‘I’ve had the most brilliant time with you, Noni.’
‘Me too. Thank you for—’ I stop. I’d planned a whole speech but none of it feels right now. It all feels weird. ‘For being glorious. You are glorious.’
‘It’s been a fucking pleasure, Noni Blake.’ He smiles cheekily and I laugh.
‘It absolutely has.’ We hug for the longest time, but eventually I break it. ‘So what if I get drunk and want to message you?’
‘Then message me. Don’t overthink this next bit, Nons. You’ll be there. I’ll be here. I’m sure the universe will put us on a dance floor together again.’ I swoon and instantly feel sad.
‘Okay. Yup. You’re right.’ He seems calm, really calm. I’m pretending to be calm, but I’m like a duck caught in a quick-moving current: false grace on top and flailing erratically under the water. He kisses me lightly on the mouth, and then on my forehead, and I lean into his chest. There is the toot of a car horn outside.
We drag my suitcase to the front of the building and hand it to the taxi driver, and then we stare at each other.
‘See you when I see you, then,’ I say, looking up at him.
‘Exactly. Bye Nons.’ He squeezes my hand and holds it as I get into the car.
I stare at Beau, Shaquille leaning into his leg, standing on the street, and tell myself to take a mental snapshot of this moment, so I’ll never forget it. A mental capture of a perfect goodbye, a celebration of how grown-up we’re both being. He smiles at me and I smile back and we drive off. I thought I’d cry. I thought he’d at least get teary. I thought there’d be grand confessions, maybe more talk of how much this sucks, a mention of other options. But it was so calm. I felt so calm. And now I feel sad and nervous, but also okay.
At the airport, I don’t cry through check-in, or customs, or while drinking my coffee. I just feel cool. For the first fucking time in my entire life, I feel genuinely cool. Because I did it. I did this whole thing for myself and it wasn’t a disaster. Quite the opposite, in fact. Letting pleasure lead in my life has manifested in some magnificent ways. I’ve worn less makeup and gone on more walks. I’ve said what I thought. I’ve said yes more. I’ve said no more. I’ve listened to, and trusted, that voice in my head. I bought lingerie. And wore pleather. Because I wanted to. I got naked in a fucking forest and had my photo taken and then watched other people look at those photos and tell me I was beautiful. I said thank you when they complimented me, and meant it. I didn’t listen to the part of my brain that told me that I shouldn’t dare do any of those things. That people might think I looked ridiculous. That I was too fat or ugly or plain or beige or boring or flabby or whatever shit thing I’ve led myself to believe. I’ve danced. And drunk too much wine. And had great sex and terrible sex. And great conversations and terrible conversations. I’ve backed myself. And let shit go. I fell in love. I’ve honoured my baby. And myself. I’ve realised it’s no longer acceptable to be unhappy or, worse still, to be ambivalent. The pleasure quest has taught me that I’m ready, and worthy, of happiness. Not if, not when, but now. I feel so proud of myself and these revelations, and then I think of Beau, and wonder when the thought of leaving him behind will stop making me feel so unhappy.
37
Lindell flings himself back onto the huge hotel mattress in a flurry, like a snow angel amidst the crisp white linen. I get teary, again, from jetlag and heartache and the joy of seeing my beautiful friend, who has made me laugh since the second we saw each other at the arrivals gate this morning.
Lindell has booked us into a lush hotel, the kind where there’s a lavender-spray turndown service and chocolates with your name embossed on them. We pretend like we totally belong here, but giggle loudly at every lavish detail.
‘Now what?’ he says, rolling onto his side.
I lie down on the bed facing him. ‘Now I go back to school on Monday and work out what the fuck my life looks like.’
‘Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?’
‘No, no. I’ll stay with Dad until I work out where I want to live. I’m going to go slow for a little bit, I think.’
He rubs my shoulder. ‘You look different.’
‘I am different.’ I place my hand on his.
‘And Beau?’ he asks. We haven’t talked about it yet, but I’ve known it was coming.
‘And Beau is in Edinburgh and I am here and that means we’re not together.’
‘How do you feel about that?’
