Confidence

by Rowland Manthorpe

  Charlie hadn’t been prepared for Penny Austin answering the door.

  ‘Charlie!’ she called loudly, evidently warning everyone in the house that the incarnation of evil was about to cross the threshold. She was wearing some sort of onesie sleep suit (it was repellent). Charlie pictured Penny eavesdropping on the upcoming conversation, dragging the juicy details to her lair and feeding on them for days to come.

  ‘Penny, I forgot you were staying here. I was hoping to see Sara.’

  ‘I don’t think she’s expecting you, is she?’

  ‘Are you running her diary?’

  Both smiled, almost as if they were joking.

  ‘It has been very tough on her, you know.’ Penny crinkled reproachfully. ‘You don’t see how upset she is after you leave. We’re all worried about her, she’s barely been eating.’

  ‘Well, I brought her a Curly-Wurly.’

  Penny frowned – this wasn’t an appropriate moment for Curly-Wurlies.

  ‘So are you going to let me in or is there some kind of application process?’

  Penny sighed, shrugged – it was out of her hands unfortunately – and opened the door just enough for Charlie to squeeze through. ‘I’ll call her down.’

  ‘It’s fine. I know the way.’

  Penny raised her eyebrows – all too well! – and lingered downstairs, pretending she didn’t have front-row seats in Meredith’s room.

  Charlie knocked and, receiving no reply, pushed open the bedroom door. Sara was on her bed listening to headphones. (This struck Charlie as suspicious, but he tried not to let paranoia overwhelm him.) She gave a cheerful wave, pulled the headphones off and jumped up to give him a hug. Sara looked extremely well; if anything, better than when they were going out.

  ‘This is a nice surprise!’ she smiled.

  ‘I brought you a present.’ Charlie handed over the chocolate bar.

  ‘Ooh, did you make it yourself?’

  ‘Just for you. What are you up to?’

  ‘Oh, you know, “revising”.’ Sara sat back down on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. ‘How’s yours going?’

  Charlie shook his head – badly.

  ‘Oh, Charlie. I knew you’d find it hard to get organised.’

  ‘I know. You predicted it.’ He laid a friendly hand on her bare foot. ‘It’s been a bit of a washout to be honest.’

  ‘When do you start?’

  ‘In five days.’

  Sara made an ‘eek’ face. ‘Mine are late. Everyone will be finished before me. To be honest I just want to get them over with.’

  Charlie instantly thought of the period after exams when he had finished and Sara hadn’t. That would be a drag if they got back together.

  ‘I was sort of wondering if I could come and revise here with you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Sara’s eyebrows lifted quizzically, but she said, ‘Of course you can. I hate working on my own.’

  ‘Me too. And Alistair’s a terrible work buddy compared to you.’

  ‘No pink-wafer breaks.’

  ‘Exactly, and he doesn’t like it when I try and kiss his neck.’

  A question hung in the air between them, filling the silence.

  ‘Have you tried the library?’

  Charlie groaned. ‘Not with all those arseholes.’

  Sara giggled. ‘You like lots of people.’

  ‘I like you.’

  By this point, the question was doing a high-wire act on a string held taut between them. The moment to speak had arrived: he had to tell her the truth.

  ‘I miss you, Sara,’ he whispered.

  She held his gaze, neither responding nor dissuading him. He leaned over her curled-up knees and kissed her.

  Closing her eyes, Sara took a long, deliberate breath.

  ‘And I got you something else. Keep your eyes closed.’ Charlie reached into his hoodie pocket, and pulled out the paper bag of jelly rings. He held one up in front of Sara’s face; she opened her eyes and blinked, focusing. She smiled and laughed, and he popped the sweet into her mouth.

  ‘You idiot.’ Sara shook her head. For a moment, she chewed in silence, and then he kissed her again, licking the sugar grains from her lips.

  ‘Hi,’ she breathed.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ she said slowly, smile fixed on her face. ‘For ages I thought you would come round, but then time passed and you didn’t, and I started to think you really meant it.’

