In Too Deep

by Samantha Hayes

  I knew it would be nice. I knew it would involve allowing me to erase a grotty day that could be portentous of the rest of my life if I wasn’t careful. And I knew the idea would have come from Rick’s heart.

  ‘I’ll just have to stick it out until something else comes along,’ I told Rick as we stretched out, watching the river. I was trying to convince myself about the job. By this point, Rick seemed preoccupied. ‘I’ll look in the papers every week, apply for everything going.’

  I could do better than filing and number-crunching, and certainly better than dealing with petty cash and making a continuous round of tea for the partners. But jobs were scarce and aged twenty-one and with little experience, I couldn’t be choosy.

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Rick crooned behind me. I could tell he was thinking about something else. Perhaps someone else.

  The river bubbled a few feet away as we sat in the shade of the overhanging trees. Rick had driven us out of the city and half an hour later we’d ended up in the most perfect spot just a short walk down a track leading out of a small village. The pretty glade was deserted, and I wondered how he’d discovered it.

  The city heat and thrum of the office had baked my bones, drummed into me what the rest of my life could be like if I wasn’t careful. I desperately wanted to paddle. But I was feeling too lazy to even prise off my shoes as I lay back against Rick. He was loosely plaiting my hair, and the feel of his fingers, the warmth of the sun through the canopy of trees, was bliss.

  I reached out beyond the rug and picked a daisy. One by one I pulled off its leaves, running through the rhyme silently in my head.

  He loves me, he loves me not . . .

  ‘I have to go away,’ Rick announced.

  I dropped the petals on my skirt. My day – filled with bossy know-it-alls – was suddenly insignificant as my sleepy eyes snapped wide open. The dragonflies and midges that had been softly buzzing in the late-summer sun now seemed like annoying wasps. I batted them away.

  ‘What . . . where?’ I sat up, leaning on my elbow, twisting round to face him.

  ‘Up north for a bit.’

  Deep down I’d worried about this happening. I just hadn’t banked on it being so soon after our graduation. We were both still living separately, me having found a tiny flat with one of my college friends, though Rick and I had been making plans over the past couple of years. Plans that involved both of us.

  ‘Where up north?’

  ‘Edinburgh,’ he said.

  ‘How long for?’

  ‘That’s the thing.’

  Rick let go of my hair and it unravelled. I shifted across the rug, sitting cross-legged to face him. My heart kicked up again, back to the beat of a bad day.

  Neither of us was from the area originally, but the university had brought us together. Me because I was from a working-class family and the first one ever to get a degree, let alone from somewhere like Oxford. Dad wouldn’t hear of me going elsewhere once the news broke that I’d won a place at St Anne’s College. And Rick went because his family was rich and he’d spent his childhood in private education. His parents had had it all mapped out since his birth, and I’d teased him about it no end. His life’s mission was to rid himself of his provenance, deeply despising it. That’s why everything he owned was broken or second-hand, and why he drove an old banger.

  ‘Do your parents know?’ I asked, stupidly with hindsight, because Rick barely spoke to them. It was family politics, he’d told me, advising me not to get involved.

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘You can’t stop me going, Gina,’ he said, blank-faced and serious. His eyes blackened. ‘There are things I need to find out for myself. Decisions to make.’ He closed his eyes.

  His comment cut deep. I had no intention of stopping him. All I’d wanted was a reason, perhaps some idea of when he’d be returning in order to allay my fears about us, our relationship, but I never got one. The remains of the picnic spread out between us suddenly looked tasteless and bland.

  ‘I’ll support you any way I can, Rick. I just thought . . .’ I shook my head, thinking about our plans. We were in love. Deeply in love. We wanted to get a place together, knew that one day we’d marry, and had talked about children, making a life together.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me before I took this horrid job?’

  ‘Gina . . .’ He seemed to want to tell me something, but never quite got it out. Perhaps he thought he’d already hurt me enough. I loved him all the more for it.

  Then it struck me. The perfect solution.

  ‘I’ll hand in my notice! I won’t even go back tomorrow. I’ll come with you to Edinburgh and we’ll start new lives up there. I’ll find another job, a place for us to live. I’ll work shifts – I don’t care. Anything.’

