Love Me, Crazy

by Laura Burton

  I needed to get a grip on myself. I was a young, beautiful female, who had a job she loved and was full of potential. The future was completely open to me. It could be whatever I wanted it to be. No con man was going to rid me of my happiness or dreams. In fact, I should just focus on doing something for myself for a while. No men involved. Girl Power! I nodded with a smile of satisfaction. No men, indeed.

  The house was in dire need of a good clean and my wardrobe was now empty of all clothes. I picked up my blanket off the floor and folded it, placing it on the sofa neatly, ready to be put away. Then I grabbed the bin from the kitchenette and picked up the tissues that were scattered around the beige carpet and stuffed them inside. The jeans I wore the day before were laying on the floor by the hall, as I picked them up a small card fell down. I set down the bin and picked up the card, bringing it up to my face to read it.

  Jack Roberts

  J&R Accountancy Ltd

  It had a mobile number and an email address. I hesitated on the spot, holding the card in my hand and looking from the bin to the card, back to the bin again.

  ‘No men, remember?’ I found myself saying aloud. I threw the card into the bin and stared at it, laying on top of the tissues. Was there really any harm in keeping his card for a rainy day? Who knows, maybe I would fancy starting up a business and would need an accountant? The memory played back in my mind of his cheeky grin, the dimple in his left cheek and the warmth of his arm brushing against mine. Something stirred inside my stomach and my mouth suddenly went dry. I licked my lips nervously as I reached down and picked the card up in my hand, holding it in a death grip.

  ‘Nothing wrong with keeping hold of this,’ I reasoned to the empty room. The sofa and TV were staring at me, judging. ‘I won’t call him, I won’t do anything. I’ll just…I’ll keep his card,’ I continued, feeling a little devilish.

  Monday morning came quicker than I had imagined, yet at the same time, I was grateful to go back to my normal routine. I ironed my white shirt and pulled it on absent-mindedly, then fastened the buttons on my grey pencil skirt. I heard the humming of my phone as it sat vibrating on my bed. I hurried to the bedroom, tucking in the shirt into my skirt as I went and picked up the phone. It was a number that I didn’t recognise.

  ‘Hello?’ I said brightly, trying not to sound half-asleep.

  ‘Dee are you going to tell the school?’ came an urgent voice on the other end of the phone. I frowned, looking back at the number across the screen and mentally kicked myself. Of course, I deleted his number.

  ‘Tom, I’m not interested in speaking to you,’ I said sternly, sliding my feet into a pair of white sandals. Tom sounded breathless as he spoke to me,

  ‘I can’t lose this job. I just can’t. Please don’t tell anyone, Dee. I’m begging you,’ I shook my head, lips pursed and fuming at his words. Two days ago, we were on a date and he was declaring his love to me, telling me how much he enjoyed being a Reverend, how his grandfather was in the church and despite all that, he was now begging for my silence when he should be groveling at my feet for forgiveness.

  ‘Stop calling me,’ I said through gritted teeth and ended the call. The time was 7:25am and I groaned, knowing that now I was going to end up in traffic at the Clifton Suspension Bridge. I ran out of the house with my bag, locked the front door behind me and got into the car. Taking a moment to look around, I noticed the sun was gorgeously bright and the morning dew sparkled in it’s rays. I took a deep breath of fresh air, taking in the scent of cut grass and calmed down a little. ‘He is not worth the stress,’ I muttered to myself as rolled the window down on my side.

  ‘Too right,’ said a humoured voice to my right. I blinked up into the sun to see a short, plump woman, carrying a baby on her hip who was laughing in my direction. ‘I’ve had enough of men, and the stress they bring into my life,’ she continued. She sat her squirming child into the carseat of her minivan and fastened the buckle.

  I smiled as I reversed out of my driveway and waved to her as I passed by. ‘That’s what I need,’ I thought to myself as I joined the dual carriageway headed towards Bristol, feeling enlightened. ‘I need a friend.’

  As I predicted, an enormous line of cars greeted me as I rolled up to the country road leading to the suspension bridge that leads into Clifton. I opened my purse and picked out the coins I needed for the toll and waited listening to the music on the radio. It gave me time to think about what I was going to do. I had a predicament on my hands involving Tom, or not Tom. He had become a mystery man to me, though not so tempting for me to learn more about him.

  Mrs Callingham needed to know that Tom was not a Reverend. How could I argue against that? Yes he was well-liked within the school, and the girls will be devastated when he is inevitably fired from his job. But if it did come out, and Mrs Callingham knew that I had known this information and not passed on my findings to her, then my job would be on the line. Granted, I was only a supply teacher, but I had been working within that school for two years, and I was waiting for a full-time teaching position to come up. Whatever Tom’s reasons were, it was wrong to impersonate someone else. Perhaps my decision was directed less by moral high ground and more on my emotional sense of betrayal, but the answer was still the same; expose the lying rat.

