If I Can't Have You

by Federica Bosco

I prayed for a solution, promising myself that I would be good for at least the next six months.

  And someone up there heard me.

  ‘I’ve got a training course in Brighton this weekend,’ my mother shouted through the door, ‘And Paul’s coming with me, because if I leave him here you’ll convince him to hand over his credit card details to buy weapons over the internet. You are not to leave the house unless it is on fire, and I’ve told Mrs Fancher to call me if she sees anyone enter. The fridge is full. For emergencies, use your mobile phone, and if the house does catch fire, let the neighbours know. We’ll see you on Sunday evening.’

  And she slammed the door, leaving York and I looking at one another thoughtfully.

  I was alone. Completely alone at home for two whole days!

  It was a miracle.

  I called Mrs Fancher like a good girl, assuring her that I had plenty of work to be getting on with, and that I wouldn’t move from my room all weekend. I could see her across the road, spying through the net curtains. If she saw Patrick’s car she would be on the phone to Mum right away, but if I told him to wait for me at the end of the road, I could go through the back yard and out through the alley at the back. Then on Sunday I would be sure to get back before them, and they would find me in my room studying, as though nothing had happened.

  The only problem was York. I couldn’t leave him alone at home. The last time he’d been left for more than five hours he had chewed a hole in the sofa and left a dirty protest in my shoe. We had to take him with us. Patrick wouldn’t mind: he loved animals, and York would certainly have enjoyed chasing the seagulls on the beach. The only problem now was facing his mother and sister. I hoped that the outcome wouldn’t affect our relationship.

  He called me just before he arrived in Leicester.

  ‘I should be back in about forty-five minutes. I’m going to try and straighten things out with Nina, and then I’ll call you back to let you know if I strangled her or not! And then tomorrow morning at ten I will be with you. I’m so happy, I can’t even tell you!’

  I too felt my heart burst with happiness, but I would certainly have been happier without the events of the last two days.

  I spent the evening watching videos of Semionova dancing The Nutcracker and Giselle and trying not to lose my mind thinking about the next day.

  Patrick was close, just a few miles away, and tomorrow we would be together and I would hold him in my arms again. I tried to imagine what it would be like to make love with him, now that his kisses and caresses were a distant memory.

  It would be slow and sweet, his gentle hands exploring my body as I buried my face in the scent of his hair. He would cover my body in soft kisses, travelling slowly from my breasts down to my navel, and when I was ready, he would whisper ‘I love you’ in my ear, and enter inside of me, being careful not to hurt me, and I would hold him tightly, reassuring him, and we would begin to move slowly, dancing to the rhythm of our breath. Pat would hold me in his strong arms as a wave of pleasure crashed over us both, making us call each other’s names, then collapse, exhausted, side-by-side and fall asleep, curled up tenderly together, until morning.

  I was going to the seaside with Patrick at any cost. Nothing would stand in my way. I scrutinized myself scrupulously in the bathroom mirror to check that there were no pimples on my forehead or nose. My hair looked okay, I never combed it, but I liked it that way, short and wavy with bangs. There was something, however, that was bothering me, and was only today that I had noticed it for the first time. A light down on my upper lip.

  It could only be seen if I shone a 9000 watt light directly onto my face, but now that I had seen it, I couldn’t un-see it, and every time I looked in the mirror I saw nothing but a thick, hairy moustache. I couldn’t present myself like this on our first night, he would tell our children that their mother had looked like Charles Dickens. I started rummaging through Mum’s toiletries until I found some wax strips. Unable to find the instructions, I decided to improvise, sticking one long strip over the offending area.

  And at that moment Patrick called me. I answered without thinking, my phone pressing the loose end of the strip down over the delicate skin of my lip itself.

  Pat told me despairingly that Nina was being a nightmare, slamming the door in her mother’s face, who tried in vain to talk to her through the bedroom door while she turned her stereo on at full blast. His father, as usual, was at a conference, his mother was in tears, but apart from that, everything was fine. He asked if he could come over and escape from the madhouse.

