by David Belbin
I’ve never heard of ‘limerance’ before and suspect it’s something she read up this week for her Psychology module. Later, I look the word up on Wikipedia. Turns out she’s got it right, near enough.
We smoke a joint.
‘What is love?’ I ask, digesting this new idea. ‘Is it what’s left after you’ve gone through the limerance period?’
‘Better minds than mine have given up on that one,’ Vic says. ‘Maybe there’s no such thing as true love. It’s a convenient fiction that allows people to stay together after the limerance period. An excuse for marriage, having kids and all that shit. An antidote to loneliness.’
I muse on this for a while, then look at my watch. Shit. ‘I have to go to work.’
I head off to Moxy’s on Lower Parliament Street, in the centre of the city. I’ve started doing three shifts a week, serving shots to pissed-up local yokels who don’t give a shit about finding love or limerance, just so long as the evening ends in a fuck or a fight. Sounds gross, but I quite enjoy it. We’re so busy that it keeps my mind off other stuff.
Easter vacation. This is where it gets serious. I have coursework to finish and exams to prepare for. Together they’re worth 30% of my final degree. I decide not to go home until I’ve finished two essays and message Zoe to tell her. I saw a lot of Zoe over Christmas, though I’ve not been round to her house since the party where I met Aidan. I don’t want to run into her dad. Sometimes she phones. We talk about Aidan and she keeps me in touch with what’s happening in West Kirby. I’ve never told her what happened with Bob. We’re not responsible for our parents’ mistakes, so why bother her?
A-level results day feels like a lifetime ago, but it was only 20 months. Time is relative. I’m more than halfway through my degree and those five terms passed in a flash. Distance is relative. West Kirby is only three hours drive away, but feels like the other side of the world. Yet if I don’t get a job before I graduate, I might have to move back there.
Everyone goes home for Easter weekend except me and Steve. I haven’t seen Aidan since Christmas. Some days, he feels more like a patient than a boyfriend. We email less and less. Last time I phoned, I only spoke to his mum. She said he was coming out of himself, a little. I persuaded Zoe to go over and see him (her news is that she’s training to be an estate agent). She said he was OK with her, so maybe it’s just me he’s lost interest in.
They’re short-staffed on the holiday weekend, so I do more shifts at the bar. The money’s good. If someone had told me a year ago that I’d become adept at dealing with drunks and enjoy flirting with strangers, I’d have laughed. But I’m cool with it.
Steve’s still up when I get back from Moxy’s, no matter how late. We have a drink together, though sometimes I’d rather go straight to bed with a book. He doesn’t try it on, just makes it clear that if I find myself free, he’d like to be front of the queue to ask me out. Which is flattering. He has enough women on tap for him not to be desperate to have sex with me. There’ve been at least half a dozen since Persia.
But I haven’t had sex with Aidan since the night of the party. I’ve never had regular sex, full stop.
The ticket agency quickly promotes Steve. He’s on ‘difficult calls’, or ‘complaints’, as they used to be known: tickets that haven’t arrived or turned out not to be as good seats as they were supposed to be. He can mollify anyone. And he’s already started getting freebies. Tonight, when I got in, he asked if I’ll be back from West Kirby in time to see a show at Rock City. If anyone else asked, this would be a date, but we’re house-mates, so it’s not.
‘I’d love to, thanks.’
‘You’re not going to change your mind and stick around at home to see Peter Pan, are you? Because, you know, it’s the end of next week and..’
‘I’ll be back. I’ve got loads more work to do that I need the library for. And I’m behind the bar again a week on Saturday. Anyway...’
‘Anyway what?’
If I tell Steve I’m thinking of packing in Aidan, he’ll make a pass at me. Tonight, I’m weak. I might succumb. Which would be mad, because we live in the same house and I don’t like him enough to go out with him. He’s arrogant and slippery and greedy, not to mention silly and adolescent sometimes. Also, I’m not the sort of woman who cheats on her boyfriend. I’m not. But is Aidan really my boyfriend when I haven’t had a word from him in more than two weeks? I’d like to discuss Aidan with Steve because, despite what I’ve just said, he is a sharp guy. But to discuss Aidan honestly, I’d have to talk about the accident, which would feel like a betrayal of Aidan, who made it clear how much he hates it when people know.
