by Roxie Cooper
The level of enthusiasm the pair of us are on at the prospect of some proper pub grub as opposed to a posh dinner at Heathwood Hall is completely off the scale. Steph is getting lasagne and I’m having steak and ale pie. Both with chunky chips, because what’s the point if you don’t have chunky chips?
All the time I’m aware that this is different to all the other times we’ve met. It feels more casual, like we’re in a different world. A parallel universe, perhaps. One where we are on some kind of date. It would be a bloody brilliant one if it was because we haven’t stopped laughing and talking since we left the Hall. Walking through the fields and down the country lanes with her was a complete joy. Catching up with her and hearing about her year is always my favourite part.
She loved hearing about my students and some of the stuff they come out with.
‘“Sir, did art GCSEs exist when you were at school?” they ask me. How old do they think I am?’ I said, laughing, and showed her some of their artwork on my phone.
‘Ooh! What’s that one?’ she said, placing her hand over my finger to stop me scrolling through for a second.
‘Oh, just a project I set for them this year. I told them to write down the lyrics to a song they liked and illustrate their interpretation of them.’
She studied the picture, pinching the screen to zoom in.
‘That one was Lisa’s. She’s recently discovered the Beatles and loves “Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds”.’
‘Sounds like my kind of project,’ she said, smiling.
We talked about Michael Jackson dying in June then had a very heated debate about what his best song was.
‘“Billie Jean”,’ I said, without a second of hesitation.
‘Shut up. “Beat It”.’
‘Arguably a better video. But still no.’
Topics then moved on to ‘important current affairs’, which was mainly just me not having a clue who anyone was.
‘Did you hear about Jordan and Peter Andre getting divorced?’
‘Who?’
‘You know! Her with the boobs. She’s on everything. And him – he’s got all the muscles. Sang about a mysterious girl in the nineties?’
‘Vaguely. Terrible shame.’
‘Yes. I won’t even bother going into the whole Keisha leaving the Sugababes drama,’ she went on, as if she knew these people personally. I could listen to her going on about anything all night and be entertained.
She seems spikier than normal, smilier, as if something has shifted for her. I don’t know what it is but maybe she will tell me later. God, I hope she’s happy. I wish I didn’t have to do this.
‘Erm, what the hell is this?’ I utter in her direction when I see what she’s bringing back from the bar.
‘Snakebite and black. Diesel. Come on, you must have drunk this when you were a student?’ she says, proudly, clutching two pint glasses with blood-red liquid in, foaming at the top, like something out of a chemistry class.
‘Yes, you drink it when you’re a student for a reason,’ I say slowly. ‘You have no money and it gets you smashed.’
‘It’s delish! And come on, you have to have it when you’re in a country pub in autumn. It’s the law.’
She shoves the glass in front of my face and I take it and we clink.
‘Jesus Christ! That is sweet,’ I hiss, screwing my face up.
‘Oh. just drink it!’
Tell her. Tell her now.
Placing the glass down on the table, I put my hands on my legs and sit up straight. Automatically taking a deep breath, I turn to face her.
‘So, erm, how are things with Matt?’
Oh great, delaying it. That will help you.
Stephanie smiles in a way I haven’t seen before. I’ve never really seen her look happy when she talks about Matt. I can’t deal with hearing about how happy they are together, and I know I’ve got no right to say that.
‘Well, actually, I’ve been doing a lot—’
‘Table Sixteen?’ the waitress barks, hovering over us with two plates. She slings them down in front of us and marches off.
I can’t put this off any longer.
‘Steph, I need to talk to you about something …’
‘What? What is it?’ she replies, cutting into her steaming lasagne.
‘I’m not sure I’ll be able to do this again. I’m so sorry.’ It takes me every bit of strength I have to say the words, but I know I have to.
She stops what she’s doing. Like something has completely punched the life out of her. Her face drops and she looks away for a moment. Turning back to face me, she doesn’t say anything for what feels like forever.
‘Helen’s pregnant, isn’t she?’ she says eventually.
