by Tony Salter
After Jax had disappeared into the crowd, Fabiola and Daz had cut down through Green Park to avoid the trouble and made their way to the rally without problems. The final event had been huge, but peaceful. Most of the speakers had been either union leaders or politicians and Fabiola couldn’t help thinking most of them were focusing a little too much on their personal images and not enough on looking for practical solutions. People couldn’t feed their kids with words.
She didn’t want to be such a cynic, but idealism was turning out to be harder work than she’d expected.
Fabiola closed her eyes and rolled back to the warmth of her side of the bed. Jax had probably crashed at a friend’s place and anyway there wasn’t much she could do about it until the morning. As she felt her body sinking into the softness of the bed, the sound of a glass clattering in the sink caught her and snatched her back from the edge of sleep. Jax must be back. Why hadn’t she come in to say hello?
‘Jax?’ she called out.
‘Yeah. In here. Give us a minute,’ came the reply.
Fabiola was fed up with being messed around and there was no way she was getting back to sleep. She pulled on a dressing gown and stumbled out into the living room, blinking in the bright light.
Jax was sitting on the edge of the sofa, leaning forwards with her head in her hands. If Fabiola hadn’t known her better, she’d have guessed she’d been crying.
‘Hiya,’ she said.
‘Hey,’ said Jax, before lifting her head and glaring at Fabiola. ‘What are you doing out here? I said to give me a minute.’ Her voice was unusually harsh and raw. ‘Go back to bed. I just need to be on my own for a bit.’
‘Can’t I do something to help?’ said Fabiola. ‘You don’t look great. Let me get you a cup of tea?’
‘No. Just go to bed. I’ll be fine.’
Jax was wearing a dressing gown and had left her clothes in a pile by the bathroom door. Fabiola walked over and bent down to pick them up. ‘At least I can throw these in the wash,’ she said. ‘I’m awake now, anyway.’
‘Leave those!’ Jax’s voice cracked across the room like a whip.
Fabiola pulled her hands away as though she’d been stung. ‘What the hell, Jax?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong with you? You disappear without saying a thing, then roll in at four in the morning biting my bloody head off. Something’s not right.’
‘I’m fine. How many times do I have to tell you? Just leave me alone and go to bed.’
‘Come on Jax,’ said Fabiola. ‘How can I do that? There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep now. What happened? Where have you been?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it. OK?’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t feel great. Cut me some slack, will you?’
‘That’s rich,’ said Fabiola. ‘I’ve been worried sick about you.’
‘Nothing to worry about,’ said Jax. ‘I’m fine … but one thing … I’ve been here with you all evening. Right?’
‘But …’
‘I was right here. With you!’ Jax had pulled her knees into her chest, her chin was jutting forward and she was snarling like a rabid fox. ‘It’s not that complicated, is it?’
Fabiola flinched and shrunk backwards as Jax began to rock back and forth, fixing her with unblinking eyes. It was as though she’d become a different person and Fabiola shivered. The two young women stayed trapped in that gaze for long seconds until, with what appeared to be a conscious effort, Jax shook her head violently like a dog drying itself after a swim.
Fabiola took a deep breath and then, as if by magic, the stranger was gone and Jax was back in her place, smiling like a cheeky cherub. ‘Sorry, Fabs,’ she said in a gentle voice. ‘It’s not your fault. Just promise me … Please.’
‘OK,’ Fabiola said. ‘No problem. Of course I will.’
‘Whoever asks. Whatever they ask. Whenever they ask. You’ll tell them I came home with you and we stayed in?’
‘Sure.’
‘You swear it? On your parent’s grave?’
‘Yes, Jax.’ Fabiola didn’t understand what was happening, and the memory of that other Jax still pulsed blood red behind her eyes. ‘Yes, for Christ’s sake. I promise. Now stop this. You’re freaking me out.’
‘OK. I’m done. Thanks,’ said Jax. ‘Now I have to sleep.’ She rolled over onto her side, knees still pulled up like a small child and, before Fabiola had a chance to respond, she heard the sound of gentle snoring.