‘Anyway what?’ Steve repeats, coming to sit next to me on the sofa.
‘I don’t know. Aidan’s such hard work.’
‘I can see that.’
‘No, you can’t. You don’t know the half of it.’
‘Then tell me.’
And, to my surprise, I do. When I’m done, he puts his arms around me and I press my head against his chest, cry a little. There’s nothing sexual in the embrace. It’s comforting.
‘What should I do?’ I ask him.
‘I think you’re in over your head. He needs a therapist. You need somebody you can have a laugh with.’
‘Aidan has a therapist. He never tells me what they talk about.’
‘You don’t have to feel guilty about dumping him, because he isn’t really your boyfriend. He doesn’t behave like a boyfriend. He doesn’t want that responsibility. So you don’t have that responsibility either.’
I wipe my eyes. ‘Thanks. You’ve helped me to clear a lot of things in my head.’
I never thought I’d hear myself say that but what he told me was true, and it took Steve to say it. Last year I told Aidan’s sister, Anna, that I wasn’t responsible for her brother. Only I didn’t mean it. It’s one thing to articulate something, another to believe what you say.
Steve kisses me on the forehead and wishes me goodnight. Classy. He’s already argued me into being unfaithful to Aidan. I’m feeling vulnerable and it wouldn’t have taken much to get me into bed. Is he playing me, or being a gentleman?
Is there a difference?
In West Kirby, it’s the dumping season. Helen has finished with Mark, just as they were on the verge of booking flights for a summer getaway. Mark’s upset, but hardly devastated. Turns out he’s been seeing a bit of this girl, Ro, who’s in his hall of residence. By ‘seeing’ he means ‘screwing’, once or twice a week. He tells me this in the Ring O’Bells on Easter Saturday. Then he has the nerve to make a pass at me. When I turn him down, he’s persistent.
‘We ought to get back together. We were great before.
Now’s the right time.’
‘Too complicated,’ I say.
‘Because of Aidan?’
‘I don’t want to talk about Aidan.’
So we talk about Helen instead. She has started seeing a third year — a public school, banking family bloke. Mark reckons he’ll dump her in the summer, when he graduates, but I wouldn’t bet on it. Helen’s a catch. Mark and I get very stoned together and watch the original version of Solaris until three in the morning, cuddled up on the sofa. He sleeps in the spare room.
In the morning, after Mum has gone to work, he asks me to go out with him again. I say ‘no’. I’ve always liked Mark, a lot, but I’ve never obsessed over him, never felt that limerance thing Vic was on about. I was infatuated with Aidan for a while, but I’m not any more. Trouble is, I can feel myself going that way for Steve, which is crazy. If I were looking for a new boyfriend, I’d be much better off with Mark than I would be with Steve, but I couldn’t stand it if he dumped me to go back to Helen. After a few drinks, it’s obvious from his conversation: he’s still hung up on her.
‘I’m going to see Aidan,’ I tell him. ‘You can have a lift home if you want.’
‘To Nottingham?’
‘Do you think of Nottingham as home now?’
‘Home is whe
rever you are, Aly.’
He’s the only person I ever let call me Aly. I give him a wry don’t pull that line on me smile, then take him to his parents’ home. It’s a warm day with a fresh sea breeze. For the first time since I got the car, I have the windows down.
When I drop Mark off, he lingers by the car.
‘Finish with him,’ Mark says. ‘I’ll finish with Ro and we can start up properly. Go off somewhere over the summer.’
Before I know it, he’ll be suggesting that we move in together.
‘You can’t go back,’ I tell him. ‘No matter how much you want to or how easy it looks. We wouldn’t last, you know. We’re much more use to each other as friends.’
