‘Does that mean you’ll sleep with women who aren’t whores?’ I was so angry. Irrational, I know, but I was past the point of no return.
‘Of course not.’ His smile disappeared; he looked hurt.
‘Joe, we were going to dinner on Saturday.’
‘I’m sorry, I forgot. But Tony is only getting married once.’
‘You hope.’
‘Holly, don’t be like this. Look, you can go for dinner with one of your friends.’
‘I could, Joe, yes, but I wanted to go with you.’ My voice was ice-cold. A total overreaction.
‘Holly I’m sorry, if it means that much to you then I’ll cancel.’
‘Good.’
‘You mean you really want me to let down an old friend who’s getting married?’ He looked incredulous.
‘Yes.’
‘Well I won’t.’
‘Why did you say you would then?’
‘I didn’t think you’d be so unreasonable.’
‘Well, now you know, don’t you. I’m going home and if you follow me I’ll scream.’
I walked off without looking back. Then I went home and cried.
A while later, when the anger had subsided, I felt blanketed by warmth. Here I was trying to be mad at him, but instead I couldn’t help but smile. My feelings had been there from the beginning, but in true twenty-first-century form they were buried beneath the rubble of ‘dating’.
Dating is a game. It’s a battle of wills: who calls who, who chases who, who concedes defeat. You’re so busy sitting by a phone that has taken a vow of silence that you forget the reason you’re sitting there. That was what it was like in the early days of the Holly and Joe saga. We played games, we cancelled dates, and we kept our cool. Not any more.
If it hadn’t been for the convention demanded by modern relationships, I would have known I was in love with him from the word go. I would have let my emotions flow through me enjoying the sensuality of every single drop. But instead I hid behind the dating game.
I understand why we behave this way. Because although I felt elated, I also felt naked. I stood there without my skin, my defence. I was stripped bare and every single emotion I possessed was on show in my personal exhibition. Love is incredibly welcome, but it is also unwelcome, because it brings with it vulnerability. Happiness and vulnerability go hand in hand in love.
I had sorted out my feelings for Joe, I could only hope that he hadn’t decided that I was a mad banshee, and that he felt the same way I did. After all, my reaction had been out of character. But I couldn’t find out, because it was too late, and I didn’t have the words. Instead, I wrapped myself in my duvet, and smiled myself to sleep.
Chapter Three
Early the following day I took my smile with me to the office. The first thing I did was to send Joe an e-mail. I told him that I was sorry. I asked him to forgive me and call. How could he resist?
E-mail might be thoroughly modern but it’s just as annoying as every other method of communication. I still had to wait for his response, which hadn’t arrived by lunchtime. I was terrified in case I’d blown it.
‘Holly, Zoom are on the line.’ I looked at Dixie and my smile became a grimace. I picked up the phone to Phil Can, my biggest client, and managed to behave professionally through the conversation. As soon as I put down the phone I told Dixie I was going out and left the office.
My office is near Leicester Square, so I walked around, clutching my mobile phone and willing him to ring. He didn’t. I didn’t feel like eating so I just walked. I debated giving him a call but couldn’t. I’d held out my olive branch, it was up to him to take it. Bastard. Lovely, sexy, delicious bastard.
Reluctantly I returned to the office. I turned to my computer screen to check my e-mails. There was nothing from Joe, but there was a message which almost managed to distract me.
It was an e-mail from George. George, my best friend, whom I hadn’t seen for five years. The only contact we’d had in those five years were Christmas cards, where we’d swopped work details, but not personal ones. That was how he’d had my e-mail address but he had never used it. Until now. I could barely believe my eyes. As I read it, I began to feel better. George was coming home that weekend and he wanted to see me.
My mood of depression evaporated. George was coming home! So the love of my life was ignoring me, but at least my best friend was coming to see me. I knew that everything would be all right. George was an omen. You see, I had realised I was in love with Joe; my oldest, best friend, was coming home; and I was wrapping up my twenty-ninth year. Everything was falling neatly into place.
I didn’t have an abundance of friends. I was the type of person who put all her eggs in one basket. I always thought that as long as I had one best friend, I wouldn’t need any more. I could be aloof with people who aren’t that important to me. When George left me, he left me a bit short on the friends front, but I barely replenished my supplies. I had Lisa and her boyfriend Max; Freddie, and even my boss Francesca, but that was about it. As for acquaintances, they can’t always be avoided, but they aren’t the same. As far as friends went, no one was the same as George.
*
When we had first met, George was my arch enemy. The reason for his status was that at the age of eleven he was going out with my best friend Samantha. Of course going out was probably the wrong way to describe it because they didn’t really go anywhere. They walked to school together (they lived in the same street), they held hands at lunchtime and they walked home together. It was a typical eleven-year-old’s relationship, and I was the typical jealous best friend. I would look at them covetously as they held hands, standing in the playground. I would trail behind them, scuffing my sensible school shoes, much to my mother’s annoyance. My relationship with George was one of mutual scowl throwing, and not much else. My friendship with Samantha changed beyond all recognition. I was no longer the most important person in her life; I had to share that honour, and in reality, I knew I’d been usurped.
