By the Time You Read This

by Lola Jaye

  Soon the conversation shifted.

  “Rob and I are having such a good time. I just love being with him. Waking up with him. It’s like we’re married. Do you get that feeling with Oliver?”

  I heard a triumphant roar coming from the lounge.

  “Lois?”

  My stomach tightened. Carla was the type of girl who’d dreamed about her wedding from the year dot, while I tried never to let it enter my head—especially when I looked at the hassle and misery it so obviously caused: Carla’s mom and dad; Mom and the Bingo Caller; the majority of soap-opera marriages. To find that “special someone” Carla often spoke about was rare. My mother had found that in my dad—he was perfect—and…well, he died. No. I couldn’t see how marriage could be for me, or cohabitation for that matter. So, that night I decided enough was enough.

  Miscellaneous: How to dump him

  So, when you started out he was the best thing since ra-ra skirts. Holding hands in the park, gazing into each other’s eyes as everyone and everything carried on around you. Cloudless skies hovering above, everywhere you went, that song by the Carpenters constantly playing in your head…

  Now he irritates the c**p out of you and you’ve probably fantasized on constant occasions about placing a pillow over his dozing face. Perhaps it’s time to end things, baby. Only you will know if it’s time, though, but the fact you’re reading this entry probably means you’re seriously thinking about it.

  There’s no law on how to do it and sometimes there’s just no need for a long, drawn-out explanation. It could be simply because he forgets to rinse his mouth in Minty Fresh now and again and telling him would be cruel (or kind if you think about it).

  He actually might want to know why he’s getting dumped, though, which perhaps means he’s a masochist (i.e. a bit weird). If he does, this is a good line: “Babe, things just really aren’t working out. I’m sorry.” Then sigh. Then, “Perhaps I’ll see you around some time?” Then sigh again.

  If he doesn’t accept that then maybe you’ll need to be a bit more direct. But try your best not to get in any deeper, it just gets ugly.

  My relationship with Oliver came to an end a few weeks before Carla’s mom’s wedding to Calvin. It wasn’t the best thing I had ever done, telling him it was over, but he took it quite well. No drama. No silliness. The only strange moment was watching him through my window, loading the saxophone into the cab. The way his shoulders slumped forward. The sadness etched onto his face. I really hoped I hadn’t caused him so much pain, he would hate me. I really hoped I had done us both a much-needed favor.

  But I had to move on. In a few weeks time I would be seeing Corey again.

  As Carla fixed her mother’s hair in a bedroom strewn with all things white and pink, I decided to get some air outside, where I found Mom and Abbi sitting on the steps to their house, Mom looking done in.

  “Lois!” sang Abbi, her yellow ballerina style dress flapping around her as she jumped up.

  I sat beside Mom as Abbi squeezed herself between us. I checked Abbi’s hand for anything sticky before holding it.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello. You look nice.”

  I looked down at my silk and organza skirt, which Abbi had begun to stroke. “What are you doing, Abbs?”

  “I think she likes the feel of the fabric,” said Mom slowly.

  “My little sister has a fetish!” I laughed.

  Mom stared blankly toward nothing in particular.

  “Lois, what’s a fatash?” asked Abbi curiously.

  “Never mind.” I looked down at those beautiful bright eyes staring up at me. I hated to admit it, but for a kid (one from my family at that) she was quite beautiful. So innocent and fresh-faced, I doubted anyone could ever refuse her anything.

  “Do you want to come with me and Carla to the wedding?”

  “Your car’s a two-seater,” said Mom.

  “I have a new company car…I’ve just started that new job. Last Monday.”

  “Oh, you didn’t say.”

  “I did. Told you a few weeks back.”

  “Sorry. I’ve had a lot on my mind. What’s it like? Who’s it with?”

  “An investment bank in the city.”

  “With the computers, like before?”

  “Sort of. Only this time I’ll be in charge of the IT systems of the bank’s Asia and Middle East operations.”

  “That’s lovely. Sounds really important. I could have done a small tea for you and invited next door.”

