Fierce Fragile Hearts

by Sara Barnard

  ‘God,’ I let myself mutter out loud. I feel like hell in every possible way and for every possible reason.

  I’m pretty sure Matt is too deep in a post-drunk, post-sex sleep to be anything to worry about, but still I creep around his room in almost total silence, just in case, sliding back into my clothes, locating my phone and bag. It is almost 6 a.m.

  I can’t stand the thought of making it from Hastings to Brighton in what are clearly last night’s clothes, so I pick up one of his hoodies from the floor and put it on. It’s far too big for me, but I feel instantly better. Swamped and anonymous. I let the hood flop over my hair, shielding me from the world. And then I open the door and leave.

  15

  ‘Liability’

  Lorde

  I get home, shower, go to work. I deliberately leave my phone uncharged until I let myself back into the flat that evening, at which point I plug it in at the far corner of the room and hide from it on my bed while I use my brother’s Netflix account to watch old episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine on my laptop, eating a stale croissant from Madeline’s. At some point I fall asleep.

  By the time I jerk awake, it’s 3 a.m. and I’m too tired to be lonely, too tired to be scared of what Matt will have said, or if he will have said nothing at all. I get my phone and curl under the covers to unlock it. There are a lot of messages waiting. My heart doesn’t exactly leap, but it flickers with hope.

  Matt:

  Where are you?

  Oh shit you left. Fuck.

  I’m sorry. Let me know you got back OK yeah? Let me know if I can call you? Shit.

  Also should say, you are amazing. Please message me back.

  Um, sorry for message overload. But am worried

  Kel:

  Suze, where you at? Matt asked me to check in on you. Are you at work? Just let me know you’re OK, chucks.

  Caddy:

  You slept with Matt? Seriously?

  I’m not judging you, just kind of surprised.

  I’m judging you a little bit.

  Call me.

  Rosie:

  You minx. Turn your phone on so I can call you and get the details xxx

  Caddy:

  I guess you turned your phone off again. I don’t know why you do this, Suze. You make it really hard to be your friend sometimes.

  Hers is the last message and I stare at my phone, my heart seized. Caddy has never said anything like that to me before. She’s been disappointed in me, she’s hinted at my being hard work. But never like this.

  If you push people away enough, they’ll go.

  Even though it’s stupid o’clock and she’ll be asleep, I decide to call her and leave a message. I close my eyes against my pillow, the phone to my ear, waiting for the familiar ‘Hi, this is Caddy Oliver’ message I know so well.

  ‘Hello, stranger.’

  My eyes open in surprise. It takes me a second to gather myself. ‘Oh. Hi, Cads. I thought you’d be sleeping.’

  ‘I know. You thought you’d get away with not talking to me.’ There’s alcohol in her voice. Maybe anger, too.

  ‘How come you’re awake?’

  ‘I’m a student, remember? This is like the middle of the afternoon.’ She laughs as she says this, but it’s not for me; it’s a laugh I’m not part of.

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier, my phone was out of battery.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard it’s hard to charge those things these days.’

  I look into the darkness, stunned and stung. My throat has closed. I have no idea what to say. This is not the Caddy I know. I must wait too long because she sighs into the silence, and when she speaks her voice is hard.

  ‘Look, I’m in the middle of something here, OK? I need to go back to my friends. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If you can be bothered.’

  She hangs up before I can reply, and I’m so completely shocked, I actually look at my phone to check that it was definitely her I just spoke to. I can feel a choke of panic in my throat. I can’t lose Caddy. I cannot lose Caddy.

  Me:

  I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I love you. Please call me back, please xxxxx

  God, I sound like a needy girlfriend. And speaking of …

  Hey, phone off all day. Sorry I didn’t reply. It’s fine, don’t worry about it. But let’s leave it, OK? Was a mistake for both of us.

  I feel a bit heartless and mean sending the message to Matt, but to hell with it, I do it anyway. As soon as I’ve sent the message, my phone buzzes.

  Caddy:

  Go to sleep, Suze. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.

