I looked down at my tea. ‘I’ve finished my drink. I want to go home.’
‘Now? Is anyone there?’
‘No. My mother’s with your wife in Wales.’
‘Yes, I know that. But are you on your own?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re staying here the rest of tonight. Until you can look after yourself.’
I looked at him and began to cry. He didn’t say a word but neither did he come over to me. He sat looking at me.
‘You’re horrible. But I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking my mother’s right, I’m out of control. Like she said to you in the hospital. You’re against me like the rest of them. I miss Ifan. He was my best friend and I didn’t make him up. I wish he was here now. He never rejected me, not like you. He loved me – I feel like shit.’
He said nothing at first. Then he said, ‘Anya, I haven’t rejected you. Can’t you see I’m looking after you? I don’t want to hurt you… I’m old enough to be your father.’
‘My father. Don’t talk about him. I don’t give a shit about him. Fathers.’
‘You haven’t found him then.’
‘No. I know nothing. Where he is, who he is, what he is, except he’s a bastard and he left me and my mum. He didn’t care, like the rest of you. Always screwing around.’
He didn’t respond to the last bit. ‘Are you still looking for him?’
‘I’ve given up. I’ll never know and he’ll never know about me either, so that’s equal, isn’t it? We’re quits. In the long run, we’re all dead.’
I threw myself on to the sofa, hid my face in a cushion and cried. This time he came over to me. He pulled the dressing gown round me, put me in his bed and sat in a chair by me until I fell asleep.
When I woke he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. It was still early. I went into the bathroom to get dressed and by the time I’d finished, he was awake. He made me a coffee but neither of us said much. He called for a cab and came back with me to Stroud Green. He waited outside to make sure everything was alright. He wouldn’t come in. I was glad he didn’t. I was humiliated and I needed to be on my own. He told me he wasn’t going to tell anyone about that night. He gave me a signed copy of his new book of poems. I was polite, thanked him, but it was the final insult. I felt like throwing it across the room.
I hated him. Whatever he’d said, I didn’t believe. My self-confidence had been shattered. I was ugly, I was sure of that and I vowed I’d never get involved with men again. I’d had enough of them; my father, Ifan, Harry and now Gareth.
I made a promise to myself. I wouldn’t go to Ffridd again or have anything to do with men for the rest of my life. For five years I kept that promise. Then I started to see a therapist, a male therapist, and my troubles started all over.
Part Five
I didn’t speak to Gareth about what happened that night. I didn’t visit Ffridd. I didn’t respond when he wrote. I didn’t open his poetry book. The picture of Chloe on the front got to me. Every time I thought of them making love, it felt so unbearable I hid his book, so I didn’t have to look at it. I didn’t tell my mother about it either. She’d only say I’d got myself to blame.
Maddy guessed something had happened because I’d gone quiet. When she asked, I said I’d met Gareth after his book launch but nothing more. She questioned whether I’d slept with him and I said no. So she wanted to know what happened. I told her I didn’t want to talk about it. She took one look at my face and never raised it again.
My mother came back from Wales. The Surrealist exhibition had gone well and there were plans to show a version of it in one of the art galleries in Hoxton. She told me it looked as if Philomena and Gareth were about to split up because he was involved with Chloe, the woman who worked in Chepstow. It was serious. Gareth wanted to marry her, but her husband was refusing to divorce her. I kept my mouth shut.
I was depressed. Men finding me attractive didn’t help how I felt about myself. I didn’t go out with any of them, no matter how fanciable they were. Men were big trouble and I kept them at arm’s length. More than once, I was called a ‘prick tease’ but I didn’t care. It amused me. It was my version of the burlesque dancer and was a good way to pay them back.
Maddy eventually split up with Theo and for a year or two we were inseparable, until she met someone else. He was Italian and called Beppe, short for Giuseppe and he was nice, like Theo. They looked as if they belonged together, both good looking, both a laugh. She seemed to have this knack of picking the right ones, or they picked her. Her boyfriends were always regular kind of guys and she told me she only split with Theo because they’d got together too young. She was sensible and I wished I was, but being sensible was an unknown quality for me.
Even so, we both did well at school and we had no trouble getting into the right Uni. Maddy chose UCL to study architecture which is what she’d always wanted and I went on to the London School of Fashion and Design to study ‘Innovations in Recycling and Global Marketing’.
None of my eBay research had been wasted. I’d become more and more interested in recycling clothes so I knew what I was going to do when I left school. I planned to set up a business recycling clothes. I hadn’t decided on its name but something along the lines of ‘Re-vamp Designs’ although that wasn’t too exciting, but it could always be changed. I made a portfolio which I called ‘Fashion as Art’ with the help of one of the lecturers. Knowing about surrealism contributed to the development of my ideas, so I had my mother to thank for that. I found the colours and style of Frida Kahlo’s dresses and her paintings inspirational. Ethnic styles, colours that shouted – shocking pink, scarlet and vermilion – appealed and although they didn’t always do much for me, they would for others.
