Dishes cleared in silence, cake wrapped and put in the fridge, coffee cups rinsed for propriety’s sake, Briony heated some leftover mulled wine on the stove and poured it from the saucepan into an old flower vase. She brought it and two champagne flutes to the table, then ladled up. Their glasses raised, Briony asked Daniel to do the toast.
“To…good health”
They clinked. Neither was thirsty.
…
Some time later Briony asked Daniel if he was still okay to drive her to St. Andrews. For, since her flight wasn’t until the evening, she had decided to hold a market stall in the early hours, hoping to raise a few extra dollars with a collection of dresses exhumed from the back of her wardrobe. There was also some jewellery and trinkets, a once-used exercise machine that looked like a giant bow, a box of hand-tied fishing flies her spendthrift brother had given her at Christmas. A bake sale had crossed her mind too, briefly.
“Yeah,” he said, fidgeting. “I meant to speak to you”
“you want me to call Tabitha?”
“I can take you, I can…it’s just”
“What?”
Daniel shifted uneasily in his seat. It seemed to Briony that he was arguing over some quandary in his mind, there was a look of consternation about him, like the one he got when beguiled by a Sudoku puzzle in the Sunday paper.
Finally he lowered his voice and said, “well, I noticed the red dress was in the pile”
“which red dress? There were a few”
“you know the one I mean”
“um…”
“the one from our first date,” he blurted loudly, “and don’t say you don’t remember that”
“I didn’t say anything, I just”
“well don’t, alright”
Her eyes widened incredulously. “Okay…”
Then, under his voice, chin brushing against his neck, Daniel muttered a terse “selfish” before taking out his mobile phone and punching keys.
“To…good health”
They clinked. Neither was thirsty.
…
Some time later Briony asked Daniel if he was still okay to drive her to St. Andrews. For, since her flight wasn’t until the evening, she had decided to hold a market stall in the early hours, hoping to raise a few extra dollars with a collection of dresses exhumed from the back of her wardrobe. There was also some jewellery and trinkets, a once-used exercise machine that looked like a giant bow, a box of hand-tied fishing flies her spendthrift brother had given her at Christmas. A bake sale had crossed her mind too, briefly.
“Yeah,” he said, fidgeting. “I meant to speak to you”
“you want me to call Tabitha?”
“I can take you, I can…it’s just”
“What?”
Daniel shifted uneasily in his seat. It seemed to Briony that he was arguing over some quandary in his mind, there was a look of consternation about him, like the one he got when beguiled by a Sudoku puzzle in the Sunday paper.
Finally he lowered his voice and said, “well, I noticed the red dress was in the pile”
“which red dress? There were a few”
“you know the one I mean”
“um…”
“the one from our first date,” he blurted loudly, “and don’t say you don’t remember that”
“I didn’t say anything, I just”
“well don’t, alright”
Her eyes widened incredulously. “Okay…”
Then, under his voice, chin brushing against his neck, Daniel muttered a terse “selfish” before taking out his mobile phone and punching keys.
She froze. “What did you say?”
He’d never insulted her that way.
“Huh?”
“I’m selfish?”
“What’s that?”
“Daniel I heard you- you think I’m selfish for selling that dress?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “maybe”
“I wear clothes every day Dan, you’ve seen me in a million outfits, you’ve”
“okay stop there Bri” he said
“what?”
He kept silent, punching the keys in obvious discomfort.
“What?”
“Oh…okay!” Looking her in the eyes, he said, “okay, are you serious Briony? Are you serious? Christ it isn’t the dress! It’s the memory! And you’re going to sell it off for some…stranger to fucking flounce about in? Just trading out good memories for cash? And you reckon it’s not selfish, are you serious?”
…
It was the first time he’d screamed at her. Suddenly the room felt pressurised, as though quarantined in a vacuum, and somewhere near her appendix an odd sensation: pangs of adrenaline.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier? I’ll take it out okay, I’ll keep it”
“That isn’t the point Bri,” he said calmly, “it’s a bad memory now”
She was moved.
“Oh Dan, but we have so many others”
“they’re all turning bad” he replied
“excuse me?”
“Nothing, just forget I spoke at all.” He seemed to squirm with guilt.
More adrenaline. “They’re all turning bad? That’s the most horrible thing you’ve ever said to me!”
“Yeah, well”
“No way, absolutely not…what is wrong Dan? You’ve been like this for months, so up and down, and”
“What’s wrong what’s wrong,” he interrupted her. “See? That’s fucking it!”
“Where, what? Could you stop swearing please?”
Daniel collected his thoughts. “You have no idea what’s wrong, and that’s it”
Of course, she knew what was wrong- she had known all along. But that paled in comparison to the desire, the aching, sensational desire she felt to hear him, just this once, explain it to her. “Huh? You’re upset because I don’t know why you’re upset? That makes no sense Dan”
“I’m upset,” he screamed hoarsely, “because…”
She took him by the arm. He pushed her away like a doll.
