This is a Love Story

by Thompson, Jessica

  Chloe looked over at me and grinned hopefully. I smiled back. This was going to cost me . . .

  ‘What does it say?’ screamed Lydia, who can be very loud at times. She tripped over her own shoe, took the phone with her and just about steadied herself on the desk.

  ‘Girls, girls. Please. I’m really embarrassed. Hold on a minute.’ Sienna fished the card out of the grip of a particularly strong Delilah. She sneezed sweetly and then read the card. A beautiful look spread across her face which made me feel warm all over. I was happy for her. Really. Genuinely. Kind of . . .

  Lydia could take it no more; she snatched the pink piece of paper from Sienna’s fingers and started to read out loud:

  ‘ “To Sienna. I know it’s not your birthday, Valentine’s Day, Christmas or anything in particular. I just wanted to send these to you because you are beautiful and I am the luckiest man alive. Love Ben. Kiss kiss kiss.” There’s three there, Si, he definitely loves you,’ she declared, folding her arms and looking at my best friend with a look of sisterhood. Pride, even.

  I hadn’t met this bloke yet, but I thought it was about time. He was obviously a good guy. Either that or he was hideously creepy. Whichever it was, I had to grill him. I mean, meet him.

  I closed my office door on the scene and sat in the quiet. Thinking.

  Contemplating. Wishing.

  Nine

  ‘I want you to meet my parents.’

  Sienna

  I really am sublimely happy at the moment. So happy that I wish I could play the piano and sing at the same time, just like Alicia Keys. Then somehow I would be able to express this giddy joy rather than laughing to myself on the train like a nutter. It would help if I hadn’t rowed with my piano teacher about where middle C was.

  Yes, it all went wrong when I was seven years old. Dad organised lessons for me but was deeply humiliated when Mr Davis told him he could no longer teach me as we were having ‘artistic differences’. That’s a polite way of putting it when you’ve got a cocky little seven-year-old telling you that you’re wrong about a fact. Something that isn’t negotiable.

  You see, at the time I didn’t realise that middle C was one of those set things, like times tables and the periodic table of elements. It really isn’t open to interpretation. And I regret it now that all I want to do is stick on a really sexy dress and play the piano for my gorgeously handsome boyfriend in the basement of some posh hotel. Bugger.

  Ben is everything I’d hoped he would be and more. He is mature, spontaneous, romantic and very good in the sack.

  And we were in that sack on Sunday morning at his place, enjoying a love-in, which has become an almost weekly highlight of our relationship.

  I literally worship his body. I get lost in his eyes. He is gorgeous.

  He is also amazing in bed. The neighbours could probably vouch for this, since more than once they’ve started banging against the wall, shouting for us to shut up. OK, he does make me feel like a bit of a heifer, but that’s always a risk when you’re dating a gym man. They generally have bodies to die for.

  Despite all this joy, he did shock me a little when he said the three-word sentence.

  The one with the words ‘you’, ‘I’ and ‘love’ in it, which it doesn’t take a genius to scramble round.

  ‘Sienna, there’s something I need to say to you,’ he whispered into my ear, a handful of my hair in one hand and my bottom in the other. We had literally just had sex. It was too soon, I was still unable to breathe properly. So much of our skin was touching. We were too naked for this kind of intimacy, and it scared me.

  I’d had a feeling this was coming so I panicked and tried to distract him by diving under the covers and blowing a raspberry on his stomach. Possibly the worst way to end an hour of early-morning passion. It was also quite difficult because his torso is hard and muscular with the texture of a spice rack, and has no give in terms of good face to skin reverberation.

  He pulled me back up to eye level and opened his mouth to speak.

  ‘Ben, I’ve had an idea,’ I said swiftly, cutting in before he could say anything. Shit, I had to actually follow this up with something. ‘Let’s play Monopoly!’

  ‘No, Si, it’s long and arduous and reminds me of how crap I am with money. Anyway, I was going to say—’

  ‘Ben, I need the loo,’ I yelled, diving out of bed and covering my bottom with my hands before frantically putting on my knickers and darting into the bathroom, knocking over a cup of tea in the process.

