The Cupid Effect (33 page)

She nodded.

‘Sorry,' I mumbled, then stared out across the lake, everything seemed green up here. Green and wet. Haze hung over the lake, moisture oozed out of the air. You could feel the wetness in the atmosphere as you inhaled and exhaled. Except I couldn't because her emotions were choking the life out of me, making it hard to even breathe. I didn't want to be around her much longer, but I couldn't get up and walk away. I'd started this.

‘How long have you been married?' I asked.

‘Fifteen years,' she said in a small, small voice. She married him a year after I'd been born. I'd barely have been walking when she said ‘I do' to him.

Her expression was taut across her face, each facial muscle tensed while she tried to control herself, then she crumpled, giving in to tears.

Now look what you've done.
‘I'm really sorry,' I said. ‘I didn't mean to upset you.'

‘It's not you,' she said through her tears. She wiped her sleeve across her eyes; I would've offered her a tissue but decided she probably didn't want the dried-up snot rag that had been squatting in my jacket pocket since last winter.

‘You just . . . when I thought about marriage it wasn't meant to be like this. You don't think it'll turn out like this. And I don't know how to get out. I just don't know.'

I put my arm around her shoulder, it was expected, and who had started her blubbing?
Moi
. She leant in to me and started sobbing for real. I thought I'd seen crying before, but I hadn't. She wailed and talked and explained her predicament. All the while talking like she expected me to have some answers. I had no answers, I was sixteen for heaven's sake. I hadn't kissed a boy, much less gone out with one, got married and worked out how to leave him if he started to destroy my soul.

We sat at the lakeside for a long time. And then she got up, dried her eyes, dried her nose and wandered off into the mist that had settled over the path leading to the lodge. I sat waiting, counting seconds, waiting until she got far enough away so that I could get up and run back to the lodge. It was creepy out there and I'd seen a horror film or two in my time. In fact, by the time I went speed walking back to the dormitory we were staying in, I'd convinced myself a monster lived at the bottom of the lake and Jason from
Friday the 13th
or
Halloween
or whatever was lurking in the bushes with his carving knife and hockey mask. But that was a hyperactive imagination for you.

I never saw her again. The woman. I never knew her name, I just knew her ailment. And, while she constantly came to mind, while I hoped it'd been all right in the end and that she worked out how to pack a bag and walk away for ever, I never did find out what happened.

Things had continued from there. Since that holiday, my life had never been uncomplicated or uncoupled from the intimate lives of others.

I shut the front door a little too loudly as I dripped and squelched into the house. The anger in the slam brought Jake to the living room door.

His eyes doubled in size when he saw me.

‘Cezza! Look at the state of you! Are you all right?' He came to me, obviously ready to offer comfort.

‘I'm fine,' I snapped. ‘Perfectly fine, thank you very much.'

I hadn't forgotten his role in my current predicament. I didn't want his help or affection or a hug. Especially not when I knew how cross he was with me about Ed. I trailed a wet patch up to my bedroom.

I cried as I took off my sodden clothes. Not as big a cry as I did at Jess's place. More a constant cry. For one who didn't cry very often, I was certainly making up for it. I trembled and cried during the whole disrobing and showering and putting on my pyjamas process.

It was like I'd just been chucked by my first love, my big love and my dream love at the same time. Except, this was worse. More painful. This wasn't merely the loss of love, the loss of
grand amour
, this was the loss of the
idea
of love. This was accepting that it'd never happen to me, that I would shuffle off this mortal coil without ever knowing what really being in love feels like. Without knowing I could be myself, my nasty self, my nice self, my manic self, my depressive self, my hopeful self, my totally fucking loony shouldn't someone lock me up self with someone and still find they loved me. Still find they were there in the morning.

Getting to the end of my life and finding it'd never happened would be one thing; knowing at this stage of the game it'd never happen just made me want to take my ball home and never play again.

What was the point? I'd never win. Not when I had this Cupid thing oozing out of my skin.