‘Men and women can’t stay just friends,’ he says.
Aidan’s mum and step-dad are surprised to see me. I haven’t phoned to say I’m coming, because Aidan will still be asleep.
‘He’s still out,’ Linda says. ‘Are you early?’
‘Out? It’s only noon.’
‘He’s gone to church with Anna,’ she says, cheerfully. ‘It’s the second time.’
‘Wow!’ Aidan’s parents are Church of England which, according to my Irish-Catholic mother, makes them practically atheists. But Aidan isn’t a practising Christian. We’ve had the secular conversation, the one where you establish common ground, that God doesn’t exist and a lot of the world’s troubles are caused by the misguided primitives who insist on believing in him yet won’t tolerate those who don’t believe in their own, bigoted way.
‘He’s come out of himself a bit,’ says Keith. ‘I managed to get him a job.’
‘What kind of job?’
‘Trainee Financial Adviser.’
Again, all I can think of to say is ‘wow’. At university, Aidan did Philosophy and Psychology. He told me he wanted to be a don, or a poet. Or both. Not an accountant.
‘Here he is now,’ Linda says. ‘Aidan, look who’s here!’
That’s when I get the real shock. Aidan’s had his hair cut. All the curls have gone. His deep eyes are too big for his face, and his jaw looks too long. I don’t fancy him any more.
Instead of going to his room, we go for a walk through the dull, suburban streets.
‘That Tarot reading at your party made me think,’ he says. ‘It was bullshit, but it made me ask the big questions. I need to make peace with God for my sins. I need to earn my way in the world.’
‘You don’t believe in God,’ I say.
‘That was just arrogance. I knew I’d sinned. How could I believe in sin but not believe in God? I doubted because I was avoiding responsibility.’
‘I’m not sure I believe in sin,’ I tell him. ‘I can handle the concepts of crime and punishment, yes, but not sin, not guilt. You can know the difference between right and wrong without having religion.’
‘I suppose,’ Aidan says, but that’s as far as he wants to take this philosophical discussion. We walk in silence. Whichever of us speaks first will be the one to end it, I figure. I’ve only ever had one serious boyfriend and I finished with him. I ought to experience what it’s like to be finished with.
But Aidan doesn’t say anything. He’s too passive. I figure it was Huw who persuaded him to play silly games in the car. Aidan didn’t have the nerve to refuse. Or the sense.
‘You and me?’ I say, when we’re in sight of the house. ‘There isn’t one, really, is there? I mean, we’re good friends, but...’
‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘You’re right, Allison.’
And that’s it. No warm wishes, no ‘thank you, stay in touch’. I will never get another phone call from him. The only mutual friend we have is Zoe and neither of us sees much of her at the moment. If I want to know what happens to Aidan in the future, I will have to google him and hope there isn’t another Aidan Kinsale in the world of financial services.
I drive home without saying goodbye to his family. I feel bad about that, because I’m closer to Aidan’s mum than I am to him. Dad says life’s all about cutting your losses. I’m not that ruthless. But I’m learning to be.
Starting to Happen
‘Why didn’t you get here earlier? I wanted to see the support.’
‘Traffic was murder,’ I tell Steve. ‘We can go in my car if you want.’
‘There’s no parking near Rock City. We might as well walk.’
‘Give me a minute to get changed.’
‘You look great as you are,’ say Steve. He’s bossy, and I can’t be bothered to argue. Am I really thinking of going out with this guy?
Walking up the hill, we discuss coursework, something we never do in the house, where it’s not cool to remind ourselves that we’re students. We both have stuff to finish for a week tomorrow, the first Friday of term. Steve can’t decide whether to do a dissertation next year or two modules.
‘How were things at home?’ I ask.
‘Same old same old. You?’
‘Helen dumped Mark, that’s the big news.’
‘Doesn’t surprise me,’ Steve says.
‘Why not?’
‘She can do better. While they’re at uni, people try to trade up. Who’s she seeing instead?’
