The Places I've Cried in Public

by Holly Bourne

  And that, Reese, that is when I ran dry.

  “Is this really the sort of thing we’re supposed to be talking about?” I asked, as a delay tactic.

  “We’re here to discuss whatever you want to talk about, and to examine the parts of your life you’re struggling with at the moment. Amelie” – she leaned forward – “are you struggling right now?”

  The familiar lump jumped into my throat, the familiar tears prickled my eyes. “I am.”

  “Because of this boy?”

  I nodded. I sniffed and I snuffled. I pulled my sleeves down over my hands again.

  “There’s no appropriate or inappropriate reason to feel pain,” Joan said. “You can’t help feelings in life, even if you think the reasons for them are silly. Suffering is suffering. It really sounds like you’re suffering right now. Would you agree, Amelie?”

  I nodded and then started bawling. Surprise, bloody surprise. She let me cry, this strange new woman. “It’s okay to cry,” she soothed and I cried harder.

  “This is stupid,” I kept saying. “Sorry for being so stupid.”

  “Why do you think crying is stupid?”

  Because you told me it was, Reese.

  “I dunno.”

  It felt like I cried for ever, but it can’t have been that long because we still had time left afterwards for her to get to the crux of the matter.

  “Now, Amelie, I’m going to ask you again. What did you love about this boy after the beginning?”

  I opened my mouth but there were no words.

  “Was this boy kind to you?”

  I opened my mouth but there were no words.

  “Did he make you feel good and safe?”

  I opened my mouth but…you get the message.

  “Sometimes,” Joan said, “people we love can behave in very confusing ways. And if someone is treating us inconsistently it can have a confusing, almost drug-like effect on us.”

  My hands came out from my sleeves, like turtles who’d just finished hibernating. “What do you mean?”

  “Did you ever feel…addicted to this boy?” Joan asked. “Did you ever feel like you were chasing something? Maybe you were chasing the feeling of how good it felt in the beginning?”

  Do you hear that, Reese?

  That is the sound of hammers hitting nails on heads. That is the sound of light bulbs lighting up, all ding-a-ling-a-ding-ding-ding. That is the sound of things falling into place. It is the sound of something making sense for the first time in what feels like for ever.

  I looked up at Joan through my sodden eyelashes.

  “Yes,” I told her. “It did feel a bit like that.”

  She smiled again, but this time it was a little bit sad.

  “Amelie,” she said. “That doesn’t sound like love to me.”

  We pull into London Bridge and I wait for everyone to filter out before I get off. People clutter the space where the doors open, stopping to sort out their bags and their buggies and their children, while new passengers try to board the train before the rest of us have got off. Joan’s words echo around my ears as I step off and follow the ghosts of us through the ticket barriers. I can almost picture us ahead of me, like I’m watching the memory on a film. I see you reach your arm around and pull me into you. I stalk our ghosts out of the station, past the newsagent where you popped in to buy gum. The ghosts of not-many-months-ago head out towards the river, and I trudge unmerrily behind, inhaling the memory like it’s the smell of my favourite dinner.

  “Are we there yet?” I asked as we walked out onto London Bridge. “Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” I tugged on Reese’s sleeve, play-acting like an impatient child. He kissed my forehead, like I really was a toddler being taken out for the day.

  “Almost, almost, little one.” He stopped and looked out over the water. “Wow, would you look at that view?”

  I looked where he looked, and it really was something. All of London’s top landmarks glowed in the winter sun, looking perfect and painted on and the sort of London you see in movies. I leaned over the bridge, taking it all in and grinning. This was only the second time I’d ever been to the capital, and it really was putting on a show.

  “Let’s take a photo.” Reese pulled out his phone and yanked me towards him, angling it so Tower Bridge was in the background. “Smile!”

  I leaned into his smell and posed. A clicking sound and we were suspended on-screen.