  I ran the taps to hide the fact that I’d been lying and splashed my face with the cold jet of water. I had run and run like a startled little animal to avoid this happening. I didn’t want him to say it because he couldn’t mean it. I am very hard to love. I do really like him, but . . .

  ‘Sienna, come out here, please,’ came Ben’s deep voice from the other side of the bathroom door after a good fifteen minutes had passed.

  I opened it slowly and he stood there in his boxers, looking hot and very much like he needed to get something off his chest. I put my hands over my boobs self-consciously. I had been hoping he’d think the moment had passed and we could concentrate on getting him naked again, but his face told me otherwise.

  ‘Breakfast?’ I suggested. ‘I could make you breakfast,’ I repeated, starting to march down the stairs, one hand still plastered over my chest.

  ‘Si, we’ve already had breakfast, remember?’ he yelled over the banister with a perplexed smile on his face.

  Right, yeah, I wasn’t going to get away with this. I plodded back up the stairs and stood facing him. I was a squirrel in the headlights.

  ‘Sienna, will you just stay still for one minute,’ he demanded playfully.

  ‘Yeah, sure, what’s up? I was horribly aware that my underwear was half wedged up my backside. I tried to pull it out ever so discreetly with my free hand.

  He put his arms around my waist and pulled me into his chest.

  ‘I love you, Si,’ he said quietly, putting his fingers under my chin and kissing me softly on the mouth. I felt a twinge in my stomach, but it wasn’t a happy one. Instead of the joy that should have been flooding over me at that moment, I felt sick. Sick with fear. My mother’s face flashed into my mind again and those voices started taunting me. The sentences I had conditioned myself into believing because it was the only rational way to explain my mother’s departure.

  You’re so damn difficult to love, Sienna . . .

  My legs felt like they were disintegrating underneath me. I was decidedly wobbly, but he was strong.

  Well, there we go, it was out in the open at least, but I was nowhere near ready for this. I thought the best thing would be to kiss him very meaningfully and passionately and take him back to bed. Saying ‘thanks’ would have been a disaster – that was a bit like taking someone’s love, burning it onto the hard drive of your computer just for the memories and giving it back covered in scratches.

  I couldn’t say it back because I wasn’t quite there yet. Like I said, I’m very happy. Can’t we just leave it there for the moment?

  When he texts me I grin like a loon. When he calls I walk around the hallway twisting my hair and running my toes over the floorboards. When he kisses me, my stomach drops. When I think of him I get excited. It’s brilliant. But love may be a bit soon yet.

  I’m cautious with the love word because I really know what it means. I’ve been there, done that and I know what the implications are. I also know that people say they love people when they don’t, and it often results in tears and avoidance of bars, supermarkets, even whole towns in extreme cases. I will never be one of those people. I refuse.

  Ben rolled back onto his pillow and sighed, the winter sunshine creeping through the window and casting a beautiful light on his face. He has a hairy chest and I love that. I cuddled up to him and started gently pulling at the clumps of hair with my fingers like a monkey. I lifted my legs up and wrapped one around his waist. This kind of closeness – well, I’m not sur
e I’ve ever really felt it. To be able to just hold on to someone and be quiet. Not say a word.

  ‘Sienna, I need to ask you something,’ he announced after clearing his throat in an official manner.

  ‘Yes, sweetheart?’

  ‘I want you to meet my parents.’

  Uh oh. Round two of the panic sweats had kicked in. I’d only just got over him telling me he loved me. Couldn’t he give a girl a break? ‘Right, OK. I’m sure that won’t be a problem. Thanks, I’m really flattered,’ I managed to say.

  ‘Well, we’ve been together for a whole year now and Mum keeps asking about you.’

  ‘What about your dad?’

  ‘Dad doesn’t care about anything, really, apart from minding the horses and my mum.’ That’s sweet, I thought.

  He rolled towards me and put his arm around my waist, pulling me closer and closer to him until our faces were touching. I felt beautiful.

  Maybe this was it. Maybe he was the one and like a really big job interview it was deeply scary but the right thing to be doing. You have to be in it to win it.

