Ta Voix

I lug myself up the hill towards Gilmore’s, my new satchel swinging by my side. I’ve always admired people who use satchels. They work in fancy offices, have important meetings and fill their satchels with files from their important meetings. The tag is still on the strap, so I pull the plastic until it breaks off. I place the tag inside my satchel, which is otherwise empty. I arrive at Gilmore’s quicker than expected. 11:50 a.m. Ten minutes early.

Deep breath, Jamie. You’ve got this.

I push the door open and step in, left foot first.

Gilmore’s feels more like home than anywhere in the city. I spent most of my undergraduate years here. Revising, hungover, heartbroken — you name it, these four walls have seen it. The café is filled with vintage, mismatching furniture that makes me feel like I’m in my grandma’s living room. A mixture of family heirlooms and shabby chic items. There are china teacups dangling on little hooks from the exposed brick walls.

I gravitate towards my usual table. I look at the sofa pressed against the window, then to the seat opposite that faces outside. It’s an antique dentist’s chair that looks like a torture device. I sit down and slot my legs underneath the table, which is a tall desk that sits at my ribcage. It’s the perfect spot for doing work – not that I’m here for that today. On the desk, there is a porcelain trinket of the three little pigs embracing each other. There is no sign of the big bad wolf. 

11:55 a.m. Five minutes. My right leg bounces, shaking the table with each movement. I can’t just sit here. I pick up my satchel and join the queue for a drink. I reach into my jacket pocket to find it empty. I try my other pocket… nada. I look in my satchel and see only the broken tag. I’ve forgotten my wallet. Bollocks.

  How am I going to pay now? I can’t ask the girl, that’s just rude. Bad first impression.

  ‘What-if’ scenarios zoom around my head until I notice the waitress behind the counter looking at me, puzzled. Her eyebrows sink downwards and her head tilts to the left. She smiles like she knows me but I don’t recognise her.

  ‘Hi.’ She pauses. ‘It’s James, right?’ 

  Hearing my full name reminds me of when my mum is mad at me, or, worse, disappointed. ‘James’ appears under an umbrella of negative emotions.

  ‘Hi. Yes, it is. I’m not sure if I remember, sorry. I’m pretty awful with faces,’ I reply. Not a very flattering response, is it?

  ‘I’m Emily. We had History class together?’ she says. ‘At St Wilfred’s.’

  I search for the memory of the girl who sat next to me at school. All I remember of her are some chunky braces and a large fringe. Her fringe is wispier now. It suits her. 

  ‘Oh yes! Sorry, Emily, I didn’t recognise you! How are you? I didn’t know you worked here.’       

  ‘I’m good, thanks! I just work here on the weekends. It’s the only way I can afford my MA.’

  ‘What do you study?’

  ‘Classics.’

  I raise my eyebrows, impressed.

  ‘What about you? Did you stay on?’ she asks.

  ‘No, I didn’t. A master’s wasn’t really on the cards for me. I’m a journalist at a newspaper based at the quayside.’ She raises her eyebrows back. ‘It isn’t as impressive as it sounds. Lots of making coffee, not so much reporting.’

  ‘Ha, I feel you. Can I get you a drink? It’s on me, for old time’s sake.’

  ‘A cappuccino would be amazing.’ I place my hands in my empty pockets and smile. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘The last time I saw you, you were a bit… worse for wear.’ Emily looks at me for a spark of remembrance.

  I shake my head and laugh. ‘Oh God. That was a messy night. It was my twenty-first.’ I grimace with embarrassment.

  ‘You should have seen mine.’ she says. ‘Oh, and then you chased my friend down Northumberland Street screaming ‘Je—’

  ‘Oh God, please don’t remind me.’ I shake my head and laugh with her.

  ‘Emily.’ A woman behind the counter scolds. I assume it’s her manager.

  The queue has extended out of the café. Emily gives me an apologetic smirk and returns to her job. The whole encounter makes me forget why I’m here, until my phone starts buzzing in my back pocket. I check the screen: ‘BLIND DATE’. My old self apparently must create reminders about such things. How tragic. My new self switches the phone to silent.

  I take my coffee and return to my seat. I search up and down the queue for my potential date:

  She’s a bit too old. Cute dog, though. Nope, he’s male.Good-looking, though. I like her shoes. Oh, I loved that book. Good choice! God, everyone knows each other in here, don’t they?

  At this exact moment, I spot her. Not my date, no; someone else. A sweep of blonde hair, a familiar lean on her right leg, and it’s confirmed: my ex-girlfriend. Holy crap. My heart starts racing, I’m so dizzy I might puke, and all I can think about is hiding. I

impulsively duck, allowing the desk-come-coffee-table to hide me. My right leg starts jiggling just as my left leg calms down, causing my chair to spin this way and that. Maybe it isn’t her. It can’t be her.

  ‘Hi there, I’m sorry to bother you but are you waiting on a date? I’m struggling to find the guy I’m looking for.’

  I would know that voice anywhere. Buried beneath this table or six feet under, that voice could resurrect me on its own. I stay under the desk. Maybe she’s speaking to someone else.

  ‘Um, I’m sorry to interrupt, but…’

  I lift my head too quickly, bashing it on my way up. My face feels completely flushed. Half embarrassment, half blood-rush. There she is, right in front of me: Jessica Stewart. How hard did I hit my head? Well, there goes my plan. How can you reinvent yourself in front of someone who already knows you?

