The First Last Kiss

by Ali Harris

  ‘Hey,’ I say softly as he picks up on the first ring. ‘I’m all done here,’ I say. ‘Are you ready? Because I’m coming to get—’

  ‘I love it when you act all bossy,’ he laughs.

  A flash of a memory, quickly replaced, but not without a mental nod of acknowledgement.

  ‘You’d better get used to it,’ I laugh, tucking the phone under my ear as I put my coat on and lift my bag onto my shoulder. ‘I’m not about to change.’ I tilt the two suitcases that are sitting next to me into a pulling position. ‘I’ll be at the hospital in half an hour, OK?’

  The Constable Kiss

  ‘The heart is a museum, filled with the exhibits of a lifetime’s loves.’ Diane Ackerman

  Isn’t that a lovely quote? I came across it recently and it made me think about my relationships; not just with Ryan but my friends and family too. I imagined them all carefully curated in my heart. Ryan is on display as reportage-style photographs, a never-ending series of him running, jumping, kicking, diving, sailing, laughing, winking, reaching, staring, grinning, kissing.

  Casey is pop art – eye-catchingly beautiful, vivid and of the moment. Mum is there in various guises; as a sculpture, painstakingly chiselled and poised, and also as a portrait. One of those stilted nineteenth-century ones where you can just see a glimmer of a smile in the starchy get-up. Dad is an Edward Hopper, you know, ‘Man seated in front of a desk in a light-flooded window gazing musingly at a wall with a painting on it’. It is how I always picture him.

  I used to wonder what it was he was looking for and recently, on one of Ryan’s bad days (and by proxy, one of mine) I asked him. He lowered his glasses and looked at me with his soft hazel eyes. Then he took my hand and said: ‘The truth, Molly dear. I’m looking for the truth.’ I’d looked at him questioningly, not really understanding what he meant. He’d taken his glasses off and placed them on his laptop. ‘It’s so easy to lose our faith whilst we’re caught in the cogs of the endless grind of real life. But there are three places the truth can always be found: In God . . . ’ he’d glanced at me, acknowledging that this has never meant much to me, and I’m finding it even harder now, ‘ . . . in love and in art.’ He’d rested his elbows on his desk and pressed his fingers together. ‘Whenever I am wondering why I am being tested and I can’t get the answers from the first two, I seem to find them in the last. It makes me look at life as a bigger picture and then everything seems to make sense.’

  If I’m honest, it is the first thing that anyone has said that has made sense to me since Ryan was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Without realizing he was doing it my dad gave me an answer to a question I didn’t even know I was asking.

  Up until that moment I honestly thought I’d lost faith in ‘forever’, but now I know that both love and art can last forever because they have the power to transcend everything– time, age and indeed, life itself.

  And what better way to capture one than with the other?

  <

  It’s the day of our first official date. I’m sitting in his dad’s Mercedes and all I know is that Ryan is taking me to his favourite place in the world.

  ‘Australia?’ I joked when he phoned me the day after our kiss in Covent Garden.

  ‘Maybe next year,’ he’d laughed, and my heart had soared with pleasure. Next year? He thinks we’ll be together next year?

  ‘I’m thinking somewhere a little closer to home for now. Are you free this Saturday?’

  ‘I might be,’ I’d said noncommittally, cradling my work phone between my shoulder and neck.

  ‘Well, babe,’ he’d laughed down the line and I felt a glow of warmth at his words. For some reason, the way he said ‘babe’ sounded sexy, not patronizing. I’m officially a babe now! Molly Carter: teen outcast, now officially a babe! ‘If you can spare some time to hang out, meet me outside Leigh train station at eleven. I’ll pick you up straight after footie training.’ My heart had sunk a little when he’d suggested going out in Leigh.

  ‘I hope you’ll have a shower first!’ I’d noticed that his Essex twang was more defined on the phone, he sounded almost cockney. ‘I promise it’ll be worth it,’ he’d added, as if reading my thoughts.

