by Carrie Elks
By the time he gets up on Saturday, I’ve already arranged for a rain canopy, checked in with the caterers and have showered and dressed ready to head to the hotel. My gown is hanging from the doorway in a garment bag, because I won’t have time to come back and change. I watch as he slowly pours himself a coffee, a rolled Times clasped in his other hand. He turns to smile at me.
“Are you okay? I could hear you tossing and turning last night.”
For some reason that makes me blush. His attention seems almost too intimate.
“Did I keep you awake? I’m sorry...”
“Not at all. I just want to make sure you’re all right.”
“Ask me at seven this evening. If I’m still alive, that is.”
This time he smiles. “Do you want me to get there early?”
“No, it’s fine. You don’t want to see me pulling my hair out. Just get there after seven and I promise not to bite your head off.”
Simon walks forward and ruffles my hair. It’s a simple gesture, yet I find myself wanting to pull back, as if his touch is inappropriate. I don’t know if he notices the discomfort on my face, but he steps away, going back to his coffee and his crossword.
I stand there for too long, while he fills in the tiny squares with his neat writing. When he takes a sip from his cup I feel a sense of nostalgia wash over me. Everything’s changing. I won’t be here for many more Saturday mornings. I won’t watch him filling in the crossword or flinching when I add too much cream to my coffee. He’ll be here and I’ll be somewhere else and life will still go on. The thought makes me wistful.
“I guess I’d better go.”
The day is spent in organised mayhem. I manage to miscount the number of guests, misplace two different auction items and lose my rag with the executive chef when he tells me there isn’t enough chicken to go around. Each time I manage to solve one mini-crisis, the next one bares its teeth and laughs at my ineptitude. By the time I head up to a bedroom to shower and change, the only thing I’m confident about is that everything that can go wrong has gone wrong.
Lara arrives a few minutes after I get out of the shower, and the hairdresser half an hour after that. We’re offered champagne but neither of us accepts—Lara because she can’t and me because I daren’t.
“When do you start house hunting?”
“Room hunting,” I correct, because that’s all I can afford. “Next week. I said I’d do it as soon as the gala was over.”
“And you’re still okay with that? It must be hard, leaving that beautiful house...”
We both know she isn’t talking about bricks and mortar. “It isn’t easy,” I admit. “But it’s right. I can’t stay somewhere just because it’s the easy thing to do.”
An hour later, guests are starting to spill into the hotel. I’m vibrating with anxiety as I watch them check their coats in at the cloakroom and mingle around the bar area, where staff offer them glasses of champagne. I wander from group to group, shaking hands, smiling where required, though my laughter seems off even to me. By this point I should be relaxing, but there seems no end in sight for my frazzled nerves. The next time a waiter passes, I grab a champagne glass and guzzle it down, willing to do anything to stop the trembling in my hands.
Simon arrives with some old friends. Though they smile at me I can tell he’s told them about our situation. It’s in their eyes when they talk to me, the way their gazes wash down from my face to my dress, as if they’re judging me for wearing clothes he’s bought me.
Only when Elise enters do I realise the real source of my anxiety. Niall’s standing next to her, wearing a black dinner jacket and tie. When he catches my eye my mouth suddenly turns dry, and I have to take another glass of champagne. I turn my head away, trying not to stare at the way Niall holds himself, or how his dinner suit makes him look. But even when I’m not looking, I can still feel his stare.
“This looks magnificent, darling,” Simon whispers in my ear. His hand presses on the small of my back in a way that seems proprietorial. By this time I don’t know if I’m reading into things that aren’t there, or if he’s making a point. My judgement seems so off.
“Thank you,” I murmur. “It all came together in the end, thank God.”
Why didn’t I think about this before? The fact I was going to be in one room with these two men. Though they could both be classified as exes, my entanglements with them don’t feel like that. It just feels awkward and cruel—to them, to me, to everybody. No wonder I’ve been so anxious; my subconscious must have been having a field day.
It’s almost a relief when the chair of the clinic trust arrives and pulls me aside to discuss her speech. I switch back into work mode and discuss the agenda for the evening, highlighting our biggest donors and talking through the auction catalogue with her. The night gets even better when I run into Alex, propping up the bar. He’s rocking a midnight-blue skinny tuxedo with a pencil-thin tie. His hair is slicked back with gel, his tattoos peeking past the collar and cuffs of his shirt.
Lara is to his left, talking to one of our more prestigious donors. She waves at me, then turns and gives a tinkling laugh. We’re all on our best behaviour tonight.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Alex pulls me in for a hug and I squeeze him back enthusiastically.
“You look amazing.” I tug at his satin lapel. “Where did you find this?”
“It was my uncle’s. I’m the only nephew thin enough to fit in it.”
“Never put on any weight,” I tell him. “This one’s a keeper.”
“How are you doing anyway? Lara told me about you and Simon.”
She mouths a “sorry” and then turns away. I stifle a smile. She’s so nosy sometimes.
“Bearing up.” I’m offered another glass of champagne but shake my head at the waiter. I’m already buzzing. “It’s better now we’ve agreed to separate.”
