ Maggie laughs. ‘It’s only five minutes to Grantchester.’
‘Fifteen,’ Sean corrects. ‘But, whatever ...’
Dave stands to let Sean access the rear seat. ‘Sorry, dude,’ he says. ‘But my legs are even longer than yours are.’
‘You can swap on the way back, maybe?’ Maggie offers as Dave fastens his belt and then shifts his seat forwards, providing Sean with an entire extra inch of leg room.
‘It’s fine,’ Sean says, twisting so that he’s sitting sideways. ‘Go, Mags. Go!’
Though it’s still early when they reach the Green Man, there is only a single free table left outside, so Dave and Sean leave Maggie to defend it while they head into the dark interior to order.
