I firmly disputed this, plus his ridiculous claim that everyone was judging him for being ‘a country bumpkin, too thick to go to uni’. This annoyed me, because I’d seen how much effort they’d made to include him, while he’d been surly and monosyllabic. He’d also drunk twice as much alcohol as anyone else, tried to pick a fight with the boyfriend of one of my closest pals, and been sick in the corridor outside my room, leaving me to clean up after him.
He left on bad terms, although when we spoke by phone a couple of days later, I thought we managed to iron things out. Apparently not. He went off and did what he did, then hid it from me right over the festive period.
I had a feeling something was wrong even before we saw each other in person again. I never suspected the terrible truth, though, or anything close to it. I genuinely didn’t think he had it in him to inflict such pain on me. But after him being weird throughout the holidays, avoiding being alone with me and making one excuse after another not to have sex, my suspicions were through the roof.
We were attending a party at the house of an old school friend on New Year’s Eve and at 11.30 p.m., I dragged him into the back garden and confronted him. Finally, he broke down and told me everything. He was crying and shaking and begging and pleading; I just had to get away from him.
‘Please, Rose. It was a mistake. A dreadful one, I know, but it didn’t mean anything. I was hammered. The whole thing’s a blur. It was—’
‘Didn’t mean anything?’ I spat, raging. ‘You’re disgusting. What did I ever see in you? We’re done. Once and for all.’
‘No, don’t say that! I’ll never do it again, I promise. I love you so much, Rose. Please forgive me. At least hear me out.’ He tried to grab my hand, but I shoved him away as hard as I could and, before he could react further, stormed alone into the busy kitchen, slamming the door behind me and turning the key in the lock to keep him outside.
‘Rose, is everything all right?’ I heard a female voice call over the loud music. But I couldn’t deal with anyone, so I continued into the empty hallway, quietly let myself out of the front door and slipped off into the darkness. I walked for a bit, not allowing my brain to think about anything at all, and it wasn’t until the cold air started to bite that I even realised I’d left without my coat. I pulled my mobile out of my handbag and looked at the time: 11.48 p.m. Almost midnight. Fantastic. What was I supposed to do now?
There was only one thing for it: I rang Dad, who was meant to be over at Cara’s parents’ house for a dinner party.
‘Rose,’ he said down the line. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Where are you?’ I asked, surprised not to hear any background noise from his end.
‘Oh, I’m at home. I couldn’t face going in the end. Don’t judge me. I thought I’d have a quiet one by myself instead. Where are you? It doesn’t sound like there’s much of a party going on.’
I burst into tears and it took Dad a couple of minutes to get any sense out of me. As soon as he did, he jumped in the car to fetch me, insisting that I walk to a nearby pub and wait inside for him, rather than staying out in the cold. Having promised to do this, I entered the bright lights of the packed bar area on the stroke of midnight.
I distinctly remember standing there, like a spare part, as everyone around me erupted into an elated cry of ‘Happy New Year!’, kissing and hugging each other, shouting, cheering and clapping.
Soon someone started singing ‘Auld Lang Syne’ and most people joined in, slurring and fudging their way through the song as I continued to stand there, alone and silent, wishing the sticky wooden floor would swallow me up.
I looked at my phone, which was on mute; I saw there were now several missed calls from Ryan as well as a couple from Cara, who’d also been at the party. I texted her back to say I was safe and not to worry. As for Ryan, I ignored that bloody bastard, which was the only way I could think of him at that moment.
‘Cheer up, love,’ a boozy man’s voice said close to my ear as he passed by carrying a round of drinks. ‘It might never happen.’
It already has, I thought, ignoring him and his stupid comment.
I considered going to the bar myself, mainly to kill time and give me something to do. However, it was jam-packed and there was nothing I wanted, anyway, other than for Dad to arrive to rescue me.
Eventually, feeling awkward and terribly alone, I decided to hide out in the ladies for a while, only to get there and find a long, slow-moving queue to enter. I joined it briefly before giving up. Instead, I continued along the corridor, turning the corner on the hunt for a quiet spot to hide, only to come across a separate accessible toilet that appeared unoccupied.
