The First Last Kiss

by Ali Harris

  I’d stared at the receiver in my hand, wondering what the hell had just happened, where she’d gone. Had the long-distance call been cut off by accident? I’d waited for the phone to ring. It didn’t. Then I’d redialled her number but her phone appeared to be switched off.

  I’d gone back into the room then and told Ryan what had happened.

  He hadn’t looked away from the TV screen. ‘Maybe her phone ran out of battery?’ he’d offered distractedly.

  ‘Maybe,’ I’d replied, and I’d sunk onto the bed, feeling the cold hand of doubt clutching at my throat.

  Two days later she called me back, told me it had just been a bad line and that when she’d tried to return my call she couldn’t get the right number, the hotel put her through to the wrong room and she’d forgotten how to dial internationally to a British mobile. It was such a scatty Casey thing to do that I believed her. And I also believed her when she said that she was happy for me, so I excitedly told her we were planning on getting married in April, five months after the proposal and almost five years since our first real kiss, and in exactly the same place – that little beach cove he took me to in Ibiza. I asked her to be my bridesmaid.

  I haven’t heard from her since.

  Ryan keeps telling me not to worry about it, that she’ll come round. That she’s just finding it hard that her best friend is getting married when she has barely had a serious boyfriend her entire life. But I can’t help it. I miss her. I want her to be a part of this. I can’t imagine doing this without her. But at the same time, I’m furious that she’s acting like this. I thought she of all people would be happy that Ryan and I are back together. She saw what a mess I was without him. I miss her and resent her all at once.

  It didn’t help that whilst everyone else was over the moon about our news, only Jackie and Dave, in their typically upbeat Cooper way, supported us and believed we could plan it in six months. God, I love them for it.

  ‘’Course it can be done, darlin’!’ Jackie had exclaimed. ‘We just need to book you some wedding dress appointments, find a wedding planner in Ibiza to sort out the beach wedding and hire a venue for the reception – leave that with me, darlin’! The most important thing is your dress. Book some appointments at Harrods, Browns and Liberty. You can get off-the-hook designer dresses that can be altered to fit from all those places. Shall I get you appointments for this Saturday? Are you free? Of course you are, darlin’! What else could you be doing that is more important! Oh, this is going to be so exciting! Have you phoned your mum? She needs to come with us, of course, and Nanny Door wants to come, too . . . What’s that you say, Mum? Oh here, she wants a word . . . ’

  ‘Molly, swee’dheart!’ Nanny Door’s scratchy voice had come on the line. ‘How’s that ring o’ mine looking on your finger? My Arthur would be well chuffed. Now, about this dress. I thought maybe you should go for something like that Jordan wore to wed that luvvely Peter Andre. Ooh, I do love them. Did you see her eat them kangaroo balls on I’m a Celebrity? It were classic!’ I hear Jackie grappling for the phone back.

  ‘As you can see, darlin’, Nanny Door’s already got her opinions! And you can always be sure we’ll tell you honestly what we think, that’s what you need when you’re choosing a wedding dress! So call your mum now and get her to meet us at Oxford Street tube this Saturday. We’ll do Liberty first’ – I hear her tapping on the computer – ‘I see they have some wonderful Vera Wangs in stock, which would look just gorgeous on you, and money is no object. Obviously Dave and I will be paying for the wedding, I know your folks probably can’t afford it . . . ’

  At this point I interjected.

  ‘No Jackie, really, Ryan and I have enough saved. We want to do it ourselves. Do it our way,’ I add, forcibly, but it doesn’t seem to register with her.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Jackie squeals, her tinkly laugh echoing down the phone. ‘Why go small when you can go big?’

  I’d pulled the phone away and gestured at Ryan who’d been marking GCSE PE coursework at the breakfast bar. ‘Tell her, Ry,’ I’d begged him. He’d grinned and taken the phone from me.

  ‘Because we want to go small, Mum,’ Ryan had said firmly. ‘No! No arguments, of course you can help, we absolutely need your help with planning this thing – we’ve got six months and Molly is freaking out. But no taking over and absolutely no money is to pass hands. I mean it, Mum. Molly and I want this to be done our way.’ He hands me back the phone and I smile gratefully at him.

  ‘OK, darlin’,’ Jackie sighs, ‘you just tell me what you want to do. My son has made it quite clear what he wants!’ She sniffs dramatically. I try not to laugh.

