by Fox Brison
“Skye, you were brilliant,” Tess slurred. She was more of a lightweight when it came to alcohol than even I was.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” I placed my hand on her arm. “This is as much your success as it is mine.”
“Skye, you’re truly amazing.”
And without warning, she kissed me.
I required a second or two to respond because I was a little tipsy and a lot shocked. I wrenched my lips from hers and hurriedly stepped back, stumbling in my haste. She stretched out a hand and I ignored it. Fuck if I’d let her help me! “What are you doing, Tess?”
“Skye…”
“No,” I shook my head angrily. “Just… don’t.”
“I’m sorry, I thought-”
“You thought I’d cheat on Natalie?” I asked incredulously.
“I really like you, Skye. You’re like my dream woman. Clever, funny, kind. And-”
“And totally in love with Natalie!” She hung her head shamefacedly, looking like even more of a kid. My head immediately cleared. Unwanted passes were evidently extremely sobering. I looked at her dejected pose and felt the anger fizzle into compassion. “Tess, c’mon, sit down here for a minute.” However, I wanted to quell any lingering hope she might retain, and was careful to ensure there was a sufficient enough gap between us on the concrete wall next to the convention centre. “Tess, you’re a friend and an incredibly good one, but that’s all you’ll ever be.”
“I thought… we’ve been spending so much time together and it seemed like you preferred being with me than speaking to Natalie when she called.”
Christ what have I done? No wonder everyone believes I’m cheating on Nat! I’m not wearing adultery deodorant it’s oblivious perfume! “Tess,” I said quietly, “you haven’t done anything wrong. It was an honest mistake and there is a girl out there for you, only you haven’t found her yet.” I chuckled wryly. “You’ve no idea how many frogs, toads and newts I kissed before I found my Princess Charming.”
Tess coloured. She was embarrassed and in truth so was I, however, we weren’t the first friends in history to have shared this experience and I’m sure we wouldn’t be the last. “I… Natalie’s very lucky to have you,” she said.
“I’m the lucky one,” I argued, but without venom.
“I’m sorry I mis-read the situation, Skye. I’ll understand if you no longer want to work with me.” She wrung her hands.
“What? Don’t be ridiculous. As far as I’m concerned nothing happened. Deal?”
“Deal,” she nodded.
“Let’s go inside, I could do with a coffee.” I held out a hand of friendship which Tess took gratefully.
***
That deal was three days ago, and whilst things were still a touch awkward between Tess and I, at least we both knew where we stood. I was relieved when we broke up for Christmas; a little space was what both of us needed to sharpen the lines which had patently become blurred.
I’d already planned to ask Abby and Nat to set her up with every single lesbian they knew in Massachusetts!
Tess was a good person and she deserved to have someone, she just needed to put herself out there a bit more.
Can anyone say hypocrites r us?
***
Lying on my bed the night before my flight to England, I re-read the last text Sara had sent me.
How are you? Call me.
I hadn’t, of course, replied to the text nor the order. I acknowledged the fact I was retreating further and further into my shell, rebuilding my walls brick by emotionally stunted brick. Something that required years to pull down went up easier and quicker than Charlie Sheen’s pecker in a brothel, and regrettably, no matter how much milk and pepper I drank, every time I closed my eyes nightmares were assaulting my dreams, attacking my hopes, destroying my happiness.
Yet one dominated all the others.
I picked up a pen and my leather bound journal from the bedside cabinet. Keeping a diary seemed like a good idea; arguments felt more genuine and the first few entries were easy. I bitched about everything and anything. Politics. Football. Women’s tennis. The latest season of Orange is the New Black. Ranting on paper? Far more satisfying than in your head.
Tonight I wrote one lone sentence.
Should I walk away now?
Chapter 30
Natalie
Skye’s flight was due in at a quarter past three, and I spent the morning cleaning the cottage from top to bottom. I was so busy that I’d ignored a couple of calls from my mother and one random text. Rom’s being glowers… I really didn’t have a clue, or the time to decipher it.
I checked underneath the sofa and then stood on a stool to dust the curtain rail. Overkill perhaps, but I wanted Skye to grasp precisely how much I missed her, and nothing said I missed you better than a sparkling clean house - in Skye’s world, anyway. The doorbell ringing interrupted my best Mary Poppins’ impression and I toyed with the idea of ignoring that too.
Until it rang continuously.
I realised whoever was on my doorstep wasn’t giving up and were about to lose their index finger. Although blood was difficult to get out of the carpet, so maybe not.
“Hello?” I said questioningly to an enormous bouquet of flowers with legs.
“These were delivered to Aunt Maggie’s by mistake, Nat. She said she’d texted ye.” My grinning cousin Tommy was revealed. He’d been on the receiving end of my mother’s cryptic messages on more than one occasion, hence the knowing smirk.
Ah right, Mam’s text. Tom’s bringing flowers. Perhaps it was time to revert back to a keypad, the big buttoned kind created either for the visually impaired, or for those afflicted with sausage fingers like dear old mam.
“Looks like someone’s got a not so secret admirer! Your Mam said Skye’s back today.”