  “Eurgh! Take it again! I look terrible!” I said, horrified. I’d blinked at just the wrong moment, and only had my eyes half-open, with no pupil showing. I looked like a zombie having a gurning fit.

  “Yeah, but I look good.” I thought Reese was joking until he put his phone back in his pocket and didn’t take another shot.

  I stand here on this same bridge and I dig around for my phone. I lean against the wall and scroll through my pictures until I get to that one. It doesn’t take long to find because since you, I’ve had no need to take pictures. My folders used to be bursting with shots I’d taken out with friends – ugly-face selfies Alfie would send me to cheer me up, or memes building up from various group chats. It used to take me ages to scroll through all of those to find what I was looking for in my gallery. My phone regularly complained it was out of storage space, and I’d have to dedicate a good ten minutes to going through all the sludge, deleting things to make space for all the new photos arriving from people who loved me and sent me things.

  Not any more.

  It’s been months, and yet, in just one scroll I can bring up that photo of us. That’s how few new photos I have on my phone. I still wince at how ugly I look in it now. You sent it a couple of days after our London trip, with the caption, What a sexy girlfriend I have. You sent it three more times, zooming in on my face more each time. I had to pretend I found it funny otherwise you’d accuse me of not taking a joke.

  “So, are we there yet?” I asked again, on this bridge.

  He leaned in and kissed my hairline. “Almost. I told you: patience.”

  We walked hand in hand through the London streets and it felt so good to have him back and his hand in mine. Despite the sunshine, the wind had a bitter aftertaste and we couldn’t stay outside long without losing the feeling in our fingertips. Just when I thought I’d have to say something about the cold, we drew up to a pub tucked away down a little alleyway.

  “We’re here!” Reese announced, taking his hat off to mark our arrival.

  “A pub?”

  “Not just a pub. The start of something special.”

  I raised my eyebrows quizzically.

  “But first, a drink! Wait out here, just in case they think you’re underage.”

  I watched him disappear through the small entrance. It was one of those ye olde ramshackle places you could imagine Charles Dickens drinking in or something. I perched on an empty picnic bench outside, shivering but mostly just thinking how very exciting this was and how hugely in love I was. Reese returned, cradling two big glasses of red wine.

  “Reese, it’s only just gone midday.”

  “It will keep us warm and get us into the Christmas spirit. Come on, drink up.”

  He sipped his wine and looked at me like I completed his life.

  “I love you so much.” He reached over the table to clasp my hands. Our fingers were freezing but they felt warm the moment they entwined.

  “I love you too.” I remember he looked weirdly relieved that I’d said it back.

  The wine did warm me up, in that squiffy, dreamlike, red-wine way. I sipped at it and contemplated the day together stretched out in front of us. “When are you going to reveal this surprise then?” I asked, draining my glass. “Why did you tell me to wear ‘sensible shoes’?”

  He flicked the brim of his hat. “Because, my wonderful girlfriend, this isn’t just a pub. It is the starting point.”

  “Starting point?”

  “Yes…” He paused for dramatic effect. “The starting point for a TREASURE HUNT!”

&
nbsp; He made a drum roll using his hands on the picnic table and then he pulled out his phone and showed me the screen.

  It said Uncover The City: River Trail.

  “You’re always saying how you don’t know London at all,” he explained. “So I thought this would be a fun way to see more of it. Get my girl acquainted with her southern side.”

  I took the phone from him and read through the instructions for how it worked. We’d get sent clues in messages that would lead us all around the banks of the Thames.

  “Oh, Reese, this is such a lovely idea,” I said.

  His chest puffed up ever so slightly. “I know.”

  “So, how do we start?”

  “We just send them the word start and then we get our first clue. I’ve added your phone to the team, so we’ll both get the messages. Just in case one of us runs out of battery.”

  I looked up at him through my eyelashes. “So?” I said. “Shall we start?” The fact he’d planned this whole day had given me my confidence back. I’d been too nervous to flirt with him in ages, scared of how he’d react. But the thought that he’d put together something so special made me doubt I had reason to worry.