They lasted for a year, until Samantha informed me tearfully that her family were moving to Australia. I was distraught, George was distraught, Samantha was distraught. I believed that my life was over, I wouldn’t have the requisite best friend any more. George was heartbroken, he declared undying love and even asked his parents if Samantha could live with him. I asked my parents the same. But off she went to the other side of the world leaving two very upset twelve-year-olds who both believed that their lives were over.
Before she left she had a farewell party. It was a disco in the village hall and nearly everyone from school was invited. Halfway through, I went outside to weep dramatically and found that George had already beaten me to it. Instead of scowling I sort of smiled at him, and through his tears he sort of smiled at me.
That was it really. When Samantha left we united in our grief and became friends. We were inseparable. At first we talked about how much we missed Samantha, but after a while our conversation diverged a little, then a bit more, until Samantha was no longer the main focus. Our friendship flourished, and it lasted long after our contact with Samantha had tapered off. George became my new best friend and he also became the most important person in my life.
We lasted in our roles of best friends until we were both twenty-four. It was an incredible friendship.
The only disappointment was that we didn’t fall in love. Everyone expected it; people would have put money on it. They guessed that at some point after our hormones kicked in we would end up together. But we never so much as shared a kiss. I never wanted to kiss him and he never wanted to kiss me. In fact nothing could have been further from our minds.
When we finished our A levels, we both decided to travel. We worked to make some money then we went away together for seven months. Even today I remember that time as one of the best of my life; it was magical. I was sharing the most wonderful experiences with the most wonderful person. One day, when we were in a Thai market, I remember looking at him. He was tr
ying to barter for a fake Rolex, and he was so bad at bartering. The price was going up instead of down and I was trying not to laugh at him. I remember looking at him and thinking that this sensible boy, the serious boy that I had known for what felt like all my life was truly the best friend anyone could ask for. I couldn’t imagine life without him; I didn’t expect I’d have to. And I certainly had no inkling at that time that he would ever, ever hurt me.
We returned from travelling and George got ready to start his law degree in London, while I looked for a job. I soon found one as a lowly office junior in a respectable PR firm. I had chosen PR as my career path at the same time George chose law.
‘Why public relations?’ he asked.
‘Because I think it’ll be quite glamorous.’ I had read about all sorts of media careers, and thought that PR sounded the most exciting. I had done my homework, and decided that I would rather work than study. I wasn’t sure why I shunned university, despite my parents and George’s views, but I wanted to start making a career for myself. I was too ambitious for education, or at least too impatient. I had never been in love with school and therefore I knew I didn’t want to go to university. Despite the efforts of everyone around me, I stood my ground.
So as George moved into student halls, I moved in with Lisa, bought my first suit, started work and got on with my life. I saw George about once a week. It was an enduring, special friendship.
I felt as if no one would ever understand me as he did. I knew no one would care for him the way I did. The only thing missing in our platonic love affair was physical attraction. It’s hard for me to understand this. George was nice looking even when he and Samantha were together. He was tall, had very blond hair, he wore glasses which made him look cute rather than geeky. At twelve, he was considered a good catch. As we grew up, he improved. He got taller, broader, he changed his glasses so he always looked trendy and he didn’t suffer from spots. He grew into his face which was quite a serious one, but also warm. All the girls liked him, but I didn’t, couldn’t fancy him, although I used to wish I could. I believed that falling in love with my best friend would be the most sensible thing I could do. However, I have never been particularly sensible and neither of us showed the remotest signs of doing that.
Post-Harry I spent a lot of time with George, crying and lamenting. Uncannily he had just split up with his first university girlfriend, so we were a mutual depression zone. It was around that time that we made our marriage pact.
‘No one will ever love me,’ I cried with a lip that could win the world record for trembling.
‘No one will love me either,’ he replied, although he didn’t cry.
‘I love you,’ I said, shakily.
‘I love you too, but I don’t want to shag you.’ Never one to mince his words was our George. So, we decided, after drinking in the student bar, that we would design a contingency plan for ourselves. If our twenty-year-old prediction came true and no one would ever love us, then we would love each other and despite the fact that we didn’t want to have sex, we would get married. We both found the idea hysterically funny, and like any discussion you have when under the influence, we thought we were geniuses. It didn’t matter if no one wanted to marry me because George would. Even though I didn’t want to marry him.
In a drunken state we found our way back to George’s room, where he typed out our arrangement on his computer and printed a copy. At this stage I would like to add an additional marriage-pact proviso: don’t ever make one with a law student.
I remember the look on the man’s face when we rushed into the off-licence to buy six cans of Stella and ask him if he would witness our marriage-pact agreement. Although stunned, he agreed and signed it, probably because we were buying some-thing and, after all, the customer is always right. Even when they are clearly bonkers.
