This is a Love Story

by Thompson, Jessica

  I found myself spouting yet more bullshit as I then said, ‘I think you should try harder, Nick. I think she might need you. Sometimes, people need you and it’s so scary you push it away when actually you want it to be closer.’

  Ironic wasn’t it? I’d hoped this would be our moment, yet here we were, talking about someone else . . .

  Nick

  The appley scent of her hair instantly crept up my nostrils again. It was so damn sexy. I held my breath as she lay on the mattress next to me. One . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four . . . My lungs felt as if they were about to burst. I have always been terrible at holding my breath since I was forced to go on a school swimming trip and was pushed under the water by itchy Luke (don’t ask about the nickname). Now every time an attack of the hiccups arrives I see his angry little face in front of mine just before he slammed my head into the drink and nearly killed me. Associated trauma, I think they call it.

  I exhaled slowly and quietly as she turned her body towards mine, and once more I could feel the heat of her just like I had in the garden. My heart was now thumping so fast in my chest it was making me feel sick. I could smell the cigar we’d smoked on my pillow and felt decidedly ill. The cider and Chinese takeaway were sitting uncomfortably in my stomach. Oh God. Why did her mere presence make me feel like I was going to fall apart? And what the hell was she doing?

  I worked hard at a fake roll so I could turn away from her, pulling the duvet under my torso in a selfish manner so she really would think I was asleep. Her body moved away from me once again. I was not entirely sure how playing dead would help me in this situation but it felt like the right thing to do at the time.

  Yes, running away from it all was definitely better than facing it head-on. I had chosen this option so many times before and it had worked just fine for me. Unfortunately, however, my senses were so heightened by adrenalin that I was about a million miles away from any kind of sleep-like state. My eyes were out on stalks and the hairs on my arms and legs were standing on end. From the sound of Sienna’s breathing, which was also pretty speedy, I guessed she was now lying on her back. She sounded stressed too.

  Think about something else, Nick. Come on, anything . . . Penny sweets, elastic bands, fax machines . . . Sienna, beautiful Sienna . . . Broken toasters, instruction manuals, ferrets . . . But Sienna’s here . . . Cam belts, WD40, baked goods . . . Your Sienna . . .

  Damn it. It obviously wasn’t working, so I let my mind wander to the place it wanted to go. I wondered what it might feel like to be brave. You know, to not be me. I knew I could never take advantage of her, but if I had some balls rather than the raisins they had been replaced with this evening, maybe I could turn around and pull her close to me with my right arm. Yes, that would be lovely. I could wrap my arm around her tiny waist and pull her across the sheets until her nose was touching mine.

  And maybe, in my dream-like scenario, she wouldn’t shriek, ‘Urgh, Nick! What the fuck are you doing?’ and whack me around the head with her sock, but just stay quiet and let her lips rest on mine.

  Because this had been brewing for so long, neither of us would take the plunge with the kiss straight away; we would just lie there first, seeing how it felt. Maybe a few minutes would pass, and I’d be able to feel her breath on my face. I would take in every second like it was the real meaning of life, these moments that make the world go round. Then, maybe, if I was really lucky, she would kiss my bottom lip and tell me she loved me too and always had . . .

  The scenario was so dream-like it was making me ache from the depths of my soul. It actually hurt. This was definitely love. Without a doubt. This was what those poets were talking about in the old-school literature that used to make me cringe when I was spotty, fourteen and fantasising about Miss Rogers in my English literature classes. This was it. It was pulse-racing, heart-wrenching, dizzying love. The kind that touches every one of your nerve endings and renders you almost insane. The kind I could not give into easily because it already hurt like hell before lift-off.

  The reality of this situation was that the love of my life was lying on her back, in my bed, at 3.30 a.m., and I was pretending to be asleep. What a hero I was. Come on out, Spider-Man. Where the hell are you now? Huh?

  The darkness enveloped every corner of the room. My eyes scanned the space in front of me but it was as if a black ribbon had been tied around them. There was nothing but inky depth.