“Because why? Dan it’s torture, just”
“Because you’re leaving without me and haven’t shown the slightest bit of consideration for how I might feel about that, that’s why! Fuck! You just hole yourself up in the kitchen and make your friggen cakes instead of talking to me!”
…
A shiver, the sort caught in a gust of wind or surge of unexpected sunshine, swept across her every inch. The relief was unimaginable. Newfound intimacy, the candour of rage, had introduced itself at long last, and Briony felt more liberated – and angrier – than ever before. Furiously, she raised her voice to a boom and let heedless words swirl from her mouth.
“Well maybe, Dan, maybe if you had’ve stopped being so bloody miserable for a second and been happy for me that I was following my dreams and doing the things I’ve always dreamed about! Instead of drawing all the…effing…attention to yourself! To think there’s something so wrong with waiting! Isn’t that selfish? And cowardly? Who’s the selfish one Dan?”
He pressed his fingers to his chest in defence. “I’m the selfish one? You’re pretty much saying you understood why I was upset, all this time?”
“Well what about you? You just said I was…holing myself up…so you obviously knew I was upset…so yes, you are selfish!”
“Then so are you!”
Daniel slammed his fist, knocking a full flute down. Mulled wine spilled everywhere, expanding over the tablecloth like a red ink blotch. Briony got up to fetch the paper towels.
“No,” said Daniel, “I’ll get it”
He’d never insulted her that way.
“Huh?”
“I’m selfish?”
“What’s that?”
“Daniel I heard you- you think I’m selfish for selling that dress?”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “maybe”
“I wear clothes every day Dan, you’ve seen me in a million outfits, you’ve”
“okay stop there Bri” he said
“what?”
He kept silent, punching the keys in obvious discomfort.
“What?”
“Oh…okay!” Looking her in the eyes, he said, “okay, are you serious Briony? Are you serious? Christ it isn’t the dress! It’s the memory! And you’re going to sell it off for some…stranger to fucking flounce about in? Just trading out good memories for cash? And you reckon it’s not selfish, are you serious?”
…
It was the first time he’d screamed at her. Suddenly the room felt pressurised, as though quarantined in a vacuum, and somewhere near her appendix an odd sensation: pangs of adrenaline.
“Why didn’t you say something earlier? I’ll take it out okay, I’ll keep it”
“That isn’t the point Bri,” he said calmly, “it’s a bad memory now”
She was moved.
“Oh Dan, but we have so many others”
“they’re all turning bad” he replied
“excuse me?”
“Nothing, just forget I spoke at all.” He seemed to squirm with guilt.
More adrenaline. “They’re all turning bad? That’s the most horrible thing you’ve ever said to me!”
“Yeah, well”
“No way, absolutely not…what is wrong Dan? You’ve been like this for months, so up and down, and”
“What’s wrong what’s wrong,” he interrupted her. “See? That’s fucking it!”
“Where, what? Could you stop swearing please?”
Daniel collected his thoughts. “You have no idea what’s wrong, and that’s it”
Of course, she knew what was wrong- she had known all along. But that paled in comparison to the desire, the aching, sensational desire she felt to hear him, just this once, explain it to her. “Huh? You’re upset because I don’t know why you’re upset? That makes no sense Dan”
“I’m upset,” he screamed hoarsely, “because…”
She took him by the arm. He pushed her away like a doll.
“Because why? Dan it’s torture, just”
“Because you’re leaving without me and haven’t shown the slightest bit of consideration for how I might feel about that, that’s why! Fuck! You just hole yourself up in the kitchen and make your friggen cakes instead of talking to me!”
…
A shiver, the sort caught in a gust of wind or surge of unexpected sunshine, swept across her every inch. The relief was unimaginable. Newfound intimacy, the candour of rage, had introduced itself at long last, and Briony felt more liberated – and angrier – than ever before. Furiously, she raised her voice to a boom and let heedless words swirl from her mouth.
“Well maybe, Dan, maybe if you had’ve stopped being so bloody miserable for a second and been happy for me that I was following my dreams and doing the things I’ve always dreamed about! Instead of drawing all the…effing…attention to yourself! To think there’s something so wrong with waiting! Isn’t that selfish? And cowardly? Who’s the selfish one Dan?”
He pressed his fingers to his chest in defence. “I’m the selfish one? You’re pretty much saying you understood why I was upset, all this time?”
“Well what about you? You just said I was…holing myself up…so you obviously knew I was upset…so yes, you are selfish!”
“Then so are you!”
Daniel slammed his fist, knocking a full flute down. Mulled wine spilled everywhere, expanding over the tablecloth like a red ink blotch. Briony got up to fetch the paper towels.
“No,” said Daniel, “I’ll get it”
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