When I opened the door, seeing no harm in using it for a minute or two to spend a penny, I came across a woman kneeling on the floor, head in the toilet bowl, vomiting. She had short grey hair and was wearing a sparkly black dress.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t know anyone was in here.’ She didn’t acknowledge me, too busy emptying her stomach. The smell made me gag, so I closed the door again and took a step back.
I did consider walking away, but with nothing better to do, I decided to remain there to stop anyone else barging in on the puking woman, as well as to make sure she emerged in one piece and didn’t need any assistance.
To my surprise, when she did exit the toilet, staggering, wet-faced and generally looking the worse for wear, I recognised her. It was one of my old teachers from secondary school, Miss Murdoch, who must have been in her mid-fifties by that point. She’d taught me history for the two years leading up to GCSEs and I’d always thought of her as strait-laced and boring. I turned my head in a bid to avoid her eye. However, she remained standing right in front of me, a puzzled look on her face.
‘Hello,’ I said when it became apparent that she wasn’t moving on.
She hiccupped. ‘I know you, don’t I?’
‘Yes, Miss Murdoch,’ I said, flashing her a swift smile. ‘You used to teach me at Riverside.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Shh!’ she said, hiccupping again before holding up her forefinger, trying to place it in front of her lips but missing and hitting her nose instead. ‘Oops, I’m a bit squiffy.’ She giggled. ‘I should know your name, but … I can’t stop – hic – yes that. So annoying.’
‘It’s Rose. Rose Hughes.’
‘Yes!’ she said, far louder than necessary, waving her finger in my face so I took a step back. ‘Rose, that’s it. Rose and … don’t tell me … Ryan, right? I remember you two lovebirds – hic – always holding hands when you thought no one was watching. Are you still together? Is Ryan here too?’
This caught me off guard. A swell of emotion rose up in my chest and my eyes flooded with tears. I wanted to say something in reply, but it was like my throat and mouth had seized up.
Miss Murdoch looked horrified. ‘I – hic – sorry, I didn’t mean to, um, upset you. Are you all right?’
She leaned in close enough so I got a whiff of vomit, forcing me to step back again. I nodded that I was okay but still couldn’t get any words out.
Thankfully, at that moment, my father came around the corner at a pace. ‘Oh, Rose, there you are,’ he said. ‘Thank goodness. Why aren’t you answering your phone? I’ve been looking all over the pub for you. I was on the verge of barging into the ladies.’
I ran into his arms, squeezed my eyes shut and hugged the only man in the world I knew I could trust.
He stroked my hair. ‘I’m here now. I’ve got you.’
I’m not exactly sure what happened to Miss Murdoch after that. I wasn’t paying attention, although she probably slinked off back into the bar.
I remember Dad did ask me who she was in the car on the way home. He may even have said she looked familiar, but I was too worn out to explain, so I pretended she was a drunk passer-by.
‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’ Dad asked while making us both a hot chocolate in the kitchen at home.
‘Not tonight,’ I repli
ed. ‘I don’t have the energy. Tomorrow?’
‘Whenever you’re ready, Dimples. You’re okay, though?’
‘I will be, but it might take a while.’ I felt my eyes well up yet again as I added: ‘Ryan broke my heart into little pieces tonight.’
Dad handed me my hot chocolate, ruffling my hair as he did so. ‘I’m really sorry to hear that, Rose.’
He reserved passing judgement until I eventually found the strength to tell him the full story the next day, as much as it pained and shamed me to repeat Ryan’s misdeed. Meanwhile, he was just there for me.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I told him. ‘For everything. I’d have been lost without you tonight.’
‘That’s what dads are for. Me not going to that dinner party was meant to be. It didn’t feel right. Now we know why. I was needed elsewhere.’ He shook his head. ‘Plus I think they were trying to set me up with this single friend of theirs. I’ve met her once before and she’s definitely not my type. She’s nice-looking enough, but so timid and jittery. I remember feeling on edge just talking to her for a couple of minutes, like I’d had five double espressos.’