  The next time I speak to Caddy, in the early afternoon when I am on my break at work, she has softened. The antagonism from the previous night is gone from her voice, and though she’s not exactly contrite, I can tell that she regrets being quite so harsh. Caddy is too nice to hold on to anger. She is good to the core.

  ‘I’m proud of you,’ I say, playing with the crusts of my sandwich rather than eating them. ‘You told me off.’

  She laughs. ‘I don’t think it counts as telling off. I’d just had a bit to drink. You know I’m a lightweight.’

  Affection and relief fills my chest like helium into a balloon. The bouncy, metallic, happy kind of helium balloon. ‘I love you,’ I say.

  ‘Love you too, Suze,’ she replies.

  ‘Do you forgive me?’

  ‘Yes. But, look, don’t do the phone-off thing with me, OK? I get if you want to do it with Matt or whatever, but it really kind of got to me that you’d do it to me. I care about you, and when you disappear I worry. And then you just reappear like nothing happened and … it’s like … like I’m just incidental to your life. And that makes me feel like you don’t give a shit about me.’

  The words fly out of me. ‘You know I—’

  ‘Yes, I know you do. I’m saying that’s how it feels. Just … remember that having someone care about you is a two-way street.’

  I clutch my fingers around my phone, trying to think of the best thing to say. I want to say, I miss you so much. I’m so lonely. I’m scared that I am no good to anyone. Sometimes I think about dying.

  ‘Can the street have a pub on it?’ I say.

  ‘At least one,’ she says. ‘And a chocolate shop.’

  ‘And a pet shop.’

  ‘A cat cafe!’

  ‘Yes, if it’s with dogs. Puppies.’

  ‘OK, OK. We can have a cat cafe on one end and a puppy park on the other. And a sandwich shop in the middle, one of the really good ones, when the baguettes are still warm and the butter melts into them.’

  ‘Like you,’ I say, without thinking.

  There’s a pause. ‘What?’

  Shut up, you moron. ‘You. Warm like a baguette. Butter-melty.’ Have I ever sounded so idiotic? Being alone so much is clearly getting to me.

  But she laughs, because she knows me. ‘OK, Suze. I’m warm like a baguette.’

  ‘How’s Warwick?’ I ask, glancing at the clock on the wall. Seven minutes left of my break.

  ‘Fine, but I want to know about you and Matt.’

  ‘Oh, that.’

  ‘Yeah, that,’ she says, but with a warmth still in her voice that stops me tensing up. ‘That thing that happened that you said wouldn’t happen. With that guy I said you shouldn’t let it happen with.’

  I’d been trying not to think about Matt. His mouth and his hands. The way he smiled at me when he saw me in the crowd. My heart gives a confusing little zing. ‘Alcohol was involved.’

  ‘Well, I guessed that bit.’

  ‘How did you know, anyway?’

  ‘Matt told Kel, Kel told me,’ she says, like it’s obvious.

  My heart sinks. ‘They talked about it?’

  She doesn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Not in a bad way, to be fair. I think Matt was worried because you bailed and he didn’t know where you were. Nice move, by the way. Just running out on him.’

  ‘Wow, you really got the details, didn’t you?’

  ‘Kel te
lls me everything. And Matt tells him everything. It’s a best-friend thing. You know that.’

  Was that a dig? I don’t tell Caddy everything. Not even close.

  ‘I had to go to work,’ I say. ‘That’s why I just left.’

  ‘Handy,’ she says. ‘Have you talked to him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Aw, I sort of feel bad for him now.’

  ‘Why? He got what he wanted.’

  ‘Maybe he wanted more, though? At least find out.’

  ‘You were the one who said he wouldn’t!’ I say, trying not to sound as frustrated as I am. ‘You said!’

  ‘That’s not quite what I said,’ Caddy says, and I can practically hear the shrug in her voice. ‘I said don’t sleep with him because it could make things messy. But you have, so. Yeah. At least talk to him. He’s Kel’s best friend.’

  ‘I’ve got to go back to work.’