‘Who said she’s seeing anyone? A third year, as it happens. His family’s in banking. Helen spent Easter with him.’
‘There you go,’ Steve says. ‘And did Mark try and get you to go out with him again?’
‘You’re a mind reader.’
Steve gives one of those irritating, smug grins.
‘So... have you dumped Aidan for him?’
‘No! Aidan and I did agree to finish though.’
Steve suppresses a smirk. We’re passing the Falcon on Canning Circus.
‘Let’s have a drink,’ he says. ‘It’s murder getting served at Rock City.’
‘Won’t we be late?’
‘Nah. Main act never comes on before nine-thirty.’
I take his word for it. I’m keen to see the band but he got the free tickets. I ask for a small glass of wine, rather than beer. I know how hard it is to get to the Ladies at Rock City.
‘So... you finished with Aidan but turned Mark down. Why?’
‘It’d be like — I dunno — doing A-levels again. You can’t go back, can you?’
‘I guess not.’
I’ve decided not to tell Steve that Mark already had somebody on the side. But Steve doesn’t ask any more questions. Maybe he senses I haven’t made my mind up yet. I’d like to sleep with Steve. I’ve fantasised about it. But Steve’s girlfriends never last more than a week, more often a night. We’d have to live in the same house afterwards. Soon we each have to decide whether to sign a new lease for next year. And I’m enjoying things the way they are.
‘How was it, breaking up with Aidan?’ he asks, in his sympathetic voice.
‘He hardly seemed to notice.’ I tell Steve about Aidan’s new haircut, his financial planning job. ‘It was like he’d shifted personality. Totally.’
‘That happens to loads of people after university. Some of my brother’s friends turned straighter than straight.’
‘Yeah, but this was Aidan, half an ounce of weed a week Aidan.’
‘From what you told me, he always went to extremes.’
‘Should we be making a move? Don’t you want to get a good spot?’
‘I always get a good spot,’ Steve boasts.
Once we’re inside the venue, though, it’s heaving. The stairway to the main floor is blocked by shoulder to shoulder punters. Even getting to the bar is difficult. We push our way along a narrow passageway between the people at the back. At least Steve manages to get served quickly.
‘You sure that’s all you want?’ Steve hands me a half of cider. ‘OK, follow me.’
One hand holds his plastic beer glass above his head. The other grips mine. Somehow, Steve pushes towards the throng that is the dance floor, though there’s no space for dancing tonight.
‘Excuse us. Coming through.’
People frown and moan. So
me emphatically ignore us, turning their backs and widening their shoulders. But nobody can really object. There are no reserved places. We could be returning to a spot we had earlier. I half stumble on unseen stairs but Steve jerks me upright. It’s when we come to a stop that the problems will start. We thread our way from the right side of the stage to the centre, moving back as we go. At one point, Steve stops, and a bearded bloke taps him on the shoulder.
‘Keep moving,’ he says. Steve’s blocking the guy’s girlfriend.
We push through until we’re two thirds of the way back, dead centre, maybe fifteen feet in front of the mixing desk. The couple we stand in front of are in conversation with the people behind.
‘Told you I always get a good spot,’ Steve says.
There are plenty of tall guys in front of us, but I can see a mike stand between heads. I hope it’s the lead singer’s. On cue, the band appears. They go into one of my favourite songs and the crowd shifts slightly. Suddenly, my view is great. I think I will go out with Steve.
But not yet. I enjoy the not so subtle way he rubs against me in the bouncy numbers, pulling me in front of him so that he protects me from the crowd and I have an even better view, but also feel the heat from his body, feel his groin grinding against my bum. For both of us, the real thrill is in the chase. It’s the race that counts, not the finishing line. If we get together, it won’t last, I remind myself. And we will still have to live in the same house.
When we get back, Vic is there. She wants to know all about the show. I let Steve tell her while I go up to have a shower. Then we share a joint while Steve has a shower.
‘He doesn’t normally do that after a gig,’ Vic says. ‘Does he think he’s going to get lucky?’