This is a Love Story

by Thompson, Jessica

‘What gave you this idea, then?’ my dad questioned me, rolling the sleeves of his baggy blue jumper above his elbows. I had created him a cushion haven on the sofa, and he was sitting so he would fall onto a soft surface when he passed out. Not if, but when. This was tiring stuff for him.

  ‘Well, I was really stuck about what to give him for his birthday – it’s a big one, obviously. Silly gifts and gimmicks weren’t really going to do the trick.’ I reached over to the pile of mementoes and picked up a strip of photos taken in a booth in Florida. I was sitting on Nick’s lap and he had just poked me in the ribs, causing me to cackle loudly as the flashbulbs went. God, I loved him. ‘So I was lying in bed one night and I was thinking about all the fun times we’ve had, and it dawned on me that my room was full of bits of paper, photos, tickets and stuff like that from our various adventures. I got up and gathered them all together and that was when the idea hit me.’

  ‘It’s perfect. He’s going to love it,’ Dad said again. ‘You two are quite something, aren’t you?’ he muttered, holding a photo and peering more closely at it.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked. He turned the image round. It was Halloween two years ago; we dressed up as Batman and Robin.

  ‘There is one thing that concerns me a little,’ he began, taking a huge gulp from his mug of tea.

  Here we go . . .

  ‘He has a girlfriend, right?’

  ‘Yes. Chloe.’ Luckily I was over my hideous jealousy by now, otherwise I would have launched myself off a cliff on a motorised scooter. She seemed really nice, actually – not that I knew her that well. She seemed to keep a safe distance from me; the most we talked was when she handed me a mug on her tea round.

  ‘How do you think she’ll feel about all this? Hmm?’ he probed. He had that look on his face that he always has when I’m doing something a little bit naughty. You know, something you can get away with, but it’s still a bit dodgy. Like keeping a tenner you find poking out of a cash machine, bunking the train fare or failing to tip in a really good restaurant.

  ‘You are, after all, quite deeply in love with Nick,’ said Dad.

  ‘Was in love,’ I abruptly corrected him, pressing a theatre ticket onto the page in frustration.

  ‘OK, was, sorry. I suppose it was a long time ago you told me all that,’ he conceded, sorting through a pile of tickets and receipts.

  ‘Yes, I did used to love him like that, but I don’t now. Plus I’ve got Ben. I think Chloe is absolutely fine about Nick and me being friends. That’s all this book is about.’ I looked him straight in the eye.

  He took a deep breath, like he was fighting off his fatigue with a fresh dose of oxygen. ‘That’s fine, Sienna. I know your intentions are good. It’s just, you’re a really pretty girl, and I think most women would find your closeness, well, deeply unnerving.’

  His words shocked me a little. In comparison to Chloe I felt like some wart-covered creature that had crawled out of a badger set. He wasn’t being accusatory or aggressive, just truthful, and that’s what I love about my dad.

  ‘Thanks. But no, don’t worry. I’ll handle it very carefully. It’s important he gets this.’

  I looked at him as he held a peacock feather towards the halogen ceiling light; its petrol blue and green shades lit up and he grinned. ‘What about this one, huh?’ He whipped the feather towards my face and brushed my left cheek with it. I pulled my neck back into my shoulders because it tickled.

  ‘We went to a farm once, just for fun. He found it on the ground and gave it to me.’

  ‘And what about Ben?’ Dad continued to prod.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘How does he feel about you and Nick being such good friends? You’ve been seeing each other for about nine months now, right?’

  ‘Er, yes, that’s probably about right . . . I don’t think he feels a lot, Dad. We haven’t been too serious with each other anyway, as in we don’t see each other all that often. And if he has an issue with it, he’ll just have to lump it, won’t he? I can’t be doing with jealous men . . .’

  ‘This must have all been quite difficult for you, really, Sienna,’ Dad pondered, gently running his fingers over the feather’s circular pattern. ‘You know . . . loving someone that much and having to, well, pack it away into a little box and pretend it isn’t there.’

  That was a very good way of describing it. A little box. Packed full of love. Love that I had never really been able to express, so it was banging away at the sides and screaming to be let out.

