Rubbish Boyfriends

by Jessie Jones

  ‘I’ve got to say it, Dayna,’ he said, looking into my eyes and taking me by both my hands, which were suddenly slick with sweat.

  ‘What?’ I asked, wondering where the hell the waiters were, not because I was desperate for someone to interrupt us, but because I was desperate for a glass of water.

  ‘I love you. I really, really love you,’ he said. ‘I’ve wanted to tell you for ages. That I love you … And that I want you to marry me.’

  Well, how about that?

  The man of my dreams was telling me he loved me.

  And that he wanted to marry me.

  I just wished it wasn’t so damn hot in there.

  ‘Well?’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I just wondered … do you, you know, love me too?’

  Of course I did! He was the man of my dreams, wasn’t he?

  ‘Course I love you, silly!’ I told him, and tried not to make it sound like I was talking to the family dog. ‘I love being with you,’ I added for good measure.

  ‘You don’t know how happy that makes me,’ he said, reaching into his pocket and taking something out and putting it on the table in front of me. Bloody hell. I’d never seen one of those before. A turquoise Tiffany box. In the turquoise flesh.

  ‘Go on, open it,’ Cristian said.

  So I opened it.

  My God, it was huge. A sparkler like the ones J-Lo wore when she got engaged to Tom, Dick and Harry – I mean all three of them somehow welded together. It was so big, it certainly put Emily’s in the shade.

  ‘Put it away, quick,’ I whispered.

  He looked confused and hurt. ‘Aren’t you going to put it on?’

  ‘No way!’ I said. ‘I can’t upstage Emily at her own engagement party.’

  That was good, I thought.

  ‘You’re so sensitive,’ he said, closing the box and slipping it back in his pocket. ‘We can announce it next week.’

  Announce what?

  And then he was kissing me and the room was spinning. It must be all the love, I thought. I’d heard it could make you light-headed … giddy … slightly nauseous … in desperate need of cold, fresh air. I had to get out of there.

  I pulled away from him and stood up.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.

  ‘I just need a breath of fresh air,’ I said. ‘It’s so hot in here.’

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No! Stay here. I mean … They’re going to cut the cake any minute. I need you to come and grab me so I don’t miss it.’

  That was very good, I thought.

  ‘OK,’ he said uncertainly.

  ‘Back in a minute.’

  I turned and pushed through the crowd of party guests and didn’t stop until I was outside on the pavement. I honestly wasn’t intending to leave. I just meant to walk around the block and get some air into my lungs. But a black cab was parked right outside the restaurant and it had my name on it. Actually, it didn’t. It had been booked for Roger Gladwell, who I guessed might be one of Max’s City friends. I told the driver I was Mrs Roger and got him to take me home.

  The moment I got there I felt like the world’s biggest moron, of course. What had I been thinking, running out on Cristian? I called his mobile immediately. Well, I made a coffee, ran a bath, got out of my party frock, put on my dressing gown and slippers and tidied up a bit and then I rang him immediately.

  ‘I’m really sorry, Cristian, I don’t know what came over me,’ I said. ‘The whole thing was just a bit emotional.’

  ‘Is it because of your mum?’ he asked. Bless. I’d told him about the thing with Hannah and my dad and he’d been all over me about it ever since.

  ‘Yes. That’s it. My mum. Just feeling a bit, you know, emotional.’ And I was thinking that this must be the truth. Well, what other reason could there have been for my behaviour? I was damned if I knew.

  ‘You’ve got to sort it out with your dad,’ he told me. The line was bad and his voice was breaking up.

  ‘You’re right. I will,’ I said, suddenly not feeling like talking. Tiredness I guess.

  ‘No, really. It’s not too late. Phone him right now and talk to him. And then phone me back. I’ll be straight round if you need me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Honestly, whatever you need, just call. You know I’d do anything for you, Dayna. I love you so much.’

  Look, I was thinking, if you want me to sort this out so urgently, get off the bloody phone.

  ‘In fact, I’ll come round now. Just to be there with you while you talk to him. Just for some moral supp––’

  I lost him then. It was a terrible line. Or I might just have accidentally pressed the red button.

