WONDERWALL — an extract

Jamie came to meet me in an old coffee shop at the Eastern edge of Brixton, the area roughly in between our separated lives. There were other options we could’ve gone for, such as that garden cafe in Dulwich we’d frequented during the summer, or a Nordic kitchen in Wandsworth that had become our winter hideout. Neither of us suggested to meet at either. A place with no shared memory was necessary for the first meeting after the breakup. At least for me. I did not want to be reminded of the days that were lost. The days that filled me with a rhythmical excitement. The days that embraced me with a gentle protection.

The soya latte I’d ordered five minutes ago was already getting cold. An apologetically thin foam on top had started to disappear, leaving just the bubble stains on a dove grey mug. Jamie’s flat white came in a red hand-painted mug with a mismatched green saucer. Only a tiny amount was left in his cup. Neither were full even when they arrived. Just like how we were. Neither of us having any stakes in each other’s lives. 

After an uncomfortable silence followed by the obligatory “Hey”s and “Good to see you”s, Jamie opened up the conversation.

‘So. How’s everything?’ he asked, facing me directly as he leant in. 

‘Um, good, I guess.’ Had there been a choice, I wouldn’t have been the first to  answer the question. ‘The work’s been the same, not particularly exciting.’

An unspoken pressure was mounting for me to conjure up something remotely interesting.

‘Oh, we’ve finished updating the food lineups, actually.’ My day job offered an unexpected reprieve. ‘The snack range is out now. There are a whole bunch of “complete nutrition” foods on the go, like the omega-rich protein bars.’

‘Oh, like the ones the bodybuilders eat after working out at the gym?’

‘Exactly.’ I nodded. ‘There are lots on the market already. The difference in our bars is how you can combine flavours.’

‘Adding things to those bars?’ Jamie tilted his head, looking mildly curious. ‘How?’

‘There are six bars which act as a base.’ I put my fingers out to count. ‘The flavours are Vanilla, Chocolate, Red Velvet, Egg, Tuna, Salmon. Three sweet and three savoury.’

‘Sounds appetising already,’ Jamie said with a frown.

I ignored it. Defending something I barely believed in myself would’ve diverted my explanation and never would have allowed me to reach the end.

‘The base bars can be eaten on their own, but we also added six sauces. Mint, Raspberry, Caramel, Custard, Maple Syrup and White Chocolate. They come in a pack of three. You can add them to make the base taste more interesting, as well as give them additional nutritional value. That way the customers can enjoy lots of different flavour combinations.’

‘What would Mint give in additional nutrients, for example?’

‘Um, I can’t remember off the top of my head… I think something like Zinc or Magnesium.” I wasn’t really sure. “It just adds things.’

‘Adds things to already “nutritionally complete” bars?’ Jamie looked less than impressed.

‘Well, yeah. “Complete nutrition” food does not mean that it has absolutely everything. Besides, sauces are more like top-ups.’

Jamie looked at me, frown still intact across his forehead.

‘I guess the problem for me is.’ He was playing with his hair, making it stick up. ‘The base bars come in a combination of sweet and savoury, but all the sauces are sweet,’ he continued. ‘So you would end up with flavours like “Tuna Custard” or “Salmon White Chocolate”, which nobody would want to eat. I’d be surprised if anyone would, even after the toughest workouts.’

It was a fair point. First time the idea was shared, I questioned why such a gimmick have been given the go-ahead by management.

‘I know what you mean.’ My voice was careful, as I didn’t want to stir up any more tension between us. ‘Savoury flavours are mostly eaten on their own though. They are there to cater for those with a less sweet tooth. Besides, they’re not all so bad. I’ve tried the Egg and Maple Syrup and it actually tastes okay.’

This was true. The only sweet and savoury flavour combination that didn’t make me gag.

Jamie shook his head. ‘Well, each to their own I guess. Personally, I’m not convinced and don’t think I’d ever try them myself.’ Jamie seemed a little embarrassed by his dismissive tone. He put his hands back on the almost empty mug. ‘Your company has done some interesting things certainly.’ That was his way of being diplomatic.

After a moment of silence, Jamie asked, ‘Have you done much music lately?’

I looked away.

‘Some, yes.’ I tried to force a smile. ‘Not as much as I’d like to though.’

‘That’s a shame, you should.’ His voice sounded light. ‘That was one of the things I was hoping you would do more of, since we’re not together anymore.’

I bit my lips. The habit I’d been trying to get rid of as people often commented how it made me look stern, but I couldn't help myself. How could he make it sound so easy?

‘Well, yeah. I have been doing some, as I said.’ I forced out what I considered to be a strong voice. ‘Just not nearly as much as I would like to.’

