by Angela Peach
“I’m still not sure you aren’t just crazy.”
“Maybe I am. But we’re talking about you right now, not me. When did this love of music develop into skating?”
Ness hesitated slightly, and I could see she was genuinely touched by my interest in her art.
“Well, I used to dance to the music in my room, desperately trying to express it as much as I could. It was like an itch that needed scratching, but intensely frustrating cos I couldn’t seem to scratch it by dancing…it just kinda tickled it more. It was too confined, too restricted.
One day, when I was about nine years old, I was leaping around with my headphones on and I misjudged the height of the wall I was jumping off, tryna copy Kevin Bacon in Footloose!” She smiled a secret smile. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.” I made a zipping motion across my mouth.
“So anyway, I landed wrong on my foot and twisted it. It wasn’t a bad injury, just a sprain, but it meant I was unable to dance for a couple of weeks and that made me more frustrated and really angry.” She looked at me. “Do you believe in destiny Nikki?”
I nodded.
“During those two weeks I was laid up on the sofa, ordering mom to bring me chips and hot chocolate while I zoned out at the box. I was in such a big sulk, I refused to listen to any music — if I couldn’t dance to it, I wasn’t gonna listen to it. But on the third day, the winter Olympics started and I became hooked on it, on the ice dancing in particular. I mean, these guys were dancing to all kinds of music…and I remember watching them and feeling a huge clarity settle over me. This was it! This was the answer I’d been searching for the whole time. The way they moved across the ice, the jumps, the spins…you could see the pure emotion on their faces because they weren’t just dancing to the music, they were feeling it in their souls!”
Every hair on my arms stood to attention. I could practically see nine year old Ness sat on the sofa, engrossed in the wonder of the winter Olympics.
“And I knew then…that was what I was going to do, no matter what. As soon as my ankle healed I went to the nearest rink, hired some skates and taught myself to move on the ice.”
“How long did it take to learn how to dance?”
“Couple of years, to get to a level where I was satisfied with expressing myself. Mom put me into a few competitions, and I guess I only went along with it in the beginning cos I got to have the ice to myself when I trained, and it felt so good not to have to share the space with anyone. But I enjoy the training more than the competing. God, I hate the competing.”
We sat in silence for a minute.
“Shame. Cos you’re good enough to compete at Olympic level.”
“No, uh-uh. I wouldn’t want to start feeling like I’m constantly in competition. Like people would always be judging my moves, whether or not I’m good enough, pushing me to be better and work harder. I skate for myself, for my enjoyment. It gets technical and detached in competitions, worrying about where I’m gonna place and if I’m gonna lose my sponsorship. I’m happy where I am.”
My cell buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out with a small apology.
“It’s mom. She wants me to pick up some books from the library.”
“On your bike?”
“I have a back-pack at home. It’s big enough for small supplies,” I explained, feeling a small amount of regret that our chat had ended but also guilt that I’d neglected my mother lately.
“I’ve really enjoyed talking to you today.”
“Me too.”
I felt that spinning in my stomach, the excited kind of spinning when you know you’re at the beginning of something beautiful with someone.
Yep, Ness and I were going to be good, good friends.
CHAPTER TEN
I’m swimming in a sea of fire, burning my arms as I struggle against the tide that tries to pull me under. In the distance, I see an iceberg, somehow remaining solid in the surrounds of this heat. I swim harder, trying to reach it because I know somehow that I will be safe if I can reach there, I’ll be grounded.
My head swims in fire and ice.
Freya’s face swoops before me, bringing a damp cloth to my brow and I close my eyes again, too weak to fight the call of the dark.
Somewhere, in the back of my deranged mind, I realise I am unwell and am fighting fevers and infection. One minute the sweats overtake me, the next I am shivering with the cold. First it is Helena’s face swimming before me, then it is Freya’s.
The hot and the cold.
There are dabs on my lips, monsters oozing from the cracks in my walls, covers being pulled up to my chin, raised voices, screams and shouts.
And in the midst of this madness, there is always the face of Nikki. Her evil sneer is dancing in front of my eyes as she pours forth the venom to belittle me. Seeing her though gives me the will to fight because I will not let her win. I haven’t loved for nothing and I will love again. I will not have her suck the joy from my life with her quiet taunts. She might be on the other side of the world but she seems a whisker away every second, almost like my next breath could be hers. There is nothing separating us but hatred.
It’s been this way for as long as I can remember. Whatever I did, Nikki did it better. If I painted a picture, Nikki sold one of hers for a fortune. I had the love of one woman and Nikki had her pick of the bunch. I scraped through school and she aced her exams with barely an hour of study. Everything she turned her hand to succeeded, while I lived in poverty and despair.
Every piece of luck I could ever have had and she had to snatch it away for herself like a petulant child. Every bad decision I made was because of her, I could see this now and it was her jealousy that was keeping me from finding love.
My fever raged on for days but the voices became still.
*** *** ***
When I awoke feeling better, the first thing I heard was the silence. The stillness of my mind had infiltrated my flat and numbed all noise.
I sat up in bed on my elbows and flexed my jaw to pop my ears. I looked around my flat which was exactly as it always was and yet…yet, something had changed.