  Isat there for a few minutes, cradling the phone in my hand and thinking about what he’d said: you’ve got to sort it out with your dad. Dad and I had spent our lives like this: arguing but not talking. That had been our pattern. We’d have a fight, one of us would storm off, we’d both stew for a bit and then we’d get together and act as if nothing had happened. Kids can carry on like that in the playground, but we were supposed to be adults. Of course, I’d reached this conclusion several times before – Cristian hadn’t been a genius to point it out. The trouble was that I’d always put off sorting it out until tomorrow. Then tomorrow I’d be distracted by a new job or Dad would go to Dubai or I’d meet a new bloke or he’d have a bit of a win on the horses – there’d always be something. Not this time, though. It was almost midnight and I was tired and I’d had the strangest end to my evening and I had a hot bath waiting for me and, oh, plenty of other excuses to put off phoning, but, even so, I dialled Dad’s number.

  ‘Hi, Dad, it’s me.’

  ‘Dayna? What’s up? Has something happened?’

  ‘I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I just think we need to talk.’

  ‘At midnight? Talk about what?’

  God, he wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?

  ‘You know, just about things …’ I said, suddenly thinking this was a stupid idea. That bloody idiot Cristian.

  ‘Look, Dayna, I haven’t got all night. What the hell are you talking about?’

  I had to do this. I took a deep breath and plunged in. ‘Dad, it’s been really bugging me that we seem to argue all the time.’

  ‘Well, you’re just a stroppy cow. You’d pick a fight at a peace march.’

  ‘I would not!’ I screeched indignantly, ready for a fight now. But no, I had to be mature about this … calm and mature. ‘Look, Dad, maybe we’re both a bit argumentative,’ I said gently.

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘Maybe we’re a bit too alike for our own good,’ I added.

  I listened to him breathing for a moment. Then he mumbled, ‘You’re not like me. You’re the spit of your mother.’

  That pulled me up short. Mentions of Mum had been about as rare in my life as Tiffany diamonds. But, as stunned as I was, I had to seize the moment. ‘That’s one of the things I wanted to talk about,’ I said. ‘We never talk about Mum, do we?’

  ‘That was a long time ago, love.’

  ‘Yes, but the feelings don’t go away,’ I said, the emotions welling up inside me even as the words were coming out.

  I listened to him breathing again and he sounded a little choked too.

  ‘I just think we should talk about her more,’ I prodded.

  ‘She was a wonderful woman. There’s plenty to say about her, I suppose,’ he said, sounding strangely relaxed all of a sudden.

  ‘I just wish I’d known her. What was she like, Dad?’

  ‘Like I said, wonderful. Beautiful, patient, kind … It should have been me that went, you know. She didn’t deserve it. Not your mum.’

  ‘Don’t say that. No one deserves cancer.’

  ‘Maybe … I just know she didn’t. She didn’t deserve me neither.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘How do you know? What the hell do you know about me and yo
ur mum? You were a bloody toddler when she died,’ he snapped, sounding angry again.

  God, if I was a stroppy cow, it was obvious where I got it from. ‘Well, I want to know about it, Dad,’ I said, heroically managing not to snap back at him. ‘I think you should tell me more about her.’

  ‘Yeah … Maybe I should,’ he said, calming down. ‘Maybe not at ten past midnight, though.’

  ‘Do you say much to Suzie about her?’

  ‘You two been talking?’ he asked suspiciously.

  ‘Yes, a bit. About this and that.’

  ‘Can’t fathom that one. You couldn’t stand the sight of her when you first met her, but look at you now. Bosom buddies.’

  ‘Well, that was my fault. I wouldn’t give her a chance. But I’m really glad I’ve got to know her. You’re a lucky man, Dad. Suzie adores you.’

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, and when he did he shifted the focus off himself. ‘What about your bloke? When are we gonna meet him?’

  ‘Soon, I hope,’ I said, feeling a sudden stab of guilt.

  ‘Is he serious about you?’ Dad asked.