I breathe in deep. How do I feel about that? ‘Heartbroken, but not. Heart-hurt. Heart-bruised, maybe.’ I roll onto my back. ‘It was never going to work out any other way, so it feels exactly as I expected it to.’ I turn my face to Lindell so he can see I’m serious. ‘It was a fling, a lovely fling. The perfect fling. But it wasn’t real life, Lindell. It would never work in real life.’
‘How do you know?’ he says with conspiratorial eyebrows that I don’t like at all.
‘Because I was different there. I wasn’t working, I was being frivolous and self-indulgent, and that’s not how life works.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Lindell, you know it isn’t. I need to work, and figure out what’s next. I need to be a grown-up.’
‘And what? Undo all of this gorgeousness you’ve discovered?’
‘Of course not. Joy in my real life, that’s the mission now.’ I pause. ‘And I’m excited.’
‘I am too.’ He rolls onto his back and intertwines his pinkie finger with mine. ‘So this means you’re single?’
‘I guess. Yes. God. I don’t want to think about that yet.’ I’m not ready to think about that yet. ‘So Graham took the job?’ I ask, tired of talking about me.
‘Yes. Negotiated a no-travel weekend clause into his contract and some other things to replicate balance and a shared parenting load, but let’s fucking see how it unravels.’ Lindell breathes deep. ‘I’m happy for him. He’s happy.’
‘And you?’ I ask.
‘I’m happy too, Nons. Work is good. My babies are great and beautiful. My best friend is back, in every sense of the word.’ I smile at this, understanding his meaning. ‘Thank you,’ he says.
‘What for?’
‘You know your list hasn’t just changed your life, my girl, it’s changed mine too.’
‘Why? Because you’ve had to endure months of my antics? I must be so exhausting, I’m sorry.’
‘No. I’m being serious. I’m grateful. You inspired me. I wrote my own list of shit I want to do. I’ve been wading in parent-brain for so long that I forgot I even had a list. So did Graham. And us collectively too, we have a list now. A sex list. Of things we want to try and do. It was the most vulnerable we’ve been in front of each other in ages.’
‘Really?’ I roll over to face him, feeling better.
‘Yes. Who’d have guessed Graham would be mad into role play,’ he says. ‘We now have a whole section of the closet dedicated to costumes,’ he whispers.
‘What costumes?’ I ask, elated.
‘A whole assortment. He has all of these very specific fantasies he’s never told me anything about. And it’s fucking awesome. So thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ I smile, and then we laugh, and we don’t stop for a very long time.
‘And a big welcome back to Ms Blake, who is finally back after her long service leave. I know you’ll all agree that we’ve missed her around here.’ Niko addresses the assembly and adolescent faces spin to look at me as I wave awkwardly. Nothing has changed at school, but there’s still so much I’ve missed. My head is spinning with new information.
‘How you feeling?’ Niko pops his head around the door of my office later in the day.
‘Overwhelmed. But fine,’ I say.
‘Good. Just yell out if you need anything.’ We stare at each other for a moment. The energy between us has shifted. It’s not awkward, but it’s not comfortable either. It’s heightened. ‘Okay.’ Niko nods. And he leaves.
I feel weird. I feel lik
e I want to debrief with Beau. He’d messaged checking I got to the airport okay, and home, but nothing major. I’d sent him a photo of the bottle of duty free whiskey I’d bought. Very safe. Very friendly. Very few feelings, but maintaining some kind of connection. I’d missed a call from him and he’d left me a very, short, sweet voicemail. ‘Nons, just wanted to hear your voice. I’m about to go to bed…you must be at work, I guess.’
I’d called back and left a voicemail for him. ‘It’s my night, your morning. You’ll still be asleep. Just wanted to say have a good day.’
And that’s how our interactions happen now. Text messages with long delays. Missed calls. Trying to find the right balance between staying in touch and giving each other space. I begin to realise just how far away Scotland, and the pleasure quest, really are. So I keep calling, and leaving messages, and he sends me photos of his work, and we talk a little bit every day in some capacity, until we finally agree on a time to chat.
