True Things About Me

by Deborah Kay Davies

  I gazed down into the beautiful black water. Impossibly narrow, almost transparent fish with smiling mouths flicked about. Suddenly I knew that if we all jumped in together we would be safe; everything would be fine. I told the others what I knew. I went round the little crowd saying, just trust me, you have to trust me. Alison was fussing with her kids’ hair. She was holding the sleeping baby in her arms. Even the puppies were quiet. My gran got out of bed and held my mother’s hand.

  We all kissed and said I love you to each other. My father put his arm on my shoulder and asked me again if I was sure. Yes, I said. We all clambered up onto the rail. They all jumped in together, but I couldn’t move. I leaned over and watched them lying peacefully on the gently moving surface of the water. Without reproach they all gazed up at me as they floated down, and sank without struggling, their clothes billowing round them. I watched until they disappeared from view.

  Then he was there with me. His hair shining in the moonlight. I thought that now we could be together. His blue eyes were strangely blank. Your turn, he whispered, and lifted me up. I tried to lock my arms round his neck, but he was immensely strong. He held me away from him out beyond the rail, and then he let me go into the dark, muffling ocean. The water was silent as I entered it, but soon I heard the ice singing to me. I remember watching him shrink as I drifted down and away like a piece of luggage. I tried to raise my arms to him, but it was too cold, the water too heavy for me.

  I sat in the kitchen and tried to work out what it meant. I thought so hard it felt as if the shape of my face was changing. My eyes stretched and grew enormous, my head ballooned into a dome, but no explanation for the dream occurred to me. Just as I felt two stiff antennae breaking through the skin of my forehead it dawned on me. Maybe it meant I was too dependent on other people, and didn’t trust him enough. I should have let him in when he came. I should have given him a chance to explain himself. I got up and did an inventory of myself in the hall mirror. I expected to see a girl with the head of a giant insect, but all was present and, if not correct, at least in the right proportions. Then, as I smoothed my hair back into place, I had another idea about the stupid dream: maybe it was totally meaningless.

  I get lots of fresh air

  I DIDN’T SEE him for twelve days. On the thirteenth he rang me at the office. Say you’re ill, he said. I’ve got a plan. Leave work now. I looked across at Alison filing her nails. That may take a little time, I said. So? he said. I’ll wait by your car until eleven, baby, no longer. Oh, and by the way, are you horny? Alison was watching me, her nail file poised like the miniature bow of an invisible violin. She raised her eyebrows. Yes. Yes, I am, I said. Before you leave take off your panties and put them in your bag, he said. I put the phone down extra carefully. God I feel terrible, I said. Suddenly I’ve got this totally splitting headache. I didn’t fool Alison, but my boss seemed content. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, will you? Alison said. I could tell she wasn’t joking. I stood in a toilet cubicle and took off my pants. Then I ran to my car.

  We drove out into the countryside. Everything was sparkling, ridiculously beautiful. I wanted to ask about the strange boy in my lounge but I didn’t want to spoil things. He fiddled with the radio until he found something to please him. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes. I kept gazing across at him. Like what you see? he said after a while. He opened one eye and blew a kiss at me before settling back again. His hands lay in his lap, their backs lightly covered with blond hair. It still didn’t seem the right time to talk about the boy in my lounge, or his own behaviour at the door on the same day. I decided to let it go. I reached over and rested my hand on his hands. He sat up. We’re nearly there, he said.

  We had lunch out in the garden of a pub by a river. Giant hogweed strode down towards the water. Two swans drifted by, beating their wings at each other. I thought they’d probably been together for years. I’d read about the faithfulness of swans somewhere. We were both hungry, and ate in silence. Just after the waitress had left the coffee, he started patting his pockets. Shit, I don’t seem to have my wallet, he said, and lit a cigarette. Don’t worry, I said. Little working girl, he said, and patted my cheek.