‘No,’ I say, honestly. ‘But we are trying. And when it does happen, this has to stop.’
‘Of course it does,’ she agrees, quietly. ‘I understand.’
I wonder what’s going on in that head of hers. I’ve come to know her so well in the very short space of time I’ve known her, but there’s this small corner of herself she never lets me into.
‘I mean, I was a nice little escape for you for a while,’ she says, grinding some black pepper on to her food. ‘You don’t need me any more. I get it.’
‘Is that what you think you are to me? An escape from my marriage?’ I ask, genuinely bewildered. ‘Because you couldn’t be further from the truth. I absolutely adore spending time with you, more than I can tell you, but I’m not unhappy in my marriage …’
She looks right through me with a hard stare for a few moments and I have absolutely no idea what she’s thinking. She looks like she wants to kill me.
‘Then why are you doing this?’ she asks, in an irritated tone.
Well, I walked straight into that one. I think about it for a few seconds, aware that the atmosphere has turned colder than it was only minutes ago.
‘Because I can’t … not.’ It’s not the best answer, but it’s true.
‘That’s not an answer,’ she says.
Oh.
‘Well it’s the best one I can come up with, and it’s true. Why do you do this?’
Stephanie looks genuinely taken aback when I ask this, as if it never occurred to her I ever would. Her big green eyes frown at me for a second. Given the atmosphere right now, I have no idea what she’s going to say.
‘For the longest time, I was so numb,’ she says in a way that obviously doesn’t come easily. It’s like she has to force the words out. ‘Even when I met Matt,’ she goes on, ‘it was very functional – going through the motions, really.’
I listen to what she says and wonder: how did she end up like this? This beautiful girl, so incredible but so lacking in realising how amazing she is.
‘And it’s kind of been like that ever since. Until I met you,’ she says and smiles.
‘What did I do?’
‘You made me …’, she turns her gaze away from me for a second, taking a deep breath before answering, ‘… feel. For so long I didn’t feel anything, and then I met you and, all of a sudden, I felt everything. And I know that’s awful, because you belong to someone else and I’m being selfish, but … well, there is no but …’ she says.
‘I know this is doomed and can’t go anywhere. All that,’ she continues. ‘But I’m addicted to the way you make me feel. Because nobody, and nothing, has ever made me feel like you do. That’s why I do it.’
It feels as though we are standing on the edge of a cliff, holding hands, in the middle of a storm which is whipping up speed. Are we bad people? I don’t think we are. But we must be.
‘Why is it so complicated?’ she asks.
‘I honestly don’t know.’
‘So,’ she says, ‘is this it, then? Really?’
There’s an anxiety in her voice I can sense. Of course I don’t want to end it, but I can’t carry it on if Helen and I have a baby. There is no place to come back from there.
‘I think it has to be,’ I say, forcing the words
out. I’ve considered asking if we can be friends, but I think we’d both be kidding ourselves. What we have is too close, too special to contain in a friendship.
What a bloody mess. I didn’t ask for any of this. Not that I’d ask for or get much sympathy from anyone about any of it. I didn’t ask to meet her. I didn’t ask to have these feelings for her – whatever they are. But I do. I can’t stop them. That’s the thing about feelings; you can’t switch them off – I wish you could.
Even if I stop this now, I’ll still think about her all the time. I’ll continue to crave her in that way I shouldn’t. I’ll also continue to love my wife; that won’t change. So, what’s the answer? I’m fucked whatever I do.
We’re determined not to let our last weekend together be depressing so we decide to let it go out with a bang.
The atmosphere is more relaxed here in the pub. It lacks the formality of Heathwood Hall which means we can act more like ourselves, like we’re just down the local having a laugh. We’re so stuffed that we can barely move, but as darkness begins to descend, we think about heading back to the Hall. There’s something mysterious and elusive about dusk in the autumn, I think, so we decide to skip a taxi and walk back.
Setting off into the countryside, along the paths and trails, the sun quickly falls in the sky, casting all kinds of radiant shades of orange out on to the land. We are the only ones out here, which is both terrifying and liberating.