  ‘Gina, no. It’s not that simple.’

  Rick paused while I waited. Both of us watching the flowing water, each of us seeing different things. If there was ever a time he was going to tell me it was over between us, that would have been it.

  ‘We’re still young, Gina. We have to find our own way before committing.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I felt sweaty and faint.

  This was nothing like the plans we’d made – the shiny new graduate jobs we’d soon get, saving for a down payment on a house, or when we’d start trying for a family.

  If it was a break-up in disguise, I wished he’d just spit it out.

  ‘Who is she?’ I stood up. A sandwich squashed beneath my foot. ‘Who the fuck is she?’

  Rick remained on the ground, sprawled on the rug. ‘It’s not like that, Gina. It’s just me. I need to do this.’ He lit a cigarette, staring up at me, his black eyes turning velvet.

  ‘Do what?’ My voice was cracking.

  ‘It’s a master’s degree. There’s a strong chance I’ll get offered a PhD on the back of it.’

  I turned to the river, walking down towards it. I kicked off my shoes and stepped right into the water, wobbling and staggering on the rocky bed. Rick came up beside me, beginning with my blouse, unbuttoning it, peeling it off my hot shoulders.

  Later, on the rug, we lay with our fingers meshed and a bottle of wine passed back and forth. We stared up at the sky, watching it grow dark.

  In the end there was no master’s or doctoral degree. And I never told him that the daisy had said, He loves me not.

  Hannah

  ‘Mum!’ I sit bolt upright on the bed, wiping my face and plastering over it with a smile. I didn’t think she’d be back from the bar so soon.

  ‘You’re crying.’ Her voice is soft and wraps around me. She sits down on the bed.

  ‘Not really,’ I say, though my eyes are puffy and stinging, and my nose is blocked and streaming. ‘Probably hay fever,’ I say, though Mum’s expression tells me she doesn’t believe me.

  ‘Talk to me.’

  I reach for a tissue from the box on the bedside table. ‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ I tell her, blowing my nose. ‘I miss Dad, that’s all.’

  Mum leans in to hug me, her eyes filling with tears. She smells faintly of sweet alcohol – the scent I have come to associate with her in the last few months.

  ‘Me too, love.’ She presses herself against me, squeezing me until I almost can’t breathe. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have come.’

  I shake my head, knowing how much this break means to her. ‘I just want everything to be how it was. I want none of this to have happened.’

  My head rests on her shoulder and I listen to her heartbeat. The safe sound of a mother, so comforting to a baby in the womb. My tears fall silently.

  After that first kiss in the doorway, Tom and I saw each other often. We didn’t share any modules as our courses were wildly different, but we made sure that we spent as much time together as possible over the next couple of weeks. It felt so natural being with him, as if we’d known each other for ever.

  ‘It’s not cooked,’ Tom said, wrapping his arms around my waist while nuzzling my neck.


  ‘God, get a room, you two,’ Karen muttered.

  ‘You’re just jel.’ I brandished the spatula at her. ‘And I’ve got the chicken covered, OK?’ I said to Tom, kissing him again as his face came round to mine.

  We ate at the big table in the communal kitchen, chatting with my flatmates as they came and went – some surviving on bowls of breakfast cereal three meals a day, while others at least attempted to cook.

  ‘You’ll make a great wife someday,’ Tom said as he ate. He winked when I gasped, my jaw hanging open.

  ‘I don’t believe you just said that.’ I had a piece of chicken between my teeth. I made a face.

  ‘A man appreciates a woman who can cook.’

  ‘Don’t let my mum hear you saying that,’ I said, hoping it was only a joke.

  ‘Don’t tell me she’s brought you up as one of those bra-burning feminists, my lovely Hannah?’

  ‘No,’ I said immediately, almost ashamed of what he was implying. Or was it that I was ashamed of my beliefs?

  We carried on eating, chatting about what to do later, and discussing the rehearsal schedule for the play we’d both been cast in. Tom put down his knife and fork.

  ‘It’s a lovely evening. Why don’t we go for a walk when you’ve done the washing-up?’ He burst out laughing just as I picked up my glass of water and pretended to pour it over his head.