  There were two women eating at a table with a sun umbrella. He stood up. Next part of plan, he said, and took my hand. We walked away from the women and round the side of the pub. There were nettles and dandelions. He positioned me to face the wall. He told me to lift my skirt up. I felt him pushing himself into me. I stood on tiptoes and arched my back. He slipped his hands up under my top and bra and pulled my nipples downwards. I couldn’t help making a noise. He laughed softly into my hair. As he did it to me I watched the swans gliding round each other. I thought they might be in love. The pebbledash of the wall grazed my cheek. When he had finished he pulled me round and kissed my mouth. The women out there, I said, I can’t walk near them, they must have heard me. It’ll brighten up their sad lives, he said. And dragged me after him, past them to the car. I felt like a rag doll. In the car mirror I saw my cheek was bleeding. You look like a bloody wreck, he said. Sort yourself out.

  At my front door I looked back. I thought he was coming in. He stood by the gate. Don’t leave me now, I said. I’ll cook you something later. You can relax and watch TV. He stood and tapped the gatepost, he was already turning away. No, he said. I’ve got stuff to do. He was gazing down the street. What sort of stuff? I said. He looked at me without speaking. Then he pointed his finger at me. You need to be very careful about that, he said. Then he walked away. About what? I called after him.

  I believe that size matters

  OVER COFFEE ALISON asked me what was going on. She said she had been worried about me. I haven’t seen you for ages, she said. You can’t stay on sick leave indefinitely. This is the second time in less than a month. It’s that Mr Blond, isn’t it? You’re looking decidedly wan. And what have you done to your face? I tripped, I said. And I’ve had a urine infection; it’s taking some time to clear up. I’m not surprised, she said. I nodded back towards the counter. I wish now I’d had one of those smoothies instead of coffee, I said.

  Somehow I couldn’t be bothered to explain it all. We just go out for a drink, nothing happens. If you ask me, she said, you’re not yourself at all. You never used to lie to me. Don’t you trust me any more? Also it’s a very risky thing getting involved with claimants. I’m not involved, I said. And I didn’t ask you. I stared into the froth in my cup. I suppose Alison was counting up to ten again. It took her a while. Perhaps it was twenty. I looked across at her. I’m sorry, I said. I don’t know what to say. I felt utterly switched off.

  We drank our coffees in silence, and listened to the conversation at the next table. One woman was telling the other about a mutual friend. You know she’s had it all taken away, don’t you? she said. The other, younger one didn’t seem impressed. Well, it wasn’t as if she had much use for it all, did she? she answered with a slight sniff. Alison and I stared at each other, trying not to laugh. Look, she said, getting serious, I know it’s none of my business, but I think you should be careful. Has he tried anything? I pretended not to understand. Has he tried to shag you yet, I mean, she said. He’s a claimant, for God’s sake. He’s just come out of prison. You don’t know anything about him. I told her there was nothing wrong with being a claimant. Also, I said, he’s paid his debt to society.

  Now I know something’s going on between you, she said, and banged her hand down sharply. The two women on the next table turned round pointedly, and stared at us. Got a problem? Alison asked them. Then she leaned towards me and touched my hand. I know I sound like your mother, but honestly, will you listen to yourself? Paid his debt? Are you mad? Look, I said. It’s nothing. I hardly know him. I don’t even like him. Mmmm, Alison said. I got up to get more coffee. Now I wanted to go on talking about him.

  Alison was putting on some lipstick when I got back to the table. It was a new colour for her. She seemed to have decided to shut up about the burning issue. Actually, she
said, talking about getting into people’s pants, I’ve been feeling really sexy recently. Tom does as well, so that’s handy. You know how rarely these things synchronise when you’re in a long-term relationship. And having the kids around all the time doesn’t exactly oil the wheels, so to speak. I nodded. Prepare to laugh: he’s developed this mad obsession about whether he matches up, y’know, size wise. I didn’t respond. I was thinking about the wall of the pub, other things. We drank our coffees. I thought you were having a smoothie, Alison said. Yes, I said, but somehow I forgot. And the smoothies seemed so sort of smooth. I suddenly wanted a roughie, do you know what I’m saying? God, yes, she said.