‘You must be used to this?’ I ask, nodding out across the landscape, nothing to be seen for at least half a mile but rolling countryside. Heathwood Hall is just visible in the distance.
‘Yeah,’ she answers. ‘I love it. It’s where I feel happy, out here. You know why?’
‘Go on?’
She walks just ahead of me, spreads her arms out and smiles. Her red lipstick contrasts against the jet-black Ray-Bans shielding her eyes, although I have no idea why she’s wearing them, given that’s it’s getting dark.
‘Because there’s nobody else here. You can do whatever you like and there’s nobody to see you or judge you.’
‘Really? And what do you like to do out here?’
‘Oh, nothing. I just meant you can be on your own,’ she says, shaking her head and returning to my side. She starts obsessively tucking her hair behind her ear.
‘Steph,’ I ask, playfully, ‘what do you do out here?’
She sighs, turning away from me.
‘I don’t do it now!’ she says, in an over-the-top manner.
‘What is it?’
‘I’m not telling you,’ she says, the smallest smile creeping on to her face. She’s trying so hard not to laugh.
‘Steph, you have to tell me now.’
‘After my mum died, I didn’t really get much time to myself,’ she says, walking slowly beside me. ‘I was looking after Ebony, Dad was working all the time, I was dealing with the fact she was gone. It’s a lot to take on when you’re thirteen.’
‘I can imagine,’ I say. ‘Well, I can’t. But you know what I mean.’
‘My mum loved musicals. Me, her and Ebony always used to listen to them around the house. Phantom, Miss Saigon, Grease, Joseph, all of them. We knew all the words and we’d sing at the top of our voices.’
‘OK …’
‘Then, when she died, that all stopped.’
I reach out for her hand. Our fingers touch, acknowledging each other for the briefest of seconds.
‘So, that was my release. I’d go out for long walks on my own in the fields where I lived with my Walkman, wait until I was alone and sing those bloody showtunes at the top of my voice. It made me feel weirdly closer to her and somehow made me feel less, I don’t know, stressed?’
‘This is the most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard!’
‘What? Don’t you think it’s … odd?’ she asks, suspiciously.
‘I love it! So dramatic!’ I laugh. ‘That’s the thing you refused to tell me isn’t it? Last year?’ It makes sense, now.
She coyly shrugs her shoulders. ‘Maybe!’ she says.
‘When was the last time you did it?’
‘God! Outside? Probably when I was about sixteen or something. Although …’ she teases, looking at me bashfully, ‘… I may still do it in the house when I’m alone.’
‘Yes! There it is,’ I yell, punching the air. ‘How did you feel when you did it?’
She laughs. ‘What? You mean apart from completely mental? Well, brave. Alive. Like I was a teeny person on a huge stage. Just not giving a shit. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me. I was lost in that moment. It was great!’
She sparkles telling me about this, like the feeling runs through her body as she recounts the experience.
‘Well, Stephanie, this is your stage and I am your audience.’
‘What?’ She looks at me. ‘No.’
‘Oh, yes. Why not?’
‘I’ve never done it in front of anyone. I’ll die of embarrassment.’
‘Well, this is the last time I’ll see you,’ I remind both of us. It comes out more brutally than I intended. I lighten the mood by telling her we are both on the wrong side of tipsy and I probably won’t remember it tomorrow anyway.
‘I haven’t got my iPod anyway,’ she lies.
I walk over to her, grabbing her handbag off her shoulder as she laughs, attempting to tear it away from me.
‘Oh, come on! I know you carry that thing everywhere with you. You just never know when you’ll need to belt out a showtune!’ I say, rummaging through her handbag. ‘Ah! Here it is.’
She’s laughing so much she can barely talk. It’s so lovely to see her in this state. Christ, I’m going to miss her.
‘OK, OK,’ she says seriously, straightening herself up and taking the iPod from me. ‘What do you want?’
You. I want you.
‘You choose,’ I tell her.
