by Holly Bourne
I take the cushion from her, clutch it to myself, and it all spills out. She listens, stopping me only once to say, ‘I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were going through all of this.’
‘… and, yeah, so now he’s my boyfriend. I’m crazy, Megan. I’m actually fucking certifiably insane.’
I don’t realise I’ve fully hidden behind the cushion until she pulls it away, forcing me to look up at her. She doesn’t say ‘no you’re not insane’. She asks, ‘So you’re doing all this for what?’
‘Well, initially for revenge?’
‘Right, on who?’
‘All men.’
‘And that’s all?’
I yearn for the cushion to be back over my face, muffling my shame. Talking about it has made it real and the reality of my behaviour is terrifying. It’s like I’ve slapped myself across the face with myself. ‘I thought that was all it was,’ I admit. ‘I was so fed up and just wanted to feel like I had some power. Any power … But now. I’m not sure. I kind of like him. He doesn’t seem so bad. I keep wanting to spend time with him; I think about him a lot. Ironically, it’s the closest I’ve felt to any guy before. And … I like myself when I’m Gretel. Does that make sense? But then I also hate myself for not being her. I feel … I feel Gretel is the woman I could’ve been if all the bad stuff didn’t happen to me. Whenever I’m her, I can pretend none of it was real. But it did, and it was, and I’ll never be her. I can never be like her. Joshua would hate me if he knew me, and would think I was crazy anyway, even without the fact I’ve been pretending to be someone else because I’m a complete fuck-up.’ Hangover and exhaustion and psychological breakthroughs join together and a tear falls down my face. Megan launches over the sofa and lets me cry into her hair. ‘I’m so crazy,’ I keep saying. ‘I hate that I’m so crazy.’
She pulls me back. ‘You’re not crazy,’ she keeps whispering. ‘You’re not.’
‘I’m pretending to be someone else.’
‘So does everyone when they start dating someone. You’ve just taken it to the extreme, that’s all. OK, so you’ve lied about your name and wanting to go to Africa, but that’s about it, isn’t it? The rest has just been hiding parts of yourself. Do you really think this Joshua guy is the person he’s making himself out to be? No! He’s showing you his best bits. He’s hiding all his crap. But I don’t care about him right now, I care about you. April. Honey.’ She rubs her finger along my arm. ‘I think you need some help,’ she suggests, quieter than even a whisper now and her words fall like snowflakes, melting into my hair.
I.
Need.
Some.
Help.
Need.
Help.
‘I know I do,’ I say. The first time I’ve ever said it. Admitting it hurts more than I’d imagined, like I’m taking off my top layer of skin with an emery board. ‘I’ve started to think that since going to the boxing classes. They’re all in therapy … But I can’t afford it.’
‘I’ll pay!’
I shake my head. ‘That’s nuts. You can’t do that.’
‘Why not? I have money. It’s stupid how much money I have. You may as well have some. That lady, the one you see at work? She does private appointments, yes?’
‘I think so … Yeah, I guess.’ It’s all got far too real far too quickly. I’ve hunched my legs up now, practically cowering into the cushion.
‘Well maybe think about setting something up. She knows your back story, which will save time.’
‘She does. I’m not sure though, Megs. I can’t take your money. You already give me such cheap rent.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’d pay you back in instalments, maybe? But, well, I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of Gretel yet.’
‘Are you going to keep seeing him in the meantime?’
‘I dunno.’ The thought of not seeing Joshua again feels too painful. This isn’t good. None of this is good. ‘Probably,’ I admit. ‘Is that a bad idea?’
She shrugs. ‘Probably. But I can’t tell you how to live your life. Besides, it’s not like I have a clue.’
I yawn. ‘God, I’m so tired. Can we just leave it for today, please?’
‘OK. Sorry. I love you. It’s going to be all right.’
‘I hope so.’ I curl up on my side. I’ve told someone and the reality is knackering. I don’t have anything else to give today. We un-pause Dawson’s Creek, and watch three episodes in a row. Megan is kind enough not to pry any further and grumbles instead about the launch. I grumble about my hangover. Sunday is back in perfect working order. Except it isn’t.