  We went on sipping our drinks. Before I could think of something riveting to say she began to nag me. Tom says you should give this mystery man a wide berth, Alison announced. He says wait for someone steady. Tom says better to be safe than sorry. I put my cup down. How dare you discuss my private life with Tom? I said. What the hell does he know about passion? Tom with his packed lunches and Thermos flask. Bloody Tom with his extensive, colour-coded collection of bloody Simply Red CDs. What does he know? We both stood up. You stupid, stupid girl. You’re having sex with this guy, aren’t you? Alison said, far too loudly. Yes, I am, I said. And do you know what? He’s got the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.

  I eat colour coordinated snacks

  I FELT REALLY bad about what I’d said to Alison. She was my one true friend. Somehow, though, it was too hard to make the first move. All weekend I was on my own. I don’t know what I did to pass the time. Lots of grooming. Lots of smoothing and creaming and masking. I can say without exaggeration that my feet looked truly angelic. I tried on the new sandals I’d bought but not worn yet. I gazed at myself for hours, wearing my new things.

  Eventually I realised I just looked stupid. Like a little girl dressed up in her mother’s clothes. But not even cute. I folded the new clothes up in the tissue paper, put them in the cupboard, shut the door and left them in the dark with my ruined jacket. I lay on the sofa and ate Wotsits. I watched epic quantities of trash TV: botched cosmetic procedures, thirty-four-stone teenagers, gay blokes overhauling straight blokes, mentally disturbed dogs and their mentally disturbed owners, mad nutritionists who sniffed the poo of obese secretaries. It was all quite calming. I left a short message on Alison’s home phone.

  I turned the TV off and waited. I hadn’t eaten anything but pseudo cheesy snacks all weekend. I’d drunk nothing but Lucozade. It was a fact that only orange stuff had passed my lips. I went on lying on the sofa and drifted off to sleep. I didn’t hear Alison’s call. The answerphone was blinking when I finally sat up. I dived at it. She sounded just the same, and she called me her little duck egg. I was to go to her house. Tom had taken all the kids over to his mother’s.

  I showered and threw on some clothes. On the way I bought red wine and a roast chicken from her neighbourhood deli. These I offered at the front door. Come here, you daft nit, she said, and hugged me and the chicken at the same time. I told her I was sorry about what I’d said. Tom had every right to his opinion. And that actually, of course, what he said was true. Also, although it was none of my business, I was sure he was more than generously endowed in the family jewel department. Stuff Tom, she said. I should never have quoted him like that. Anybody would think he was the fifth oracle. Well, I said, I did think it a bit strange, when usually you make such a point of not listening to anything the poor man says. Quite, she said.

  We opened the wine and I started to eat the chicken. Alison didn’t want any. She went to get something from the kitchen and I looked around her lounge. It was a messy room, but warm and quiet. There was a weathered-looking teddy lying across the back of an easy chair, and the Sunday papers were in a heap on the coffee table. I suddenly realised how much I didn’t know about her life with her children and Tom. It was as if she knew I needed her to be the same Alison I’d grown up with. If I wanted to go somewhere she was always available. Like now, for instance. Tom had taken the children out so I could come over to see her. I started to cry. What’s the matter? she asked, appearing with a napkin and a peppermill in the doorway. Is your chicken so disappointing?

  I love you, Alison, I said. That’s all. Back atcha, she said, and wiped my tears with the napkin. I told her everything had gone wrong. I really needed to sort myself out. I told her I was scared of what was happening to me. Suddenly I knew it was true. It was as if I was spinning out into space with only a thin, fraying cord holding me to some enormous mothership. Come on, she said. Don’t be so hysterical. So you’ve done some things you wish you hadn’t. Get in line. Behind me, for starters. This is true, I said, sniffing.

  Now, what we need is a small plan of action, she announced. The world has not come to an end because you have slept with some waster. Did he use a condom? Are you are on the Pill? Yes, and yes, I said mechanically. I just wanted her to stop. She scrutinised me. I’m not even going to go there, she said. That is so fundamentally crucial, I won’t insult you by droning on about it. Right? No need, I told her, and smiled a calm, ultra-in-control sort of smile. She seemed to be looking for further reassurance, then she turned away and bustled about. Now, you mustn’t see him again, that’s obvious, she said, over her shoulder.