  Charlie sighed. Nothing but blazing honesty would do; he wanted to open his soul to her. ‘I did really mean it,’ he explained gently, causing her forehead to pucker. ‘But then I missed you so much. I need you, Sara. You’re lovely, you’re amazing, you really are.’ She brimmed with satisfaction. ‘I want to be completely open, I don’t want to hide anything from you.’ Sara nodded. ‘I’ve learned a lot about myself over the past few weeks. And I don’t want to stop doing that. I don’t want to restrict myself – or you, you know?’

  She nodded again – Charlie felt he was expressing this well.

  ‘I’ve thought about it and thought about it. I’ve agonised over it.’ He took a deep breath and held both her hands in his. ‘Is there a way for us to be together, but not “get back together”?’

  Her eyes narrowed in confusion.

  ‘I know I want to be with you more than anything. But I also know if we get back together, I’ll end up hurting you again. That’s the last thing I want to do.’ He held out open palms, presenting the insoluble paradox in his heart. ‘What if.’ He brushed her cheek. ‘What if we were together but we still stayed open to other people, to what life brings? I mean we both know uni will end soon, we’ll go our separate ways – or not, you know? But why make future plans? Why worry about it, when we can just enjoy being together without putting a label on it?’

  Sara’s frown gradually deepened.

  ‘It could be the best of both worlds – we get to be together, but we don’t have to tie each other down. We can be ourselves: no false promises; complete honesty.’

  ‘Hm.’

  ‘What do you think? Take your time, don’t rush. I know it’s a lot to take in.’

  ‘Mm-hm.’

  ‘You look so beautiful.’ She did look pretty, her hair loose and curly – it had been ages since he’d seen her properly. He kissed her hand.

  Sara leaned her forehead on her knees, speaking into her thighs. ‘Can I just get it completely straight in my mind, what it is you’re saying?’

  She looked up and Charlie nodded.

  ‘You’re saying: let’s get back together, but not commit to one another. So we could pull other people, sleep with other people. We could do whatever we liked. And this arrangement would only last until the end of uni.’

  ‘That makes it sound a bit joyless. It’s not like—’

  ‘But basically . . .’

  ‘It’s not how I’d put it. The important thing for me is that I want to be totally honest. I don’t want to string you along.’

  Sara swallowed, making Charlie worry she was going to cry. Perhaps what he had in mind was too delicate to discuss: they should have found it in the doing rather than running through the terms and conditions.

  ‘Are you worried what other people will think? I was too. But at the end of the day it’s our lives. Screw them – who cares what the world says we should do?’

  The Minnie Mouse alarm suddenly exploded with a loud, tinny rattle.

  ‘Oh shit.’ Sara leaned across to slap it, twice. ‘I’ve started setting it every hour ’cause I keep falling asleep.’

  ‘I hope we’ll still have nap breaks.’ Charlie shifted closer to her as she returned to the middle of the bed. ‘It’s a crucial part of the process.’

  ‘Charlie.’ Sara stared at the duvet.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘To be totally honest, I . . .’ Her breath caught; she slowed it down. ‘I want you to go away.’

  ‘Sara—’

  ‘I want you to go away and let me get
on with my revision.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Actually, I never want to speak to you again.’

  ‘That’s a bit much, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think it is a bit much.’

  ‘But aren’t you even going to think about it? We could talk about it some more.’

  ‘No, I want you to go.’

  ‘All right, I could call you later.’

  ‘Don’t call me. Get out my room, please. I mean it.’

  ‘Okay, I’m going, Sara, just listen for a second—’

  ‘Please leave.’ Her voice was louder now.

  Creaking on the balcony told him her backup was on its way.

  ‘Sara, I—’

  There was a knock at the door. Charlie jumped up and swung it open to find Penny and Fergus, a chorus of concerned passers-by. ‘I’m just on my way.’ He held up his hands.

  ‘Are you all right, hon?’ Penny wriggled past, ignoring him.

  ‘I’ll call you!’ Charlie called back into the room. Penny already had Sara in her clutches; Sara was shaking her head, lips forming silent words.

