by Kitty Wilson
Belle.
‘Go pack a bag then, babyface. Oh, no. Ah-ah-ah-ah!’ Luisa does her staccato machine-gun noise as she guides Marsha from her stool towards the sink and flashes me a look that says I should know better. We’ve been sitting pulling out melty marshmallows, one at a time, from our hot chocolates and dropping them dripping into our mouths. Our hands and faces are a little sticky. ‘You are both gross.’
I puff out my cheeks and tilt my head at an angle to epitomise my grossness. Luisa shoots her eyebrows up and purses her lips. I love her.
With Marsha dispatched upstairs Luisa sits on the stool next to me and ripples her fingers across my knees at speed. ‘So Marsha is going to Remi’s mum’s for the night, I have given up being a good mother and you and I can spend New Year’s Eve in style!’
‘Hmpf,’ I say as I gulp down another sticky drippy marshmallow and then start to swirl patterns in the foamy top with my finger.
‘No, you have to do better than hmpf. Much better. This is my first New Year’s Eve out since my pre-pregnancy days and I only called on Remi’s mum so I can cheer you up, so you are going to make me feel young again.’
‘Can Remi do that? I’m not feeling particularly fresh and youthful right now.’
‘Remarkable seeing that you’re behaving like a bloody three-year-old.’ She scowls, in jest. I think.
‘Look, I wanna go dancing. I may feel far too old when I get there as students trip around us, we look wildly out of place and then throw a hip out. But still, I want to try. So come on, gee up. Where we going to go?’
I deep breathe and roll my eyes at her.
‘I guess we could go to Lakota. Jamal has guestlisted me,’ I say, my tone deliberately nonchalant. He had messaged me yesterday afternoon and whilst I hadn’t really felt like it, I know a return to the stomping ground of our youth will make Luisa’s day.
‘What?’
‘Lakota.’
‘Did you say Jamal has guestlisted you? What the hell? Why, why did you not mention this before? Are you seriously shitting me? Guestlisted for Jamal’s homecoming set, tonight? New Year’s Eve. Like the most sought-after sold-out New Year’s event this evening. One of the big last nights in Lakota before they shut it?’
‘Yeah.’ I snap my mouth shut like a baby bird, another marshmallow down.
‘I’m going to take that bloody mug away from you if you’re not careful. No, you can stop doing that with your mouth, I am not going to kiss you. Tonight, baby, we are going dancing.’
I love Luisa, and it’s great to see her so enthusiastic, but to be honest, the last thing I feel like doing tonight is dancing. Hiding under a quilt and feeling the heaviness of my Norton Shakespeare on my legs, that could work. Staying there for a year, maybe. I could get behind that.
Rory.
Things are going well. Although my mother is determined that I find a way of getting her in to the club. I tried to argue that Lakota may not be the best place for her, its finest hour has passed, and that clubbing isn’t the same now as it was in her day. She clipped me around the ear, muttered something about how that wasn’t illegal then either and reminded me that it was not my job to make decisions for others, has this week not taught me this? And if I don’t find a way to get her in she will make such a scene outside that the bouncers carry her in, naked on a palanquin, just to get her to shut up.
I believe her.
Everything else seems lined up for tonight, although I have a strict timetable. I need to run into town and pick up some props. I’m hoping there will still be some places selling these things, it could be a case of finding them at knock down prices or finding them all sold. I have the music primed, I’ve chosen three songs – just snippets of each – and hope she understands what I’m trying to say with them. Then I have the biggest job of all to do, but Jamal reckons I just need to have faith in my feelings, my natural abilities and to let it flow. Easy for him to say. He’s promised if I mail it over he’ll scan and tweak it, if he really feels it needs it. I can’t really ask for more than that, although obviously I had to. Cos I had to ask for mum to be guestlisted as well. Jamal’s laugh is still echoing in my ear. Main thing is, plan seems a go-go.
Belle.
My phone rings and I see it’s my dad. I shoot a look across at Luisa. I have been ignoring calls from Rory but I can’t ignore this one.