My phone died early this morning and it takes me until night time to summon the energy needed to shower, unpack my stinking overnight bag, find my charger and plug it in. It vibrates straight away, with a message from my boyfriend.
Joshua: How’s the hangover? When can I see you next? Xx
And sometimes in life, when there are too many emotions, and they are too strong and too conflicting to make any sense, the only feeling you can feel is nothingness. And the only way you can get through the nothingness is to carry on doing whatever the hell it is you are doing, even though you know it’s wrong.
Gretel: Sorry. Phone died. Hangover brutal. I need cuddles and attention and distraction from my pain. Any ideas?
Joshua: Umm come over right away?
Gretel: Uber already ordered x
April: GOOD LUCK FOR THE LAUNCH TONIGHT. YOU ARE GOING TO TOTALLY SMASH IT! I BELIEVE IN YOU, MY DAD, PETER PAN xxx
Megan: OMG, I totally forgot that Hook exists as a movie.
Megan: That movie was so fucking weird.
Megan: Still can’t believe hot Rufio died.
Megan: Or that in those days you were allowed to roll up a fat child and push him down a ramp as a weapon …
Megan: Anyway THANK YOU. I’m fucking bricking it and nothing is ready and I HATE that I let a stupid man distract me but hopefully it will be OK.
April: It will be more than OK. You’re amazing xxx
Gretel: Hello you. So, my housemate is out all evening doing this launch thing. Wanna come over? I’ll cook. xx
Joshua: Depends what you’re going to cook.
Gretel: Something quick so we have loads of time for sex afterwards.
Joshua: Do we have to even eat first?
Gretel: You can eat something …
Joshua: What’s the earliest I’m allowed to arrive?
Gretel: Six x
Joshua: I like you. A lot. Just so you’re aware … x
I’m back to faking my orgasms again.
Joshua’s doing exactly what he did last time, and the time before that, but it’s just not happening. I throw my hair back and make my body judder because I know there is literally no way it’s going to happen this evening. Not now I’m giving it so much thought. A female orgasm is like the opposite of a tree falling over in the woods – it only exists when you don’t think about it.
My faking sets him over the edge and we cross the finish line together, collapsing into a tumble of limbs, panting and sort of half tapping each other on the back. ‘It’s too hot for such things,’ he says.
‘You started it.’
I guess I’ve ticked off the slut box; I need to check off the nurturing box now too. ‘Give me a moment and then I’ll cook,’ I say.
‘You’re amazing.’
‘Let’s see how the stir-fry comes out first.’ I get up to pee so I don’t get cystitis, shrugging on my knickers and bra and wondering why I feel so terribly awful.
‘Can I use your shower?’
‘Sure.’
*
Joshua emerges ten minutes later, clean and damp, wearing just an open shirt and pants, his stomach bulging slightly over the elastic. ‘Wow, it smells great.’ He comes up behind me and kisses the top of my head while I’m stirring the pan.
‘It’s just stir-fry. But I chopped the vegetables myself.’
‘Such a multi-talented woman.’
‘You can lay the table if you want.’
‘Of course Your Highness.’
I grimace as he walks away. I’m mad at him and I’m finding it difficult to override. April’s pissed off for some reason and she keeps taking the steering wheel of my life. He whistles as he lays the table, and I tip the sizzling pan of gingered meat and veg onto noodles and then two matching plates. ‘Ta-da!’
‘This looks great, thank you.’ He reaches out his leg while we eat, and massages my foot with his. I try to smile back as I tuck some hair behind my ear.
‘This is really nice, Gretel.’
‘It’s just stir-fry.’
‘Yeah, but still, it’s nice.’
I bite into a miniature corn on the cob.
‘That was really nice too.’ He nods his head towards the bedroom, where you can still see the chaos of the sheets.
‘Yeah, it was great.’
‘Yeah?’ he nudges my foot again.
I arrange the smile on my face before engaging eye contact. ‘Yeah!’
‘OK.’