‘Well, you should change that. You’re the only one who can, you know?’

A lump was coming up in my throat. Could he be any more blasé?

‘I know. I am trying to.’

‘Yeah, you should make time for it if it’s really important to you, you know? You can’t keep making excuses,’ Jamie continued, sounding casual.

‘I know but there’s been a lot going on.’ This came out a lot stronger than intended.

I could not suppress it any longer.

      ‘Don’t you miss me, Jamie?’

He went quiet.

‘I do. I’ve wanted to talk to you,’ he finally said. He stared at his fingers, toying with the brown sugar packets on the table, his face tipped so I couldn’t make out his expression.

‘But you know, things didn’t work out for a reason,’ his tone was firm.

‘...I’m still trying to work out the reason why.’ All my senses were focused on making my voice flat.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Like, why we needed to break up at that point. Why you suddenly decided you weren’t happy.’

‘Oh, come on, Elena. We don’t have to do this.’ Jamie looked up to face me. His eyebrows wrinkled in a mild plea. ‘I thought we were going to have a nice chat or something. You know, as friends.’

‘You said, yes. I remember.’ I was calm, I hope. ‘But I’d rather know.’ My voice was starting to crack, against my best effort to keep it steady. ‘I didn’t mean to say this before I came here, because I knew you wouldn’t want to go into it. But I think it’d really help me to know. I would prefer to know.’ The wood patterns on the table were blurring. I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand.

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Jamie stuck up his hair again. He hands lingered over his head. They eventually came down to cover his temples.

‘It just got too difficult. You know that,’ he finally said, without looking at me.

I screwed up my eyes and shook my head gently.

‘I mean, the kind of fights we were having weren’t normal,’ Jamie continued. ‘I felt like you found faults in everything I said. Especially things about you.’

The tears I was holding back found their way out. My attempts at suppressing them were in vain. The quiet hiccups prevented me from talking.

‘You couldn’t have been all that happy either.’ Jamie was touching his hair again. ‘That’s why I thought it best to do it now, rather than carrying it on after I moved house. It’s not like I was desperate to get out of it.’

His iPhone beeped and lit up with the green message icon. He looked over with a slight frown, seeming hesitant to speak out.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he eventually said, sounding decisive.

I looked up at his face. The frown could have been either a signal of pain, or annoyance. It told me nothing.

  Putting down his phone, Jamie looked at me again, and gave me a slight smile.

‘It was good to see you, really. Good to chat.’

His arms were already reaching for his jacket on the back of his chair. The smile lines which always appeared by the corners of his eyes were still there.

Suppressing the lump in my throat, I wondered what they could tell me if I could only knew how to read them.

Sorry that it had to be this way.

Sorry that there was no alternative.

He kept his head down, avoiding my gaze. Behind his round tortoiseshell glasses and their thick lenses, his long eyelashes were in perfect focus.

‘Yeah. Yeah it was,’ I managed to say. ‘Thanks for coming all this way.’

Discreetly I tried to wipe my face with a tissue while I turned around to reach for my coat and scarf.

Jamie shook his head emphatically. ‘Oh no, no trouble! Honestly, I thought the same as you. Thought it’d be a good idea. You know, to clear the air.’

My head nodded to every word that was coming out of his mouth. I could only make out about half of it.

‘It only makes sense, doesn’t it? After everything we’ve gone through. That we would see each other again to talk, you know? I think it probably was necessary.’ Jamie got up and wrapped the red tartan scarf around his neck. He looked up to check the time on the clock, then again on his phone to make sure. ‘I really gotta go.’

I was picking up my bag, just about to get up on my feet.

‘Okay.’ It was the closest approximation to my usual voice.

‘Sorry, I need to go to this thing Dan has organised. It’s a networking event for startups that are a bit more established. It’s on from 6pm.’

I tried to smile, hoping it’d look like a mild interest. ‘No worries.’

‘I’d wait and walk with you to the station, but I think I’m already late.’ He was looking up Citymapper. ‘Yeah… It’ll take me around 45 minutes.’

‘No probs, seriously.’

‘Sorry! It was really good to see you though,’ he bent down towards me, as his arms spread out to reach for a hug. I extended my arms towards his back, caught in the most awkward angle. As he pulled back, I was left half standing, crouched above my chair, left wondering how best to retract myself. 

‘Take care, okay?’ Jamie didn’t appear to notice. ‘You’ll be great. You’ll be amazing.’ He said all this in one go. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

I bit my lips again and moved my head slightly, hoping that it’d pass as a nod.