‘You don’t have to answer that, you know,’ she says.
‘Apart from I do,’ I say. ‘What if something has happened again?’ I take the call, bracing myself to hear whatever it is I have done wrong this time.
‘Belle!’ His voice booms down the phone and in a jovial tone I am not used to. ‘My first-born daughter.’ My eyes widen and I look across at Luisa in shock and mouth, ‘He’s being nice.’
‘Mum and I wanted to ring to wish you a Happy New Year.’ I hear Mum’s voice in the background echoing his sentiment. What craziness is this? ‘And to tell you how proud we are.’
‘Dad, are you okay?’
‘Yes, yes. Mum has been looking after me since that … you know … incident and I know I thanked you before but the doctors told me how differently things could have been if you hadn’t rung for an ambulance. But listen, your sister just called…’ I hold my breath; he’s buttering me up for something. Something to do with Rose? ‘…and told me your news. We wanted to say congratulations, amazing news.’
‘Eh?’ As I say it I remember that Jamal was doing an announcement on his Insta today about us working together. I had forgotten completely even though he had told me of his plan yesterday when he invited me to Lakota. But my swirling self-pity had pushed it to the back of my mind. My brain only wanting to concentrate on how I had been rejected rather than the things I had made a success of. Was that what has caused this? It would make sense.
‘I’ve always said that your love of Shakespeare would take you places…’ I don’t have time to counter this revisionist bullshit as he continues. ‘And now it has. I don’t know why you didn’t tell us that you were going to be working with Jamal. That’s huge. My little girl working alongside one of the UK’s biggest stars.’
‘We’re so proud of you, Belle,’ Mum pipes up into the phone as Dad adds, ‘We couldn’t be prouder.’ I can’t help the daft grin that crosses my face. I had given up any hope of those words being said a long time ago and now, in this crazy new world I am living in, my parents have rung me to tell me they are proud of me. I know I am beaming as I thank them and wish them a Happy New Year. They stay on the phone for a bit longer, pressing me for details and reiterating that they had always known how clever I was and I choose not to call them out or suggest they had never made it particularly clear. I merely revel in their praise and hug their words close to me, just in case they never say it again.
Finishing the call, I relate this strange turn of events to Luisa, who high-fives me, puts on some Lizzo and gives me free rein in her wardrobe. There are some gorgeous things in there. We aren’t identical body shapes, I’m taller for a start, but every now and then we can get away with it. And the combination of Lizzo and the offer of the most divine, if very, very short, green velvet dress combined with my parents’ call is cheering me up no end.
The fact that she then makes me drink two of her Lollapalooza cocktails also helps. As has her relentless verbal soundtrack which focuses on how I cannot let one man stop me having fun. How it is okay to mope for a day or two but then I have a duty to womankind – I think she’s overegging it a bit there – not to mention myself, to pick myself up and move on with my life. By the time we get around to ‘Like a Girl’ for the second time we’re both on our knees screeching into a hairbrush and straighteners respectively and then jumping up and bouncing around the side of the bed, dancing like we are eighteen. There is hair swirling, twerking and full-on shoulder shimmying.
She is right, Rory was a chance at happiness but he wasn’t the chance of happiness, that is all on me. I have to make life choices that make me happy and fulfilled and
not rely on other people to do so. Luisa reminded me yesterday that my life’s dream has come true this year, in these last few weeks, and that I need to embrace all I have achieved.
I have been able to make the break to being a self-employed educational consultant on Shakespeare. And I am doing it with someone with one of the highest profiles in the country, a partnership I’ve achieved by my own merit. My parents have made the effort to reach out to me and tell me they are proud.
She adds that if I can’t get dressed up and celebrate that this New Year’s Eve then I need to take a serious look at my priorities.
I know she’s right.
And to be fair to her she had sat with me into the wee hours yesterday, and the night before, as I sobbed about how rejected I felt, what a fool I was, when was I going to learn and so on and so forth. The soliloquy of every broken heart the world has ever seen. It is time to pull myself together and get my moves on!
