‘That’s convenient,’ I said quietly and without eye contact.
‘I know how it looks. I’m sorry.’
My eyes were still firmly fixed on the floor, watching as she rested her foot back on her heel, lifting the point of her shoe and tapping it back down quickly in a nervous rotation. She pulled her bag back onto her shoulder and flicked her hair out of her eyes.
‘I can arrange to show you them at another time?’
‘No thanks, that’s not necessary. I just need some time to think.’
Chapter Twenty
Emma returned to the training room while I tried to calm myself down after she had finished trampling across my heart with her perfect, shiny black heels. I was pretty sure that Emma could walk in her heels with grace and class, unlike me. I was willing to bet my favourite designer handbag that she didn’t make herself look like a fool on their first date by falling over and ripping the skin of her knee down to the bone. In fact, she was so perfect I wouldn’t be surprised if she had never even fallen over once in her life.
I looked up to the damp, grey sky when a foil balloon tethered to a tree caught my eye. Maybe it had been released into the sky in memory of a loved one long since gone but always a thought away. The wind blew the balloon around in an attempt to free it, but it was all twisted and snagged, making breaking free just too difficult.
Just like it was for me.
Training continued throughout the morning, but my mind was understandably elsewhere. I just couldn’t fit any more information into my brain. Every time I fleetingly caught Emma’s eye, she pressed her lips together and gave me a smile full of pity. I hated that look.
The training ended at lunchtime and I was first out of the door, purposely avoiding eye contact with Emma. I had asked Luke to meet me in the arboretum park near his office on what was a bitterly cold December day.
It was four days away from Christmas. We had both agreed that we would spend the day with our respective families and have our own private celebration on Boxing Day. After overhearing a late night phone call between Luke and his brother, I discovered that he had been invited to his parents for Christmas Day but had refused to go. He would be alone on Christmas Day. I was more than disappointed that he hadn’t asked if he could spend the day with us. Then again, I hadn’t offered either.
After today, I was glad I hadn’t.
I saw him walking towards me as I sat on a cold bench in front of the lake. He was wearing a black pea coat and a tartan scarf, giving him protection against the cold December air. I hated myself for noticing his bloody coat. He looked all adorable and warm. Why did I get pleasure in knowing he was warm? How could I notice something as completely insignificant as a coat? I should have been jumping up and down in anticipation at seeing this handsome, fashionably conscious man walking towards me. Instead, I was shivering in anger. I deserved to feel something other than the disappointment of not being enough for him.
‘You must be freezing,’ he said, rubbing his hands together. His face fell from a smiling greeting to frowning concern. ‘You OK?’
‘No, not really.’
His eyes widened in shock, and confusion spread across his face. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked as he slowly sat down beside me. He tried to take my hand in his, but I pulled it back and edged my body further away from him.
‘I met Emma today.’ Silence consumed me. Luke shifted nervously in his seat and looked to the ground. ‘She had a lot to say.’ I was shaking with anger and trying hard to hold back the sting of tears by sucking in my cheeks tightly and snapping my tights at the top of my legs. Nothing worked. Our eyes met and I was surprised to see him still wearing the look of confusion on his face. It would have been amusing if it weren’t so maddening. He genuinely appeared perplexed but tellingly stayed silent as I continued my tirade. ‘Have you been texting her?’ I asked as calmly as possible.
‘No! I wouldn’t do that to you.’ His voice got louder and he repeatedly ran his hands through his hair. I knew him well enough now to notice his nervous habits. He looked panicked, broken, and lost, but I tried desperately not to let his outward appearance affect me.
‘She said you were sexting her,’ I replied with a look of disgust, saying sexting like it was a dirty word.
‘She’s just being a jealous bitch. When we split, she didn’t take it well and said she would get me back when I least expected it. She’s a nut job!’
