All the Invisible Things

by Orlagh Collins

  Then Fran’s brother starts to play ‘Here Comes the Sun’ on the guitar and suddenly Fran and Wendy emerge from the light at the side of the tent and walk up the aisle together. Fran’s wedding outfit is a silky cream dress that looks like an elegant nightie. She looks beautiful, but I prefer Wendy’s blue suit by a mile. Arial follows behind the brides, scattering fistfuls of gold foil stars as they walk. No one seems to mind that she’s throwing the confetti already and I’m just happy to see her behaving like a kid again.

  Afterwards, I’m outside the marquee scoping for Pez when Fran strolls up and hands a glass of champagne to a friend who’s standing nearby. ‘Aldi,’ she says, taking a sip from her own glass. ‘Eleven quid a pop!’

  It seems as though the friend would like more intel on the bargain champagne but Wendy appears by Fran’s side and she quickly changes the subject.

  Finally I spot Arial and Pez bouncing around on our old trampoline, playing rock paper scissors. With some reluctance, Arial lets me join in their game, but I’m soon indecently sweaty and have to make my excuses. Dad is hoovering up canapés when I find him and he tells me it’ll be at least twenty minutes before we eat so I grab one of his chicken skewers and sit on a wall to practise my reading.

  I run through it a few more times, then I look up and glimpse Pez over the top of the hedge. He’s standing in the middle of the trampoline with his back to Arial, arms folded across his chest, preparing to fall into her tiny arms. We used to play this game as kids and Pez caught me every time, like I did him. The sight of them gets me thinking about last night; about how vulnerable Pez allowed himself to be, about how he trusted to me catch him … like I hope we’re always going to catch each other. I look down and recite the lovely words from Captain Corelli’s Mandolin to myself one last time but part of me suddenly wonders whether they’re enough.

  Guests have gravitated from the garden back inside the tent and soon everyone is seated apart from the brides. I spy them whispering to each other by the sign for the loos. Fran points out into the room and Wendy squeezes her and smiles. Dad waves me over and I quickly scurry through the crowd, taking my seat on the top table, beside him and opposite Pez. I peer down the long row of faces to Fran’s brother. He stands, microphone in hand.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he says, ‘Please put your hands together for Fran and Wendy!’ At this, the room rises to its feet and rapturous applause continues until the beaming brides are seated beside us. Once we’re all back on our bums Fran’s brother takes a piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

  I nudge Dad. ‘Already?’

  ‘Wendy wants to get them done early so everyone can relax,’ he says. Relax! I take a gulp of wine from my glass and start scrolling through my phone, mouthing the reading to myself until Dad gives me the eye that says I should really be listening to the speech that’s already happening, then he takes my shaking hand and holds it in his under the table. Wendy make her excited scrunched-up face at me before turning to hear more about the colour of Fran’s hair in secondary school.

  Opposite me, Pez is buttering a roll, slowly spreading it right out to the sides like I know he likes it, and for some reason, watching him helps my insides settle. Dad squeezes my hand. ‘Your turn,’ he says.

  The guy with the microphone is wrapping up, which means I’m next. People are still cheering his speech as the microphone is passed along the table towards me. He must have been really funny.

  Finally, the mic reaches me and very slowly I stand up, but when I look out at the sea of faces my heart starts doing crazy things. I look down at my phone and the words swim around the screen but when I go to speak I can’t catch a single one. Panicked, I look at Pez and this steadies me. Then I picture him on the trampoline, eyes closed, arms crossed, his huge body ready to fall back into fragile arms that could never hold him. When my mouth opens this time, I don’t recite the words on my phone. New words sit upon my tongue.

  ‘Wendy and Fran met in Camden Town.’ I’m stunned by how loud my voice is. ‘Wendy used to say she fell in and out of love with London, as though the city itself was human. Until I moved back there a few weeks ago, I never really understood what she meant. But I see now that if London is a person, then people are a bit like London too … we all have busy streets where buses drive down and spaces where anyone can walk around. We all have colourful, famous parts, like Camden market or the zoo, or the pub where Amy Winehouse got up on the bar to sing.’ I pause here to scan the table and both brides smile back like I’m doing OK so I take a breath and keep going. ‘We’ll happily show people around these touristy spots. But what about the secret places? Like the tunnels under the canal where it’s scary after dark, or the shadows of the willow tree where we hide when we’re sad? These places aren’t always on the map and sometimes we all get lost and we all feel lonely.’