Of course we both choose that moment to glance over at Simon, who’s still with his group of friends. He’s looking over at us, and for some reason the lack of expression on his face makes me want to shiver.
“When are you moving out?” Alex asks.
I can almost see Lara’s ears flapping.
“I haven’t had a chance to find anywhere yet. I’ve been too caught up with the gala arrangements. I’m going to start looking on Monday.”
“Oh.”
“What?”
Alex shrugs. “I dunno. It just sends out a weird message to a guy. I’m leaving you but I’m still living with you.”
Lara kicks his shin with her red patent shoe.
“Simon’s fine with it. He knows why it’s taking me so long. Hopefully it won’t take forever for me to find somewhere. I’ll be out of his hair soon.”
“Of course he’s fine with it.” Alex laughs. “If he doesn’t want you to leave.”
“What do you mean?”
Lara gives up on her conversation and joins us. “Yeah, what do you mean?”
“For all his money, Simon’s still a bloke and we’re fairly simple creatures. You want to leave, you leave. You want to stay, you stay.”
“You think he’s happy because I’m still living with him?” The thought hadn’t occurred to me.
“Of course he isn’t,” Lara says.
“All I’m saying is if he wants you to stay, then a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Maybe he has a false sense of hope.” Alex shrugs, and drinks his beer.
“Oh God, you think I’m leading him on?”
“Alex, for God’s sake,” Lara huffs. She looks as anxious as I feel. “Not now, please.”
Alex notices my white face and gently rubs my arm. “I’m not saying you’re leading him on at all. I’m just saying he doesn’t look like a man who’s ready to let go. The sooner you move out, the faster you can both move on.” He gives me a small smile. “You know, there’s always the sofa at our place. I’ve missed seeing your ugly mug in the mornings.”
“I bet she hasn’t missed seeing yours,” Lara jokes. I
smile, trying not to feel too down.
“It won’t come to that,” I say. “I’m sure I’ll find somewhere pretty soon.”
When we sit down to dinner, I’m still thinking about Alex’s comment. Everything Simon does is ripe for analysis, from the way he pulls my chair out before I sit, to his constant attention with the wine bottle. He’s always been a gentleman—the type to stand when a lady does—but there’s a fine line between kindness and flirtation. He’s starting to step across it.
“More wine, sweetheart?” He brushes my hand with his finger.
“I’m fine.” When I look over at Elise’s table I see Niall staring at me. His eyes narrow as Simon leans across and whispers in my ear.
“Relax, it’s all going so well.”
After dinner has been cleared away, Millicent Clancy-Jones stands up to make her speech. I barely hear any of it, and don’t even realise she’s thanked me until I see everybody staring at me, clapping their hands wildly. Embarrassed, I give a small wave and a tight smile before looking down at the napkin laid across my lap. This evening is starting to resemble a nightmare.
The auction follows, and I sit back and allow myself to relax a little. Only a couple of hours to go and we’ll be able to shut up shop for another year, claim the gala as a success and run the clinic outreach program on the proceeds. Everybody will go home happy, feeling they’ve given to a good cause, and I can start looking for somewhere else to live.
I take a moment to wonder where I’ll be this time next year. Not sitting on Simon’s table, I suppose. Will it feel weird to be just me again? I’ve become used to being part of ‘Beth and Simon’. Yet there’s a flash of excitement, too, when stepping into the unknown. It’s that feeling I try to embrace when I think of everything that’s ahead of me: moving out, splitting possessions, having to get used to a new space.
This is what I wanted, I remind myself.
Later, I’m on the dance floor with Simon, my hand clasped in his as he leads us across the floor. There’s an awkwardness in our hold. I’m avoiding resting my cheek on his shoulder, not letting our torsos touch. It reminds me of the way children learn to ballroom dance, holding each other at arm’s length. When Simon tries to pull me close I stumble over my toe, almost barrelling into him.
“Sorry.” I laugh to hide my embarrassment. I can feel his hand pressing into the small of my back, pulling me closer still.
He laughs too. “My lucky day.”
I’m reminded again of Alex’s words. “I’m planning to start looking at rooms on Monday,” I say. “I promise I’ll be moving out soon.”
“I wish you’d let me help you get a flat at least. I can’t bear to think of you sharing a house with strangers.”
“It’s fine. I think I’d rather share.” We’ve had this discussion before. He wants to buy me a place, offer it as part of any settlement. But if we go down that route he’ll never let go. It isn’t fair on either of us. I want to make this first step on my own, and let the lawyers sort out the rest. Anything else seems too personal.
As the band brings the song to a close, we slow our feet. I look up, expecting Simon to release me. Instead, his hand tightens over mine, and a serious expression washes across his face.
“Give me another chance.” There’s longing in his words, but I try to ignore it. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I already have.
I struggle to find the right response. “I can’t...”
“We were happy, weren’t we? Until the last few months we got on so well. We can do it again. I’ll call the counsellor, set up an appointment.”
I don’t want to tell him it’s too late, because that sounds as though we waited too long to save this thing, and I don’t think it was ever salvageable. We were always going to clash; we come from such different places. I can never be the person he needs me to be.
