Authors: Rowan Coleman
‘I’m so sorry,’ he says, standing a few feet from me, swinging his hands by his side like a ten-year-old, ‘I thought maybe … I don’t know what I thought. I didn’t want us to end.’ I stand up and catch his hand in mine. My chest feels tight with sorrow and regret. Not regret for the last few weeks with him, but regret that I caused this to happen.
‘Michael, it’s not your fault, it’s mine. I should never have let this happen.’ He jerks his fingers from mine and pulls his shoulders back, raising his chin a little.
‘Don’t say that!
Don’t ever
say that! I have had the best time ever with you. My first time with you. It was everything to me. And I’m not a fucking kid, you know. I
did
know what I was getting into and I got into it because I wanted to. And my grades are down at school because I’m basically not that bright and I should have taken Art instead of physics, but oh no, Dad said I needed a science.’
His mercurial switch in tone makes me smile. He always did make me smile. Our fingers link again, sending a physical memory of his touch up and down my spine. Deep breaths.
‘I’m sorry that you have had to go through this,’ I say, gesturing at the morning in general. ‘And for the fact that you will presumably be grounded until you’re twenty-one.’
He laughs. We both laugh and step into an easy hug.
‘I won’t forget you,’ he whispers to the top of my head. ‘Not ever.’
‘I should hope not, not after all the good times we’ve had.’ I smile and tip my chin back to look into his brown eyes. ‘If things had been different, you would have been the one,’ I say, and maybe it’s not true now but maybe it could have been once, before life snuck up and changed me all around. He nods and delves into the pocket of his combats.
‘I want you to have this. I can’t listen to it any more and well, I think you should have at least one thing that is fairly modern in your CD collection. Your cred’s rock bottom, Jen.’ He hands me his David Gray CD and I swallow the lump in my throat.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I say dumbly. I clutch it to my chest, like a soft toy.
‘I’ll see you around then?’ he says, although both of us know that he won’t.
‘Yes, sure,’ I say anyway. ‘Send me a postcard from uni.’ It seems that anything I am going to say will sound trite, it has just become impossible to find words that express how I’m feeling. I walk him to the door and he bends to kiss me lightly, brushing his warm lips against mine before turning down the stairs. I do not watch him go. For a quiet moment I stand and look at the CD cover, and a brief vision of his sofa bed flashes across my memory; for one crazy second I think about chasing after him and asking him to run away with me somewhere, somewhere where it’s summer all year long. I hear the downstairs door slam shut. I want to go into my room, put on David Gray and lie quietly looking at the ceiling, but I’ve got one or two things to sort out before that can happen.
‘That was thingy, wasn’t it? The boy from the party and Soho Square. Ginger Teenager.’ Rosie looks at me from the doorway of her bedroom at the other end of the hall, her mouth half open with disbelief and a look somewhere between hysterical laughter and self-righteous preaching hovering around her eyes. How am I going to handle this one? She crooks her finger at me and beckons me to follow her into the living-room.
‘So, you’re telling me you’ve been out with Ginger Boy? You, know, secretly?’ She’s looking at me as if I’ve dropped in from another planet as she flops on to the sofa.
‘I
was
planning to tell you. I mean, we didn’t exactly go out together, it just sort of happened, you know. One minute I’m being all responsible and letting him down gently and the next minute he’s getting my kit off in the back of a cab, you know how it goes.’
Rosie bursts into shocked laughter. She starts to count on her fingers.
‘But he’s, like,
twelve
years younger than you. When he was born you were … wearing a ra-ra skirt and fantasising over Limahl.’
I interrupt her. ‘Yeah, yeah, been there, done all that stuff. I know he’s too young for me and that’s why I only saw him for a bit and I’m not about to go on a Kilroy special about forbidden love to announce our engagement. But for a while there, the age gap thing didn’t matter. He was so … refreshing and new.’ I try to explain what it was about Michael but it seems that Rosie can’t keep her mind out of the gutter.
‘My God! You busted him! What’s it like doing it with a virgin? Was it crap? Did you have to go on top? Did you droop? Did he?’
I smile and shake my head. This reminds me of our old sleepover days, and I’m relieved that she seems to be letting me off so lightly.
