by Sara Barnard
‘You spoke to her?’ Mum says again.
‘Yeah. Sort of. I kind of gabbled a bit. But she was so nice. And she went and got another man to help us because we couldn’t get Rhys down by ourselves. And Connie – that’s the woman – took us to the hospital and then left. And all the nurses and doctors and stuff were just, like, ignoring Rhys and just talking to me. And he was really grumpy and all cross because he couldn’t communicate. And then I had to call his brother because I knew I had to, because I couldn’t look after us.’
I look up to see that they’re all staring at me.
‘You spoke to this woman – Connie –’ Dad says carefully. ‘And then, this other man . . . did you speak to him?’
I nod. ‘Stuart. He was a GP and a bit smug, but he really helped.’
‘And then you spoke at the hospital? And rang Rhys’s brother?’
I nod again. ‘I was all shaky and I just . . . I just wanted to run away. It was pathetic.’
‘Steffi,’ Mum says. It sounds like she’s struggling not to laugh, but when I look at her I see there are tears in her eyes. ‘Steffi. Can’t you hear everything you’re saying? Don’t you see what you did?’
I shake my head. ‘I couldn’t handle it.’
‘But you did handle it,’ Lucy says. ‘You spoke to all those people, Steffi. You found it hard, yes, but you still did it. That’s all anyone can ask of anyone else.’
‘You even used the phone,’ Mum says, squeezing my hand. ‘Oh, Steffi. I’m so, so proud.’
‘But I had a panic attack,’ I say. ‘Right there. In front of Rhys.’
‘And then you got up and went to get help,’ Dad says.
‘I wanted to run away,’ I say again.
‘But you didn’t,’ Mum says.
‘I upset Tem,’ I say, abruptly changing tack as I remember the other thing I had to cry about. ‘She’s mad at me.’
‘So?’ Mum says, so frankly I actually smile.
‘She’s not speaking to me any more.’
Dad gets up and starts bustling with the kettle, filling it under the tap and then putting it on to boil. He starts gathering mugs, asking a quiet, ‘Tea? Tea?’ to each of us.
‘I give that a day, at most,’ Mum says. ‘Friends fight, Steffi. Even best ones.’
‘Especially best ones,’ Lucy puts in, smiling.
‘I let her down,’ I say. ‘I lied to her.’
‘So tell her you’re sorry and let her be angry for a while,’ Mum says. ‘Storms pass, love. They always pass.’
Lucy nods and the two of them smile encouragingly, but also slightly condescendingly, at me from across the table. ‘If you’ve done something wrong, often the best thing to do is let her be angry for a while,’ Lucy says.
‘She told me to leave,’ I say.
‘I don’t imagine she meant forever,’ Mum says, her mouth twitching. ‘Tem can be very stormy herself, but she loves you, Steffi. Being angry for a while won’t change that.’
Dad passes around fresh cups of tea and then sits down again. ‘I think it’s a good sign if you’ve had a bit of a falling out,’ he says. ‘Mistakes are an unfortunate side effect of actually doing things, but they’re usually worth it in the end.’
I look at the three of them, all patient and pleased with themselves. I can’t quite get my head round the fact that they seem proud of me for screwing up.
‘Why are you being so nice to me? This is what you always said. That me and Rhys weren’t good for each other. That not being able to communicate would lead to trouble. Well, it did.’
‘That’s not what we said,’ Dad says, frowning. ‘Or, at least –’ he gives Mum a look – ‘I didn’t. It was never about “trouble”. I was worried that you might come to rely too much on Rhys, yes, that’s true. I was worried you wouldn’t try to push yourself. But I was clearly worried about nothing. When you had to, you did, Steffi. That’s incredibly reassuring to hear, as your dad.’
‘It is?’
‘Of course it is. We worry because we love you. We know you find the world quite hard, and we know we can’t make it easier for you, or make decisions for you. But you’re growing up and you’re learning how to navigate it in your own way. That’s fantastic.’
‘Is it?’
‘Yes!’
I look at the three of them in turn, trying to believe them. But I’m so used to feeling like I’m disappointing them that I’m not quite sure what to do with this level of support.
