She inhaled again on her cigarette.
“Of course, it only took a few weeks for the bruises to start again. All that, for that. Eventually, I did get away. At eighteen. I went to the first university that could take me and I was gone. Sitting in the student union that first night, cross-legged on the floor, with my new housemates, drinking a bottle of Budweiser, I marvelled at how the beer trickled down my body, down to my very toes. Now I was free. Really free.”
She stubbed out her cigarette.
“But my mum’s words of advice always rang in my ears. ‘Start as you mean to go on.’ ‘Don’t get married’. ‘As soon as you kids leave, that’s me away.’ I suppose I’ve always protected myself. It’s as if I’m looking – waiting for any man to prove himself. Waiting for him to prove himself wrong.”
Sasha stopped then – aware she had said too much. She had been seeing Sam, how many months? And already she had bared her soul to him. He’d be running away as fast as he could.
“Thank you for telling me that,” Sam said softly. “I’m really privileged that you told me all that. It helps me to understand you more.”
Sasha shrugged her shoulders softly.
“It sounds horrific, Sasha. I’m so sorry.”
There was a brief silence and then Sasha said, “I guess it’s just one of those things. You just get on with it at the time. You just take one day at a time.”
Sam sat closer to her and wrapped his arms around her. “I know,” he soothed. He stroked her face softly. “I promise I will never hurt you,” he whispered. “Physically or any other way. I promise.”
Sasha wanted to believe him, really she did. But she knew it would just take time.
Chapter Forty-Two
“There’s something I wanted to talk to you about…” Sam began, as he pushed his food tentatively around his plate.
Sasha noticed that her heart had begun immediately hammering like a drum. Uh-oh. This sounds serious.
“It’s about us…” he continued.
Oh God. That can only mean one thing. He’s had enough.
“I was thinking…” he said, lowering his eyes, embarrassment and shame written all over his face.
Oh dear. This really is it. He’s too serious. Too sombre. He’s definitely had enough of me. Probably fed up with all my insecurity.
“And well, I was thinking… perhaps it would be a good idea if we moved in together?” He looked up at her, expectantly, his face flooded with nerves and anticipation.
“Move in together?” Sasha repeated, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Really?”
Immediately he looked even more ashamed. Her reaction had clearly been far too stunned for his liking. Quickly she recovered, and laid a comforting hand on his.
“I mean, that’s such a lovely thing to suggest… I’m shocked, that’s all… pleasantly surprised… it’s just that we’ve never talked about it or anything, so it’s come out of the blue…”
She looked at him, across the dinner table. The candle flickered in between them. Other diners quietly chatted around them. A tinkling of music could be heard emanating from the piano far off. He had certainly picked a wonderfully romantic setting to pop the question.
Sasha felt a hot rash creep up her throat and spread across her face. Unfortunately, she was wearing a very low cut red dress, so she feared that the overall effect was making her look like a ripened tomato.
“I know that I want to be with you,” Sam sighed, as though the time had come to lay all his cards on the table and be honest with her. “I know that I love you. I want to wake up next to you in the morning. I want to cuddle you goodnight, while you’re still in my arms, drifting off to sleep. I want to come home from work and find that you’re there. That we’d cook together, lie and watch TV, chill together.”
Sasha felt a tightening sensation grip around her stomach. She looked at Sam – looking so dapper in his shirt and tie, looking at her with those adorable puppy dog eyes. He would do anything for her, she knew that. So why did she feel so constricted? And why, goddammit, was Kirk’s face poking up in the middle of her mind to unnerve her?
“It’s a really lovely thought…” Sasha said, stalling for time. “But… do you think we’ve been together long enough? I mean, we’ve only been seeing each other four… five months?”
“Five months,” Sam corrected her.
She could have kicked herself. When she was going out with Kirk, she knew exactly how long they had been going out – down to the very day, month and hour.
“Yes – five months,” Sasha continued, ignoring her faux pas. “It’s not very long, is it? To decide to move in together?”
Sam shrugged his shoulders and said softly, “I just know it’s right, Sasha. I just want to be with you. I’m tired of all the travelling between us. Half of my clothes are at yours anyway. I’m rarely at my own house. It’s such a waste of rent. I’d be better sharing rent with you – and then we could use our spare money on other things.”
Sasha played with the ring on her middle finger, twisting and turning it.
“Like holidays and stuff…” Sam’s quiet words seemed to echo off the walls and reverberate back at him.
Sasha smiled warmly, realising that her lack of immediate interest was probably freaking him out. Yet the question was making her feel under extreme pressure. She took a large sip of her wine to stall for time. How many men, she wondered, take a woman to a fancy restaurant, ask her a massive commitment-loaded question and expect her to say yes right there and then, just because it’s a romantic venue with a few dim lights and twinkling candles? How many men, six months later, are regretting their impulsive question, after they see her, morning-through-night, in pyjamas and no make-up, elbow deep in suds and dishes, and wish upon wish that they could go back to those uncommitted days?
