Love Is a Thief

by Claire Garber

  James wandered back into the lounge with a bottle of wine, Jane with a plate of hot gingerbread men. Then they perched on the edge of the coffee table (so as not to disturb Nibbles, who pretended to sleep) and they stared at me, expectantly, as people often do when I visit their houses, as if I am a West End show or human-sized television set with only one channel and more often than not only one volume setting.

  ‘I er, we, I wanted to pop in, to say hi, obviously, and also because I wanted to ask Jane a question. It’s a work thing really, a little investigation. I just wanted to know if there was anything you didn’t get to do because you met James and, well, fell in love.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Jane looked flustered and brushed her fringe to one side with an oven-glove-covered hand. ‘I think we have done everything we’ve ever wanted to?’ she said, looking to James for confirmation.

  ‘There isn’t one thing, one small thing that you haven’t had a chance to do, alone; a course you wanted to take; or an experience you haven’t had? One little thing that was stolen, by love.’

  ‘I’ve asked Kate to do a past life regression,’ Leah said, mouth full of gingerbread. ‘But apparently that’s not the right kind of request, so now I’m not sure what I’m going to do.’ Manipulative.

  ‘And I’m not sure what I’m doing either,’ Federico said tentatively biting into the left leg of a gingerbread man, ‘but I would consider more ginger, yes, I would, and, I’m just going to throw this one out there, possibly a dash of lemon juice.’

  ‘It’s ridiculous to think there’s something Jane hasn’t done because she fell in love,’ James said, puffing out his chest. ‘Katie, I had no idea you were so anti-love. There is nothing I wouldn’t support Jane doing. Life began as a couple. Didn’t it, pumpkin?’ He patted her on the thigh. ‘We’ve always felt that we became more complete as people when we met each other and in turn had more to offer the world. Jane does an awful lot at the Salvation Army, don’t you, darling? So we try to give more love to the world because we have so much love between us.’

  Federico had turned green. Leah looked suspicious. Jane still looked as if she’d opened a trapdoor that led directly to the molten hot core of the earth. I watched as she started looking all around her lounge, taking it all in, as if it were the first time she’d seen any of her own stuff.

  ‘Oh, well. I thought it was worth asking.’ Jane was still looking at the ceiling. ‘I am asking lots of women what they didn’t do because they fell in love, then we are stealing those things back, like pirates—’ I punched the air and made a sort of oohh-aahh noise that sounded nothing like a pirate, which was embarrassing ‘—and some women are going out doing things on their own. It’s a way to help people reconnect with themselves. My old cleaner is going to train as a mechanic.’

  ‘Because that’s an appropriate request,’ muttered Leah.

  ‘And what do we have next week?’ Federico was off. ‘Well, next week is the official start date for Fat Camp, yes it is. Twenty of our fat readers; and I mean super fat, fat and miserable, like human Santas, but without the super red outfits, magical flying powers and free mince pies, maybe too many mince pies, but no sledge and definitely no flying ability, are going to start our intensive weight-loss programme, yes they are. Love-Stolen Dreams is going to get back their pre-relationship bodies. LSD to the rescue!’ He gave himself a round of applause. ‘My idea,’ he said, pointing to himself. He finished by mouthing ‘cinnamon’ to Jane, then placing his unfinished gingerbread man back on the plate.

  ‘Well, Katie, your job sounds wonderfully frivolous. We do love hearing about your little exploits, don’t we, pumpkin? Even if I am not in 100% agreement with this idea. But I’m afraid I am going to have to leave you girls to it as I have a tennis match.’ He kissed Jane on the forehead before grabbing his big tennis bag and waddling out of the front door. The moment the door clicked shut it began.

  ‘Gregoire Pechenikov. That’s what I didn’t do because I met James. Gregoire bloody Pechenikov. He was gorgeous, Kate, totally gorgeous, and desperate to sleep with me. I nearly bit off my own arm the day I first saw him. He walked into the students union on a language exchange from Moscow, had the arms of a rower and he wanted me. He used to hover outside my halls of residence and ask me to explain subjunctives and conjugate verbs. And he used to stand disarmingly close and watch my lips when I spoke.’

