by Fiona Perrin
‘That’s a very kind way of putting it.’ Then I leapt in. It was a bit desperate, I admit. ‘Would you want a beer, maybe? We could sit in the garden.’
Given the generally unloved state of my garden, this wasn’t up there with the best of invitations, but he paused, nodded and then said quietly, ‘All right.’
Bodger got quickly to his feet and wagged his tail, as if he thought this was a great idea. We got the only two undrunk beers in the house and took them to the old bench. Of course, as soon as we got there and sat stiffly down, memories of the last time we’d stood in that spot came rushing back and I blushed in the darkness.
I tried to think of something to say about the moon, but clouds were over it now. The stars, which had been glistening earlier, seemed to have retreated too. There was only the light coming up from the house and the rest of Patchett Road as the neighbourhood called time on another Saturday night.
‘I’m sorry I was an arse,’ was what I managed eventually. I said it without looking towards him and then took a swig of my beer.
‘In your defence, you were an arse with quite a lot going on,’ Patrick said. ‘But yes, incontrovertibly, still an arse.’ He turned then and gave me a small smile through the darkness. ‘And that was probably better than being a nutjob, invisible, a fruit loop or any of the other descriptors you chose.’
He was teasing me, and it felt very good.
‘I just want to explain.’ The words came tumbling from me; it felt as if they’d spent so long in my head that, being let out of my mouth, they weren’t going to stop. ‘I was just really confused. I’d spent so long taking no notice of men, just with the kids and my folks and stuff, and I’d forgotten what it was like to like being with someone or for someone to like being with you, and there you were, crashing into my life…’
‘Quite literally, crashing.’
‘… and I liked you but there was so much happening that I’m not sure I even thought about any of it in that way and then there was…’
‘The young activist.’ Pat seemed to spit the words rather than say them.
‘Yes, and I was a bit blinded, I think, and it took me a while to see that he was just a…’
‘Completely self-obsessed wanker?’ This last sentence seemed to give him some satisfaction.
‘Yes, and by then, I’d already…’
‘Not sure we need to go there?’
‘It wasn’t like that.’ For some reason I wanted him to know that I hadn’t actually gone completely shagadelic with Sunil and, more importantly, I wanted to tell him that I hadn’t liked it half as much as I’d thought I would.
‘And then with Wilf running away, I was distraught, and you were there, being lovely and so helpful and…’
‘You kissed me because I was there?’ Patrick’s voice was small in the night air. ‘I knew that was what it was.’
‘No! I don’t know what happened. I should never have done it,’ I said. ‘And I’m so sorry and you thought I was playing you and lying to you and… well, I’m not sure I knew what was going on. I’m sorry, I’m really sorry. I’ve spent weeks thinking what you must think of me and I just wanted to come round and tell you I’m not that kind of person and how much I missed you and…’ My words finally ran out. ‘I’m sorry.’
As grovelling apologies went, it was the best I could do. It wasn’t going to make him forgive me; it wasn’t going to make him ask me out again, but it was my best shot. It was all I had.
There was a silence. A very long silence. I’d like to say something momentous happened, like a shooting star zoomed across the sky or the moon decided to come out again and cast us in a single spotlight. But none of that happened. All there was was quiet and all I could do was wait.
Then Patrick turned to me and said, ‘I’m not sorry I kissed you back though.’
*
It took me a while to realise quite what he’d said. A moment when I recognised the flirty tone he’d used to talk to me in. When, turning really slowly to look at him, I saw the teasing smile he’d always had on his face when it wasn’t looking at me or members of my family in concern. And just for a second, I had a little bit of hope.
‘Come on, it was my fault too,’ he went on then, taking the hand I was holding my beer with, gently extracting the bottle and putting it on the bench. ‘I just couldn’t believe I’d moved in near someone so… so, well, full of life, as you.’
‘Another way to say dysfunctional?’ I quizzed.
‘And you were so lovely and a bit nutty—’
‘I was doing pretty well with lovely,’ I interrupted, but my heart was doing a little soundcheck to see whether it was about to sing.