I’m nervous when I wait for the phone to ring at 6 a.m., which is his 9 p.m. I feel adolescent and nervy. It’s early and I’ve barely slept as I’m too excited. I pick up the phone the second it lights up. ‘Hi,’ I say and I hear him laugh and I feel my whole body relax at the sound of his voice.
‘Sexy morning voice,’ he says.
‘Yeah, 6 a.m. on a Saturday, that’s love,’ I say and wish I hadn’t. ‘How are you?’ I add to cover it.
‘I’m okay, Nons. It’s been a weird ten days, yeah?’
‘The weirdest,’ I say.
‘So. I need to say something. Otherwise I’m going to chicken out,’ he says, and my whole body tenses. ‘I need to lay a boundary, I think.’ He pauses, and my heart races. ‘I don’t think we can talk for a while. Okay?’ I take a sharp intake of breath, and hope he doesn’t hear. ‘Just till we’re through the other side of this bit. And I know I said let’s just see what happens, but basically I’m such a miserable fuck right now—’
‘Without me and my witty repartee?’ I cut him off, trying to keep it light, trying in vain to change his mind. I don’t want to not talk to him. I don’t want that to be how this unfolds.
‘Exactly.’ I hear him smile, but he continues. ‘So in the interest of pushing ahead, I just need to ignore that you exist for a bit.’
Ignore me? Fuck. ‘Okay,’ is all I get out. Tears well.
‘Shit. Not ignore you. That’s not what I wanted to say. Nons, tell me you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah. Of course. It’s hard.’
‘Harder than I thought.’ He pauses. ‘So, do you agree?’
‘How’s Zep?’ I ask instead. No. I don’t agree. I don’t want to not talk to you.
‘He’s good. He and his girlfriend broke up.’
‘Oh no. Is he okay?’
‘Yeah. He’s fine. He’s being so mature about the whole fucking thing. They wanted different things and didn’t want to hurt each other. He inspired me to have this conversation with you, actually.’ ‘If the sixteen-year-old can do it?’ I say. I tug on a thread on the blanket and watch it unravel in my hands. I know exactly how it feels. ‘So, now what? We just go cold turkey?’ I ask.
‘Yeah. Total detox from each other.’ He sighs. ‘For a bit.’
The tears plop on my cheeks and I try not let him hear that I’m crying, but I can’t help it. Neither of us speaks for the longest time.
‘I really miss you, Noni,’ he says.
‘I miss you too,’ I blub.
38
‘You’re a very good kisser.’ Niko pulls back, his hand on the back of my neck, me straddling his lap on his expensive couch.
‘You’re a very good kisser,’ I slur. I’m drunk. I’m so drunk the room spins a little, but I don’t care, because in the interest of detoxing from the Viking I am leaning into pleasure in my new life back home. Because I’ve changed. And pleasure is at my centre now, and I can do whatever I want. I can make bold sexual choices and not get freaked out by other people’s rubber sheets, because I am powerful, and fuck Beau and fuck my feelings. I can still have a good time.
I’d already drunk a whole bottle of wine by myself by the time I’d messaged Niko telling him we should get a drink, and he’d replied straight away. I am desirable. I am wanted. People want me. Even if Beau doesn’t. Niko had suggested a bar. I suggested his place. I am not fucking around. Or I am. That is precisely what I want to do. Fuck this man. I am a woman on a mission, and he accepted my mission immediately. Kissing me against his front door, his knee between my legs the second he opened it.
‘So—’ I ask him.
‘Yes?’ He kisses down my neck, to my chest.
‘What’s this thing with no penetration?’ I push back from his kisses, even though it feels good. ‘Like ever?’ I ask. I know I sound drunk, my voice is high and floaty.
‘It just doesn’t really float my boat all that much. I mean, it’s fine. It’s good, sometimes. Just doesn’t make me cum.’ He says it so matter-of-factly that hearing the word ‘cum’ come out of his mouth makes my nipples hard, because of the deeply embedded fucking-the-principal fantasies that have lingered for years.
‘I get that,’ I tell him, because I do. The percentage of times I’ve cum from penetration alone is fucking low.
‘I bet you do.’ He smiles, pulling my bra to one side and pulling my nipple into his mouth. Jesus. ‘But I like being penetrated.’ He looks up at me and I grab his shoulders to steady myself.