How many women, faced with such a romantic proposal, possibly even with expectant witnesses watching, hoping for gushing acceptance, feel compelled to accept the offer? Therefore, they go from dating a guy for a few months, and seeing him on his absolute best behaviour, to giving up their freedom and independence, giving up the home they so beautifully adorned, and signing the lease on a new place. Said new place will then become ‘their’ space – not ‘her’ space. Gone will be her cute pink fairy lights and flickering candles. In their place will be a toilet seat which always sits up, pee will be trickled around the floor, and bachelor-like additions such as deafening football matches on a Saturday afternoon, and the cackle of lads’ humour, will be accompanied by a mess of empty beer bottles on the weekend.
She thought back to Kirk days, when admittedly she would have jumped at the chance of living with him. Even with his List of Rules and his regulations. Not to mention his ultimatums and talk-a-thons.
Then a bit of sense popped in to her head, when she realised how fortunate she had been not to move in with Kirk.
He would probably have attached the List of Rules to the fridge with a magnet. And if she didn’t manage to live up to the rules (even though she had signed her consent at the bottom), he would have taken the head-staggers, a complete mental overload, and just walked out of the relationship. Leaving her with nowhere to live and having to start all over again. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead at the very thought of it.
Or worse still, what if they ended up like her mum and dad? All love’s young dream at the start, but years on – violence, and bruises, and absolute nightmare.
She couldn’t. She just couldn’t. Every single inch of her body rebelled at the thought of the commitment. Her stomach wrenched like a tea-towel, her shoulders hunched up around her ear-lobes, a headache hammered in her skull; all her physical signs were warning her, No. Don’t do it.
“I’m not sure…” Sasha stammered unassertively. “Could I have a few days to think about it?”
Sasha watched as Sam’s face fell right in front of her. He could not hide his disappointment. This wasn’t the ideal romantic ending that he was hoping fo
r, where Sasha clapped her hands to her mouth in excited joy and cried, ‘Yes! Yes I’d love to!’
Luckily, they had no witnesses for this proposal. Imagine the awkwardness and disappointment there would be, as they would shuffle their gaze away.
Sam, though, in typically mature fashion, plastered on a brave smile. “Of course! Of course, hon! You take as long as you like to think about it. It is a massive decision, right enough.” He smiled broadly, faking every inch of it with lips which were now twitching with nerves and embarrassment. “Could you excuse me for a moment?” he asked, in that ever-so-polite, gentlemanly way of his, as he pushed back his chair and made his way to the gents’ toilets.
Oh God, oh God, oh God, Sasha murmured under her breath. Please don’t be crying in the toilets. Please.
Sasha looked around her awkwardly, wondering if anyone had witnessed their scene. She caught the eye of an elderly lady at the table next to hers. She didn’t know if it was her imagination but it seemed as though the woman was viewing her with a mixture of pity and disgust.
Sasha signed inwardly and dug her phone out of her bag as a distraction. Flicking through the messages, she took a sharp inhalation of breath, as she caught a glimpse of one of the messages. Buried beneath a ton of junk mail was:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Can we talk?
Sasha’s heart hammered as she looked up in the direction of the gents to see if Sam was returning. Coast still clear. Mrs Elderly was glaring at her, though.
Hands trembling, she rested the tip of her finger on the icon to open the message.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Can we talk?
Sasha, it’s me. I know it’s been a while since we spoke, but I really need to talk to you. Could I come to visit you sometime soon? I’ll work around you – whenever suits.
Thanks,
K x x
My God. What on earth does he want to talk about? The tone of the message is friendly – possibly even a little grovelling – which means I’ll have the upper hand… but what could he want?
Sasha shook her head as she tossed her phone back into her bag, just as she spotted Sam walking back from the toilets.
Men have like, radars, I swear. They sniff competition a mile off. That’s surely why Kirk is emailing me now, just at the exact same time as Sam is asking us to live together.
“Shall we get the bill and go?” Sam asked.
Sasha nodded and smiled. “Sure.” Anything to get away from sharp-daggers-woman.
As they left, he gently rested a hand on her back and guided her out of the restaurant.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Are you mad?” her sister Rachel spluttered, nearly spitting out the hot cappuccino she had just sipped. “You’re really going to meet up with Kirk again? After everything that happened?”
They were sitting in Caffé Nero, lounging on comfy sofas, nursing mugs of frothy cappuccino sprinkled with chocolate dusting.
Sasha avoided her gaze. “Well, yeah…” she admitted quietly. “Yeah, I was planning to meet him…” she trailed off.
“But why?” her sister persisted. “I mean, after everything he did, after the way he treated you. Why?”
Her sister was practically whispering. As though they were having a top secret confidential discussion. As though the few tables that were filled with quiet coffee-drinker, book-reader types would be in any way interested in their conversation.
“Well, because…” Sasha began, taking her sweeteners out of her bag and clicking deftly as one, two, three small sugar pills dropped into her mug. “Because… it’s Kirk, that’s why.” She stirred the froth slowly as though the answers would be found in the bottom of her cup. “He was the love of my life,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t just walk away and not hear what he has to say.”
Rachel cocked her head to one side, as though gently challenging her. “And Sam’s not the love of your life?”
