This is a Love Story

by Thompson, Jessica

  At 5.30 p.m. I got up and left the office. I had a little while before I would meet the boys so I figured I would sit in my car for a while and call Mum. It had been a long time since I had caught up with her properly. The sun was still out, but it was dimming now, rich streaks of pink slashed across the sky. I had been miserable this afternoon and now I was feeling happier.

  ‘Er, excuse me.’ A deep, gruff voice pierced my moment. It was definitely a London accent, but one that had a tinge of well-spoken grace to it, too. Like the person behind it had evolved somewhat. I looked around me as I stood by my car. Who on earth . . .?

  Suddenly a scruffy bloke rose slowly from the other side of the vehicle. He was scary-looking, but I recognised him . . . I just couldn’t put my finger on it . . . It was bugging me. In one hand he was clutching a can of Coke, in the other was a sack full of heavy-looking stuff. Books, maybe? He looked angry. Oh no. What was he going to do to me?

  ‘Are you Nick?’ he asked, gesturing in my direction with the Coke can. A great slop of brown liquid landed on the roof of my car and fizzed away at the paintwork. Oh shit. Was he drunk?

  ‘Er, yes. Why?’

  ‘I need to get in your car,’ he said ominously.

  I don’t think so, mate. He looked homeless. There was no way I was letting some homeless nutter into my car. No bloody way. Did I look like a crime number waiting to happen?

  I am quite stupid, though, and I pressed the wrong button on my key fob, automatically unlocking all the doors. I panicked, staring at the fob, slowing down my reaction time considerably. Before I even had the chance to press lock, the stranger had opened the passenger door and climbed in. Oh fuck.

  He sat in the seat, staring straight ahead, and I bobbed around for a moment, shifting my weight from one foot to the other before running around to the other side of the vehicle. I tried to pull him out, grabbing hold of his thin arm and using all my might to prise his body out of my car. My top lip was starting to sweat. Welcome to London. Full of danger at any given moment. I quietly cursed myself for not being more vigilant.

  I kept pulling, but he seemed rooted to the seat, one foot rammed into the footwell, firmly anchoring him in. My hands were getting sweaty and kept slipping off the skin of his arms. I was useless. There was lots of grunting, but I wasn’t sure if it was his or mine.

  ‘For God’s sake, get out!’ I shouted, hoping someone would hear me and help.

  ‘No. Listen,’ he said, but I just started pulling at him again. He was gripping on to the roof of the car now and it was impossible to drag him out. The car was rocking slightly under the weight of the scuffle. I even put my leg up on the side of the door to get more leverage, but he was clinging on for dear life and doing a very good job of it. I gave up and breathlessly slapped my hands on my knees, wondering what on earth I was going to do next. Maybe I could punch him? I’m not a violent man, but this was self-defence, surely? I gripped my fist tight and prepared myself.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’ I yelled, my voice echoing around the car park back to me. I sounded like a girl.

  ‘Mate, will you chill out! I’m Pete. You know who I am.’

  I still didn’t have a clue who he was. Pete. Pete. Now who was he? I studied him. His face had that wrinkled look you get when you spend a lot of time outside; there were lines around his eyes that aged him beyond his years. He was wearing a faded black T-shirt and jeans with holes all over them. Then realisation washed over me.

  It was Sienna’s Pete. The homeless man she spoke to all the time. The guy I thought she wasted her time on. But he looked so much better than he had before – plumper, clean-shaven. Though still not sorted . . . I was totally confused.

  ‘Oh bloody hell, I’m sorry.’ I reached towards him, but he pulled away angrily.

  ‘So you should be, you silly sod,’ he huffed, shuffling his shoulders so his T-shirt fell back into place. ‘Now will you let me sit and talk?’

  ‘Why?’ I asked, my feathers still a little ruffled by the run-in. I still didn’t know what he wanted from me.

  ‘Because I have something to tell you.’

  Coldness washed over my body. Why did he want to talk to me? What was going on?

  ‘Oh, all right then, go on,’ I conceded, slinging myself into the driver’s seat.