Fabiola went to the cupboard, took out a blanket and spread it over the sleeping Jax, leaning over to plant a delicate goodnight kiss on her cold cheek. The flat was freezing and she couldn’t stop herself shivering as she walked back to the bedroom. By the time the bed had warmed up and Fabiola had stopped shaking, dawn’s greyness was already creeping into the room.
Sleep wasn’t an option; her mind span out of control, racing in spiralling circles. She didn’t care what Jax had been doing, although it was unlikely to be good. That wasn’t the problem. Other thoughts filled her head as she lay on her back staring at the ceiling. Unthinkable thoughts. Was she falling out of love with Jax? It seemed impossible, but it was the only conclusion which made sense.
Not a conclusion to jump to after a sleepless night and, in any case, it wasn’t the most worrying of her thought spirals. There had been a few incidents over the previous weeks and months, but the way Jax had been when she was sitting on the couch earlier was by far the worst. That kind of behaviour wasn’t right. As the first rays of weak sunlight crept up the wall, Fabiola realised that she was starting to be afraid of her lover?
The day of the anti-cuts march changed everything.
After a few days, everything between them had slipped back to normal. At least it had on the surface. But Fabiola couldn’t shake off the image of Jax glowering at her from the sofa; it slipped into her thoughts all the time however hard she tried to push it away. She worried that Jax would notice something had changed and would say something. It was very difficult to lie to Jax.
They’d been together for almost four years. Fabiola would always remember their first kiss in that massive camp in Germany and the way her life had changed since. Rostock had been Fabiola’s first anti-government protest, and she was now fairly certain that Hyde Park would be her last.
She’d sleepwalked through those years together, caught up in a multi-coloured dream which had been so bright, joyful and exciting that it had seemed unreal. Better than real life.
That night after Hyde Park when Jax turned up at four in the morning marked the beginning of reality’s return. Not from one moment to the next, but following an inevitable path like one of those comets which returns to Earth after lonely decades rushing through the empty blackness, growing brighter and brighter and more obvious every day.
Something had happened that day, but Jax refused to discuss it. She’d been scratched and bruised all over and had thrown out everything she’d been wearing. Fabiola’s backpack had disappeared and wasn’t mentioned.
She couldn’t be sure how much Jax had actually changed and how much it was only that she was now looking at her with different eyes. It didn’t matter. Something in their relationship had broken and it couldn’t be fixed. As the fun and joy faded, Fabiola’s sadness was mixed with acceptance and relief.
A little perspective was allowing her to see she’d developed a range of bad habits, sacrificing her individuality to their identity as a couple and, Jax being Jax, becoming the acquiescent, slightly subservient partner. As Fabiola’s vision cleared, she went out on her own more often. Sometimes with Daz, sometimes for a quick drink after work with colleagues. It was wonderfully refreshing and Fabiola felt her old self pushing up into the daylight and stretching out after years of hibernation.
Jax soon figured out that something was wrong, but passive acceptance wasn’t her style. She threw energy, passion and charm – everything she had – into making Fabiola happy. It was clear she had no intention of giv
ing up on the relationship and Fabiola knew that Jax would never accept it was something she couldn’t fix.
Unfortunately, once Fabiola’s eyes had been opened, she began to notice the artifice behind Jax’s charm. Once she knew where to look, it was always there. Almost imperceptible – a smile which started or ended too abruptly, or a glimpse of the cold intelligence whirring behind her shining eyes, keeping ahead of everyone and everything, planning what to say and what to do. Even when and how they made love was organised and timed as if by a master choreographer.
She knew Jax really loved her. That wasn’t a trick, but with her newfound awareness Fabiola realised that the way she was loved was wrong. For Jax, Fabiola was a prized possession. Prized above anything else, perhaps, but a possession nonetheless. Fabiola didn’t regret their time together, but if she didn’t find a way out soon, she knew that the regrets would creep in one by one.