Oh.
My.
God.
Luisa is so right, sometimes you just need a splurge. After the cocktails at her house I stayed relatively sober because it may be New Year’s Eve now but it’s Marsha’s birthday tomorrow and I want to go to work in the morning. For a start it’s the only way I have of paying my rent for sure until the Jamal alliance fully takes off and it’s wrong to leave the Hope House girls in the lurch. So drinking I’m not, but dancing I can.
Jamal’s set is outstanding, he has us all in the palm of his hand, lifting us up and twirling us around with the music he plays. I haven’t danced for so long. Tonight I dance on a podium, I dance with my head in the speakers, I dance with Luisa and Remi and I dance with strangers. I dance and dance and it feels magnificent.
High on life, I pull out my phone to see how close we are to midnight – ten to, so not long – when my eye alights on someone sliding off the stage and into the front of the crowd. He is all lit up with fairy lights and from a distance his frame is similar to Rory’s. My heart pangs. We could have been so good.
I turn to look for Luisa and Remi to make sure we’re together as the New Year is counted in when Jamal takes to the mic.
‘Ay. Ay. Ay. Thank you, Bristol, for coming out tonight. It is so good to be home and to be playing to my people. It is extra special because as we know this iconic club, one that has seen decades of music history being made, one that I may have had a moment or two in myself in my much younger days…’ Innocence is there, I see him in the crowd as he whit-woo’s loudly and Jamal raises an eyebrow and nods with a damn-right look on his face. ‘Anyway, this place is being shut down soon…’ The crowd gentle-boos and Jamal holds his hand up for quiet. ‘However, I’m going to ask for all of your patience whilst we create another very special moment in this seminal club. One of my oldest friends from back in the day, who came up with me all the way from Mandela City Primary, has an apology to make. Tonight, as the old year bows out and the new one swooshes in seems like the perfect time. So please, a bit of quiet for my boy, and I promise we’ll have the music back on in a few minutes.’ Jamal stands to the side and claps his hands in the direction of the man who had slid down from the stage. A man now enrobed in Christmas tree lights with a spotlight fixed right on him. Rory! Rory stands there all lit up and looks straight at me.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him since he left me outside The Mont, since he broke my heart. I’m frozen to the spot for a minute and then shake myself out of it, casting around for Luisa or Remi. Both walk up behind me, and Luisa rubs a circle on my back, reminding me that she has me for ever and that whatever is about to unfold is going to be okay.
I’m not so sure.
What is going to unfold? Dear God, I hope Rory isn’t going to apologise in front of the hundreds of people, paused and clustered into groups and watching. I hope he isn’t going to reveal to the world that he’s sorry for hurting my feelings and please can we be friends.
I want to die. That whole hole-opening-up wish that people have in situations like this is not strong enough, but death will probably do. I look around for a fire exit. There it is, the lettering lit in neon green, I can run out there if needs be.
The bars of a song come on and Rory throws his arms out wide. Before I know it he’s dancing towards me singing Blondie’s ‘The Tide Is High’ – shouting rather than singing, to be accurate – whilst thrusting a solitary digit into the air. He is making such a fool of himself but my God is he giving it his all. People stand all around us chuckling good-naturedly, captivated by his very personal and public humiliation. He is right in front of me now and I can’t help but smile, beam even, anxiety disappearing as I look at this man, this man with the kind green eyes and strong shoulders and fear of making a tit of himself in public, who is currently covered in fairy lights and murdering Debbie Harry.
He hurt me badly the other day but right now he is here, doing this for me. Telling me, and I hope to God I have interpreted this correctly, telling me he wants me to be his number one. Am I being wildly optimistic? What else can it be?