  I stop. The words sad, lost and lonely rattle between my ears and I’ve got a horrible feeling I’ve got badly off-piste. The microphone slides out of my hand, making an awful feedback sound as it crashes on to my unsuspecting plate. I run my palms down the front of my dress before rescuing it and when I look up it feels like every face in the room is staring at me. But no one is laughing; no one is doing anything. I’m wondering how bad it would be for me to just sit down. My brain races and I turn to Dad, who nods at me in a way I don’t understand. Wendy’s face is easier to read; hers is saying have you totally lost it, Vetty?

  But I look across at Pez, who has stopped turning his fork over and over on the tablecloth, and his eyes flash up at me, like he’s listening, waiting to hear what I’ve got to say and what I feel for him in this moment really is. …

  ‘Love,’ I say, lifting my face to the room, ‘isn’t something that we give or we get. Love is something that grows when we have the courage to let others into the shadows. Love is our reward for handing over the whole map, tunnels and all. Wendy and Fran, I’ve watched you, always there for each other, and I know love will follow wherever your road leads.’ I lift my glass to the room and people raise theirs too.

  ‘To Fran and Wendy,’ I say, and everyone cheers.

  Dad loosens the microphone from my hand. ‘Well done, kiddo,’ he whispers as he stands up, but people are still clapping and Dad has to wait until they finish.

  I hardly hear all the lovely things he says about Wendy because I’m staring into space, wondering what just happened. So much stuff is still less than perfect between me and Pez, but I’ve found something that’s been lost; something simple and honest; understanding, maybe? It’s like putting on comfy leggings after wearing skinny jeans for too long, or slipping back into my fake Uggs after my trainers have given me blisters.

  I eat my meal in a haze of these thoughts and only truly come down to earth in time for pudding. Soon after, people are up, gathering around the black-and-white tiles, where a six-piece band have set up on the stage, waiting for the first dance to start.

  Dad stands. ‘They’re Fran’s friends from university,’ he says. ‘So, we better fill the floor.’ We walk over and watch the singer step up to the mic. I’m about to blab to Pez about the Lauryn Hill song when a piano and a saxophone start up, neither of them sounding remotely like the intro for ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.’ Then the singer belts out Me-e-e-e aaaaand Mrs Jones … and the gathered crowd go wild.

  I watch Wendy lead Fran Jones across the floor. There’s nothing showy about how they move. Fran has her hands resting on Wendy’s shoulders and they turn, slowly, slowly around. That’s kind of it, but the glitter ball above their heads spins and spins and the light catches and bounces around the tent, lighting up the leftover stars that have settled in Wendy’s hair and down the back of Fran’s dress. It takes a few seconds for me to realise what’s happening as people dissolve around us, becoming pairs, moving slowly around and around the dance floor. Pez shoves his fists in his pockets and stares at his shoes while I shuffle about, not quite sure what to do.

  Dad is out there, in the middle of it all, bent l
ow, holding hands with Arial, swinging their arms together like they’re expecting someone to skip over them. Arial does a limbo move towards him and he throws his head back. Apart from two old men leaning against the tent pole like it’s the bar, it’s only me and Pez left, not dancing.

  I’m trying to work out how everyone seems to know how to slow dance and it’s only when I look closer I notice they’re all doing it differently. One couple move in urgent, highly coordinated steps, as though a very different song is playing inside their heads. Another shimmy in and out, without ever touching. But most couples just lean against each other and slowly spin around, as though the music and their full stomachs have made them suddenly sleepy. Perhaps getting it right might not matter that much. I guess it’s this that makes me open my mouth. ‘Wanna dance?’

  For a horrible moment Pez says nothing and I have to watch as he racks his brain for an excuse to say no. Then Arial and Dad beckon us from the middle of the floor.