  Then, suddenly, it happened. I felt a soft hand move under the sheets and snake round my waist. Not a dream, Nick, not a dream. This was definitely happening. My stomach muscles immediately tensed up so they felt like a row of seaside rocks. Well, that made it pretty obvious I was awake, didn’t it?

  I tried to relax my torso but it just wouldn’t calm down, then I figured the permanently taut feel would do me no harm so I should just roll with it. I wondered what she was doing. She must have been sleepwalking . . . Then, using my stomach to grip on to, she pulled her body behind me and pushed her legs under mine. Wow.

  We were Mr and Mrs Spoon, cuddling in the cutlery drawer. This was it. More than a year after meeting, she had finally broken the ice. Did she know what she was doing? But I didn’t want to ruin it, so I stayed dead still. Holding her hand or trying to kiss her might have been too much at this stage.

  Her lips touched the back of my neck ever so slightly and it set my heart on fire.

  Calm. Peace. Quiet. A loud sigh rushed from her lungs as she finally dropped off, her legs twitching just like mine do.

  I didn’t sleep a wink. It felt like all my birthdays had come at once.

  I imagined who I would tell first. Ross? Yes, it had to be him. He deserved a medal after putting up with all my pining and whinging. I could call him casually and tell him how Sienna and I had finally sorted things out, like I’d always known it was going to happen. He would probably take the piss, but he’d be happy for me.

  I could call my mum and she might finally believe that I’m not gay (she’d been starting to express concern since Amelia and I had split up and I’d brought no one resembling a serious female partner to our uptight family parties).

  The reception girls would love it too. They’ve been teasing me for ages.

  Wow. Sienna, my girlfriend. Christmas drinks, executive gatherings, bar mitzvahs, whatever. Me and Sienna against the world. Joint bank accounts. Egyptian cotton. A Tesco Clubcard . . . My beautiful, wonderful girl.

  Those three and a half hours in bed while Sienna’s arm was curled around my body were possibly some of the happiest I have ever experienced. There was that time I got to ride a camel in Africa, and my first big promotion – oh, and not forgetting my three-and-a-half-hour marathon (now that was a cracker) . . . But none of them beat this.

  She couldn’t be asleep, you don’t just cuddle people in your sleep. This was for real.

  The sun was rising slowly behind my curtains and I stayed dead still, excited about what she might say when she woke up. It could go something like this: ‘Morning, Nick, I hope you don’t mind me doing this . . . I’ve just wanted to tell you for so long . . .’ or even: ‘Don’t speak, Nick, just kiss me . . .’ Yes, I quite liked the sound of the second. Let’s go for the second. I knew this would work out. I just always had a feeling in my gut that we would sort this out. All along.

  Then, at around 6.55 a.m. she turned around in her sleep. Bugger.

  Now that her arm was away from my body, the little strip of skin that it had covered felt cold and, well, naked. I mean it was naked, but properly now. I had lost her. That’s fine, I thought. She would wake up soon and we could talk, and I could tell her how long I had loved her, and all the silly things I’d said and done and why. Like the time I said she reminded me of my sister. I would definitely be explaining that first.

  At 7.10 the alarm went on her phone, piercing the gloriousness of the early morning calm and the start of our new life.

  ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ she exclaimed, sitting bolt upright in bed, the duvet wrapped around her che
st as if she was naked. She wasn’t. Her fringe was poking up in the air in a variety of strange angles and she had a line on her face from the seam of the pillowcase. She dived to the side of the bed and scrabbled around for her phone, silencing it with what sounded like an angry fist. I jumped.

  ‘Damn, Nick, sorry. I don’t know why I got into your bed. My head hurts. Shit, bollocks!’ she exclaimed again. A tirade of swear words and regret. Her cheeks were red.

  I rolled over to face her, not sure I was really hearing this and suddenly very aware that I was only wearing my boxer shorts and the glory of the morning meant there was an erection that resembled a chequered tent in the southern part of camp pants. This was a nightmare.

  This situation was becoming a never-ending, heartbreaking saga, and I wasn’t sure if I could take it for much longer. It was push and pull, give and take, yin and yang, but all messed up. I felt like I’d been pulled from the top of a very high horse in Happyland and fallen into a pile of dog turd, face down. In fact, some of it had gone in my mouth. I was sure of it.

