We are sitting underneath the trees beside their basketball court, amid cigarette butts and empty crisp packets. I say, “Honestly, Andrew, what were you thinking, proposing to Lucy?”
He looks embarrassed. “I thought it’d be romantic. Besides – you know I’m . . .”
“Madly in love with her,” I supply.
“Yeah.” He grins. “I wanted to show her that, because sometimes I don’t think she gets it. I mean, everyone’s always going on about how cute and sweet we are and how we’re going to get married eventually – and by everyone I mean mostly you,” he adds, and I laugh. “And we don’t really talk about it, but sometimes we’re like, we should just go and get married to shut everyone up. And I started thinking, well, she’s the one person I really want to spend the rest of my life with – so what’s the point in waiting?”
I nod. “Yeah. I see your point.”
“Of course, it turns out that she clearly doesn’t feel the same way,” he says bitterly, “and that she’s basically just been wasting time with me for the last two years.”
“It’s not like that.”
“It feels like it.”
“Andrew, she loves you. You know she loves you. Her eyes light up whenever you’re around and she can’t stand being separated from you for more than a day . . .”
“Although she does seem to manage. How many times has she cheated on me?”
I sigh. He’s got a point. “A few,” I admit.
“How many times with you, even?” he asks. “I mean, she just does whatever the hell she feels like. I should have known she wouldn’t say yes.”
“She’s scared,” I say.
“Of me?”
“Of committing herself. Of saying to someone, ‘Yes, I love you, completely and utterly, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and be faithful to you’. It’s tough. It’s tough enough for people in their twenties and thirties to say it, and she’s eighteen, Andrew. She’s worried about whether she’s going to get the points to do what she wants in college. She doesn’t need to be thinking about this stuff right now, and neither do you.”
“Emily, you really don’t get it –”
“I am sick of being told that I don’t ‘get it’. What I ‘get’ is that two people I really care about are going to fight about something completely ridiculous and destroy the most amazing relationship I’ve ever seen. And I don’t want to see that.”
“You’re really one to be talking about destroying relationships, aren’t you?” he asks.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, confused. “Hugh was the one who ended it with me, remember?” Unless – unless Hugh has been telling people about the night after Sarah’s party, and how I led him on and played games, and Andrew sees his point of view. I start to feel slightly sick. Stupid Hugh, stupid Hugh – I’m angry. Of course I’m angry. I’m angry that he made me feel guilty about it, that’s what. And yes I can forgive him, and yes I can still be friends with him, but I will never forget, and it will never happen again. I will never let myself be manipulated like that ever again, by anyone.
Andrew is staring at me. “Not Hugh.”
I’m confused. Only – oh, no, don’t tell me he’s going to blame me for ruining his relationship with Lucy. “What are you talking about, then?” I ask. Part of me needs to know, and the other part of me really doesn’t want to.
He continues staring. “Emily, think for a second. What have you done recently which has upset the guy that is absolutely crazy about you?”
“You mean Declan? He’ll get over the fact that I don’t want a long-term thing,” I say.
He smacks his head against his forehead. “Barry, Emily!”
“What about Barry?”
He looks like he wants to scream. “Well, he’s not exactly thrilled about you and Declan, is he?”
“No, but – it’s not because he’s in love with me or anything, Andrew,” I say, finally understanding what he’s trying to tell me.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because he’d tell me,” I say.
“It’s not always easy to tell people how you feel,” he says.
“Yeah, but if you know them . . .”
“It’s even harder.” He sighs. “I mean, I told Lucy how I felt, and now I have this really, really expensive engagement ring sitting at home gathering dust and a ‘serious talk’ after school.”
“Tell her you’re willing to wait. That you’re sorry for rushing her into this and that on consideration, it’s too early to think about marriage.”
“Yeah, but –”
“Unless of course you want to keep insisting that she should be ready, and lose her,” I say.
“I’ll talk to her. I just wish she was willing to show people how much she cares about me.”
“She’s got ‘Lucy loves Andrew’ written over all her books at school,” I say.
“That’s not the same,” he says, but laughs.
“Yeah, I know. It’s not grown-up enough, is it? But she’s not. She’s only just turned eighteen. Look, I know we all like playing at being grown-ups. We talk about politics and issues and relationships and all that stuff – but we’re not grown up. Not yet.”
“Speak for yourself,” he says, and smiles. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” I say.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Unsurprisingly enough, I find myself thinking about what Andrew said as I walk home. Everything’s swirling around in my head and none of it makes any sense. I mean – Barry. And – liking me. And – no. It’s ridiculous. Andrew doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
Because no one really knows what they’re talking about when it comes to me and Barry. Everyone thinks they’ve got us figured out, everyone thinks that we’re secretly lusting after each other and that there’s a ‘spark’ between us – and they don’t have a clue.