I heard my stomach rumble, relieved I was no longer deaf, and got out of bed to find some clothes before I made myself something to eat.
I had no idea how long I had been ill for. It could have been hours, it could have been days. Time never ran in a straight line when I was being dragged between Heaven and Hell.
Opening my fridge, I saw with surprise and delight that it was full. Ethel must have stocked up for me while I was unconscious. My hungry eyes were grateful and I grabbed some ham and cheese to make a sandwich. The ham was a children’s pack called ‘Billy Bear’, slices of ham shaped into the face of a bear. I had practically lived on it through my teens. Helena used to buy it in special for me.
Helena.
Could she have been here and done this for me? I looked around and saw a sleeve of cigarettes next to the microwave, with my Zippo lighter atop. The lighter that she had given me.
I smiled because I had known she still loved me and I was right. I felt my heart soar and a grin began at the corners of my mouth. She had come back to reclaim her lost love.
I ate my sandwich, my eyes landing on my covered canvas and I was reminded that not only had I to finish the one I started of Freya but I had her dwarf pal’s commission.
I was still hungry though and found a new packet of ‘Frosties’ in the cupboard. Another old favourite of mine. Helena and I used to watch videos in her bedroom and I would always have my hand stuck in a box of ‘Frosties’. Who needed milk?
The little things always make me happy. I am so used to being miserable that any excuse for happiness, however small, will suffice.
I heard my phone ring and hurried to answer, my hopes momentarily raised but it was only Ethel.
“Are you feeling better, sweetness?” she asked.
“Yes, thanks. Did you stock my fridge?”
&n
bsp; “Oh no, that wasn’t me,” she told me.
“Do you know who it was?” I had to know.
“You caused quite a ruckus while you were away with the fairies.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, suspiciously.
“It’s not my place to say…” she trailed off, knowing I would be eager to find out.
“Spit it out, mother.”
“Let me put it this way, you were the object of a little tug of war.”
She had to mean Freya and Helena, but before I could press her for further details, she declared there was someone at her door and hung up wishing me well.
So, Freya and Helena had been here when I was fevered and, by the sounds of it, had rubbed each other up the wrong way. This was only to be expected as Helena could easily be taken offence at if you didn’t know her vulnerability that she kept so well hidden.
I decided to paint and let the day bring to me what it would. I looked at the canvas I had started of naked Freya and a shiver ran through me. There was no denying she was beautiful. But her beauty was almost too much for me to bear and I threw a sheet over her to safeguard my senses.
I began work on the dwarf, content knowing I could live happily for months on the money it would bring in. And then I remembered that I had phoned Mr Chan, the private investigator who had found Helena for me, to find Nikki.
Ah well, he was more likely to find a needle in a haystack. I’d let him look for a bit, just to have some fun with him, then tell him to forget it. The money would be worth paying for his wasted time. If he had found Helena sooner, maybe some heartbreak could have been avoided.
I was losing myself in thoughts when I should have been losing myself in my work and I chastised myself. Paint now, daydream later.
And that’s how the next few hours went, my wrist ached and my shoulders screamed from holding my positions with dedication to my art. I looked from photograph to canvas and created an image of Mavis Street that she would surely fall in love with.
Falling in love is the only feeling in the world that matters. At least that’s what you think until you realise that the only thing that matters is to feel.
And I was feeling. I had love coursing through me, from the smile on my lips to the stroke of my brush, every fibre felt alive, renewed by a hope of Helena.
Happiness had snuck up on me, quietly, like a snake in the grass.
And it wasn’t the only thing to have snuck up on me, as I spun around, hearing a creak from my floorboards.
“Helena!”
She had let herself into my flat, probably well aware my door was never locked, and was unbuttoning the expensive looking red woollen coat that danced to her knees.
I was mesmerised, watching how expertly her fingers found the buttons and moved deftly to twist them through the holes. In days gone by, I had been undone by those same fingers and I couldn't help but feel a tremble inside, knowing I would be undone again.
“You’re out of bed, Nick. Are you feeling better? You had me worried for a time,” she said, speaking softly with confidence, as she slid her coat off her arms, folding it neatly on my bed.
“Yes, I’m much better, thanks. But what are you doing here?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t still fevered.
“I’m here to look after you. I’ve been here every day wiping your forehead and moistening your cracked lips. Don’t you remember anything of the last few days?”
“No,” I told her. “Just the fever nightmares.”
“I’ll make us tea,” she said, heading towards the kettle.
“Helena, that doesn’t answer why you’re here. The last time I saw you…well, you didn’t exactly fill me with hope for us.”
“I told you I’d call,” she said, getting two cups ready for tea. “And I did call. Your mother answered your phone and told me you were ill, so I came over and when I saw you lying there so helpless, I knew I couldn’t go back to a life without you in it.”
“Hang on,” I said, puzzled by what I was hearing simply because it was too good to be true. “Are you telling me that you want us to get back together?”
“Sit down and have some tea,” I was told and having no choice, I put down my brush and went to my sofa where she had made herself comfortable.
I lifted the warm cup and drank too greedily, burning my lips. “Ow!” I complained.