  ‘Yes, it has been. And really, it’s a little box I carry everywhere with me, because I guess the love never properly goes away.’

  There was a soft thud. Dad had slumped back onto the mound of cushions I had gathered. Bless him.

  As the afternoon wore on, I continued to cut, glue and stick the remnants of the last two and a half years of my life onto the book’s pages. The film had finished a long time ago, and the DVD menu sequence must have repeated itself hundreds of times. Normally this would have irritated me, but I was in a deep trance. The rain fell faster and heavier as the darkness of the night slowly pulled a thick, black cloak over the daylight. It would be Nick’s thirtieth birthday in just three days. I quietly prayed for sunshine so he would wake up and see how good things really are. How he doesn’t need to worry about all the silly stuff that crowds his mind, like his career and his age.

  The next day I walked down to the post office. Nervous butterflies filled my stomach and made it hard to breathe. I really was doing this, wasn’t I? I was basically saying, with photographs and sequins and feathers and glue, I love you. Just as a friend, of course . . .

  A grey-haired lady was on the other side of the glass counter. One of those weird jangly chains ran from the sides of her glasses around her neck. What is it that these people think is going to happen to their specs? Quite bizarre . . .

  ‘I need special delivery, please. I really need to make sure this gets to its destination safely.’ I meant business.

  She looked slightly offended. Well, tough. Inside this box were the best memories of my life, and I wasn’t having them delivered to some guy called Bob who would open them, shrug his shoulders and then use them as a footrest.

  I wrote Nick’s name and address in capital letters, taking care that the numbers were clear, then pushed the parcel through to the woman. According to her badge, her name was Sue, but you could never trust that. When I worked at the supermarket on Saturday mornings I wore a ‘Geoff’ badge for years, just because they hadn’t bothered sending off for a ‘Sienna’ one.

  The parcel was weighed. How much does love weigh, I wondered . . .

  ‘That’s £5.90, please,’ said Sue, her hand already thrust out expectantly.

  I pushed the exact money into her chubby palm and looked into her eyes. ‘Please, make sure it gets there safely. Please.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I will.’ She finally cracked a smile. I think she knew this was about a boy.

  Tuesday came and went. It was uneventful.

  Then it was Wednesday. Nick’s day. I didn’t call or text. I thought I had done enough, really.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ said Lydia, rushing over to me in a pair of exceptionally high heels the minute I came out of the lift. Just looking at them made me giddy.

  ‘You look lovely, Lyds,’ I said, giving her a gentle kiss on the cheek.

  And indeed she did. Her auburn curls were tumbling over a dark grey knitted jumper, cinched in at the waist with a thin patent belt. Underneath that was a pair of tailored black trousers, skinny at the ankle to highlight the glorious shoes. She was like a supermodel. I looked down at my own ensemble, which consisted of black skinny jeans, a grey cardigan and a pair of black ballet pumps. It was a bit boring, to say the least.

  ‘You’re going to have to take me shopping soon,’ I exclaimed, hoping that just a smidgen of her style might rub off on me if I sat close enough.

  She leaned in close to my ear, filling the space around me with her perfume. ‘
I’ve met a boy, Sienna. Well, a man. A very sexy man.’ Then she moved back again, clasping her hands together and giggling.

  ‘That is so exciting! Tell me more.’ I reached forward and held her lower arms in my hands. So that’s why she was looking so spectacular today, I thought. I mean, she always looks good, but you can tell when a woman is in the throes of something passionate. She makes even more of an effort. Nails are painted. Legs are shaved. Scented moisturiser is deployed . . .

  ‘Well, he works at an office down the road. We kept bumping into each other in Starbucks every day and he bought my latte last week and asked for my number.’ She looked down at her feet, blushing slightly.

  ‘That is so cute,’ I gushed.

  Then my phone rang, pulling me out of my romantic rundown with Lydia. It was Nick. I gestured an apology her way and dived into the corridor. My stomach filled with nerves again. What if he didn’t like the book and I had misjudged the whole thing? Surely I shouldn’t worry. Nick was an artistic and creative individual, pretty cool about all that stuff. He wasn’t the kind who avoided sequins for fear of turning into a raging queen.

