Twinned (8 page)

It’s the night before my wedding to Richard. I
am sleeping over at mum’s house in my old bedroom with the heart pattern wallpaper and the small vanity sink with the mirror above it that I learned to whistle in. I remember the ‘brushing my teeth’ chart that used to be stuck on the tiles. I idly wonder where that went.

We had dinner tonight, mum, dad and Katie and I. We looked through old albums at photos of days long gone. I felt really emotional. The loss of Joel from my head has made me miss a whole load of things. I feel very sentimental right now. Tomorrow is a fresh start. But am I ready?

I did not tell Richard about the letter.
Only Elisa and I know about it. I haven’t had any more letters from Selina. I have decided to wait until after the wedding to speak to Richard.

I know,
I know
how that sounds and Elisa was not a fan of the idea when I told her. But I also told her about the flashes, for which she says that the stress of the wedding could be to blame.

In hindsight, I have lied to Richard almost as much as he has lied to me. And why did I lie? To protect him and to protect me from the possibility of losing him. Richard has probably lied for exactly the same reasons.

I put on my nightie, turn out the light and open the curtains. It’s something I used to do as a child; lay on my bed in the moonlight and watch the dark sky and the stars. I wonder if Joel can see the same stars somewhere? I wonder if he thinks of me?

I remember that, if he does think of me it’s probably not so fondly.

My eyes hurt, so I close them. When I was about 13 years old I read a book on astral projection. I used to spend hours laying in this very bed, trying to leave my body through the power of meditation. It’s laughable really. Crap meditation - I was a typical adolescent and couldn’t concentrate for toffee.

I remember that, after about 20 minutes or so of lying very still, I would get the rather disconcerting sensation of not being able to ‘feel’ myself in my body anymore. Usually, you are aware that your hands are touching the duvet, or your hair is across your face. But when I was really into the meditation I would stop feeling these sensations. I would panic and quickly wiggle my fingers and toes to check that I still could. It would break the spell, and then I’d give up and go to sleep.

I wonder now if I could do that again but be brave enough not to stop myself. Could I meditate on travelling somewhere now?

I know it’s silly but I decide to try it.

I relax back against the pillows and wriggle comfortably into the soft mattress. I remember that you are supposed to put your palms face down by your side rather than on your belly, though I have no idea why. I start to take a series of slow, deep breaths. I try to concentrate on inhaling good energy, which I imagine to be white and exhaling bad, which I see as yellow. Then I endeavour to relax my body with each breath, imagining that I am sinking down deeper into the bed. I try to clear my mind by letting thoughts come and go, until there are almost none left.

I see a black screen with swirling shapes behind my eyelids. I try to paint a picture in my mind’s eye. A picture of Joel. I won’t try to contact him. I just want to imagine seeing him one last time. I try to feel the way he feels, it’s like tuning into a frequency at which he resonates within me. I kind of think
sideways
... W.I.D.E… I can’t explain it any better.

It’s working. At least, I imagine it is. I feel myself rising upwards into a star-filled night sky. I am suspended in the air marvelling at the pin pricks of silver light and the beauty of the village scene below me. And now I am flying. It’s a bit scary at first. I want to get the hang of it better so I have a little practice, darting up and down, left and right. Soon I start to feel more in control. Wow, this is quite fun.

I fly fast over blurring landscapes and then over the sea for what feels like an age. The sea looks terrifying to me, cold and deep and vast and black. I persevere, concentrating on the stars, which give me a feeling of all-pervading calm. Slowly the sky starts to lighten, imperceptibly at first, until I begin to see a glowing sunset reflected on the tops of snow-covered mountains. Within a few more minutes the sky lightens further making me feel like I have travelled through time as well as space. Mapped out below me is a series of towns and cities. The sky lightens further still and I notice with childish joy the subtle curve of the Earth. It’s awe-inspiring. This certainly feels more real than I would expect from an imaginary journey.

