by Paige Toon
In the middle of the night I wake up and can’t work out why. I lie there for a moment, listening, but I can’t hear anything. I get up and go to the window, pulling back the curtains and staring out into the darkness. Then I hear a creak on the floorboards outside my bedroom. I tiptoe to the door and peek out, just in time to see Emily – wearing nothing more than an oversized black T-shirt – creeping into her room and gently closing the door.
What the . . .?
Emily and Jessie? Noooooo! I feel a strange mix of emotions. Since when has this been going on? Has it only just begun? Have they been hiding it from me for a while?
My mind continues to tick over, and even though at one point it occurs to me to wonder if this might mean true love and everlasting happiness for them both, my negativity won’t let me dwell on that thought. I can’t get back to sleep for a long time afterwards, and when I finally wake up again at ten o’clock in the morning, Emily’s shell has clamped shut, and Jessie has already left for the airport. As for me, I have other things on my mind. It’s time for me to go back to London.
My mum is wearing a Santa hat when she comes to collect me from King’s Cross. ‘HO HO HO!’ she shouts and I nearly jump out of my skin, before guffawing loudly.
I’m so relieved that I don’t have to pack up all my belongings and bring them home again for the holidays, like I had to do when I lived in halls. Today I have only a small suitcase with me, but Dad has brought the car instead of making me catch the tube.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I say warmly as I climb in the back.
‘Hello!’ He beams with delight and reaches around to pat my knee with great affection.
‘Come on, love,’ Mum urges him.
He faces forward and pulls away from the kerb. I study the side of his face. He looks weary. He looks older.
‘How was your journey?’ he asks perkily.
‘Great! It flew by. How are you? How are you feeling?’
‘I’m fine,’ he replies, brushing me off. ‘I don’t know what all the fuss is about.’
My mum says nothing.
She knocks on my bedroom door later. ‘I’m so pleased you’re home,’ she says, coming in and sitting on the bed next to me.
‘Me too.’ And it’s not even a lie. It’s good to be back, albeit strange. My room seems unfamiliar, yet familiar too. It’s exactly as I left it, apart from the small vase of fresh holly that Mum picked for me from the garden.
‘Have you got any plans for tonight?’ she asks.
‘No, but I want to catch up with Lizzy soon.’
‘She was due to arrive yesterday,’ Mum tells me. ‘I bumped into Susan in the street a couple of days ago.’
‘How is she?’
‘She looked well.’
‘That’s great.’ But my smile quickly fades. ‘How’s Dad?’
She looks down. ‘He’s okay.’
‘Tell me the truth.’
She sighs. ‘His blood pressure is way up. He needs to take it easy.’
‘Has he got much time off over Christmas?’ I ask.
‘A month.’
‘A month!’ I exclaim. ‘Well, that’s great!’
‘Mmm.’
‘What?’
‘The doctor signed him off,’ she reveals.
‘Oh.’ That’s pretty serious.
‘It’ll help having you home,’ she tells me with a smile.
My guilt intensifies. I’ve been so unforgiving – and why? He was only trying to protect me. I silently vow to make it up to him.
Mum has cooked a roast chicken for dinner and it’s blissful sitting there around the table, just the three of us. It feels like old times, before . . . Dorset – I don’t want to say his name.
Later Dad builds a fire and we sit in the living room: them with a sherry each and me with a Baileys on ice.
I hear my phone bleeping from my bag hanging on the coat stand. I go out into the hall to retrieve it and discover a message from Lukas, telling me he’s arrived home safely. I text him back as I walk into the living room.
‘Any news?’ Mum asks.
‘Um . . .’ I glance up at them and smile weakly. ‘A boy.’
‘A boy!’ Dad sits up straighter in his seat. ‘Anyone we know?’
‘No.’ I shake my head and self-consciously study my phone. ‘He’s at Trinity College.’
‘Ooh,’ Mum says. They probably remember the college from the punting tour I took them on.
‘Where’s he from?’ Dad asks.
