My Name Is Echo

by Marguerite Valentine

  It was easy. I’d never seen anyone file their music alphabetically before but I could put my hand straight on what I wanted. It was filed under ‘F’ for Flack.

  ‘This is “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” and – what a surprise, on the cover it says “To Chris with all my love from your Bubbles”. A woman chose this. Is Chris your flatmate with OCD and Bubbles his girlfriend?’

  ‘It’s his boyfriend actually.’

  For a split second, I was taken aback but I recovered fast.

  ‘Well, same difference, the message is the same regardless of sexual orientation. It’s women versus men, love versus sex, romance versus one-night stands.’ I wanted to wind him up. Ifan laughed uproariously.

  He said, ‘Well go on, play it. I’m waiting, and don’t give me that dirty look, Echo.’

  ‘Anya.’

  ‘Now I know how to annoy you. Echo.’ He was grinning. I glared, put the track on. I was going to pay him back.

  I knew what I was doing. One night, my mum was out and I was with my mates. We were having a laugh and spent the whole evening checking out Google and YouTube for the best songs by women. It was a competition. The unanimous winner was the Pointer Sisters with ‘I Want a Man with a Slow Hand’.

  I put the Pointer Sisters on, not thinking how provocative it was or recognising that both of us were circling one another to see how far we could go.

  Ifan jumped up. ‘You’re preaching to the converted. I want Roberta Flack on.’ He took off the Pointer Sisters and replaced it with Roberta Flack’s ‘The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face’. He’d caught me off guard. I just didn’t see what was coming, probably because I was well out of practice. The mournful tones of Roberto Flack filled the room.

  He pulled me towards him, drew me close and whispered in my ear, ‘You can dance to this.’

  Touché, I thought. I liked that he could outwit me. So I went with it and allowed myself to be physically close to him. Gradually I was becoming less wary, and beginning to forget my attitude problems. The song seemed to go on forever and the longer it lasted, the more I liked dancing with him. I wrapped my arms round his waist and leant against him. Being close to a man, especially Ifan, was new to me. But when that came to an end, and he put on Etta James singing ‘At Last’, I was done for. It was a major turn on.

  I felt the warmth of his body and I wanted him desperately.

  His body was against mine and we were dancing so close and so slow it was as if he’d already started making love to me. It could only go one way. I remembered the estuary and the two of us before we’d gone on the river and I was about to say something, but Ifan said, ‘Don’t,’ put his fingers against my lips, bent down and kissed me. The music stopped but we didn’t. It was a kiss so powerful that nothing I’d read, or heard, prepared me for the feelings sweeping through me.

  He took me by the hand, led me to a bedroom and shut the door behind us. We stood facing each other. ‘Echo?’ I nodded. He came across and slowly undressed me. At that moment I’d have done anything he wanted. He pulled the duvet back. I lay back on his bed and I watched as he got undressed. I was falling in love with him. He sat on the edge of the bed, caressing me until I pulled him to me. He leant over, looked into my eyes, and brushing my hair back away from my face, whispered how long he’d waited for me. I closed my eyes. I wanted him.

  I couldn’t breathe. I was about to suffocate. Terrible feelings of dread, panic, fear took me over. Unbearable. Like the terror I’d felt all those years ago when the force of the river submerged us. I pushed him away. I didn’t want him near. I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want him looking at me. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want to be there.

  I hated him.

  He was repellent.

  I had to go. I almost fell out of the bed. I flung my clothes on. Breathless with fear I reached the door.

  ‘What the hell’s going on? I can’t stop now. Are you crazy?’ I turned round. He was still in bed, staring at me in amazement.

  ‘I’m going home.’

  He leapt out, hurtled towards to the door, stood naked, barring my exit. ‘You’re not.’

  Furious. I looked round the room for something to hit him with, but there was nothing. He was breathing fast. I couldn’t get past without pushing against him and I wasn’t going to do that. He was eyeballing me.

