by Kitty Wilson
‘Why not?’
‘I refer you to my previous answer.’
‘We worked so hard on that for you. We turned it from family central into sex space extraordinaire.’
‘Which I greatly appreciate but still, nothing happened. Thank you for trying though. Very sweet and all that.’
‘Oh, girl, you know I’ve got you. You ever want a sex palace prepared for you again, then you know who to call.’ She nods, channelling Snoop Dogg in the knowingness of her smile.
‘Thanks. I’ll bear that in mind.’ I am definitely not doing that.
‘Cool. So, what were the two of you doing in there all that time?’
The silly smile comes back. ‘We cuddled up. Talked. He um … he…’
‘Oh my God, look at your face. You have it so bad. He what?’
‘He stroked my hair,’ I admit, in a very quiet voice because I’m embarrassed. I shouldn’t be. But I feel like such a fool now because of how special it had felt that night, the bond I thought we had developed. I thought in that moment that we had something. What an idiot.
And now he isn’t returning my messages. I’m used to being the one that disappoints people, the one seen as flaky in her shitty choices. I had expected to disappoint Rory from the very beginning, from when he came to my flat bearing my favourite take-away. The last thing I ever expected was for him to disappoint me.
And for it to hurt so fucking much.
Nope, stop dwelling.
‘Ooh, hang on, what happened there?’ Luisa pounced.
‘Eh?’
‘Your face just fell a country mile. One minute you’re beaming like a lunatic and then boom. What the fuck happened between him stroking your hair and Little Miss Sad Face.’
‘Honestly, Lu. I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘There’s some kind of freaky echo in this room,’ I say, casting a look around, trying to distract her and then realising that I want to talk about this. Need to. ‘Honestly, Luisa, it’s all been a bit of a weird thing. We’ve practically spent this last month together. If, for whatever reason, normally work, we can’t see each other then we’re texting, sending each other stupid memes and threads. Otherwise we see each other every day. I’ve been to lunch with his parents in their home, for Christ’s sake. He’s gone from some guy I once knew in uni to my … um, second best friend.’ I smile at her. I may be soppy ga-ga in love with Rory but Luisa is my best friend and isn’t getting robbed of that cos of some man. But everything I have done, felt, this month I have confided in Rory. We have our own jokes, our ways of speaking. He has become my go-to-guy in a very short space of time and I am missing him.
‘I knew you two were spending time together but nearly every day? You’ve been to his parents’ house? There’s way too much here to process.’
‘You’re telling me!’
‘So, okay, you’ve done some kind of fast and furious relationship shit and condensed a year of dating into a couple of weeks, yet you didn’t have sex in the love hut?’
‘We haven’t had sex at all.’
‘No!’ Luisa bangs her drink down and sits bolt upright. ‘No sex at all? I know I’ve had harsh words for you in the past but you have revolutionised your sexual behaviour in the last few years. From only sleeping with people who look like they’re incubating every STD going or have the ability to steal your purse with one hand whilst stroking your face with the other…’ I spit my wine out; she isn’t far wrong. Funny, harsh but pretty accurate. ‘. . . You now sleep with no one at all. Ever. Finally, this perfect man comes along who is so into you and you still don’t have sex? No sex at all? Little bit of hand play?’
‘No! Ewww. Nothing. We’ve been strictly platonic.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, he’s only here for a month, he doesn’t like me like tha—’
‘He likes you like that. I’ve seen him look at you. I’ve seen him dance with you. He likes you like that.’
‘Nah, it’s complex.’
‘Complex how? You’re an adult, he’s an adult. You’re single, he’s single, I’m guessing. So, two consenting adults who like each other like that.’ She puts a firm stress on her last six words, just to hammer it home.
‘He still has a whole lot of feeling for Jessica.’
‘Ahhhh. Okay. But he has to move on at some point, and he may well love Jessica – I imagine he’ll love her for ever – but he can still have feelings for you. He needs to pull his…’ Luisa whistled and makes nonsensical gestures with her finger ‘…out and take care of the present and the future, not keep living in the past.’
