by Fox Brison
“I’m so, so sorry,” she said quietly, distress endemic in her voice. “You must realise I don’t see you, see us, that way, Skye? Please believe me. I truly am sorry.”
“Me too, Nat. Me too,” the second ‘me too’ was far more resigned than the first. “I’m going to head in, I have an early meeting.”
“Skye-”
“We’ll talk tomorrow, Nat, I need time, okay?”
I left her in the front room and went to bed. I’d always believed Natalie was so stratospherically out of my league, that even if I strapped a rocket to my back I still wouldn’t reach her. Now a million thoughts swirled inside my brain, but only one was screaming in angry red letters…
Natalie was using this loan deal as means to end our relationship.
Chapter 11
Skye
The morning after the row it was as if we were cast adrift on a desert island, two strangers who hadn’t a clue how to interact with each other. However, as I was about to leave for work, Natalie blocked the front door. She held my travel mug in her hand and I allowed a slight smile to grace my lips. She always made me one for the journey. Coffee that is. Although this morning I might not have objected to something stronger.
“I can change my mind, I can call Johnny and tell him to cancel the contract. I’m serious, Skye, you mean more to me than anything in this world,” she said gravely. I was tempted to call her on it, but I could tell she was being heartfelt; it was in her eyes, they held the same desperate fear that mine had the night before.
“Don’t be a numpty,” I scolded softly. “What’s done is done. I’m sorry… I know you think I’m being-”
“No I don’t, Skye. I don’t think I know. I know I hurt you, I know how hard trust is for you and for me to throw it in your face that way…” she gulped. “I swear to God almighty, Skye, I will never jeopardise our relationship again because I would die if I ever lost you.”
I kissed her, gently, on the lips. “You know what, Jeffries, we don’t spoil two houses. We both have these fears that may be totally unfounded, but are real enough to terrify us into making rash decisions. Too often we blindly plough through these hurdles hoping for the best, when what we should be doing is negotiating them together.”
“Please, Skye, promise you won’t give up on us, I couldn’t cope if you did.”
“I won’t. But you have to give me more than eight hours to come to terms with this.”
For the next thirty-six hours the two of us tiptoed though the eggshells littering the flat. Several long conversations and hours of Natalie’s contrite hovering (which may have been adorable, but ultimately unnecessary) eventually resulted in a tentative entente cordiale, and two days later Nat travelled to Texas for the last away game of the season, which meant an overnight stay.
And for the first time since moving to Boston, I was relieved.
***
I may have been looking forward to being alone, but instead of the peaceful night’s sleep I was anticipating without Nat’s tossing and turning, my mind was racing. When I’d reached one thousand and thirty seven sheep, and a good proportion of them had begun to take on the facial characteristics of famous people, it was getting ridiculous, so I gave up spent the night working instead.
The result of which was me sitting at my office desk yawning and staring blankly at the sea of human faces ebbing and flowing around campus.
I was marking a pop quiz, or trying to at least. I’d wiled away the last ten minutes first tidying my desk, then making sure there was enough ink in my pen and staples in my stapler, before finally lining up my Humpty Dumpty bookends.
Yes I was prevaricating; if only I had something else…
Sara’s face flashed on my phone. Ask and ye shall receive! Grateful for the distraction, I twirled a couple of times in my seat and took at as benevolent sign from above.
“So on a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you with my little sister?” I should have guessed she’d call when Nat was out of town. I checked the clock in my office. Yup, the kids would be in bed and she was probably sitting with her feet up and a glass of wine on the go.
I knew her far too well!
“Initially?” I laughed but it was a sardonic one at best. “Oh about a thousand and ten, but after I stopped panicking, it cooled to a three.”
“Stopped panicking?” Knowing someone far too well was a two way street.
I sighed. Even though Sara was Nat’s sister, I never worried she’d break my confidence when we discussed relationship issues. She was my best friend, mother confessor and devil on my shoulder all rolled into one sarcastic pocket of energy. “Okay, slowed the panicking to a trickle. I’m still not over the moon, but I don’t feel like the world’s about to end either.”
