Love Lives

by Emlyn Rees

  But he was already on his way. He was hauling himself through the open window, the same as Ryan and Tara had cajoled him into doing back then after the movie had finished.

  The fact that the kids they’d watched on TV hanging one another off the side of a building had probably had safety nets below them, and probably hadn’t been kids at all, but stunt men shot from weird and unfamiliar angles, hadn’t seemed to bother Ryan one bit.

  ‘Remember this?’ Tara was asking Jimmy now as he pulled himself up the last few rungs of the fire escape and walked across the roof towards her.

  It was cold up here and silent as an empty stage. Tara was standing at the edge of the flat roof, looking down over the hundred-foot drop on the other side. A gust of wind nudged at her as Jimmy reached her. She teetered forward momentarily, and Jimmy snatched at her denim sleeve and held her steady. Standing beside her, he looked down with her at the car park below.

  ‘Well, do you?’ Tara asked him again.

  ‘Of course,’ he replied.

  Because, of course, there was no way that he couldn’t remember something like that, was there? How did you forget the sensation of your two best friends gripping on to your arms and slowly lowering you over the side of a ten-storey building? How did you forget the feeling of every cell in your body shrinking away from the ground, willing itself to crawl upwards against the force of gravity? Or the knowledge that it was only your friends who held you back from the abyss? How did you forget the strength in their eyes as they hauled you back up? And how did you forget the responsibility when they asked you to do the same for them? Or the sense of absolute trust, bonding and love that such an act engendered? You didn’t. That was the simple answer. It stayed with you for always.

  ‘I wish we could do it again,’ Tara said.

  ‘We can’t. I’m not strong enough to hold you on my own,’ Jimmy told her. ‘And you couldn’t hold me either. It would need all three of us together.’

  ‘I know.’ Tara slipped her hand into his and squeezed it hard. ‘That’s why it’s only a wish.’

  Without speaking, they stepped back together and walked to the centre of the roof. Tara sat down and Jimmy followed her lead.

  ‘Smoke?’ she asked, cupping her hands and lighting them both one without waiting for him to reply.

  ‘We shouldn’t be here,’ Jimmy said.

  ‘I thought that what he – what we’, she corrected herself, ‘were doing up here that night, dangling each other over the edge like that … I thought it was about adrenalin … getting a buzz … taking a risk … about proving what roughnecks we all were …’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ Jimmy asked, unsure what she was driving at.

  Tara looked inland, away from the cliffs. ‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think so; not any more. Ryan wasn’t up here for kicks. Ryan was up here because he wanted to get close to death. He wanted to know what it felt like.’ She turned to Jimmy, her eyes suddenly darker than the night. ‘He was always going to do it, you know, Jimmy … kill himself … I can see that now.’

  ‘No.’

  But she wasn’t listening. This was what she wanted to believe, that what Ryan had done had been in some way predetermined and had had nothing to do with them at all. She wanted to believe it was what he’d wanted, as if that somehow let them off the hook as far as responsibility went and made it all OK.

  She stubbed out her cigarette and stood. ‘Come on,’ she said, smiling at Jimmy now. ‘Let’s go back inside. I’m freezing.’

  ‘You go,’ Jimmy said after a second. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

  Jimmy watched Tara walk across the roof, back to the fire escape and disappear down it, over the side of the building, like a diver walking backwards into a sea of black.

  Then he closed his eyes, remembering again that night the three of them had come up here, remembering when Ryan had taken his turn and allowed them to lower him over the side.

  ‘Better than drugs,’ Ryan had declared, staring up at Jimmy with madness-packed eyes.

  Only here and now, huddled on the asphalt roof with his eyes closed, Jimmy’s memory of the event shifted. Suddenly, Tara wasn’t there at all holding Ryan’s other arm. Suddenly it was just Jimmy holding on to him and his grip was starting to slip.

  ‘Hold tight,’ he imagined Ryan saying. ‘Can I trust you, Jimmy? Can I trust you to do that?’

  But Jimmy’s strength was gone. He couldn’t hold on any –

  Jimmy opened his eyes, but still he saw Ryan’s dream-body falling, screaming up at him before smashing through a car windscreen below.