My degree was a mixture of art, politics, and economics and suited me very well because I was taught how to integrate all these aspects. I wanted eventually to start a Cooperative and work with designers with a social and political conscience using colours, fabrics and ideas from other cultures. I wasn’t interested in the status and competitiveness of high fashion, but on a day-to-day level wanted to work with those who weren’t affluent and brighten up their lives.
I loved my course even though being in London meant I still had to live with my mother. But the older I got, the less she bothered me. We lived in parallel worlds, although to be fair to her, she did take an interest in my work at the School. I worked hard and by the end of the second year I was on track for a first. That depended on how I did at the ‘End of the Course’ show.
I started planning for the show months before and the closer the day came, the more excited I became. It was important because all kinds of influential and creative people would come, and if I impressed them they’d help my future career.
My theme was to be Vintage Fashion, but updated. There’d been lots of discussion on our course about climate change, recycling, the conservation of materials and I wanted to use that knowledge in my designs. Once again I searched eBay for ideas, fabric and designs.
We only had ten minutes each to show our work and the idea was the models would come down a catwalk and strut their stuff in front of the audience. But that’s not how I wanted to play it. I didn’t like the politics of the catwalk, the elitism, the snobbery, the arrogance. What I wanted was a colourful, ironic burst of high energy and that’s how it turned out. Every detail and the timing was planned minutely. My models weren’t pale and anorexic, but toned, fit and healthy. They looked as if they loved life.
I’d asked my mother, my friends, my art teacher, and my English teacher to the show and that’s when I pondered whether to invite Gareth. As time passed, I was more ready to forgive him. That’s how I saw it anyway. My mother told me he regularly asked how I was and when I was going to come to Ffridd. He still lived with Philomena but I didn’t know any more. Asking about him and Chloe wasn’t the kind of thing I’d ask my mother.
But I knew if I invited Gareth, he’d come.
In the end I didn’t. It was all too complicated and I wanted to keep focused.
I was the last student of the evening to show my designs. I figured the audience would need livening up by then so the performance had to explode with high energy.
I called my show ‘Johnny’s got a Boom-Boom’ after the song by Imelda May. The music was fast, rhythmic and a fusion between rockabilly and electro-swing. I’d recruited some dancers from a dance school to wear my clothes and demonstrate the versatility of the fabric and designs. The clothes were made for movement as much as visual impact.
The first couple leapt on to the stage, jived down the centre of the cat walk, and were followed by more couples who jitterbugged into the audience. In the final scenario the dancers jumped on the stage and did acrobatic versions of the lindy hop to a version of ‘Peas and Rice’. Everyone loved it; the dancers, the audience, my tutors. They were all smiling and the audience stood up to give us a standing ovation. I cried, especially when I was given three bouquets. One from Maddy, one from my mum, and there was one really beautiful one but it didn’t say who’d sent it. The flowers were in my favourite colours, pink, blue and purple. I was so excited I didn’t think much about that. After the excitement, the congratulations, and the networking, we planned to go for a meal in Soho. My mum was going to meet a new fella she’d met on an internet dating site so she wasn’t coming, but I’d asked Maddy. We were walking along Oxford Street in the general direction of Soho, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I swung round. I expected to see one of my friends. I froze.
He was standing right behind me and really close. Instinctively I took a couple of steps back. ‘Congratulations. You’re good. Impressive,’ he said. His voice had deepened. He was tall, well built, wearing a grey, short-sleeved t-shirt and black jeans but his hair was still blonde and straight. I stared at him. I didn’t smile.
I looked at Maddy. ‘You go on, I’ll catch you up.’
She was puzzled but could see something was up. ‘Are you sure? I can wait.’
‘No, go ahead.’ I took a long hard look at him. I could say nothing. My brain had stopped working and my mouth wouldn’t open.
‘Aren’t you going to speak? Echo. You know who I am.’ I glanced back. They were way ahead. I began walking to catch them up. He called after me. I increased my pace. So did he. The faster I walked, the faster he did. He overtook me and we both came to a halt. He was standing right in front of me, blocking my path.
It was then I spoke. ‘Go away.’ I glared at him. ‘Why are you here? I didn’t invite you.’ I couldn’t get past him. ‘I don’t want you. I don’t want to see you.’
It was his turn to be silent. It reminded me of when we first met at the estuary only this time it was me running from him.
‘Why won’t you speak to me?’
‘You’re supposed to be dead.’
‘Well, I’m not dead. You can see I’m here.’
‘Why? Why? You left me. Why should I? Why should I talk to you? I don’t need you. I’ve got along without you. It’s too late, Ifan.’
I side-stepped round him and slipped past. He didn’t stop me at first but then he caught up and took hold of my arm, so I had to stop. He held on to me tightly. ‘I’d like to tell you what happened. If you’ll let me.’
‘Let go of me. You’re hurting me. Do you think I’m interested?’ I twisted my arm away.
‘We were good friends. Weren’t we?’ I stared at him. ‘Fuck off.’
‘Okay. But before you wipe me out. Think about what we had. Ring me. Whenever you like. Please, Echo.’ He gave me his number scribbled on a piece of paper.
I took it. Looked hard into his eyes, ‘You don’t seem to understand. What happened and how it affected me.’ He didn’t answer. I said again, ‘I’m going.’ He stood staring at me.
