by Beth Reekles
We went to the cinema twice (once over the summer, once at Christmastime), both times with one of our parents in tow. We bought each other presents on holidays and gave each other Easter eggs.
And sometimes we held hands in the school yard and once, on Valentine’s Day at school in Year Seven, he kissed me on the lips for a dare.
He broke up with me at the start of Year Eight, when he realised that other girls were starting to develop noticeable boobs and I looked more like a boy, with my short bob and flat chest.
That was the first time I got my heart broken. I cried all night and my mum told me, ‘You’ll get your heart broken plenty of times before you find the boy who pieces it all back together for you.’
I hadn’t believed her. I always thought that I would only ever fall for The One.
The One being the guy I would want to spend my whole life with. My knight in shining armour, my Prince Charming, my soulmate.
I take the lid off the shoebox, looking at the rope bracelets of beads that Barry gave me as holiday presents, the tickets from the two movies we went to see, and a few photos.
I wiggle the lid back onto the box, and move on to the next one.
My second boyfriend was the boy I fancied all of Year Nine, once I’d overcome my first bout of heartbreak. His name was Lorenzo – but everyone called him Ren. He was one of the coolest guys in our school year, and all the girls fancied him because he was exotic. His mum was Spanish and he took after her, with thick, shiny black hair and high cheekbones and olive skin.
He asked me out at a birthday party mid-way through the school year, and our romance was intense and brief. There was a lot of snogging in the school corridors in the gaps between lockers at lunchtime, when there wasn’t anyone around. And snogging at birthday parties we were both invited to. And snogging in the park, because all the cool kids hung out in the park in the evening on a Friday night.
It ended when Ren moved back to Spain before the start of the next school year, and my heart was broken once again.
My shoebox with reminders of that relationship contains less than the first one. There are only a few photos, a McDonalds receipt for the cheeseburgers he bought us one night on our way to the park, and a necklace. The necklace was a cheap thing, the silver chain all tarnished now and the gem hanging from it not shiny any more. But when he gave it to me, before he left for Spain, it felt as if he’d given me diamonds.
Shoebox number three was my longest relationship. It’s heavy, the top barely fitting on over everything, and it’s the most painful to think about. I had to put an elastic band around it to keep the lid on. It’s so old now that the elastic breaks as I try to take it off.
I shriek, jumping back, but the band springs away from me.
I pick up the photo from just inside, sighing as I look at it. With my other hand I pick up the teddy bear, his fur matted and coarse now, his body squished from being shoved inside a shoebox.
Oh, Jon. My third love.
He broke my heart worst of all.
And now I can’t believe I ever wasted my time on him.
I’d spent Year Ten and Eleven trying to focus on school – I had GCSE exams, and I knew they were super-important, and I was still devastated from Ren’s departure. Besides, that was when the house parties started, and I found that being single at those was fun.
The first house party took place in February half term, at some girl’s house I knew from my art class, and she’d invited half the year. Most people had big brothers or sisters, or lenient parents, so there was alcohol going around. Mostly WKDs and Bacardi Breezers and beers, nothing strong, and never enough for anyone to get more than a bit tipsy – but we all acted like we were drunk from just two small bottles of beer.
And I found plenty of opportunities to kiss boys at these parties. I kissed Jon at two parties, and after the second one he asked me out. By then, it was halfway through our summer break before Sixth Form. I liked Jon: he was good-looking, nice, and a good kisser. So I said yes.
I fell for him quickly, and I fell hard. Everyone in the common room would joke that we were like an old married couple. Cathy used to ask me if I could really see myself with Jon, with her lips pursed and a worried frown, and I could. I could imagine a future with him, when he was at uni and I was doing… something.
The only problem with Jon was that he wasn’t exactly faithful.
I sift through some of the photos in the box, and the folded-up notes we used to write to each other. We put them in each other’s lockers for fun. He left clues to find the gifts he gave me. They’d come out of the blue, not on any particular occasion, but they were always an apology.
Lots of beaded bracelets are tangled together in the bottom of the shoebox. There’s a book I never read. The teddy bear. A necklace.
Jon was more popular than I was, and he was on the rugby team. He got invited to all the parties. Sometimes I wasn’t invited, or sometimes my parents just wouldn’t let me go because it was a school night.
And then the next day, one of my friends would say they needed to talk to me. Either they’d been at the party, or knew someone who had been and knew all the gossip. And they’d say that so-and-so had seen Jon kissing one girl or another (it was never the same girl).
And later that morning, when I saw Jon, he’d give me whatever present he’d picked up from the shops on the walk to school, and he’d give me such a bright smile that I was sure I could make him change his wayward ways. He loved me, and I loved him. And he was obviously so very sorry – and he’d always tell me he’d drunk too much and didn’t even remember it. So wasn’t that okay?
I was seventeen when I decided it was time to take things further. Most people had done it already, and what was the big deal, really, they said.
‘It’s just sex,’ I remember my friend Maggie telling me one lunchtime. I knew she’d done it plenty of times, with a couple of boys. She was experienced. She knew what she was talking about.
