This is a Love Story (14 page)

she was with me. I danced and danced, it felt like it went on forever. I was even holding her close to me.’ His eyes started to well up

and he positioned his arms as though he were holding a girl. His girl.

His pain was so close to the surface, it was as if a tiny pinprick would see it all gush out like water from inside a balloon. ‘What

happened next?’ I asked, finding myself so wrapped up in our conversation it was as if nothing else existed. The deadlines, the

office, Dad, Nick – it was all just so far away now.

‘The song ended and I realised it wasn’t real. Suddenly, the song that had just given me so much joy brought out this agony

inside, so deep even my drunkenness couldn’t take the edge off. So I just kept on dancing, to an empty silence. Like a nutter. Trying

to hold onto that feeling, you know?’

There was a moment of quiet. I suddenly thought about the songs Dan used to write for me. Songs he would play me on his

guitar, record in his room, and then send to me in the post on a range of multicoloured discs. He only lived a few minutes away, but

there was something romantic about the post – well, that was what he used to say. I knew how it felt when one of those songs came

on through my earphones on the train. I knew the aching in the pit of my stomach. How I could almost smell him and feel him.

And Dan really was a bit of an idiot. He was never my husband, or the father of my child, or even someone I’d lived with and

lost. I didn’t even love him. I was testing the water. He was just this silly boy who made me cry a lot. A silly boy who lied, and filled

the gaps with ‘I love you’ when he didn’t know what else to say.

I’d got so sick and tired of his shitty mood swings, the amount of time he spent in the bathroom, and his lies, that I chucked him. It

felt great. Getting so close to Nick had made Dan seem like a Nissan Micra parked next to a Lamborghini. It became a farce. I

couldn’t continue with it, and although I didn’t stand a chance with Nick, I hoped that maybe I could find a man just like him. If

there was anyone in the world like Nick . . .

On the plus side, Dan did write good music . . . although Nick strongly disagreed with me on this. I started to think about Dan

again, his crazy hair and outlandish dress sense. I cringed a little inside.

I looked at my watch. Time was running out, as it always did when I wanted to talk to Pete.

‘So, anyway. How’s Nick?’ he asked, breaking our reflective silence with something comparatively trivial.

‘Great, thanks. We had a falling-out a while ago, and it was hard for a bit. I don’t think either of us knew how to act around each

other at first, but it was OK in the end. He’s fine now,’ I said, looking down at my tights and pulling off a bobble.

‘Have you told him yet? You know, how you feel?’

‘No, no, no, of course not. I’m trying really hard to put it to one side, you know. I just feel like too much is at stake.’

Pete looked frustrated. ‘I don’t want to pry, Sienna, but I think I understand your feelings for Nick. It’s love, and it’s the kind of

love I had with Jenny. I find it hard that neither of you will open your mouths to admit it. I’m sorry, that’s just the way I feel.’ He

looked a bit guilty and a bit angry too. It was a strange combination to witness.

‘I think too much has happened. He seems to be dating girls all over the place,’ I responded. I knew, but hadn’t quite admitted to

myself, that all these dates, all these women who had come in and out of his life, had made him seem even more out of reach. Even

more intimidating than he had been before. He hadn’t told me much about them, but I knew the vague details behind each name.

Marie, a doctor from Finsbury Park; Lisa, a graphic designer from Surrey Quays; and of course Kate, a tortured artist from Soho.

‘Look, I have to get back to the office now,’ I said, pulling a warm pasty out of my bag. ‘Here, this is for you.’

Pete smiled and took the package, tearing it open in front of me and taking deep, satisfied bites out of the flaky pastry. It was the

least I could do. He brushed his oily fingers down his trousers, leaving streaks of fat down the denim like tyre marks. The tissue

remained untouched on his left knee. Oh well . . .

I felt constantly guilty for not taking him under my wing. I regularly thought about taking him home and giving him somewhere to

rest his head, but with Dad, and the size of our flat, it was a strain the pair of us wouldn’t be able to take. I was doing what I could,

though – finding him hostels to stay at, bringing him clothes, books, bits of food, and what I hoped would be a small ray of light at

the end of the tunnel.