  ‘Hello, Nick,’ I answered, forcing a smile across my face so that I sounded upbeat rather than bloody terrified.

  He tried to get some words out, but it was a strange sentence which included the words ‘fuck’ and ‘ughh’ – if that is even a proper word. I took it to be a good sign.

  I pictured him as he spoke. He probably had his face on his lap and his hands clasped around his head. It’s a funny Nickism. I wished him happy birthday.

  ‘You didn’t have to do this. It must have taken you ages. It’s, well, it’s incredible, Si,’ he said.

  Something washed over me. I knew I had to say that I adored him, and say it in privacy, so I rushed into the toilets, hoping they were empty.

  It just came out. OK, it wasn’t a love declaration. You can ‘adore’ a friend. But he needed to know that much. I got the closest I’d ever been to telling him that I was wildly in love with him. I realised then that I still was. That I’d never stopped being in love with him.

  My words were: ‘I adore you, Nick Redland. You’ve got me through everything. I would be lost without you. So really, it’s the least I could do. Thank you for being around.’ I said it because I meant it. Putting some scrapbook together was the least I could do for him. ‘We’ll see each other soon, I promise. Look, I have to go. Have yourself a wonderful thirtieth birthday, Nick, and be proud of everything that you are,’ I added.

  I heard the sudden click of a heel from a far cubicle. Shit. It was Chloe. I could stay here or disappear. Stay here or disappear.

  Too late. She came out of the cubicle with a suspicious smile on her face. ‘What was that all about? You adore someone? Who is that?’ she demanded as she tried to casually wash her hands, her irritation unmaskable.

  I went red again and pushed my phone into my pocket as if to hide the whole conversation, but she had clearly heard it all. She knew exactly who I had been talking to. ‘Erm, I was just wishing Nick a happy birthday,’ I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

  ‘Did you get him a present?’ she asked me flatly as she moved over to the hand dryer.

  I had to be honest about this. ‘No, I didn’t buy anything, I made him a book – just with a few photos in it and crappy old tickets and stuff. I’m skint, so . . .’ I replied, trying to play it down, but having to shout a little above the roar of the dryer, which didn’t help. When it stopped, she turned to face me, a look of fury painted across her features.

  ‘I see,’ she said, turning on her heel and storming out of the toilet.

  Nick

  ‘Nick, I have a question.’

  It was Tom and he was standing in the doorway to my office holding his laptop, a look of concern on his face. He was wearing a blue checked shirt and the buttons weren’t done up in the right order, leaving a corner of material hanging over the top of his jeans. I decided not to point it out.

  ‘Yes, mate, come in.’ I moved a pile of magazines from the spare chair.

  Tom shut the door behind him. This was likely to be serious. Probably woman-related.

  He angled his torso towards me and pushed the computer in my direction, looking very worried now. ‘Well, it’s my laptop, really.’

  God, what was this? I wondered. Still, this was what senior responsibility was all about. I was learning this stuff since I’d been made studio manager, Ant’s second in charge. It sounds like it was something I should have celebrated and shouted from the treetops, but in reality I hadn’t even been given a pay rise. The company was trying to cut costs as much as possible, and this had been a last-ditch attempt to keep me on the payroll as it was pretty clear I was getting itchy feet. Still, it was great experience and blah blah blah . . . But it also meant people kept coming into my office with strange questions and accusations. Important stuff – you know, Terry’s hidden my favourite mug and so forth.

  ‘What’s the problem?’

  He cleared his throat. His voice was quiet now. ‘Well, it’s got heavier. I really mean it. It’s getting tough to carry it to work.’

  I was perplexed. Bemused. Discombobulated.

  Then he dropped the bombshell. ‘Do you think it’s all the files I’ve put on there? You know, all the stuff I’ve been saving and downloading?’

  I spat my drink all over my lap. ‘Are you joking, Tom?’ I shrieked, raising my eyebrows and collapsing into fits of laughter. I looked deep into his eyes, hoping this was one of his pranks.

  He sat up in surprise. Genuine surprise.