  ‘No!’ I said, panicking, ‘I mean you can’t come over now, I’m having a bath. And it will take at least two hours.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, disappointed, ‘Really? That long?’

  ‘Yes, it’s for my muscles. I have to keep them in the water as much as possible,’ I said, banging my head against the wall.

  ‘Oh well, I understand. I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow. I wanted to kiss you goodnight!’

  If he’d kissed me them, we would have been stuck together for eternity.

  ‘That would have been nice, but it’s better if we leave it until tomorrow. I’ll be waiting for you at ten. But don’t come to the door! The bell isn’t working. Better if I meet you at the end of the road.’

  ‘At the end of the road? Mia, are you sure you’re okay? If you don’t want to go tomorrow it’s not a problem. We can just get a coffee and go into town or something, whatever you want.’

  ‘No, no, no, of course I want to go! I definitely want to go! It’s just my neighbour is a bit of a gossip and I don’t want her to see us. That’s why I wanted you to wait at the end of the road.’

  It was almost the truth.

  ‘You do want to see me, don’t you?’ he asked a little disconsolately.

  ‘Baby, of course I do! I never stopped thinking about you all the time you were away. I’ve been counting the days for more than a month! I can hardly believe you’re really here and I just want everything to be special and perfect.’

  ‘It will be perfect! You’re perfect!’

  If he had seen me at that moment, with a wax strip glued securely to my top lip, he might have changed his mind. I pulled cautiously, but the wax was well attached by now. I breathed deeply and tore hard, screaming as I felt the top layer of skin come off with the paper. When I looked in the mirror again, my lip was now topped by an angry red line that was far more visible than the actual hairs, which had not only remained treacherously in place, but were now covered in blobs of sticky wax.

  I was hideous. Patrick would tell our children that their mother had tried to shave herself with a blowtorch. I went to bed with some soothing cream on my lip and spent a restless night tossing and turning. I was thrilled by the thought of spending the weekend with Patrick, and terrified of getting caught by my mother. Although at this point there was nothing she could do to make my situation worse except lock me in a dungeon.

  In the morning, in addition to the swollen lip, I had dark circles under my eyes through lack of sleep. I threw some essentials into my backpack, including a dress and heels for the evening (the same ones I had worn out with Carl), a purse with makeup, pyjamas that I hoped I wouldn’t need, a padded bra (never worn) and Patrick’s bracelet. I went downstairs, took York and silently left the house, closing the door softly behind me. Then I ran to the end of the street and messaged Patrick to say I was waiting for him.

  And five minutes later he was there in front of me, every bit as beautiful as I had remembered and more. Tanned and smiling, with that adorable dimple, he took me in his arms and lifted me into the air.

  ‘God, I’ve missed you,’ he said, squeezing me tightly.

  I couldn’t speak for happiness, but York had no such problems, barking and jumping all around us.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ said Patrick as I covered my swollen lip with my hand.

  It was like a dream. He had finally come back. He was there in the flesh and he had come for me, to take me to
the sea, to a place that he loved, where we could really get to know each other and be together, just the two of us.

  ‘I wanted to pop in and say hello to Elena,’ he said as we got into the car.

  ‘She’s away at a conference, but she sends her best,’ I said vaguely.

  ‘I’ll see her when we get back then,’ he replied, crouching down to tickle York’s belly, ‘And what about this little guy? Is he coming with us?’

  ‘If we leave him alone in the house he cries, so Mum asked if we could bring him along.’

  ‘Yeah, no problem, we can let him wear himself out running around on the beach and he’ll sleep like an angel.’

  It was a cold morning, but the sky was clear and the winter sun shone lazily in the sky. I hardly spoke at all on the journey up. I was enchanted just watching him drive. You wait all your life for a wish to come true and when it happens you are unable to express your joy in words, because there are no words that can describe it.