In our drunken state, we found our way to the photocopier at the all-night library and made a copy for each of us. We were so drunk that I was sure that the wording made no sense, although George thought the word ‘decree’ was appropriate and I had no idea what it meant. It read:
I, Holly Miller, hereby decree that if I am unmarried by the time I reach my thirtieth birthday I will marry George David Conway.
Signed: Holly MillerDate: 23 October 1993
I, George David Conway, hereby decree that if I am unmarried by the time I reach my thirtieth year and if Holly Miller is also unmarried, (her reaching thirty six months after me), then I will marry Holly Miller.
Signed: George Conway Date: 23 October 1993
Witness: Michael Harris Date: 23 October 1993
The following day we woke up with monster hangovers and didn’t mention the pact we’d made. When I went home, emptied my bag and found it, I put it in my special shoebox with my other keepsakes. We never mentioned it again.
*
George graduated with top honours, and got a job with a leading law firm. We were twenty-two with our best years ahead. He was spending the summer away, and it was the longest time we’d been apart from each other since we’d first met. I missed him, but knew it wasn’t for ever. I spent time at home, hung out with Lisa, who was very good at showing me how to have a good time, at this point I was with Marcus.
Our flat had become a party zone. People filled the place every night, mostly models. It was a good job that my main focus in life was no longer looks because otherwise I’d have fallen in love every day. I divided my time between my flat, and Marcus’s. I didn’t want Marcus in my flat, because it was full of beautiful women. His was only full of us.
When George started working, he stayed at our flat. It wasn’t ideal because he was camped in my room, he had to work every day, and the party atmosphere almost threatened to destroy his career before it started. Lisa understood when George and I decided that it would be a good time for us to find a place to share. We moved into a two-bedroomed flat in Victoria, and we became flatmates as well as soulmates.
I don’t remember much about the events preceding George’s big announcement. My career was going well, as was his. Our flat was a hive of social activity; we often had visitors. We had established a life in London, which we both enjoyed.
Then he dropped his bombshell. He was so excited, I remember that. It was the greatest honour bestowed on a young lawyer. He lost his usual cool when he told me, his words cascading from his mouth. I giggled as I told him to calm down and tell me again. On the third attempt I finally understood what he was saying. A major American law firm that had connections with his company had chosen George to go and work in the New York office where he would be on the fast track to lawyer greatness.
He had bought a bottle of champagne and excitedly poured the drinks hugging me again and again. I had never seen George so enthusiastic. Eventually he calmed down enough to phone his family and tell them. Then he called some friends from univer-sity. He wanted to tell the whole world. And while he was on the phone, I put my glass of champagne down on the coffee table, and went to the bathroom where finally I let the tears fall.
I was happy for him, of course I was. I loved George and love is all about wanting happiness for that person. If George had what he wanted, then I had what I wanted. But there is always a selfish side to love, and although I was determined to quash it, it still needed an outlet. Of course I was happy for him, but I was sad for me, because I was losing my best friend.
We were twenty-four when he left. I knew our friendship was effectively over. It was the second time I had lost a best friend to another country and although I was older when George left, I didn’t believe our friendship would endure any more than mine and Samantha’s had. It’s hard to explain, but I knew.
Although the world these days is a global village, a move to New York need not precipitate the end of friendship, but it did. There were cheap flights every day, but for some reason I never got on a plane and he never asked me to. Our physical proximity had kept us together—but space between us became space in our friendship.
; He visited his parents at Christmas for the first two years, and I saw him. But something had changed. Our childhood friendship had endured the rocky road of puberty onwards, because we saw each other all the time. When either of us changed, our friendship was able to adapt but when he left and I couldn’t see him, he changed without me and I changed without him. Our friendship couldn’t keep up.
We became Christmas-card friends and eventually I forgot to miss him.
Then the e-mail arrived and George was back. We arranged to meet on Saturday night, the Saturday night that had become Joe-free since my abandonment. At the thought of seeing George, I felt my old feelings return. He might not have been in my life, but he was still in my heart.
Chapter Four
I didn’t give my outfit too much thought when I was getting ready to meet George. Even though I hadn’t seen him for ages and I wanted to look my best, I still couldn’t bring myself to fret about clothes. In total contrast, every date I’ve had with Joe, my wardrobe has been ransacked, in order for me to try on every outfit I possess more than once. It was natural for me to want to look sexy for Joe; for George, I didn’t care about that. I chose an outfit which was warm (it was the beginning of December), but smart because we were meeting at his swanky hotel. I looked nice, but not sexy. It was difficult because I was naturally sexy, but not overtly so.
As I left, I thought of Joe. My emotions were a little bit jumpy. They danced across my mind, then went to wait in the wings before returning to the stage. I was upset about the non-communication. Did Joe love me or was he just playing with me? I had just decided how I felt about him, but I was so confused. Why hadn’t he contacted me? After the row I apologised but he had ignored me. Had I blown it? I was terrified that I might have ruined everything. But as I couldn’t get hold of him, I had no way of knowing.
Although I couldn’t wait to see George, I was worried about Joe. What if he was so angry with me, he ended our relationship? Just as I had admitted to myself that I loved him.
Deranged Marriage Page 3