‘Southern Germany,’ I reply.
‘Germany!’ Mum exclaims. I’m sure they were both expecting me to tell them where in England he was from.
‘He’s German?’ Dad clarifies.
‘Yes.’ I nod, shifting in my seat. ‘He’s nice.’
‘How old is he?’ Dad pries.
‘Twenty-one.’
‘Where’s he spending Christmas?’ Mum asks, eager for details – or at least the ones I’m willing to share.
‘He’s gone home.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Twenty questions!’ I erupt, only half joking.
‘Sorry,’ she says with a smile.
‘His name is Lukas,’ I reply.
‘When can we—’
‘You can meet him next time you come to visit,’ I interrupt my Dad’s question and feel slightly nervous at the thought. Who would ever enjoy introducing their parents to their boyfriend?
‘Good.’ He seems satisfied. I try to recover from the inquisition, but it’s not over yet. ‘You look well,’ Dad continues. ‘He must be doing something right.’
I know he’s comparing my appearance to last Christmas. I was a walking ghost, an empty shell, utterly distraught.
‘You do look well,’ Mum says warmly, patting my hand.
I smile a shaky smile, but don’t meet her eyes.
‘Susan looked very well when I saw her the other day,’ she tells Dad.
‘That’s great,’ he replies.
‘She’s made a fantastic recovery,’ she adds. ‘We should have them over for Christmas drinks, perhaps?’
‘That would be nice,’ he agrees.
She pats my hand again and I know that she realises I’m grateful for the change of subject.
Lizzy and I catch up the next day. We go to our local – the Bald-Faced Stag – for a pub lunch.
‘I’m so glad you’re back!’ she squeals excitedly. ‘Summer was such a bore without you.’
I laugh. ‘It’s good to be home.’
‘What have you been up to? How’s Jessie?’
‘Jessie’s great. He’s gone off to the Alps to teach snowboarding for a couple of months.’
‘Wow. That’s wicked.’
‘He’s a talented chap,’ I say casually.
‘Still don’t fancy him, though?’
I laughingly shake my head and then tell her about Emily.
‘Really?’ she asks, keen for the gossip. She hasn’t met Emily yet. ‘How long do you think that has been going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ I reply offhandedly.
‘Does it bother you?’ she pries.
‘Um . . .’
‘It does!’
‘Not because I fancy him,’ I’m keen to point out. ‘But because I’m not sure how it’s all going to pan out. I really love living there with those two. What if it all becomes horribly messy?’
‘Yeah,’ she says thoughtfully. ‘And if it doesn’t, it could be a bit “three’s a crowd”.’
I stare straight ahead. That’s occurred to me too.
‘You’ll have to find yourself a man,’ she says, taking a sip of her drink.
‘Erm . . .’
‘What?’ She leans across the table. ‘Have you met someone?’
‘Might have done.’
‘When were you going to tell me?’ she demands to know.
I laugh. ‘Now.’
‘Who? What? When? How long?’
‘Actually . . .’ I grin at her. ‘Do you remem
ber that night in the club when you came to visit?’
She nods expectantly. ‘Yeah.’
‘Do you remember the “hottie”?’
‘No!’ she exclaims, but of course she means ‘yes’. ‘You’re going out with him?’
‘Mmmhmm.’
‘But I thought you didn’t like him?’
‘Turns out I do.’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’
I grin at her reaction.
Her brow furrows as she recalls something. ‘Wait, isn’t he the cold-compress guy?’
I laughingly tell her about the Mr Bump present he gave me for Christmas.
She giggles. ‘What a cheapskate.’
I hesitate before pulling out the diamond necklace from under my shirt. I’ve consciously been choosing outfits that wouldn’t bring too much attention to it. I didn’t want to have to explain about Lukas to my parents – or my friend – the moment I walked through the door. ‘He also gave me this.’
She stares closely at it. ‘Whoa.’ She glances up at me. ‘Is it real?’
I nod.