‘She also knew your little spiel about not wanting commitment and warning her away’
‘I’m honest. I was honest with you and I was honest with her!’ His anger increased. ‘I haven’t been in contact with her. I told you I couldn’t even reply to your emails when I was still with her because it felt like cheating. That’s why I went silent. Surely that shows I would never do something like that to you. I couldn’t live with myself,’ he said, gesticulating wildly.
He was making a good case for himself, and a part of me believed him. Emma could be the spurned ex-lover out to get her revenge. She didn’t show me any real evidence because she had conveniently left her phone at home.
He sat down and put his arm around the small of my back. ‘You’re shivering. Lean into me.’ I agreed, letting my upset get the better of me. He held me close to his chest as I started to sob. It was the type of sob you can’t control. The ugly, snotty, loud type that consumes you whole and takes your last easy breath.
He smoothed my hair with his hand, which only confused me. His embrace felt so good, yet I couldn’t ignore the searing doubts in my mind. I closed my eyes as he kissed my forehead and repeatedly whispered, ‘I wouldn’t do that to you.’ I found myself slipping away from my true self, like sand in a timer gradually trickling away. The sand represented our relationship. Ultimately, we would either run out of time or make the choice to turn it around at the last minute, starting the repetitive cycle of constantly feeling like we were running out of time all over again.
As we sat on the bench in the cold December air, I chose to turn the timer. I wouldn’t have been true to myself if I’d ended it then. I knew I wasn’t ready to let go of what we had or to let go of my hope. Most of all, I wasn’t ready to let go of us.
Chapter Twenty-One
Luke
I sat with my feet up on the chair listening to the Beatles through my headphones. Abbey Road. A classic. Music calmed my head. I often sat in the dark and listened to music. Hours would pass but the noise was quiet. For a while, Elle calmed me. I wasn’t sure she was capable of doing it anymore.
She was getting too close and suffocating me.
Don’t get me wrong. I liked Elle. I liked her a lot. I even thought I was falling for her. Fuck, I even asked her to marry me. I was good at self-sabotage. I fucking craved it. My father expected it. He was an older parent and his parenting reflected that. He was hard. Stern. A retired lawyer who never fucking retired. He had a plan for me. Law school then a partnership. He wanted the tradition to run in the family. I dropped out of law and studied social work. I could have pissed on his foot and he would have been prouder.
When I met Liz, I finally did something right. She wasn’t my usual type. I went for girls who weren’t looking for anything serious. I went for girls who wanted fun and a quick fuck. I liked to flirt, and that landed me in the shit a few times. I didn’t always cheat, but there were many times when I took it as far as I could.
Liz was serious and subdued. Ironically, she studied law and was well on her way to making it as a children and families lawyer. My parents worshipped the ground she walked on. I had no fucking clue how we managed to stay together for eight years. I guess it was easier than walking away. We weren’t a shining example of a healthy relationship. I would listen to her crying herself to sleep in our bedroom whilst I was wanking over porn in the spare room.
What a prick.
When she left me, I fell into one-night stands and tried to fuck my way around the office. I knew I had charm. I could easily laugh my way into a woman’s bed. I told them
I didn’t do commitment. They fucking ate it up. Those words were an aphrodisiac. After a few fucks, I would run when they started to cling. I was a self-confessed coward when it came to ending it. I ignored texts, phone calls, and knocks at the door.
When Elle emailed me, I was fucking intrigued. We had a spark. She was beautiful. A nice girl. I could tear through her heart with my bullshit. I shouldn’t have ignored her emails, but that’s exactly what I did. I was with Emma and I wanted to see where that would go. After a month of dating, she invited me to a wedding. She was chief bridesmaid and I was asked to sit on the top table with her like a happy couple next on the list for marriage. Fuck, that wasn’t happening. She had to go.
I couldn’t see myself living with another woman, let alone getting married. I warned Elle. I was trying to be the good guy, lowering her expectations from the beginning. But shit, I couldn’t keep away from her.
I started falling for her. Telling her my magic number of nine was a slight embellishment, but I didn’t want to scare her off. She was so innocent.