  ‘So when were you thinking of us meeting up with them?’ I asked, looking into his green eyes, which remind me of the sea when you’re on holiday somewhere really nice.

  ‘Today?’

  Wow. There was no time to make up an excuse – he already knew I was free, we were due to spend the day together. I was stuck. ‘Today? Right, well, that sounds perfect. I need to get ready, though – got to look nice to meet your rents,’ I smiled.

  I felt nervous all of a sudden. What if they were horrified by me? What if they pulled him into the kitchen and bitched about me? At least it was happening quickly, like an injection, and I wouldn’t spend weeks fretting over it and building it up in my mind.

  ‘Well, we’d better start getting ready then,’ he announced, leaping out of bed and wrapping a thin dressing gown round himself.

  I tried the best I could to linger. I tempted him into the shower with me and that was a great distraction for at least twenty minutes. Drying and straightening my hair took double time. I wanted to look stunning. Or at least the closest I could get to the word.

  I found a black day dress I’d bought from Urban Outfitters a while ago and left at Ben’s with a few other outfits and accessories for impromptu days out and drinks with friends. It is nipped in at the waist and shows just enough chest to be feminine, but not too much. I wore it with grey tights and a pair of delicate silver pumps. The finishing touch was a long vintage necklace with a miniature birdcage at the bottom made out of wire. My nails were still painted a deep red.

  Ben had given up and started watching TV as he waited for me to emerge from the steamy bathroom in some kind of presentable form.

  ‘Wow, you’re beautiful, Sienna Walker,’ he said, kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘Thanks.’ I looked down at the floor and went red.

  ‘Right then, pretty lady, get your sexy backside into my car,’ he cried, ushering me out of the front door. The ice-cold wind nibbled at my cheeks so I pulled my scarf tight around the bottom half of my face.

  The flats, shops and high-rise offices zoomed past as I watched from the passenger seat. Slowly, the numbers of nutters and lost souls started to thin out and the colour green crept in and replaced them. There were proper fields, with horses and donkeys and everything. I saw ponds, too, covered in frost and ice. As we waited at a traffic light, I watched a duck step nervously out onto the surface of one before plonking a webbed foot straight through the surface and into the icy water below. It was lovely.

  ‘Where are we going, Ben?’

  ‘Surrey. They live on a farm, Si – I think I mentioned this a while ago. It’s just my parents – I don’t have any siblings. They are a bit mad, though,’ he warned, turning to smile at me, his strong hands gripping the steering wheel.

  I couldn’t imagine what it would be like growing up on a farm, or with a mum who had stuck around for more than ten years. The whole idea made me quite nervous.

  ‘Sounds nice. Did you ever help on the farm?’

  ‘Yeah, most of my childhood was spent helping out. When I wasn’t at school, of course – but I did my bit before and afterwards. It was hard work.’

  I imagined him as a teenage boy, waking up at silly o’clock and helping on some muddy field before the school day had even begun, when most of us were being yelled at by our parents to get out of bed at seven thirty. I had a new level of respect for him.

  After what seemed like hours, he pulled his sports car into a long, winding drive. He had to go really slowly because it was incredibly bumpy. Down the driveway and on the right was a modest but stunning farmhouse, surrounded by machinery, some of which looked defunct, some sparkling new.

  Ben turned off the engine and looked at me. ‘Come on, sweet one. They’re going to love you.’

  I timidly stepped out of the car and put my left foot into the middle of a deep, cold puddle. Whoops.

  ‘Are you OK, Si?’ asked Ben, peering over the top of the car.

  This was embarrassing. I tried to pretend nothing had happened, but my foot was squelching as I walked.

  ‘Come here, silly,’ he said, ushering me into a small covered area swamped with wellies and green jackets. I put my shoes on a drying rack and tiptoed into the kitchen behind Ben, who was holding one of my hands tightly.

  ‘Ben, darling,’ came a female voice, which I could only assume belonged to his mother. A very attractive woman who must have been in her fifties emerged and pulled my boyfriend into an embrace. She looked very much like I’d expected – very pretty and nicely dressed. She had a thick, brown woollen jumper on over a pair of jeans. Her grey bob was nicely styled and she wore a light layer of make-up, which complemented her natural beauty perfectly. Her jewellery was delicate, silver and minimal. Just a small bangle on her wrist and a pair of earrings in the shape of teardrops.