  ‘One song,’ he says, with a small smile.

  We move out into the crowd, taking up position next to Dad and Arial. The band starts to play something new and I put my arms out, letting them rest around Pez’s neck. It’s another few seconds before his hands land lightly on my hips and very slowly we start to sway. Fran’s brother and his wife have all the moves and I nudge Pez to check them out, but he doesn’t seem to find them as amusing as me, so I just listen to the song, which sounds sad.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. He sniffs and adjusts his hands and we continue spinning slowly around, him studying the floor like he’s still concentrating on his steps. When I lean in his skin smells clean and his cheek accidentally touches mine. I feel his breath warm against my ear. There’s nothing romantic about what we’re doing, I’m just relieved to be close to him again. The lyrics are soppy and predictable, but somehow they don’t feel wrong.

  ‘I’m so glad you were able to be honest with me last night,’ I say. ‘I want you to know that.’ He doesn’t answer but I move in closer, leaning my head on his shoulder anyway. Then his breathing changes, suddenly loud and catching, and when I push back to see his eyes, his face is ashen. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Pez?’

  He unlocks my hands from around his neck. ‘I can’t do this,’ he says, closing his eyes like he can’t look at me, then without another word he turns and pushes his way through the surrounding couples, dissolving into the crowd.

  23

  I’m alone on the dance floor, the only person under the glitterball not moving, and people are starting to stare. At first, I’m too confused to know what I feel, but as I dodge arms and sweaty backs, following his path to the edge of the floor like a hunter after my prey, anger rises steadily up inside me. Pez slips through a slice of canvas at the far side of the tent but he’s not getting away from me this time. I won’t let him.

  I crash through tables and chairs behind him. When I finally reach the opening, there’s only the dim twinkle of fairy lights around the horsebox bar and tiny orange cigarette embers smouldering in the dark.

  I cross the field towards the river. Fran’s bench is the only place I think he might go. Music fades into the wind and its distant lyrics carry me towards the water. I can barely see my feet as I cross the wet grass, but my toes quickly feel damp inside my shoes.

  I’ve almost reached the tree as the song finishes. In a brief pocket of quiet, I catch the rustle of his breath and I squint into the shadows. There, up ahead on the Welsh larch, he sits, panting like he’s run a race. I edge closer, watching his back move up and down. It doesn’t seem right not to let him know I’m here but then I stop. It’s nerves, I think. Then I remember all he said last night and I’m suddenly walking over.

  I sit down beside him. ‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t that embarrassing for me.’

  His elbows are on his knees and he stares at the ground.

  We sit like this in the dark, listening to the water galloping past, like it too is thinking too fast. I pick up a twig from under me, scratching at its gnarly edges with my nail before tossing it into the river and watching as the stream carries it away. I place my hand lightly on Pez’s back but when his back stiffens I take it away.

  ‘I wasn’t honest with you last night,’ he says, slowly turning his face to mine. ‘I didn’t tell you all of the truth.’

  ‘OK …’

  ‘You asked if I was watching porn and, well, I wasn’t. I was on a website about how to stop watching it.’

  Something flutters against my spine. I check his face, which looks flat, like it’s missing its usual contours and shadows. So just as I’ve started to watch porn he’s stopping? It’s like I’m destined to live behind the curve. I’m not sure what to say. ‘Would it be stupid to ask … why?’

  ‘Because I’m … I watch it all the time,’ he says, rocking back and forth. ‘It’s pretty bad.’

  ‘Like every day?’

  ‘Before school, after school.’ His jaw sets and he looks away downstream. ‘During school.’

  ‘Oh.’ I look up at the huge branches lit up by the moon above our heads.

  ‘Whenever I’m alone, I turn it on before I can think,’ he says.

  I want to say I knew it but this would be seriously unhelpful. ‘Right.’

  ‘It wasn’t always like this,’ he says then. ‘Not at first.’

  ‘So, what happened?’

  He shrugs. ‘Dunno. Something took over … because I can’t … it’s so hard to stop.’