  “Let’s do it.” He stared back, love in his eyes, enjoying my confidence.

  We waited for our phones to buzz. After a thirty-second delay, they both went at the same time.

  Ready for your adventure? Fly south down this regal street 19 23 1 14 12 1 14 5. What creature have you revealed?

  We read it out loud. “Hang on,” I said. “I think it’s a code.”

  “Of course it’s in code.”

  I winced at the dig and looked up to see him huddled over his screen. Instinct throbbed through me – a spidey-sense tingled and said, Let Reese figure this clue out, it will make him happy.

  “Ooh, it’s hard,” I play-acted. I’d already figured out the numbers were related to the alphabet. “I’m crap at things like this.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got this.”

  I waited patiently while he muttered under his breath.

  I’d never pretended to be lesser before that day. I’d never pretended to be less talented, or less good at singing, or less anything than myself. Another red flag. Right there. As red as red can be. As red as the second day of your period.

  Did I pay attention to it, though?

  Umm, well…how has this story gone so far with me and stopping at red flags?

  It was worth it though, because Reese looked so cute and proud of himself when he eventually figured it out. “I think the numbers relate to where the letters are in the alphabet,” he said, eyes wide with childish excitement.

  “Oh my god! Yes. You’re right. Hang on… So, B is two? C is three etc?”

  “Yes!”

  “So if we put them together?… Hang on, let me use my phone to write it down.”

  He read out the numbers while I typed them out. Then we both peered at my screen.

  “So we need to head down Swan Lane.” He looked up and pointed at a road sign. “Oh my god, it’s there! It’s there!”

  “It’s there it’s there!” I parroted with the childlike joy that surged through me at solving a clue.

  He kissed me on the lips, both of our mouths fuzzy from wine.

  “Let’s go find the treasure,” I said.

  “I’ve already found the treasure.”

  He pulled me in for another one that tasted of blackcurrants and alcohol. Then, mid-kiss, he pulled away and hugged me so hard I could hardly breathe. We stood like that in the cold and I thought he was going to cry for a moment. We clutched at one another, and he smelled so good, and the hug was so strong and filled with urgency. It was exactly what I needed after the preceding weeks of weirdness.

  Then he let go.

  “Are you ready?” he asked me, the irises of his eyes dancing.

  “Yes,” I whispered. Though I’d never be ready for the ways he made me feel.

  Typically, it’s started to drizzle. I retrace the treasure hunt, following the scent of our ghosts. I wind down to the river. It takes a lot less time to walk it when you’re not figuring out clues. But, even though it’s raining, it’s not so cold any more. You can feel a hint of upcoming warmth in the air, the edge of April rushing to greet us, and I’m taking my time. I try and soak up the memories of that day. Because, until it went sour, that day was another Good Time.

  The treasure hunt led us up the river to St Paul’s Cathedral and into this incredible rooftop bar where you can see the whole city. We took a break, and Reese managed to get served again and ordered us mulled wine. It was just about warm enough to sit outside by the patio heaters and sip it together, staring out at London and thinking how very lucky we were. I’d never felt more grown up in my life, or sophisticated, sitting sipping a weird-tasting drink, looking out at one of the most famous cities in the world, like it was a normal thing to do on a Monday.

  “To us?” he said, clinking my glass.

  “To us.”

  We crossed the Millennium Bridge and stumbled into the Tate Modern to collect two more clues. We giggled our way drunkenly around all the art we didn’t understand.

  “Why is there a poo on the floor made out of silver?” he asked. “Why has that won a prize?”

  I giggled harder and kissed his wine-stained mouth. “Shall I just leave my pencil on the floor and see if people think it’s art?”