  ‘Bugger what my mum would think,’ I said, clearing away the plates and tossing a tea towel at him. ‘It’s my dad you’ll have to watch out for, speaking to me like that.’

  Neither of us had met the other’s parents. It was early days yet.

  He followed me to the sink. ‘Is your old man one of those downtrodden new men then?’ He rested his chin on my shoulder from behind.

  I thought about that for a moment. ‘He’s just Dad, really. He doesn’t mind sewing on a button any more than he minds mowing the lawn.’ I felt warm inside as I thought of him, remembering the time Mum was so poorly she’d had to delegate the making of my Nativity fairy costume to him. My teacher had told me it was ‘cleverly unique’, and Dad’s face in the audience had been aglow as I’d come on stage.

  ‘My dad’s a bit old-fashioned when it comes to things like that,’ Tom said, in what I thought was a wistful tone. ‘And he certainly wouldn’t be seen dead sewing on a button. That would definitely be the dry cleaner’s job.’

  ‘I might have to have a word with your old man then,’ I said playfully, turning round and kissing him again.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake. Are you two still at it?’ Karen came back into the kitchen and clattered her plates on to the worktop. She poked me in the ribs. ‘Just do it already, will you?’

  ‘She’s got a point,’ Tom said once Karen had gone. ‘We could always go on that walk another night.’

  ‘Well, the good news,’ Mum says, passing me more tissues, ‘is that Susan’s son is as good-looking in real life as he is in the picture she showed me.’

  I laugh through the mess of my face. ‘Boys are the last thing on my mind right now, Mum.’

  She looks pensive. ‘Well, you know what? They shouldn’t be. Boys, fun and having a great time should be at the forefront of your mind.’ She stands up, holding out her hands. I take them and she hauls me upright, guiding me over to the full-length mirror.

  ‘Look. You are a beautiful young woman with everything going for you. You deserve some happiness in your life, Hannah. You’re eighteen and you’ve had enough tragedy to make Coco the bloody Clown depressed.’

  She squares me up to the mirror, forcing me to look. Staring back, I see a blotchy-faced girl with hunched shoulders wearing clothes she hates, and with a look in her eyes that tells no one but her that she’d rather be dead.

  ‘I don’t think clowns are intrinsically happy,’ I say. ‘And Coco got shit shoved at him all the time. We did something about it once at school.’

  Mum sighs, followed by a laugh.

  ‘What I’m trying to say, young lady, is that it’s about time you had some fun. Starting now.’ She takes my shoulders. ‘I don’t care what we talk about, or how much wine I have to ply you with, but you are coming to dinner and we are going to have a good old laugh.’ She turns me to face her. ‘Agreed?’

  Mum’s breath sparkles with gin and lemon, touched with a hint of hope.

  ‘Agreed,’ I sigh reluctantly, wondering how awful it could actually be to meet Susan’s son.

  Hannah

  It was pure magic.

  I felt alive and wanted and special and filled with bliss.

  University had turned out to be the best place ever.

  Tom ran his finger down the length of my spine as I was sprawled out on my front. The single bed in my room barely had space for us both, with Tom pressed against the wall on his side.

  ‘I know you’re watching me,’ I said. I could feel the heat of his stare.

  ‘You have a beautiful back. Perfect skin.’

  He kissed the length of it.

  But then I sighed, suddenly filled with apprehension. It came out of nowhere.

  ‘What if this is all too fast?’ I rolled over, pulling the sheet up under my arms. I felt self-conscious. It was still light outside and the curtains were open.

  I was overly anxious. Things that felt this good were usually short-lived.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I sighed, not wanting to push him away. But I needed to be sensible too. ‘I mean, what if we’re rushing into things, Tom. It’s only our first term here after all.’

  I had my parents’ voices in my head, of course, telling me to take things steady, that it was easy to let emotions rule my head. But I was so besotted with Tom that I was fearful of him getting tired of me if things ran out of control.

  ‘Don’t be silly. Of course we’re not rushing.’ He kissed me again. ‘We’ll respect each other’s space, keep time for other friends.’ He smiled. ‘Somehow try to concentrate on work, though I admit that bit will be hard.’