‘And I couldn’t help wanting to know you. That whole invisible thing, I wanted to make you know that I could see you very well and really liked what I saw.’
My heart did a few more test octaves while he carried on. ‘But I should never have been that persistent and obvious. Then, when you quite rightly decided you didn’t have time for me, I thought I’d play the friend card…’
‘You came round and fixed Wilf’s bike and helped my folks move,’ I said. ‘That was good playing of the friend card.’
‘I know, but then you just seemed to need me rather than…’
‘I just didn’t know what I wanted – just my family to stay together.’
Patrick paused but carried on holding my hand. ‘But when I found out about—’
‘No more insults necessary.’
‘I thought it was just that you didn’t like me, you liked guys like that, and even though you kissed me, it was because I was, as you put it, there.’
‘Umm, no, it wasn’t that at all,’ I said. ‘I mean…’ I meant a kiss like that didn’t happen just because someone was conveniently standing right next to you. ‘I really liked the kiss, but it was at such a terrible time, and it was only after it happened that I thought what it must look like.’
‘It was a pretty good kiss.’ Patrick smiled. I could only nod back. There was a pause and then he picked up my other hand. ‘Here we are again though. With absolutely no dramas going on.’
‘I noticed the complete lack of dramas.’
‘We could have another go? See if that kiss was a one-off or, you know, it had something going for it.’
‘Something that other kisses don’t necessarily have.’
I can report that the kiss that came next had true distinction from your standard run-of-the-mill-type kisses. It was true, for a while I hadn’t done a lot of kissing at all, what with being in my Invisible Phase, as Marv would say, apart from getting it on with Sunil, but you never really forgot what made a great kiss stand out. And I didn’t think, Eww, wet, once.
In fact, it was pretty much up there with the greats. To put it another way: there were five senses and it hit up every single one of them. His lips were soft, like velvet ice cream to the touch of mine; he tasted of desire; he moaned gently as his lips closed on mine; he smelt of sweet, robust man; and before I shut my eyes in bliss, I could see his big blue eyes look at me too, with total abandon.
*A beer that contains tequila that kids are extremely fond of but which they should avoid at all costs.
†See earlier. Or don’t – I’ll make it easy: Deep and Meaningful Conversation.
30
And, I am happy to report, that was not the end of that.
The classic line was ‘Reader, I married him,’ but the truth really was, ‘Reader, I did quite a lot of kissing and, after a while, yep, I shagged him.’
But much more than that, we got to know one another a little better and a little better still. Eventually we became, Patrick and I, much closer neighbours when, the following summer, he gave up number 36 Patchett Road and moved his belongings down the street to number 42.
Everyone came round to celebrate with a barbeque. Patrick had organised the kids to help him clean up the garden one weekend and it was looking – well, a bit less scrappy. There would be pears on the tree this yea
r.
Lois and Lorca sat on a couple of deckchairs. They’d not really got any older or more barmy than before; just existed in an ongoing state of randomness. There’d been a brief spell when we’d had to persuade them that trampolining wasn’t really for them, but they’d quickly moved on. Now, they’d set up a Twitter feed (@boldbutold), which had quickly amassed 3000 followers and was growing. Its aim was to put pressure on the government about social issues by harnessing the anger of pensioners, which was a neat idea, I thought, and particularly one that was safely conducted from their own kitchen table. So far, they had called out the Secretary of State for Transport on the lack of charging points for electric mobility scooters; the Health Secretary for unnecessary plastics use in the NHS; and were in the middle of a showdown involving local ‘grey’ protestors about the shutting of post offices. They seemed to have found their métier, but still came round often to be fed. My latest innovation was to ensure a daily delivery from Tesco to their house so that they always had food and didn’t always need to come to mine, but it hadn’t really worked.
Marvin came with a girl called Dilys I’d never met before but that he’d actually been on more than one date with. Ajay came on his own. This was because Abby was driven to the barbeque by Dominic. He turned out to be as tough as her really, at least meeting her on her own terms and, therefore, managing to stay the course.
Daisy and Lily were a year older. This meant that they spent quite a lot of time in Wetherspoons armed with quite convincing false IDs.