  ‘Nick, please forgive me for getting into your bed. I work with you, for God’s sake. I think I had a bit too much to drink, it makes me sleepwalk sometimes,’ she said, pulling at my arm guiltily.

  I yanked it back, a little irritated by now but trying really hard not to show it. ‘Er, Si, I didn’t even know you were here,’ I bullshitted, even though I felt sure she must be able to hear the broken shards of my heart tinkling onto the floor. ‘Anyway, it was really cold last night so it’s cool,’ I added, suddenly withdrawing my body to the other side of the bed and pulling on a pair of trousers, trying to hide my boner.

  I was still without a top. Damn. Where was my top? I scrabbled around on the floor and found one, bashing my head on the way up on the sharp edge of an open cupboard door. I should have listened to my mum about leaving doors open. It was the kind of pain that made you wonder if your skull hadn’t caved in to let your brain out for a quick stroll.

  ‘Bollocks!’ I shouted. That really bloody hurt. I gritted my teeth so hard I feared they might just crack and drop out of my mouth like pennies from a broken piggy bank.

  ‘Nick! Come here!’ Sienna cried as I stormed into the bathroom and shut the door. I sat on the toilet seat and pulled my head into my lap, gripping on to it hard to stop the throbbing pain. Breathe. Come on, just breathe. I was completely consumed by humiliating rage. Tears of pain and frustration started to fill my eyes. I felt like such a fool. It was a mixture of raw anger and deep disappointment and I didn’t know which hurt more – that, or my head. God, she’d only put her arm around my waist and I was already doing the weekly shop with her. What an IDIOT! For a guy approaching his thirties I could be hideously naive at times. This was it. This was my wake-up call. It was time to get real.

  There was a gentle knock at the door, like a little angel wanted in. It was hard to stay this incandescently furious with Sienna for long, but my embarrassment was prolonging my bitter feelings towards her. They stung like a fresh cut, and they weren’t going away.

  ‘Nick. Please come out. I’m worried about you . . .’ There was a long pause while I considered whether or not this situation could get any worse.

  ‘Nick?’ she repeated softly.

  I looked at myself in the mirror and saw an idiot with bloodshot eyes. My hair was flat on the top of my head while a couple of bits stood on end at the back like a radio receiver. I tried to gather the chunks of hacked-up male pride that were scattered all around me and walked to the door. I slowly opened it, peering through a tiny crack between the frame and the knotted pine door.

  Sienna pushed her arm through and pulled me towards her. It was a stealth attack and I had no chance to block it. ‘Come here,’ she said, squeezing my body tight. I tried to push her arms away but it wasn’t working.

  She ran her fingers gently over my head, a sharp sting making my eyes water when she touched the sore spot. Chills ran up and down my body. I felt really exposed.

  ‘Oh, Pookie, I can feel a bump,’ she said, pulling me even closer.

  I sniggered into her neck despite my concentrated sulking. It was a pet name we’d heard on a train once that had made me want to scream with laughter at the time. Now it was mildly tickling away the agony suffered by my battered ego.

  ‘I’m OK, Si. You really are overreacting,’ I responded, still pretending not to have been aware of the arm thing. If I couldn’t handle a small bump to the head, then even more of my manliness would ebb away.

  ‘Are you sure?’ She straightened her body and faced me; I could see the fear in her eyes. She knew that I knew. I knew that she knew.

  Her skin was all fresh from the morning, despite our drinking and smoking binge the night before. I was pretty sure I looked and smelled like a used teabag. Strands of dark hair tumbled across her face – the effect was as though she was looking at me through the sharp, thick leaves of a tropical plant. She was painfully beautiful.

  For a few moments, we stood and stared at each other. It was then that things changed. That moment between Sienna and me was the start of a shift in our relationship. I had to stop loving her.

  Five

  ‘Isn’t it time you, well . . . gave up?’