‘I want to go to university,’ I say, surprising myself as much as all of them. ‘You’re right – you can’t make decisions for me. But that’s what you’re trying to do with university.’
‘This is quite a tangent—’ Mum starts to say, but I interrupt, my voice suddenly strong.
‘No, it’s not.’ Out of the corner of my eye, I swear I see Lucy smile. ‘It’s all the same thing. If you want me to be more confident, you have to let me learn how. So I’m not going to try to prove anything to you any more.’ My heart is starting to pound, but it’s with energy now instead of anxiety. To be honest, it feels pretty much the same. ‘Me going to uni has nothing to do with you letting me go or not. It’s my choice.’
There’s a long silence. Finally, Dad says, ‘We worry because we love you.’
‘I know.’ I think I really do know, now. ‘And I love you too.’ I swallow. ‘So, can I go?’
They all look at each other. Dad takes a sip of tea and then puts the cup back down, a wry smile on his face. ‘Now, Steffi,’ he says. ‘I don’t think that’s up to us, is it?’
I eat dinner and go to my bedroom early, tired of the world and everyone in it. I get into bed fully clothed and curl up with my phone, opening my inbox to check my emails so I can do something mind-numbing like delete spam or look at luxury holidays in far-off countries I won’t ever visit.
But what I see is the opposite of mind-numbing. An email from Rhys. He’s never emailed me before. The subject line is ‘You and me’. I hesitate, my finger hovering over it. Do I want to read it? I can guess what it will be. We’re over, aren’t we? He can’t see a future for us. Do I really want to read that before I go to sleep?
No, but I don’t have much of a choice now. If I don’t read it, I’ll never sleep.
From: Rhys
To: Steffi
Subject: You and me
Steffi,
I’m sorry about earlier. That’s not how I wanted it all to go. There’s so much I wanted to say, but I couldn’t. It would all come out wrong. And I can’t talk properly right now. But I want to try to explain myself, because this is important, and I need to know you understand.
Stef, I love you. You know I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you the perfect weekend away. I’m sorry I ruined it. Everything was going so great, wasn’t it? And then I did the worst thing I could ever do to you.
You did an amazing job taking care of me. Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t say that at the time – it was all just so monumentally crap, and I was so mad at myself, and I couldn’t talk properly anyway. That’s a shitty excuse. I’m sorry about that too.
God, there’s so much I want to say and even now I can’t say it.
Stef, are our parents right? Maybe we really are too different. Do we have a future together? If I can’t even give you a weekend in Scotland, how can I give you all the things I want to?
Be honest with me. I can take it. Tell me if you want better than me. I’ll understand.
Love,
Rhys xxx
I tap out a hundred different replies. I call him an idiot. I tell him I love him. I tell him I don’t give the tiniest of fucks about how well he can or can’t hear or whether he can take care of me. I tell him that’s boy bullshit. I tell him my communication problems are way worse than his anyway, and he’s being a self-involved twat. I remind him that he slipped on a rock – it’s not like he stabbed me in the neck or pushed me off a cliff. I tell him that maybe we’re not right together at all.
And then I delete every attemp
t and send him one line.
Meet me tomorrow at St Swithun’s Church. 1.30 p.m.
And then I go to sleep.
The next day, the first thing I do is go to see Tem. This time, it’s her that opens the front door, and she’s clearly not expecting to see me.
‘Oh,’ she says.
I know why she’s surprised. I am not the kind of person to actively seek potential conflict. What I’d usually do in this scenario is send multiple apology texts and wait at home until she decides to come and talk to me. But, no, here I am.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. It seems like the sensible thing to open with this time.
Tem blinks at me. She looks torn, as if she might be angry but can’t quite decide if she can be bothered to work up the energy.
‘You lied to me,’ she says eventually. ‘You lied.’
‘So very sorry.’
‘To me!’
I hold out the bouquet of carnations I’ve brought with me. I had planned to get something more impressive, but it turns out flowers are expensive, so I’d just picked the nicest ones I could afford. ‘Extremely and inexpressibly sorry.’
She reaches out and pokes my shoulder. ‘Frogspawn.’