‘Oh, Dad,’ I said, taking a sweet sip from my steaming mug. ‘You shouldn’t be so closed off to new possibilities.’
‘I take your point, but trust me on this one, love. Her name is Drusilla and she’s a taxidermist.’
‘What? As in someone who stuffs dead animals? Gross.’
Dad winked. ‘I may have made that bit up, but she’s definitely not for me.’
‘I’m surprised Cara didn’t mention her,’ I said. ‘Mind you, she was busy familiarising herself with her new boyfriend’s lips most of the night.’
‘Was she now?’ Dad raised an eyebrow. ‘She did find time to call me to ask if I knew where you were. She was worried, but I told her it was under control. You should give her a call tomorrow, Rose.’
‘I will. But I’ve turned my phone off for now, in case you-know-who calls. If he rings the home phone or turns up here, will you get rid of him? I really don’t want to see him.’
‘Consider it done.’
CHAPTER 15
Ryan came round to the house on New Year’s Day. He drove his mum’s white Vauxhall Corsa on to the drive at around three o’clock that afternoon. I happened to be looking out of the window at the time. I ran to my bedroom, shouting: ‘Dad, he’s here! You can’t let him in.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Dad said in a steady voice. ‘I’ve got this.’
He knew the full story by that point. His eyes had burned with fury as I’d told him exactly what Ryan had done. I wondered if he might take a swing at him on the doorstep, something I both did and didn’t want to happen.
Too curious to stay in my room, I crept out on to the landing, near the banister at the top of the stairs, where I could hear but not see what was happening at the front door.
I heard the sound of the door opening, immediately followed by my dad’s voice. ‘What do you want, Ryan?’
‘Is Rose here? Please could I speak to her?’
‘No, just go. You’re not welcome here any longer. She doesn’t want to see or hear from you and neither do I. You’ve got a real cheek coming here after what you did, do you know that?’
‘I want to apologise; to explain. I also have her coat. She left it at the party last night.’
‘Fine, I’ll take that. But don’t expect a thank you. Let me explain this to you, Ryan. If you come here again, you’ll leave with a black eye or worse. Are we clear? And don’t bother calling her either, because she won’t answer. You’ve burned your bridges. Live with it. Now sling your hook.’
If Ryan had anything else to say, he didn’t get a chance, as the door was slammed shut.
I crept back into my bedroom, where I’d already closed the curtains, and lay on my bed feeling utterly miserable.
Dad appeared at the door a short while later. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, I watched him drive away. Hopefully he won’t be back any time soon. I told him not to call you either, but you may be best to block his number. He brought your coat back, by the way.’
‘I know. I was listening from the landing.’
‘Oh, I see. Fair enough.’ He cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, still hovering in the doorway.
‘I thought you handled it perfectly, Dad,’ I said, sensing he needed to hear this. ‘I know it must have felt a bit weird. Thank you.’
I didn’t see Ryan again for ages after that, not even to exchange the bits and bobs of each other’s stuff we had. There was nothing I wanted back badly enough to go through the pain of facing him. At uni, I immersed myself in my studies as well as partying more than before. I tried not to think about Ryan, although it was harder when I was home again for a long period over the summer holidays between first and second year, especially as we’d talked about going away together then.
I saw a lot of Cara, who’d recently finished her A levels and was looking forward to starting at the University of Edinburgh that autumn. The two of us booked a last-minute trip to Mallorca for a week in August, which was amazing fun. We both made the most of being single, partying until the early hours every night and flirting left, right and centre without ever letting things get too out of hand.
A couple of days after we got back, when I was still sun-kissed and nicely chilled, I finally bumped into Ryan for the first time while out catching up with some other old schoolfriends in a pub garden.