‘Honestly, Rosie, all you think about is sex, sex, sex. Actually, he was pretty good after a few practices.’ Rosie clasps a cushion to her face with embarrassment. I smile. ‘And let’s just say what he lacked in expertise he more than made up for in stamina!’ We both giggle and I settle down next to her on the sofa.
‘But actually what I meant, when I said refreshing, was that he isn’t jaded by life or relationships. He still sees the wonder of everything, the possibility of a future. After Owen it was nice to be with someone like that for a while. Yes, I admit it was partly an exercise in pretending I’m not a thirty-year-old with no prospects. It started out that way, but well, if things had been different I could have fallen for him maybe. If he’d shut up about
Star Wars
and heavy metal for five minutes.’
Rosie tucks the cushion back behind her back, her smile fading. ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Her tone has gone from curious hilarity to slightly defensive.
‘Well, you know. He’s ginger,’ I say, trying to go for a laugh.
She smiles but persists. ‘No, but really?’ I look around the room and try and think of a way to say that if anyone had known they would have spoilt it. It was never meant to be something real enough to talk about, but somehow I can’t bring myself to say that, to show how messed up I still am.
‘Well, why didn’t you tell us about Chris wanting to get back with you?’ I retort unwisely.
‘I did!’
Oh yeah. She did. Plan B. ‘OK, why didn’t you tell us about the baby, when you’d known for ages?’
She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. ‘Jen, that is so different, and you know it.’
I shift in my chair. ‘Well, we don’t always tell each other everything. We’re not obliged to. I don’t know why, OK? One or two things have been going on around here recently in case you haven’t noticed. It didn’t seem important.’ I think about the e-mails and messages from Owen that I haven’t told anyone about either. Talking about things means you have to accept that they are real.
Rosie sighs. ‘It’s just that we used to tell each other everything. We used to be close. Maybe too close. Maybe you just didn’t want to hear the truth from people who know you better than you know yourself.’
Maybe, and maybe I don’t want to start now. ‘Well, you can talk, you won’t listen to anything we’ve told you about Chris. I mean, you’re still thinking about getting back with him, aren’t you? After all he did to you?’
Rosie bristles visibly and turns to face me. ‘You
really
don’t know him, you only think you know the bit of him that hurt me, the image of him that I created in order to get over what had happened. That was just a part of him. When you get past that stuff he’s … well, I didn’t go up the aisle because I thought he was all right. I married him because I loved him,
really
loved him. And love like that doesn’t just disappear after a few months. I think I still love him. He says he still loves me, he says that he ran away from it all because it all seemed too much too soon, but now he realises what he’s almost lost. He says this time he’s grown up enough to handle how much he cares about me. Me and the baby. When you get hurt you have to pretend it was all a mistake, and maybe getting married so quickly was, but the more I think about it the more I think that Chris and I weren’t a mistake, the more I think we’re exactly right.’
After everything we’ve been through together I can’t believe that she doesn’t see what I see, or remember what I remember. That she is repeating an almost exact rendition of one of Owen’s speeches that she always told me was a load of crap.
‘You think what? Christ, Rosie, don’t you remember what he did to you? Don’t you remember he packed your bags for you
before
he told you he’d met someone else? Don’t you remember that he told you that you were too boring in bed and the thought of being married to you for the rest of his life made him feel suffocated? That he told you you were too clingy? Too demanding? Because I do, I remember the nights and nights and weeks and weeks of listening to all the things he said and did to you. Christ, he can’t even commit to his
cat
, the poor thing moved in with his neighbours and he didn’t even notice! Do you think he’s going to commit to you and a baby once the novelty’s worn off? You stupid little fool. You have no idea.’ I shake my head.
‘You sanctimonious cow,’ Rosie snaps at me, her venom hitting me in the face with the full force of her sudden anger.
‘All this time you’ve been fucking doing my head in about Chris, coming all high and mighty with me and you’ve been shagging some kid behind my back, behind all our backs! What the fuck did you think you were doing? He’s eighteen, for Christ’s sake! At least I’m trying to sort out an adult life. You’re too messed up to even try. You’ll be scrubbing around in pubs and clubs, getting used up by going-nowhere scum, still getting paid shit money in the same dead-end job ten years from now.’