  The traffic crawled along the bridge and suddenly disappeared once on the other side. I wondered why that would happen, and where all the traffic disappeared to? But there was not much time to think about such mysteries; I was going to miss morning assembly if I didn’t park up soon. I found a space along the street next to the school and hurried down the path, across the road, and through the iron gates. The school bell was ringing in the distance as a few stragglers were walking towards the main school building. Reverend Pembleton often gave the Monday morning sermon; I thought I would arrange to see Mrs Callingham after assembly and see what marvellous lies Tom would deliver this morning. It would be interesting to see how he copes under the pressure of knowing his secret was now exceptionally close to being out in the open.

  I walked along the narrow hall and caught up with a small group of third year girls who were whispering with excitement to each other as they filed through the door into the assembly hall.

  ‘I wonder what Reverend Pembleton will talk about today?’ gushed one of the girls, with frizzy red hair.

  ‘Oh, he’ll probably be quoting Gladiator or something,’ quipped back a short girl with a black braid at the back of her head. I bit my lip as I followed them in and to my usual seat at the back of the hall next to the Biology teacher, Mr Chatworth. He smiled and nodded to me before turning back to look at the stand as Mrs Callingham stood up to the microphone. The chattering of the girls died down and I looked at the stand, searching for Tom’s familiar tall skinny frame. The head girl and Deputy's head were sat on stools to the right as per usual and on the left was Mrs Callingham’s seat and a gentleman sat on the left. He was overweight and completely bald on the top of his head but sported a rather impressive black moustache.

  ‘Good morning girls,’ Mrs Callingham greeted in her high voice. My eyes darted around the hall, looking for any sign of Tom. The other teachers were staring blankly forwards, but Tom wasn’t one of them. Where was he?

  ‘I hope you all had a pleasant and restful weekend,’ Mrs Callingham continued. I looked up at her; she was wearing a blue cashmere scarf wrapped around her shoulders over a pale linen summer dress. Her hands were clasped in front of her, and she had a strange look on her face. Her usual smile was absent, in place with a slight grimace. ‘I have some very sad news to share with you all today,’ she announced dramatically. The room grew still, in anticipation for whatever news was to come.

  ‘I received a telephone call this morning, from a member of Reverend Pembleton’s family. I’m very sad to say that he has passed away this morning.’

  I swallowed hard as the room exploded in gasps and horrified whispers. Mrs Callingham nodded sadly to the reaction and raised her hands to calm the g
irls down.

  ‘Although our dear Reverend Pembleton was not with us for very long, I know he was thought of fondly by all of us here at Clifton High. I’ve arranged for Mr Hunt, our music teacher to perform for us as we think of and remember him and his life. Our thoughts and prayers go out to his family at this tragic time.’

  Mr Hunt stood up and strode over to the grand piano at the front. He started to play a slow, sad serenade, involving a number of different notes, his stubby fingers gliding over the keys with ease. Many of the girls bowed their heads; some were shaking as they cried. I glanced nervously over to Mr Chatworth who raised his eyebrows in shock at me.

  ‘You never know what tomorrow brings,’ he whispered to me. I nodded slowly, my head felt heavy and stiff. I could hardly bear to breathe. Tom was dead? How? Where? He was just speaking to me on the phone that morning, what did he do? This was not real; it couldn’t be. How could he be dead? I needed more information, but Mrs Callingham divulged nothing more about the demise of Reverend Pembleton. I decided to meet with her after assembly, but it would have to wait. I was covering for the sports class first thing in the morning.

  The morning passed by in a blur of confusion and complete distraction on my part. The girls were unfocused in their classes and spent the time crying or asking endless questions about Reverend Pembleton – Tom. Questions that I couldn’t answer. It was frustrating that I had no idea what happened, and I couldn’t help but feel guilty, like I had a part in this. Perhaps if I had listened to him on the phone, what if I was just a little nicer to him? Did he commit suicide? I was infuriated with his lies, but did I want him to die? Of course not! I felt sick at the thought, and regret for my actions. In the grand scheme of things, what Tom did was not so bad. He did admit his lies to me in the end, that must have counted for something, right? He had a good reason for his actions, did I overreact?

  The end of the day came before I found an opportunity to speak with Mrs Callingham. She was on the phone in her office or out of the school all day which frustrated me. I needed to know what happened. My mind was full of unanswered questions and worries that it made my head spin. It just felt like the world had turned upside down, I was living an alternate reality.

  I got into my car and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands. The black faux leather burned against my skin after being sat in the sunlight all afternoon.

  A few minutes passed and then the lump in my throat -the one I had been trying to ignore since morning assembly- swelled and tears leaked slowly out of my eyes. Biting my lip, I let out a horrified, muffled scream. What was happening? Then my phone started to vibrate in the handbag on the passenger seat. I grabbed the phone and answered it quickly,

  ‘Hello,’ I said breathlessly.

  ‘Do you forgive me now?’ a male voice questioned. My heart stopped. My breath got caught in my chest and seemed to stop my voice box working.

  ‘I need to talk to you, now. Come to the coffee shop,’ then the phone hung up. A group of kids walked past the car with their parents, holding all of their school bags from the day. I automatically put the key in the ignition, started the car and drove to the bottom of the hill and parked up near Park Street.