  ‘I knew it!’ Federico was shrieking and bouncing up and down in his seat. ‘Here she is. Welcome back the real Jane Robinson!’

  ‘And Spanish men,’ she said, taking her oven gloves off and pouring herself a large glass of white wine. ‘I’ve definitely not had enough sex with hot Spanish men, or twins. I always wanted to have sex with identical twins.’ Federico practically dissolved into a puddle of pure happiness on the floor.

  several hours later …

  ‘James would support anything I wanted to do—’ Hiccup. ‘If I stopped doing anything it’s 100% my fault. It’s my responsibility. And I really like who I have become. What we have created together—’

  ‘Take back the power, Janey Jane,’ Federico whispered while performing a slow-motion air grab. ‘Take control of the power. Become the energy source, not the plug that drains it. Become a nuclear power station or a renewable source of energy if you are more comfortable with that. I am personally comfortable with the safety of nuclear power.’

  ‘It’s just he takes everything so seriously, Kate. Even our love life is serious. James said I can only refer to sex as making love. Apparently sex is something we did with other people before we met. And he doesn’t like me giving him blow jobs, because he thinks it’s demeaning, to me. I actually like giving blow jobs. I gave them all the time when I was at college.’ She really did; it was like she was sponsored. ‘You know, I definitely didn’t play around enough before settling down.’ Leah choked on a gingerbread man. ‘Well, I didn’t! Fumbles in your teenage years don’t count. When you get older sex gets better. God, if I could have the kind of sex I have now with all the men I fancied when I was younger. Wow! So that’s what I’d be doing if I were you, Kate. I’d be having sex with as many hot men as I could get my hands on, hot Spanish men, with tanned baby-soft skin, muscular bodies and thick dark hair. They’d let me give them a bloody blow job.’

  ‘Yes they would, Janey Jane. Yes they would, yes they would.’

  ‘And Gregoire Pechenikov. I’d be having sex with him, a lot. I understand why you are doing this, Kate. I can see how much pain you are in. And you don’t know it yet but you will meet someone else—everyone does. It will happen without you even trying and in the blink of an eye you’ll be so happy.’ She emptied the contents of the wine bottle into her glass. ‘James really is the love of my life.’ She swayed. ‘I know none of you ever understood why—’ she looked especially hard at me as she said that ‘—but he is my man, my James. And I know you’ll get a James one day too, you really will, but while you are single if I were you I would kiss and kiss and kiss and kiss.’

  ‘And give blow jobs, Janey Jane. Don’t forget the blow jobs.’ They all burst out laughing and Federico started doing something childish and inappropriate with a wine bottle.

  Why couldn’t they operate on a deeper spiritual level? Why didn’t they want to become self-actualised, in this present moment, in this present day, with me? Instead they prefer I delve into my past lives, which could be profoundly disturbing on a spiritual and psychological level, and, excuse my English, suck off a lot of different men.

  ‘Jane, isn’t there anything,’ I begged, ‘non-sexual,’ I stressed, ‘that you like doing but don’t since meeting James?’

  ‘Well, James hates dancing. We never dance together.’

  ‘But, Jane, you were great at dancing at college!’

  ‘I know, I love dancing, but we never do it. James has bad knees. But Gregoire Pechenikov could dance,’ she said wistfully. ‘Oh, my God, that man could dance. One night he took me to this Spanish underground club and we danced salsa unt
il the sun came up. It felt like he was making love to me on the dance floor.’

  ‘Janey Jane, I thought you said you met Gregoire Pechenikov after meeting James, did you not?’ Federico asked, nibbling at the groin of a gingerbread man. The trapdoor to the centre of the earth reopened. Jane’s face had invented an entirely new shade of red.

  ‘Jane, maybe dancing could be your thing? You don’t dance since falling in love so maybe you could steal the dance back?’

  ‘Isn’t that a Michael Flatley show?’ Federico asked.

  ‘And I could come with you. I’d be more than happy to take a few dance lessons.’