  ‘Yes … Yes, he is,’ I replied, thinking that you couldn’t get much more serious than the Tiffany crown jewels.

  ‘Hmm,’ Dad murmured. ‘Reckon me and you are more alike than we might want to let on.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Not good at the old commitment thing, are we? Look how long it took me to settle down with Mitzy. And you get through more jobs and more boyfriends than is good for you.’

  I prickled at that, but I stayed calm. Mostly because he was right. ‘Well, I’m pretty serious about him too,’ I told him. ‘He’s very special, Dad. We’re en––’ I stopped myself – now wasn’t the time to tell him, not at quarter past midnight. I made do with, ‘We’re very close.’

  ‘Glad to hear it, sweetheart,’ he said, yawning loudly.

  ‘It’s been really good to talk,’ I said. ‘We should do it more.’

  ‘Tell you what, why don’t you come round tomorrow? Mitzy can do one of her Sunday specials and I’ll dig out some photos of your mum. Believe it or not there are some you’ve never seen.’

  I felt tears finally break free from my eyes and run down my face then. ‘I’d love to, Dad, I really would … But I should see Cristian,’ I said, feeling that stab of guilt again. ‘I did something a bit stupid tonight and … Well, I should see him.’

  ‘Why don’t you call him now? Don’t let things fester. If he’s so special, you don’t want to go screwing it up like you usually do. Only joking. Don’t bite my head off.’

  But for once I hadn’t intended to.

  ‘How about Monday?’ I said. ‘I’ll come round after work, if you like.’

  ‘That’s a great idea. It’s my last day on this dreadful shop-fitting job so I’ll have something to celebrate … And, Dayna, thanks for calling. Next time, try doing it before ten though.’

  ‘OK, Dad … I love –’

  Too late – the phone had already gone down. But I felt good. The call had been a real step forward. And there were going to be a lot more of those. Starting Monday. God, I told myself, I wish I’d done this a long time ago. But better late than never, I supposed.

  I took Dad’s advice and phoned Cristian immediately. Well, I had my bath, went to bed, had ten hours’ sleep, ate breakfast and then called him immediately.

  We spent the entire Sunday together. And I didn’t get palpitations once, not even when he got the ring out and told me he loved me again … Which I thought was a bit strange because isn’t your heart supposed to go a bit fluttery when the man of your dreams (re-) asks you to marry him? Nonsense. Of course it isn’t. You just tell him you love him back and take a sharp intake of breath because he’s kissing you and you know it could go on for some time.

  Another funny thing: the kiss went on for so long that when we finally surfaced, the whole marriage thing seemed to have been forgotten. Had he taken my ‘I love you too’ and the kiss as a yes? It seemed a bit rude to ask, to be honest, so I didn’t.

  Suzie called me at work on Monday afternoon.

  ‘Hi, Suzie,’ I said, pleased to hear her voice. ‘Did Dad tell you I’m coming round tonight? Shall I bring anything?’

  ‘I think you’d better sit down, Dayna,’ she said.

  You can sense bad news immediately, can’t you? ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s your dad.’ Her voice was fragile – she was barely holding it together. ‘He’s been in an accident.’

  I felt my stomach lurch.

  ‘What’s happened? Where is he?’

  ‘He … he went through a cable. We’re at St Mary’s in Paddington. You’d better get here.’

  ‘What happened, Suzie?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Suzie?’

  ‘It’s not good, Dayna. Just get here.’

  The traffic was terrible, the bloody cabbie wanted to stop and abuse every single driver that was ruining his day. The journey to the hospital seemed to take ten years. In fact, it only took twenty minutes.

  ‘ICU, ICU, where the hell’s the ICU?!’

  Screaming wasn’t doing me any good. An inanimate menu of departments screwed to the wall wasn’t going to tell me where the intensive care unit was. A passing nurse heard me and took pity on me though. ‘Who have you come to see?’ he asked as he led me along a corridor that seemed to stretch for eternity.

  ‘My dad,’ I gabbled. ‘He’s been in an accident.’