  We didn’t talk about the Royal Navy, or Nina, or school or the audition. For that weekend we wanted to leave everything else behind. It was a pleasure for us to sit in silence, enjoying each other’s company. Just being with him I felt my heart fill with a quiet, peaceful joy. We drove for about two hours, stopping every so often to let York out, and at lunchtime we saw the grey sea stretching endlessly in ahead of us.

  Skegness was an old seaside town where Patrick had been on holiday as a child, and he had fond memories of splashing in the sea, flying kites on the wide beach, and walking along the pier eating ice cream. We decided to go to the hotel first to check in and leave our luggage and then we would go for lunch. It was a cosy and welcoming guest house, filled with the smell of freshly-baked cakes. Dog-friendly too, fortunately. York began to inspect his new territory, sniffing eagerly in every available corner.

  We went up to the room in silence. It was simple but nicely furnished: a double bed with a red quilt, a large window overlooking the sea, heavy purple curtains, an armchair and carpeted flooring. For the first time I began to realise that it was about to happen. The moment had arrived, and I felt anxiety tighten my stomach.

  ‘There’s a TV, look,’ I said to break the tension.

  ‘Come here,’ he said, taking me in his arms and cradling me, ‘We won’t do anything you don’t want to, okay?’

  I nodded and nestled my head against his chest.

  ‘In fact, I’ll tell you what we can do now. I’m going to take you to the place that does the best fish and chips in the world.’

  He took my hand and led me outside.

  Almost every seaside resort has at least one place that claims to do the best fish and chips in the world, but I had to admit that these were definitely up there. We ate them on the beach, sitting next to an upturned boat to protect ourselves from the wind.

  York began to run around like a mad thing. A demented bundle of fur with a furiously wagging tail, he lunged at the sea shore, barking menacingly and then retreating as the waves raced towards him. The wind churned the sea beyond the breakers into jostling, spitting waves, and the seagulls struggled to land on the shore.

  Pat gazed wistfully at the horizon.

  ‘You couldn’t live without the sea, could you?’ I asked him.

  ‘I could, but it would be like a part of me was missing. The same as if you had to live without dance.’

  ‘I could never! If I had to choose between living without dance and living without you, I wouldn’t be able to!’

  ‘You don’t need to choose Mia, we will both always be a part of your life. I know I will always need you in mine. It’s like there’s a part of me that can only be completed by you, and my love for the sea, however strong, could never fill that space. You were the person I was always looking for without realising you were under my nose all this time.’ He smiled and kissed me with his salty lips.

  ‘You were looking for me and I was waiting for you.’

  ‘And we found each other thanks to your midnight bike ride.’

  We laughed.

  It all seemed so far away now: following him through Leicester at night on my bike, making up excuses to call him, writing his words in my diary.

  He put his arm around my shoulders and held me close and I felt like an adult. Patrick had chosen me because he knew that I would be the right partner for him, that he could rely on me to be loyal and patient and to support him in difficult moments.

  In my mind’s eye I saw my mother, who thought me safely confined to my room, Mrs. Fancher patrolling the house like a prison warder, Mrs Meyer waiting for the coursework I was supposed to be writing, Paul slapping himself on the forehead for having listened to my harebrained schemes, and Nina, who no longer spoke to me.

  Well, I would think about it on Monday.

  York was like a missile, launching himself at full speed against anything that moved. In the distance a small child wobbled towards him on unsteady legs.

  ‘Pat, I’ve got something for you. I wanted you to have something to remind you of me,’ I said, taking the bracelet from my pocket.

  He took it from me and his face lit up, ‘It’s beautiful, Mia! Thank you so much!’

  ‘And here, see? It says ‘Serva me. Servabo te’, which means...’

  ‘Save me. I’ll save you.’

  I was impressed.

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I studied a bit of Latin a long time ago.’

  He hugged me.

  ‘I’ll wear it every day, and whenever I look at it I’ll feel closer to you.’

