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“Hey, Jude. I bumped into your psycho girlfriend last night. She’s worried about you. Thought I’d check in and see how you are?”
“Isobel spoke to you?” His shock carries easily through the line. “I never told her to. And she’s not my girlfriend. I’ve not seen her since the night you left. I would never be with anyone who would want to hurt you or James. Never.” I can tell he’s starting to panic a bit.
“Whatever. I didn’t call to discuss Isobel or the state of your relationship, I called to speak to you. To see how you are. And if you want to meet up?”
“YES, yes definitely, when and where? I can come anytime,” he blurts, sounding desperate.
“Well, I’ve got some time today. Where are you? In the city?”
“I’m at the house, but I can come to where you are.” The hope in his voice nearly slays me.
“To be honest, that would be good for me. I’m at my building. You know where it is, don't you? Can you get here? It’s not too far for you?”
“I’ll be over as soon as traffic allows,” he states with confidence.
After putting down the phone, I potter around, engaging in a whole lot of nothing. And wait. I don't really know what to expect, but what walks through the door, I am not prepared for at all.
He truly is a mess. He seems to have shrunk. Stooped shoulders, sunken eyes, skin so pale it looks like it hasn’t seen any sunshine in weeks, hair a mess. He’s normally so on point with all that grooming stuff. What the hell has he been doing? Or not doing?
“Brown, what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” He looks around behind him, as if something’s going on he didn’t know about. I step forward and hug him, and he makes a noise that sounds a lot like a choked cry. “You look awful. What’s the matter? Is it because of me?”
He looks so lost, I look to the heavens. “Really, Brown, this is me?” He looks like he doesn’t know what to say.
“I’ve put the kettle on, and bought your favourite tea bags.”
“And I’ve brought you a new Fortnum & Mason teapot for two.” He pulls out his gift. I want to cry, he’s picked me out an incredibly thoughtful gift. I blink back the tears, I need to hold it together, we can’t both be breaking down. I need to stay stong for him.
“Thank you, it’s lovely Brown,” I say quietly and kiss his cheek. He looks like he might crack so I usher him into my kitchen with its huge open windows looking out onto the river. The ceilings are really high. All exposed bricks and metal work. I even left some of the old signage on the bricks—telling workers ‘Ten minutes only for breaks’ and where the toilets are—to maintain the original character of the building.
“Time for a tea break.” He points at the sign, regaining his composure. “Evie, it's beautiful.” He’s walking around with awe on his face, touching the bricks, feeling the ironwork in a lattice pattern like delicate lace. Taking in the work, the sympathetic restoration. “Is the building all like this?”
“Yep. I think I love James’s room the best. Come see.” I take him across the room and into a lobby area and open James’s door. The bed is made up of old ironwork, industrial style. Above our heads, it's open to the skies, with skylights and windows that make the room so light. The bricks weave patterns and give colour. Intricate ironworks and bits of old machinery have been repurposed into furniture. They make it crazy, aesthetic. “What do you think?” I ask him as he stands there with his mouth wide open, catching flies.
“I can’t believe I left you to do all this alone.”
“Yeah, it was tough, but you know the team is super, so… I’ll let you wander around while I do the tea. Come through when you’re ready.”
I bustle off, not wanting him to see me cry. He looks so lost.
What have I done? In my need to escape and get my life together, I’ve destroyed others.
But they weren’t listening, I tell myself. I need to sort this lot out, but not go back to communal living. That is not happening again. But I definitely need to support Jude more.
When he wanders back in, I have the new pot brewing his favourite tea ready for him. He says nothing, just sits, looking around and out the windows.
Eventually he says, “I’m sorry, Evie, for taking you for granted. I know how brilliant you are. This is testament to that. And anyone that sees it will know. There are lots of things I’ve thought about since you left. Not big things, some really small, but they add up over time. Not listening is a biggie, and I didn’t. We were used to hearing your voice, but we just didn’t listen to the words you were saying.”
He studies me for a moment before going on. “At work, I got where I really believed it was me who came up with the ideas for buildings. All those meetings with men in construction who didn’t listen to your ideas, but if I said the same thing, they were patting me on the back. As if I was a genius. I never pushed back. I should have said it was you. But instead, I took over the cases. Because they were misogynistic and I didn’t want to call out their behaviour. Too busy being in the boys’ club.”
“Brown, you did what you could. They...”
“No,” he interrupts me, “I didn’t. Not really. I wanted them to think it was me. I wanted the kudos and cache. But when I look at this,” he sweeps his hand around the room, his eyes coming to rest directly on me, “I know there’s no way I could have done it. I just don’t have that sort of brain. I’m a facilitator. You have the vision, I just make it happen. Those buildings that talk dirty to you? I don’t hear them. I walk right past them. They could shout all they wanted, I’m tone deaf.”
“Arrrgh, the dirty ones are always the most fun.” I look at him with a very cheeky expression, touching his face. “Good job you can’t hear them. They’d make you blush, brother.” I look away for a moment, then turn back laughing. “Hit me, Evie, harder baby, harder, crush me, Evie, tighter darlin’, do it, Evie, do it. Smash me, E, harder. Make it hurt, Kitten.” I pause. “Oh that last bit might have been Kellen, so just ignore that one.”
I grin at him and he starts to laugh, his voice hoarse. I wonder if he’s talked or laughed in the few weeks since I’ve seen him.
My heart sinks at the thought of that, at any of them feeling so bad about themselves. It’s time to sort things out, sit and talk and no grenade lobbing from me.