Then it all changed. Life got in the way.
When I got the call telling me my granddad had died, I wasn’t upset at the loss. I was more concerned that I would have to see my father. I opened up to Elle. I wanted to. The only other woman who knew about my piss poor relationship with him was Liz, and that was only because she was there to see it.
I enjoyed the comfort Elle gave me. I wanted her at the funeral. I wanted to hold her hand and listen to her breathe as she slept in my arms through the night. I didn’t recognise myself. But as a certified master of self-destruction, I did the only thing I knew how to do fucking brilliantly: I pushed her away.
What was clear was my need for Elle. I used her body that night. I channelled my frustration into her and, fucking hell, she let me do it.
She was a born social worker. I knew that from the moment I met her as a blushing twenty-two- year-old. She wanted to help people. Heal their pain. Rescue them. She wanted to rescue and cure me. Even the medication wasn’t doing that.
She said she wouldn’t let me hurt her. I’d already done that.
I had texted my ex, Emma.
I was the first to admit my dick ruled my head at times. This was a classic example. The texts were innocent at first.
Me: How have you been?
Emma: Good. You?
Until they became more suggestive…
Me: Do you still think of me?
Emma: Of course!
Me: I still think of those black lace hold ups you wore for me. Send me a picture for old times’ sake?
She didn’t reply. I sent more texts during weeknights when Elle wasn’t with me. Self-destruction was easy for me. Emma told her everything.
I’ll never forget the look on her face. I didn’t want to let her go. I lied my fucking arse off just to keep her.
Elle was too good for me, always had been. She was pure and quick to think the best of people. I hated that I had the potential to crush that and make her jaded and untrusting.
I was making it difficult for her love me. I couldn’t stop myself.
I was fucked and not even Elle could fix me.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Christmas came and went in the blink of an eye. Luke and I exchanged gifts on Christmas Eve. I gave him a vinyl copy of Pink Floyd’s ‘Wish You Were Here’. He often sang the title track to me in the car, so I thought the idea of a gift that represented us was romantic. He was thrilled and couldn’t stop picking it up, scanning the pictures and reading the sleeve for the rest of the night, telling me facts about one of his favourite bands. I have to admit that before Luke, I wouldn’t have been able to name a Pink Floyd song if it smacked me on the ear, but I was willing to listen to them all night if it caused the smile on his face to actually settle and unpack its bags for a few hours.
‘My present is pretty shit,’ he said as he handed me a plastic bag with a gift-wrapped box inside. I opened the wrapping carefully, savouring the first present Luke had ever given me. Inside, I found my favourite perfume. He looked embarrassed by the gift, but it was perfect. He remembered it was my signature scent, which, to me, showed that he still cared.
On Boxing Day, we celebrated our own Christmas. Luke helped me cook my first Christmas dinner, which went surprisingly well considering my specialities were usually beans on toast or bacon sandwiches. If I were feeling particularly Michelin starred, I would even add some brown sauce.
The light on my phone lit up the dark corner where I had thrown my bag. Luke passed it over after pushing my legs off his lap, the position we had settled in to recover from our food coma.
Abi: Do I need to call out the fire brigade, or did you manage to cook dinner without burning his house down?
Me: Ha! You will be surprised to hear that I am a natural domestic goddess. Dinner was fabulous.
Abi: What about dessert?
Me: About to give that to him…
Abi: Boxing Day blow job. What a gal!
It was an annual tradition to hit the sales with Mum the day after Boxing Day when the Christmas high became decidedly low. I was adamant that staying at Luke’s the night before was not going to put that tradition in jeopardy.
As I opened the front door and stepped outside, I breathed out and watched the warm heat turn into plumes of smoke when it hit the cold. Luke had offered to drop me off, but he looked so relaxed with his headphones on and his feet slung over the side of the chair, so I told him to stay put.