  Jimmy rocked forward, hugging himself, wishing that he’d never been born and wishing again that Ryan hadn’t died.

  Chapter XVI

  TREZA WASN’T HELPING. Worse, she was starting to irritate Verity. It was forty-eight hours since the fracas up at Appleforth House and Verity had summoned Treza for an emergency meeting in the Jackpot Café on Saturday afternoon. Much to Verity’s dismay, Treza had appeared with a new hairstyle – her jet-back tightly coiled mane twisted and beaded into various elaborate knots on her head. Not only had this change of appearance taken place without Verity’s consultation or knowledge, but Treza was wearing a new denim dress, with long boots that accentuated the curves of her small body and made Verity feel childish in her flared jeans and scruffy trainers.

  It seemed, too, that Treza’s usual gentle and understanding nature had been replaced by a callous and uncompromising side, which Verity had never seen before. ‘Denny shouldn’t have hit Jimmy and that’s the end of it. If anything, Denny Shapland should be apologising to you,’ Treza declared, swiping the straw around the inside of the milkshake cup and fixing Verity with a stern brown-eyed stare.

  Verity said nothing. She didn’t want to argue with Treza when she was in this kind of mood. And anyway, she’d only get herself into more hot water if she allowed Treza to cross-examine her. She knew Treza well enough to know that her friend would soon suss that Verity hadn’t been telling the whole truth about the situation with Jimmy and Denny.

  She hadn’t, for example, told her the facts about the kiss with Jimmy and that she had, in fact, been just as unfaithful as Denny had suspected. Instead, she’d told Treza that she’d accidentally over-responded to Jimmy only because she’d been in front of the camera and had been carried away by her performance. She hadn’t mentioned that the kiss had left her feeling unsettled and guilty, and that when she tried to think about Denny, it was the memory of Jimmy’s lips that blocked all her thoughts.

  No matter how hard she tried to stop herself, she couldn’t help comparing her first kisses with these two men, whom three weeks ago she wouldn’t have even considered talking to, let alone kissing. On the one hand Denny’s kiss had been sexual and overpowering, but then her kiss with Jimmy had been so sensual that Verity found herself wishing Jimmy’s kiss had, in fact, been Denny’s.

  But she couldn’t bring herself to say these guilty thoughts, so secret that she couldn’t even write them in her diary.

  ‘Well, at least you haven’t grovelled to Denny,’ Treza continued.

  Verity shrank down in her seat. She’d also failed to mention to Treza that she’d called Denny at least a dozen times in the last few days and had even delivered a heartfelt letter to Wave Cave at the crack of dawn this morning.

  ‘You haven’t grovelled, have you?’ Treza repeated, more sternly this time.

  Verity wouldn’t meet her friend’s eyes, but eventually Treza’s silence demanded that she say something. When she looked up, Treza was looking at her, unconvinced.

  ‘I love him,’ Verity said, leaning forward across the table. ‘I’ve got to make him understand.’

  Treza banged her empty cup down on the table. ‘Oh, God! I’m not getting through to you, am I?’ she said with an exasperated growl.

  ‘Don’t be angry. I want to be with Denny.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Treza said, putting her hands up in surrender. ‘You say that Denny isn’t a bit like his
reputation and all I’ve heard is about how sensitive he is. So if he’s that bloody marvellous, you should have no problem getting him back, should you?’ Treza threw a sarcastic smile at Verity and stood to leave.

  Verity stared at her friend, stung by her attitude. ‘Treze,’ she begged. ‘Don’t be like this.’

  ‘I’ve got to go, I’m meeting Will. I’ll see you …’

  Left alone, Verity paid the bill for the two milkshakes and tried to make sense of her encounter with Treza. What was wrong with everyone? First Ellen and now Treza – why didn’t they get that she and Denny were meant to be? Why was everyone so negative? And now she came to think of it, who did Treza think she was to lecture her? Will worked as a mechanic in some stupid garage. Denny was twice the man he was. So what if he’d overreacted a little. That’s what red-blooded men did, wasn’t it?