  “I didn’t want any fuss, Mom.”

  “It’s not every day my girl gets a fancy job in the city. I am so proud of you.”

  “Thanks Mom,” I said, not knowing what else to say, yet feeling a little emotional.

  I looked at Mom’s face. “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Don’t worry about me. Just a bit busy, what with this one! So, you’ve got the car already? Let’s have a look.”

  “I don’t actually get it until next week. We’ll be taking Rob’s car today.”

  “Can I go with Lois, Mommy?”

  “Of course you can.”

  Abbi’s smile resumed its rightful position as she got up and began a skip with an invisible rope, her soft curls bouncing up and down with excitement.

  “I haven’t seen much of you,” said Mom inevitably. It was as if seeing me would always force out a moan, whine or criticism of some sort—which obviously partly explained my absences.

  “I’m just saying. Abbi’s always asking for yo—”

  Luckily, I was spared another ear bashing as Carla appeared, informing us the bride was on her way out.

  I tried not to giggle as Carla’s mom teetered down the tiny aisle of the registry office to the tones of “I Will Always Love You,” heels clinking and dressed in a pink miniskirt and matching stiletto heels. But the sight of Calvin dressed as a pimp in a purple suit, complete with a diamanté-decorated cane and silver hat slipped to the side was ridiculous in the extreme. Luckily any comments were masked by the song, leaving Abbi the pleasure of announcing in a loud and excitable voice, as soon as the song finished, “He looks like my dolly!”

  The ceremony was about to begin, the door opened, and in walked Corey. More confident than the last time I’d seen him, smiling proudly, showing off his beautiful dimples. Beside him was Blonde (extensions) Bombshell Mark Two in tow, a skinny little thing, clutching a neatly wrapped gift with a huge silver bow.

  “Sorry!” he whispered to no one in particular. He was now sporting a goatee and shorter hair, looking more handsome than ever. I tried not to think about our last and very sensual encounter, concluding I was right to have run out the following morning. He’d obviously moved on, just like I knew he would.

  The ceremony was quick. The reception took place in a small community hall in Greenwich where the newlyweds fed one another cake. Not as bad as my last experience of a wedding, but still as boring.

  It would seem the music etiquette of weddings hadn’t changed much since Mom’s, and yet again we were forced to listen to the cheesy rants of yesteryear. Luckily, Calvin’s influence ensured a steady medley of classic soul hits, which, although still ancient, did score higher than “The Birdie Song” in my book. The couple’s first dance, to Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On,” raised a few eyebrows, but looking at the newlyweds it was clear they just didn’t give a damn.

  “Hi stranger,” said Corey’s voice.

  “How are you!” I enthused, genuinely glad to see him, a lone butterfly flitting around my stomach. As we hugged, I enjoyed the sensation of his body heat against me.

  “I’ve been better, Lo Bag,” he replied.

  “I thought you liked Calvin, at least you told me that the last time…we, er, saw each other.”

  The uncomfortable silence lasted too long.

  “Oh, I do like Calvin, he’s great. I just don’t need a song reminding me what they’ll be getting up to later. Too much information.”

  “He seems to really love her
.”

  We both shot a look at the couple on the dance floor. Eyes only for one another. Had we been like that once?

  “How’s The Manual?”

  “The Manual?” It felt so strange hearing somebody else refer to something so precious to me. The fact that Corey remembered its existence moved me somewhere deep within, allowing the lone butterfly in my tummy to acquire a friend. Then a whole group of friends. I just wanted to thank Corey for remembering. I wanted to replace the previous “polite” hug with a huge humdinger of a squeezefest. But instead I shrugged slightly and said, “The Manual’s okay thanks. Going along nicely.” Just as Blonde Bombshell Mark Two bundled along, holding hands with MY little sister.

  “Hi there. Isn’t she cute?” said the Blonde Bombshell.

  “Yes,” I replied, wanting to shove my finger in her eye while reminding her Abbi was MY sister and I knew how bloody cute she was.

