by J Wells
“Was it something Gaz said?” I enquire. “I know what he can be like, especially when he sees a pretty girl.”
She offers no reply; it seems she doesn’t wants to fill me in, so I dare not probe deeper, but on second thoughts, I can’t not. “Come on, there is more to this than you’re telling me.”
I watch as her eyebrows draw in.
“I’ve told you too much already,” she snaps, with a stern edge to her voice. “What’s it got to do with you anyway? I hardly know you; you think I’m going to tell my life story to a total stranger when I hardly tell it to my best friend? Well, think again, because I’m not.”
I take a couple of steps towards her.
“What’s your problem? I’m only trying to help; they say a problem shared is a problem halved.”
“Oh really,” she mutters under her breath. “I can sit here for hours talking to you if that’s what you really want, but empty words can’t bring my mum or husband back from the dead. They have no way of stopping me getting evicted from my flat, and thrown out onto the street. They can’t make me fall in love with an amazing guy that loves me unconditionally… So there you have it, a brief outline of my life story.” Her eyes scoot back and forth, like a caged animal in search of escape. “As for Gaz, you can tell him from me, he can stick his job.”
I smile. She has no idea, but I’ve already managed to find her weakness. Her bravado is one of a broken woman, who in time my intentions are to un-break.
A draft sweeps across my face as the door opens; I hear her steps, her heels against the floor.
“Ten thousand pounds!” I shout before I really have time to think about what I am saying.
I hear the door click shut, and once again she turns.
“Ten thousand pounds?” she repeats. “For what?”
“For ten evenings with you.”
“You’re as bad as Gaz; I’m not an escort.”
The catch on the door clicks open and it stands ajar. I throw my hands over her shoulders, entrapping her small frame against me.
“Let go of me or I’ll scream!” she yells.
She looks up, her face one of fire, yet the anger she displays is so contradictory to the desire her body language emits.
“Why do you fight this, when I can feel and see you are drawn to me?”
I feel the tremble she tries so hard to hide, and smile smugly at how her eyes evade mine.
“Rose, it’s not an escort or sex I want, just your company and time. I’ll pay you a thousand pounds a night, cash. Take it or leave it. If you have a change of heart, then I will go and you’ll never see me again.”
Encased within my arms, I fear I may have come across a tad intimidating, and so I release her and give her back her space. She stammers, then appears to think better of it and gapes at me in silence. I pass her a card from my pocket.
“Here; you don’t have to make your decision now.” I follow her stare as she glances down at my name and number.
“Lucian…”
It’s the first time I hear any recognition in her voice, and see a twinkle of recognition in her eyes. Though still I feel our first meeting eludes her, I’m sure it won’t be long before the windows of her mind begin to clear.
Still facing me, I see the searching move of her arm towards the door handle, which she opens.
“Think hard, Rose, because ten thousand pounds could help solve a lot of your problems.”
She slips away, and on this occasion I let her go.
The afternoon is like a breath of fresh air as I try to run far away from my thoughts. I feel weighed down by Lucian, by yesterday, and even more so by his proposal.
My head spins as my stilettos dig into the pavement with every stride I take. My stone-washed jeans rub together at the knees. I undo the first two buttons at the neck of my pale-green shirt. I turn up my iPod and let James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful drown out my guilt. It doesn’t stop me questioning why I kissed Tristan in the way that I did or why Lucian still sits between my temples. I have a constant headache that won’t go away.
What is wrong with me? I can’t get that man out of my head. The thought of Lucian, almost a total stranger, is able to bring butterflies to my stomach. I feel like a schoolgirl experiencing her first crush, yet I also feel an utter betrayal to Jai.
The black iron gates of the cemetery stand ominous and wide. I remove my earphones, and the sound of birds and the trickle of the small stream tell me I’m getting closer to where he lies. Coming here is beginning to feel like more of a ritual, and although I don’t want to admit it to myself, there are some days I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to remember. There is a constant battle raging in my head. If I don’t come every day, it’s as if I’m forgetting him and the love we had, the life we shared, but if I do come every day, I’m not allowing myself to move on.
The grey-shingled footpath narrows. I’m almost tripped up by my feet at what I see and for a second I stand open-mouthed. Yesterday Jai’s resting place was decorated by only a couple of daisies, but now the plain grass is covered by a thick bed of tiny white and yellow flowers that gaze up at me; they are blooming.
“Are you kidding me?” I gasp as I look around.
Apart from Jai’s plot, I see only green grass and the odd flower peeking out amongst the wreaths and cards that have been laid.
“It’s how the dead communicate with the living.”
Spooked, I jump upon hearing a familiar voice and tense as fingers rest upon my back.
“But then you already know that, don’t you?”
“Tristan?” I turn around.
My legs falter; losing my balance, I fall into his open arms.
“I don’t understand; these weren’t here yesterday.”
I point towards the daisies and take a tentative step closer, but Tristan grabs me by the arm.
“No, leave them.”
The daisies, Tristan’s words, his being here, it’s all scaring the shit out of me.
“Rose, can’t you see? Jai’s trying to tell you something; it’s a warning.”
