by Hannah Tovey
By midday, I’d read over my latest essay, and reorganised the crockery cabinet in the kitchen. I made so much noise I was certain he was going to wake. But he didn’t, so I put some highlighter on my cheeks, made another pot of coffee and went into the bedroom to wake him up.
I opened the curtains and sat down on the bed beside him. He opened his eyes and smiled right at me.
‘I’m sorry to wake you, but I’m starving.’
He yawned and stretched his delectable arms above his head.
‘I made coffee.’
‘Thank you, Miss Edwards.’
He put his hand to my cheek.
‘How come you look so bright this morning?’
I shrugged my shoulders and made a mental note to thank Mam for the new highlighter.
‘I don’t feel all that great,’ I said. ‘How about you?’
‘I feel fantastic. Never better.’
‘But we had so much to drink last night.’
He leant in to kiss me.
‘The thing is, Ivy … ’
‘Yes?’
‘You make my hangovers go away.’
I was eager to show Scott that I was a go-getter, someone who liked to get up early and do things on the weekend. Normally, I’d be so tired from the week at school that I’d happily lay in bed all day, surrounded by textbooks, instant coffee and crusts of toast. But after kissing him for a solid hour, I asked him if he wanted to go and get some brunch.
He hesitated, and I was worried that, despite him acting like he fancied the pants off me, he was going to tell me that this was all a scam; he didn’t like me at all, he was just some sicko with a pregnant wife at home who was a translator at the UN and much prettier than me.
‘I don’t want you to judge me on this,’ he said, ‘but I don’t do brunch.’
‘What sort of person doesn’t do brunch?’
‘Me. Out of principle.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’ve been brought up to believe that we are built to live on three meals a day.’
He sat himself up so that he was leaning against the headrest. His face took on a new, serious expression.
‘I’m a regular person who likes breakfast, lunch and dinner. Why should I be forced to skip a meal?’
‘Nobody’s forcing you—’
‘Plus, it’s one o’clock. If this were midweek, I’d be allowed to have lunch. But somehow because it’s the weekend, it becomes brunch. Why?’
‘I don’t know … ’
‘This is exactly what’s wrong with the capital.’
‘The capital of London?’
‘Yes!’
‘What else don’t you like?’
‘Quizzes.’
‘Quizzes?’
‘They bring out the very worst in people. People cheat, they lie, they lose all sense of manners.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No. It’s just brunch and quizzes, oh, and the Foo Fighters and people who don’t wear socks with shoes. I can assure you I’m into everything else. Well, most things.’
Lying in bed that day, I asked Scott about his previous relationship. He said they were still friends, which he was grateful for, because they’d started as friends in the first place. I’ve never understood how people can be friends with their exes. How are you able to renegotiate a friendship after seeing that person naked? I’m not mature enough to look a person in the eye, someone who’s stood naked in front of me, and not think about their exposed genitals. Who are those people?
‘What about you?’ he asked.
‘We don’t speak, which is for the best. I often wish I hadn’t been engaged.’
‘Why does it matter?’
‘I think there’s a stigma attached. It’s quite the failure, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t agree. People change, they fall out of love. I admire you being brave enough to get through it.’
I wasn’t ready to tell Scott the whole truth about Jamie, because if I did, it would become blatantly obvious that I was still reeling from it, and I wanted him to think I was the sort of person who moved on from heartache. But I hadn’t; I’d simply developed an effective way of hiding it. Isn’t that true for most of us?
‘Can I ask you something?’ Scott asked.
‘Of course.’
‘Are you seeing anyone? Aside from me, I mean?’
‘No, I don’t know where I’d find the time and—’
‘I’m not seeing anyone else, either. I wasn’t before, and I’m definitely not now.’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
I wanted to play it cool, but I couldn’t. I blamed it on his hair.
‘Sorry, I’m being way too keen,’ I said. ‘We’ve been on two dates—’
‘I’ve deleted all the apps.’
‘Really?’
‘The thing is, Ivy … I’ve been swiping left trying to find you ever since I started online dating.’
I was unable to find the right words to tell him how I felt. So I kissed him, and got lost in his embrace.
‘I want to go down on you, then have sex with you again,’ he said.
I had to stop myself from thinking about how he would propose to me.
By the time we left the house, I had four missed calls from Mia and three from Mam. It felt like they were competing, because when I got back home that night, there were a further nine from Mia, and six from Mam. Anna had also messaged.
‘You’re probably having sex, which is fine, although my vagina hasn’t seen the light of day since June 2008. But please ring Mam. She is stalking me. Eleanor is being a right brat today and I can’t cope with two children.’
I messaged Anna and said that I’d ring Mam asap. She replied with a voice note. I couldn’t hear anything, so I called her.
‘Did you mean to send me that?’ I asked.
‘Yes! It’s Eleanor. She smiled! Couldn’t you hear?’
‘No. Can you send me a proper video of her, please?’
‘I can’t get her to do it on demand.’
I wanted to tell her all about Scott, but, before I could, she’d put the phone down.
As I was getting ready for bed, Mia called.
‘Where have you been? I’ve rung you twenty times today.’