  “This is one of my oldest friends—Lois,” Corey announced to her.

  “Nice to meet you,” she remarked, letting go of Abbi, who quickly scarpered.

  I went through all the pleasantries and finally escaped when Carla (an absolute vision in a tight red skirt and corset combo) dragged me away with boring tales of Rob.

  “He keeps saying he has something to tell me,” she said.

  “Really? Where is he?”

  “He’s coming back later. He had to go back for the present, which he forgot! What if he wants to propose?”

  “Huh..?” I replied absently.

  “What are you thinking about?” questioned Carla, planting a glass of champagne into my hand.

  “Corey…he looks good—” I began, just as she squealed in delight, catching sight of Rob striding across the hall and carrying a huge pink and white box.

  “Baby!” she squealed as he placed the present to one side and scooped Carla into his arms. I found myself with Mom as Abbi rounded up various bored children of a similar age to disappear into the land of mischief.

  I wondered, not for the first time, the real reason for the Bingo Caller’s absence. I suspected another row, although Mom vehemently insisted he’d been unwell since Friday with a tummy bug.

  “Hello ladies!” said Calvin as he approached our table, smiling widely with happiness and I suspect one too many glasses of champagne. Carla had disappeared and Corey was trailing coolly behind him. “Would you like a dance?” he asked Mom, who attempted to feign embarrassment but managed to pull herself up off the chair in record speed.

  “Oh, have you seen Abbi?” she asked quickly.

  “Over there!” replied Corey, pointing to a bunch of girls led by Abbi and engaged in something involving wedding cake and some poor woman’s handbag.

  “Still a bit paranoid since she went missing…”

  “No need to explain. Now come on, it’s Earth, Wind and Fire! A brilliant rare groove!” roared Calvin as Mom stifled a giggle. I wondered if she’d ever fantasized about Calvin in any way or whether the dance would start that all off. I stifled a giggle.

  “What’s making you smile, Lo Bag?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just a joke.”

  “I mean what’s making you smile these days? Or who, shall we say?” He offered his hand, which I took without hesitation.

  “Oh, no one. Just a brilliant new job, which I know I’m going to enjoy…” I said a little too enthusiastically.

  “You don’t have to explain yourself. If that’s what’s making you happy then that’s good. Now tell me more about what’s been happening in your life, while we show the oldies how to really get down!”

  “To this ancient song?”

  “A classic.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Oh come on, Lo Bag…!” he whined.

  “What about your girlfriend?”

  “She had to leave. She’d only planned on staying for a bit anyway.”

  As we reached a quieter spot on the dance floor, the DJ decided to lose his mind and slow things down again.

  The Bangles’ “Eternal Flame” began to play, immediately transporting me back to my childhood.

  “Remember this?” Corey whispered. Before I could protest my inability to slow dance without looking like a demented moron, Corey tightened his grip around my waist until I was able to relax. I’m not sure if it was the words, the familiar smell of soap or the memories of him and me together that suddenly came rushing back, but when he pulled me even closer into him, I responded. And when I felt his breath on my ear, my body began to weaken. I rubbed his back, softly first, as if feeling him for the first time, and then with so much firmness I thought I’d leave a mark. I was ready to melt into him as my head bent softly onto his hard shoulders, as Corey pulled me in closer.

  He said something, but the music and the intensity of the moment allowed me to miss the words. But he spoke again. And this time I heard.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We can’t just go,” I said as we hovered by the door.

  “Why not?” He took my hand and dragged a more than willing me through the back, into a sort of garden and out the gate. It all felt dangerous and exciting to be jumping into his rental car, heading off without really knowing where we were going.

  We finally found ourselves approaching Mount Road and pulled up right at the top of Tree Top hill a few yards from Treetop Towers in Charlton, where we just stared at one another, drinking each other in. Brazenly, I traced his newly shaven goatee on fresh spotless skin, my fingertips warm with every stroke.

  “So here we are,” I said, a slight huskiness to my voice.

  “Yep. Here we are.”