‘Whoa,’ she says again. She lets it go, then sits back in her chair and regards me. ‘It’s serious, then?’ There’s something a little accusatory about her tone.
I nod again. ‘Yes. Pretty damn serious,’ I reply a touch flippantly.
‘Have you . . .?’ Her voice trails off.
I purse my lips together.
‘No way!’ She leans forward. ‘Are you blushing?’ she exclaims, plonking her glass down on the table.
‘What? No!’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘Okay, then, I am a little bit, but, you know . . .’
She raises her glass. ‘Cheers. Here’s to you.’
‘Stop it.’ I laugh and wave her away. ‘How about you? Anyone on the scene?’
‘Might be.’
‘Tell me!’ I squeal. ‘Have you—’
‘No,’ she cuts me off. ‘Not yet. But we’ve come close,’ she admits self-consciously.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Callum. He’s Scottish,’ she adds before I can ask.
‘Is he at university with you?’
‘He is, indeed. Studying politics.’ She pulls a face. ‘But he’s well fit so I’ll forgive him for it. What does . . . what’s his name?’
‘Lukas.’
‘Cool name. What does Lukas study?’
‘He reads’ – I say this playfully – ‘Physics at the University of Cambridge.’
‘Ooh, get him!’ she cries. ‘What does that involve?’
‘I wouldn’t have the foggiest. All goes way over my head.’
She laughs. ‘When can I meet him?’
Join the queue . . . ‘The next time you come to visit.’
‘You seem so much better,’ she says, and instantly I feel anything but because I know what’s coming. ‘You’re over Joe, then?’
I can’t speak for a moment, but then I reply.
‘No.’ I swirl my drink around in my glass. ‘No, I’ll never get over him.’
‘Yes, you will,’ she brushes me off.
‘No, I won’t.’ I meet her gaze seriously. ‘I know I won’t.’
She shrugs. She doesn’t believe me, but there’s no such thing as ‘time heals everything’ in this situation. Time will prove her wrong, that’s what time will do. I’ll always love him. I’m just trying not to think about him for the foreseeable future.
My intentions remain stable until somewhere between Christmas and New Year, when I’m watching telly with my parents and a programme about Dorset comes on. I want to get up and leave the room, but my backside is glued to the sofa. I stare at the television screen and that night I can’t sleep for the images going over and over in my mind.
Finally I allow myself to daydream about my time with Joe from beginning to end. I try to remember everything . . . the first time I saw him at the pub . . . the way I felt: the POW feeling when he looked up and met my eyes . . . how I was unable to get him out of my mind that evening when I went for a walk to Dancing Ledge, and how I bumped into him and helped him with his quiz questions. I’m full of butterflies as I recall that first kiss on Dancing Ledge . . . the fireworks going off in my stomach . . . sitting with him late at night on the bench outside the cottage . . . wanting to be with him every minute of every day, not caring about sleep . . . making love to him for the first time, and the next time, and the next . . . My heart flips again and again as I remember, and I don’t even feel sad. I feel determined. I want to find him.
Early the next morning I get up and walk on autopilot down the high street to the tube station. I spend hours – I don’t even know how many – wandering through the streets of central London looking for him. With every hour that passes I feel more lost – not physically, but emotionally.
My feet somehow take me home again, but I am broken. I tell my parents I’m not feeling well, then I climb into bed and stay there until the next morning, when I wake up to find my mum pressing her hand to my forehead. Her face is etched with worry, and I know that I can’t allow her and Dad to go through this again. I find the resolve to put on an act – an act I hoped I’d never have to put on again – and somehow manage to make it through the next few days until it’s time for me to return to Cambridge. Lukas rings me once during this time, but I divert his call. He texts to apologise for not calling me more; he’s been busy with family commitments. I force myself to reply with a text that says pretty much the same thing, then I turn off my phone. I want to tell him it’s over. But that will have to wait. At the very least, I owe it to him to say it to his face.
