Is This It?

by Hannah Tovey

  ‘Terrific pronunciation,’ Mam said, as she fawned over her outfit.

  ‘Aren’t you cold?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s spring.’

  ‘It’s February.’

  ‘How’s your birthday been, Anna? Did Mark spoil you?’ Mia asked.

  ‘Well, Mark took Eleanor this morning, so I went back to bed and slept till nine, which was the dream. Then Mam arrived, and I lost the will to live.’

  ‘How’s wedding planning?’ Mam asked Mia.

  ‘I’m glad you brought it up. I’ve been thinking about my hen.’

  ‘Oh, God. What now?’ I said.

  ‘Why don’t we go to Ibiza?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Way too expensive. We’ve already decided on a budget.’

  ‘But it’s my big day. What about what I want?’

  ‘Do you want to plan your own hen do? Because you’re doing my head in.’

  ‘Ivy, darling, don’t be like that.’

  ‘Mia, it would be a privilege to plan your hen,’ Mam said.

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ I said to Mia. ‘Listen to me, I’m going to be honest with you, OK?’

  ‘Of course, transparency is the cornerstone to every good relationship.’

  ‘You’re being spoilt, demanding and ungrateful.’

  ‘I don’t see what the problem is. I just need you to re-create Glastonbury, in Ibiza, on a budget.’

  Everyone laughed as Mia stood there looking exasperated.

  I looked to Scott, who was doing his best to smile. I wonder if he felt like he had windburn, too.

  43

  We walked home from Anna’s in silence. It wasn’t until we were inside the flat that I spoke.

  ‘I can’t come to LA with you.’

  His face went grey.

  ‘I’m not prepared to lose you,’ he said.

  ‘Good, because neither am I.’

  I knew that our only option was long distance – something I told myself I’d never do. I’d tried it once with a boy at university; there was only sixty miles between us and we still couldn’t make it work. That was probably down to the fact that he spent most of his weekends with the University Viking Society, re-enacting traditional Viking games whilst clad in armour. To think he’d been one of the good ones.

  ‘If you don’t go to LA now, you will always wonder what if. And if you stay, you’ll blame me.’

  ‘I could never blame you.’

  ‘I don’t want to argue about this.’

  He looked me dead in the eye, and I knew what was coming.

  ‘I want us to try long distance,’ he said.

  I knew he believed we could make it work. I’m not sure what desire was greater – taking up a new opportunity on the West Coast of America, or being with me – but it didn’t matter. Or maybe it did, and I didn’t want to face up to it.

  ‘I can’t have you ringing me every morning drunk. We need to have proper conversations – sober.’

  ‘We will. I’m sorry I was so crap when I was out there, I was overwhelmed with the job and the new schedule and I wasn’t thinking straight. It won’t be like that this time. I’ve got flight allowance as part of the package, so I’ll come back before summer, then again once school’s finished.’

  ‘Maybe I could come out and stay with you over summer?’

  ‘I’d love that, Ivy. That would be perfect.’

  I wanted to ask what would happen after summer, but he was so excited that I kept my mouth shut. He’d been despondent for weeks, but now there was a plan, and I owed it to him to give it my all.

  *

  There were several times over the next couple of weeks where I almost called the whole thing off. I’d be sitting in the classroom, looking at Google maps on my phone, and there’d be a sharp pain in my chest. I thought Wales was far, but California is a different ballgame, and I had no idea how we were going to make it work.

  We had lunch with Anna, Mark and Eleanor; took his mum to the theatre; drank too much at Mr Reid and Mel’s gig and almost fell into the canal walking home. We took the train to Margate and ate dozens of oysters; we scored weed off an elderly Scouser in Brixton and got stoned watching Singin’ in the Rain. We walked for hours across Richmond Park; we pretended we were house-hunting in West Hampstead, stopping locals in the street and asking whether the neighbourhood was safe enough to raise a young family. We had countless arguments, followed by a lot of angry sex. It was the best fortnight of my life.

  I was woken by Scott’s alarm.

  ‘I’m not going,’ he said.

  ‘Who said anything about going? I’m going to get up, put the kettle on, and try not to think about smoking any cigarettes.’

  ‘You’ve already bought a new packet, haven’t you? You couldn’t even wait until I was on my way to the airport.’

  ‘I won’t touch them until after lunch, which I should be given credit for, given the circumstances.’

  He kissed me. Everything felt heavy.

  ‘You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Miss Edwards.’

  ‘Where did you come from?’

  ‘Same place you did.’

  Half an hour later, the taxi driver arrived.

  ‘We’ll be together again in no time,’ he said.

  ‘I know we will.’

  We kissed goodbye. I couldn’t let go of him.