Now they were drinking beers in the garden with us, Daisy in a string bikini even though it was evening and Lily with more appropriate shorts and a shirt on. Aiden hadn’t lasted through the first year of sixth form. She’d decided, after achieving a string of top grades in her GCSEs (compared to her sister’s slightly worse ones) that there were more articulate boys in the world and she should find one of them. He hadn’t come along yet.
And there was Wilf too. He wasn’t drinking beer, having sworn off it after the leg sprain of the previous year. The police had closed the case on Pete a few months earlier, much to his and all our relief. The kid was disturbed, and we could have brought charges, PC Warren said, but he needed counselling more than he needed a court appearance. Ralph had eventually agreed, and I was very glad to move on.
Wilf had moved in with Ralph by now on a permanent basis but was still found on our sofa or round the dinner table a few times a week. This felt right as his dad continued to rebuild a life with his son. Petra and Ralph eventually got divorced and she was now living with a former junkie near the beach in Cape Town.
And behind a barbeque under the pear tree, was Patrick. Daisy was teasing him about how flipping burgers was the ultimate expression of patriarchy in action, but he resolutely took no notice and then, having got bored at not having the upper hand, she sloped off.
I stood near the house, another couple of beers in my hands. I was wearing a new summer dress in a blue that I really liked; I knew that the smile on my face would have registered with anyone who’d looked my way.
Of course, none of them did.
In the warm, bubbling, messy love that exuded from that garden, I was still being ignored and taken for granted.
Still invisible. But, I knew, I was very much needed. I also knew that I was seen by the people who mattered to me and loved in ways I hadn’t realised. One of them, in particular, had been very unexpected but was now very special to me.
I gave Patrick a beer and clinked my bottle with his and we looked round us at all the chattering and eating and drinking as he slid a happy arm round my waist.
‘I’m so glad that this is my family now,’ he said. ‘Even though it’s completely dysfunctional.’
‘You’re part of that now,’ I pointed out. ‘You can’t keep going on about it.’
‘Look where we’re standing.’ He gestured with his beer bottle towards the tree. ‘You could kiss me just because I’m there, if you like.’
I very visibly did just that.
Acknowledgements
Thank you for reading this book – it’s been a thrill to write and my first thanks have to go to kids – Elyse, Sienna, Laura and Tom. While the book is not based on them at all, it has been really fun to take the loving mickey out of teenagers.
Thanks to super fab agent, Diana Beaumont and editor Lucy Gilmour – and to Laura Palmer, Vicky Joss, Sue Smith, Sue Lamprell and the whole team at Aria, Head of Zeus. Every time I get a little yellow ‘best seller’ flag I feel you all cheering alongside me.
To my writing group pals, Christina Pishiris, Lisa Williamson, Sara-Mae Tuson and Maria Realf and to the online groups who provide writerly advice and friendship when the going gets a bit tough.
Huge thanks to Natalie and Nigel Stockton who have shown so much love and support as my writing career developed. And to Fanny Johnstone and Rachel Lichtenstein and all my other friends – really appreciate all the love you send out into the world on my behalf.
Biggest thanks of all to my wonderful Mum (who’s nothing like Lois in this book, praise be) and the rest of my massive, mad fam.
To Laura, Elyse, Sienna and Tom – you are always an inspiration. And the dog, who smells a bit better than Bodger in this book but is just as judgemental.
Biggest love and thanks to Alan, who has cheered me all the way, even when it meant listening to me moaning when the rugby/cricket/football was on. There can be no greater expression of love than missing Luton play in a league game.
And to everyone who read and reviewed my first book – thank you. Reviews on Amazon and elsewhere make a massive difference to authors, so they are super appreciated. If you want to say a few lines about this one, I’d be so grateful.
Fiona
About the Author
FIONA PERRIN was a journalist and copywriter before building a career as a sales and marketing director in industry. Having always written, she completed the Curtis Brown Creative Writing course before writing The Story After Us. Fiona grew up in Cornwall, hung out for a long time in London and then Hertfordshire, and now writes as often as possible from her study overlooking the sea at the end of The Lizard peninsula.
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