Unlike a Virgin

by Lucy-Anne Holmes

  Danny is my backbone. Danny is the one thing in my life that has been fixed and constant since Dad died. He’s my Dan. We’re Gracie and Dan. It can’t just be Gracie.

  ‘Please, don’t take Danny from me, too. Please let me keep Danny,’ I whisper to the Big Man.

  I finally park at Reading Services and catch my reflection in the rear-view mirror. I’m Addams Family pale. I take a deep breath.

  ‘Grace, be strong. This isn’t your crisis; it’s theirs. Be strong and you can help them through it,’ I whisper to myself.

  I dial their number.

  ‘Hello, Pam speaking.’ She doesn’t sound herself.

  ‘Hi, Pam,’ I try to make my voice sound soothing. ‘I’ve pulled up at Reading.’

  ‘Oh, Grace. Danny’s been in a terrible state.’

  I suddenly feel like an awful girlfriend. I haven’t been there for him. He’s been going through all this alone.

  ‘I know, Pam. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh. Grace. I’m just going to come out with it.’

  It’s Danny in the background again. A strangulated sob. It must be his dad. That’s how I cried. He probably didn’t want to tell me because it would bring back memories of losing my father. Poor Dan.

  ‘OK … take your time, Pam.’

  ‘Oh Grace, you’re such a lovely girl. I love you like a daughter.’

  ‘Thanks, Pam. That means so much.’

  ‘But he doesn’t want to be in a relationship with you any more, Grace. I think he feels you’ve grown apart.’

  I don’t say anything. I just listen to Danny crying in the background.

  ‘Grace, did you hear me?’

  I did hear her, but I can’t speak.

  ‘Grace, love, he didn’t know how to tell you, because he still cares so much for you. So I thought I should tell you. Was that wrong of me? Oh, love. We’re all so sorry.’

  I don’t say anything, but I’m thinking about it. Somewhere in my mind I’m trying to formulate a sentence, a sentence that says there’s too much between us to throw away, or something like that, but not so trite. But then Pam starts speaking again before I can think of one.

  ‘He’s got a new job, Grace. A terrific job. But it’s in Vancouver. And he’s going to take it. He leaves on Friday. This Friday. We’re going to bring a van up tomorrow and get his stuff from the flat.’

  I still don’t say anything. I simply turn off the phone and let it fall through my fingers. Then I gaze out of the window at Reading Services and it starts to rain.

  Chapter 31

  I stayed at Reading Services all night and most of the following day. I could have booked myself into the Travelodge, but I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I didn’t even want to say, ‘Can I have a room, please?’ I just sat in my car, kept my phone switched off and gazed out of the windscreen. Sometimes I opened the window. The smell of diesel was surprisingly comforting. If I needed the loo, I went inside, and at each loo stop I bought a Twister ice lolly. It occurred to me at one point that I need never leave Reading Services, and the thought didn’t even strike me as worrying. I did leave, though. At five o’clock I started my engine and began the slow journey home, but when I got near I saw that Danny and his parents were still there – a white van with ‘Cymru Vehicle Hire’ on the side was parked outside the flat – so I did a U-turn and came to the office.

  John Whatsit’s still inside. I can see him squinting at his computer so I back away from the door carefully, hoping he won’t see me. I’ll have to go to the cemetery, I think, heading back to my car.

  ‘GRACE!’ It’s Wendy. She’s rushing out of the office towards me. I quicken my step, but she’s quick is Wendy. She always beats me. It’s the extra three inches she’s got on me. Before I reach my car she touches my shoulder.

  ‘Oh, poppet, come here,’ she says and puts her arm around me. ‘Danny’s mum called the office and told me. We couldn’t get hold of you. I’ve been really worried.’

  I rest my head on her shoulder.

  ‘You know I liked Danny,’ she says while we’re hugging, ‘but what a cock.’

  I don’t say anything. I don’t think he’s a cock. Not really. Well, maybe a bit.

  ‘Come in the office, I’ll make tea.’

  I hang back. I don’t mind Wendy, but I don’t want to see John.

  ‘John’ll be fine. He’s been really worried about you since you left yesterday. I haven’t told him about Dan, though. He thinks something’s happened to someone in Wales. He’s fine. Come in.’