On the return train my feelings begin to feel quite surreal. The closer I get to Cambridge, the more the darkness inside me fades. By the time I walk through the front door into Jessie’s house I feel oddly okay. The house is empty – Emily is in Scotland until tomorrow and Jessie is in Austria for another six weeks – but still I feel lighter than I did in London. I sit down on the sofa in a daze and stare ahead. What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I such a headcase?
I put my hand to my collarbone, but the necklace Lukas gave me is absent. I stopped wearing it the day I went to find Joe.
He’s flying back into Stansted tonight. Lukas. Here and now I’m not sure how I feel about seeing him again.
I don’t have to wait long to find out. I’m upstairs unpacking when I hear the front doorbell ring. I go downstairs with idle curiosity, wondering who it might be. It doesn’t occur to me to wonder if it’s Lukas, because his flight isn’t due until tonight. I open the door and stare at him with surprise.
‘Hello,’ he says gently. He steps over the threshold, but I’m frozen, staring up at him. He’s wearing the scarf that I gave him. It suits him. But I barely recognise him. He’s like a stranger to me. We’ve been apart for only a fortnight, but it feels like a lifetime. He wraps his arms around me and I’m tense under his touch.
It’s the scent of his aftershave that does it. I breathe it in and instantly soften. I hold him tightly as I squeeze my eyes shut.
Lukas. My boyfriend. I’m such a fucking idiot.
‘Surprise,’ he says quietly, pulling away and looking down at me.
‘I . . . I didn’t think you were getting back until tonight?’ I stammer.
‘I caught an earlier flight. That was a long two weeks.’
I smile weakly. ‘It was.’
‘Are you okay?’ he asks. ‘I tried to call you from the airport, but your phone went straight through to voicemail.’
‘I need to charge it up,’ I say dismissively, looking away. He tilts my chin up towards him and then he kisses me.
For a split second Joe passes through my mind, and then I shut him out. That’s enough now. This is my reality and I should be happy with it.
Not ‘should’. ‘Am’.
‘Hold on a moment,’ he says, breaking away and going to the door. He stalks down the path and lifts his hand to wave goodbye to someone down on the
street, then he returns to the house.
‘Klaus,’ he explains. ‘He’s going to drop my bags to my room.’
‘Nice,’ I tease. ‘Did he pick you up from the airport too?’
‘Yes.’
‘You should have introduced me,’ I say.
‘Why?’ he asks with a frown.
‘What do you mean, “why”?’ I mirror his expression.
He shrugs and seems genuinely perplexed.
‘He’s . . . I don’t know, he’s a part of your life,’ I explain. ‘I feel bad that I haven’t even met him.’
‘Don’t feel bad. He works for my family. It’s not necessary for you to meet him solely for the reason of being polite.’
He pulls me back into his arms.
‘I missed you,’ he murmurs into my hair. He kisses me passionately and shivers tingle up and down my spine. Soon afterwards we relocate to my bedroom.
The feeling of surrealism returns later when I’m lying in his arms, but this time it’s my trip to London that feels surreal. I can’t actually believe that I acted like that. I really am a nutcase. Maybe I should see someone.
Lukas shifts beside me. I look down at him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m good,’ he replies, stretching. ‘I like your bed,’ he says with a grin.
‘It’s certainly bigger than yours,’ I reply, propping myself up on his chest.
‘When does Jessie return?’
‘Not for another month and a half,’ I tell him. ‘But Emily gets back tomorrow.’
‘Shame,’ he muses, staring up at the ceiling. ‘It would be nice to have our own house.’
‘Steady on,’ I joke.
He doesn’t smile. ‘I really did miss you.’
I don’t reply. I stroke his jaw with my thumb – it’s smooth to the touch. I gaze into his blue, blue eyes, and then he’s kissing me again.
‘How was your Christmas?’ I ask him the next morning over breakfast. Cereal, no pancakes, sadly.
‘Good,’ he replies with an abrupt nod.
‘How were your parents?’
‘Fine.’
‘Brother? Sister?’