‘Thirteen, it seems.’
‘Where were you?’
‘Scott stayed over. We went out for a walk this afternoon.’
‘Oh my God! You had sex, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘How many times?’
‘Four.’
‘FOUR! Ivy, that’s marvellous.’
‘I’m trying not to get too excited. But yes, it’s fucking marvellous.’
‘Did you use protection?’
‘Of course, I always do.’
‘Because you know what they say, “the bigger the dick, the closer to the egg”.’
‘I don’t think they do say that, Mia.’
‘I want to hug you. I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. I can’t keep up.’
‘You’re doing much better than you think.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Are you going to tell the sexy teacher about Scott?’
‘Mr Reid? No, he’s his uncle. Did I tell you he was sexy? You can’t tell anyone I said that.’
‘I’m glad you’re alive and all shagged out.’
‘I am. Thanks for checking up on me.’
‘We’re doing brunch next Sunday, aren’t we?’
I laughed.
‘Why are you laughing?’
‘Scott doesn’t do brunch. It’s cute, isn’t it?’
‘Cute? God, it’s started already. You’re going to be unbearable.’
24
Mr Reid knew that I was seeing Scott, but we never discussed it. Even though I thought about Scott almost every minute of the day, I wanted to show Mr Reid that I was one hundred per cent focused on my job, and nothing was going to get in the way of
that.
We were expected to spend every evening planning, reflecting and preparing. But expectations versus reality are always different, and instead of doing all those things, I was thinking about Scott, or seeing Scott, or worrying about whether I was good enough for Scott. Had I got away with wearing my period pants for another date? Had he spotted the mounting pile of dirty clothes in the corner of my room, or the reams of paperwork I’d stuffed under the bed? Did he notice that sometimes when we were out, I went to the bathroom for a five-minute power nap?
We found out more about each other in those first few weeks than I’d got from a year of dating Jamie. He admitted that he disliked ice cream (too cold) just as much as brunch and quizzes. He also felt passionately about watermelon (too watery to be classified as a food) and apples (‘Why does the crunch have to be so loud?’). He took an obscene amount of time to shower – his preferred place to ‘brainstorm’, apparently. At first, I thought this was a euphemism for wanking, but then I heard him talking to himself, and saw that he’d put his iPhone in a waterproof jacket beside the shower so that he could record all his ideas. He ironed everything. His flat was like a showroom – everything was stark and white and looked like it had never been touched. The first time I went around I opened the fridge to find a single bottle of Peroni alongside a tub of margarine – that was it. I worried for a day or so that he might be like Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, and I was going to end up in some real-life horror film, but I found myself warming to his OCD tendencies when I woke up to find him cleaning my oven. He had no idea how to turn on an oven, but he knew all too well how to deep-clean it, which worked out well for me.
He told me a date and a time, and I turned up. We kissed in the National Portrait Gallery, several cinemas, a cemetery, multiple restaurants and countless bars. We nearly had sex in the Zara off Tottenham Court Road, but just as I was unzipping Scott’s trousers in the changing room, the security guard came in and chucked us out.
I showed him some of the drawings I used to do for Gramps, drawings I have only ever kept for myself. When I told him that one of my problems last year was that I wasn’t feeding my soul with anything creative, he said, ‘What are you doing to me?’, and then went down on me. I’d never had so many orgasms in such a short space of time – my vagina couldn’t believe the turn of events.
I saw Scott the night before I went home to Wales for half term. We’d been to the cinema, one of those plush ones with deep, comfortable sofas to cwtch up on. I’d fallen asleep halfway through the film, but he hadn’t seemed to notice, which I was pleased about – I was worried he might think I was narcoleptic. We’d come back to mine and he asked me to play a game.
‘You’ve got to say the first word that comes to your mind,’ he said.
This disappointed me; I thought it was going to be a sexy game. But then he had just noticed that his shoulder was wet from my dribble, so he probably wasn’t feeling all that erotic.
‘I’ll start with an easy one,’ he said. ‘Cheese.’
‘Wine.’
‘Classic Ivy Edwards. Animal.’
‘Blankets.’
‘What?’ he said.
‘As in pigs in blankets. You said to say the first thing that came into my head!’
‘Happiness.’
‘The sea.’
‘Bed.’
‘Sex.’
He smiled.
‘And the City,’ I continued.
‘I will try not to judge you for that,’ he said. ‘Home.’
‘Wales.’
‘Wales? Not London?’
‘It’s not the same. I love London but … Wales calls to me.’
‘It calls to you?’
‘Yes, when I step off the train or we pass over the Severn Bridge, I can hear the cry of the seagulls and the Welsh lilt, and I know I’m home.’
‘I’d best get myself to Wales then, see what all the fuss is about.’
I kissed him. ‘I’d love that.’
‘I think of Mum’s in Crouch End as more of a home than my flat in Pimlico,’ he said.
‘That’s because it’s not lived in, and your housemate is travelling the world as a secret agent.’
‘Foreign diplomat.’
‘Have you ever thought about living anywhere else?’ I asked.