  I step up and tentatively clamber over the stile, trying to keep as much dignity as I possibly can, which is tricky given that I mistakenly allowed Freya to dress me for this date. She instantly confiscated my Converse and presented me with a pair of kitten heels. I should’ve listened to my instincts telling me that anything with the name of an animal is not appropriate attire. Leopard skin, rabbit fur, pussycat bow, kitten heel. I’m furious with myself for wanting to look like the kind of girl he usually dates. I wanted to be as far from my teen self as possible. I thought we’d be going to some restaurant for lunch. Instead we’re going for a picnic up here, in my favourite place. Which turns out is his favourite place, too. Before Casey came along, to free me from my social leprosy, Hadleigh Castle was my best friend. As a tortured teenager it was the place I came to unburden my soul, to let out my frustrations and to find peace. I’d come here after school, when I couldn’t face going home, and sometimes I’d come here when I couldn’t face being at school. Those years from eleven to thirteen, before I met Casey, were pretty dark. I just didn’t feel like I fitted in anywhere. My personality traits as stated in my school reports were always: tidy, quiet, disciplined, good. But inside I wasn’t any of those things. I was crying out to be different. But no one heard. I wasn’t aware that my parents wanted more children, but I was painfully aware that I was the only one, and with that came the responsibility to be perfect. I didn’t allow myself to make mistakes, be silly, reckless, careless. Have fun. I was bullied for being the stuck-up girl with the stupid plaits who worked tirelessly, read endlessly and skulked around school with a camera. At home I was under the intense scrutiny of my mum who paid so much attention to me to make sure I met her exacting standards that everything else – including my dad – seemed to disappear. I wanted so badly to hide away. Maybe that’s why I always retreated behind a lens. Or came up here to Hadleigh Castle. It was the only place I felt happy and free. I don’t know what I’d have done if Casey hadn’t come along. She helped give me the courage to find myself, or at least the self I aspired to be from watching those endless 80s films with her. I didn’t realize that was a fake version of me, too. At least now I’ve finally found myself. It only took twenty-two years.

  ‘I hope this is worth it,’ I say, as we gaze at the hill that leads towards the ruin. ‘I know you said this view is to die for, but surely that’s only if the walk doesn’t kill me first? Remember, I’m not as fit as you.’

  ‘I dunno, you look pretty fit to me!’ Ryan says, and I’m startled out of my reverie by him cupping my bum as I straddle the stile.

  ‘Hey, keep your hands to yourself, Cooper! No groping until after you’ve fed me lunch.’

  ‘Now there’s an incentive to get up that hill!’ Ryan says, and he leaps over the stile and starts running ahead, despite carrying a heavy hamper. I start running but stagger to a halt with a stitch after a few metres, clutching my side and panting. Ryan comes back and shakes his head at me despairingly as he slides his arm around me.

  ‘You need to get fit, Molly.’

  ‘Hey,’ I pant, bending over my knees and holding my side. ‘I thought this was meant to be a date, not an assault course. Besides, if you run everywhere all the time you never get a chance to just pause and take in the view. Life isn’t all about the destination, Ryan, it’s about appreciating the journey.’

  He tilts his head thoughtfully as if taking in my words, and I stand up and lift up my camera from where it is dangling around my neck. It’s new – I bought it as a ‘congratulations on my new job’ gift to myself.

  I pause from my snapping; I can feel Ryan staring at me. He’s bouncing up and down on his feet, clearly unable to keep still.

  ‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘Stop bloody jigging about, you’re making me nervous!’

&nbs
p; He holds his hands up and freezes in position. ‘OK, OK, you win, we’ll go much slower,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to wear you out. Well, at least not like this.’ And he winks and grins in a way that makes me glow with warmth and burn with heat. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the vivid, sun-soaked memories of our holiday in Ibiza, but being with Ryan makes me feel like I’ve swallowed sunshine.

  I lift up my camera and scour our surroundings through the viewfinder. I start snapping, adjusting the lens and focus to try and catch the beauty of the panorama before me.

  I’m so focused that I don’t realize that Ryan has gone. I look around, suddenly panicked that I have upset him somehow by becoming so ensconced. I can’t see him anywhere, but then I look down at the ground and laugh. There’s a breadcrumb. And another. He obviously didn’t want to interrupt me, and so he’s left me a trail leading to our lunch. Smiling, I put my lens cap on and walk up the hill, suddenly feeling the urge to ignore the photographic opportunities surrounding me and to run, run to Ryan and not look back.