  An unrecognizable heady feeling escaped from inside me. And I felt tingly as Corey’s finger brushed across the outline of my uneven eyebrow to the curve of my crooked nose, to the top of my lip. Beneath my silk suit, I felt a little clammy, especially as he moved closer to me.

  I closed my eyes in anticipation.

  “Oh!” he said.

  My eyes sprang open. “What is it?”

  “These stupid cufflinks have linked onto your silky fabric!”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t move, I don’t want to tear your outfit!”

  I giggled. “Silk and cufflinks. Not something you’d usually associate with us, right?”

  “Nope. Lo Bag the tomboy in her jeans and puffy coat and me in my baggy rolled-up cords, thinking I looked so cool!” he said, attempting to free me from the cufflink.

  “Freedom!” I sang as Corey finally managed to unhook them.

  “Not quite,” he replied with a hoarse voice. That “thing” between us was back, his beautiful face edging closer, and again my eyes snapped shut. Waiting. I felt his hot breath waft over my face as my lips fought the urge to break into a smile, puckering instead, ready for Corey. When I didn’t feel anything, my eyes opened just as Corey’s butterfly kiss met with my forehead.

  He forced a pained smile. “You don’t know how much I want to kiss you,” he whispered.

  “Then…”

  “But, I can’t, Lo Bag. It…This isn’t right…”

  “It’s just a kiss…”

  “It’s never ‘just a kiss’ with us, Lo Bag. It’s always so much more than that. To me, anyway.”

  I looked down.

  “I’m with someone and it just wouldn’t be right to do this to her.”

  “I know.” I brushed my lips against his forehead, now furrowed with anxiety, and opened my mouth to speak. Then shut it again. There was no need for more words because nothing needed to be said. And as we sat in the car overlooking the streets of our youth, remembering scenes of kiss-chase and childish dreams (I was going to be a scientist, Corey a pilot), I realized we were both edging toward paths that did not involve one another. And probably never would.

  We’d truly become adults.

  our song

  Kevin Trivia: With a wife and the birth of my beautiful baby girl, I became…complete.

  With each birthday I’d taken
the actual day off work—a sort of build-up to the reading of Dad’s entry. A ritual that had never and would never involve someone else. But the night before my twenty-fifth I found myself in the unenviable position of unplanned babysitter to Abbi, Mom literally dumping her at the apartment before rushing off to “do something urgent.” Twenty-five, to me, was a milestone and I was confident my dad thought so too, so his entry would be special, poignant and I didn’t want my little sister smearing sticky fingers all over it.

  “I like your apartment!” announced Abbi, precariously handling the Bang & Olufsen remote control as I placed The Manual onto the highest shelf I could find.

  “Come on, eat up!” I encouraged an hour later.

  “I hate spaghetti!” spat Abbi as she twirled long swirls of spaghetti plus sauce in and around the bowl with one hand, clutching her very lifelike dolly (named Doll) in the other. Thankfully smelly donkey days were long gone.

  “It’s yummy!” I replied. I’d read somewhere that pasta was an excellent sleep aid. “Look, Doll loves it!” I said, dragging the doll off the table and almost dipping its head into the spaghetti bowl.

  Abbi found this funny. “You’re so silly!”

  “Eat up…and there’s ice cream for afters!”

  I tucked little Abbi into the spare bed by about eight thirty, and reached for The Manual, unable to wait until the allotted time of midnight. I still felt excitement whenever I opened the dulling green cover, unmatched by anything or anyone in my life. Even opening my first huge paycheck after starting my new job hadn’t induced the same feeling. Never would. This was it for me. Hearing from my dad.

  Twenty-five! Twenty-five!

  I don’t know about you, but twenty-five was a strange one for me. It felt…

  I heard a scream, then ran into my room to find Abbi perched on the bed, with tears tumbling from her eyelids.

  “What is it, Abbs?” Without a thought, I placed an arm onto her tiny shoulders and pulled an errant curl away with my hand.

  “I want my donkey.”

  “I thought he’d…gone.”