  The treasure trail led us back out onto the riverbank, past ye olde grandeur of the Globe Theatre, and into the pub next to it called The Swan. Evening was already beginning to fall and festive lights flickered on, punctuating the murk of the city, making everything magical. Miraculously, Reese was getting served everywhere we went. He held himself like the bartenders would be pathetic to even suggest he was underage. We took yet another break from the hunt, and drank yet another glass of red wine, and I started to feel very drunk. That euphoric drunk when you love everyone and everything and you feel woozy on just how good life can be.

  I slumped into his shoulder as we watched London pass outside the window.

  “I love you, Reese,” I slurred. “I love you so much it hurts sometimes.”

  He smiled wonkily – tipsy, but not as annihilated as me. “If it doesn’t hurt, it’s not love,” he said, kissing the top of my head again. “That’s how you know it’s real.”

  And I’d had so much wine, that had sounded romantic at the time.

  “Let’s give up on the treasure hunt and just stay here and snuggle,” I whispered.

  “What a perfect plan.”

  The sky got darker as the sun set over the water. He ordered more drinks. I can hardly remember the time or how it passed. I remember that walking to the bathroom took concentrated effort and my words came out heavy and slurred and made him laugh.

  I’m standing outside The Swan now. The Globe is all lit up and fuzzy through the drizzle that has pinched the sun. The sky’s dark from the rain, making it easy to peer through the windows of the pub. I can almost see us in there. That’s where we sat, just there, by the window. The bar staff are probably still the same people. The world isn’t so very changed, for everyone else. I see us finally looking at the time on his phone, laughing when we realized how late it had got, and stumbling out, arm in arm. I watch us pass through me, like I’m a ghost. I see the happiness bleeding off my face. I turn and follow us along the South Bank.

  “Why is London so busy?” I complained, bumping into someone else.

  “Because it’s full of arse-weasels.”

  We laughed at the word arse-weasel. We started drunkenly yelling it out loud. We drew to a stop by some railings, where you could see St Paul’s and the Walkie Talkie and the Oxo Tower and everything else that gets tourists excited.

  “ARSE-WEASEL!” Reese yelled out over the river, and I bent over with laughter, thinking he was pretty much the best un-arse-weasel I’d ever met.

  Now, I walk past the National Theatre. I watch the skateboarders r
ip their way around the skate ramp. I jolt to a halt outside the Southbank Centre.

  This is the bridge. This is what I came for.

  I sigh, and climb the steps, dodging people who aren’t very good at holding umbrellas. Ready to immerse myself in the upcoming bad memory.

  “Let’s stand right in the middle,” Reese said. “I want to see the whole city.”

  We wobbled out across the black water. The city sparkled around us, lit up to entertain and inspire. I remember feeling sorry for all the office workers storming past us with their heads bowed. Why were they missing so beautiful a view? An old busker was stood to one side, strumming his guitar, his case open in front of him with a splattering of coins inside. He was playing “The First Cut Is The Deepest” and his music sailed across the wind and into my heart.

  Reese got out his phone again. “Let’s take a photo.”

  I leaned into his face and tried my hardest to look pretty as he held it at arm’s length for a selfie. We both looked so happy and carefree and loved-up on the screen, and I felt so high on us and how good the day was, and the relief that he’d come back to me again, that I…I…

  …I made a mistake.

  The busker finished his song and went straight into “Are You The One That I’ve Been Waiting For?” by Nick Cave, one of my absolute favourites. I knew that song. I LOVED that song, and I loved Reese, and I was blind drunk, so I thought of the most perfect thing to do about all these combined circumstances. Bolstered with yikes-knows-how-much red wine, I let go of his hand, I crossed the bridge, I smiled at the busker, stood to one side of him, and I started harmonizing with him. It was seamless. The old man grinned over, like he’d suspected this would happen all along. Our voices matched perfectly. I had literally no stage fright. I sang out to Reese and into the city night. I thought he’d love it – his own dedication, just like he’d given me at the Cube. We were so in love only a moment ago. He’d been looking at me like I couldn’t do anything wrong, ever. It didn’t occur to me this would be anything other than gratefully received.