  I let her lead me into Make A Move.

  ‘Gracie,’ John says, standing up. Then he realises he doesn’t know what to do, so he hovers. He looks like he wants to give me a hug. Please don’t, I think. And as if hearing my thoughts, he smiles and sits down again.

  ‘Sit on the sofa,’ coos Wendy. ‘I’ll do tea.’

  Wendy scuttles out and I sit on the sofa, looking down at the brown leather.

  ‘You had an offer,’ John says in his ‘I’m speaking to an under five’ voice.

  I glance up, hoping it’s for Claire’s flat.

  ‘On that Harrow Road studio.’

  I look back at the leather.

  ‘The, um, the new penthouses are amazing.’

  ‘Yeah, they were pumping, Grace,’ Wendy calls out. ‘You should see the kitchens. They’re like something out of a movie. And tell her about the church we’ve got, John.’

  ‘Oh, yes, there’s one came on this morning that will get you going. Two mill but worth it. It’s a converted church. It’s unbelievable how they’ve done it … Grace, are you OK?’

  ‘Tea!’ It’s Wendy back. ‘So how are we doing?’

  She sits next to me on the settee.

  ‘She’s not feeling that talkative, are you, Grace?’ John says. I just look at him.

  There’s a pause.

  ‘Oh, no,’ says Wendy eventually. ‘Come on, Grace, say something. Anything. Tell me to bog off if you want. Grace.’ It’s the strict Wendy voice. ‘TALK TO ME NOW!’

  ‘Wendy, she’s obviously had a shock, don’t shout at her.’

  ‘That’s exactly why I do need to shout at her.’

  ‘GRACE! Oh, this is bad. I can’t remember what happened last time to make her speak.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t speak for months one time years ago. I can’t remember what happened to make her start again.’

  When I was thinking about how my dad dying hadn’t really messed me up, apart from me not listening to the radio any more, I forgot about this. This doesn’t really happen that often, so it barely counts. Basically, when I get a sudden shock I stop speaking. I know, it’s ridiculous. The most I’ve ever gone is two months. That was when Dad died. At the time everyone was yaking and crying. People would visit and everyone wanted to talk over the silence. I quite liked the fact that in my own head I could hear my dad talking and singing to me. No one noticed for ages, not even me. Every one was in meltdown when Dad died. Mum, their coach, their manager, other dancers, friends. It was only when the nice lady who used to live next door spoke to Mum and suggested I go to see a doctor that anyone realised I’d been mute for weeks. Mum thought I just wanted to get attention, but the nice lady took me to the doctor, who was supposed to examine me. I think she found it quite hard, though, on account of my not answering any of her questions. She was lovely that lady who used to live next door to us. She moved to Australia years ago, but we still write. She sent me Homebase vouchers when I moved into my flat, which is very canny if you think about it, her being in Australia and all.

  ‘Has someone died?’ John whispers, although it’s a wasted whisper since I can hear him.

  ‘John, maybe you should leave us alone.’

  ‘I can if you want. But I must say, Wendy, I wouldn’t speak if you were shouting at me. She’s had a shock and she doesn’t want to speak. We should respect that. We need to be calm, then hopefully she’ll relax. Why don’t we go over the road and get a pizza. We don’
t have to talk. We can read the Standard. Come on, my treat.’

  That’s nice of Posh Boy, I think. I look at his face and consider that maybe I’ve been a bit hard on him. He was kind when I was mugged and he’s being kind now I’m in freak mode. Perhaps if we’d met under different circumstances, if he hadn’t come waltzing in, stolen my job and annoyed me senseless, we might be friends.

  Wendy shrugs and looks at me. I’m starving and he did say it was his treat, so I stand up.

  ‘All right,’ says Wendy, ‘but if she hasn’t spoken by the end of dinner, I’m back to shouting.’

  ‘Come on Grace,’ John says gently, holding the door open for me. ‘It’s actually quite odd her being here and not berating me. I almost miss the abuse. Come on fish wife,’ he calls back to Wendy.

  ‘Zip it, Posh Boy,’ she says, doing an impression of me.