  I reach the top of the hill and see Ryan standing there, facing out towards the Thames Estuary, framed by the ruins of the two towers. I quickly lift up my camera. Through it, he is a modern-day Adonis silhouetted in the historical footprint of the thirteenth-century castle. I carry on snapping, my throat feels raspy, like the earth’s gravel has infiltrated the air and my lungs. I feel like I’m here, but not here. Present in this moment, but looking at it from above.

  I look down to change the film. A whisper, then, just behind my left ear, a hand stroking my hair off my face and neck, a breath on my throat and over my lips that is as delicate as Constable’s brushstrokes. Then a kiss, as delicious as the last and as tantalizing as the next. I yield to it and here, on this hill, our lips meet again. This time with no audience, no fanfare. No one but me, Ryan and the elements.

  We are lying on a blanket, the debris of our picnic surrounds us: an empty bottle of Chardonnay and a beautiful home-made feast that Jamie Oliver would have been proud of. The sun is going down in a riot of glorious colour on our first date. Ryan turns his face and looks at me.

  ‘So how was it for you?’

  ‘The date, the view or the picnic?’ I reply with a smile.

  ‘All of it.’

  ‘Are you looking for a score?’

  ‘If you’re offering!’ He stares mischievously at me.

  I slap him. ‘Cheeky!’

  ‘So come on, what’s my score then?

  I stare deep into his eyes. ‘It was perfect. A perfect ten.’

  A smile hovers over his lips that are as inviting as a thick duvet on a cold winter’s night.

  ‘Good.’ He turns his face back up to the sky and we’re both silent for a moment.

  ‘’Course, we haven’t even had dessert yet,’ he murmurs.

  I gulp as his fingers brush against mine. ‘What do you suggest?’

  He rolls over and looks at me, his lips inches from mine. ‘Something big.’

  I blush.

  ‘Something big and mouth-watering . . . ’

  ‘Something big, mouth-watering and creamy . . . ’ he grins, swoops up our picnic blanket and lunch debris, and chucks it into his rucksack. Then he grabs my hand, pulls me up and we run down the hill.

  ‘Ice cream? You were talking about ICE CREAM?’

  We’re standing outside Rossi’s on Southend Pier.

  Ryan grins and opens the door. ‘Yup! Why, what did you think I was offering?’

  I ruffle my hair over my face so my flushed cheeks are hidden by it and walk in.

  ‘So what’s your flavour?’ Ryan says, looking at the immense display of flavours.

  ‘Black cherry,’ I reply quickly. ‘Because it’s sweet and sour. What about you?’

  ‘Tutti frutti because . . . just because.’

  ‘So,’ he says, leaning his lips into my ear. ‘Shall we try putting them together? See if the combination works?’

  I nod, mainly because: a) I have lost the ability to speak and b) I’m busy wondering if he’s talking about ice cream or us.

  We sit with our glass dish of ice cream between us, spooning the combination of flavours into our mouths (and it is perfect) as we chat easily.

  I say easily, but the only thing that isn’t easy about this conversation is the number of people I recognize in here. It feels like we’re being watched and I say as much to Ryan.

  He laughs and puts a menu up in front of us. I look at him.

  ‘Are you ashamed of me, Cooper?’ I say, putting on my best Sandy voice as I prepare to bastardize a quote from Grease. ‘What ever happened to the Ryan Cooper I met at the beach?’ All I need is the white cardi and yellow dress. And pumps. I knew I shouldn’t have worn these heels.

  ‘Huh?’ he says, his expression blank. ‘We didn’t meet on the beach!’ He drops the menu back onto the table and I laugh and then make my face deadly serious.

  ‘You’re a fake and a phoney and I wish I never laid eyes on you!’

  Ryan looks startled. ‘Eh? What have I done?’

  I start laughing as I realize he thinks I’m serious. ‘Grease! It’s a quote from Grease, the movie, Ryan!’

  He shakes his head, his face blank. ‘Nope. Never seen it.’

  ‘What?’ I reply. ‘How can you never have seen Grease? It’s a coming-of-age classic! Boy meets girl on holiday, they fall in love but when they get home they realize they’ve got nothing in common.’

  ‘What year was it made?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘If it was before 1977 I wouldn’t have seen it.’