She turned me to her and ran her finger along my lips. My stomach lurched with old desires as my eyes held the darkness of hers. She smiled over her shoulder as she made her way back to the kitchen for her cup.
It took me back in time to our first kiss. A first kiss should never be forgotten. It takes two people and changes how they will look at each other forever.
We were fourteen, best friends, but more than that, unable to pass a day without each other’s company. Helena had made every day bearable for me then.
We used to cuddle in her bedroom, watching film after film, and this night, I had decided to wash her feet. I had gotten a basin of hot water, a bar of soap, a flannel and some towels.
She had sat on the edge of her bed, saying nothing, just watching intently as I undid her laces, lifting her leg to ease off her shoes. I slid my hands down her ankles, helping her socks off and brought her feet down into the warm water. I had smiled then because she had wiggled her toes.
Taking my time, I had wet the flannel, soaped it and began to wash her foot. I put every inch of myself into that cleansing, making sure no part was missed. When they were both clean, I lifted them onto a towel placed on the floor and dried them with the second towel.
I remember the pulse throbbing at the side of my head and I knew she was the only thing that could make it better.
I stood up and pushed her back on her shoulders so that she reclined on her bed. Then I lay on top of her and nuzzled into her neck. I felt the thrust of her hips against mine as her arms went around me, pulling me in. I let myself be taken over by my teenage lust and thrust my hips back into her, nestling our legs into the optimum position for grinding, even before we knew what that was.
“Oh, God,” I moaned. “If we don’t stop this, I’ll end up kissing you.”
“Kiss me, Nick,” she breathed and I needed no second invitation. There was no hesitation as my lips found hers, soft meeting soft, daggers of delight piercing me as her tongue wrapped around mine. All I could do was kiss her. When you kiss someone you are falling in love with, you fall into their kiss and their taste and their softness.
I couldn’t breathe but I couldn’t tear my lips away. I wanted to melt into her and could have sworn I was with the heat between us.
My eyes were closed and my mind was on her mouth but my love was touching another part of her.
I opened my eyes and she was staring up at me, her lips still juicy. For a second, panic rose that she was horrified, that her stare was one of anger and I would shortly be heaved off her and thrown out, never to darken her door again or to mention this indiscretion.
But I needn’t have worried. Helena never let me down. Whenever I doubted her, she invariably proved me wrong.
Her eyes welled with tears and her bottom lip began to tremble, and just like that panic became fear.
Every emotion is separated by the smallest of degrees. From love to panic to fear in the blink of an eye. The gamut of my heart.
“What’s wrong, Helena?” I whispered.
“You love me,” she wept.
“Yes,” I agreed. “I do love you.”
“I was terrified you’d think me a freak,” she said, continuing to cry.
I put my finger to her cheek to wipe her tears, smoothing them out across her baby soft skin. “You’re no more a freak than I am. Are we freaks because we have hearts full of love?”
“Oh, Nick,” she sighed, sniffing. “You are such a romantic. Not everyone will see us as pure.”
“Then fuck them,” I declared, young and full of bolshie spirit.
The smile she gave me burned away my fear and the kiss that followed seared
into my soul. Finally we melted together.
That moment seems like yesterday. Every happy memory feels like yesterday. But the misery is a minute ago, breathing down my neck, ready to pounce and remind. And any reminder of misery will beat away a happy memory.
“Nick?” she said, her voice a far away whisper that found me and brought me back to reality.
“Yes, min kjaerlighet?” I asked, another person from another time.
“Drink your tea,” she commanded and I brought the cup that was before me back to my lips that would welcome any form of kindness.
I watched her, watching me, over the rim of my cup as I drank in the sugary sweetness she had made for me. A cup of tea is oftentimes a cup of love. My fingers warmed and I felt my heart thaw a bit, or a beat. I was no longer able to tell the difference.
“Do you love me, Nick?” she asked.
“Yes,” I told her without hesitation because I did. I had always loved her. And I always would. I could have multiple love affairs that would take me from my twenties to my eighties, and still the only love that would make a dent on my life would be the first love that dented my life. Every love that comes after that seems a watered down version, except…except what if I was wrong?
“I love you, Nick,” Helena said and I knew then I couldn’t possibly be wrong. Love doesn’t deceive.
I sneered, unable to help myself because my pain always reared its ugly face as anger. “Oh, now you love me? Now that you are married and up the duff? Are you sure? This room is the sum total of my life: fuck all. I have nothing to give you,” I told her.
She marched towards me and I quickly set the cup on the table, thinking she meant to strike me.
“You broke my fucking heart,” she wailed, falling to her knees in front of me.
This was not the Helena who stood in her front room surrounded by photos of her and her husband, confident in the security of her life. This was the Helena who had clung to me as a teenager weeping with the fear that I might leave her.
Why had I left it so long to find her? Why had my fear trapped me for so long? I could only blame it on my wild heart.
I threw my arms around her, feeling sixteen once more and who doesn’t want to be sixteen again, caught up in the trials of their heart that was the only thing that mattered in life? When I first loved Helena, I never knew what it meant to panic over paying my rent, my only concern was that when I woke up the next day she would still love me.