  Fergus waited to watch Charlie go down the stairs, ensuring he didn’t try anything crazy as he stalked through the hall.

  ‘Hope you enjoyed the show!’ Charlie shouted over his shoulder. He breathed an awkward laugh before slamming the front door.

  —

  Justin had been out in the hallway for some time now. After Ellie told him, he’d said he needed a minute alone, and sat himself down by the piles of misaddressed mail in the dusty corridor, back against the wall, mouth clamped in deep, deep reflection. She asked him if he wanted her to stay; he shook his head, so instead she settled onto the sofa in the living room on the other side of the wall. At one point, he shouted, ‘Jesus Christ!’ (She’d never heard him shout, not in almost three years.) A subsequent series of bangs suggested he was hitting the wall.

  Rose had woken Ellie at 2 p.m. by growling into her ear, ‘If you don’t tell him, I will.’ She had used her old Welsh woman voice. It wasn’t completely clear if she was joking or not.

  ‘We were in the Shackle,’ Ellie had murmured as she came to.

  ‘You certainly were,’ Rose had snorted. ‘Bapped off your tits with some hippy in tow. Upsetting the customers. Talking out of your arse. I had a hell of a job persuading Michael not to bar you.’

  Luckily Ellie retained only the blurriest memories of anything beyond the car park. One thing, however, was crystal-clear: she was openly cheating on Justin, a sin on the level of dropping your baby out of a third-floor window.

  Ellie kept up a vigilant watch from the sofa, listening for every scuffle and creak from the other side. It was a bit like waiting off-stage while somebody played a tragic scene. She needed to pee, but couldn’t leave. The inescapable knowledge that she was the worst person ever pinned her to the polyester. Ellie checked her expression in the mirror behind the telly – See here, she thought, the face of the worst person ever. She still looked a little wild, eyes deeply shadowed, hair thatched on one side. Stretching out, she lightly patted her arms and legs, checking they were in order. In spite of everything, she had somehow remained all of a piece.

  It was a further half-hour before Justin re-entered and the next scene began. He leaned against the kitchen counter, staring up at the ceiling, fists clenched.

  ‘Do you want to sit down?’

  ‘No,’ he told the light fitting firmly. ‘I want you to know, Ellie, that I am really angry with you.’

  ‘I know,’ she nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been as angry at anyone in my life.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Your timing is also . . .’ He shook, anger rising.

  ‘I know, I’m so sorry,’ she agreed vehemently.

  ‘I also want to know some things.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Like, did this happen more than once? How long has it been going on?’

  ‘There was one other time.’ The lie was out before she had decided to lie. ‘The night of SSB.’

  ‘Ugh. And do you like this “Oscar”? I mean, do you love him?’

  ‘No!’

  Justin studied her face.

  ‘No, no, definitely not. Of course I don’t love him. I love you. And I’m so sorry for hurting you. Please, come and sit down.’

  After a moment’s hesitation, Justin sat at the other end of the sofa and put his head in his hands. ‘I should be revising.’

  Justin’s undone revision topped up Ellie’s cup of guilt, keeping it at ‘overflowing’. God, she thought, I am endless trouble for you. She squirmed wretchedly, trying to think of something to say, but there was no way to fix the mess she’d created.

  ‘I’ve thought about it very carefully,’ Justin told Rose’s Closer. (Jade Goody was dead, but they still found things to write about her.) ‘And I’ve decided . . . that I forgive you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ellie took in this unexpected statement. He was really going to forgive her just like that?

  ‘I forgive you . . .’ Justin turned his exhausted eyes to her. ‘Because I love you, Ellie, and I still want to be with you.’

  ‘I . . .’ she began awkwardly. In a split second of clarity, she wondered where he got this sacrificial instinct. Why was he so ready to throw himself under the bus? ‘Thank you.’ After a moment, she added, ‘I love you.’

  ‘That’s all I want.’ Justin reached out his hand. ‘It’s the only thing that’s important to me.’

  As she touched his fingers, she was hit by a brand-new problem.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s . . .’ She rubbed her forehead, unwelcome comprehension gathering. ‘I’m worried I’m not going to be able to do this.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Be your girlfriend. I want to be with you, I really do.’ Panic was rising in her chest. ‘But I don’t think I can put a check on myself.’