Funny about things that appear to be too good to be true.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ said Daz, panting and coughing as he stopped running. ‘Bloody Central Line.’
‘That’s OK,’ said Fabiola. ‘These two gentlemen gallantly offered to keep me company.’ She laughed as she remembered the clumsy way the guys had approached her not fifteen minutes earlier. Still, standing alone outside the Lamb and Flag on a summer evening was a little sad, so she’d accepted the offered drink readily enough.
‘Oh. That’s great,’ said Daz, the disappointment obvious as his shoulders slumped and he stared at his shoes. A total lack of guile was one of his most appealing sides. That, and his unswerving visceral loyalty.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said, resting her fingers on his arm. ‘We’ll have a quick drink with them and move on.’
Daz smiled, a big, cheesy grin bursting out through his beard. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’d hoped we’d have a chance for a proper chat.’ He stretched out his hand towards one of the interlopers. ‘Hi. I’m Daz.’
Both of her saviour knights were dressed in tan chinos and blue shirts – brown belts and brown brogues completing the uniform. One was about six foot and the other not much taller than Fabiola.
‘James.’ The shorter of the two shook Daz’s hand vigorously. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’
‘And this is Rupert,’ said Fabiola, laughing as she turned towards the tall one. ‘He’s very posh.’
The Path of True Love ...
Fabiola couldn’t remember why she’d given Rupert her number, only that her stomach had rolled over with glee at the time – it had felt like a mini rebellion. Harmless enough and no-one would ever know, anyway.
But then the stupid idiot called.
She and Jax were sitting on the tiny roof terrace – accessed by climbing out of one of the leaky, sticky sash windows – enjoying an early evening beer and some spicy Mexican dips which Jax had brought home.
‘Hello?’ Even on the third floor, the street noise made it hard to hear anything.
‘Who is this?’
As she recognised Rupert’s voice saying his name in that confident, plummy accent, Fabiola felt another tickle of illicit excitement.
‘Oh. Hi there.’
‘Who is it?’ said Jax.
Fabiola lifted her free hand, one finger raised, and turned to face away.
‘Sorry. I can’t hear a thing,’ she shouted at the phone. ‘Can you try again later?’
She waited for a confirmation before hanging up, putting the phone back into her pocket and picking up her beer.
‘Who was that?’ said Jax, never one to give up. What did it have to do with her?
‘Oh. Just someone from work,’ said Fabiola.
‘On a Saturday?’
‘Yeah. She’s a friend. We might hook up tomorrow.’
‘Oh,’ said Jax, looking straight at her.
Fabiola knew Jax didn’t believe her, but she didn’t care. There wasn’t enough ammunition for Jax to start a fight and Fabiola was fed up with being checked up on. Fed up, but not brave enough to tell the truth.
Fabiola hadn’t kissed a man for years. No-one since Joe.
The way that had ended, everything that happened as a result of that teenage madness, had left her feeling empty and numb. She’d found herself embracing chastity wholeheartedly and, even if she hadn’t, the strings of snuffling suitors at Bristol were no more than immature boys, all pointy elbows and Adam’s apples. They paled in comparison to Joe; whatever the consequences of their affair, there was no doubt that he’d been a man – a gorgeous man.
She’d fended off her fellow students during the early months at uni with the help of an imaginary boyfriend back in Bedford. Everyone around her seemed to be at it like rabbits, but Fabiola couldn’t have been less interested.
When Jax happened, she was caught unawares, and the rulebook was thrown out of the window. There were no comparisons to be made, no potential consequences to give her sleepless nights, and anyway Jax had been – still was – unique, a fairytale figure from another world. She defied comparison.
Their years together had been a perfect dream. Fabiola had lost track of the number of times she’d thought of Jax and felt her heart swell and ache, literally bursting with love. She didn’t know when that had started to change – she still felt a kind of awe whenever she looked at Jax. But there were plenty of lessons to be drawn from the old fairy tales – evil apple-poisoning queens were often the most beautiful and charming, after all. Although Fabiola’s star-sprinkled dream wasn’t quite over, a happy-ever-after ending was looking more and more unlikely.