  I take a sharp breath and look around, wishing I could say something that made sense. ‘But don’t … lots of people watch a lot of porn? I mean, is it really that big a deal?’ As soon as I’ve said this, I realise it was a quite a big deal to me, for different reasons perhaps, but to say I haven’t been worried would be a lie.

  He covers his eyes with his hands. ‘I haven’t wanked without it since I was thirteen.’ His words sound unnaturally slow. ‘But I’ve stopped,’ he says more quickly.

  My eyes go wide in the dark. ‘You’ve stopped wanking?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Watching porn.’

  ‘Shit, yeh, of course—’

  He sighs. ‘You wouldn’t get it,’ he says.

  I don’t know what to do except sit there, continuing to swing my legs under me like I’m Arial.

  ‘I keep watching and watching until all the empty space inside my head is full. Until I’m numb,’ he says, squeezing his left hand into a fist. ‘Now I am numb, all the time. It used to be as soon as I opened my laptop, almost as soon as I clicked on Safari I get … you know?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer. ‘Now, even with the loveliest girl in London beside me … nothing.’ His nostrils flare as he breathes in and out. ‘It’s as though if it’s not on screen I can’t feel it.’

  Pez has had a computer in his room for as long as I remember, and I can’t help wondering when all this started. Was it before I left? Then I picture him, slumped against Rob’s front door, hand trembling on the lock. ‘How long ago did you stop … you know, watching?’

  He turns to me. ‘It’s day seven.’

  ‘You’ve counted?’

  He kicks at the ground under his foot. ‘It’s not funny,’ he says, but I’m not laughing. It’s exactly a week ago. He stopped after the party. Is that why he left and why he couldn’t face me or March? I picture him on the steps of his house, hunched over in the dark like a wounded animal, and I instantly regret every one of my cruel words. Then I picture March’s eyes opposite me in the cafe and everything starts to make sense. Pez studies me like he sees the jigsaw pieces slotting into place. ‘Did she tell you?’ His voice is barely recognisable.

  I shake my head. ‘No, no.’

  ‘Bet she told Amira though. Bet everyone thinks I’m some kind of—’

  ‘March isn’t like that,’ I say, jumping in. ‘She cares about you.’

  Tears pool in his eyes and his head drops. He knows March hasn’t betrayed him.

  ‘It’s like I’m broken,’ he says. ‘
I’ve been googling what’s wrong with me and as I’m searching I keep praying that whatever I type in won’t take me to some other porn site. It’s like it stalks me, everywhere I look. It’s like my computer knows what I’m thinking. You’ve got no idea how humiliating it feels.’

  I shake my head. ‘Locking yourself away isn’t the answer.’

  ‘When we lost touch, it was like you sensed I wasn’t good enough any more, like you were ashamed to know me. I haven’t told anyone. This isn’t something you just … talk about. Not seriously, not unless it’s some joke.’

  I reach my hand out to touch him but he dodges it and I can only listen as the hurt drips down his face. This is so strange. I’m the one who cries.

  Far away the music changes and Missy Elliott’s ‘Work It’ booms out over the valley. Much as I love this song, I wish it would stop. I shift my focus back to Pez. I’ve never seen him like this. Even last night was different.

  ‘This doesn’t change who you are, Pez. Or how I feel about you.’ I lift his chin. ‘Never. Got that?’

  He nods. ‘D’you promise?’

  ‘Promise,’ I say, leaning my head gently on his shoulder. ‘How’s the not-watching going?’ I ask. ‘Serious question.’

  He looks up. ‘Well, the first four nights I stayed up playing Warhammer. Like, I didn’t stop. Then I moved my iMac out of my room and played Threes! on my phone until all I saw was sliding blocks, even when my eyes were closed, and then I finally slept and I was still connecting number patterns. But … OK.’

  ‘It’s like that?’

  He nods. ‘You said something last night, about how what you’ve watched has stayed with you.’

  ‘Not in a weird way. I just meant that I’d keep thinking about—’

  ‘I get flashbacks,’ he says. ‘I was brushing my teeth the other day and I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror, knowing what my brain was seeing. I sat on the edge of the bath and waited for it to go away.’ He stops and his head dips down.