‘I don’t know if it’s as easy as just saying it.’
‘Saying it is a bloody good start. Maybe you could harness that Belle Wilde honesty and do so.’
‘I could but I won’t. Besides, he’s ghosting me at the moment.’
‘He’s fucking what?’ Luisa is bolt upright again.
‘Yeah, he normally messages me back within seconds but I haven’t heard from him since he took me to see The Winter’s Tale. It was both beautiful, wonderful dream-come-true stuff and a little bit horrific. It’s changed our dynamic, it looks like for good. Not a peep since. Not even when I got in touch to tell him all about Jamal. Dots for a bit but no actual message.’
‘What the…? Nah, nah. We’re not having this. Ghosting is the height of rudeness. No reason for it other than weak-willed cowardice. Just tell a person how it is and move on. Much better for everyone. That has changed my opinion completely. Com-plete-ly! Twat. How dare he?’
‘Well, it’s understandable, I think.’
‘Of course you fucking do. Because you will excuse everyone’s bad behaviour towards you until the end of time. Okay, look at it this way. Imagine Marsha is a grown-up and has spent the best part of a month with someone she really likes, who appears to feel the same and then from nowhere they stop answering her messages or whatever freaky futuristic thing people do then…’
‘Hell no!’
‘Right. Right? Not okay.’
Beep.
Both of our heads spin as my phone screen lights up.
‘Noooo! Is it him?’
I screw my eyes up as I reach for my phone then gently relax them to check the screen. I shoot a look at Luisa.
‘What? What!’ she says.
‘It’s Alison.’
Luisa shrugs, of course she doesn’t know who Alison is. Why would she? I have been rubbish at keeping her apprised of my life since Rory became my late-night confidante. Have I turned into one of those women, one that dumps her friend for a man? I hope not. I think I just got caught up in the joy of having Rory, hugging it as a secret close to me, maybe scared to share the intensity of my feelings, the speed with which they were changing. ‘Um … Alison is Rory’s mum.’
‘Well, what does she say? Has something happened to him? Is that why he’s not answered?’
‘Slow your roll. She’s reminding me of her invitation to a quiz night at her local pub. Would it be weird if I went? Yeah, it would be weird if I went.’
‘Do you wanna go?’
‘Nah.’
‘Are you lying?’ She wrinkles up her nose and pushes her face very close to mine.
‘Yah. I like quizzes. And this is a special Christmas quiz. And Alison is sound.’
‘And are you an empowered woman who does what she wants as long as it hurts no one else?’
‘Well, yeah. I think so. Definitely empowered since I told my dad where to stick it.’
‘Something he had coming for a long time. So, empowered woman who does as she wishes whilst causing no harm, are you not going to the quiz night cos you’re worried you’ll be judged by or upset a man who has ghosted you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I guess that’s the wrong answer. Just be you. Tell Alison the truth, say you’d love to go but you think it could be a bit weird. If she doesn’t respond then you know where her shonky-assed son gets it from and if she does and says it�
��s cool, then it’s cool. Belle it. You’ve always worked that way, just been straight with people. Sometimes too straight with people. Be straight with her and see what she says. Fuck Rory.’
Yeah, I agree with the sentiment. I do. Sod him. I never want to go out and now I have an invite to somewhere I’d like to go. But deep inside I know it’s not that simple.
The course of true love never did run smooth
* * *
December Twenty-ninth.
Rory.
I know it will do me some good to get out but I have been struggling to find the motivation. I have been struggling full stop to be honest. Since taking Belle to see The Winter’s Tale I have been plunged into a really low mood. It’s been a long time since I found my emotions to be this overwhelming, this incapacitating. What started out as guilt towards Jessica has morphed into guilt towards Belle, so now I am paralysed with self-loathing over the both of them.