  ‘Handy,’ she says again, and the warmth is gone now, like I’ve used up her affection reserves.

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘You know what.’ There’s a silence. ‘Listen, if you’re mad at me, just say so. Don’t be all passive-aggressive.’

  ‘I’m not,’ she says. ‘I just …’

  I wait. ‘You just what?’

  She sighs. ‘I just don’t get you sometimes, that’s all. You’re like the easiest person to love, and it’s what you want, isn’t it? But then you make it hard. Like, you actively make it hard.’

  My face feels hot. ‘OK, great. Thanks.’

  ‘You know you do, Suze.’

  ‘I know that it’s hard to love me? Yeah, I actually do know that. I know that really well.’

  ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I really have to go back to work now. I’ll talk to you later.’ I hang up and shove my phone into my apron pocket as I head back out to the front counter. I’m thinking, Bitch, but I don’t even know if I’m thinking it about myself or her.

  So much for us reconciling during that conversation. Nothing’s been fixed. That weirdness that spilled out in the phone call last night is clearly still there. Maybe it’s got even weirder. But I can’t think about it now, because there’s a queue stretching towards the door. Total strangers wanting coffee. Perfect.

  ‘Hiya,’ I say, plastering a smile on my face. ‘What can I get you?’

  There’s a message from Matt on my phone that’s been waiting for me for hours. I saw it when I first went on my break but I didn’t open it because talking to Caddy was more important, and then I had to go back to work, and then I had to walk home from work and … Anyway, now it’s almost nine and I’ve run out of excuses.

  I didn’t think it was a mistake. Sorry that you did.

  I had a really great night, like really great. Can we talk?

  I hesitate, reading over the message a couple of times. I think of Caddy saying, ‘At least find out.’ And then I think of the way she’d said a few weeks ago, an eye-roll in her voice, ‘Look, just don’t sleep with him, OK?’ Something she’d never have said to Rosie. But me, I’m the girl who sleeps around, aren’t I? Even my best friends think that way.

  When I was younger and first starting to kiss and flirt with boys, it had made me feel stronger. Special, even. The way they’d look at me, a kind of awe, when I’d let their hands slide further up. (And then, later still, down.) It had felt like a kind of magic I could wield. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Even then, I’d never mistaken any of it for love. I knew they didn’t love me. But they wanted me. And that was more than enough.

  But something changed at some point, a kind of shift I hadn’t anticipated and couldn’t control. When they stopped being surprised that I’d let them, and started expecting it instead. And that feeling, the expectation, and the judgements that went along with it, seemed to spread, so it wasn’t just in boys I’d done anything with, but other boys too. And not just boys, but girls as well, whispering together, side-eyeing me from across the room. Words like ‘slag’, ‘slut’, ‘whore’. One day the words aren’t there, and then suddenly they are, frightening and permanent, and there’s no way to scrub them free from your life.

  No more soft, hopeful smiles and gentle touches. No more long kisses and whispers. No more fizz of the maybe. It was smirks. Tugs at my jeans, my skirt. Impatience.

  I didn’t feel strong or special or magic any more. But I carried on doing it all anyway, and sometimes I don’t even know why. I don’t know if that’s wrong, if that makes me bad in some way. And there’s no one to ask, that’s the thing. No one who will explain all of this confusion. Guys will do anything, say anything, to get sex, but once they’ve got it, it’s the girl who’s made the mistake, the one who’s ‘given it away’. Why is that? Who decides?

  And what does any of that have to do with Matt and me? I stare at my phone, trying to sort through my own confusion before I reply. Is he just another guy who only wants sex? Does it matter if he is? I bite down on the side of my thumb, shaking my head at nothing. What about me? What do I want?

  I think I’m actually annoyed with myself, not him. It’s not like he knew about my resolve not to sleep with him. It’s not like he took advantage of me or treated me badly in any way at all. But me, I basically walked out on him. And yet he still wants to talk.

  I reply, Sure.