  ‘And how much exactly does a word document weigh?’ I shouted through my hysteria.

  He still didn’t get it and I was really taking the mick now. It almost felt cruel. ‘Get out of my office, Tom, please, before I piss myself!’ I stood up and handed him the computer, mock dropping it to the floor because of the sheer ‘weight’ of it.

  Then realisation dawned and he must have figured the ridiculousness of his query. He went beetroot. ‘Oh shit, Nick. I’m such a div.’ He collapsed with laughter.

  ‘I told you, get out of my space before I send out a memo to the whole company,’ I laughed, physically pushing him out of my door with both hands on his back. I slumped back into my chair and started laughing again. It was all too much. My ribs were hurting now. I felt kind of sorry for Tom. He was so technically challenged despite being so young. We were talking here about a guy who once got up from his desk and physically closed one of the windows near his desk after misreading an instruction from IT support over the phone.

  How did he not know this stuff? He was an anomaly. He’d obviously bunked off IT classes at school. But although I felt sorry for his ignorance, I had to make the most of this. It was an opportunity too good to miss, so I leaped up and opened my door again, swinging my body into the open-plan office.

  ‘Tom?’ I called with a smile on my face.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered quietly, his red face rising above the screen of his computer.

  ‘How much does an MP3 weigh? Because I was going to get a couple of albums at the weekend and I was wondering whether or not I would need the car. Or maybe home delivery might be an option?’

  ‘Sod off!’ he shouted, laughing too.

  Everyone looked perplexed. ‘Don’t worry, guys, Tom just lost his mind for a second. He’ll tell you,’ I yelled, pointing towards him with a smile.

  Suddenly the lift opened and everyone looked towards it, their attention shifting from my mocking of Tom as a massive bunch of flowers with legs appeared under the strip lighting. Holy cow. Now that was a romantic declaration. There were red flowers, pink flowers and white flowers, all tied up in a giant ribbon and secured in the middle with a beautiful bow.

  I looked around the office. Who could they be for? I certainly hadn’t ordered them for Chloe – I gave her a look before she got her hopes up, then instantly felt like a rubbish boyfriend.

  Rhoda has been married to the same mise
rable git for years, so that was extremely unlikely.

  Diane was bitter and angry, and not worthy of such a beautiful explosion of colour.

  Lydia had only just started seeing someone. Surely that would be a bit terrifying?

  There were a few other girls here, but they were pretty quiet so I didn’t know much about them.

  Eventually it transpired that the legs actually belonged to the skinny chap delivering them. He seemed to be buckling under their weight. He held a little card close to his face as if he was struggling to read it, great folds of wrinkly skin around his eyes.

  ‘I think you might have got the wrong floor, mate,’ I said, walking towards him with my hands clasped together. I was genuinely trying to help.

  People’s heads were poking above their workstations like they were excitable meerkats.

  ‘No. No. It definitely says the third floor.’ He was slightly cross-eyed. He peered at the card again. ‘Er, it says Sienna here. Yeah. Sienna Walker?’ he called out, stepping back in his steel-toecap boots. His delivery was less than romantic.

  My heart sank. Shit. They were from that Ben bloke. And all respect to him, he had really pulled it out of the hat. They must have cost a bomb . . . Still, he does run a cripplingly expensive torture chamber of a gym.

  I saw her flinch as soon as her name was mentioned and within seconds every female in the room was running over to her and shrieking like it was the rehearsals for the Cats’ Chorus annual summer concert. She went almost as red as Tom had earlier and tried to hide behind her screen.

  Why had I never thought of doing something like that for a woman? Or even for her, maybe? Back in the days before I lost my nerve . . .

  The delivery man fought through the throng of cooing women and laid the flowers in her arms. ‘Sign here, please,’ he demanded abruptly, plonking a card and a biro in her hand.

  She tried her best to scribble her name but the flowers were impeding her ability to do anything. Sienna hates stuff like this. I know that. She despises being the centre of attention and that’s certainly what she was now. It was as if the room had gone into slow motion and I was just watching from a distance. Watching some other guy romance the girl I loved. I mean used to love. Shit.