I began walking, then I looked back at him over my shoulder.
‘By the way, my name isn’t Echo anymore. I’ve changed it. My name’s Anya.’
I heard him shout, ‘I know,’ but I didn’t stop. I was really stirred up. When I reached the restaurant I stood outside trying to get my head together. I wanted to tear up the paper with his number, but I couldn’t. I put it into my bag. I felt all over the place. I walked inside and went to sit by Maddy. The place was buzzing, hot and noisy. I was disorientated.
‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
‘I have.’
‘Who was he?’
I didn’t answer at first. She waited for me to speak. ‘Do do you remember years ago, when I’d come back from Wales and quarrelled with my mum and I’d walked across the park to see you. That summer in Wales had been horrible. Ifan and me…we’d tried to cross the river. I almost drowned. He disappeared. I never knew where or what had happened to him and he was my first love. I was devastated.’
‘You never told me that. You were weird. You were going on about Gareth having sex in the woods.’
‘I was weird because Ifan had vanished. I began to think he hadn’t been real or he was dead.’
‘And that was him?’
‘Yes. You saw him, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m feeling weird again, Maddy.’
‘Not surprised.’ Maddy was looking at me closely.
‘Annie, let’s talk later about it because tonight you should be enjoying yourself. Don’t get caught up in the past. Not right now anyway.’ She looked in her bag, brought out a wrapped present. ‘I loved your show. It was different, like you. I’m proud of you, you’ve done really well.’ She leant towards me, kissed me, smiled and handed over a small package. She said, ‘It’s from all of us. We’re so happy for you.’
I opened it and when I saw what she’d bought, I cried again. It was an art deco necklace, with a black geometric design on a silver pendant. It was beautiful. ‘You know what I like. Maddy, thank you.’ I hugged her.
‘Annie, promise me you won’t think about him tonight. We’ll talk tomorrow. I want you to enjoy this evening. Come round to my place tomorrow and we’ll go out.’
I nodded.
The evening was fun, I drank too much but so did everyone else. We were all relieved to finish the course and hopeful the networking would pay off. But the whole time, at the back of my mind, I was thinking about Ifan.
My mother was out when I got back. The next morning she asked me how the meal had gone but she wasn’t really interested, so I cut it short. She liked her new guy and she seemed happier than I’d ever known her. She could be funny and make me laugh but I marvelled at how little she knew about me. I felt like telling her about Ifan, but in the end I couldn’t be bothered. I didn’t have time or the energy because there was sure to be some kind of fall out. The world according to my mother, that’s how it was with her, and there was never much space for anyone else’s point of view or experiences.
Maddy rang later and we arranged to meet outside the tube in Camden. She insisted I chose where we ate. She said we still had to celebrate so I chose a Lebanese place because I loved the food, especially the mezze. As soon as we sat down, Maddy asked me about Ifan. I silently got out his note with his number on it and passed it to her.
She looked at it and said, ‘Annie, what do you want me to do with this? I’m not a graphologist. Speak. Words.’
I laughed then. I said, ‘Actually, that’s a good idea, Maddy. I could take it to a graphologist.’
‘Or you could just talk. Thought about doing that?’
‘Living with my mother makes me verbally constipated. She’s always on transmission and I’m always on reception.’
‘Well, to continue with your metaphor, cut the crap. I’m on reception.’
So I told her. Everything. All of it, including how Ifan asked me to remove all my clothes, how I touched him, how he’d kissed me, how I�
�d nearly drowned, how he’d disappeared and then being told I’d imagined him, and that I’d thought he was dead.
Maddy asked, ‘And where does Gareth fit into this?’
‘It was after that I kind of got obsessed with Gareth. I was in the forest in the early hours looking for Ifan, but instead I saw Gareth with Chloe.’
‘You were looking for Ifan in the early morning, in the estuary on your own, miles from anywhere?’
‘I was distraught, Maddy, not thinking right.’
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Well, whatever, that’s how it was.’
‘So what will you do?’
‘Don’t know. He did say he wanted to explain but I didn’t want to listen. I don’t want to know. He can get lost as far as I care.’
‘But you still don’t know what happened. He’s got in touch. It’s a waste of energy hating him.’
‘I don’t hate him.’
‘Well, ring him.’
‘Would you?’
‘Too right, I would. You loved him.’
‘Loved him? I was only fourteen. That’s not possible.’
‘You think so? I loved Theo.’
‘And now?’
‘Still do, but in a different way. Annie, I want you to contact him. For me.’
‘Why should you care?’
‘Because I do. I have a strong feeling he’s okay and he had a good reason why he went off. Also because you need to find out for yourself. If you don’t, you’ll never settle. Will you? Besides, I want to know.’
I looked at her. ‘I wish I was like you, Maddy. I’ve become cynical.’
‘Maybe you have good reasons to be. So?’
‘What?’
‘Will you?’
‘Okay. But I don’t really want to.’
‘Soon. Do it soon. The longer you leave it the more hostile you’ll get and then you’ll never contact him.’
‘I will.’ I smiled at her and said, ‘And I’ll let you know, you’ll be the first.’
My Name Is Echo Page 16