  I lie back on my bed to wait for his reply, deciding I’ll wait and see what he says before ruling him out. If he just wants to make overnight plans, then I’ll know he’s not worth it. But if he wants to carry on talking like we have over the last few weeks, like actual friends, then I can do that.

  My phone lights up, taking me by surprise. He’s actually calling me. I pick up. ‘Hey.’

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘You took your time.’

  ‘I was at work,’ I say, instead of what I should say, which is, Sorry. And also, Sometimes I get scared.

  ‘How was it?’

  ‘Fine, just work. How are you?’

  ‘Not bad,’ he says. ‘I’ve kind of been worrying, though.’

  ‘About what?’

  He laughs, soft and short. ‘About you. You just went silent on me. It felt like you thought I was a right dick, or something. That bit about it being a mistake for both of us. Did you miss your shift? Did you get in trouble at work? I’m really sorry you missed your train. I should’ve been more of a … well, gentleman, I guess, and made sure you left on time.’

  For a moment I’m confused, then remember I’d told him my shift started at 8 a.m. instead of noon. ‘It’s fine, I just started later.’

  ‘Oh, OK, good,’ he says. ‘So … what did you mean about the mistake thing?’

  I think about all the messages we’ve sent over the last few weeks, the sweet afternoon we’d spent in Brighton. ‘I didn’t go there for … that,’ I say.

  ‘I know,’ he says quickly. ‘And I didn’t expect it.’

  ‘Well,’ I say, wondering how blunt to be. ‘You kind of did, though.’

  There’s a silence. ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I know Kel told you stuff about me. Just like Caddy told me stuff about you. That’s what you wanted the whole time.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know what Caddy told you about me, but Kel hasn’t said anything like that about you to me. And even if he did, so what? Him and Caddy are different, they want different things. They’re in a relationship, and I don’t want that. So maybe they think that just means I want sex? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I care what you think, though. Great to know you just think I’m a fuckboy.’

  ‘I don’t think that.’ I do think that.

  ‘You basically said you did.’

  I don’t know what to say, so I stay quiet.

  ‘I like you,’ he says. ‘I told you that. I like getting to know you, and hanging out with you is even better. Did I want sex? Yeah, of course, at some point, if you wanted it too. You’re gorgeous. I haven’t hidden the fact that I think that. But that doesn’t mean it’s all I wanted. I
t’s not why I asked you to come to Hastings.’

  ‘Why did you ask me, then?’

  ‘Because I wanted to see you, and you liked the show last time, so I thought it was a good time. Is that so hard to believe?’ There’s a pause, and then he gives an incredulous humph. ‘Did you think I planned it all along? Get you to come to Hastings, get you drunk, get you into bed?’

  Yes. That’s a lot easier to believe than that he’d really want to spend time with me, just me.

  ‘Look, no offence,’ he says, ‘and I know this is going to make me sound like a dick, but whatever. If sex is all I wanted, it wouldn’t have been hard to find a girl in that crowd, you know? There are always girls after gigs.’

  I roll my eyes at the wall. ‘That does make you sound like a dick.’

  ‘I’d rather you thought that than think I was trying to take advantage of you or something. I’m really not like that, OK? Is that what Caddy told you?’

  What was it Caddy had said? ‘She says you have no sexual integrity.’ I regret it as soon as I’ve said it, because I know she hadn’t meant it quite as badly as it sounds when I hear the words coming out of my mouth.

  ‘Jesus,’ he says. ‘Well, that’s great. Just great.’

  ‘She says that about me, too,’ I add, and regret it even more. This is why people don’t have telephone conversations.

  Silence. ‘You’re really hard to read, you know that? I don’t even know what you want from me right now.’ When I don’t reply, he says, ‘I’ve tried to be upfront with you. It’s not a secret that I don’t want a girlfriend.’

  ‘I don’t want a boyfriend, either.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he says. ‘That’s what I mean. I thought we were on the same page. That’s why it’s so easy to talk to you; because we want the same thing. Or rather, don’t want the same thing. I thought we could be, like …’ He trails off, like he’s embarrassed, then says it anyway. ‘Like mates, or whatever.’