‘Hmmm. Right, Let. Me. See.’ Stephanie scrolls through her iPod muttering to herself: ‘No. No. God, no! Don’t have the strength for that one!’ A broad grin sweeps across her face when she finds the one she wants.
‘Right. You have to sit over there. But put your sunglasses on because you’ll put me off otherwise,’ she demands. ‘And I’m no singer. I’m only doing this because I’m drunk.’
‘Yep. Sure. I’m ready,’ I tell her, sitting on the grass waiting for this performance to start.
‘This is a song my mum and I loved. I hope you love it too, Jamie. It’s from the musical Dreamgirls. This is “And I Am Telling You I’m Not Going”.’
She clears her throat. It’s otherwise quiet, there’s nobody else around. She stands about ten feet away from me with her earbuds in. I’ve never heard of the song she’s about to sing.
It starts quietly, squeaking out the first few lines. She looks shy, holding on to the iPod in one hand, while the other fiddles with her coat pocket. Her ankles flick in and out in that way children do. I can’t hear any music – just her – so I encourage her to get into it a bit more, knowing she can hear the music.
‘Wooooo! Turn the music up!!’ I shout, waving my arms in an ‘up’ motion.
Slowly, she starts moving around the space in front of me, her voice gaining strength and volume. Sass and attitude are added to the performance and she starts doing that wavy hand thing big singers do.
‘Yes! Go Mariah!’ I scream.
‘What?!’ she yells back, removing an earbud.
‘Go Mariah!!’
‘It’sNotMariahIt’sJenniferHudson!’ she screams, quickly, mid-song, before getting back to the epic tune.
She’s not a great singer and she’s screeching it out at the top of her lungs. But it doesn’t matter one little bit. Because she’s absolutely lost herself in the moment and she’s claimed a little bit of herself back.
‘You’re gonna love me …’ she sings.
No need for the future tense. I already do. That’s the problem.
She knows every word to this song. Every groove, quiver, rise and change. S
he doesn’t hit every note, but it’s clear she’s sung it many times and lost herself in it. Music makes her feel alive. She punctuates every sentence with her hands, her arms flailing wildly by the end of the song, the shyness of only a few minutes ago completely gone. Halfway through she even starts using the iPod as a microphone. I give her an extra cheer for that.
She sings these lyrics to me, carefully chosen, knowing her, ever more profound in the circumstances. This girl I can’t have and can never see again. It’s a lovely, cute, sexy, endearing, beautiful, heartbreaking performance all rolled into one.
As the song rolls into a crescendo, I stand up and give her the biggest round of applause because she deserves it. Every time I see her she reveals a little bit more of herself and I’m going to miss that.
Finishing the final note, she pulls her earbuds out and breathlessly puts them back in her bag. She’s visibly exhausted, but clearly thrilled. I walk over to her.
‘Well, it sounded great in my head!’ she says, still panting from her exquisite performance.
‘Not as brilliant as it looked, trust me,’ I reply.
Then I take her face in my hands and place my mouth on hers. It’s an urgent, passionate kiss. She wraps her arms around my waist and we melt into a place we’ve both yearned to be in for three years. I’m never going to see her again. The guilt will come and I will deal with that. But not tonight.
Tonight is about us.
She’s beautiful when she sleeps. Lying on her front, half of her face on the pillow, the other half exposed to the world. Strewn around her face, her blonde hair looks simultaneously wild and delicate.
I could watch her sleep for hours. The room is so quiet, the only thing I can hear is the sound of her breathing. It’s a little heavier than it would be if she was awake. The sound of pure contentment. I could lose myself in its rhythm and go to sleep myself, but I don’t. I prefer to stay awake and watch her. I’ll never do it again.
Swinging my arm around her waist, I pull her close to me. Her body is beautifully warm and I love it next to mine. Her skin smells and feels even more incredible than I imagined. Everyone goes through this stage at the beginning of a new thing; the one where you find everything absolutely captivating about the other person and you want to know everything about them, you love the way they do everything, you just want to talk to them all the time. I had all that with Helen.