  Outside, Verity started the long dawdle back to the hotel. She knew that everyone had relationship glitches, but she hadn’t expected to have one so soon with Denny, especially one that had been her fault. She was amazed that in such a short space of time she’d become so addicted to him. It was as if her life was split into before and after Denny, and she couldn’t ever go back to the way she’d been before she had him in her life. With him, she felt alive, vibrant and purposeful. He gave her whole existence meaning. Without him, on days like today, with only the prospect of piano practice and homework, her life seemed unutterably bleak and pointless.

  It was with these thoughts in her head that she found herself loitering aimlessly in the rain, staring intently at Wave Cave across the street, indecision and longing battling inside her.

  There was nothing for it, she resolved. She couldn’t go on without him. Surely Denny couldn’t still be angry with her? Not if he’d received her letter. She had to find out where she stood. Steeling herself, she crossed the road.

  Denny was busy, but he stopped, staring at Verity, as she pretended to browse through the sweatshirts in the corner of the shop. As their eyes connected, Verity felt as if she could faint with longing.

  Standing beneath the speakers blaring out music, Verity wondered how she’d ever got into this situation. Denny was far too good for her. Why did she ever think he wanted her in the first place? But then Jimmy flashed into her head. ‘You’re too good for him,’ he’d said, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

  Before she had time to deliberate any further, Denny flicked his head, motioning to the storeroom behind the desk, and she scurried to follow him.

  ‘You got my letter?’ Verity asked nervously.

  Denny nodded and sat down on the edge of a large cardboard box. Behind him, a row of wetsuits hung like rubber cadavers, and the bass of the shop music throbbed in the insulated room. Verity could see a small television above the door behind her, showing the hazy black-and-white images of the customers in the shop. Denny glanced at it, before nodding at her to continue.

  ‘It’s probably a bit …?’

  ‘No one has ever written me a poem before,’ Denny said, glancing again at the TV screen above her head, his mouth clicking as he chewed gum.

  Verity smiled nervously. ‘I didn’t write it,’ she said. ‘I copied it out of a book. It’s Carol Ann Duffy.’

  ‘Right, right,’

  Verity wished now that she’d had the nerve to include one of her own poems, but she’d changed her mind at the last minute. ‘I meant what I said, though,’ Verity said, taking a step towards where he was perched. ‘I mean about being sorry. About the other day. I was only doing what Ellen told me, but I can see how it must have looked …’

  Denny shrugged.

  Verity felt a hitch in her breath. How could she make Denny see that he was the last person in the world that she’d ever hurt? ‘Oh, Denny, please,’ she begged.

  ‘I told you I was a jealous kind of guy,’ he said. ‘It just killed me seeing you with someone else. Especially some schoolkid.’

  ‘But I’m a schoolkid, too, Denny,’ Verity said, confused ‘Jimmy and I are the same age.’

  Denny rolled his eyes. ‘Whatever.’

  ‘I don’t know what else to say,’ Verity implored. ‘All I want is for us to be together. That’s all that matters to me. It’ll never happen again. Anything like that. I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please …’

  As she started to cry, he took her into his arms and she leant against him, weak with relief.

  ‘I’ve got to go now, sweetheart,’ he said eventually. ‘Why don’t you come to my place later? We’ll have some dinner and chill out and put all this behind us. What do you say?’

  In all the times that Verity had prepared to sing in front of an audience, she’d never felt as nervous, or as if so much was riding on something, as on her date with Denny later that night. She knew he’d forgiven her, but she still didn’t really know why, or how Denny truly felt. Tonight was the night she’d find out once and for all.

  By eight o’clock she’d changed outfits a dozen times, had made up her face and rubbed it all off. She had no idea what to wear to chill out with Denny in his flat. In the end she’d taken a leaf out of Treza’s book and gone for a denim skirt and boots, which was still probably too dressy, but she didn’t care.

  She had just checked her reflection in the full-length mirror at the top of the first flight of stairs when she heard her mother. ‘Are you up there?’ Cheryl called from the reception area. ‘Verity, I know you’re there. Can you come down?’

