He stood like a stone amongst a gargling river of people. Eager theatre goers pushed past him towards the entrance as his eyes scanned the crowds. The likelihood of Violet showing up now was slim, but then he’d never been one to give up hope before he strictly had to. ‘Childlike positivity’ Violet liked to call it. She also liked to say that she found it endearing. He’d wait here till the last call to be seated, and only then resign himself to a solitary night of theatre. Then again, she might still show.
As he stood there, Rowan couldn’t help but feel alien in the buzzing crowd. There was a certain shine to their eyes, a pitch to their laughter and excited chatter. So effortless in their easy joy. So oblivious to his vigil. He wondered if Violet’s presence would make him feel less distanced from these happy people. As his eyes continued their journey across strange faces, they snagged on a forlorn figure. She was standing in the far corner of the sweeping staircase, arms crossed, eyes blank. Next to her, a bear of a man, on the phone, gesturing agitatedly. Not the only alien here, at least.
The crowd began to thin, and he could hear the speakers crackle into action. If the patrons could make their way to their seats please, the show was about to start.
Right, that was that then.
The play was Romeo and Juliet, of all things. Had Violet come it might have rekindled fiery discussions about the nature of love and how far devotion goes. The kind of discussion they used to have all the time, his heartfelt optimism clashing with her cynic realist views. Now they didn’t really bother anymore. Maybe once you’d been together for a number of years there just wasn’t anything left to discuss. Maybe you just naturally ran out of things to say to one another. And who knew if even Romeo and Juliet could’ve kept up all that passion over time.
The production was a good one, at the National Theatre. Rowan had, of course, seen the play before. In fact, it had been one of his and Violet’s first dates back in the day. Another reason why he’d bought the tickets on a whim. By the time it rang for the interval, he was at least distracted somewhat from his earlier morose thoughts.
He made his way to the bar and ordered a vodka martini. ‘No olive, please’ he asked as he fingered his tie. He sensed someone sitting down a couple of stools down from him. The barman served his drink, and an identical one a little further down the bar. Rowan glanced over, recognising the woman from earlier. She noticed him looking at her oliveless martini. ‘I prefer my snacks and alcohol separate.’ she explained almost impatiently. ‘Oh… Yeah me too.’ he said gesturing at his own drink. She smiled humourlessly and turned her attention back to her martini. She took a sip, and glanced over, focusing on his tie. ‘Nice tie’. It wasn’t. It was one of those ghastly nineties revival patterns. Like an abstract watercolour threw up on a piece of shiny satin. Violet and Rowan had seen it at Woolworths and joked about buying it. He’d thought it might make her smile.
He shook his head and smiled. ’It’s not, but thanks.’
‘No seriously, I like it. Shows some bloody character. I’ve looked at enough sterile business suits to last me a lifetime.’ She laughs, suddenly self-conscious. ’Sorry.’ Beat. ‘It’s just… my husband. He wears them a lot. Suits I mean. And his friends. Or colleagues, or whatever.’
Rowan smiled. ‘Well, you’ve come to the right person. Nothing as stylish as that has ever even got within two meters of me.’
‘And let’s hope it never does.’ She raised her glass in cheers.
He sipped. ‘So, you enjoying the play?’
‘Yeah, I guess. It’s pretty good. Seen it before, but I like what they’ve done with it.’
‘Mhmh, actors are doing a decent job. ‘
‘Although Juliet is maybe a bit breathy for my taste.’ ‘
Oh, I don’t mind that so much. A young girl in love…’
‘Ha, because all women turn into breathy messes in the throes of true love? Please.’
As they talked Rowan watched the woman surreptitiously. She was not so much mousy as the kind of woman you had to appreciate up close. To notice how her soft brown locks brushed her cheeks. To see a blush give life to her pale skin as she got animated. If she’d been blonde you’d have called her an English rose type of gal. As it was, she was bound to fade into the background next to pushier types of beauty.
'I'm Rosalind, by the way. Friends call me Rose.' She moved to sit on the stool next to his and offered her hand.
‘And what a fitting name indeed. I’m Rowan.’ He took the offered hand and squeezed lightly.
She lifted her eyebrows at his attempted flattery. ’And yours too! So tree-like.’
‘Why thank you. Strong and steady, that’s what they call me.’ He grinned.
‘Give me that over pretty and pretentious anytime.’
‘Sure? And trade in the spectacularly handsome view?’
She ignored the question. ‘So what brought you here tonight? Watching the romance of all romances?’
