‘Happy New Year, Jake.’
SEVENTEEN
LONDON
The Confrontation
9 January 2006
Victoria’s first week back at work after the Christmas break went by in a complete blur. It seemed like months since she had received her diagnosis, not just a couple of weeks. Ray was having his usual extended new year break and Penny was more interested in arranging after-school clubs and wine soirées with friends than in chatting to Vic. So it was an ideal time for Vic to get her head down and catch up on the smaller jobs that she had missed before her unplanned time off.
She had emailed Jerico to thank him for his wonderful gift and had got the reply of an out-of-office message stating,Writer at work, I will reply when I reach a suitable climax, which had made her laugh but also feel a little sad. If she were to tell him about her positive status it would change everything. She would miss the easy flow of conversation that she had got used to with him. But this was the thing: how would people react? And should she tell them at all? If she wasn’t having sex with them,then surely she didn’t need to. It was so awkward and weird, because if she had any other illness then she would probably tell everyone and there would be an element of pity or sadness. But from what she knew from constantly reading up on the subject and how people dealt with it, it would be a rollercoaster of a conversation. Would they or wouldn’t they accept her for having the virus? Because that’s all it was: a virus. A virus that could be treated. The flu was a virus, and the flu could kill too. But nobody gave a damn about that. The bigoted hangover from the eighties had a lot to answer for. Maybe it would just be a case of knowing when the time was right to tell someone, and it would just happen naturally.
Danny had checked in with her every other day either by text or a quick phone call, which was comforting to know – that someone was there and supporting her. But this comfort was marred by the fact that despite her leaving several messages on Nate’s mobile, she had still not heard from him, and she was beginning to get really worried now. She was not only worried, but also angry that he knew what she must be going through, and he hadn’t even bothered to check in with her. It was eating her up inside that she may have given him the virus and again, selfishly, as much as part of her would have preferred it to be him rather than Danny with whom she had to share this HIV journey, she wouldn’t wish it on anyone.
The weekend came and she had even gone to their flat on the Saturday to see if she could speak to him, but it was clear that Nate hadn’t been staying there, as nothing had moved since he had stormed out the day she had told him the awful news. His work had told her that he would be back on the ninth. Which was why now, at ten fifteen on a Monday evening, she was sitting in the kitchen of the Wandsworth flat she had once shared with her boyfriend, with a cup of coffee in hand, waiting for him to come home.
At eleven o’clock, she was just about to give up and go backto Orla’s when her friend called her, sounding full of anguish. ‘Vic, you gotta come back. Nate is here. He’s drunk and talking complete gibberish.’
Vic pushed open the kitchen door of Orla’s place to find Nate slumped on the breakfast bar. Orla was drying up some mugs and putting them away.
‘He’s all yours,’ the feisty Irishwoman snapped. ‘I’ve got to be up at fecking five a.m., as I’m flying to Düsseldorf for my big event, and there was no way I could leave him like this. He’s been crying and saying all sorts of weird shit about worrying about you dying. I couldn’t get an ounce of sense from him.’
‘I’m so sorry, mate.’ Vic hurriedly took off her coat as Orla stropped off to her room.
‘Vic. Is that you?’ Nate remained head down on the counter.
‘You know it is, Nate. Are you all right?’
He slowly lifted his head and looked at her. ‘Of course I’m not.’
Vic was too frightened to ask if he’d been for a test, but she had no need to worry, as alcohol was working its lip-loosening magic. ‘I’m not all right, because you’re not all right. I’ve had a couple of tests. The second came back negative today. I wanted to be sure before I saw you.’
Vic felt a complete sense of solace at the news. ‘That’s such a relief.’ She went to kiss his cheek.
Nate put his hand up and recoiled. ‘Sorry, I can’t.’
Feeling physically sick at his reaction, Vic turned to put the kettle on. ‘I’m making you a black coffee to sober you up, and then we can talk. Where have you been, anyway?’
‘I’ve been downing shots of vodka during my shift.’
‘I mean, where have you been for the past two weeks? I’ve been worried sick.’
Nate sat up properly on the high stool and brushed his hands through his unkempt mop.
For fear of him spilling the scalding coffee given the state he was in, Vic put some cold water in the mug before she handed it over. ‘You need a haircut.’
He drank the tepid drink down in one.
‘Not been on the top of my list, surprisingly.’ Nate burped loudly.
‘Oh, and you look brown?’ She moved closer. ‘You’ve got a suntan?’
‘I joined Dad and Melissa in Gran Canaria. I just had to get away. I got a test before I went. And despite your message letting me know Brighton boy had given it to you, just waiting for that result has been crucifying me. I can’t even tell you how stressed I’ve felt since you told me. I don’t understand, though, Vic. You said you’d used protection. Are you sure you’re positive – like, really sure?’
Vic nodded slowly. ‘I’m afraid so.’
Nate burst into tears. She rushed to comfort him but again he pushed her away.