‘Very sorry frogspawn,’ I say. I wave the flowers. ‘Frogspawn with flowers.’
Tem reaches out and takes the flowers in one disagreeable grab. ‘I can’t forgive you until you tell me why you did it,’ she says. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Edinburgh?’
‘Because . . .’ I suddenly can’t think of a single reason why. ‘Because I’m frogspawn.’
A reluctant smile flickers on her face, but she bites it back. ‘OK, you can come in,’ she says, stepping back.
Victory.
We go up to her bedroom, which is looking far tidier than yesterday, and sit on her bed. ‘It was a stupid secret couple thing,’ I say. ‘You know how sometimes you keep things a secret because it’s more exciting?’
‘I didn’t know you did that,’ Tem says. ‘And you’re not meant to keep secrets from the best friend. I’m meant to be like the alibi!’
‘I tell you most things,’ I say. I have no idea why I’m pushing this instead of just apologizing for the omission and promising never to keep her in the dark again. But somehow I find myself talking, spilling thoughts I hadn’t even known I had. ‘But I can keep some things to myself, right? A lot’s changed this year. Sixth form and stuff.’
‘Because of Rhys?’
‘Well, yeah, but not just because of him.’ I take a deep breath, then bite down on my lip. ‘Look, there’s something I haven’t told you, but don’t freak out, OK?’
She looks worried. ‘Oh God, what?’
‘I’ve been taking medication,’ I say in a rush. ‘Since last summer. For my anxiety.’
Her eyes go wide in an instant. ‘Oh my God!’ she lets out in a burst. I’ve genuinely shocked her. ‘Are you kidding?’
I shake my head.
‘Steffi!’ Her mouth is hanging open. ‘Wow . . .’
‘I know,’ I say.
‘That really explains a lot.’
‘Does it?’ I realize how desperately I want her view on this. On me.
‘Yeah. I mean, I guess I’d put it down to you going to sixth form and getting a boyfriend.’
‘Put what down to that?’
‘Just . . . you. You being more confident and – no, not confident, exactly. Like, more comfortable? Does that make sense? Talking more and doing more things.’
‘I don’t think it’s just because of the meds,’ I say. ‘They help, but they’re not everything. Going to sixth form without you and getting together with Rhys have a lot to do with it too. It’s all the things working together.’
She nods. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, though?’ There’s a sudden sadness in her face. ‘Didn’t you want to?’
‘I did, but . . . I also didn’t. I didn’t want you to be . . . looking for it, you know? Like, if you saw me talking more, I didn’t want you to immediately be, like, “Oh, Steffi, the meds are working!” You know?’
She lifts her shoulders. ‘I guess. Still feels huge, though. Does it for you?’
‘It did. Not so much any more, though. I’m used to it now. Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about?’ I ask. I pull my legs up under me and cross them. ‘I am all ears. You have my attention. Undivided and . . . attentive.’
‘Oh, that,’ Tem says. She looks away from me, picks up her toy lemur and starts walking him across her pillow. ‘I’ve calmed down a bit now.’
‘Well, if you want to get worked up again, that’s fine too.’
She smiles. ‘Don’t encourage me. Unless you want me to start yelling at you again?’
‘Nah, you’re all right, thanks.’ There’s a pause. I watch Tem lean back against the wall, her eyes not meeting mine. ‘So what happened?’ I ask gently.
‘Karam,’ she says simply. ‘Karam happened.’
I make a face. ‘Oh dear. What did he do?’
‘Oh, just . . .’ She gives a careless shrug. ‘Just got a girlfriend, you know. A girlfriend who isn’t me.’
‘Oh, Tem,’ I say, agonized for her. I get up and move over to her, reaching out my arms to pull her in for a hug. ‘I’m sorry. How did you find out?’
‘He told me. Said she wanted to make it Facebook official, so he wanted me to know first.’
I hesitate. ‘Well, I guess that’s nice of him.’
‘He must have been seeing her for ages,’ she says, ignoring this comment. ‘I don’t even know how long. I can’t believe he was stringing me along. That’s such a cliché dick move. He hasn’t just dicked me over, he’s clichéd dicked me over. I feel so stupid.’