Fabiola wondered if she’d always known what would happen when she gave Rupert her phone number. At the time, she’d convinced herself that it was a harmless flirtation, but with everything else that was going on, maybe she’d seen how the story would unfold even then. There had definitely been a spark, and a part of her was looking for something, anything, to set fire to her enchanted world and bring it crashing down in a blazing inferno.
When they met again, Rupert surprised her with his gentleness and patience. She hadn’t told him anything important, nothing about Joe or Jax, nothing to frighten him away. Even so, he seemed to understand intuitively that she was fragile and there was never a hint of pressure.
His sense of humour was ridiculously boyish, and he was less politically aware than the average five-year-old, which made a pleasant change from the hours of intense well-meaning debate that had filled her life for years. When he laughed, it was simply because he found something funny, and Rupert could find humour almost anywhere.
Adding to the freshness and contrast, Rupert had no filters between thought and emotion, action and reaction. It reminded her of being with her father and uncles before she left home. If spontaneity led to stupid or insensitive blunders – which it frequently did – laughter and a heartfelt apology would usually save the day.
When he kissed her goodnight after their first date, Fabiola felt all of him through the soft touch of his lips. She felt his uncertainty, his joy, his kindness and, underneath it all, the promise of a burning passion.
He was exactly the sort of man she’d spent five years learning to despise, but he made her feel happy and free. As she discovered how much she enjoyed being with him, her doubts about Jax were thrown into even sharper focus. Wasn’t it important to be happy?
She turned away from that tender kiss and walked home alone through the shadows of Camden, seeing her life through fresh eyes. She threaded her way through staggering black-clad figures, some loud and boisterous, some shrunken into solitary silence. She avoided stepping on bodies, discarded curries or worse. She noticed the sirens and flashing lights as if for the first time.
Fabiola took a deep breath and turned up Jamestown Road towards the flat. Jax would be waiting up for her. What was she going to say about her evening? The truth still wasn’t an option. Not yet.
Her hand was trembling as she took the keys out of her bag.
That was the other thing about Rupert – he made her feel safe.
Sex with Rupert, when it happened, was exactly as Fabiola had imagined it would be.
They’d been out for drinks three times since that first phone call and she’d had plenty of time to let her imagination wander. A nagging voice kept telling her that she wouldn’t enjoy being with a man, but why should that have changed? She had enjoyed it before and she was still the same person with the same body. And, if she listened carefully, the nagging voice sounded like Jax, anyway.
As she opened her mind to the possibility, or the likelihood, that she would go to bed with Rupert, she thought back to those times with Joe – what had been different, what had been better and what, frankly, hadn’t. Although she accepted it was unlikely that a man could ever understand her body as well as another woman, there was something about the feeling of strong arms holding her tight which she remembered feeling natural and right. As for the somewhat clumsy mechanics of the process, it was, after all, the way people had been designed in the first place.
She still hadn’t told Rupert about Jax and he couldn’t have had any inkling of the mischievous thoughts which doodled around in her head like tiny butterflies, occasionally sparking an involuntary smile. Those smiles had almost got her into trouble more than once.
‘What’s so funny?’ said Jax, who was slicing tomatoes next to the sink.
Fabiola had looked at the huge knife gleaming in Jax’s hand and reflected that telling the truth was often overrated. She was going to have to talk to Jax one day, but “one day” was still a fairly loose concept.
‘Oh. Nothing,’ she’d said. ‘I was just thinking about something Daz said yesterday.’
Jax had sniffed and turned back to her tomatoes. Fabiola knew Jax couldn’t understand why she bothered with Daz, and was uninterested in anything he might have to say.
Only a week after that incident, Fabiola was smiling at happy memories rather than imagined fantasies. She was running out of excuses and explanations; Jax knew something was up and there was going to be a reckoning sooner rather than later.