‘We’ll see each other again soon, I’m sure. Let’s find time.’ He picked up the leather rucksack from the floor and quickly shrugged it on.

‘Alright Elena, See you soon!’ He paused very slightly. ‘Take care.’

He turned around and walked with his long strides on the unvarnished wooden floor. The doorbell with the cloth strings chimed as he went out. The image of him turning in the direction of the station through the glass window became all blurry. He did not look back once.

Walking back all the way to Clapham Junction wasn’t the smartest idea, I knew. But I couldn’t bear getting on the tube or the bus during rush hour, crammed in with strangers. My chest tightened at the thought of being surrounded by the anonymous mass.

Acre Lane is not the prettiest road in London by any stretch of imagination. Lined with warehouses and abandoned sites, there wasn't anyone else walking on the pavement. The sun had already set. Both sides of the road were almost pitch dark.

A cold drop tapped on my forehead. The rain was coming down.

What could I have done? What could I have possibly done to stop this?

The rain was falling harder on my head, and it showed no signs of slowing down.

Was it all down to me?

Was it because of who I am?

My neck had lost the battle with gravity.

Tell me.

I called out, knowing there would never be a response.

What more could I have done?

Everything had been the same for me the past few months, day and night. Everywhere I looked, every street I walked, and every brick of the houses I passed emitted the same shade of murkiness. Everything around me remained opaque.

*

Regardless of where I am, people do not hesitate to categorise me as some kind of minority. There seems to be an unspoken rule that someone with my features should be an ‘Other’.

Some parts of the British culture have felt far removed at times. Like Christmas, for example. Being raised by a Japanese mother, Christmas dinner was never a homemade Turkey with all the trimmings. Every year, the centerpiece was a store bought rotisserie chicken, accompanied by our regular Japanese fusion dinner. The only Christmas CD my mum owned was Mariah Carey. It took me a long time to figure out all the names of the classic Christmas songs and who they are by. Nat Cole King or Nat King Cole - I needed to think about it in my head for a good while. Even though I was born in this country, there was a small part of me that had questioned if I was ‘genuine’ or not.

’Where are you from?’ has long been the first question people ask me. The place we were born is often used to determine our credentials in belonging to a nation. If that is the case, I at least had that. I was also schooled here. Then why should I feel otherwise?

Every so often, TV reruns would throw up cultural references I didn’t grow up with. The first time I was allowed to watch regular TV broadcast was when I was in Secondary School. Up until that point, mum was adamant on the ‘Japanese only’ house rule. TV viewing was no exception. I was only allowed to watch the Japanese children’s programmes recorded on the VHS by my grandfather. I later learned that my grandmother would carefully pack them and send over in a small parcel.

The pub quiz is one of the occasions when my lack of knowledge is exposed. As I struggled to contribute, I was always left wondering if I really qualify as a full blown English. There wasn’t a choice. It is something I have needed to get used to about my life.

One of the reasons I was attracted to Jamie was that he didn’t ask me the question. Our backgrounds weren’t brought up until our second date. Even then, his phrasing wasn’t quite so conventional.

Jamie first told me about his family. 

‘My mum is from Somerset. Most of her side is English, as far as I know,’ he said, after we found a table by the fireplace in an old pub by the Clapham Common. Sat next to the real fire, Jamie needed to take off his blue cable knit. The warm glow of orange only added to the comfort for someone like me, who is always cold.

‘Dad is Scottish though. His family’s from a town near Aberdeen. His grandparents left and moved down to the South. They eventually settled down in Sussex. That hasn’t made him forget his roots though. He’s definitely a proud Scot. He’d always remind me what I am - half Scottish.’

Jamie took a swig of beer. He then asked, somewhat cautiously, ‘What about yours? Are they British?’

Looking back, he must have known that my answer wouldn’t be the same as his. It was very much like him to give me the choice though. Make an inclusive assumption. Because that was a nice thing to do. It was a polite thing to do.

‘No, no they aren’t.’ I took a sip of cloudy lemonade. “My mum’s Japanese.’

‘Really? That’s cool.’ Jamie was smiling. He must have been relieved to be given the answer.

‘Is it?’ I wasn’t quite sure how best to react. ‘As for dad, I’m not quite sure. I’ve never met him.’

‘Oh,’ he said quietly, and waited for me to continue.

I took a moment before carrying on.

‘I grew up thinking he was English. At the very least, British. I thought that was the reason why I’m in this country. But I’m not so sure these days.’

‘How come?’ he asked, because I didn’t give anything more.

The truth was I didn’t have much more to say.