This afternoon I had resolved to dig deep and find the strength to stop prevaricating and message her to say I need space. I have to push her away. I care so much for this woman and I’m beginning to suspect it’s reciprocated. But it’s because I care so much that I know she deserves better. She needs to be kept away from me, my trajectory. She needs to find someone without my damage, have a full and normal loving life with someone who is able to meet her needs, not with someone who has so much to work out. I need to be a better man to deserve her and I’m not there yet. This plunging into depression after seeing a play is the perfect illustration of why. It’s not a rational, normal response and yet for me it is the only one I can manage.
I care for Belle, there’s no getting around that. I suspect I’m in those very first stages of falling in love. The attraction has always been there. I remember the first time I caught a glimpse of her in Freshers Week. It was the welcome rave and I saw her as I entered the club, and the breath swooshed out of my body. She had been on a podium and I stood there for a minute or two, entranced as her arms and hair flew around, captivated by her movements, her confidence. I know now that the confidence was a sham; that she was as young and desperately insecure as the rest of us.
As Belle had caught my eye, I had caught Jessica’s and she had pursued me with an intent and a determination that turned my head. And I was glad of it. I had fallen in love with Jessica, the love deepening over time. I had been bowled over by her then; she was blonde and polished, articulate and intelligent, and she had wanted me.
Me!
With Jessica I learnt what it was to fall truly in love. Not an attraction from a distance. Not an adolescent school-based crush, proper everyday love where I loved her because of the realities, the flaws, the everyday living with each other, loving each other. The freedom to see her flaws and to be vulnerable and expose mine. Two humans that went on to determinedly build a life for ourselves, together. With every passing day I fell more in love with her, every day I thought it was impossible to love her more and yet every day I did. She had been The One, she really had.
We rarely bickered or argued, not until the few weeks leading up to the accident. I had started to notice and then worry that she was behaving oddly, staying out late claiming it was for work, coming back with the smell of cocktails on her breath, a high in her eyes, showering before she left the house and again the minute she would get home, going to yoga classes twice a week when before she had always said she liked to do it on the bedroom floor with me, watch me watching as she stretched and bent and flexed. I began to fear I was losing her, that she was looking elsewhere. There was such an overwhelming sense of something I did not know. The night of the party I had become so jealous I had accused her of cheating, I lost my temper and I ranted, I became a man I hadn’t ever seen before, and she had left. Eyes bleary, vision further impaired by the driving rain on that furious New Year’s Eve night. To this day I do not know where she was going.
And now with Belle, if I accept my attraction, accept I am not cheating Jessica and that she is gone, has been for five years and would want me to move on and not grieve for ever, I can’t shake the feeling that if I pursue my feelings then I’ll be cheating Belle. She lifts me up and helps me see myself through her eyes. She brings out the lighter side of me. The side that laughs, makes stupid jokes, hurtles down a hill on an old tin tray. I try to do the right thing, to move through life with honour, and Belle gets that. She’s the same. I like who she sees, the whole man that she pictures. I want to be him. I wish that was all of me. But what she doesn’t see so clearly is the dark. The side that I saw, was reminded of, the minute I sat with her in a darkened theatre and watched The Winter’s Tale; when I saw myself as Leontes.
Was it not my jealousy that had sent Jessica sobbing out into the night? Was I not guilty of the last few years of grasping the control of my environment even more than I had before? Of shaping everything the way I want it to be, need it to be, to allow me to get through life as unhurt and unscarred as is possible? Belle thinks that I am the shining opposite of her dad. But what if I’m not? What if I am very, very similar? The saying about girls falling in love with a man who represents their father is not a cliché for nothing, it is rooted in truth.
I need to put distance between us. No matter how many circles I spin in, I always come back to this same point. Belle may make me feel great about myself but the only thing I know for sure is that I am bound to disappoint her.
Belle.