  Justin’s grip tightened.

  ‘I’m just starting to figure out a lot of things about myself.’ Ellie struggled to wrestle words from her inchoate thoughts. ‘Sorry, I know that’s wanky, but it’s true. I feel as if I’m growing – I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.’

  Justin rubbed his eyes despairingly. ‘So where does that leave me? Outgrown?’

  ‘No! If anything I’m catching up. You’re much better than I am.’

  He stared at the coffee table, blinking rapidly.

  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t be together,’ she forced out. ‘I’m bad for you. I’m only going to make you miserable.’

  ‘No, no, no, don’t say that.’

  ‘But it’s true, isn’t it? I’ll only hurt you again.’

  ‘No. You’re perfect, I love you, you’re everything I want. Listen.’ Justin’s thoughts raced across his face. ‘Whatever you’re going through, I’ll be here. Whatever you need to do, I’m not going anywhere.’

  She stared at him. ‘But that’s horrible for you—’

  ‘It’s worth it, I know it is.’

  ‘I make you so unhappy!’

  ‘You don’t, you don’t. You make me incredibly happy. Listen, you might not be as certain as I am.’ He was gathering strength. ‘But I’m certain enough for us both. I know this is right.’

  A bus rumbled by outside. Ellie stared blankly at Rose’s ‘Hot Priests’ calendar.

  Perhaps, if Justin thought so, they could find a way through. Perhaps she needed to tune out the destructive voices and listen to the good one. ‘Are you sure about this?’

  ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.’

  Justin’s certainty was both comforting and constricting.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, at length. ‘I trust you.’

  ‘You should trust me. I love you.’ Justin moved closer and hugged her tightly, taking a deep, shaky breath.

  Slowly, she relaxed into his embrace. ‘I love you.’

  Exhausted, Ellie lay down with her head in his lap. Justin stroke
d her hair. She closed her eyes.

  In the long, wrung-out silence, Ellie caught her mind wandering over to her wardrobe to seek out a TV-friendly top that wasn’t red, black, white or patterned. Chastening herself for this disgusting selfishness, Ellie determined to do something for Justin, here and now. ‘I could help you revise this afternoon, if you’d like?’ she suggested, looking up at his pale face.

  ‘I’m not sure you can help.’ He gave a sad, brave smile. ‘But we could work together maybe?’

  ‘Okay. That’d be nice.’

  Justin kissed her forehead. ‘Everything’s going to be all right, you know. I’ll look after you.’

  ‘Thank you. I might do some research for my interview.’

  ‘And also maybe revise?’ said Justin gently.

  ‘Oh, yeah, also revise,’ she nodded. ‘Sorry.’

  18

  Boom and Bust

  Nietzsche sought to live as a higher man. To achieve this goal, he set aside habit and structure and embraced a life of nomadic improvisation. He intended to channel an ecstatic, godly confidence. Instead, confidence channelled him.

  The biggest impact of this was on his health. From his mid-twenties onwards, Nietzsche was almost constantly ill. ‘Three-quarters blind’, he suffered from almost permanent indigestion and migraines so severe they would leave him incapacitated for days. ‘My existence is a fearful burden,’ he confessed during one such attack. ‘Consistent pain, something close to sea-sickness combined with semi-paralysis, which makes it difficult to talk, alternates with raging attacks (the last had me vomiting for three days and nights, I longed for death).’ In 1879, he calculated that he had 118 days of headaches during the year. Wagner, ever sympathetic, put the condition down to compulsive masturbation.

  One thing that was compulsive was Nietzsche’s insistence on taking his treatment into his own hands. Diets, drugs, climate cures – he self-prescribed them all. One remedy he alighted on was the idea that he must live all year round in temperatures between 9 and 12 degrees Celsius. The fact that achieving this required him to travel constantly, often for days in very poor conditions, which always made him ill, was simply beside the point. He enjoyed moving, so he convinced himself that movement was good for him.