  ‘Oh, you would, would you?’ Leah was off. ‘You’ll dance for Jane but you won’t step through the portals of time with me?’

  Federico coughed the word ‘hide’ followed by the words ‘she’s crazy’ and joined Jane studying the ceiling of the room.

  quest | steal back the dance with Jane

  advice | kiss lots of different men, with a focus on those of Spanish descent

  advice | be generous with the giving of blow jobs

  emotional chess

  Peter Parker looks good in the morning. I know this because we used to have sleepovers when we were kids, and because I bumped into him at 06:30 one Tuesday morning in a coffee shop near Covent Garden. I was trying to wake myself up with an especially strong espresso and a KitKat. As I perched on a stool staring out of the window, metaphorical matchsticks propping open sleep-heavy eyelids, Peter Parker jogged past wearing serious-looking running clothes and bright orange running trainers. He glanced in the window as he sped past, did a double take, then stopped. I stared out. He stared in. Neither of us displayed signs of surprise, shock or astonishment. We displayed no facial expressions whatsoever. It was as if we were exhibits in Madame Tussauds, or mannequins in the 1987 hit romcom Mannequin, before they came alive and danced excitedly to complicated set pieces, running all over the department store before making love to each other in a window display covered in fur. Eventually Peter committed to movement, walking back towards the coffee shop, coming in and sitting himself disconcertingly close to me on a stool. Then we both stared out of the window, together, in silence. He took a sip from his bottle of water. I took a sip from my coffee. He wiped his brow with his forearm. His running vest was sleeveless and I was once again exposed to his muscular arms. He looked so stern I nearly reverted to my childhood self, wanting to tickle his armpits or perform a short comedy sketch in order to extract even the tiniest hint of a smile. Who was this fully grown smile-less man? Was he happy? Was he content? Had his smile muscles permanently wasted away as my triceps muscles appear to have done in recent years? I decided I wanted to know more, so I shifted my stool to a more comfortable distance and began.

  ‘Peter Parker …’

  ‘Yes, Kate …’

  ‘I have questions.’

  ‘I thought you would.’

  ‘I have a lot of questions.’

  ‘I’d appreciate if you ask them one at a time.’ He turned to face me and took another sip from his water bottle.

  ‘When did you move back to London?’

  ‘If I tell you are you going to sit there and try to calculate exactly how annoyed you should be that I haven’t been in touch?’

  ‘I can ask Grandma.’

  ‘I’ve been here for four months.’

  ‘And you’ve known I was in London for?’

  ‘I’ve known you live in London for those four months, yes.’

  If I’d moved to Switzerland I would have hired Colombo and a pack of bloody hungry tracker dogs to find him.

  ‘And you’ve been divorced for four months?’ A pale band of skin on his ring finger gave away a recent end.

  ‘Marriages don’t end on the signing of divorce papers,’ he said, absent-mindedly touching his ringless finger. ‘They end some way before, or after, some never end, and I suspect some never really even start.’ Unhelpfully vague.

  ‘Why did you get divorced?’

  ‘Why didn’t you get married?’ Deflection, classic Peter.

  ‘Gabriel didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was going to be.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think I turned out to be who she thought I was going to be—’ sharing by copying, clever ‘—and statistically speaking half of all marriages end in divorce so really we shouldn’t be surprised when they fail.’ Resorting to the proliferation of facts when asked to comment on something of an emotional nature—smokescreen. ‘In fact when marriages fail they are more like a mathematical equation that’s been added up correctly, not something that is shocking or wrong—’ I was lost and found myself staring at his muscular upper thighs ‘—and with the advent of television and mass media the spread of false notions of love became pandemic. Did you know that the BBC Television Service was the world’s first regular television service? Britain used to be such an industrious country. We invented the steam engine, the sewing machine, penicillin, corkscrews and cats-eyes, the ones on the road, not the ones in the actual animal. We really don’t make anything any more.’ See, random facts, factual offerings in exchange for emotional thought. He thinks he can distract me with the demise of the British manufacturing industry. But what has happened to our glorious country? And what were we talking about?

  I looked back out of the window. We both sipped from our drinks.