“Simon, it isn’t going to work. I’m so sorry, but I’m leaving. I have to.” It’s even harder than the first time. Because this time, he realises I mean it.
His face twists with pain. “I love you.”
I remain silent, because anything I say will only hurt him more. He pulls back, stepping away from me, and sends me a final, sad glance before he turns and walks away.
* * *
The night is almost over when I finally get a chance to speak with Niall. I’ve finished counting the donations and closed off everything with the hotel manager, and now I’m doing my final rounds. Thanking the donors and letting them know it looks as if we’ve made a record-breaking amount. I find him sitting in a dark corner with Alex and Lara. Just seeing them all is like rubbing a comfort blanket against my cheeks.
“Hey!” Lara stands up and hugs me. “Great menu choice. I even managed to keep most of it down.”
“High praise indeed. I’ll have to tell the chef.” I hug her back tightly, and thank God I still have some friends. I don’t know what I’d do without her.
“You did good, kid.” Alex pulls me toward him and cuddles me so hard I end up squeaking like a mouse. When he lets go I turn to see Niall standing in front of me. It takes a moment to catch my breath.
“Hi.” There’s a gap between us that I want to close so badly. “Thank you so much for the painting. I’m glad to see it went for so much.”
He smiles. “Me too. It’s a really good cause.” When I look down I can see him clenching and unclenching his fingers. “You did a great job.”
“Tell me more. I can listen to flattery all night.”
“You want me to tell you how beautiful you look? Or that I couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole night?” His voice is low, but I glance around anxiously anyway. Luckily, Alex and Lara have moved back to the table. “Or I can tell you how much it hurt every time I saw you with him, even though I know how wrong that is.”
I feel the need to reassure him, even though there’s nothing between us, not yet. “We were here as friends. Nothing more.”
“I know. Doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.”
We stare silently at each other, and there’s something in his eyes that both reassures and exhilarates me. I could lose myself in their intensity.
“I suppose I should go.” I sound regretful. There’s nothing I want to do more than sit with him, to laugh and chat with Alex and Lara. “I need to finish thanking everybody.”
“Okay.” He says it slowly. “I’ll see you on Thursday, though, right?”
“Of course.”
“And the Thursday after that?”
I laugh. “For sure.” I like this knowledge that I’ll be seeing him regularly. We have a reason to interact outside everything crazy that’s happened.
The impulse to be crazier washes over me.
“Niall?”
“Yeah?”
“You know you said you’d wait for me?”
He looks serious. “Yes.”
“Well, I wanted to say...to tell you how much I appreciate it. I don’t plan on making you wait too long, if you see what I mean?”
He breaks into a big smile. It makes me want to kiss him, which isn’t a good thing right now.
“I just hope I’m worth it. The wait, I mean.”
His grin doesn’t waver as he takes my hand in his. He squeezes it tightly. “You are.”
He’s dead. That’s all I can think of when I’m sitting in the police interview room. The only thing on my mind when the university investigator takes my statement. When a reporter tries to catch me on my way back to the halls of residence, all I can see is Digby’s red face and thin lips as he tells me over and over how hot he is, how poorly he feels.
Sitting on the bare mattress in my bedroom—among the boxes and cases packed a few days before—I cover my face with my hands, feeling the tears wetting my palms.
But all this is a mere prelude to when my father arrives. He’s dressed in his best suit, wearing a tie he reserves for weddings and christenings. I can tell by the way he pulls at the collar that the neck size is too tight for him, and the f
abric is scratching at his throat. His constant fidgeting is distracting as he sits beside me, listening to the ethics officer’s questions. His watery eyes turn on me every time he expects me to answer.
“The investigation will continue into the summer,” the officer explains. “We’ll also need to wait on any police investigation before a final decision is made. What I can tell you is that in the case of drug use, the university normally allows students to return to their studies if they commit to a course of therapy.”
Of course, this all happens before Digby’s parents get involved and manage to whip the media into a frenzy. Throughout the summer, headlines about “Hedonism” and “Students in Turmoil” scream out from the tabloids, marking our family’s shame in smudged newspaper ink. I cry so much that my eyes are permanently swollen, the skin around them red and shiny. Tears roll down my cheeks when I think about Digby.
And the way I blanked Niall the last time I saw him.
Though I denied knowing him, I’m the one who feels crucified.
By August the university has been demonised enough. They take the decision to expel me, and I assume they do the same to Niall. The news comes in the form of a typewritten letter, folded into a small brown envelope that’s pushed through our letterbox at 8:33 a.m. In the space of a few months I’ve gone from an academic golden girl to drug-addicted dropout. My parents can barely bring themselves to look at me.
I miss him, I miss him, I miss him. The thought curls around my chest, squeezing it until it’s all I can do to breathe. When I close my eyes, it’s his voice I hear.
Just whispers on the wind.
The only thing that gets me out of bed is the fact I can’t stand to be alone with my thoughts. If I could escape myself, I would. I want to soar above the trees, far away from my body, my mind empty except for the feeling of freedom. For the first time I understand why people cut themselves. The urge to get rid of a bit of myself, to let it bleed out of me, is so overwhelming I can barely ignore it. Only the fear of my parents catching me in the act prevents me from trying.