  ‘But you’re a terrible distraction, Mr Westwood. I don’t know how I’m going to write a single essay.’ I giggled then, realising how silly I sounded.

  ‘We’ll manage.’ He pulled back the sheet and looked at me, beginning all over again, making me feel as if I was the only girl in the world.

  We saw each other almost every day for the next few weeks, sometimes studying together, though admittedly not getting much done, sometimes exploring the local area, or cooking our favourite meals. Some nights we watched movies and fell asleep in each other’s arms to wake in the morning fully clothed and stiff-necked.

  Campus life soon fell into a familiar rhythm for all the freshers, with me eventually remembering where all my lectures and tutor groups were taking place. Early on, when my hopelessness had reduced me to tears, Karen bought us each a take-out mocha and marched me round the departments I would need, my timetable in her hand and a determined look on her face.

  ‘Old green door and wonky tree means module A237, OK?’ she said, pointing at the landmarks with her pen before jotting down notes on my schedule. She even took photographs.

  ‘Got it,’ I said, trying to remember the route before we moved on to the next building. Patiently, she took me round three times until I fell against her, laughing. Then we saw Tom across the road and she selflessly batted me in his direction with a promise of punishment if I was late for another lecture. Despite her oddities, her now slightly pink hair and assorted tattoos, Karen had become a good friend.

  ‘Hey,’ I said to Tom. ‘What’s up?’

  He looked concerned, shrugging at my question, kicking the leaves. He wore an intense frown.

  ‘Want to talk?’

  He nodded, so I took him to the little campus café and we sat at a table at the back. His usually bright face was tarnished and distressed.

  ‘Mum rang me in tears last night,’ he confessed. ‘She and Dad had been arguing.’

  This wasn’t my area of expertise, but I listened to him all the same,
held his hand across the sticky table as he told me what she’d said. He hadn’t spoken much about his family, though I knew they lived in a village about an hour away, and that he was an only child.

  ‘That’s tough.’ It was hard for me to understand. Despite all that had happened to them, my parents were still madly in love, even if they didn’t show it all the time. ‘Did they fight?’

  I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing because after that Tom just wanted to talk about other stuff, as if shrugging off the issues at home would make them go away. I knew differently.

  ‘Let’s make a pact,’ he finally suggested. I was curious.

  ‘You mean like become blood brother and sister?’ I winked at him. ‘Because there’s no way I’m drawing blood, not even for you.’ I longed to lean over and kiss him, but made do with a playful squeeze of his hand.

  ‘No, I mean let’s make a pact never to turn into our parents. I love my folks, but man, they piss me off sometimes.’ Tom was shaking his head. It was his way of confiding.

  ‘Have you got grandparents?’ I asked.

  Tom nodded. ‘Barely,’ he replied. ‘Only Mum’s mum is left and she’s been in a home for years. Slim pickings,’ he said, shrugging.

  I closed my eyes briefly. ‘That’s sad.’

  I didn’t want to make him feel bad by telling him that I still had both sets alive. We saw Mum’s parents often, though Dad’s family had never approved of them marrying, saying Mum wasn’t good enough for him. Naturally, Mum hadn’t wanted much to do with them after that, and I’d followed suit, but Dad still visited, though he said it was out of duty.

  I squeezed Tom’s hand. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t worry too much. They’ll work it out.’ I remember how mine pulled together after Jacob, when it could easily have torn them apart.

  Tom focused on the floor.

  ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. ‘Though Mum gets lonely.’

  I thought how that must feel, which made me want to take him home to meet my family, share them with him. In the end, I decided it wasn’t the best time to bring that up. Our home lives sounded very different.

  ‘There was this time once,’ I said, ‘a month or so after Jacob died.’ I’d already told Tom exactly what had happened to my brother, wanting to be utterly transparent from the start. ‘I was going through my emo phase.’ I smiled and rolled my eyes. ‘I wasn’t quite fourteen and pretty much locked myself in my bedroom all the time, or the bathroom if I thought Mum and Dad were being annoying. I’d sit on the loo seat sulking for hours.’