‘You do?’
‘Yeah.’ He kisses and sucks and nibbles and I breathe in deep. ‘You up for it?’ He smirks.
‘Me? To you?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘With?’ I ask, nervous. What on earth does he like to be penetrated by?
‘A strap-on, Noni.’ He laughs. ‘What did you think I was going to say?’
‘I don’t know…an eggplant,’ I say. It’s the first thing that comes to mind, and Niko laughs again.
‘No thanks, it’s more like a Lebanese cucumber.’
‘Right.’
‘You’d wear it. It’s all very straightforward. I’ll show you.’
‘I was in a lesbian relationship for nine years, so you don’t need to mansplain strap-ons to me.’ I take a bold, sassy breath, poking him in the chest. ‘I think I can totally do that.’ I try to be sexy, but I oversell it and it’s messy. But I’m curious, and I’m turned on by the idea. I’m ready to fuck a man. Literally.
I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I look vaguely like myself. Wobbly. But myself. Bra still on, wearing a brown leather harness with a small, thin, green dildo attached. Part of me thinks I look ridiculous. Part of me thinks I look hot. The logistical manoeuvring that the harness required meant that I had sexily slinked to the bathroom to put it on instead of awkwardly jumping about in front of Niko. I grab my phone and I take a selfie, meant for Lindell’s eyes only, and notice a text message from a UK number.
No Noni. Don’t. Just leave it.
But I open it.
Noni, it’s Zeppelin. Just wanted to say I hope you’re okay and to tell you your advice is still well safe. We all miss you. But hope you’re happy.
Fuck. Fucking fuck.
I take the harness off quickly and then I vomit hard and fast in the toilet. There’s a knock on the door.
‘Noni, you okay?’
‘No,’ is all I get out before I vomit again.
‘Welcome,’ Joan says as she opens the door to her unit. I hand her a bottle of tequila and kiss her on the cheek, as Carson leaps at my leg with such excited enthusiasm I think he might actually explode. And then I think I might explode too, with joy. I pick him up, breathing him in, squishing him, kissing his neck. My voice is all shrill glee.
When we’ve both calmed down, I actually look at Joan. She’s tanned and she’s got a trendy new haircut. She looks hot. She looks back at me suspiciously.
‘What?’ I ask, self-conscious, instinctively touching my face to check I don’t have crusty toothpaste in the corners of my mouth.
‘You look different,’ she says.
‘Do I? Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugs, sitting down on the couch.
‘I like your new hair,’ I tell her and she smiles.
‘So,’ she says, ‘what’s going on?’
I wince a little, feeling embarrassed. I’d left Niko’s and drunkenly messaged her last night, telling her I missed her, telling her everything was shit, telling her I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to message her these things. She’d called and told me to go to bed, which I did. And that’s where I’d stayed all day today, hungover, feeling embarrassed and sad, reading Zeppelin’s message over and over again. The last bit, ‘But hope you’re happy,’ made me sob into my pillow. When Joan messaged this afternoon to see how I was feeling and invite me around for dinner, I’d said yes. Partly because I owed her an apology, and partly because I knew she’d make me feel better.
‘It’s fine, I was drunk and emotional and old habits die hard.’
‘I’m an old habit?’
‘Looking to you to make me feel better is an old habit,’ I tell her, and she nods slowly.
She asks me about my trip and I tell her everything, except the bit about Molly, and the bit about Beau. I don’t want to tell her those things. And I tell her a watered-down version of the pleasure quest. I scan her apartment looking for signs of cannellini beans, but nothing really stands out.
We very quickly fall into our normal, easy rhythm. We order food, we eat, we chat, we get drunk, we giggle and sit on the couch catching up. She chooses music she knows I’ll like and my heart pangs with a loud melancholic strum. Everything about this is so comfortable, and yet it all feels so different. I’m different.
‘These are amazing,’ she says, staring at one of the photos Lil took of me. She’d asked to see them.
‘Thanks,’ I tell her, pulling my phone away.
‘You look amazing.’ She pauses. ‘Happy.’
‘I was.’
‘Was?’ she asks, eyebrows raised.
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