‘You’re not stupid.’
‘Oh no, I am. I really, really am.’ She takes a breath. I see her press her lips together. ‘I mean . . . really stupid, Stef. Really. Stupid.’
My heart rate starts to pick up. Is she saying . . . ‘Tem,’ I say, like she’s standing on a ledge. ‘Tem . . . you haven’t . . . you didn’t . . . sleep with him?’
She doesn’t say anything. Her eyes flicker up to me and the answer is in them.
‘Tem,’ I say again. I’m so shocked I don’t even know what to do with my face. ‘When?’
She says something, but it’s too quiet for me to hear.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘New Year,’ she says.
Oh. That’s a long time ago. A lot of lies by omission.
‘And . . . well, and quite a few times. Since, I mean.’
My fingers feel all tingly.
‘Oh,’ I say in a very small voice. What am I supposed to say to this? Am I angry? A little. Sad? Yes. But I don’t understand anything I’m feeling or what I should say. I manage, ‘I think you owe me some carnations.’
Tem looks up and our eyes meet. There’s a moment of silence that feels taut as a tightrope, the two of us hovering between OK and not OK. There’s so much between us that we could fight about. A decision that feels almost tangible: mountain or molehill?
And then we’re laughing so hard the bed creaks. There are tears on Tem’s face. She leans over and picks up the carnations she’d put on her desk, then ostentatiously hands them to me. I take a big, overstated sniff, then hand them back.
We stay like that for a while, passing carnations back and forth and hiccupping, until we calm down. And then, finally, we talk. I tell her about Edinburgh and Rhys and sex – at which point she shrieks so loudly it actually hurts my ears – and how perfect it all was until he fell over his own feet. She tells me about Karam, how she’d believed all his reasons for not wanting a girlfriend but still thought that he’d change his mind. How New Year had seemed so perfect – ‘It was perfect’ – until the morning after, when she’d asked him – ‘in bed!’ – if he’d be her boyfriend, and he’d said no.
We talk, at length, about sex. She says that the only good thing she has to say about Karam is that he made her first time nice – ‘Not orgasm-nice, but . . . yo
u know. Nice.’ – and that the times since had never been anything but good. That she really hadn’t regretted it until he’d told her about the girlfriend.
‘I was saving it,’ she says, her brow scrunched. ‘I was meant to be saving it.’
I think hard about the best thing to say to this. ‘What were you saving it for?’ I ask finally.
She gives me a funny look. ‘Marriage?’
‘OK, yes, but why?’
‘Because I wanted it to be special.’
‘Don’t you think the marriage bit is the bit that will be special?’
I see her pause. ‘Well. Yes, I guess.’
‘I don’t see why the state of your hymen has anything to do with how special it will be.’
She snorts out a laugh. ‘I guess I always kind of thought I was saving it for him. Whoever my husband will be, I mean.’
‘Well, you weren’t,’ I say robustly. ‘You were saving it for you. And you decided when, and you said it was nice. That’s more than a lot of people get. You still made the choice.’
Tem looks at me, her head slightly tilted, eyes squinting a little. ‘Oh my God,’ she says, surprising me. ‘I’m lucky to have you.’
I laugh. ‘Obviously.’
She presses her hands into the bed and lifts herself slightly so she’s leaning against me. ‘I know that was probably best-friend-bullshit, but it actually helps.’
‘Good, that’s what I’m here for.’
‘Helpful bullshit?’
‘Any day of the week.’
I go home for lunch and then set off for the church with Rita. I end up getting there not long after one o’clock. It’s a cool day, but not so cold that I mind waiting on the bench outside the church and listening to the silence by myself.
I’m not religious, but I like churches. I like how I feel when I’m in and around them, like I’m standing in the past. I even like St Swithun’s, however sad its connotations are for me now.
Rhys arrives early too. He spots me from some distance away and waves automatically. I wave back and let Rita bound ahead of me to greet him. When he comes to sit next to me, I can see that some, if not all, of the frustrated tension has left him. His shoulders are looser and his face has lifted.
I lean over and kiss his cheek, allowing myself a second to rest my head against his shoulder and breathe him in.