‘I know I was born in this country. Mum told me so, and that’s what’s on my passport. I was born in Surrey. Redhill, apparently. My parents must have lived there around then. I don’t know much else, because Mum hardly talked about him.’

‘That’s kind of fascinating,’ Jamie said quietly. ‘Sorry if it’s the wrong thing to say.’

‘It’s fine.’ My fingers played with the candle in the middle of the table. ‘It’s not that fascinating though.’

Jamie thought about it for a bit. ‘Didn’t you ask your mum about this?’

‘What do you mean?’ I knew what he meant. ‘About what?’

‘About your dad.’ I could tell Jamie was trying to be careful not to sound too curious. ‘Where he is, and what he’s doing.’

I didn’t know how much detail to go into. More precisely, I wasn’t sure how much I wanted to talk about it.

‘Yeah, of course.’ I was a little hesitant. ‘When I was very small. She would never tell me though. I had to give up, come to terms with that.’

I was making it clear I wasn’t ready to talk about this anymore.

‘Have you tried to find out about him?’ Jamie asked me gently.

‘No, not really.’ I’d put back the candle. ‘Not actively, no.’

*

It’s not like Jamie was my first boyfriend. I had had some relationships before, especially in the three years spent at university. Sometimes I looked back to remind myself that he wasn’t an oddity in showing an interest in me. All the relationships back then only lasted for a few months, so what I had with Jamie was by far the longest. What was different this time around was that I got really used to having someone in my everyday life.

After passing the initial three months of ambivalence, the two of us became more comfortable spending time at home. Jamie was there with me, in all sorts of backdrops. From taking long weekend breaks in Venice or Copenhagen, to seemingly mundane scenarios like doing the laundry. I didn’t know there could be comfort in asking someone if anything needed washing, just before I was about to do my weekly load.

Every time I looked to my right, Jamie was there. He was not an idea I longed for, when the loneliness was trying to take over me. He was not a shadow I needed to chase. His proximity meant I could always touch him if I extended my arms.

      Jamie shared a flat in West Dulwich with Andy. His friend from school, back home in Sussex. While I never moved into their place officially, I only went back to my room in Earlsfield to fetch a change of clothes or something specific that I absolutely needed, like a passport. Andy said he didn’t mind, since his work as an assistant to a travel photographer meant he was hardly in London anyway. Jamie and I were lucky that we got to enjoy the big living room with two big plush sofas and a bay window all to ourselves. We hardly spent any time at my tiny box room. Drawing a comparison between the two houses would have been cruel. In fact, I don’t think Jamie ev er came to mine.

Both tech savvy, Jamie and Andy had a number of high-end gadgets in their house. Their film projector was a regular facilitator of our nights in. A Wes Anderson fan, Jamie insisted we watch his films to enrich my world. The first one was either ‘Grand Budapest Hotel’ or ‘Moonrise Kingdom’. I can’t be sure which it was now.

       No evening was spent apart. When I opened the front door with my own key to their place after work, Jamie would be at his desk or just back from his co-working office. I would replace my leather work bag for the jute shopping tote, and we would go back out together right away. Walking hand in hand on the way to Waitrose, we’d discuss what to cook for dinner that day. Our repertoire was somewhat limited, but I offered my Japanese influence with soba noodles and om-rice, and grew fond of his love for simple Italian dishes like mushroom risotto and no-knead homemade pizza. The two of us laid out the table to eat at the same spot every night. Even that became a highlight of my day.

Every Tuesday morning, I was handed a copy of Time Out in Vauxhall. I gradually only started to read the columns and skim through the What’s on section. I no longer circled the gigs and concerts listings I once tried so hard to schedule in to my calendar. They no longer felt necessary. The urgency had disappeared. We didn’t need to be stimulated by this ever-changing adrenalin-seeking city. We were entertained by each other, and just happy doing so.

Or so I thought.

‘Are we getting a bit “old”?’ Jamie asked me one Friday evening, about a year into our relationship. We were sat on the sofa, trying to decide which series to continue to watch that night: Breaking Bad or Downton Abbey.

‘No, I don’t think so.’ I answered, biting off a bit of caramel shortbread. ‘You’re Thirty and I’ve turned Twenty Eight only recently. We’re not in our teens, sure, but I don’t think we’re old. People wouldn’t consider us old, by any measure. I sounded more certain than I’d felt. My words came out almost convincingly.

Jamie just frowned.

‘Well, it sure feels different to how I felt five years ago.’

He carried on loading an episode of Breaking Bad, taking my momentary silence as making concession to his choice. I could’ve fought against it, pushed harder for Downton Abbey. But I didn’t. What had just been said circled in my head.

I honestly thought we were having fun.

It was like playing house.