I mean, of course he’s attractive. But the fact that I can see this doesn’t mean that I’m attracted to him. There’s a difference.
If we liked each other we’d have done something about it at this stage. We’re hardly shy. Of course, we’d be terrible in a relationship. It’d never last. We’d be cheating on each other within a week. It would never work out between us.
Only, you know, it might. We could have a perfect future together in that stylish apartment with the wide-screen TV and modern art and double bed. No, I need to get my mind out of the gutter.
It really likes it there, though.
What is this? I mean, suddenly I’m thinking about Barry in a new light, and the guy who has been my best friend for years is now suddenly potential boyfriend material. It makes no sense. I can’t believe I’m letting everyone else’s opinions get to me like this. Because that must be it. There’s no other logical explanation.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Lucy still hasn’t called by eight o’clock, so I end up ringing her to see what happened. She sounds happy and giggly when she answers. “Hey, Em!”
“Heya. You sound pretty cheerful.”
“I am indeed. I was just about to call you, actually. I have some wonderful news for you.”
Wonderful news? That she’s not breaking up with Andrew, I hope.
“I’m engaged!” she sings.
My mouth drops open. And then I just laugh. I completely crack up. “You’re insane,” I sputter.
She’s laughing almost as hard as I am. “I know. But – it seems like the right thing to do.”
“Oh, Lucy. What happened?”
“He went all mushy and romantic on me,” she says.
I can hear him in the background saying, “Oh, I did not, shut up.”
“And that made you change your mind?” I say incredulously.
“I cried,” she admits. “You know I love him – and I know what I’m doing. I want to do this. I didn’t at first, but – I don’t know, I guess it gets to a certain point where you have to stop being a kid, right?”
“Right,” I say, stil
l a little in shock at this new Lucy. I mean, I was there for the change from irresponsible Lucy to hardworking student Lucy, but ready-to-commit Lucy is something I’ve never seen before.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she says, sounding somewhat hurt.
“No! No,” I reassure her. (Yes.) “It’s kind of – unexpected – but I am really happy for you. For both of you.” And I mean it. Really. I mean, there’s this lump in my throat. That must mean I’m sincere, right?
“That means a lot, sweetie,” she says.
“I have to go,” I say. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” she says, and I hang up.
And then I, rather dramatically, burst into tears.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Well, what did I expect? I should have seen this coming, despite Lucy’s protests that she wasn’t serious about her relationship with Andrew. I’ve always known she was in love with him, right? I’ve always known that she was going to spend the rest of her life with him.
Of course, I wasn’t convinced at the beginning. But then, after the accident . . . I saw how much he cared. I thought maybe it was just that he felt responsible, but I saw the way Lucy pleaded with him not to feel guilty, that she was equally to blame, if not more so.
They took Andrew’s brother’s motorbike for a ride. It was Lucy’s idea. She’s one of those people who love wind in their hair and anything that goes fast. She goes crazy over rides at amusement parks, never holding on to the safety bars, laughing at people who look worried as she leans over the side or dangles upside-down.
What Lucy’s intention that night was is anyone’s guess. Andrew knows, I’m sure. I don’t. I was afraid to ask. What I do know is that it was her who convinced him to borrow his brother’s bike, and she was the one who kept encouraging him to go faster and faster, and then yelled at him to swerve. She said she saw something, a cat or a dog on the road. He said he didn’t see anything, but it was dark. He swerved. The bike skidded. They crashed.
They were both thrown off the bike. A car passing by saw the whole thing, and the driver called an ambulance.
It was one a.m. on Saturday morning. I didn’t hear about it until the early afternoon, when Lucy’s mother called me.
They let Andrew out of hospital the next day. They kept Lucy in. I remember being there, at the hospital, with him and Lucy’s family and one or two of our friends.
***
He wanted a cigarette, so we went outside. I watched him light up and inhale, then exhale. His hands were shaking.
“They all blame me, you know,” he said.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “It was an accident, remember?”
He shook his head. “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have been drinking.”
“You were drinking?” I asked.
He nodded. “I shouldn’t have let her –”
“Let her what?”
“Let her talk me into taking the bike.”
I wondered if she’d told him about the baby.
***
She hadn’t. She did, later, when she came home. She had a sprained wrist, but thankfully no brain damage – and she wasn’t pregnant anymore.
She cried a bit but mostly she just set about getting her life in order. I told her to talk to Andrew, tell him that it wasn’t his fault, and she did.
I don’t know whether he believed her or not, but they were even closer than they had been after that.
And no matter what happened after that, no one could possibly come between them.
Chapter Fifty
And now they’re engaged, they’re going to be married, she’s going to wear a white dress and walk up the aisle and say “I do”.
And I’m crying. I don’t know why. Is it because I’m happy for them? No. I care about them, but this – I’m not sure whether I’m happy about it or not.