  ‘You need to try to calm down, love,’ he told me gently. ‘You’ll do him a lot more good if you’re calm.’

  But calm wasn’t an option. I needed to get to him. And fast. What the hell had happened? And how long was this fucking corridor?

  The nurse took me to the reception desk at the front of the ICU. Another nurse and a man in a white coat were standing behind it, chatting. ‘This young lady’s come to see her father,’ my escort said.

  ‘What’s his name?’ the nurse asked.

  But I wasn’t listening. I’d already seen what I was looking for. Along a wide corridor with rooms leading off it. Suzie, looking tiny and broken. Dad’s best friend Bill, dressed in filthy work clothes, his face white with plaster dust which only highlighted the deathly pallor beneath it. His arm was around Suzie’s shoulders and seemed to be the only thing keeping her on her feet. A doctor was with them. It was a scene that filled me with renewed panic.

  I ran towards them, a deafening scream filling my head. ‘Please don’t let this be happening, not now, not when Dad and me have only just started over.’ I skidded to a halt. Suzie looked up at me and looked away quickly, her body contorting as a heart-wrenching sob broke free and filled the entire corridor. Bill reached out with his free hand and took mine, but I pulled away and looked at the doctor.

  ‘Are you Mr Harris’s daughter?’ he asked.

  I nodded frantically.

  ‘Perhaps we should go in here,’ he said, gesturing through the open door of a small office.

  ‘I don’t want to go in there!’ I yelled. ‘Just tell me where my dad is. I want to see him.’

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, Ms Harris. We did absolutely everything we could for your father, but in the end his injuries proved overwhelming. I’m afraid he died ten minutes ago.’

  I don’t remember much after that. Just odd details that have stayed with me. I remember my legs giving way, and the nurse who appeared behind me, apparently from nowhere, catching me and half-carrying me into the office. As she sat me down, I noticed how tiny she was. I remember wondering how someone so small could possess the strength to do that. I remember the woman who stopped in the corridor and stared through the open doorway. She had a baby in a harness strapped to her chest. New life, I remember thinking. What was she staring at me for? Did she think she could help? Or did she just want to have something to tell her friends about later? I remember focusing on the bare coffee table in the corner while the doctor explained what had happened.
What did he say? I only remember phrases. ‘… Massive electric shock … second-and third-degree burns … heart went into arrest … sustained attempts to restart it … most terribly sorry …’

  I remember the tears on Bill’s face making milky streaks through the plaster dust and I remember his anger. He couldn’t stop pacing. ‘It’s been a fucking nightmare from the start, that job … It was our last day … We were on a bonus to finish on time … Our last bloody day … I told him to slow down … He couldn’t have seen the cable… “Don’t cut corners, Mikey, it ain’t worth it” … I told him, Dayna … It ain’t fucking worth it, I said … He never took risks on the job, your dad, never …’

  And I remember my last sight of Dad. How could I ever forget?

  ‘Can I see him?’ I asked the doctor.

  ‘That’s not a good idea, Dayna,’ Bill said.

  ‘He’s been severely burned,’ the doctor explained. ‘You’ll find it upsetting.’

  ‘I want to see him,’ I insisted. ‘I need to.’

  The doctor had been right, though he could have found a stronger word than upsetting. They hadn’t yet moved Dad from his bed in the ICU. The smell hit me as soon as I walked into the room. A terrible mixture of singed hair and burnt meat. I felt it scarring my nostrils. That stench has stayed with me ever since. If I close my eyes I can smell it now. The trick is not to close your eyes.

  Dad was covered with a sheet. Weird, but up to the moment the doctor peeled it back, the whole experience had been surreal, as if I was in some kind of living dream or that a miracle was about to happen, where the clock would go back and Dad would get another chance and move his drill one inch to the left or the right and …

  But no, when the doctor lifted the sheet away from Dad’s face it became real. His hair had mostly gone – burnt off – and his face was a seething, swollen mass of angry orange, red and black blisters. Only it wasn’t him. Just his empty, charred, unrecognisable shell. My dad had gone.