  ‘Oh my god, Jamie! What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Jess! Hi! What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m here on this stupid blind date. My friends think I need to “get back on the market”. What about you?’ she says, calmly smiling as if this isn’t the most painfully awkward experience.

  ‘Am I back on the market?’ I ask.

  ‘No. Why are you here?’

  ‘Oh, of course. Just for a coffee,’ I quickly interject. ‘And what brings you to Newcastle for this date? Really into Geordies?’

  ‘I’ve just started my master’s here! I was getting bored of Manchester, so I thought, why not? I always liked it when I used to visit you.’ Silence. ‘I didn’t bother telling you as I assumed you had moved somewhere better for a graduate job,’ she says, slipping

comfortably into a condescending manner that likes to remind me that I’m inadequate.

  ‘I do have a grad job. At a paper. In town.’ Ha.

  ‘Impressive. Anyway, I better go and find my date! We’ll have to catch up properly sometime,’ she says, touching my upper arm. I doubt it has any true intention behind it. Neither does my reply.

  I watch as she searches the café for her mystery date. I quickly

down my coffee and plan my escape route. The queue has bulged back into the café to shelter from the rain, making my exit significantly more difficult. I push through the crowd, getting around three people away from the door when I bump into Jess again.

  ‘Looks like I’ve been stood up. Fancy being my knight in shining armour and accompanying me for a coffee?’

  How could I possibly say no?

  We return to my table and I sit on the sofa with my back to the window. She looks different. She has a piercing in her right nostril, and I search for the memory of that spot of bare skin. I feel seventeen again, infatuated. There’s something strange about

bumping into someone you haven’t seen for a long time. You know the person, but you also know nothing about them. I know she has a birthmark at the top of her left thigh and that she’s scared of becoming like her mother. I don’t know what song she has on repeat or her go-to takeaway. Not anymore. 

  I sit through agonising stories about the boyfriends that usurped me, and she tries not to laugh about my lack of girlfriends since. I feel my right leg reach out towards her under the table. I’m not surprised. Take, for example, the incident that Emily brought up before. I had drunkenly mistook her friend to be Jess and, right leg first, chased her down the street, only to find out it wasn’t. I pull my leg back from under the table.

  ‘I’m gonna order another coffee. Can I get you one?’ Jess asks.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  I take the opportunity to look around the café. My eyes land on Emily, who is clearing a table. She lifts the teacups delicately, as if they might break at any moment. She picks up a grey trinket while she wipes the table. It’s the big bad wolf. I look to the table in front

of me, at the three little pigs, who are smiling obliviously. I look back to Emily, and her eyes meet mine. She smiles. Jess’s voice interrupts the moment, and I struggle to balance my attention.

  ‘So, yeah, he was amazing for me, but I wanted to be by myself and…’ she says as she sits down, talking about some guy called Jason.

  Emily serves us our drinks, carefully placing the cups onto the table. Jess grabs hers and spills some coffee. She giggles and looks at Emily to clean it up, which she does. I catch Emily’s eye and smile an apology.

  ‘Do you remember when you would walk me home during the winter, when it was freezing, and we would just stand and look up at the stars?’ Jess reminisces. ‘What about when we were late for Georgia’s party on Bonfire Night because we were… you know.’

I laugh along in response. She always manages to do this, reel me back in. But she doesn’t mention the other side of these stories. She conveniently forgets how she moaned about us having to walk because I couldn’t afford a car. She doesn’t mention my discovery of her and another boy in the bathroom at that party. I must remind myself of this side — otherwise I’ll get trapped. I can’t let that happen again.

‘We better get going; we’ve been here for hours!’ she says.

I get up and follow her in a trance. She walks ahead of me, and I speed walk to catch up, my right leg striding towards the past and my left leg doing everything to prevent my entrapment. As we make our way towards the Metro station, we begin to slow down. I know that this is goodbye.

‘It was so nice to see you,’ she says. ‘It was unexpected but… needed, I guess.’

‘Yeah, completely unexpected! It was great to see you. After so long.’

‘I’ll call you,’ she says as she hugs me.

It’s an awkward embrace. Wonderful and confusing —  everything a first love is. In those split seconds of contact, I am transported to the past. As the familiar warmth of her cheek reaches my neck, I get the faint trace of her perfume, a deep and mature smell. I snap out of my trance. This isn’t the girl that I once knew. She is different and so am I. This uncanny clone of my ex-girlfriend leaves me in the same spot where she broke my heart two years

previously. I watch her leave without turning back, just as she did that day. Talk about déjà vu. My right leg jerks forward to run after her. Muscle memory. Instead, I head to my platform.

  Standing on the platform, my heart feels lighter, like I’ve left something behind. How cliché. I realise that I have left something behind: my satchel, in the café. Bollocks. I race back up the escalators two steps at a time. Both my left and right leg run in perfect alternation. The sign on the door says ‘Closed’ but I can see the staff tidying up, so I push the door ajar.  

  ‘I’m sorry, we’re… Oh! James! Hi,’ Emily says as she pops up from behind the counter.

  ‘Hi, I think I left my bag here before. Don’t suppose you have it?’

  She rises, lifting my satchel with her, and places it on the counter.

  I tell myself I should stop staring at her hands on my bag and take it, thank her and leave. But something stops me, forcing me to stay; forcing me to talk to her, to find out her story. 

  ‘Call me “Jamie”, will you?’