  He breathed in deeply. Then he dropped his arms and when he spoke he sounded calm. He said, ‘Of course you can go, but before you do, let’s talk. I have no idea what’s going on with you.’ He stood aside, opened the bedroom door. ‘I’ll get dressed now, make you coffee, then I’ll take you back to your place.’

  I walked into the lounge and sat down. The panic had passed but I felt bad. I didn’t know why I’d behaved like that. The guys who’d called me a prick tease, maybe they were right but I hadn’t intended to be like that, not with Ifan. He came into the lounge and silently went into the kitchen and made coffee. He brought it in and then sat right away from me on the floor and leant against the table. He was staring at the ceiling. When I spoke, the way he looked at me was as if he couldn’t bear the sight of me.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ifan. I didn’t want to lead you on.’ He didn’t say a word. ‘I did want to, you know, make love. I was going to. I wasn’t play acting. But I can’t, I mean I couldn’t, go ahead. I got frightened. I don’t know why. I’ve always felt I love you.’

  He said, ‘Oh really.’ It was sarcastic the way he said it.

  ‘I was angry with you, when you went. I’d hoped we’d meet again, I had memories, us together, before, the pontoon, they kept returning, the river, then you’d gone, I didn’t know where or why, maybe you were dead, sometimes I’d think, what if you hadn’t, what might have been, the next year I’d have been fifteen and so would you, and…’

  He interrupted, ‘Cut the crap, we’re not fourteen and we’re not fifteen, we’re older and it’s nobody’s business if we have sex. It’s allowed, nobody gives a damn if we screw each other, all day and all night long. You speak as if you’re a child.’ His anger silenced me. He stood up. ‘You know there’s something wrong with you, did you know that? You tell me in the pub you’ve never slept with anyone. At your age, and with your looks. I got a hint then something wasn’t right despite all your bullshit about not fancying anyone. Are you frigid or something? No, I don’t think so. You know damn well babies aren’t found under gooseberry bushes. You know all about it, but act as if you don’t. You know how to turn a guy on but then, bang. Finito. Do you think you’re the fucking Virgin Mary? Who are you saving yourself for? How do you think I feel? Does it make you feel powerful? Is that your game?’ He turned his face away.

  I felt my eyes fill with tears. I said, ‘I’m going, you’ve said enough. I get the message.’

  ‘And what message is that?’ He stood up, folded his arms, his eyes hard, ice cold.

  ‘You’d rather we hadn’t met. I said I’m sorry. What more can I say? I know your masculine self-esteem has taken a knock.’

  ‘Oh, you know that. Thanks for telling me. What about applying your powers of analysis to yourself? Maybe you could find an answer to why you’re so uptight.’

  ‘I’m going.’

  ‘Yes, so you’ve said. When?’

  ‘And I don’t want you walking home with me. I’ll get a cab.’

  ‘Actually I had no plans to do that. I got the message too. I can change my mind.’

  I stood up and, leaving my half-drunk coffee on the floor, let myself out of the flat. Ifan didn’t stop me. As I left he flicked on the television and sat staring at the screen. I was halfway down the stairs when I heard him shout, ‘You need to see a therapist. There’s plenty round here. Get your head sorted. Right? Shouldn’t take longer than a decade or so.’ He slammed the door.

  I walked away down the street. I was shaking. It’s almost impossible to say just how d
evastated I was. I truly had wanted to make love with Ifan, and I didn’t know why I behaved the way I did. As soon as I saw a cab, I waved it down and within ten minutes I was back home. My mother was out because there were no lights on. I didn’t know where she was and right then I couldn’t have cared less.

  I opened my bedroom door, shut it behind me, flung myself on my bed and sobbed until I fell asleep. When I woke it was morning and past nine. Another wave of sadness washed over me and I cried again. The whole day that happened: tidal waves of tears, tears, and more tears, until by the end of the day I didn’t know what I was doing, and I was so exhausted I could hardly stand. I felt desolate. I’d hoped for so long to meet Ifan and knowing he hated me now felt like a knife in my guts.