I remember reading this quote once that went something like: ‘A poor person who is unhappy is in a better position than a rich person who is unhappy. Because the poor person has hope. He thinks money would help.' Much like myself. I thought love will help.

After two days in bed, feeling soooo sorry for myself I could-n't even bear to put on
Angel
because the pain of knowing he'd never love me was too great, I realised something. All I had to do was break the curse. If I wasn't so loving, so caring, so open to callers twenty-four/seven, how the hell could I be Cupid?

All I had to do was not be Cupid.

So simple, it was scary.

All I really had to do was be cold. Be a cow. Start secreting negative hormones like the rest of the population.

How hard could that be?

chapter thirty-two

No Life Contact

Claudine knocked on my office door the very next day. I knew it was her because she'd rung my mobile earlier and left a message asking if I was coming to college. I hadn't called her back. And when she knocked and turned the handle, I froze. Sat very still and held my breath in case she put her ear to the door, listening for signs of life.

The door was locked. I'd come in to surf the Net on my time and college money and prepare for the next day's lecture and tutorials. I had the time to talk to Claudine, but not the inclination.

My time was my own now. It'd do no good to start off on the wrong foot by talking to Claudine. Even though I wanted someone else to run all this Cupid Effect stuff by, I didn't want to be in a position where I might have to listen to any more of their traumas. That was part of the problem, wasn't it? I felt it, I dealt it.

She knocked again for luck, in case I'd fallen asleep and hadn't heard her the first time. This was unnatural, not jumping up and running to the door to open it. Not being ready to listen and offer advice, but I'd get over it. I'd have to. I was doing this for the good of my health and for the good of my love life. It was for their own good, too. I wouldn't always be around, would I? I might go back to London in February when my contract came to an end – who would they whinge at then? Who would they blame their mess on? They had to stand on their own two feet. Accept that what ailed them was of their own doing. I didn't ask them to shag their friends or to hate their students or to give up college.

Yeah, Ceri, say it a few more times and you'll believe it.

Claudine wandered off and I ignored the urge to leap up and sprint after her, check she was all right. I turned to my computer screen, got back to reading movie scripts.

‘Hi, Ceri,' Claudine called down the corridor later that week as I left the office.

I'd been doing the locking-the-door thing whenever I was alone in the office, I didn't go to the common room or to the library, not the library in college, anyway. I hid in a variety of pubs within walking distance of the college. Sometimes I'd go to the main university library, careful not to run into Jake or Ed. If I went to a pub down in Horsforth, I made sure it was different to the one I'd been to the day before – I wanted to ensure that if someone saw me somewhere one day, they wouldn't be able to ‘accidentally' find me there the next day.

It was like being on the run, I felt like a modern-day David Banner at the end of each episode of the
Incredible Hulk
, slinging his bag on his shoulder and wandering off to another town where no one had heard of the Hulk. I also felt like the original
Fugitive
, with one eye over his shoulder on the police and one eye in front, searching for the one-armed man who'd offed his wife. I was constantly moving, constantly aware that I might be spotted by someone who knew me and wanted to talk to me.

At home, so as to avoid Jake and Ed, I hid in my room until they'd gone to sleep then made dinner. I called my family so they wouldn't call me and if one of the lads came knocking, I pretended to be asleep or naked.

It was a lonely experience, I spent a lot of time in my head or with my nose in a book or itching to be doing something that involved other people – but I'd get over it. I had to. This was an extension, I suppose, of the no eye contact thing. This was no life contact.

I didn't realise, though, how much I lived for human contact. I thrived on it. Not the ‘please sort out my life' part that seemed to plague my very existence. My new life did nothing to help the loneliness I felt hounded by. Duh. It just accentuated it. The irony of it being, I was avoiding eye contact in the life sense; I was being alone now so I wouldn't be alone for ever. The desired ends would simply have to justify the means.

‘Haven't seen you around much,' Claudine continued, although clearly,
clearly
I was getting ready to chew half my body off to get away from her. ‘I've called you loads. And emailed you.'