  He immediately fiddled with the controls and pushed his seat back until he was almost lying down. Oh, go on then, make yourself at home. Then he put his feet up, a pair of dirty trainers all over my clean dashboard. For fuck’s sake . . . I cringed. I’d only cleaned the car the other day.

  ‘What do you want?’ I knew he was Sienna’s ‘friend’ or whatever, but if you ask me, he had terrible manners.

  ‘It’s about Sienna,’ he started, turning towards me and looking me straight in the eye. His eyes reminded me of winter, they were cold and piercing. I suddenly wondered how he had coped all this time.

  ‘Go on then, spit it out. I have to go out tonight, pal.’ I was itching for a beer, and I didn’t really have time for all this. I’d never shown much interest when Sienna had talked about him. I felt bad about that now.

  He sighed and looked down at the footwell, which was now covered in brown scuff marks. I noticed his right hand was trembling slightly. He looked overwhelmingly nervous. This in turn made me overwhelmingly nervous.

  ‘She loves you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said she loves you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sienna, for God’s sake. You’re supposed to be clever, aren’t you?’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She told me. I mean she tells me. All the time. She has always, always, always loved you.’ And with this he threw his right hand in the air, splashing me with more Coke.

  I didn’t care. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to pull this skinny man into my arms and hold him tight for bringing me the best news of my life. I’d never felt so elated.

  ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  I slammed my body back into my seat and ran my hands over my face. ‘Please, tell me more,’ I begged, turning back to him and hoping I hadn’t just imagined the whole episode.

  ‘I don’t know where to start, really. She’d be furious if she knew I was doing this. I hope I’m doing the right thing.’

  I was speechless, so I just nodded at him instead. He could put his dirty feet anywhere now. I didn’t care if he stomped all over my favourite shirt and my expensive curtains, so long as he just told me . . .

  ‘She’s been in love with you ever since she met you and she’s never got over it. Well, she said she moved on, when she was with that bloke – what was his name?’

  ‘Ben,’ I squeaked, before clearing my throat.

  ‘Yeah, him. Anyway, I just couldn’t take it any more. I lost my wife, Nick – she died in a train crash. The kind of love I know she feels for you is just like the love I had with my wife, Jenny. I can’t stand back and not say anything any more. It’s been five years, for God’s sake.’ He tilted his head back and poured the last droplets of Coke into the canyon. ‘What do you say? I get the impression you might feel something for her, too? I mean, who wouldn’t?’ He looked at me searchingly. Hopefully.

  ‘Of course I bloody love her,’ I said, slamming both hands on the steering wheel and accidentally pushing the horn. We both jumped.

  I was truly shaking now. I needed to calm down. ‘What, what, what am I going to do?’ I asked him, stuttering.

  ‘Tell her, and for God’s sake hurry up, will you? She’s a bloody angel,’ he said, smiling at the thought of her. ‘You’re a lucky man,’ he added.

  I agreed. So, so lucky. I would talk to the boys tonight, and then tomorrow, I was going to tell her. And I was going to make it perfect.

  ‘Do you have any idea what she’s done for me?’ he asked, looking a little emotional now.

  ‘No. No. I don’t really know.’ To be honest, I’d grown a bit
tired of hearing her worrying about this guy. I’d told her she had enough on her plate. I’d been so wrapped up in myself these last few weeks that I hadn’t even realised she still saw him.

  ‘She’s saved me from the streets, Nick. She got me an outreach worker, and now I have somewhere to sleep. I’m in a permanent hostel. I might even have a job coming up and my own place one day. And it’s all because of her . . . I feel terrible that I never thanked her for what she did for me. We fell out in a big way the last time I saw her. I don’t know what to say to her to make it better, but I had to do something for her the way she did something for me . . . Look after her for me, Nick,’ he said, starting to open the door.

  ‘No, don’t go.’ I wanted to know more. I’d thought I knew everything, yet behind the scenes she had rescued this man from cold oblivion. From a life of want and hunger.