The music changes suddenly to ‘Careless Whisper’, at which point he falls to his knees as he mouths, ‘Waste a chance that I’d been given.’ Mortifyingly cringe but tears of laughter are streaming down my cheeks – he was born to overact eighties dance moves – and I feel a little tap on my shoulder. Alison has somehow snuck in and is beside me nodding and pointing with pride. I look across the circle that has formed around Rory and see Innocence punching the air and shouting, ‘Go boy, go!’ and I see the beam of joy across Luisa’s face. Chardonnay has appeared from nowhere, her pilot standing behind her and holding her close. Everyone is here and sharing this moment with me.
The music changes again. I recognise it immediately.
No, surely not?
Jamal comes across the mic again, ‘Rory is going to teach us a new dance, guys. You never know, it may well take off. Feel free to just let go and join in.’
Rory is a foot in front of me now and gives me the biggest smile. Surely he isn’t going to … oh yes, he is. He brings one hand up to his chest, then another and then drops them into paws. I can’t stop laughing now; it spills out of me like waves over a beach. I literally have to clutch my tummy as he starts boinging around the dance floor, spotlight still on him, paws held high and singing Tigger’s version of “Jingle Bells”.
He is insane. This is insane. Utter public mortification.
I hold one paw up, then another and boing over to join him, singing as loudly as I can.
‘Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh.’
He shoots me a look, a look that says so many things, the most obvious being gratitude but the deepest being love. No one but him has ever really looked at me this way before and I know I will follow this man to the ends of the earth.
The place lights up – for some bizarre reason Rory’s dance seems to tickle people and they all start to join in. I don’t think Lakota has ever seen its club alive to Winnie the Pooh music before, but tonight it does. Everyone is Tigger bouncing. Remi and Luisa are boinging and from the passion Alison puts into it I can picture her as a young woman with some seriously impressive punk moves. I even see Innocence boing past at one point and my heart swells with love for these people, this city, this man in his stupid lit-up Christmas hat and jumper, making a fool of himself to get my attention.
The music comes to a stop and Jamal holds up his hands,
‘Now my man has one more thing to do, and I thank you for bearing with us. You are amazing. Ready, Rory?’
Rory nods and Jamal starts to beatbox. Rory turns to me and looks straight into my eyes. ‘I know I have been a complete fool, Belle. An absolute arse. So I have written you this to make it clear how bad I feel, how sorry I am, how much love and respect and, well, awe I have for the person you are and how much I would love you to let me start again.’
He takes a deep breath and then…
‘Shall I compare thee to a Christmas Day?
Thou art more merry and bri
ng far more joy.
Thy smile, thy voice, the truth of what thou say’st
Maketh my soul less brok’n, my hope less coy.’
This is a sonnet, he has written me a sonnet! My mind flashes back to the time we had sat talking about them in my flat, how he had confided then that he thought there could be no greater love letter in the world than someone sitting down and writing a sonnet.
I am dumbfounded.
‘Thy faithful loving caus’d all fear to flee
From my heart, froze solid and stuck in time.
Ribbit…’
He makes a frog movement with his shoulders as he says this word and I quite literally don’t know what to do with myself.
‘... Thy patience truly thaw-ed me
Thus, I stand here asking thee to be mine.
I want us to plan a life together
And can see us, our future shining bright
Let me cherish you, love you for ever
And hear this heartfelt vow I make tonight.
As long as I have breath, true I will be
And dedicate my heart, Belle Wilde, to thee.’
He feels like this? He really feels like this? About me? Wow.
He finishes and looks at me and I nod my head. How can I not forgive this man, this wonderful man I have already given my entire heart to? Can I live this life he envisions, a life with the two of us building a future, here in the city we love and surrounded by the people that mean the most in the world to us? He comes and takes my hand and just as he does so, ‘Auld Lang Syne’ comes through the sound system.
‘Oh my God, Rory. You wrote all that? For me? When did you find time?’
‘Of course for you. Yesterday and today, I was up half the night, it’s not as perfect as I wanted it to be. But will you forgive me my stupidity? I was scared and I was stupid but I know how much I want you in my life. Will you give me another chance to prove that I am a man that deserves you? Let me show you all the ways I can.’