I frown, shaking my head.
“Jai’s dead, Tristan.”
He takes my hands within his.
“Haven’t you ever sat in a room where a light flickers without explanation, or you think you’ve seen somebody from the corner of your eye, turn and there’s nobody there?”
“Tristan, stop it, will you? You’re going to give me nightmares.”
He releases my hands, moves behind me and places his fingers over my eyes, sending me into darkness.
“Think back, Rose, a few hours ago to last night.”
I can hear his voice as it softens, becoming almost hypnotic to my ears.
“Allow your mind to place yourself back in the comfort of your bed. Jai is gazing down at you from your canvas on the wall; he can see you. Now, let your ears pick up the melodic tick of your clock. Look around, allow your eyes to wander towards the shutters that hang at your window. Can you see the way they move? Can you hear the wind as it howls outside? Yet last night there was no breeze; outside was calm and still… Now look back towards the canvas on your wall.”
I feel Tristan’s hands slip away from my eyes, yet I don’t question my surroundings. I find myself in the flat, my bedroom. I am lying in my bed, and it is dark. I feel myself pulling the quilt away from my face. I lean onto my side to retrieve my iPhone and press the button. The small screen illuminates, throwing out a dim light, and I lift it towards the canvas. The photo of our wedding day looks back at me, yet there is no one at my side.
Goose bumps spring up on my arms and legs.
“Jai, you’re not there!” I scream.
Unnerved by what I see, I quickly turn on my small bedside lamp. Grasping the quilt cover between my hands, I jump from my bed. As my eyes lift towards the canvas, the flicker of lamplight steels away my gaze, and caught in the corner of my eye is the figure of a man standing alone beside my window.
“Open your eyes…
”
On hearing Tristan’s voice, I jump back into daylight and the warm afternoon, yet I shiver as my heart races and my eyes refocus. I’m standing back in the cemetery.
I reach up and grab the material of his cotton shirt.
“What did you do to me?” I shout, trying to shake him, but I haven’t the strength.
Tristan smiles and reaches towards me, but without a thought I push him away.
“I’m opening up a dream, a memory of last night. I’m here to remind you.”
“Remind me? Remind me of what?” I hiss.
He places his index finger over my lips.
“There are too many lost souls here for me to explain. This is God’s garden, not one for me to muddy with revelations.”
I draw in my brows, tossing my head to the side.
“Who are you?” I question.
“There’s a taxi waiting outside the gates. Leave Jai for now … there’s always tomorrow.”
Grabbing me in his arms, he holds me tight, crushing me against the firmness of his body as he links his arms through mine.
“Come on, I think you could do with some cheering up.”
I can’t leave the swaying carpet of daisies without one final glance back. I wasn’t mistaken; they still stand on Jai’s resting place without reason. I drag my feet along the shingled pathway, my steps unresponsive to Tristan’s quickening pace.
I wind down the window of the yellow taxi. The red-bricked buildings soon open out into wide roads edged with broad green trees, which appear knitted together in long lines. Brown information signs pop up every few miles. Tristan’s planned day out is not a place I would choose to visit, not again. Sherwood Forest. I had a death wish that night, and it’s a memory I’d prefer to forget. The offshoot of the River Trent was where I intended to end it all. I only need to close my eyes and I’m back there. I can still see the wooden structure of the bridge and feel its instability beneath my feet. I am soothed by the purr of the engine as the next few miles pass.
We drive past the many holiday camps and tourist spots, on to where Mother Nature shows the prettiest side of her face with its interwoven canopy of trees. I lean my head back on the seat’s leather upholstery and gaze out at the leafy patchwork quilt of the forest. I can feel Tristan’s eyes watching me, though I make no attempt to strike up conversation. He’ll have plenty of time to answer my many questions later. My eyelids grow heavy and I slip from my daydreams into a light sleep, feeling my body slump forwards.
“Is she your lady?”
My ears are met by an unfamiliar voice, a distortion of words. The taxi driver, I surmise.
“Yes.”
The unfamiliar voice is replaced by Tristan’s reply. Half waking, I find my head cossetted against the broadness of his chest. I inhale, taking in the heady scent of his aftershave, and feel his chin resting on top of my head. Once again, sleep takes its hold.
I’m jerked awake by the handbrake being applied and Tristan’s voice calling my name. I step out of the taxi onto a black tarmacked expanse; I gather it’s a makeshift car park, as it’s fenced off, with the odd car dotted around. I turn to speak to Tristan, but think better of it when I see he has his head buried in the boot of the taxi. I watch as he slings a long strapped gym bag over his right shoulder.
He walks towards an opening in a fence, and not knowing what else to do, I follow. The forest floor has a littering of brown leaves, which I imagine are remnants from last winter. Dark and porous, they crunch beneath our feet. I gaze up through hanging branches, and my eyes catch the afternoon sun as it flits across the forest floor. Beams of light filter their way between the heavily laden boughs and branches.
We tread further on into the forest, walking between thickset bushes and trees; I imagine them to be like giants, rubbing shoulders.