  I furrow my brow. ‘Er, why?’

  He grins. ‘I don’t watch or listen to anything that came out before I was born.’

  I shake my head in disbelief. ‘And again, why?’

  He scoops up a massive spoonful of ice cream and pops it into his mouth.

  ‘Because I’m all about the present, babe. No looking back.’ And he flashes that grin again.

  You Can Kiss This Goodbye Kiss

  It is my experience that some friendships can flourish in the face of adversity but others bend and then break with the strain, like a tree in a thunderstorm. The roots remain there under the earth, a reminder of what once stood so tall but is no longer a visible part of the landscape of your life. In some ways it’s sad because the tree no longer brings you daily joy with its strength, permanence and beauty. But then again, nor can it cast a shadow.

  FF>> 27/02/07>

  I can’t tell you how hard it is when the person you love tells you they want you to leave. I didn’t want to leave Ryan, not for a second. After we left the hospital we went for a walk down on the pier. Ryan said he wanted to get ice cream at Rossi’s, so we did. We ordered a big multi-coloured mountain of our two favourite flavours. I’d once pointed out that my flavour was too bitter and his was too sweet but together they were perfect. A bittersweet thought now. The ice cream is slowly melting as we look at it and each other. Not crying, not talking, just holding hands across the table and watching it all melt away.

  We didn’t even need to speak about what we were going to do next. We knew we were both psyching ourselves up to go back to Jackie and Dave’s. And when we finally did, it became clear that the best thing I could do was go home the following morning to give them some time alone with their son, and to pack some clothes so we could stay there for a few days. Jackie wasn’t going to let Ryan leave so I had to leave him behind. Even if it wasn’t the right thing for me.

  I unlock our front door and walk through it, feeling like years have passed since I was last here. Was it really only yesterday morning that I watched Ryan leave in the wrong direction for work? I sink against the door, my feelings overwhelm my body and it feels like I am being carried on a tidal wave of grief. I stumble into the flat. Everything is exactly as we left it, the debris of a life together. Ryan’s clothes are spread all around the place, breakfast dishes and an empty glass of home-made smoothie, the thick berry-red residue stuck to t
he glass. All discarded on the coffee table where he hurriedly had them in front of the news before leaving for work. Except it wasn’t for work. And over there, on the windowsill, my mug of tea left, half-drunk because I was too busy spying on him and wondering what if . . .

  I hear a noise approaching from the spare bedroom and then a plaintive call.

  ‘Molly, is that you?’

  Of course, Casey. I’d forgotten all about her, I’d deleted her from my mind like an unflattering digital photograph. I don’t answer, I just pull our overnight bag out of the hallway cupboard and start throwing Ryan’s discarded and dirty clothes in. I don’t care what I pack. I just want to get some stuff and get out.

  I feel her presence behind me, waiting for me to speak. But I don’t. I can’t. I can’t tell her because Ryan doesn’t want anyone to know, not yet.

  ‘So I take it you’re not speaking to me . . . right?’ she says petulantly. ‘Well, that’s a bit immature. I thought you’d at least give me a chance to explain . . . ’ She starts to cry, a self-pitying whimper that instantly winds me up. I turn around and answer her curtly. I don’t have time for these dramatics. Not now. Not any more.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing for you to explain,’ I say quietly. ‘Ryan told me what happened. I get it. End of story.’

  I want her to just accept that I am not going to talk about this further. She’ll get over it, and so will I. But not right now.

  ‘Oh, and you’re just going to mug off my explanation then, huh? I bet you didn’t mug off Ryan . . . ’

  ‘Don’t, Casey,’ I say dangerously quietly as I turn around and look at her.

  She has thrown her hands on her hips and jutted them out in one direction, like a tween with attitude.

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re not in the mood. Because it’s all about you, innit it, Molly? Huh?’

  ‘No, Casey, it isn’t about me.’ I snap. I realize I am sounding like I’m correcting her language. I’m not, although she does always sound more Essex when she’s emotional. Just like Ryan. Ryan. I swallow, close my eyes, breathe. Open them. All actions I have to concentrate fully on. ‘You don’t understand anything, so just leave it, OK?’ And I turn my back on her again. ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now, I can’t . . . ’