‘I love the States. I used to be obsessed with American culture, mainly Elvis. I’d try for hours to perfect his quiff.’
‘I can imagine that would suit you.’
‘It didn’t, trust me. There’s something so nostalgic about America, though – fifties rock ’n’ roll music, African-American blues. Don’t you think?’
‘Honestly? No.’
He laughed.
‘I love New York. I visited Mia a couple of times when she was out there on Broadway. We always said we’d go to LA together, too.’
‘I spent a summer touring California, with my dad. Just me, him and a classic Chevy convertible. I toyed with the idea of moving there, but … ’ he tailed off.
‘What stopped you?’
‘Life gets in the way, doesn’t it? Parents become people. Dads leave.’
His facial expression changed, and he looked a bit lost. He didn’t speak for some time. I kissed him on the lips and told him I wanted to eat him up. I should have said something more reassuring, but I had food on the brain as I’d spent my lunchbreak comforting Primrose after Mabel told her that Spotty the Horse from Mr Tumble wasn’t a real horse, and I hadn’t had time to eat.
‘Where would you go?’ he asked. ‘If you could live outside of London?’
‘I don’t mind, as long as it’s by the sea. I wanted to go travelling before my teacher training, I had this vision of me idling my time away on a beach.’
‘You could always go away once you’re qualified?’
‘I wouldn’t have the money. And even if I did, I don’t think I’d want to. It’s taken me so long to realise what I want to do with my life; now that I’m here, I just want to get on with it.’
‘OK, so somewhere by the sea, and – anything else?’ he asked.
‘Somewhere to run, a decent pub, a Turkish corner shop—’
‘Why does it have to be Turkish?’
‘Because Selim in my local corner shop is Turkish, and it’s the best corner shop ever.’
‘That seems fair.’
‘And it’s got to be within a three-hour train, bus or car ride to my family.’
‘Speaking of family … when can I meet your sister?’
‘Soon.’
‘I’ll be well behaved.’
‘It’s not you I’m worried about. Anna’s so on edge these days, I don’t know how to be with her.’
‘Have you talked to her about it?’
‘No. I don’t want to cause her more stress.’
‘Why don’t you take her to a neutral place when you’re back in Wales, get it all out? You’ll feel much better for it.’
‘Maybe. Anyway, what about you – where would you live?’
‘I don’t have much criteria.’
‘What about your mum? You want to be close to her, right?’
‘And you. Close to Mum, and you. That’s it.’
I smiled.
‘Don’t take it too seriously,’ he said. ‘I’m only trying to get into your pants again.’
I got under the covers, whipped my knickers off and held them up to show him.
‘Pants are off!’ I cried.
He hurled my knickers across the room and we both dove under the covers.
25
‘Ivy? Hello?’ Anna said.
We were outside Anna and Mark’s, piling our bags into the car, ready for the trip back home to Wales.
‘What?’
‘My jeans … ’
I stared at her. ‘I don’t get it?’
‘Ivy! For Christ’s sake. These are my size-twelve jeans. Size twelve, Ivy! It’s been months since these bad boys have been out on the town.’
‘I
’m very happy for you, you look great.’
Mark gave me a sympathetic look and rushed into the driver’s seat. I went to check that Eleanor’s car seat was in the correct position. The night before I’d dreamt that I hadn’t strapped her in properly; we crashed on the motorway and she was thrown out the window onto the hard shoulder at lightning speed. Some might say I was stressed about a six-hour car journey with my sister. They’d be right.
‘You know how many Green & Black’s I had to refuse to get into these?’ Anna said.
‘I thought it was prawn and mayonnaise sandwiches?’
There it was again, the vein.
‘We seem to be taking a whole lot of stuff back home with us,’ I said.
‘There’s about a hundred bottles in there.’
‘Why?’
‘I thought I told you? Eleanor started taking the bottle.’
‘That’s amazing. Well done, Eleanor.’
‘Now Mark can do some feeds, which he’s thrilled about.’
‘You don’t need to be sarcastic, Anna,’ Mark said.
‘I’m not being sarcastic. It will be nice to get some help. You know, like when you took two days off work and instead of taking Eleanor out so that I could nap, you decided to fix the car radio.’
‘I did not spend two days fixing the car radio. You’re the one who asked me to fix it before we drove to Wales. I did as I was told. Like I always do.’
I got into the back seat with Eleanor. Anna got in the passenger seat in front of me and slammed the door. I kissed Eleanor and whispered into her ear that I loved her. We’d not been driving for ten minutes before she fell fast asleep, her precious little hand gripping my finger. I followed her lead and closed my eyes, too.
I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard Mark and Anna whispering.
‘I know Mags can be difficult, but can you please try to not let her bother you this week?’
‘You have no idea, Mark.’
‘Either you have a proper conversation with her about how much she’s upsetting you, or you learn to let it go.’
‘Whatever.’
‘You’re always teetering on the edge of full-blown rage.’
‘I am not.’
‘You’re doing it now! Breathe, Anna. Remember what they told us in hypnobirthing.’
‘I’m using the same tools to manage my mother as I did to manage childbirth. Fancy that.’