Tristan’s strides lengthen and I struggle to catch him up as we walk in silence. I can’t believe the man; he had more than enough to say for himself in the cemetery earlier, yet now it seems that he can’t muster a single sentence. He must be able to hear my heavy breaths behind him, yet not once does he turn my way. He forgets he’s a strapping six-foot man and I’m only inches above five, so heels are a must, but I wish I had not worn them today. If I’d known I was to end up in a forest in the middle of nowhere, I’d have searched for my flats. I trip over yet another root and imagine my calves crying out in pain.
“Tristan, wait!” I call after him.
I drag my heels, which stab and sink into the undergrowth. It seems that my pleas go unheard as I watch him veer to the left. It appears he knows where he is heading, yet I doubt that’s possible in a forest of this size. We pass between overgrown holly bushes, which cut into the skin on my arms, and I squeal. Tristan slows, stops and turns round, allowing me a moment to catch up with him.
“You go to the gym four times a week, I don’t; you’re fit, I’m not,” I pant, leaning my back against the nearest tree.
I can feel the small beads of sweat running from the crown of my head and dripping onto my face. I am forced to squint as their saltiness stings my eyes.
“If you’re that tired, what say you hop on?”
I watch his gym bag slip from his shoulder to the floor and him crouch at its side.
“Surely one spot is the same as another?” I question, looking all around. “Can’t we just stop and have our picnic here?”
“No…” He laughs, passing me a smile. “It’s not much further.”
I shrug my shoulders. If he’s prepared to carry me on his back, then so be it. I throw my arms loosely around his neck and link my fingers. My jeans ride up as I clasp my knees tightly into either side of his waist. He traps his bag beneath his arm, and I feel myself rise as he returns to his feet. I look down and watch the ground move as he walks. I flick long wisps of my hair over the caps of his arms, and gently rest my head into the hollow of his neck. There is something cool against my cheek; I notice a silver link chain and cross.
The crisp white cotton shirt he wears pulls tight against the prominence of his muscles. I look down towards his chest and count three buttons that have popped open. My eyes cannot help an inquisitive wander and I make out the jagged edges of a tattoo.
“Never thought you’d get inked.” I can hear the surprise in my voice.
“It appears that you underestimate me.”
His answer leaves me feeling slightly intrigued.
“When did you get it done?” I can see how red and sore it looks. “What is it?”
His answer is a mere laugh. My thoughts, however, are soon diverted. The claustrophobic feeling disappears as the trees open out into a sun-kissed glade adorned with a mass of vibrant bluebells and the constant sound of running water hidden away somewhere in the background, adding its own soulful melody.
“Well?” Tristan asks.
He places my feet down softly on long blades of grass. My words catch in my throat, leaving me unable to answer. It is as though we have stumbled into some kind of beautiful dream. From the corner of my eye I see Tristan open the zip of his bag, and unfold and lay out a plaid picnic blanket. Then I hear the uncorking of a champagne bottle.
“Come and sit with me,” he requests.
I kneel and shuffle towards him.
“To us,” he toasts.
His ash-blonde hair drifts onto his forehead, which he flicks away as his eyes rise to meet mine. He places a fluted glass of dancing bubbles into my hand. I can hardly remember seeing such sincerity held in the eyes of a man before. He strokes the index finger of his free hand across my parted lips.
“Now do I get my kiss from a rose?”
He moves closer, breaking into an open-mouthed smile, his teeth a perfect line of pearly whites. I lean away from his advances, taking in every inch of his good looks. Is it possible for someone to be too perfect? I watch as he places down paper plates, and fills them with salad, chicken drumsticks and sandwiches.
“Tristan, about last night, our kiss.”
; My hands fidget along the blanket as I try to broach the subject and let him down without hurting his feelings. He deserves far more than this, far more than me. The kiss we shared was my mistake, and one for me to put right.
“Tristan…”
I am immediately silenced by his fingers; I can see that the gaze he throws my way intends to keep me locked within it.
“You have always been mine,” he said as he lies down on the blanket besides me and rests his head in his hands. “Me, here and now, your destiny.”
I sip at the champagne, keeping my face hidden behind the glass.
“Tristan, last night…” I say, removing the glass from my lips. “You and me, us together, it was a mistake and should never have happened. It would be so easy to love you, to fall into your arms, but you’re far too nice, too good for me.” I stop and shake my head. “I just want to keep things as they are; friends, eh?” I smile.
I think back to the intensity of the dream, but a dream is all it was. Sometimes loneliness can make you do strange things. Though from the look in his eyes I sense Tristan doesn’t feel the same. I see his fingers walk their way towards my hand; however, upon their touch I quickly withdraw myself from his reach. He pushes himself up into a seated position. I watch as he casts his eyes away and see how rigid his fingers have become as he runs them through his hair.
“How can you say that when you haven’t given me, us a chance?”
I clench the plaid blanket between my fists.
“Can’t you see?”
His gaze returns, and I look down as I speak.
“Everything you ever do is planned. There’s no real spontaneity, even down to bringing me here today.”
“I can’t win. When I tried to kiss you, you backed away. But don’t you remember it was you who asked me to kiss you last night?”