  ‘Jackie,’ I say evenly, ‘I’d love you to help me choose my dress. Could you book some appointments, like you said please?’

  She’d gasped in delight. ‘Oh, thank you, Molly darlin’, you know that really means the world to me, especially with me never having a girl! You and Lyd are the daughters I never had!’ And she’d burst into tears.

  Ryan had kissed me on the forehead in thanks, and I’d sat down as Jackie started firing questions about shades of white, lengths, veils and tiaras at me until my head spun.

  I have to admit we couldn’t have planned this wedding without her. And doing it abroad, in our favourite place, Ibiza, was an inspired choice. It was Ryan’s idea and as soon as he suggested it I could picture it all. Walking barefoot in the sand towards him; Mia, Lydia, and of course, Casey walking behind me in their beautiful bridesmaids’ dresses. And it meant we cut the guest list in half immediately. None of my mum’s family are coming – Mum told me they think we’re heathens for not getting married in a church.

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked her when she fed me this bit of information about her uptight family.

  ‘That I’m proud that my girl always does things her way, not how other people think she should do them,’ she said brusquely.

  ‘Including you?’ I’d asked with a wry smile.

  ‘Especially me,’ she’d replied. ‘You are your own woman, my dear, and that makes me proud.’ It was the biggest compliment she’d ever given me. Then she’d added: ‘Now Molly, what does one actually wear to a beach wedding?’

  ‘Don’t you worry,’ I’d replied. ‘Jackie will help you! You’ll be in a pink frock and diamantéd up to the max by the time she’s finished with you!’

  ‘Are you sure you haven’t just got a second to look at these?’ I say desperately as Ryan heads for the door. ‘It’s really important . . . ’

  He turns and gives me a pained expression. ‘babe, I love you, but how can favours be important if I don’t even know what they are!’

  ‘Typical man,’ I mumble petulantly. ‘Never thinking about the detail.’

  He sighs and strides back over. ‘Look, let’s go through all this at the weekend, not when I’m trying to run out the door, OK Moll?’

  I nod and swallow back a lump. ‘I just don’t want to feel our wedding is at the bottom of your list, you know?’

  ‘You know I don’t even do lists, Moll!’ He kisses me on the nose and grins.

  ‘The weekend,’ he reiterates. ‘We’ll go over it all at the weekend.’

  ‘I’m going on a work trip on Friday, remember?’ I say dully. ‘LA, cover shoot.’

  ‘Most people would be well chuffed by that!’ Ryan laughs, tickling my chin.

  ‘Well most people aren’t getting married in seven weeks,’ I retort defensively.

  He curls me into his arms and I melt into them, as I always do. ‘Molly, I promise it will all be fine. We don’t need favours or any of that other stuff. We just need me, you, and our vows. Nothing else matters.’

  ‘And I can’t help but smile. I know he’s right, really I do. And I know I’m just feeling vulnerable because we’re both so busy. Ryan keeps telling me not to worry. I just don’t want us to make the same mistakes again, not spending enough time together, letting other things get in the way. I must’ve said this last part out loud because Ryan comes and gi
ves me a quick cuddle. I close my eyes.

  ‘Just think, Moll, in seven weeks we’ll be married, then we can go on honeymoon. A month in New Zealand, remember? Just focus on that. It’s going to be amazing. The beginning of our life together. But the bit before is going to be stressful. Now I’m sorry, babe,’ he leans forward and kisses me on my forehead. ‘But I’ve gotta go . . . ’

  And before I can kiss him back he dashes out the door.

  The Missed You Kiss

  Have you ever kissed someone and felt them slipping away from you even as you did it? Have you imagined the day when their lips are not yours to kiss any more? Have you ever closed your eyes and tried desperately to hold on to that kiss, that moment in your mind and in your heart so you can remember it forever? Maybe the kiss wasn’t with your partner but maybe your child, a friend, or a parent?

  These days I find myself throwing my arms around my mum and squeezing her so tightly, drinking in her familiar citrusy scent, feeling her soft, aged skin against mine, and wondering if she is doing the same; thinking about a time in the not too distant future, when she won’t be able to hold me. Maybe she can still close her eyes and remember cradling me as a baby, or can conjure up my first kisses. Did she try and savour each of them, knowing that there might come a time when I might not be willing or – God forbid - able to give them any more? Did she love me so much that she was always scared of losing me? Did each kiss feel like I was one step closer to leaving her? Mum’s always said that parenthood is one long kiss goodbye and, sometimes, I can’t help feeling that’s how I feel about life.