Now the sun is warming my back, my face and my hands. Sunshine; a smile-inducing heat. I am following my heart, all the way to San Diego.

But before I can get as far as to reach the desert or the canyons and ocean beyond, I am stopped abruptly by an immediate sense that
this is the place
. I look down to see that I am suspended above a dark green forest of thin, waving trees. Somehow I know this is where I need to be. I swoop down, down, down; riding the cool waves of air from the North that will carry me down to the ground.  

As I near the tops of the trees I feel my first lurch of vertigo as my eyes appreciate their astonishing height; evidence of how far I have to fall.

But I don’t fall; I am safely drifting into the top of the forest. The light changes and I am welcomed by a rising orchestra of birdsong. I take care to mind the branches as I negotiate my descent.

With a gentle bump I find myself standing next to a beautiful, gentle river. Clear water bubbles and spills over pebbles and rocks. The river spans what I would guess is almost twenty feet across and its muddy banks are sheltered by younger, light green, leafy trees that cast dappled light. I hear a rustling above me which could only be animals in the trees, maybe squirrels or birds.

So why am I here in this beautiful place alone? I walk just a few steps before the sound of approaching voices makes me jump. I am about to hide when I realise that there really is no point. After all, this is just my imagination. That’s all it is. So I stand my ground.

A group of guys round the bend. They are carrying camping stuff; sleeping bags, a fishing net. Oh God, I recognise them... And there at the back is Joel. He is wearing a tourist's sombrero, skinny black jeans, a black t-shirt and tan boots. He has a full face of stubble now; almost a beard. He is looking down at his feet while he walks; kind of kicking at the pebbles. He's deep in thought and, though the others are chatting about the trail up ahead and a waterfall they are off to see, it’s like he’s disconnected.

I start to step sideways so that I can watch them from behind a group of trees. I know I’m not
really
there - I’m just imagining this of course - but I am overcome with a sense of how real this seems, so I feel embarrassed to be snooping. As I move, I step on a twig and the shock of hearing it crack - loudly - makes me gasp.

“What the -“

The guys stop, they look back towards the sound. Joel looks too. Crap! I am wearing a Minnie Mouse nightie for Christ’s sake. Real or not real, I hide behind the nearest tree trunk. Before they can register a shape through the leaves I decide to leave. Visit over, time to go home. Come on, I think, fly on out of here Beth. Come on...

Nothing happens.

Desperate, I even try clicking my heels together.

Nothing.

Joel’s friends, one of whom I recognise as the lead guitarist, start to walk towards the trees. He is laughing. He stops, theatrically, hands on hips. “Place your bets – is it a big fat moose, or an intrepid photographer?” He says, making an action with his hands like he’s cocking a rifle. They all fall about laughing. All apart from Joel, who passes them. He strides purposefully over, seemingly unconcerned at what he might find. He reaches around the side of the tree and pulls back the leaves of the branch between us.

Joel looks right at me.

I look at him.

Oh. His eyes are beautiful. His skin, up close, is pretty much perfect. I can make out the shape of his abs beneath his t-shirt. He raises an eyebrow. I can’t think. I can’t even work out if he looks angry or not. Time stops for a second or two. Then his eyes clock the Minnie Mouse nightie and I almost see the corner of his mouth turn up a little. Just a little.

He has beautiful lips. I remember how those lips felt to kiss.

I blush.

He doesn’t skip a beat. “Whatever it was it’s gone now,” he drawls. His eyes bore into mine. “Come on guys. Let’s find this waterfall before sunset.”

My heart is thumping so loud I am sure they can all hear. He turns on his heels without any suggestion to the others that he saw me and wanders off up the path. “Hell I’m hungry!” He shouts, amiably. The guys follow.