It’s the night of the quiz. I have picked my outfit carefully, washed every single tiny millimetre of me and then spent the afternoon talking myself silly, convincing myself that I am doing the right thing. I have veered back and forth, back and forth, but have come to the conclusion that this decision is the right one.
But now, as I stand outside the pub, I wonder: what the hell am I doing here? I mean really. This is so awkward. I remind myself that Rory hasn’t called me for a reason, I can’t force my company on him. On his family.
A noisy group of people, all about my age, are laughing and jostling each other across the cobbles. They reach the front doors of the pub and push past me into the warm. As they all pass by me one stops, smiles and holds the door open.
‘Here you go, sorry. You were here before us. After you.’ He makes a swooshing forward motion with his hands and now I really am stuck.
‘I don’t know if I want to,’ I say. Of course I do, because that’s not at all weird. He smiles.
‘Ahh, it’s toasty in there, look!’ And he gestures towards the fire burning in the long narrow pub, chucking out warmth. ‘It’s brass-balls cold out here. You know you’re going to have fun, come on.’ He cocks his head and like some conditioned woman of decades past, I smile meekly in thanks and walk through the door. He grins, pleased with himself for ‘helping’ me and leaps off to join his friends at the bar. He was well-intentioned.
I stand in the doorway of this pub, the smell of mulled wine arising from a great big warmed copper pan on the bar, which runs along most of the narrow room, with a fire blazing in the grate at the very end of the pub, its flames licking the inside of the fireplace. As welcoming as it is, I know I shouldn’t be here.
Now I’m inside the door my realisation is even more intense. This is a shit idea. I’ve got it wrong again. Just because I like the thought of what this evening could bring doesn’t mean it is a good idea.
‘Belle! Belle! Over here!’ Alison stands up from where she is seated three tables down. ‘Look, everyone, it’s Belle! You’re going to love her.’
I smile, at least I hope it’s a smile but I would bet money that it may have been a grimace, and walk towards her table. I grudgingly acknowledge that half of me has been hoping that Rory would be here and see me and that grin would cross his face, reassuring every part of me that he hasn’t gone off the idea of spending time with me. Yet at the same time a little part of me is relieved to see he is not at the table.
‘Hello, love, get that coat and scarf off before you bake, it’s crazy warm. Budge up, Dave, Belle is goin
g to sit right here.’ She pats the banquette cushion next to her.
‘That’s all right. I really only nipped in to say hi but I really…’
‘Nonsense, we need you. Belle is the queen of all things Christmas. There is nothing she doesn’t know.’
I definitely grimace at that.
‘We need you on our team. Usually I’ve got sports covered…’ Dave says, ‘geography and politics is Eve…’ A woman of similar age to Alison smiles and nods ‘…we have Janet on popular culture—’
‘There’s nothing I don’t know about Celebs Go Dating and Naked Attraction,’ says the woman sat next to Eve and wearing a Christmassy sweater that says ‘Like A Virgin’. Of course this is Janet. How could it not be?
‘And Ally has literature and history but we need you onside,’ Dave continues. ‘Even if Rory makes it, we know he’s … well, not madly into Christmas even before … um… Anyway, he’s got caught up with something work-related and we really want to beat Steve’s team over there.’ He nods towards a table that looks very serious, with one member even sharpening pencils. I look back at this table, everyone with festive jumpers on – I should have bought that hat – and a look in their eyes like I may be the one to save Christmas for them. Shit.
‘So we need you.’ Alison pats the cushion again and Dave beams at me. Eve and Janet are nodding to back them both.
Rory is caught up. He isn’t going be here. My stomach dips with disappointment at the exact time my brain reminds me what a relief this is. I can stay, not hurt Alison’s feelings, have a nice evening and then leave and by the time Rory knows that I was here he will be heading back to Australia anyway and I won’t have to see the pity on his face.
I sit down and squidge on up.
The bell rings and the quiz begins, with questions coming in thick and fast. I am amazed at how competitive the lovely Alison is, and the breadth of her knowledge.