  Chapter 32

  You know that sensation you get just before you’re going to be sick, when your mouth suddenly fills with gallons of hot saliva. Well, I’ve got that. I’ve had it since we walked in the restaurant. I wish I hadn’t come now.

  ‘Shall we do our usual?’ asks Wendy. We always share the same pizza and salad. We get the amazing vegetarian pizza with salami and ham on it. Seriously, it’s next level. But I don’t want ham today. I don’t know what I want. It must be because there’s a funny smell in here. I’m sure it doesn’t smell normal. No one else has said anything, though.

  Maybe I should go to the toilets and make myself sick. No, that’s mank. I’ll be fine. It’s probably because I’ve eaten nothing but ice lollies for the last twenty-four hours. I should have consumed a sandwich at some point, but it didn’t occur to me.

  Oh, but we’re not even sitting near the toilets. They’re at the back, downstairs, and I’m closer to the door. If I’m going to be sick it’ll have to be outside the front door on the street. I can’t believe I’m sat here planning a path to puke. Mind you, at least it takes my mind off Dan leaving.

  I don’t think I’ll be able to do the ham pizza. This peculiar smell is too meaty. I hold my menu out and point to a pasta dish with a spicy tomato sauce.

  ‘Bloody hell, Grace. Pasta?’ says Wendy.

  ‘It’s nice that, Grace, I’ve had it before. It’s got a little kick.’

  John flags down a waiter and orders for me and him. Wendy asks for her own veggie pizza with ham and salami.

  ‘Grace,’ he says when the waiter’s gone. ‘Take the rest of the week off. Don’t come back until Monday. Everything will be fine.’

  I think of my job and the Estate Agent of the Year competition, and I feel myself letting them go. I feel myself letting everything go. Then I remember how I haven’t done my new five year plan yet. Maybe that’s why everything is unravelling.

  A waitress strides towards the table next door holding two plates.

  ‘Who’s having the liver special?’ she asks.

  That’s the smell, it’s liver – and it’s next to me! Oh it’s foul! And it’s inches from my nose. More hot saliva fills my mouth as she places the dish in front of the man to my right.

  ‘Ooh, look at that,’ says the man, and he picks up his knife and cuts into it.

  I try to swallow but I can’t. Suddenly I’m pushing my chair away from the table. My hand is over my mouth and I’m running out of the door. I’m sick as soon as I’m outside.

  ‘Here have some water, you poor thing.’ It’s John. He’s holding a glass of water towards me. I take it and splash some on my shoes. then I drink the rest. It’s not very cold. I wish it was. I wish it had ice in it. What I’d really like more than anything is a big personal iceberg, in cola or cherry flavour, which I could lick and lick. Oh, what’s happening to me?

  I look forlornly at Posh Boy. I can’t speak. My boyfriend has dumped me. I’ve just been sick, and I hope it’s caused by an overdose of ice lollies because the alternative is just … oh God, it’s just too awful to contemplate.

  Posh Boy opens his arms, then he walks forwards and wraps them around me. It’s a very brave gesture as it presses my sicky mouth up against his shirt. It’s a good hug, not limp or brief, but long and strong. I close my eyes and feel grateful for it.

  ‘She’s had a real shock, hasn’t she,’ he says when Wendy joins us outside.

  ‘Yeah,’ Wendy says quietly, stroking my hair. ‘She’s having a bit of a shocker.’

  Chapter 33

  ‘Oh! It’s you, innit! Your face is well better. I’ve got summit for you.’

  It’s the young girl from the pharmacy. She reaches under the counter and pulls out my purple bag, the one that was stolen. God, that night feels like a hundred Christmases ago.

  ‘This is it, innit. You said it were purple.’

  I take it from her and open it.

  ‘Yeah, theys took most of the stuff.’

  They certainly did. All that’s left inside is a battered tin of Vaseline, some tissues and odd bits of paper with random notes on them. At least I got the bag back, though. I really like this bag.

  ‘It wasn’t my brother. Not that I’m telling you who it was, you understand.’

  I put the bag to my nose. I’m sniffing everything at the moment. I feel as though someone’s given me a new nose and it works completely differently from my old one. Some smells make me feel nauseous, like the liver. But some smells I love, like diesel and bleach. The bag doesn’t smell of anything. The girl looks at me strangely.