  Verity mimicked her mother silently in the mirror. How did she always know her whereabouts in the hotel? Sometimes Verity wondered whether they should rename the Grand Hotel the Grand Gaol, since her mother must have secret surveillance cameras everywhere.

  Verity slowly thumped down the stairs to deliberately wind her mother up.

  ‘In the office. In your own time, Verity,’ her mother said with a scowl, before disappearing through the office door.

  Sulkily, Verity followed. In the office, indeed. Who did her mother think she was? Her headmistress?

  Russell Driver was wearing his smart front-of-house blazer and he sat completely still in the office chair as Verity entered. For a horrible moment, Verity thought he must have found out about her mother’s affair. Then she looked at his face and when she saw its usual harassed expression she relaxed. He’d clearly been summoned here, too. Maybe they’d found out that she’d missed her music lessons last week. Maybe Ellen had said something to her mother about Denny on Thursday. She prepared to defend herself.

  ‘Your father and I have been doing some investigating,’ her mother began.

  Forget headmistress, the kids in school were right: she was the Gestapo, Verity thought bitterly.

  ‘We’re just concerned,’ Russell intercepted. ‘We –’

  ‘Remember what we agreed,’ Cheryl hissed, silencing her husband with a look.

  ‘The point is that Denny Shapland is nearly ten years older than you,’ her mother said pointedly.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So … he’s too old.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? He’s twenty-five, not sixty.’

  ‘Yes, well, boys of his age have certain … expectations.’

  Verity couldn’t tell whether she was more embarrassed for her parents or for herself.

  ‘The point is that your father and I feel that it would be better if you went out with someone more your own age.’

  ‘And you think it’s up to you to decide that for me?’ Verity said, astounded. ‘You’re so two-faced. Dad’s met Denny. And his exact word were, “Denny seems like a good bloke,” weren’t they, Dad?’

  ‘Russell?’

  Verity and her mother both stared defiantly at Russell Driver, who shrugged ineffectually.

  ‘If you had objections, why didn’t you say something then?’

  ‘Come on, love,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise it was serious …’

  ‘You can’t stop me seeing him, you know. You can’t.’

  And as Verity looked between
her parents, any nerves she felt about Denny disappeared. Too old for her, was he? She was too much of a little girl to be with Denny Shapland, was she? Well, she’d soon change that. She was going to lose her virginity to him. There! It was decided. And the sooner the better.

  *

  Denny’s flat was in a modern complex on the outskirts of town. From the moment Verity stepped out of the stairwell and along the brightly lit corridor to Denny’s front door, she was filled with illicit excitement. This was all Denny’s. And it was totally private. There were no parents who could interrupt at any minute, no annoying siblings, no demanding guests.

  The moment Denny opened the door to her, Verity felt every nerve jangling with anticipation. He looked more relaxed than she’d expected him to. His feet were bare and he was wearing three-quarter-length black karate trousers, with a grey T-shirt. She felt immediately overdressed, as she leant forward and kissed him awkwardly on the cheek.

  ‘Welcome,’ he said, drawing back and opening his arm out so that she could see his apartment. The space wasn’t huge, but the open living area looked like a picture from a stylish catalogue, with shiny wooden floorboards, two large boxy leather sofas and a low glass table. The walls were white, with two doors leading off the main room.

  ‘Bathroom, bedroom,’ Denny said, pointing to them, as Verity followed him to the small open-plan kitchen at the end.

  ‘It’s a bit messy,’ Denny continued, tidying up some magazines and post from the grey marble-effect counter. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not messy at all,’ Verity scoffed, laughing. ‘You should see my room!’

  As soon as she’d said it, she immediately realised that the last place she would ever want Denny to see was her bedroom at the Grand. He would think it was so shabby and childish compared with this.

  She smiled and turned away, looking at the framed photos along the kitchen wall, above the wooden shelf, which housed a pub ashtray, a tree mug and a pristine-looking Jamie Oliver cookbook. She wanted to ask him everything – about the identity of every person in every one of the photos. She wanted to know where the poster-sized picture of Denny surfing on some foreign beach, which hung on the wall above the sofa, was taken. She was about to remark on the naked women calendar, which hung by the fridge, when the door buzzer went.