  ‘You know what to do now. I have to go,’ he said, swiftly leaving the car and slamming the door behind him. I watched as he slung his bag over his shoulder and disappeared into the evening.

  She loves me. I collapsed on to the steering wheel, wondering what on earth I was going to do next. This was special. I had to wait for the right moment. I sat in the car for a while. A small part of me wanted to cancel the drinks and just drive somewhere so I could think.

  I realised I was too shaken to drive, but I felt like I could fly.

  Fourteen

  It was the rack. It made me talk.

  Sienna

  It was just Nick and I sitting opposite each other on a bench. I didn’t recognise where we were, but I knew it was somewhere in London. It was the start of a hot evening. He had brought me here with a black ribbon over my eyes, and I was baffled when he whipped it away to reveal a typical urban street scene that had nothing special about it apart from the fact that he was there.

  But I didn’t ask questions. I trusted him and his master plan, whatever the hell it was. He had this look in his eyes, one I’d never seen on him before. It was excitement etched with fear, like something really big was about to happen. And even though this bench was on a dirty street somewhere in the city, he was wearing a shirt that made him look like something from a Burberry campaign. He had never looked so good. In his right hand was a flower. A huge red rose that was such a shocking shade of crimson it made everything around it seem black and white apart from the dewy skin on Nick’s face reflecting the neon lights from a row of shops.

  My heart started racing. What was happening here? I tried to speak but he reached his hand out towards my face and pushed his thumb against my mouth, dragging the skin of my bottom lip down towards my chin. My breath caught in my throat. The traffic around us was a blur and the people seemed to just disappear as he leaned in slowly and pulled his hand away, replacing the gentle pressure with his own mouth. Not quite kissing me, but nearly. So close. I. Could. Just. Melt. He started to speak while his lips were pressed against mine. I felt light-headed. ‘Sienna, I just want to tell you that I—’

  BEEP BEEP BEEP. Nick and the rose and the bench and the cars were suddenly whipped away from me like a tablecloth from under a four-course banquet. The sound was so sharp it made me jump and I rolled over to silence it. I was sleepy enough that I could hardly see but somehow I managed to locate my phone, which was twisted up in my bed sheets. Bam. Back to reality.

  It was a Friday. It would probably be just like all the others, I thought grumpily as I realised that I’d missed ‘the kiss’ in my only good dream for months. After a coffee I was more accepting of the situation. It was, of course, just a dream – Nick didn’t love me, I knew that, and life goes on. Time to get real.

  Dad was particularly chirpy this morning, which pulled me out of my mire of self-pity. ‘It’s Friday, Sienna,’ he said as he lolled around on the sofa on his back, holding a huge map of the world in front of his face. It sagged in the middle and made a loud crunching sound as he punched his fist into the centre to try and straighten it out. The thing looked like it was going to swallow him up inside its folds.

  ‘Yes indeed, Dad,’ I replied. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Well, I’m mapping out the places I’d like to visit if I could just up, leave and go travelling. I’m imagining that you and me are going, little one. And then I’m going to write about our adventure, country by country.’ He looked at me with beady eyes. The four great corners of the world sagged beyond his hands and curled around his arms.

  This hurt a little. I felt that twinge I get so often with my father when I realise that not only is he accepting of the rubbish cards he’s been dealt, but he refuses to be defined by them. It’s a blend of piercing sadness and overwhelming pride. A confusing mixture. I can imagine it would be fairly easy to get angry and frustrated, and stop caring about everything beyond the walls of our little flat in west London. But instead of becoming bitter, my father explores all the possibilities like he’s out there living them. He does it with HB pencils, leaving shavings behind him everywhere he goes, which I have to clear up with a dustpan and brush. Words. Drawings. Charts. I don’t mind at all.

  ‘Wow, that sounds like a massive project, Dad. Can we go to India, please?’ I sat down next to him on the sofa, pointing at my destination of choice with a dark-painted fingernail. He put his arm around my waist and squeezed me tight. I squeezed him back.