“She sure is.” I can’t believe how thoughtful Skye is, sending me flowers on the day she’s due home. “Thanks for dropping them round, Tom, I’d invite you in but I’m leaving in a few minutes.”
“Nae worries. Looka, don’t you go haring down the A1, there’s sleet in the air. You drive carefully, you hear?”
I shook my head at his concerned big brother routine. “I will, Tommy, I promise.” I put the flowers in a vase of water; they smelt wonderful, but I didn’t have time to appreciate them properly. Because Skye is coming home, yay! I was struggling to contain my excitement – and nervousness.
Breathing deeply, I glanced around hurriedly and nodded. Sorted. “Enchiladas,” I muttered, doubling back from the bedroom to set the timer on the oven. Homemade vegetable enchiladas, Skye’s favourite dinner after take away Indian. I quickly checked myself in the full length mirror and grimaced slightly. I’d had my hair cut the previous day and wasn’t happy.
The stylist went nuts.
She reckoned I was the spit of Ruby Rose – but only because she’s gone and given me the exact same bloody hairstyle, I grumbled to myself. God, I hope Skye likes it. I checked myself one more time. I’ll do, I suppose. I felt like I was going on a blind date, not picking up my girlfriend of well over a year, which demonstrated the distance that had grown between us.
I pulled on my navy arran jumper for good luck. Again, it was another of Skye’s favourites and the one I was wearing when Tommy and I rescued her and her ex (whose name escaped me, okay it was Stacy, but I hated the thought of Skye with anyone but me) from the causeway.
I was all for giving fate and good luck a helping hand.
I swore when I saw the time. Oh. Oh bugger. And promptly sent a prayer to the traffic Gods would be kind to me today. The door slammed behind me and I crunched the gears, racing off like a bat out of hell… well racing off like a sloth when nature calls. There was no way you could hurry through the narrow streets on the island and Tommy was right, the weather was atrocious.
It was the first time ever I hoped Skye would be late because there was no way on God’s green earth I was going to be early.
***
There was no denying it; I was incomplete without her.
“Hey, darling,” she kissed my lips.
“Oh, Skye, I can’t believe you’re here,” I whispered.
“You look...” she stepped back and tilted her head. She did the finger waggle indicating she wanted me to spin, so I did. “I am digging the hair, Jeffries.”
“Really?” I was chuffed. “You don’t think it’s a bit, oh I don’t know, trendy?”
“No, not at all. It frames your beautiful face.”
My hands trailed up and down her sides. God I’ve missed her curves. “C’mon, let’s get home. All I want is to feel your body next to mine.”
Skye smiled, but I thought I detected a hint of panic in her dull brown eyes. Then again, it could just have been a hangover from the arguments we’d had.
***
Okay so the flowers I thought a romantic gesture from my girlfriend?
“These are beautiful,” I said adding milk to the tea I was making. Skye looked exhausted, dark smudges under her eyes and pale waxy skin. I might have wanted to jump her the minute we walked through the door, but I think she would have fallen asleep before we’d even got started.
“Hmm?” she called through from the bathroom. The shower was running and she obviously couldn’t hear me.
The sound of her rummaging in the bedroom caused a sense of peace to swathe me. It was so familiar and so… right. “The flowers,” I called again. “They’re beautiful.”
“Yes, I love them. And the very sexy who woman sent them.”
What now? It was clear we were talking at cross purposes here. I bent down, inhaling the sweet scent and retrieved the card that was hidden amongst the blooms.
“Sexy?” I said holding the card in my hand like the envelope contained anthrax. I re-read the message for the fifth time. This explained the reaction at the airport. I joined Skye in the bedroom, my bare feet making no noise on the thick carpet. “Sexy?” I repeated standing right behind her.
“Jesus, Nat, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” she scolded, but with a smile and walked towards me.
I backed away; it was instinctual.
“Sexy?” I repeated for the third time. So what if I was a little off, that was nothing new for us; recently we’d spoken a total of thirty minutes. Ten minutes a week. Eighty three seconds a day…
“Well, yes. And kind and funny too. She has legs and abs to die for. In fact, she’s a walking orgasm.”
Was she winding me up on purpose? “So what is Tess thanking you for? With flowers? And why are you calling her sexy? And seriously, a walking orgasm?”
“Tess?” she asked in bemusement.
“Tess!” I said angrily, the frustrations of the past month breaching the surface like a humpback whale, a hidden leviathan that exploded into the air, except there was no diving back under. Not now.
“Natalie, I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Skye looked even paler, if that was possible.
I threw the card at her disdainfully.
Dearest Skye, thank you for a wonderful weekend. You’ll always be an important part of my life.
Tess
I sat on the bed and willed myself not to surrender to my rage.
“Nat,” she said, “I thought the flowers were from you. I didn’t even read the card.”
“That still doesn’t explain it,” I snapped.
She sat down heavily on the bed next to me. “Tess made a pass at me,” she said hesitantly. And there it was. I felt sick to my stomach. “She kissed me,” she continued.
I honestly thought I was going to puke. Kissed… “With no encouragement?” I said accusingly. “Are you having an affair?” The words were liked barbed wire in my throat. I’d been too scared to ask her outright before, but I had nothing left to fear and nothing left to lose.