And just like that I
whoosh
straight back up into the air, elated and batting away branches from my face. I am powered by a soaring in my heart, which is on fire in my chest like a rocket engine. Faster and faster I fly. I feel excited, scared, lucky, silly. I retrace my journey from the sunset to the darkness, over sea and over land. The return journey feels quicker somehow. I am on a high.

When I reach London, which thank God is hard to miss, I start to feel concerned that I might not be able to find my way home. Some sort of instinct kicks in and I just know when to swoop back down. There is the church on the hill... and the parade of shops and the school playing field. As I near my mother’s house, I start to yawn. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea the night before my wedding. I close my eyes briefly and, when I open them, I am surprised to see I am back in my bed.

I get up, feeling dizzy and walk across the room to the vanity sink. I almost expect my hair to be a mess, or to find a leaf sticking to my foot.

But there’s nothing of course. Nothing to say whether it was real or not.

Though of course, it can’t have been.

March the 4th
- our wedding day – dawned bright and cool. Lymenton Manor was even more beautiful than I had remembered it. Fresh flowers adorned the staircase that I walked down, past garlands of pink and white roses, holding my dad’s arm tight as I approached Richard and the Registrar.

A strange calm came over me. Everything went to plan and I smiled so much my face hurt, just like my friends who were already married had said it would.

I wore a cream sheath dress from Brides Reloaded, a local designer dress store that sells fantastic pre-loved gowns. I’d had my heart set on the dress from the moment Katie and I saw it in the window, the light bouncing off of the hundreds of tiny crystals embroidered onto the bodice.

Richard said I sparkled my way down the aisle. The dress was - kind of - my something borrowed. (Almost borrowed, it was £270 instead of £1,200.) My something old was a beautiful lace veil that my mum wore on her wedding day. For the something new, my three bridesmaids wore hot pink dresses that my mum had a seamstress make to fit them and they carried gorgeous hand-tied posies of baby pink roses.

My something blue? Well I am sorry to say that was a tiny, weeny little piece of my heart. Don’t get me wrong; my wedding was wonderful; I loved it. But all the while I was hyper-aware that I was now married, Joel was married, I was now tied to Richard and Richard was possibly not the perfect man I had made him out to be to my family.

What Joel and I had never really had, was over. What Richard and I had would last, I was sure. We could work this out. I felt that Etienne should see his father, if it was indeed Richard; I just needed to have that discussion with Richard
at the right time
. And the right time was not pre-wedding. Or immediately post-wedding.

But Joel… thoughts of Joel haunted me. The worst thing was that I would always
see
him everywhere. Posters, articles; ‘Town Full of Heroes’ was getting more and more exposure and it seemed that everywhere I turned there was a great big picture of Joel. This time, everyone else could see Joel, too. This time, I was the one trying hard not to.

Possibly the sickest, cruellest act of fate had been on the way to the wedding reception; a huge great billboard promoting their new album. A twenty foot high Joel, staring me down. I’d already heard the album, after pre-ordering it months ago. It was full of tracks that seemed to speak only to me. Yes I know that’s what fans - and stalkers - say but I felt the words were very personal.

Then came a big shock. Richard and I had not planned to have a honeymoon yet. We talked about it but as he could only get five days off from work we decided to wait until the following year, then save our leave and take a full three weeks off. That way we could do Australia and maybe Singapore. So I didn’t expect him to present me during his speech at the reception with tickets to Las Vegas.

The chances of Joel’s band being in Vegas during the short trip Richard had booked were really, really slim. They travel all the time, they could be anywhere in the world. Even if they did happen to be in Vegas, the chances of running into Joel were a million to one. Nevertheless, it hurt to imagine being so near - yet so very far – to San Diego. And I couldn’t help but feel concerned that we were in some way destined to meet. It felt like tempting fate. And on my honeymoon, of all things…

As excited as I was about going to Vegas, I couldn’t help but feel that the two worlds Joel and I had been holding apart for the last six months were about to collide.

And because of the distress I still felt about Richard, perhaps a sick part of me wanted them to.