‘Hello, stranger,’ he said, approaching me as I was waiting to get served at the outside bar. ‘I’ve missed you. You look amazing, like you’ve just stepped off the beach or something.’
He looked good too, in dark jeans and a fitted white T-shirt that showed off his muscled physique. However, I’d seen more than enough good-looking guys in tight clothes during my week abroad to be impressed – and there was no way I was complimenting him back.
I realised I no longer felt angry at him. Apparently, I’d moved on at last. ‘Hello, Ryan,’ I said. ‘How are you?’
We didn’t chat for long – five minutes probably – before going our separate ways, but it was enough to clear the air. When we next ran into each other, some months later, while I was back for Christmas, I was able to greet him with a peck on the cheek. Even though it brought back memories of the disastrous previous New Year’s Eve, I was strong and confident enough not to be fazed. I almost enjoyed our conversation that time, particularly when we spoke about our schooldays. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt when he told me he was going out with a pretty girl I vaguely remembered from Cara’s year at school and ‘things were going well’. I took it in my stride, though, telling him in turn that I’d been seeing a few people at uni but nothing serious. I walked away feeling like a line had been drawn under our relationship once and for all.
Of course, it hadn’t. I wouldn’t be getting married to him next week, otherwise, would I? But it wasn’t until the summer holidays after that – at the end of my second year at uni – that it occurred to me I might still have feelings for Ryan.
I must mention Dad at this point. Having already explained that he’s never really forgiven Ryan for what he did to me, I don’t want to make him sound unreasonable. Quite the opposite. He didn’t take the opportunity to bad-mouth Ryan to me after we split up. He largely kept his feelings to himself.
Dad was a huge comfort to me in the cold early January days after I finished with cheating Ryan. Cara came over to see me several times, and yet she was distracted by that new boyfriend with whom she’d spent New Year’s Eve sucking face. In the absence of my BFF, there was Dad. Mainly he listened to me as I spilled my heart out and cried enough tears to fill a swimming pool. He hugged and comforted me, bringing me my favourite food and constant cups of tea; we watched countless classic feelgood films like Big, Matilda, The Sound of Music, The Princess Bride, Mamma Mia! and Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Luckily, Dad’s always enjoyed these kinds of movies as much as I have. He was
the one who got me into them in the first place, coming up with the idea of Sunday Evening Film Club when I was ten or eleven years old, complete with microwave popcorn and a rotating variety of other tasty snacks, such as hotdogs and nachos. He kept it going right through my teenage years until I moved to Sheffield.
I took it for granted a bit towards the end, skipping some Sundays to see Ryan and so on. But boy did I miss it when I got to university. So much so that I started a boozy student version with a couple of my new friends, which we dubbed the Cheesy Film and Wine Club.
No, Dad’s a total softie at heart, whose literary credentials go out of the window when there’s a Hollywood ending to enjoy. As a child, I thought most men liked watching such films, because Dad, who could reel off his top ten romcoms without having to think about it, was my prime point of reference. But as I grew older and more worldly-wise, I realised this wasn’t typical. Dad’s always been far more in touch with his emotional side than a lot of men, including Ryan – but not in an effete way. He comes across as a tough, manly man most of the time. It’s a rare combination that I love and cherish; secretly, I like to think it’s partly down to me, in that he brought me up and lived alone with me for all those years. It feels nice to believe that some of me rubbed off on him. Although, let’s be honest, he must have been pretty darn special to begin with. Not every man could handle raising a baby girl single-handedly from his early twenties – never mind do such a great job of it.
I have no doubt he would make someone a brilliant boyfriend or husband. He could help them plait or curl their hair one minute and fix a leaking radiator or lay some laminate flooring the next. He’s a man of many varied talents, my father. I’d love for him to find a woman to appreciate what a wonderful guy he is and for him to share his life with. I don’t like the idea of him rattling around that big house by himself without me. Maybe I’ll try again to get him online dating after the wedding. Or I could even fill out an application form for him to go on a TV show like First Dates. They’d lap him up with his past. Fat chance he’d agree to it.
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