“What? Jesus, no, of course not,” she said angrily.
“Really? What other explanation is there?”
“Oh, Nat,” she sniffed. Crap. I didn’t want to make her cry. It killed me inside. She sniffed again but this time she frowned too. “Can you smell…”
Just then the smoke alarm in the front room began blaring.
“Shit, dinner!” Jumping up, I ran into the kitchen where black smoke billowed around the room. Coughing, I opened the back door and grabbed the silicon oven glove. Retrieving the ruined Pyrex dish from the oven, I took it outside and placed it on the gravel drive.
I stared aghast at the molten mess, hoping that, somehow, it would miraculously turn back into gooey vegetable enchiladas.
I’d ruined dinner and I may have ruined a lot more than that. And in other news, Natalie Jeffries killed Skye’s love in an arson attack that left a plume of green smoke swirling in the winter sky.
Chapter 31
Skye
Being back in Blighty my shields were only operating at twenty percent. It was nerve wracking waiting for the appointment; it should arrive any day now, I kept telling myself, even though we were so close to Christmas I doubted it. I rubbed my forehead. Another headache was beginning, the third one today, and paracetamol was as useful as a bikini in Ireland, because the migraines were caused by stress. It was far easier to pretend everything was fine in Boston, I didn’t have to constantly put on a brave face. If I was in the flat and burst out crying, there’d be no recriminations. If I woke in the night, no one was there to hear my screams of anguish.
Plus it was a lot easier to avoid sex in Boston.
Up until now I was pleading jet lag, and I don’t know what the record for the longest case of it is, but I reckon I was close to beating it.
I also continued with my diary.
Dear Diary,
Last night I crept into bed next to Nat willing her to roll over and hold me. Yet when she moved closer in her sleep I flinched and edged towards the door. I had one foot on the carpet before I realised what I was doing.
Is this fair on Nat? No.
Am I being incredibly selfish? Yes.
I can’t tell her, I can’t leave her and I don’t know how to be with her. I’m floating in limbo. I wish I could pause my life and hit the play button once I know what this thing in my breast is. Am I shielding Nat or myself? Is my lying a form of emotional infidelity? Am I cheating her from the opportunity to be the rock I know she is.
Why am I such a coward?
Why can’t I tell her how I feel?
Why?
Why me?
I glowered at the words on page, the black ink from the cartridge pen a stark footstep across the snowy white page, tracks leading me in circles. The dwindling embers of the wood burner barely warmed the hearth never mind the room, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling.
Cold.
Dark.
Lonely.
I’d spent a large proportion of my life living with those three companions as flatmates, and only in the last year did I give them their eviction notice, allowing light, warmth and love to move in instead. Yet now…
When I became stranded on Hobthrush Islet last year, I’d used writing as a means to come to terms with my past, a past that coloured my life in shades of grey and black. I naively assumed that by saying goodbye to my father and reconciling with my brothers I was fixed. Sitting alone in the dark listening to the lonely howl of a wind that was eternal in its damnation, I was reminded that I remained a broken vessel and had merely been filling in the cracks with a temporary glue.
Once more the picture of my father on his death bed hovered in my imagination. In almost every literary and movie depiction Death carries a sickle and wears a black hooded cloak, but in my mind the harbinger of doom was a f
rail emaciated old man lying in a sterile hospital room, his unseeing eyes and laboured breathing a premonition of what the future might bring.
***
When Natalie returned from training later that day, I was in the shower. She knocked on the door but I ignored her; I also ignored the rattling handle and frustrated growl ten minutes later. Wiping the steam from the mirror I stared into my eyes and saw a shadow lurking there. Tears built up and I rubbed them furiously away. I would not let this beat me. I was stronger than this.
I. Was. Stronger.
Except I wasn’t and it already had.
Chapter 32
Natalie
I was shut out, again, only this time it was literally.
I slammed the cottage door as I left. Childish? Oh hell yes, and incredibly satisfying, even if Skye didn’t hear it. Walking with my head facing the ground, I pricked my ears for the sound of something other than the wind and the rain. Secretly, I hoped to hear Skye’s voice calling me back.
But it was the forlorn variety.
Nothing I said, and certainly nothing I did, could thaw the ice that had developed between us. Global warming? Not on Holy Island that’s for sure. I nigh on revered all forms of intimacy with Skye, whether it be cuddling on the sofa, or passionate lovemaking, or even walking in the park holding hands and talking about our day, yet even that closeness was lacking.
All the signs were pointing southwards; we were on the edge of a cliff that was rapidly eroding due to constant storms.
I walked for a good hour before lifting my head, and amazingly I found myself outside my childhood home, the bright lights a beacon to my shipwrecked sailor. The warmth filtering from the inside was a stark contrast to the coldness I’d left back at the cottage, the cottage where I’d hoped to build a future with Skye. Build a future? I snorted disparagingly. The cottage was going up for sale at the end of our lease and I was so excited when Mam told me Mrs Cummins was putting it on the market, that I nearly went straight ahead and put an offer in. But I learnt the hard way about not discussing things with my girlfriend first.