  ‘I hope your nice fella is taking care of you now. He looked like that bloke in … what’s those films called?’ She looks at me hopefully. ‘Oh, you must know. Like, er, like vampires or sum-mink. Anyway, him. Fit. Twilight films! That’s what they are. He looks like that bloke. Does everyone say that?’

  I push the pregnancy test towards her across the counter and reach into my other bag for my purse. She glances at it.

  ‘Sh-i-i-i-t!’ she says, just as the pharmacist walks out of his Tablet Tardis.

  ‘I hope you didn’t say what I thought I heard you say,’ he sings. But then he stops when he sees me.

  ‘Hello again.’ He smiles; he sees hundreds of people each week, why does he have to remember me? People often remember me, and I have a sneaky suspicion it’s because I’m short. I don’t want anyone to remember me today, though.

  I nod at the pharmacist and turn back to the cashier girl.

  ‘Are you all right?’ says the pharmacist.

  I nod.

  ‘She’s got the ump, today, hasn’t said a word.’

  I keep my head down, take ten quid out of my purse to pay for the pregnancy test and hold it out for her. Oh, why do I have to be so weird? Why? I don’t know anyone else who this happens to. No one else has a ridiculous inability to speak when in shock. It seems crazy that I can’t be polite and talk to her, but I don’t have any control over it. My voice just isn’t there. It’s not connected to me any more. I can’t do words at the moment.

  ‘Do you … ?’ the pharmacist starts speaking, but stops when his eyes fall on what I’m buying.

  ‘Thanks for getting my bag back. You shouldn’t have,’ the girl says sarcastically as she hands me my change.

  I turn away quickly. I want to be back at home. I rush to leave, but I feel a hand on my arm, and when I turn it’s the pharmacist.

  ‘You may not want to speak, and why should you? Tara over there could do with learning something about the fine art of silence. She means well, though. But this, with you, could be some form of mutism bought on by trauma, I don’t know?’

  I look up at him. That’s what the doctor said when my voice went before. I remember him calling it selective mutism. The pharmacist smiles. ‘My daughter had it when she was tiny. You don’t need to speak to me, but if you need any help with the results of that test – or if you need anything for the anxiety you’re feeling – you know where I am.’ He sighs. ‘I’m in the middle of Sainsbury’s.’

  I look about me. It must be strange working here, under the fluorescent lights, surround
ed by groceries. I nod, then I go and locate the ice-cream section.

  Chapter 34

  I wanted Danny and I to be a love story. Not an ‘I went out with this bloke for ten years and he got his mum to dump me’ story. I wanted us to be a love story like my mum and dad were. Except without the bit where one of us dies and the other one goes mad. I wanted a love story like theirs. Theirs was proper love. The real deal. I used to love hearing about how Mum and Dad met. My mum was fifteen – the same age as I was when I met Dan, which I thought was a sign. My dad was older, though. He was nineteen. They met in Edinburgh at a ballroom dancing competition. My mum was brought up in the Highlands of Scotland, although you wouldn’t know it now because she speaks with a plummy English accent. Her mum and dad were strict, humourless Catholics from what I’ve heard, though I never met them. They disowned my mother when she got pregnant out of wedlock by an atheist, and they’ve both died since.

  Dad saw my mother for the first time dancing a Viennese Waltz. He said he couldn’t take his eyes off her, that she quite literally glowed and made everyone else in the room look dull and glum by comparison. It was at the end of the dance, when mum was curtsying, that she noticed my dad. She told me she saw the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and his eyes were fixed on her and he was smiling. She said she knew that he was the man she was going to love forever. They got their wires crossed for a while at the beginning, though, because my dad just wanted my mother to be his dancing partner, while my mother wanted Dad to be her naked dancing partner, if you know what I mean. My dad got his wish first, as Mum came down to London and started dancing with him. She moved into his family home and proceeded to throw herself upon him at every opportunity. Dad resisted Mum’s advances at first because he thought she was too young, a child still, but on her seventeenth birthday they kissed for the first time. I loved that story, but I thought Danny and I had our own story. We met at school. He asked me to the prom. That’s what I wanted to tell our children. I sigh. I’m still clutching the bag from the pharmacy. I haven’t taken the test yet.