I shifted weight from one foot to the other. ‘I know,' I said, stifling the urge to explain and/or apologise for not being her personal, unpaid therapist, while swiftly asking her what the problem was. And, if I needed any more reminding, she, like most people, wouldn't give a monkey's left eyebrow what ailed me.

‘Are you OK?' she asked.

‘Yup, fine,' I replied.

She looked at me, I looked at her. Silence came to us like a soft falling of snow. Claudine was wondering how big-mouth Ceri had mutated into duo-syllabic woman; I was wondering how I was going to keep it up.

‘Have you been avoiding me?' she asked.

‘Course not.'
I've been avoiding everyone, you're nothing special in that respect. It's nothing personal.

Claudine's elfin-cut hair had grown. She seemed older, taller. That was because she was skinnier. Probably not eating properly because of the
ménage à trois
she was embroiled in. A truthful word or two from me could end it. I could say what she needed to hear. It wasn't my place, not now – it never had been. I ached for her though. My heart reached out to her. I wanted to make her safe. I wanted her to eat properly, to sleep properly, to live properly, and if I could help her do that, then . . . but what if she gets to a place like this again and I'm not around? She'll totally fall apart, won't she?

‘Claudine, I can't talk right now, I've got to dash,' I forced myself to say. ‘Bye.'

‘Is it cos I punched Mel?' she said, stepping into my path.

‘Sorry?'

‘Are you pissed off with me because I punched Mel?'

‘Course not,' I replied.

She didn't look convinced.

‘Claudine, you can punch whoever you want. Apart from me. If you punch me, I'll kung fu your ass. But I don't mind who you punch.'

‘I've missed our chats. Are you sure I haven't done something to upset you?'

I nodded. ‘I've been very, very busy. Loads of research to do.'

‘If you're sure . . .'

I nodded. ‘I'll see ya, bye.' Guilt pounded in my head as I walked away.

From Mel, I got: ‘Is it because I said you were quite vaguely attractive?'

‘Nope, I'm busy.'

From Ed: ‘Is it cos Robyn might be moving in?'

‘Nope, I'm busy.'

From Jake: ‘Is it cos I had a go at you about Ed?'

‘Nope, I'm busy.'

From Gwen: ‘Oh, Ceri, I'm glad I caught you. Demon year group have pushed me too far this time and I'm goi—'

‘You wanna be talking to an exorcist, mate.' Of course, I didn't say that. I just remembered a phone call to my parents I had to return, told her I'd be right back and went off home.

It made me pause and think, though, that they all – apart from Gwen – thought that they had offended me with their small acts. I suppose, if I was in their position, I'd rack my brains for some explanation as to why someone who was available twenty-four/seven had suddenly shut up shop. But, I'd started so I'd finish. It was a lot more difficult than I expected. As hard as breathing without two functioning lungs, as hard as thinking without a brain. Totally unnatural.

chapter thirty-three

Slip Up

‘Hi, it's Ceri, isn't it?'

I kept my head down as I nodded. I so did not want to talk to this person. Of all the people on earth, I did not want to talk to him. I'd spotted him across the bar in Leeds City Centre that I was doing my marking in and hadn't got my stuff together fast enough to make a run for it.

That'll learn me to get everything out on the table. Just have what you need out, the rest of the stuff should be piled up, ready to be hoisted into my arms, so I could peg it at a moment's notice. (Some Fugitive/Incredible Hulk type person I was. I couldn't even get out of a pub in under thirty seconds. Imagine if I really had the police and a reporter after me, I'd be done for.)

‘Do you mind if I join you?' he asked, sitting down anyway.

He, who? He whose name was not to be mentioned in our house. He who slept with the fishes (and every other form of aquatic life for all I knew). He who was named Terry at birth but had been renamed The Git by me. Him, Jake's man. Or not, as the case was. I'd seen pictures of him. I'd even been introduced to him once long ago at a party Jake, Ed and I went to. Now he was sitting opposite me as I said, ‘I'm a bit busy right now.' Even though it'd been a week and a bit into my no life contact, I still hadn't managed the art of being outright rude, but I didn't look at him as I told him I wasn't free to chat.