So that weekend, Jon and I went to his house while his parents were out, and that was that. I mean, it was only a matter of time anyway. We loved each other. We’d be together forever.
About two months later – a month after we’d finished our AS exams – he broke up with me.
‘It’s just not working,’ he said.
I insisted that we could fix it, and sort out whatever wasn’t working.
Then he said, ‘Well, I’ve sort of been seeing someone else.’
I cried and shouted enough to draw the whole truth out of him. I found that for the past three months he’d been ‘sort of seeing’ this girl he’d met at a party from another school. She was going to university, too, unlike me. I’d already decided to drop out of Sixth Form by that point. They had a future together.
‘She doesn’t know about you,’ he said. ‘Please don’t tell her.’
So I contacted her on Facebook later that afternoon – he’d been stupid enough to tell me her name – and told her everything. She had a right to know what kind of guy Jon was.
I put the lids back on the four shoeboxes, push them out of the way under my bed, and try to push them out of my mind, too. Maybe I was ready to try and move on from Will, but I wasn’t over him yet.
I knew what Cathy would tell me to do with all this – get rid of it. Stop hanging on to bad memories.
Probably, I’d feel better about getting rid of all this stuff. I’d feel like it’s a weight off my shoulders, like it’s a relief, or something. It’d feel good.
Wouldn’t it, at least, feel better than this nagging in the pit of my stomach that just makes me feel like I’m never going to fall in love ever again?
I have some time off from my college classes over Easter, and take some time off work for a while, too. I pack up my clothes and textbooks, and go back home to see my parents for a couple of weeks.
My time off is over soon enough, and I have to go back into Cardiff for work. I only live a half hour train ride from Cardiff Central. And, for the first time
since that Monday talking with Cathy, I let myself think about Sean.
I know now that he’s from Swansea. But what if he stayed in Cardiff over the Easter break for work and to revise? He might have done. Maybe he is still in Cardiff. And what if he comes into Starbucks again when I’m working? What will I say to him?
From the number of times Cerys and I have spied him, we’ve guessed that my Starbucks is the one he usually goes to, when he’s in town.
And if it is, what does that mean?
Is he going there especially to see me, or for convenience?
I start biting my nails on the train to work. I don’t usually bite my nails, but I’m nervous. I can’t help it.
I try to think what to do if he does show up. Do I play it cool, pretend like nothing awkward happened between us? Do I act like we’re good friends now? Do I mention the kiss on the cheek?
I run a hand through my hair, and my fingers snag on a knot in my curls. I was running a bit late this morning and didn’t have chance to straighten my hair. I pull the hair bobble off my wrist, and put my hair up into a ponytail.
I’m not even wearing any make-up. I have a little in my bag – should I put some on in case Sean shows up?
The train pulls into Cardiff Central before I can make my mind up, and I get off, following the people from my train out through the exit, and making my way to Starbucks.
I want to see Sean again. I want to hang out with him again, not just run into him for a fleeting visit. I thought about finding him on Facebook. Cathy knows his last name so he’d be easy enough to find, but I couldn’t do it. I’m not even sure if I really like him, or just let myself get swept up after he acted like my knight in shining armour on Valentine’s Day.
This is why I’ve sworn off guys, I remind myself, when I catch myself looking in a window at my reflection to see how I look. Because this is way too stressful.
I’m so distracted by checking out my reflection I don’t hear someone calling my name until they touch my elbow. I turn, apologising for not hearing them, and the words die on my lips.
It’s Will.
He looks good. Not as good as Sean, I think, but he doesn’t look bad.
‘How are you?’ His voice is a little breathless, like he ran to catch up to me.
‘Uh…’ I swallow. ‘Peachy.’
‘Good. Good. Um, listen, Alex, I’ve… I’m really glad I saw you. I’ve been thinking, about us, and what happened, and I think I made a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have broken up with you.’
I stare at him, thinking: It’s too early in the morning for this.
‘I was thinking, maybe we could, um, give it another shot? I’ve been thinking about calling you for ages, but I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have broken up with you.’
My mind is reeling, and all I can do is gawp at him.
‘Alex? Say something.’
‘I’m gonna be late for work.’
Reasons I liked dating Will before
• He was sweet
• We were in love
• He went to the trouble to make big romantic gestures to show me how much he loved me
Reasons to date Will again
• I shouldn’t.
Reasons not to date Will again
• It’s a very, very bad idea
• I think I might finally be over him
• He lost his chance
• He broke my heart
• His eyes are too close together, he doesn’t focus on life, and he’s a prat
• He broke up with me on Valentine’s Day
• Sean.
Chapter Six
I’m lucky that first day back at work over Easter, because I don’t see Sean. It’s lucky because I still haven’t got my head around my talk with Will. He wants to give it another shot. He made a mistake breaking up with me.
As upset as I was over our breakup, I don’t know that I want to go out with him again.
Will tries calling me, and I don’t answer. Cathy tells me I’m doing the right thing, but I’m not so sure. I was in love with Will, and I did like being with him…
But I think about the list I made, and how bad an idea it would be to start dating him again.