He ruffled his hair, uncomfortable. ‘Well. I guess I…’
‘Sorry, didn’t mean to pry’
‘No, no, it’s nothing really. I bought the tickets as a surprise for my girlfriend. Violet. Only she already had plans. Girls night. Unlucky, I guess.’
‘Must be some girls night.’
He felt guilty, making Violet sound bad ‘No, I mean… She’s good at being organised. Great actually. She makes plans and doesn’t like to change them, doesn’t like to be unreliable. Admirable, really.’
Rose lifted an eyebrow. ‘No offence to Violet, but… there’s being reliable and then there’s treating the one you’re supposed to love like shit.’
Rowan didn’t know what to say. Rose went on, unabashed.
‘I mean here you are, supposedly committed to one another. Loving one another, cherishing one another. Except all you get is a few hours over dinner every night listening to phone calls about some bloody business or another. Or a fecking night out at the theatre sat on your own because more fecking phone calls have to be made and someone couldn’t give a flying fuck about romance anyway. Is that what you call love? Is it?!’
Previously lost in her tirade, Rose looked up then and caught Rowan’s eye, her cheeks flushed. She realised her outburst and looked down self-consciously, fiddling with the hem of her floral dress.
‘Sorry, I…’
‘… I guess we’re not really talking about Violet anymore?’
‘No, yes, I mean… Not specifically, no. But it sounds pretty darn close. My husband. He’s very dedicated to his work. Can’t let the company down, etc etc. needs to be reliable, la la la, always on call. We’ve not had an uninterrupted date night in…’ She threw up her hands ‘God, I don’t even know how long!’
‘Sounds frustrating’
‘You think? Bloody infuriating is what it is. Although…’ Her eyes regained their earlier forlorn look ‘…I’m not sure I even feel much of anything about the whole thing anymore. Guess humans get used to anything eventually.’
‘And that’s a good thing?’
‘Well I don’t know about good. But definitely easier than the alternative.’
‘So that’s what we have to look forward to? That a difficult relationship will eventually stop being hard work and become tolerable? That if we only stick it out long enough we’ll get used to it?’
She smiled sadly and both say silent for a moment, lost in their own thoughts.
He sat up straight. ‘No!’
She raised her head ‘No?’
‘No. I refuse to believe that that’s what we’re reduced to. Waiting for unpleasantness to become so routine it becomes bearable; to look forward to the day we stop caring. Where’s the romance, where’s the fire in that! If that’s all there is… what’s there to live for?’
‘And yet here you are, waiting for a woman who was probably never going to show up in the first place.’
He sighed. ‘Yes, I am. Strong and steady, remember?’
She smiled.
‘I still have hope you know. I’m still not over that dream of love so bone deep it’ll survive even the dreariest nonsense.’
‘Romeo and Juliet, hey?’
He laughed loudly, genuinely. ‘Right. Maybe not the most hopeful example to hang onto… But yes.’ He took her hand impulsively. ‘I’ve always thought… There’s ideals. There’s love. True love. I’ve not given up on that yet.’
‘…No, me neither’
Their eyes met, both smiling.
He stroked her hand with his thumb, then let go. ‘Do you think we’re foolish?’
‘For hanging onto hope? Maybe…’
‘And for staying in hopeless relationships, regardless?’
‘Maybe we’re secretly cynics after all.’
‘Or just too scared to take risks anymore?’
She replied quietly. ‘And that too.’
They hold each other’s gaze and her face grew warm. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and was interrupted by the interval bell and crackling speaker.
She broke their gaze and laughed, embarrassed. ‘Better get to the end of this tragedy then’
‘Yeah, I guess we’d better.’
‘Yeah’
‘Yeah’
‘… Yeah’
They’d both risen from their seats and were standing across from each other, suddenly unsure, their earlier ease turned to heart-thumping nerves. Rowan tried to catch Rose’s eye again but she’d withdrawn back into herself.
An usher approached. ‘Sir, ma’am, if you could please make your way back to your seats? We’re about to close the doors.’
Rose grabbed her bag distractedly and started moving towards one of the doors to the auditorium. ‘Yes, of course, sorry.’ She looked back at Rowan, who was still stood at the bar. He gestured in the opposite direction and shrugged, an apologetic smile on his face. ‘I’m this way.’
‘Oh right…’ Their eyes met again. ‘Well, enjoy the rest of the show.’
‘Yes, you too.’ Rowan, made as if to say something, but she’d already turned around and walked towards the door. With one last lingering gaze, Rowan smiled ruefully and turned away, slowly making his way back to his seat.