  Every kiss, no matter how inconsequential – a quick kiss in greeting, a ‘thank you’ kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss is treated like it could be the last. It’s like a permanent scar that I know will never heal.

  FF>> 08/03/06 18.25 p.m.>

  ‘God, I’ve MISSED you,’ I say, flinging my arms around my fiancé.

  He plants a long kiss on my lips. ‘Mmmm, how was your flight home?’

  ‘All I could think about the entire time is that I’m going to be Mrs Cooper in six weeks’ time!’ I smile and he presses his lips to mine again so hard that they sting with pleasure and we kiss until my mouth aches. I come up for air first and open my eyes to see that we have an audience.

  ‘Arghh!’ I squeal, and smack Ryan on the back. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by us snogging in full sight of Carl, Lydia, not-so-baby Beau, Gaz, Alex and Jake. ‘I didn’t know you guys were there!’

  ‘Don’t mind us, you two,’ Carl grins. ‘You just carry on! It’s beautiful, just beautiful to see. Ain’t love grand, eh Lyd?’ And he throws her back and kisses her on the mouth as Beau wobbles around the room, clinging on to his Eeyore toy that Ryan and I bought him for Christmas.

  ‘Is that all you got, Bro?’ Ryan picks me up and cradles me in his arms, kissing me again and again as Carl throws Lyd over his shoulder.

  ‘You boys,’ Lyd, cries, trying to pull her miniscule skirt down. ‘Always so competitive. Me and Molly are not footballs!’

  ‘Coulda fooled me!’ Carl says, approaching Lydia’s chest with his fingers spread.

  ‘Carl! Not in front of the baby!’ she says as he makes a honking noise and then buries his head in her cleavage.

  ‘Got any popcorn, Moll?’ Gaz says, sitting back down with his arms on the sofa facing them.

  I disentangle myself from Ryan’s arms and then proceed to chase Beau around the room so I can cover him with kisses. He’s honestly the most adorable boy on the planet. I can’t believe he’s eighteen months old already. I catch him at last and tickle him until he squeals with laughter, then look up and smile at everyone.

  ‘How are you all doing, boys? Did you stop my fiancé from getting lonely?’ I say, walking back and sliding my arm around Ryan, unable to be away from him for long so soon after getting home. He always insists on having friends to stay over whenever I have to go on a work trip. I no longer panic at the prospect of constant company but Ryan still hates being on his own. But that’s never going to change.

  ‘Oh yes, we had some lovely spoons in your double bed as he cried himself to sleep,’ Carl nods, and I give him a big brotherly squeeze.

  ‘Can you blame him?’ I pull back and sigh, shaking my head as if the weight of being as wonderful as me is just too much to bear.

  3.45 a.m.

  BRIIIIIIING!!

  I sit up in the dark, feeling completely disorientated and glance at the clock and then groan. Because of my jet lag I only got to sleep half an hour ago. I spent the rest of the time downloading pictures from our cover shoot that the photographer had sent me so I could look at them before work on Monday. Ryan, of course, hasn’t been disturbed by the doorbell.

  BRIIIIIINGGGGGGGG! The insistent noise proves that this isn’t a drunken passer-by like we sometimes get, living on a main road. I heave myself out of bed, tempted to wake him, but he looks so blissful I don’t see the point of waking both of us, unless it’s some sort of major problem. He’ll only panic and start looking for inanimate objects to bash an intruder with. Last time it happened I saw him brandishing a hairdryer. ‘What were you going to do?’ I’d said to him afterwards. ‘Style them into submission?’

  I go over to the intercom.

  ‘Who is it?’ I say sharply into the speaker.

  ‘Molly? Can you c-come down . . . I step back from the speaker in shock as I instantly recognize the voice, even though I haven’t heard it since Ryan and I got engaged. I quickly buzz her in, bolt across our lounge through our little hallway. I open our flat door and run down the stairs to meet her just as she steps through our front door. Casey looks at me dully. Her hair is all over the place, her eyes swollen and bruised, with tears and . . .