The question caught Sasha by surprise, like walking down the street and suddenly catching a reflection of yourself in a shop window. The truth staring back at you. Reality.
“Well, kind of…” Sasha trailed off guiltily. “But that’s different.”
Rachel looked at her, a mixture of sympathy and softness. “Different, how?” she probed.
Sasha shook her head and stirred her coffee again, distractedly. “Oh, I dunno… it’s just… Kirk was… Kirk, you know? The love of my life. I was so mad about him. It was almost like obsession. We were so besotted with each other.”
“And Sam?”
“Well, Sam is just safe. You know? Safe and secure. He’s just there.” Sasha hung her head, unable to meet Rachel’s gaze. She knew it sounded awful. She knew it sounded wrong. But she was just being honest.
The quiet hum of the other customers continued around them as Sasha continued to hang her head in thought.
“Safe and secure sounds good to me,” she heard her sister saying. “Safe and secure sounds a heck of a lot better than slamming doors and walking out on you and silly lists about rules and regulations.”
Sasha’s features twitched with painful recognition as her sister’s point hit home.
“Yeah, I guess…” she conceded.
“I mean,” Rachel went on. “Look at mum and dad.”
Sasha looked up at her surprised, wondering what her point was.
“Do you really want to get to that age, and be alone? Not have anyone to look after you?”
Sasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a far-fetched reason, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Rachel persisted. “Isn’t that why most people get married? For security? So that when they’re old and grey, they’ll have company? And, hopefully, children who can look after them in their old age?”
Sasha considered the question. She longed for a cigarette between her fingers while she mulled the thought over.
“Well, not really…” Sasha argued back. “I mean, say you get married, but your hubby dies before you. You still have to face sickness alone. Or say your kids clear off abroad, you’re not guaranteed someone to take care of you.”
Rachel grimaced. “Well, I was generalising.”
“Hmm…” Sasha considered. She sipped more of the hot liquid underneath the frothy top. “Still, it’s not as if our mum and dad are the beacon of secure happiness, is it?”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “I suppose,” she conceded. “Anyway, I was just generalising. I was just trying to help. I don’t want to see you get hurt again, that’s all.” Her eyes were soft, pleading; sympathetic.
Sasha softened. “I know, I know,” she agreed. “And you’ve got a point, really you do.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I’m just trying to be honest with you about how I’m feeling.”
“I know,” Rachel soothed. “And I’ll support you either way – you know that.”
Sasha smiled. “Thanks, sis – I appreciate that – I really do.”
Sasha was due to meet Kirk in Bar Red at 7.30pm. It was now 6.30pm. She was bathed, moisturised, dressed, hair straightened, make-up applied, perfume sprayed, toileted, perfume sprayed again, toileted again, and sitting not so patiently on the living room sofa. She was ready far too early. The nerves were excruciatingly high. She wasn’t sure whether it was excitement, adrenalin, fear or just sheer curiosity as to what he wanted to talk about. Perhaps, she thought, for one panic-stricken moment, perhaps he wants to tell me that he’s getting married to someone else! Perhaps he thinks that it would be fair if he told me himself – if it came from his mouth – nobody else’s.
Sasha allowed the thought to worry her briefly before she swatted the idea away like an annoying fly. As if he’d waste time coming all the way up here to tell me news like that – he wouldn’t bother. No, the news must be something about us. He wants something from me.
An agonisingly long hour later, punctuated by toilet trip
s, pacing up and down, and retouching of nail polish, Sasha was in a taxi being whisked towards Bar Red, wondering what the next chapter of her life had in store for her.
Kirk was waiting in the foyer, wearing a smart suit and a wide smile.
“Hey!” he smiled when he saw her approach. “It’s so great to see you.”
She smiled back, barely able to speak.
He rested a hand on her lower back and gently led her towards their table, where a waiter immediately fussed over them, taking their coats, giving them menus, bringing them glasses of wine.
“Cheers,” Kirk said, as he lifted his glass upwards, waiting for her to clink hers.
“Cheers,” she echoed.
“To us,” he said quietly. But she heard him. She caught the inference.
Small talk ensued for quite some time. Chat about work, family, health, etc. All the while, Sasha’s insides were screaming out. Just tell me! Tell me why we’re here! Tell me what you want! Tell me what all of this is about!
Kirk cleared his throat. “The reason why I wanted to meet today…” he began, as though he had heard her. “Is that I needed to talk to you about something…” he faltered, as though he might lose his nerve.
“Um-hm,” Sasha nodded encouragingly, urging him with every fibre of her body to continue talking.
“You see, the thing is…” he began, playing distractedly with the heavy linen napkin in front of him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Sasha.” He met her gaze as he said this. “You never leave my mind. First thing in the morning. Last thing at night. It’s you I think of…”
Sasha listened in shock. This was music to her ears. A huge orchestra in fact. Drums and trombones and trumpets all clashing together to create music in her ears. Wasn’t this all she’d ever wanted? For him to confess his feelings for her? For him to see the error of his ways?
The Year of No Rules Page 19