“She’s lucky you have a fear of confrontation.”
“I don’t fear it, I just don’t like arguing and neither does Nat.”
“Well you may have let her off lightly, but she’s gonna be getting an influx of erectile dysfunction support emails.”
I laughed. “Sara, the bedroom is one department Nat is definitely not dysfunctional in.”
“La, la, la,” she sang. “I don’t want to hear what a stud my little sister is thank you very much, Skye. But all joking aside, are you okay? Seriously, no bullshitting.”
“Yeah, I’m good. I’m going to miss her, Sara, and I don’t know,” I began straightening a pile of papers on my desk, rather like I was doing with my thoughts, “the fact she’ll be at home with you and your mam… it makes it worse somehow.”
“Oh Skye, three months isn’t an eternity,” she attempted placating, and achieved condescending.
“No, I guess not.” But it sure feels like it.
Then I snorted deprecatingly, remembering when Andy, her then boyfriend and now husband, spent the summer working for an uncle in Dorset. Yes, that’s right, snotty tears and wailing that he’d clearly forgotten about her if he didn’t call at six every evening. On the dot. God forbid if the phone box was engaged because, you know, that’s what you had to do when you were in love in the nineties. It was so much more romantic though, I mean at least it took some effort. Like love letters. Who sends them nowadays? In this modern age, it’s a mindless text or a Facebook post, instant, yet disposable, love notes. Hmm. I immediately made up my mind to write Natalie a love letter every week she was away. They’d be something to treasure share with our grandkids!
“You’re not convincing anyone, Donaghie,” Sara interrupted my leisurely stroll through my past and future. “I know Nat has a lot of growing to do, in relationship terms anyway, but I can assure you of one thing, you’re always first in her heart. Eventually her head will catch up.”
Sara was right, not that I would ever admit as much.
Natalie and I had both been in relationships before; mine lasted slightly longer than Natalie’s attempts, but were probably no deeper. I was reluctant to let anyone get close, but too much of a chicken shit to call it when it was obvious the relationship was doomed, often from the start. Nat, on the other hand, was a self-confessed player before us. Her focus had always been on her career, not on her soulmate. I was making it sound like we were contestants on some gaudy reality show. I can imagine the voiceover… Sue Perkins with a little help from Mel of course… from the makers of Geordie Shore and Made in Chelsea comes a brand new reality show – Live in Lesbians – How Deep is Their Love? Will Skye manage to overcome her self- destructive obsessions and will Natalie restrict her playing to the field?
“And you’re hardly what one might call relationship mature either,” Sara continued with her attempted ‘reassurance.’
WTF? Way to be a supportive best friend. But I was grinning. “Thanks, Sara, I can always count on you to cheer me up. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’m not at work. But can I also add that at least I haven’t stapled a picture of Nat to my teddy bear so I can kiss her goodnight of an evening.”
And on that self-satisfied note I hung up.
***
“Skye, do you have a minute?”
For the second time I welcomed the interruption. “For you, Tess, I have two.”
“Great.” She tilted her head. She wore her long brown hair loose today, and it was like a geek shampoo commercial the way she tucked it behind her ears and pushed her glasses further up her nose. “Skye, are you okay? You seem, well bummed for the want of a better word.”
“No, I think that word sums up exactly how I feel. Nat’s going back to England for the winter. It’s happened so quickly I think I’m still in shock.”
“You’re not going are you?” she asked, alarmed.
“No.”
Tess might benefit from some emotion etiquette lessons, because she said, with some amount of glee, “Great,” completely misreading my despondency. At least I hope she misread it and didn’t just ignore it, because then she’d be a bitch.