  I sat with a piece of chicken in my hands and watched Alison. I felt as if she knew what to do. So you can come and stay with us for a bit, she offered. That’ll help you get your head together. Then if he comes round you won’t be there to be tempted by the bastard. I’m not sure he’s an actual bona fide bastard as such, I said. She put her hands on her hips. You’re not in a position to judge, my unbelievably naive but sweet young friend, she said. What is obvious is that you are very unhappy. Am I correct? Sexed up, yes. But unhappy also. Unfortunately the two seem to go together.

  As she talked I began to feel sleepy. She ran me a bath. Go and have a nice soak, she said. I’ve put some of my magic everything-will-be-OK elixir in it. Then you can have an early night and get your stuff in the morning. She brought me a mug of hot chocolate and a gingersnap when I was in bed in the spare room. I was wearing a pair of her pyjamas. Now, can I get you anything else, madam? she asked. I pointed to a shabby book in the bookcase. Don’t tell me you’re going to wallow in The Wind in the Willows again? Yes, sirree, I said, settling back. This is my bible, you know. I’m off to see Badger. Find me a door scraper, and shut the door on your way out if you would be so kind.

  I agree to things blindly

  IT WAS LOVELY staying with Alison. Tom was so kind; he kept out of the way and took the children with him. They wouldn’t speak to me after the bread incident, and I couldn’t blame them. They were a bit implacable looking when we did meet. I told Tom he was a hero. Well, yes, he said, scratching his chin, I know. After two days I went back home; I couldn’t stay very long. I didn’t want to impose. When I got back I felt like Mole feels when he’s abandoned his humble pad and gone off to live with Water Rat, then returns. There was my little house, with its mound of post on the mat, and its half bottle of souring milk in the fridge. It felt very quiet after Alison’s.

  My mother had left a few messages on the phone, but I couldn’t be bothered to talk to her. I thought about sending a postcard, then realised that probably wasn’t a good idea. I had to go into work for a meeting with the head of department about my mad sick leave. It went OK. I blubbed and told him some story.

  In the evenings I did things people do when they’re in their own home, like changing the bed and opening all the windows. I put the radio on, and bustled about, cleaning the kitchen cupboards and watering my gasping plants. I even made a big pot of soup so I could smell it cooking. I managed to eat some, but I wasn’t at all hungry. It felt as if I was killing time, waiting for the real owner of the house to return so I could hand over the keys and leave for my other life.

  I went back to the office and just kept going. Each day became a little easier, as if I were learning a new job. By the end of the week things felt fairly OK again. On F
riday Alison and I were having a break at our desks when she said she had this suggestion to make. And that I wasn’t to freak out or say no before considering what she had to say. God, I said, I promise, get on with it.

  She said she’d met this bloke, a business friend of Tom’s, and he was new to the area, really nice. Also good-looking. She and Tom thought he would be great for me. I didn’t say anything; I just carried on sipping my coffee. So, she said, shall I set you two up on a date? I allowed a silence to develop. I hoped it would express how I felt. Well? Alison said, still smiling like some chat show host with a reluctant celeb – if there was such a thing – What d’you think? Hmmm? Are you completely mad? I said. Since when were you a matchmaker? I told her the very idea of being set up on a date made me feel yukky. I knew you’d say that, she said calmly, but just think about it. I already know he’s nice, it doesn’t have to be a big deal. Just a drink, and then you could go on from there, if you want to. Or not.

  Somehow I agreed. I remembered how kind Tom had been. How Alison wanted me to be happy, and I couldn’t say no. Alison did the organising. The guy’s name was Rob, which somehow didn’t seem auspicious to me. I began to think about the term blind date. Why blind? It sounded horribly vulnerable-making and ordealish. Not at all fun and frivolous. I’d never been on one before. I began to regret saying yes almost immediately. I decided to check the guy out, get there early, and if he looked even remotely off I would run away. Tom and Alison could stick it up their bums, thank you very much.