  I felt a funny emptiness pull at my stomach. I had always avoided women like this because they reminded me of my mum, who I kept wondering about – and wished was still around I guess . . . I managed to avoid the issue most of the time, ignoring the fact that I don’t know my own mother any more. My mother who turned her back on Dad and me, leaving nothing behind but a battered toothbrush and a few credit card bills. From the moment she left, I made a vow that if I was ever lucky enough to have children, I would never abandon them.

  ‘Oh, wow – this must be Sienna!’ she said, stepping towards me slowly like I was an unusual and exotic animal. She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled broadly before leaning in and kissing me on both cheeks in a continental style. ‘Welcome, Sienna, please come in. We’ve heard so much about you,’ she continued, giving Ben an encouraging look.

  He took off my coat and hung it from the back of the door. ‘Sienna, this is my mum, Lucy,’ he said, sounding even more nervous than I was.

  The smells in the kitchen were incredible; pots and pans were boiling and simmering on the Aga. It was exactly how a country kitchen should be. A bottle of wine was sitting on the wooden table with several sparkling glasses around it. I realised how comfortable I felt. This wasn’t so scary.

  ‘A glass of wine, Sienna?’ asked Lucy, who had clearly spotted me ogling the bottle.

  ‘Oh yes, please. Thanks.’

  We went through to the living room, which again looked like something out of a photograph from Country Life magazine. Heat raged from a crackling fire, in front of which was an elderly-looking black dog with random tufts of white hair poking out all over its body. It immediately got up and started sniffing at me frantically.

  ‘It’s OK, Tara, sit down,’ said Lucy.

  There was still no sign of Ben’s father. I bet he was lovely. Probably all cute and round with a tweed flat cap. Or at least that’s what I assumed until a large chair slowly creaked round, revealing a sombre, shadowy figure. It scared the shit out of me.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Dad – I should have known.’

  Now Ben’s dad was
a serious man. Scary, even. He was quite reedy and had combed a thin layer of grey hair over the top of his head to hide his bald patch – which I noticed straight away. In his right hand was a huge glass of whisky. It was only 1 p.m., and it didn’t look like his first. He wore dark colours and faded into the blackness of the room like a shadow.

  ‘Hello, Ben,’ he said with little enthusiasm. He was very well spoken, but his deep voice had something of an inebriated drawl about it.

  ‘Dad, this is Sienna.’

  There was a grunt. Gosh. How rude.

  The dog shifted awkwardly, looked up at me and did one of those deep, canine sighs before rolling over on the carpet. I feel your pain, Tara, I thought. If I’m honest, I was deeply disappointed by Ben’s dad’s reaction, but I tried hard not to show it.

  ‘Er, Dad. Sienna, my girlfriend?’ pushed Ben once more, offering me a seat on the sofa. I obliged.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ he said, ignoring me and turning back to the golden flames.

  ‘David. Don’t be so bloody rude,’ snapped Lucy, turning his chair around again. Hard. His whisky almost flew from his glass and onto the floor.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, darling. I know who it is, we don’t need to make a song and dance and scare the poor girl, do we? Now, does she have a glass of wine?’ he asked.

  I held my glass up towards the light nervously and smiled, toasting thin air. Everything was fine. Stay calm.

  Lucy pulled up a chair and sat almost opposite me. ‘So, Sienna, tell me more about you.’ She leaned back and smiled, looking genuinely pleased that her son hadn’t brought back a piercing-riddled Goth. She was obviously trying very hard to be warm and accommodating to make up for the ignorant pig she had married.

  ‘Well, I’m a journalist, I live in west London. I write for a whole load of different magazines and I love it.’

  ‘Bloody journalists,’ came David’s gruff tone. ‘Always blooooody lying,’ he finished, his words flowing even thicker now, like there was treacle in his mouth. It struck me suddenly that my boyfriend’s father was a drunk.