  ‘Peter …’

  ‘Yes, Kate …’

  ‘Were you sad when your marriage ended?’

  ‘If I think about the reasons why we are not together, then I know we made a good decision. She is very happy and is with a really great man. It was the best decision for both of us.’ A well-rounded response; informative, in a way that reveals nothing at all.

  We continued to stare out of the window. We both sipped from our drinks.

  ‘But did you feel sad?’

  ‘Kate …’

  ‘Yes, Peter.’

  ‘Why are you in this coffee shop at 06:30 on a Tuesday morning?’

  ‘I have a dance class at 07:15. It’s the Love-Stolen Dream of one of my friends, Jane, and—’

  ‘Really? You have a dance class?’

  ‘Yes, Peter, I have a dance class and the dance teacher said that if you start your day with a cha cha cha then the whole day dances for you. She said it in a way that made me think it would be a positive thing, to have a dancing day.’ Peter frowned and stared at my feet. For a second I wondered if I’d accidentally put on odd shoes. He turned to look back out of the window. We continued to sip from our drinks.

  ‘Kate, when we were at Pepperpots you said to Delaware that you plan to spend the rest of your life alone. Is that true?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, I totally understand that. I am much happier when I’m alone.’

  ‘Peter Parker, you couldn’t bear to be alone when you were little. You practically lived with me and Grandma. In fact the only reason we stopped sharing a bed was because the neighbour told Grandma it was inappropriate.’

  ‘It was inappropriate. Teenage boys and girls should not be sleeping in the same bed. A couple more months and you’d probably have woken to find me trying to have sex with you.’

  I sprayed my coffee all over the window and started choking.

  ‘God, sorry,’ he said, patting me on the back. ‘I didn’t mean literally. I meant, during one’s teenage years hormone levels peak to such high levels that it’s been argued by some more controversial biologists and anthropologists that one cannot be held responsible for one’s actions during those months and years as we operate under the influence of a potent mix of chemicals and hormones. But there were other ways for me to get my point across, sorry.’

  ‘That’s no problem,’ I said, dabbing coffee spray from my face. ‘It was just such a silly thought.’ That was now permanently burnt onto my brain forever.

  ‘Kate, I am not the boy you knew back then. I am an adult male and I am perfectly content alone. In fact my ex-wife said exactly that—she said i
t felt like I didn’t need her, that I never really opened up to her, or to our relationship. She described it as being like my Insignificant Significant Other—’ that didn’t sound very nice ‘—but the thing is, Kate, I really didn’t need her, at all. My life is much less complicated when I am alone. It’s more constant. It makes sense.’

  ‘Like a reliable mathematical equation.’ I chuckled as I thought about the symbol for pi. I mean, why does p represent a long maths equation? It’s so silly. Or is it brilliant?

  ‘Kate, do you remember my dog, Jake?’ Peter’s eyes sparkled at the mention of his beloved dog. ‘Well, having a dog is probably the only thing that would make me happier than being alone. My ex-wife never wanted one. She said they were needy and unstable but they’re not. Dogs are loyal and consistent. Providing you walk it once a day, twice dependent on size and breed, and give it the occasional treat biscuit, two simple things and it will love you with all its heart.’

  ‘This is my treat biscuit,’ I said, trying to make light of the fact that Peter had just spotted my breakfast, a giant KitKat bar that probably wasn’t meant for one. ‘I find KitKats comforting,’ I qualified, hastily wrapping it back up. Peter stopped me, opened up the foil and handed me an extra-large piece.

  ‘Tell me why you like KitKats,’ he said, pulling me on my stool so I was once again sitting closer to him. He reached across me for a piece of chocolate; his forearm brushed against mine. He felt warm.

  ‘Well,’ I began, trying not to think about his half-naked body or the teenage sex we never had, ‘when I was little I used to watch Grandma doing her work. Do you remember how she would spend hours toiling over a new article or piece of research?’ Peter nodded before reaching for yet another bit of my KitKat. ‘Well, I always knew when she’d finally finished her work because she would make herself a cup of tea, take out a KitKat—’