  I looked at myself in the mirror. My face was red, my eyes puffy and swollen and that made me feel worse. I was pathetic and ugly.

  My mother came in mid-evening, took one look at my face and said, ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  I said, ‘I fucked something up with a guy, someone

  I thought I loved.’

  She said, ‘Love, don’t be stupid. You’ll get over it. If you miss one bus there’s always another round the corner.’

  That was the sum total of her concern. I didn’t want to tell her any more. I could rely on her to put me in touch with cold reality. But the fact it had been Ifan, made it worse. I removed myself from her presence and went back to bed.

  I wanted to play that Etta James number ‘At Last’ again. I downloaded it, but I couldn’t play it, because as soon as I got to the line ‘my lonely days are over’ I burst into tears and had to switch it off.

  Days passed and I still felt so bad I feared I was going to be ill. I wanted to tell Maddy but I was ashamed. She was wise, knew about men, I wasn’t and I didn’t. I went over and over what Ifan had said, but it continued to devastate me. That he could be so cutting was new and I didn’t know he had that side to him. I didn’t understand what had made me turn against him, but some of what he’d said was true. I did have sexual feelings, but when it came to actually making out,

  I backed off. It seemed the more I fancied a guy, the greater the distance I’d put between him and myself.

  He was right. I was screwed up. I was trapped in a cycle of repetitive thoughts that went round and round and I was going nowhere, except back to the start. I was driving myself mad.

  Only my work kept me together. I could put all this aside while I worked. I was good at my job, I was appreciated and that made me feel less crappy. I’d been offered a job with an importer of fabrics. It was just what I wanted. It entailed working with the fashion industry, raising awareness of environmental issues and recycling.

  Six months later, I had a review and my salary was raised which meant I could afford to move out from my mother’s and into a flat with two friends. But I still wasn’t feeling good and avoided going anywhere where I might see Ifan. That seemed like everywhere. I was becoming agoraphobic; I covered myself up, lost weight and like a nun, hid away from the world. I was frightened of myself, my desires and it was easier to keep away from men.

  Ifan didn’t get in touch. I didn’t think he would, but I’d hoped he might. It was over for him but not for me because I couldn’t get him out of my head. I thought of contacting him but couldn’t. It wasn’t pride that stopped me, but fear of his hatred and contempt. If he’d dipped me in a vat of boiling oil, the pain couldn’t have been worse. His words were indelibly written in my head. I had to do something, get help from someone. It was then I decided to tell Maddy. She knew I was in a state and she’d begged me to tell her but I couldn’t until I felt strong enough to cope with talking about it.

  One Saturday afternoon I went to see her. Everyone was out. As soon as she opened the door, I burst into tears. She was as kind as ever, put her arms round me, told me to sit down and made me a cup of tea. She sat opposite and said, ‘Okay, tell me all about it. Is it finding your long-lost love?’ I nodded and said, ‘Finding him and losing him.’

  I poured it all out. How I’d agreed to meet him in the pub along the Holloway Road, how he’d told me what happened and why he’d disappeared all those years ago, going back to his flat, putting the music on, dancing, fancying each other, getting into bed to make love, but not being able to go through with it and how finally I’d jumped out of bed, flung my clothes on, and left.

  ‘And how did he respond to that?’

  ‘He was furious, so furious. He shouted at me as I left the flat that I should see a therapist. No matter how many times I said I was sorry, it didn’t help. I haven’t seen him since. It’s unbearable. All those years thinking about him, hoping we’d meet up, then what do I do? I fuck it up.’

  Maddy gazed at me and sat thinking for a while. She said, ‘Do you know why you couldn’t go through with it? Was it because you realised after all that time, that maybe you didn’t fancy him?’

  ‘Oh, no. I fancied him alright. He’d turned me on, well and truly.’

  ‘So maybe you wanted to punish him? Was that it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Maddy. I felt frightened.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Don’t know. Having sex…it feels like being taken over, and kind of final. And as if, oh, I don’t know, what’s it matter now?’