  I was unaware of my surroundings; everything was blurred in my teary-eyed vision as I walked up the steep road to the coffee shop. When I got to the wooden door frame, I hesitated for a moment. Wiping my eyes quickly with my hands and gathering my thoughts. However, upsetting it will be, I needed to do this. I could not just walk away, though if I wanted to, now was the time to do it.

  He was sat in the corner of the shop, our usual spot, grinning at me with a look of guilt across his pointy face. I walked towards him, ignoring the brunette at the counter, and the group of university students chattering to each other at the table in the centre of the room. He never stopped looking at me as I approached him, and I only averted my eyes as I sat down in the comfy chair opposite him.

  ‘You’re not dead then,’ I said stiffly. I punished myself for even believing this ridiculous lie. Of course, he wasn’t dead. This was just another manipulation. But what did he have to gain? It was not like he could just turn up at the school now that he was declared dead by the head teacher. What was his game? Tom’s smiled disappeared and he looked serious now, leaning forward and staring at my face imploringly.

  ‘Dee, I never meant to upset you, it looks like you’ve been crying,’ he said softly, he made to rub my cheek with his hand, but I moved away from him quickly.

  ‘You are sick, do you know that? The whole school has been in a state of mourning today, and all because of you and your sick lies,’ I spat at him scathingly. How could he act so selfishly? Tom looked hurt and offended. He sat upright and frowned.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,’ he mumbled awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck and looked at the floor. The first sign that he had a conscience.

  ‘First you lie about who you are, you continue to lie to me, then you tell me that you need this job and not to tell Mrs Callingham the truth and then you fake your own death, so which part are you sorry for?’ I asked hotly. Tom shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I do this; it’s what I do all the time… I don’t know why I do it, but I can’t help myself… I feel like -you know- like I am one person and then I change and so that person doesn’t exist anymore, so really Reverend Pembleton did die. Because I’m just Tom,’ he mumbled quietly. I stared at him unbelieving and shaking my head slowly.

  ‘Tell me what you want and do all you want to try to justify your actions, but what you’ve done is sick. There’s no excuse for it. I mean, really Tom, how hard is it to tell the truth?’ I asked, exasperated. Tom looked sullen now.

  ‘Very hard,’ he murmured to himself before taking a sip of hot chocolate. He put the mug down and looked up at me, his grey eyes were dull, reflecting the dark rings under his eyes. ‘I don’t know why I do it; I just feel like I can’t be normal, I get an idea of who I’d like to be and I just… I just become that person, but when I change, I have to do something to let go,’ he explained with a look of honesty.

  ‘Well, then throw away the clergy-man collar, don’t upset a school full of girls by faking his death,’ I shot back at him. Tom looked forlorn and lost, he buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook violently as he cried. I sat there watching him, contemplating what to do next. I could just get up and leave; he wouldn’t stop me. Or I could console him; he was clearly confused and troubled with himself. It was the most curious thing I’d ever seen. He whimpered to himself, compelling me to stay seated and be with him, at least a little longer. A small part of me was grateful that he hadn’t really died and worried that if I didn’t stay, he would do something stupid for real.

  ‘Tom, is your name really Tom?’ I asked, a little more gently this time. Tom looked up, his face was blotchy, and his eyes were red. He nodded sadly. I sighed as I looked at his sorry state. My heart softened towards him, something was not quite right, and he needed some help.

  ‘Let me take you home, Tom. Where do you live?’ I asked kindly. Tom bit his lip and averted his eyes.

  ‘I’m staying in Fishponds,’ he mumbled, embarrassed. I choked a gasp and coughed before recovering and saying,

  ‘Oh, okay, well let me take you home, come on, I’ll drive you there,’ Tom shook his head.

  ‘I don’t want to; I don’t like it there. I want to talk to you,’ he said earnestly. I started chewing the inside of my cheek nervously.

  ‘Well,’ I started, undecided about what to do next. ‘I suppose it’s not too busy in here, come on-’ I moved over to sit next to Tom and anxiously placed a hand on his shoulder. He moved in to be close to me. ‘We’ll figure this out,’ I reassured him, and myself at the same time.

  The bell rang as the door opened in front of me. The sound made me look up and I stared at the person who walked in through the door. It was Jack, dressed in smart trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, carrying his Oakley laptop bag at his side. H
e looked around the coffee shop, and his eyes met mine. He grinned, I gawped at him in return. What was he doing here? His whole body was framed in the sunlight from outside, and he stood there, strong and proud, my knight in shining armour. My instincts took over and I dashed over to him and just threw myself into his arms.

  ‘Oh, am I glad to see you!’ I cried, my arms still wrapped around his neck. He held me tentatively at the waist and waited for me to come to my senses. With horror, I jumped back and felt the heat rise in my face as I apologised to him.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that, I don’t know what came over me,’ I stuttered, blushing crimson. Jack smiled lightly, his eyes shining as he laughed.

  ‘Please don’t apologise,’ he said quickly, ‘that’s the best welcome I’ve ever had,’ he exclaimed with a short laugh. His voice was healing on my troubled soul, I soaked in every syllable.

  ‘Do you want to sit with us and have a drink?’ I asked quickly, Jack looked around me towards Tom who was frowning into the cup cradled in his hands. He looked back at me and raised his eyebrows.