Eventually, I decide to answer one of his calls, after almost two weeks of ignoring them. ‘What do you want, Will?’
‘I want to talk to you. Alex, please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I just want to talk. Let me take you to dinner.’
Against my better judgement, and a voice in the back of my mind that sounds a lot like Cathy, I agree. Maybe I need to talk to him to get closure. So I can finally put that heartbreak behind me.
We meet up in Cardiff the next evening, and he greets me at the train station. I feel sick with nerves. It feels weird, going to dinner with Will, and not holding his hand, not giggling at something he’s just said.
I look at his hand, swinging slightly at his side. Do I want to hold that hand again?
He walks us to Bella Italia, and I stop dead outside the doors. ‘You’ve got to be kidding.’
Will catches my hand before I can walk away. ‘I know it’s probably the last place you want to be, but I want to make things up to you. I’m trying to give you the Valentine’s date we should’ve had together. It’s romantic.’
My heart softens a little at that. It is a romantic gesture… and he must be serious about wanting me back if he’s going to all this trouble…
When he opens the door for me, I walk inside.
And when we sit down, I have a whole other reason to be nervous.
Sean walks up to our table. I was so sure that he must’ve gone home to Swansea, since I haven’t seen him in Starbucks for the last two weeks. I chew on my lip, looking away from him. Maybe he won’t realise it’s me.
He looks even better than the last time I saw him.
Seriously – I didn’t think it was possible, but every time I see him, he seems to get more attractive. It’s like he has some kind of superpower. I think it’s the glasses. It’s like there’s some sort of rule of the universe that attractive guys will look even better with a good pair of glasses.
‘Alex?’
Crap.
I look up, and laugh awkwardly. ‘Hey, Sean. It’s, uh, really nice to see you.’
He looks between Will and me, and realisation dawns on his face. He bites his lip, looking away. His voice is stiff and flat when he asks what we’d like to drink. My stomach twists with guilt. I don’t owe Sean anything, but I don’t owe Will anything either.
I shouldn’t be here.
I should, to hear what Will has to say.
He doesn’t talk about us, over dinner. He doesn’t talk about the girl he ditched me for on Valentine’s Day, or about how badly he wants me back. I keep waiting for him to bring it up, but he still hasn’t when we’re halfway through our meals.
That’s when I decide that enough is enough, and all the romantic gestures in the world won’t make a difference. I don’t love him any more.
‘Will,’ I say, interrupting him in the middle of a sentence, ‘what are we doing?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You said you wanted to talk, but we haven’t actually talked. Not about us. And you said that you wanted to give us another shot, only I don’t see why I should give you one. We can’t just go back to how we were before. It’s been months since we broke up. You can’t just assume I’ll take you back.’
Will looks at me like a wounded puppy. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small box and holding it out to me. ‘I got you this. I’d bought it for you for Valentine’s, even though we decided not to do presents, only…’
I look at the box. My hand is itching to reach out and take it, and forgive him, and give him another chance because he’s really trying.
But then I look over at Sean – I catch him looking at us, and he looks away quickly, pretending to be busy.
I bite my lip, turning back to Will. Just as I thought I’d got over him, he comes swanning back into my life, and even though I spent weeks after our break-up wishing for him to call me, begging me to take him back, now, I can’t see why I ever wanted him back.
I let out a sharp breath, resolved. I’ve never dumped anyone before; I’ve always been the one being dumped. But we’re not exactly dating now, so I don’t think I can call this breaking up with him.
I reach over and push his hand away. ‘It’s not going to happen, Will.’
‘But –’
‘What happened to that other girl?’
He looks away. ‘Things didn’t really work out. That was when I realised that I wanted you back, and I should never have ended things between us, and –’
‘Stop talking, okay? You can’t just take me to dinner and give me jewellery and think I’ll be falling all over you. I’ve moved on. And I deserve better than someone who dumps me on Valentine’s Day.’
I toss my napkin on the table and grab my handbag, leaving him behind like he left me.
‘Alex! Wait! Alex!’
It’s not Will who’s chasing me out of the doors. It’s Sean.
I’m tearful, and I hate myself for it. I don’t want to be upset over Will again.
I expect him to start asking me what I was doing with Will, but instead he just asks, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really.’ I hug my arms around myself against the cold. ‘That was Will. He wanted another chance. I don’t even know what I saw in him. I’m such an idiot.’ I blink away some tears, and sniffle.
‘You look like you need a cwtch,’ Sean tells me, with a friendly smile.
I laugh, sniffling again, and let him wrap his arms around me and hold me close. He smells like Italian food and aftershave, and I hook my arms around his waist.
When I pull away from the hug, I have to wipe away another tear. ‘I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.’
He shakes his head. ‘No you’re not.’
I smile, but I’m not convinced. I glance back into the restaurant, where I can see Will throwing his fork down and running a hand through his hair, and calling to a passing waitress. I don’t want to have to talk to him again. I want to be gone before he leaves the restaurant.