  Sienna

  ‘So I just fell asleep with my arm around him,’ I said to a table of transfixed young women, half of whom had their mouths wide open. It was like a crazy golf course, only with very good-looking girls and minus the plastic plants and stuffed monkeys.

  Elouise dropped her spoon into her bowl of potato and leek soup in shock, flinching when some droplets leaped onto her face. She wiped them away quickly with her sleeve, her eyes still stuck to me.

  ‘He didn’t come on to you at all?’ she muttered in disbelief, as if this was a preposterous concept. A shred of leek still clung to her bottom lip.

  ‘No,’ I said quietly, pushing a chunk of potato around the bowl with my spoon and biting the inside of my mouth. It was a very bad habit of mine and something I only did when I was really stressed.

  I kept fiddling with my food. The disappointment was audible – a tut here, a sigh there. Womankind was in mourning. Well, at least the women in this room were.

  ‘He didn’t even really cuddle me back. I know he was awake too because his heart was beating really fast in his chest and he was doing that fake sleep-breathing thing men do.’ I sighed. ‘What was I thinking?’

  My eyes scanned the collection of ladies assembled in front of me. I was hoping for answers to wrap this mess up once and for all.

  Lydia dozily reached over to the bottle of wine and poured me a glass the size of a small bath. I gratefully accepted.

  ‘Oh, Sienna,’ she muttered, shaking her head in shame slash sympathy as the last few drops leaked from the neck of the bottle.

  ‘Muuuuuuuuuum!’ came a shrill cry from upstairs, piercing the atmosphere at a perfect time. The looks of sadness were starting to panic me.

  ‘Yes, darling?’ El leaned back in her chair, her blonde locks sweeping over her shoulders as she angled her head.

  We waited in silence.

  ‘I want you to paint my nails,’ came the innocent voice of my best friend’s little boy from what sounded like the staircase.

  She blushed. ‘Sorry, ladies – I’ll be back in just a moment,’ she announced, rising quickly to her feet and running up the stairs in a pair of glamorous heels.

  The rest of the table continued its silent protest of concern. Lydia was looking at me with a cockeyed expression of pity, her auburn curls falling over her shoulders and resting on an army-green tank top set off by a delicate silver necklace. I’d sworn I would never tell her how I felt about Nick, but she’d caught me crying in the toilet once and I can’t lie to save my life. I had snot on my top lip and everything. She had been surprisingly good, actually, not uttering such scandalous gossip to a soul. I doubted even Dill knew. I had since introduced Lydia to my friends, and she was now invited to anything we planned as a group.

&
nbsp; Tess was running her index finger up and down one of the knives, her perfect little nose pointed towards the shiny glass tabletop. She was a stunning Korean girl I’d met at a taxi rank in Clapham two or three years ago. We’d shared a drunken journey back to west London and had been firm friends ever since. She had recently graduated from university and was on the job hunt, the stress collecting in little lines under her eyes. I knew she would be just fine.

  Then my gaze moved over to Penny, who almost had a tear in her eye. Her wavy blonde hair was swept into a trendy and effortless-looking updo and her eye make-up made me instantly envious. She was a glamorous creature, working in a Kensington dental surgery to the stars, regularly giving us fantastic gossip about diva-like behaviour over the spit bowl. Now how did she do that thing with the eyeliner flicks? I wondered about this for a good few seconds before smiling back at her. Her level of emotional involvement in my screwed-up love life was making me feel bad. She looked bloody miserable.

  Before I knew it, Elouise was coming back down the stairs, her torn jeans tight against her slender frame. A pair of sparkling blue eyes hid an undercurrent of embarrassment and we all automatically knew not to mention the nail varnish thing. She covered it up with a lovely smile, the one that melted the hearts of men all over the south-east. Just one smile from Elouise is all it takes and men are putty in her hands. I’ve seen it everywhere we go together – checkout assistants and barmen, all reduced to over-compliant creeps, desperate to get her number and secure that coveted first date.

  ‘Sorry about that, girls,’ she exclaimed, breathlessly sinking into her seat. ‘So what happened next?’ She turned towards me, the rest of the girls’ heads leaning into the centre of the table as I recommenced my tragic love story.