  ‘Well, it does matter, doesn’t it? I guess from his point of view he’d be thinking you’re taking the piss, you know, like asserting your power and just at the crucial moment rejecting him.’

  ‘Well, it wasn’t like that.’

  ‘I know that, Annie. I’m just trying to work out what was going on for both of you. I can understand why he was so pissed off, even though it was pretty brutal how he was. Actually, almost bordering on the abusive. But what I don’t understand was what was going on for you. But, if you don’t mind my saying, we’ve been here before.’

  ‘No, go ahead, that’s why I’m here.’

  ‘You never have had sex have you?’

  ‘No. So what?’ I was feeling defensive.

  ‘It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? You come across as if you’re up for it, you know guys find you attractive, you give them the come-on, don’t you? And then? What happens then?’

  ‘The come-on? I don’t know what you mean. I don’t know. If I knew, I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’m a failure.’

  ‘You’re not. You just need to sort out some stuff. So leave it out.’

  ‘Oh, what’s it matter? About them. Or the others. It’s

  Ifan. He’s the one I wanted.’

  I stood up, walked over to the mirror on the wall and stood looking at myself. I was about to turn away when Maddy came up behind me and put her arm round my shoulder. She smiled at me in the mirror, and said, ‘What do you see?’

  ‘I dunno. I don’t like myself.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m ugly.’

  ‘You’re not. You know you’re not. You’re beautiful, Annie.’ I turned round to look at her, ‘Inside, I’m ugly, and that’s what you can’t see.’

  I sat down again. ‘Maybe I should give up, put it down as just one of those things.’

  ‘I’m not going to let you give up on yourself.’

  Something about how she said that got my attention.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  She didn’t answer straight away, then she said, ‘Look, Annie, I don’t want you to take what I’m going to say the wrong way, but remember Saf?’ She paused before continuing.

  ‘Saf? The one in our IT class? The one who wanted to be a chef?’

  ‘Yes, she fell in love with someone her parents didn’t approve of and it was doing her head in, so she went to see a counsellor. She told me the counsellor really helped her.’

  ‘I’m not going to a counsellor. I’m not mad. I’m insulted you’ve suggested that.’

  ‘But it might help, talking
to someone.’

  ‘And it might not. Besides don’t remind me. That’s what

  Ifan said.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘He said I needed my head sorted. Great. Now even you think that. Would you go?’

  ‘I would actually. You’ve got nothing to lose.’

  ‘They charge a lot of money.’

  ‘Not where Saf went, it was a charity for young people.’

  ‘It’s self-indulgent.’

  ‘For chrissake, Annie, do you want help or not? Do you want Ifan or not?’

  ‘I was hoping you’d help.’

  ‘I am helping. That’s my suggestion. You need to know why you’re scared of sex.’

  ‘And how will that help?’

  ‘Look, it’s not straightforward. Why you couldn’t follow through. Until you know what makes you tick, it might happen again with someone else. In fact, I’m sure it will.’

  ‘Do you think there’s still a chance with him. Ifan?’

  ‘No chance unless you get off your arse and do something. So listen up. You asked for my help and I’m giving it.’

  Seeing a counsellor was against my better judgement but I agreed eventually to give it a go. I checked it out with Saf first and she told me how to go about it. She even gave me her counsellor’s name. But when I rang there was a long waiting list and I was told they’d only see me if it was an emergency. I told them it wasn’t an emergency, that I wanted to sort things out but I didn’t want to wait six months or however long it was going to take. The woman at the end of the phone sounded nice and she asked if I’d like a list of their recommended counsellors.

  A list was sent to me but when I saw it, I got an attack of nerves and decided not to go after all. I felt stupid. I didn’t want to tell anyone about my problems, after all there were plenty of people worse off. When Maddy asked me how it was going and I said I’d changed my mind, she went bonkers and went on and on. She said she’d keep on at me until I went.

  So I rang again but there was still a waiting list. I felt upset. I didn’t believe her, it felt like I was being excluded so I said, ‘I’m really pissed off now, how long will I have to wait? Until I’m on my death bed?’