We talk and chew and swallow. I ask him about his day. His manager isn’t being very nice. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What a douche. You could do such a better job.’ He asks me about mine. ‘Yeah, it was OK, same old, same old.’ I do not say, ‘It feels like I can finally breathe again after I stopped doing my shifts but I feel so guilty I then lose the ability to breathe again.’
‘So where’s your housemate tonight?’
‘She’s got this huge work-launch thing. She works in jewellery PR.’
‘Cool, sounds cool. When do I get to meet her?’
Megan, coincidently, asked the same question this morning while I was checking it was OK to have Joshua around. ‘Does this mean I’ll get to meet him?’
‘Well, maybe you’ll see him in the morning.’
‘And does this mean I’ll get to meet Gretel?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Just saying! Oh shit! Is that the time? I’m late. Oh God, I’m so stressed I may vomit.’
I bite a pepper and chew delicately. ‘Megan? Oh, soon. Maybe even tonight depending on what time she gets back.’
I’m flailing. I can’t find Gretel. She isn’t here. I can’t find her buzz or energy, passion or enthusiasm. Maybe her period is due? Does she even have them? I’m not sure. But the atmosphere is flat and it feels like my fault. Joshua’s eating but he’s not smiling and it’s my responsibility as a girlfriend to entertain him, to uplift him, to put him in a good mood. He can’t associate his girlfriend with any negativity.
‘Speaking of friends,’ I start, not sure where I’m going. ‘Umm, my friend Chrissy. The one whose hen do I went to. It’s her wedding next weekend, and she gave me a plus one.’
He puts down his fork. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, I mean, I know weddings are pretty boring, especially if you don’t know anyone. But you’re more than welcome to come. If you’re not busy.’
The smile he smiles. ‘I’m not busy. I’d love to come, Gretel. Where is it?’
‘Just in Surrey. So we can get there and back on the train.’
‘And you know Chrissy from?’
I wonder if I need to invent a lie for her too, to give our friendship a more dazzling edge, but it’s too hot and I’m just … not today … so I say, ‘We temped together years ago, and just clicked. I won’t know many people at the wedding either, so you’ll be stuck talking to me most of the day.’ That wasn’t a very confident thing to say. Argh. April’s just seeping out of me, all into the stir-fry. But Joshua’s still smiling and spearing a piece of pepper.
‘Sounds great.’
‘You sure you want to come?’ Why do I keep checking?
‘Yes!’
‘But, weddings can be really dull and boring and long.’ Stop it stop it stop it stop it!
‘Not with you there.’
‘OK, if you’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Great.’
We talk and finish the wine, and time passes as Joshua tells me all about his manager in a lot of detail, and all the different ways in which he isn’t as appreciated in work as he thinks he should be, and all the ways he could do a better job if he was manager. At about nine, he crashes to a halt, and just looks at me.
‘What?’ I ask.
Then he’s out of his chair, scooping me up in his arms, carrying me to the bedroom.
‘What about the washing-up?’ I squawk. Again, so totally un-Gretel.
‘I’ll do it later.’
But I’m still too busy digesting dinner to want to have sex right now, I think. But the soy sauce will stick to the plates and take forever to scrub off, I think. But it can’t still be there when Megan gets home because that won’t be fair, I think. But I don’t trust you to actually do the washing-up later, I think.
But I’ve not been Gretel enough this evening. She doesn’t care about something like the washing-up needing doing. Not when there’s sex with her glorious boyfriend on offer, the boyfriend she wasn’t expecting to get, especially as she wasn’t really looking for one. So I let myself get carried to my bedroom and try to get myself into a sexy place, which is really hard with a stomach full of food. My head’s so not in this. It’s all over the place, cluttered with lies and guilt, and chicken that the enzymes in my stomach haven’t broken down yet. I feel almost panicked as we start kissing, the taste of my cooking on his tongue. I don’t feel aroused as he strips off his shirt, revealing his bloated belly. I almost want to push him away when he starts kissing down my own full tummy with a suggestive look in his eye. I don’t think I have the energy to fake another orgasm, let alone think about even attempting a real one. I want to be alone. I want to never touch a man again. I never want one near me again. I hate them. I hate Joshua for touching me. I hate him for loving me, for caring, when it can never be trusted. Feelings. They always wane and then you end up fucked up and bitter and wishing you’d never got going in the first place. And I don’t deserve these kisses, and I don’t deserve what he’s doing right now, with my knickers pulled to one side. I don’t deserve a man like Joshua, even though he’s still a man and they’re all awful. I don’t deserve anything good, and I want to cry but …
I let out a moan, because I don’t want to hurt his feelings, because he’s trying really hard down there.