He’d told me he’d managed to cut out the drugs now, although I never really knew for sure. The drinking was down too,

apparently. Well, at least that was what he told me. There were certainly no cans of beer collecting around his feet nowadays, and he

was looking better, if that was possible in his situation. I really felt hope for him.

Raindrops started to fall from the sky. The stormy atmosphere was giving me a headache

‘Thanks so much, Sienna,’ he responded between giant mouthfuls of pasty. ‘Oh God, it’s starting to rain. It’s going to be a really

cold one tonight,’ he added, shuddering at the thought of it and looking towards the moody sky. ‘I wish I had somewhere to go . . .’

he tailed off, chewing even faster as the rain started to fall heavily.

I wished I could have him to stay with us, but it just wasn’t possible. And although I could talk to Pete very easily, I couldn’t

bring myself to tell him about my father. He had too much to deal with as it was; telling him about someone else’s problems just

didn’t seem right. But at the same time, this meant I couldn’t give him a good reason why I wasn’t offering him a roof over his head.

I worried he might think I was selfish, or that I didn’t care.

‘Sorry, love,’ he said then. ‘I shouldn’t moan, should I? Nothing you can do.’

‘I wish there was, Pete . . . I’ll see you soon.’ I started to walk away, thinking of how different our lives were. Yet somehow we

met in the middle and found common ground. Even if it was a bench.

The heat blasted through the door on my way in, making my contact lenses grip to my eyeballs like shards of glass.

‘Sienna, darling, what were you doing out there with that man in the cold?’ came the high-pitched inquisition from Sandra. The

phones were ringing frantically but she ignored them.

I hate the way she calls me pet names: ‘darling’, ‘love’, ‘sweet pea’ – you know the kind of thing. It gives the impression that

she’s a nice, caring person, yet when I got into trouble she expressed no desire to help me. In fact, she reported me. I didn’t trust her,

but I had to keep the peace, so I gritted my teeth and made the necessary small talk.

‘You’re going to make yourself poorly if you carry on like that,’ she said, finishing her sentence with a pearlescent pink pout in

my direction. God, she was annoying.

‘It’s OK. I have lots of layers on.’ I smiled unconvincingly, pulling at my Topshop jumper, which was quite frankly a useless

barrier against the cold. It was one of those skinny-knit numbers, the arms a pattern of arty holes. Like most of my clothes, I had

fallen deeply in love with it on a Saturday shopping trip with no real thought for its practical merits. A little like my taste in men.

‘All right, love, I’ll take your word for it.’ She smiled back, falsely. ‘Nick left this for you, by the way . . .’ She pushed a small

piece of paper across the glass desk with a naughty look on her face.

I swiped the note from her fingers and made my way up the stairs, opening it quickly in the quiet of the corridor. The paper had

been secured with a little scrap of tape to keep his words away from prying eyes. It stopped me in my tracks and I felt a dancing in

my heart. I love his writing.

I had to go to a meeting, Penguin, so I thought I’d scribble this down for you on my way out . . .

Fancy a retro gaming session tonight?

I ordered a Sega Mega Drive from eBay and I’m desperate to revisit the good times.

Text me . . .

Love, your favourite Nick

xxx

I didn’t have any other Nicks in my life, but even if I’d had a hundred, he and I both knew he would be the best.

‘Penguin’ was a new one, though . . .

This would probably mean hours of hysterical laughter; I knew what he was like, he made me laugh all the time. But this was a

first. This note seemed so full on, it was different . . . I suddenly felt really excited. A wide smile crept over my face. I’d hit the

jackpot – I knew what this meant. I’d never been to his before and this note sounded so personal. Maybe finally something might

happen . . .

What the hell was I going to wear? Had I shaved my legs? Did I even have time to shave my legs? Shit. Shit. Shit. I whipped out

my phone and told him I would see him at eight.