  I rested my head on his shoulder and let myself be lulled by the sound of the waves lapping the shore. The sun had disappeared behind the clouds and it was beginning to get cold, but I was so happy I hardly noticed. I was entirely at peace with the world, surrounded by a love that made me feel protected and safe. And later, when we got back to the room I show him just how much I loved him.

  The child had reached York, who ran circles around it, barking ecstatically at having found a playmate. The child reached out with a fat little hand and patted his head, then raced after him through the surf, swaying from side to side as it went. York was beside himself. He had never seen a beach before, only paving slabs and flowerbeds and the occasional run around Spinney Hill Park. He wasn’t used to being the centre of attention, either. We loved him, of course, but sometimes it’s easy to take those you see day in day out for granted, and forget to show them how much they really mean to you.

  In a fraction of a second a wave knocked them both off their feet, sweeping them out past the breakers.

  The baby’s mother ran into the surf and started screaming for help.

  Patrick took off his heavy leather jacket and handed it to me. He turned to look at me with a flash of anguish in his eyes, as if instinct and a sense of duty were stronger than reason.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, smiling, and began to hurry toward the shore. I watched his feet sink into the wet sand and he raced away from me.

  I looked on helplessly, the words, ‘Patrick, don’t go…’ dying on my lips.

  I saw him dive into the icy waves and swim with powerful strokes towards the pink bundle that bobbed above the water for a second, before disappearing beneath the waves, to the frantic cries of the mother.

  I started to run too, holding his still-warm jacket in my arms and standing on the shore without losing sight of him for a moment. My terror made me impervious to the cold.

  Patrick swam without stopping, but with every meter he gained, the merciless current grew stronger, swallowing him beneath the churning water, dragging him farther down each time.

  Suddenly I saw him grab the child by the hood of its jacket and begin the slow journey back to shore, the black waves towering menacingly above him.

  I covered my mouth with my hands, whispering, ‘God help him. Please help him. I never ask you anything, but if you help me I will do whatever you want, I’ll even give up ballet, but please just keep him safe.’

 
And God heard me.

  Taking advantage of a favourable current, Patrick put on a sudden burst of speed and broke through the worst of the swell, collapsing onto the shore, dishevelled and gasping, with the child coughing and screaming in terror in his arms.

  The mother ran to meet him and hugged him, crying bitterly, thanking Patrick and kissing both him and the child, repeating over and over, ‘Thank God, God bless you!’

  I too repeated ‘Thank God,’ to myself as I felt the shock give way to relief and my heart start beating again.

  I ran over to him and covered him with his jacket.

  Pat was gasping but he was smiling too as, hands on his knees, he tried to catch his breath.

  ‘There’s a hell of a current there,’ he said, gesturing to an indefinite point out to sea, ‘I didn’t think I was going to make it.’

  He kissed me, and his frozen lips on mine sent a shiver down my spine.

  ‘Where’s York?’ he asked, turning abruptly.

  A small black dot, far in the distance, struggled desperately to stay afloat.

  Patrick was back in the sea in an instant, swimming faster than before, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins numbing him to cold and fatigue.

  The baby’s mother and I watched, mute and helpless, not even daring to breathe. Even the child sensed our apprehension and stopped crying to keep watch alongside us.

  Everything had happened so quickly. One minute we were sitting on the beach talking about our future and the next he was risking his life for someone else’s child and someone else’s dog. I wanted to wake up from the nightmare, to be in my bed and have to get up to go to school, not helplessly witnessing a rescue worthy of an action movie.

  Please help me again, God. If you need a sacrifice to save him, I swear I won’t dance ever again. Please, just bring him back to me alive.

  I had chosen in the end. When I was pressed, I had chosen him.

  And God listened to me again.

  I ran to the shore smiling with gratitude to heaven, as I saw York paddling slowly, but determinedly, with Patrick behind him.

  I called out to him, clapping my hands to encourage him to face the final push. His tongue was lolling and his eyes were popping out of his head, but that stubborn little pile of hair had made it, he had beaten the fury of the North Sea. He ran to me with his tail between his legs, jumping on me and yelping with joy.