Her portrait of the future I most fear pushes me further into a red rage.
‘Well, at least I’m not thinking of throwing my life away with some bastard serial philanderer! Don’t you ever learn? You want to end up like both our mums, used up and stranded, traded in for this month’s latest model?’
Rosie shakes her head and her tone drops to quiet fury.
‘Have you ever noticed that every single opinion you have about men comes back to your dad? Every single man you’ve ever been with has got something to do with him. Your whole relationship with Owen was about finding a replacement dad, someone older, someone who’ll keep you in line, tell you what to do. You think it was Owen who wore down your self-esteem and broke you up. But it was your dad, the day he left you. It always has been. Owen just played around with the pieces he left behind. You judge every single relationship you see by the way your father treated you. You think you’ve made it without him, but that’s bollocks. You’ve never got over him. Not ever. He’s still ruining your life, and he doesn’t even know or care.’
I shake my head at her, speechless with anger and hurt.
‘That’s not true,’ I whisper.
‘You don’t know Chris. You only see one side of him,’ she repeats, getting up to leave. I shake my head and tuck my feet up under my knees.
‘I’m sorry to hurt you, Jen, but I think maybe it’s time you woke up and took a good look at yourself. I’ll see you later.’
The door slams and she is gone, leaving me alone with Michael, Owen and my father.
I have been looking at the Artex on my bedroom ceiling for around two hours now, but so far its swirls and peaks have not revealed any secrets which might get me out of the mess I am currently in. I feel guilty on about every count I can possibly conceive of. Guilty about how Michael is feeling, guilty about how I upset his mother, guilty that I was late for Ayla, guilty that I have been so caught up in myself over the last few weeks that I have hardly noticed whatever’s going on in Selin’s life, guilty that I’ve stressed Rosie out when she’s pregnant and in need of my support. And to cap all that I feel guilty about how I have treated myself, hiding from the ghost of Owen in any corner or excuse I could find, bouncing off the walls of our relationship yet again, trying to pretend to myself that I’ve put it all behind me. Just look at the last few months. Who am I trying to kid? Not even I am going to be suckered by that line any more. Well, no more, he has nothing to do with my life, my decisions or my actions any more.
I don’t know if Rosie is right about my dad or not, I don’t know if I want to know. But I do know one thing: if he, she or anyone else thinks that I am where I am because of him, or because of anyone, I’m not having it. Everything I do, everywhere I go from now on, is because of me.
I’ve got to try and sort out the gaps that have pulled us all apart over the last few weeks.
Maybe it’s not that hard; all I’ve got to do is try to explain myself to Rosie, have one last-ditch attempt at making her see what a mistake getting back with Chris would be, discuss everything with Selin, really find out how’s she’s doing, and come clean about my secret love life with her. That’s all. I have exactly a month before I’m thirty to find out what I really want from my future, maybe even get on a journalism course, sign up for driving lessons. That will leave only one ambition totally unfulfilled and frankly I never did really think I would cut it as a jazz-club diva. Between you and me, I’m not entirely convinced that I can actually sing.
In fantasy arguments, friends, enemies and boyfriends never interrupt you. They are usually wildly impressed with your rhetoric and you are allowed to make a dramatic exit before they run after you agreeing with absolutely everything you say, begging for your forgiveness and thanking you for the enlightenment you have bestowed upon them. I’m an optimistic girl. It could happen. But just in case it doesn’t, I am fully prepared to grovel. I just want my friends back.
Well, the best-laid plans of mice and men and quarter-life-crisis chicks don’t always come off, it seems.
For the last two weeks I have hardly seen Rosie. She came back later on the day Michael’s mum came round and we looked at each other for a long moment before she sat down.
‘Do you remember when we used to go out Friday nights, stay in the pub all day Saturday and then go out again?’ I asked her, faced suddenly with the prospect of yet another weekend in.
‘Well, things change,’ she said flatly.
‘Rosie, please let’s not let this get out of hand,’ I’d said, ready to launch into the speech I had worked on most of the afternoon. ‘We’ve been through a hard year, we’ve been through a lot together, so let’s not fall out now over what are, after all, only men …’