He doesn’t do the dishes. He falls asleep clasping me in his arms, and it’s a really delicate procedure, getting out of there without waking him. I wiggle like Houdini until I’ve dislodged him and his affection and spend a good amount of time looking at Old Faithful, my crack in the ceiling. I watch him sleep, changing my mind about him every five minutes:
Look at his sleeping face. He really is quite handsome. I can’t believe this man has chosen me. I want to touch his face, I want to kiss him, I want to be next to this face forever.
Then:
I can’t believe you’ve just fallen a-fucking-sleep when you didn’t wash up. I knew this would happen. I hope you don’t snore because I have work tomorrow and I don’t want to be tired. I just want to be alone. I wish I could vanish you away so I can be alone in my bed, without your body here confusing me.
I can’t take it any more. I heave myself out of bed, holding my head as if that will stop it whirring so hard, shake on a dressing gown and pad out into the darkness of the flat. I can still hear Joshua’s heavy breathing whistling through my door, so I gently push it shut. And it’s just me again, April. I look at the dirty table, sigh, and get to work collecting the plates up and taking them to the sink.
I’m elbow deep in Fairy Liquid bubbles when I hear the scrape of Megan’s key in the lock.
‘I’m still up,’ I stage whisper. ‘Hey. How did it go?’
I twist to see her putting her bag down on the sofa, a tired wilt to her body. As she steps towards the kitchen, moonlight from the front window highlights her perfectly made-up face and hair – though there’s a touch of ‘end-of-the-night’ to the loo
k.
‘Really well,’ she says, sinking into the sofa. ‘Thank God.’
‘Amazing! I knew you’d smash it! You want a glass of wine? I’ve got some leftover.’
‘Please.’
I shake off my soap-suddy hands and pour out the rest of the merlot that Joshua brought round. I hand her a glass before plonking myself next to her. ‘So, tell me all about it.’
She takes a deep slurp before replying. ‘It all went seamlessly. Right up to the last minute, of course. There was a terrible moment when we thought the flowers weren’t going to arrive. Or Cara Delevingne. But then it all came together. Cara turned up with all her friends, which is a bonus, means we’ll definitely get press coverage tomorrow. Everyone loved the line. They’ve sold out of the heart necklace ALREADY online.’
I reach over and grab her foot. ‘Megs! This is amazing! I’m so proud.’
‘I know, thank you. Our CEO was so chuffed. She said “well done Megan” as I was leaving, and, from her, that’s like the biggest thumbs-up ever. Hopefully this will really help my promotion next year …’ But she’s not looking at me, and she’s not glowing with pride like she should be. She’s staring into her merlot instead.
‘What? What is it?’
Megan shakes her head with her eyes closed. ‘Sorry. I’m being stupid.’
‘No. What is it? What happened?’
She puts her glass down on our messy coffee table and wipes under her eyes.
‘Megan?’
‘Sorry …’ she’s crying. ‘I’m an idiot. I just … it went so well, and I worked so hard, and I should’ve been buzzing, you know?’
‘I know, I know. You’re amazing. What is it?’
She shakes her head again. ‘But I couldn’t enjoy the evening, April. I know it’s pathetic, but I kept thinking about him. Even though I meant nothing to him, I kept … it sounds stupid … but I kept thinking maybe he’d turn up to support me, as a surprise? Make a grand declaration or something? And I kept imagining him seeing me in the press photos in tomorrow’s Metro and realising his true feelings … Then I realised I’m insane and pathetic, and I just got really sad. It was one of the best nights of my career, and I couldn’t enjoy it, couldn’t get lost in the moment, because I liked a man and he didn’t like me back.’ She snuffles and wipes her eyes again. ‘I’m such a loser.’