Nick

I had been awaiting the arrival of this parcel like it contained a vital organ. This was so exciting. The Sega Mega Drive: the curse

of my university years. I would spend night after night on it, off my tits while deadlines passed me by. And what a great time it had

been.

Somehow I still came out of university without repetitive strain injury in my thumbs, a first in classics and the ability to eat for a

week on a fiver. Luckily I overcame my obsession before I trained as a graphic artist for my postgrad.

I held onto the black console, feeling the familiar curves of the plastic. It was basic. Basic and chunky and I loved it. It had just

two bright red buttons and a large slot at the top for the games. Consoles nowadays could make you tea and wipe your bum at the

same time.

The best thing was that Sienna was coming round too and I couldn’t wait. We had talked about these consoles all those months

ago at the gaming fair, and when I was twenty-one and beating the hell out of pixellated enemies in Street Fighter, she’d been in her

teens and bouncing along the platforms of Donkey Kong. It was perfect.

She was due round in just a few minutes so I started dishing up the Chinese I’d ordered. Her favourite was shredded beef, mine

was sweet and sour chicken. I knew she would definitely eat some of mine too, so I’d ordered extra.

There was a quiet knock at the door, three gentle strikes. The cold night air filled the hallway as I let her in.

‘Sienna!’ I shouted, as if I was surprised to see her, scooping her into my arms and giving her a big hug. Her little frame was

buried beneath a trendy winter coat, which she threw off as she rushed into the kitchen. Her presence was a little like a miniature

whirlwind. I could never quite keep up with it.

‘Yes! You’ve bought my favourite!’ she cried, clutching a huge bottle of cider for us to share. We carried the contraband into the

living room, pulling the curtains shut and pushing the world out. It was just me and my favourite girl now.

A tiny lamp in the corner of my living room was all we needed; the TV was flickering a harsh blue light as it waited for the fun to

start.

‘I take it your dad’s OK tonight?’ I questioned, tearing the paper packaging on a bag of prawn crackers, the contents spilling all

over the carpet.

‘Yeah, he’s fine, Nick. I think he was glad to see me out of the house so he could have some peace.’ She straightened her back as

she answered, the memory of our row obviously still fresh in her mind. She started to shovel forkfuls of takeaway into her mouth.

The girl can eat. I love that about her.

I opened the cider and poured it out, the cold liquid immediately creating a thin coat of condensation on the exterior of the glasses.

I didn’t know what to do first – gulp the drink, hog the food, or tell Sienna how I felt. (Although I wondered if I would actually

pluck up the courage to do the latter.) This was wonderful.

‘Nick, I’ve been talking to Pete again lately, you know . . .’

‘Who’s Pete?’

‘That homeless guy who sits on the car park bench at work.’

‘What do you keep talking to him for, Si? You nearly got into serious trouble over that.’

‘I know, I know, but I keep feeling bad that I haven’t invited him to live with me and Dad for a bit. I’ve been thinking about it for

a long time.’

I suddenly felt a bit awed by her. Sitting next to me was a girl in her early twenties who seemed to have more room in her heart to

care than anyone else I had ever known. She had enough to contend with looking after her dad; she shouldn’t be worrying about

how to mend everyone else’s lives. She was so in tune with the world, so grown-up for someone so young that it scared me a little.

However, I couldn’t help feeling that her idea was a little on the naive side . . .

‘I understand where you’re coming from, but wouldn’t that be too hard on you and your dad?’ I queried.

‘Well, that’s just it. It would be really hard. The flat is small, and life is difficult enough for him already. But I still feel bad about

it.’ She looked at me, searching for answers in my silly face like she so often did.

Sienna was so kind I was convinced she must spend the majority of her life feeling guilty. If it weren’t for her dad and the

limitations of space, she would probably have a house full of homeless people, stray dogs, kittens, pigeons, and lonely elderly people

she had helped onto buses. It was ridiculous.

I didn’t know much about this homeless bloke, but I knew he was lucky to have her in his life. Despite her beauty there was not a

drop of arrogance in her soul. And I knew why: Sienna was so gorgeous people just didn’t tell her. How couldn’t she know? That