  ‘Of course, Sienna. Wherever you want to go. I’m going to research each and every place on our route – the food, the way it smells, the customs, all of it. And in a few months’ time you’ll be able to read all about our travels. We can pick five places each, you and I, and I want your choices as soon as possible, please,’ he concluded, turning to look at me like it was real. Like it was actually going to happen. I wanted to squeeze him really tight and not let go for a long time. But I was running late, so instead I gave him a kiss on the cheek and shoved the last bite of toast into my mouth before dashing out to work.

  ‘I love you, Dad,’ I said, stopping in the doorway to look at him for a moment as I prepared to be swallowed up by the real world.

  ‘I love you too, Sienna,’ he answered, not even looking up from his map.

  There was never enough time. Life seemed to be running away from me.

  Slipping through my fingers. It was all hospital runs, coffee queues, office meetings and interviews. Absolute chaos.

  As soon as I got outside I realised that it was an exceptionally beautiful summer morning and the triviality of my Nick-induced misery started to slip away. It seemed like the whole city was smiling and I was just a tiny part of it all, totally overwhelmed by the majesty of this day. The birds were singing from the rows of tall trees along the road, trees so characteristic of this part of London. Fresh fruit and vegetables were lined up temptingly outside the shopfronts near the station, their colours so bright I could almost taste them.

  I felt lucky. It was impossible to experience a morning like this and not be happy. I thought about how much was ahead of me, how maybe one day I would meet The One, and if I was really blessed I might have beautiful, happy children. Of course, that was a very long way off, but all of a sudden, everything seemed so full of promise.

  I grabbed my morning coffee and a copy of Metro before boarding the train. It was full, bodies seemingly squashed into every corner, newspapers folded under armpits and coffees balanced precariously on ledges and seats. As the sweaty carriage pulled away from the station, a modest breeze seeped through an open window near my face. It gently ran its fingers through my fringe, causing it to flap up and down as if someone was yanking it with string. It gave me some relief from the morning crush.

  I took a few deep breaths and looked around me. It was one of those mornings where instead of burying my face in a book or a paper, I just took in London and how incredible it is. It made me sit up and soak in the mad city energy. The different faces, the strange things you see on the streets, the sounds and the smells.

  Then I remembered. As though it were happening all over again. It was something of a flashbac
k. I recalled looking over the top of the newspaper five years ago to see the most handsome man I had ever laid eyes on, wearing a bright green T-shirt. We’d looked at each other over the pages, and I hadn’t known it back then, but something really quite remarkable had begun. It was a love story. But not as you might perceive it.

  In most love stories, the guy and the girl like each other the same amount and manage to eventually get over their crippling fear/bashfulness and sort it out. In this love story, I, Sienna Walker, have loved Nick Redland for five years. And what do I have to show for it? Love, yes – but of a rather different sort. Love that comes from friendship, which is almost worth more, really, because friends don’t have sex, get fed up, and then avoid each other like the plague.

  I could just picture him now, with that gorgeous grin of his revealing a row of straight, white teeth. There was something about his smile that made me want to keep looking. And I haven’t stopped looking, all this time . . . I realised I was pulling an idiotic expression while staring at an elderly woman sitting opposite me who looked nothing like Nick. She shuffled uncomfortably. My coffee was going cold, too, so I calmed myself down and took some gentle sips as the train clicked along the tracks.

  I wondered how he was. We’d hardly seen each other lately. He’d been distant since Chloe left and then seemed a bit strange yesterday, suddenly coming over and calling me a superstar before going back into his office and not emerging at the usual time. Superstar? I think he was having another of his crisis moments because of what had happened with Chloe. He was probably sitting in silence with his head in his lap. I thought it best not to interrupt him. She’s crazy, just leaving him like that. Why would you leave Nick? Just why?

  My mind replayed the moment when I’d lost sight of him and thought I would never see him again. How I threw my cup in the bin and walked to the office, almost forgetting I’d ever seen his face. Yet strangely, it had been his face that greeted me when the lift doors opened and . . . Oh, come on, Sienna. Think of something else for a change, will you? I told myself off again. But it never seemed to work.