Great? Great that my girlfriend was going to be thousands of miles away? Great that I would be stuck here alone? Great that I could see a return to loneliness? Great that she would be in the same team as her ex-girlfriend? And then Tess smiled. Really smiled. It was like the hugest grin, ever. I wanted to say, bite me. But of course I didn’t; it wasn’t her fault I was in a foul mood.
“Great,” I repeated and raised my eyebrows in question, wishing she’d get on with it.
“You know my dad is a professor at Yale?”
“Uh-huh.”
Yes, I knew Tess’s father was head of the history department at Yale, which I’m assuming was the reason for Tess coming here to do her graduate work. Tess’s anxiety and desperation to make her grad years a success was an old and familiar story with a cast of characters that included over achieving siblings (neurosurgeon brother and lobbyist sister) and pushy parents. Her father, in particular, felt his youngest child was an academic disappointment. I wasn’t sure how they felt about Tess’s sexuality either as it wasn’t something Tess had brought up, and I had only met them once when she’d introduced me at the end of the previous semester.
I didn’t have gaydar never mind homophobe-voyance!
“Well, I went home this weekend and he mentioned he’s organising a conference in early December pertaining to early historians and how their methods and conclusions affected modern day research.”
“Wow, sounds interesting. I might sign up for that one. Who’s speaking?”
“It does sound interesting, doesn’t it? I told him you were working on a paper regarding the Venerable Bede and…” she left it dangling like a carrot.
Ah yes. The Venerable Bede was a monk who lived and worked in the North East of England and is known as the father of English history. I got almost as warm and fuzzy writing about him as I did about dear old St Cuthbert. “And?” I kept the excitement and hope in my voice to a dull roar.
“He’d like you to speak.”
Oh. My. God. Speak about the Venerable Bede. At Yale? I’d better check my numbers, ‘cos I might have won the lottery.
“I…” I was speechless.
“I’ve given him your email and he’ll be in touch. You’ll do it won’t you, Skye? I’ll help with research and anything else you need.” She paused, running out of steam. She twiddled with her glasses, viewing me shyly before repeating, “You will do it, won’t you?”
Tess translation: I told him you would definitely do it.
I may have been shy, introverted and a bit of a goose when it came to relationships, but when talking about early ecclesiastical history?
I was a rock god.
“Yes! Oh my god, yes of course I will!” And not solely for the kudos. Preparing to speak at Yale might even help take my mind off being separated from Natalie.
Hey a girl can hope, right?
Chapter 12
Skye
“So are you all packed,” I asked for the ninth time in six minutes. The three weeks between Nat telling me she was leaving and her actually going had seemed like a chasm at first, but it quickly narrowed until here we were, her packing and me panicking. Again.
“As I need to be.” She only had one suitcase and her kit bag because most of her clothes remained in boxes at her Mam’s house.
“And you’ll call the minute you land?”
“Of course I will. Sweetie,” she stopped checking her rucksack for passport, phone and wallet and gave me a quick kiss on the lips, “I’ll call you every day... twice, three times… every chance I get.”
“Okay. Okay.” I took a deep breath finally appeased. Not. “That’s your cab.”
She pulled on her leather jacket. “I’m going to miss you so much,” she gave me another lingering kiss.
“I’m coming with you to the airport.”
“But I thought you said it would be too hard.”
“I know what I said, Nat.” Yes it would be nigh on impossible watching her walk through the departure hall without becoming a blubbering mess, and in public no less, but I didn’t care about any of that if it meant I got to spend an extra hour with her.
“Hey just think, no more wet towels on the floor for four months,” she tried making light of it. I tried to smile, but made about as good a job of it as a condemned woman walking to the gallows.
***
A familiar buzzing and sharp beep penetrated the flat, and I answered my phone before the first ring had finished. “Hey, baby, I’ve just landed.” Natalie sounded so far away and not purely in physical miles; there was an echo of my own feeling of loss in her voice. “I’m on my way to…” she paused and I heard a crinkling of paper where she must have been studying her boarding card and (knowing her) probably for the nineteenth time. “Gate twenty-four to catch my connecting flight to Newcastle.”