Town was heaving with sale shoppers in the mood for a bargain, so we decided to take a break from fighting over half price jumpers and go for lunch at one of our favourite restaurants. ‘So how was your Boxing Day slash Christmas Day?’ Mum asked, taking out her reading glasses to look through the menu.
‘It was great, Mum.’
She peeked at me over the top of her glasses. ‘I want to ask you a question,’ she said, removing them to pinch the bridge of her nose with her fingers. ‘You’ve been seeing Luke for six months now. We haven’t met him but you spend every weekend cocooned in his house.’ I raised the menu to my eyes in an attempt to cover my embarrassment. ‘Where do you see this going?’ Mum reached over and pulled the menu away from my face, leaving me with nowhere to hide.
‘Honestly? I don’t know,’ I sighed. ‘We’re just enjoying the moment.’ I wasn’t lying. I really did have no idea where we were going, and after the whole ‘I can’t commit’ monologue, I hadn’t asked. I purposely didn’t go there as I never wanted to hear it again, but it was always in the background, silently hanging off his lips.
‘I’m going to be honest. Your dad and I are disappointed that we haven’t met him yet. Is there a reason for this? Are you embarrassed about him, or does he just not want to meet us?’
‘Yes, of course he does. He’s just had a lot on,’ I replied, quietly questioning why I always felt the need to defend him.
‘Can you see it becoming serious with him? Being perfectly honest, my view, from an outsider looking in, is that to him, you’re just a weekend shag.’ The woman at the next table spat out her wine with such force she showered the waiter taking her order. I hid my eyes with my hands in a naïve attempt to make myself invisible.
‘Mum, for God’s sake. Try not to tell the whole restaurant.’
‘I’m serious. You turn up like a well-timed sexual takeaway service. Do you cook for him too? Wash his undies? Descale his kettle?’
Oh no. Not home truths.
‘I don’t descale his kettle, no. But I have been known to re-grout the bathroom on occasion,’ I replied sarcastically, following it up with a deep sigh and fake smile as I wished for the conversation to end.
‘We want to meet him. If he doesn’t want to do that, or understand our need to meet him, well, let’s just say you should be re-evaluating your relationship together.’
I nodded in confirmation that I knew she was right, but I was annoyed that she was backing me into a corner, a corner that I had tried to avoid. Th
ings had started to settle with Luke, either from the medication starting to kick in or because he was just starting to relax into our relationship. Rocking the boat was not an option, but I desperately wanted him to meet my parents. Showing him off and introducing him as my boyfriend was another side of a normal relationship that I had been looking forward to.
Later that evening, I welcomed the silence of my bedroom. It covered me like a blanket, helping me breathe easy and settle in my thoughts. Suddenly I was joining the rest of the world, setting the pace of life from a nice jog in the park to a sprint in the last stages of a marathon. Had my personal life reached the fork in the road confirming my fear that Luke and I may not be strong enough to last?
Our backgrounds make us. Experiences impact, shape and mould us. I was fortunate to be loved and accepted by my family, and to be guided by their strong values and even stronger capacity to love. From the little I knew of Luke’s family life, it seemed empty and cold, a constant balancing act of trying to reach the expectations of his father and trying to make his mother’s life as easy as possible.
In the silence, it occurred to me that Luke’s self-protection mode was programmed to run, hide and self-soothe. During my social work training, I learned the fight, flight or freeze response to trauma. Luke’s response was to take flight, but instead of soaring like a bird, he would run and crash when the air no longer filled his lungs. Family to Luke meant trauma, disappointment, living on a constant high alert, and the exhaustion of walking on eggshells. Despite this, I remained stoic in my views. My family were part of me. We came as a package. Any current or future partner would have to accept that. If they didn’t, the results were simple: we wouldn’t work.
My hands shook as I dialled his number. I tried to ignore the nerves building in my stomach. ‘Hey,’ he answered, his voice melting into my body, temporarily tempting me to bite my lip and ignore the monologue in my head that I had previously rehearsed ten times before picking up the phone.
Let Me Be Your First (Music and Letters #1) Page 14