The phone is ringing. I wonder if it’s Lucy again. Someone picks up. Dad calls, “Emily, it’s for you.”
Great. I sniff and rub at my eyes and pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Heya.” It’s Barry. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say. “Um. I think.”
“Lucy said she called you to tell you the news,” he continues.
“Ah, yes. Did she call you?”
“Yep.” He pauses. “So – what do you think?”
“I think they’re insane, personally, and either they’ll go through with it and end up divorced within a year, or else they’ll eventually come to their senses. Or else they’ll live happily ever after and have a perfect little happy romantic life and . . . wow, do I sound bitter?”
“Are you?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“That’s what I love about you, Em, your decisiveness,” he teases.
“I want that,” I say in a little voice.
He’s confused. “Decisiveness?”
“No. The happily ever after part. I want that. I want what they have. I mean, they’re so happy together. They really love each other, you know? And I think it’s worse that it’s Lucy and that she’s, I don’t know, permanently off-limits now.”
“I thought you were over Lucy,” he says.
“I was. I am. I thought I was.” I don’t know anymore. I thought I got over her a long time ago. But her relationship with Andrew has never exactly stopped her from flirting with me – or anyone else for that matter – or going further than that.
I never had closure, I suppose. Closure is what Americans talk about the whole time, an idea that’s infiltrating into our minds too as we get used to all this trendy psychobabble. (This is something I picked up during my pretentious phase.) You need to say goodbye to a certain area of your life before you can move on and develop your full potential as a human being and get in touch with your inner child and all that nonsense.
And now closure has been forced upon me, in the form of one of my dearest friends and ex-crush signing her life away. I mean, what is she thinking? I thought I’d talked him out of this whole marriage thing. Apparently not.
“Maybe it’s just that this is sort of final,” Barry suggests.
“Yeah,” I say, “that’s probably it. What do you think about it?”
“I can’t see Lucy as the faithful wife type, somehow,” he says. “I don’t see Andrew loving married life either.”
“Really? He seems pretty keen on the idea.”
“Yeah, but I don’t think that’ll last. I think he’ll end up regretting getting himself into this situation after a while.”
“Ah, of course. What a typically male attitude,” I tease.
“Of course! We don’t want to commit. We’re designed to be as promiscuous as possible.”
“While the women stay at home and have the babies, right?”
“And do the cooking and the cleaning.”
“Ah, yes.”
“And the washing and the ironing.”
“Naturally. Remind me never to marry you.”
“Oh, Emily, you wound me.”
“You can take it.”
“True.”
“Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Yeah. See ya.”
“Bye.”
Chapter Fifty-One
It’s only Wednesday and it feels like it should be the weekend. I’d be incredibly grateful if any higher power out there would make time move that little bit quicker so that it can be Friday night and I can curl up in bed and avoid the world for a few days.
Well, that’s a tad dramatic. I suppose it’s not that bad. All the same, I’d prefer to be at home than sitting in school thinking about Lucy-and-Andrew, Andrew-and-Lucy, and everything that comes with it.
I don’t know what’s going on here, and it’s all terribly confusing. I thought things were nice and simple. You know, being vaguely annoyed but amused about the Hugh situation, having tension with Declan, having a crush on Abi, and rolling my eyes at people going on about that ‘spark’.
And now a
ll of a sudden Abi has faded into the background and while I still think she’s a perfectly lovely girl and I want to keep an eye on her in case she does anything stupid, I’m not fantasising about her in a romantic way.
Roisín said to me, when I first told her I liked Abi, that she thought it was a rebound thing, considering things had just ended between me and Hugh. It’s easy to see these things from a distance, I suppose – when it’s you, you think that you know what’s best and what’s real.
And I’m thinking about Lucy, who is part of my past, who is a dear friend but who is in no way a romantic figure in my life anymore, and it’s – it’s a mess.
My past is a list of experiences. Not mistakes – none of them were – but experiences, and if I had the chance to go back and change something, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t be me otherwise, and I like me.
But I do wish that the past would just stay put and stop waving its hand at me saying, “I feel sort of unresolved. Here, go and question your feelings all over again, there’s a good girl.” It’s very inconsiderate of it.
I’ll probably be seeing Barry tonight. He cheered me up yesterday; he’ll help me sort things out in my head.
I really don’t know what I’d do without him.
And that then brings up another issue, namely the idea that everyone has been right all along and that we’re destined to end up together. I’m not sure if they are yet, but it’s looking like a maybe at the moment.
Although I mustn’t be thinking clearly at the moment, since everything seems so chaotic right now, so I won’t mention this to him. I don’t want to mess up our friendship. I can’t.
Chapter Fifty-Two
“I thought you might be interested in this,” Roisín says to me at lunch-time, handing me a thin brochure.
We’re alone in the classroom; everyone else is either outside or has gone home. I am curious as to what it is that I might be interested in.
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