  ‘Casey? What’s wrong?’ I pull her through the front door and into a hug. She feels so painfully small and thin and helpless in my arms. I can smell smoke in her hair, alcohol on her breath. I pull away from her and hold her at arm’s-length. She tries to hide in my shoulder but then I notice that those bruises aren’t just from tiredness. I glance down and take in the red rings around her arms, the marks on her throat.

  ‘What the hell has happened to you, Casey?’ I say, feeling the tears spring into my own eyes. She shrinks to the floor like a rag doll, her handbag strewn by her side and I am body-slammed by a vivid memory of her in a playground, her poor body lying helpless, defenceless. I bend down and lift her up so I’m cradling her in my arms. I don’t know what has happened, I just need to get her upstairs. She opens her eyes and smiles weakly at me.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Molly,’ she whispers. ‘I was so worried you wouldn’t be . . . I don’t want to be on my own . . . ’

  ‘You don’t have to be, Casey. I’m going to look after you now.’ I clear my throat and swipe my hand across my eyes. ‘Come on honey, let’s get you upstairs . . . ’

  We walk slowly up the stairs and into the flat.

  ‘Ry?’ I call loudly, the word catching in my throat, wanting his help, not sure how to handle the situation alone.

  ‘No!’ she says, shaking her head and looking at me with pleading eyes. ‘Please don’t get him. I don’t want anyone else to see me.’

  ‘But he’ll know what to do, Case,’ I answer gently, aware that I don’t know what to do. Not at all. I bring Casey into our lounge and am at once acutely aware of how warm and inviting it is, how safe and secure and so far removed from wherever Casey has come from. I see her clock the cosy scene with one flicker of her dull, murky-coloured eyes, Ryan’s discarded trainers and my Converse huddled together on the floor by the sofa, the open wedding file on the coffee table, the debris of a cosy night in for two. Suddenly I am all too aware how different my life is to hers.

  I start to lead my best friend, who I haven’t heard from for two months and who used to be closer to me than a sister, over to the couch slowly. How did this happen? Who did this to her? She winces in pain and clutches her ribs, and I’m trying not to cry at what I’m witnessing.
>
  I hear Ryan stumbling down the stairs in the jeans he’s hastily put on, brandishing a tennis racket as a weapon. My husband-to-be, sporty even in self-defence. He’s rubbing his eyes blearily as he comes into the brightly lit room.

  ‘What is it, Moll?’ He looks shocked, then horrified when he sees her. He looks on as I lead Casey to the sofa. She looks at him and then he dashes over and skids to his knees in front of the sofa.

  ‘What happened, Case?’ He lifts her chin gently and she gazes at him, her bruised black and mauve eyes are soulless and empty. She buries her head in a cushion.

  ‘Hey, Case,’ he says kindly. ‘We’re going to look after you, but babe, whoever did this to you shouldn’t be able to get away with it.’ Her shoulders heave up and down, but her face stays buried. He pulls her hair back, kisses her on her cheek and strokes her head.

  I sit down on the edge of the sofa and stroke Casey’s hair, too. It is damp but warm, sweat mixed with a steady stream of tears, and – is that blood? Oh God.

  ‘What happened Case? Can you tell me?’ I ask gently, my voice wobbling with fear and shock.

  She raises her head slightly off the sofa cushion and looks at me. Her face is the shade of newspaper carbon when it rubs off on your skin. Her hands are shaking uncontrollably. I notice there is dirt under her fingernails. I can see it through her pink varnish. I stroke her head and she lowers it again. Ryan pulls a blanket that’s folded over the side of the couch and I pull it over her gently.

  ‘I was l-l-leaving work . . . ’ she hiccups. ‘There was a group of them . . . it had been a busy night at the club. Lots of people on the door pissed off that they couldn’t come in. I finished early and had a few drinks to unwind after my shift. I was going home on my own . . . ’ She trails off and I nod to encourage her to go on, and she does. ‘They just came out of nowhere. The girls. They started p-punching and k-kicking me. I couldn’t do anything . . . ’ Casey talks quietly, stopping and starting, stumbling over the details, unable to recall the exact order of events. I look down at Casey in horror and clutch Ryan’s hand as we stroke her hair, and Casey stumbles through her explanation of how they launched themselves at her on her walk home. They kicked and punched her in the face, called her a stupid slut and left her on the pavement outside her house. She’d been too petrified to go into her flat in case they came back so she crawled into her car and drove straight here. She said she recognized them. Southend is a small town.