“Have you eaten?” My voice reverberated down the line, like I was calling out the question to the Grand Canyon. The ever present sensation of tears prickling behind my eyelids invaded my hard fought equilibrium, but I pushed them down. Something told me Natalie needed me to be strong.
“Yeah, I got something on the plane. Brown mush with white bits. I had a couple of beers too.” It was clear she was dead on her feet and I sensed she was seeking a normality to our conversation to mask the separation anxiety we were both feeling. Even though on my end everything had been forgiven and forgotten, she was still feeling guilty about the way she’d handled things and was finding it a lot harder to forgive herself.
“You lush. What time’s your Newcastle flight?”
“I’ve got a couple of hours to kill.”
“Why don’t you read a book?” I suggested. “I downloaded a couple for you. The new Radclyffe and the history of women’s football in England.”
“I saw that.” The conversation was stilted as Nat paused once more. “What am I going to do without you to look after me, Skye?” Her voice faltered, confirmation she definitely needed me to be the strong one. This time.
“Well obviously,” I drawled the second word, “you’re going to be miserable, and when you’re not training or playing football, you’ll be sitting in your digs counting down the hours until I’m in your arms again.” Nat had taken a room in a shared house near Sunderland’s training ground with a few of the other players.
“Truer words spoken in jest,” she laughed.
“I was thinking there are things we can do to…erm… connect while you’re away, if you want?” I practically whispered the words. Even though I was alone in our flat, I still felt naughty saying it. A good naughty mind you; the kind of naughty that raised a blush from the tips of my toes to the tops of my ears.
“Really? Are we talking about the same thing here?” Hope and lust were finely balanced in her tone.
“I think so.”
“Then absolutely. Sign me up. Heck, give me a lifetime subscription. Are you in bed?”
Oh my god! Surely she didn’t want to start this very minute? Although having said that… the tingling in my core started and I closed my eyes. Nat did that to me. Merely the thought of her touching me, of her voice
whispering down the phone telling me what she’d like to do to me… “I’m getting in now. I didn’t want to risk falling asleep before you called. I love you, Natalie Jeffries.”
“I love you too, Skye Donaghie.”
Of course, when we hung up the last thing I could do was sleep. I stood and stretched, before heading to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk. I couldn’t spend another night counting sheep, because I was starting to consider a change of careers to shepherdess at this point. Natalie, bless her heart, would always add pepper to her milk. This was a secret recipe her Granny O’Shea used when she and Sara went to County Mayo to visit during the summer holidays. Personally, I reckoned if Mrs O’Shea managed to get Sara to nod off she was either a witch, or her secret ingredient was ground up Valium. I’d had thousands of sleepovers with my best friend over the years and trust me when I say sleep did not enter into the equation. Still tonight I was willing to try anything to have more than a flying visit to the land of nod.
I watched the microwave like a hawk, because as sure as the Pope is Catholic, once I took my eye off it for a millisecond, I’d have no drink and a clean up job where it had boiled over. I saw the bubbles begin to near the top of the jug and quickly opened the door. I never took much notice of how much pepper Nat added, so I turned the grinder twice before adding one more turn for good luck. I took one sip and proceeded to pour the remainder down the sink. Still gagging and rubbing my tongue, I stumbled back to bed.
I’d rather count to a million sheep and have them all look like Freddie Kruger than drink something so undeniably gross.
Chapter 13
Skye
I was grumpy.
Natalie and I were talking with silences; sometimes they were pregnant pauses filled with emotion and others were expectant pauses filled with anticipation. This afternoon, however, it had been excited pauses as she waxed lyrical about how wonderful everyone at Sunderland was, and how she’d not only played a full ninety minutes in front of the England manager, scored a goal and assisted in another, but was also awarded the player of the match. It was weird hearing, ad infinitum, how fulfilling her life was at the moment.