Mary was standing in the kitchen, crying. She had emailed me across from the office asking if we could make a cup of tea.
“He said that if I don’t have a baby in the next year, I won’t be able to have one. Ever.”
We talked a little about how the appointment had gone and I remember saying to her, something along the lines of “A year is a long time, you’re bound to meet someone.” Me, having no clue what she would be feeling, news like that being told to a 35 year old, single woman. Not understanding those pressures, thinking myself immune for being younger and in a seemingly happy relationship that would soon end and put me in a similar situation to Mary in years to come.
The conversation turned to me, talking about how stressed I was that day, in my unimportant job with unimportant problems, probably saying that we should catch up soon, that she shouldn’t worry. I was also not worried. Mary Clark was a sort of siren amongst women. She had long blonde hair and was enviably but also healthy thin. When I first came to the company she had been one of the first people who had really smiled at me, she’d been wearing dungarees and I thought she was the coolest person I’d ever seen. She was so warm and gentle and had a lightness about her that transcended her into a slightly untouchable zone. Never one to be part of the every day gossip and cat culture that had been bred into our largely female office, she would operate in her own time zone and only be fleetingly seen at her desk, more likely running to yoga or to a much cooler more stylish event you could never dream of attending.
About a year before that, a few of us were heading out to Berlin for a long weekend and I invited Mary, thinking she would never come; that she’d be much too busy for this weird mix of creatures that had formed an unlikely friendship. But she surprised us all and decided to join. I was excited but the others not so much, asking why I had invited her without consulting them. This was very confusing for me, thinking Mary validated this strange group of people going away together, I couldn’t understand what the problem would be.
She turned up at the airport separately, dressed in all the right clothes for a Berlin weekend. She had been sent a list of where to go’s from a friend and seemed straight out of an article on how to pack for a European weekend. I remember feeling so young and so impressed. We sat together on the plane and I tried to find out as much about her as I could, thinking this information would somehow propel me deeper into her life. We were all high and wild with plans, those shaky feelings of new worlds and friendships deepens with shared experience. Everything was good and we were all ready for Berlin.
We went bike riding, ate hot dogs, drank beer, spoke in broken German and dressed up in insane outfits. We shared stories about boys and future life plans, how we were all going to get out of that office one day. Revelled in our hatred of certain co workers and shared faux sympathy for those would would never make out inner circle.
As these things often do when hash plans are made, the cracks in all the relationships started to show. One morning, I found myself lying on the floor of the hotel room trying to regain energy after feeling utterly thwarted by all the different personalities. Hayley and I were sharing a bed and were luckily able to create our own microcosm, away from what had become a bizarre situation. Suzy was sharing with the other two girls, one a Mormon on a quest for a new sexual identity, the other a girl’s girl looking for a husband. One day, having realised the group had split, Hayley, Mary and I found ourselves alone together in that huge flea market everyone who visits Berlin has to make the trip out to. It was on our very long list of sights alongside the basement of Berghaim and various beer gardens we would also never find. At one point, a man came up to Suzy and asked if he could take her picture for his blog. She asked me to hold her un-chic market carrier bag and walked over to an interesting background, ready for the camera to strike. I think I probably giggled with embarrassment and also felt a bit small and uncool in comparison. Then, something strange happened, Mary, who had for so long seemed so effortless, suddenly fixed into position. She was ready and coy, with her head turned away, looking out into the grotty distance. I started to feel itchy in my skin watching her. It all seemed so premeditated. Previously, I had managed to find humour in her inability to fit in, thinking her unique spirit was all part of the allure but now it didn’t feel so magic.
No, she didn’t want to eat there. No, that’s not the right wine. Actually, clubs really aren’t her thing, she’ll head home early tonight.
For me, I was open to her stamping what was ‘cool’ and what wasn’t but the others didn’t find it quite as charming. The divide was growing and as much as I didn’t want to be in their camp I also didn’t really want to be in hers. I was starting to feel as though these efforts were all too affected and none of it rang true. Why was she here, didn’t she have any real friends? I didn’t like the fissures in the image I had created of her, the weekend had broken and we all wanted to go home.
A few months ago I saw her on the tube, she was sitting in front of me and busy on her phone. I was reluctant to say hello but did, for fear she’d see me first and wonder why I hadn’t made contact. Also there was still a huge part of me that wanted her to like me. She was still questioning everything in that same flighty way I remembered her, whether this was just for my benefit was hard to tell. She was freelance now, teaching yoga and was off to a gallery, it was the final day of an exhibition she didn’t want to miss. I hated that I didn’t even know about it.
“Oh you work so close to me, there are so many good wine bars around there, let’s go?!” “Please, I’d love that. Text me!”
For a little while I really thought we would. I had felt a funny rush after seeing her, like maybe I was at her level now but I knew none of that even mattered any more. I thought about that conversation in the kitchen we’d had and wondered what I would have said to her now. How she was feeling about it but the moment had passed and she seemed happy, for now anyway.