  *

  The tingling sensation on my lip had morphed into the world’s largest cold sore, which had since taken over my face, and I was at breaking point. I called Dan on FaceTime for a crisis summit.

  ‘The trouble is, every time you talk, it bleeds. Can you do your interview without speaking?’

  ‘No, Daniel. Verbal communication is a key part of the process.’

  ‘That’s unfortunate.’

  I took a sip from my orange squash and winced. I had to drink through a straw because it throbbed every time the glass touched my lip.

  ‘It’s like you had a spot,’ Dan said, ‘and that spot made ten new friends, and all the friends had babies at the exact same time, and then they moved into a house together, and that house is your face.’

  ‘Fuck. Of all the fucking days. I’ve got to go, I need to do final prep for tomorrow.’

  ‘Before you go, have you given any more thought to Barcelona?’ he said. ‘We’ll take a box of wine for the trip; it’ll be just like the good old days.’

  ‘Those weren’t the good old days, and I thought you were broke?’

  ‘I’m saving money by getting the coach.’

  ‘Dan, it’s three hours to Dover, two hours on the ferry across the channel, three hours to Paris, a seven-hour stopover then fifteen hours to Barcelona. That’s not an appealing journey.’

  ‘Who’s going to come with me? I can’t take Alejandro.’

  ‘Just break up with him for good.’

  ‘I can’t. He’s four minorities rolled into one.’

  ‘Do you know what “minority” means?’

  ‘Yes, he’s Venezuelan, he’s gay, he’s got that lisp thing going on and he lives in South London.’

  ‘Can you hear yourself speak?’

  ‘Also, your new vibrator will be arriving tomorrow.’

  ‘Why did you buy me a vibrator?’

  ‘Because you’re miserable.’

  ‘I’m not miserable – I’m readjusting. It’s only been a month.’

  ‘Has he booked his flight back yet?’

  ‘He’s not sure if he can come back for Easter.’

  ‘That’s bullshit, why?’

  ‘It’s only been a month – he’s worried it’ll look bad.’

  Dan made a face.

  ‘He’s got to do what’s right for him,’ I said. ‘It’s important that he makes a good impression. He’s only been there a month.’

  ‘How many times are you going to mention the fact that it’s been a month?’

  ‘Stop it. I’m fine. I’m hopeful. I’m optimistic, I’m jazzy.’
<
br />   ‘Jazzy? You’re doing much better than last time at least, I’ll give you that. But then again that’s not anything to go by, is it?’

  ‘What are you talking about? I’ve never been in a relationship with someone who lives on another continent!’

  ‘I just meant with Jamie and the disastrous way you handled everything.’

  ‘As ever, it’s been an absolute delight talking to you.’

  ‘Hang on, I need to say something.’

  ‘Oh, God. What is it?’

  ‘You know how Mia always goes on about warrior women? Well, I think you’re a warrior. Not just a warrior, but a fucking warrior queen.’

  ‘Wow, thank you.’

  ‘I wish I could be more like you – you’re strong and gutsy and your hair’s in excellent condition these days.’

  ‘Are you high?’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘Thank you, Dan. I caved and bought that shampoo Mam was on about.’

  ‘Mags always knows best. Now go take care of that calamity on your face.’

  I put the phone down and went back to interview prep, but it only lasted a minute before I was back on my phone again, checking Scott’s Instagram.

  There was a photo of him from the night before, sitting on the edge of a rooftop pool. I’d looked at it approximately seventy times that day. Everything about the photo incensed me. Firstly, he was drinking a cocktail and he doesn’t even like cocktails, he thinks they’re too sugary. Secondly, he was wearing a baseball cap and I’ve never seen him wear a baseball cap, let alone backwards. Also, his new friend Wilder was beside him, wearing a kiwi-lime Ralph Lauren polo shirt, doing the hang loose sign. I hated Wilder and everything about his grotesque American aesthetic. I hated the view of the ocean behind them, I hated the sunset, and I hated the fact that Scott looked like he was having the time of his fucking life.

  ‘He’s practically forgotten about you,’ Dilys said.

  I turned my phone off and threw it across the room. Then I tucked into my emergency stash of cigarettes.

  44

  ‘Tell me, Ivy, what made you want to be a teacher?’

  I was sitting across from the headteacher of Clerkenwell Primary, Ms Symonds. I opened my mouth to speak, and that’s when the scab on my cold sore split open, and I felt blood trickle down my chin. I licked my lip to try to stop the bleeding, but it was so painful to touch that I shuddered.

  ‘Why don’t we pause things for a moment,’ Ms Symonds said.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said, holding my hand to my mouth.

  ‘Take all the time you need.’

  I muttered the F-word several times as I speed-walked to the bathroom.

  Ten minutes later, I was back in her office, with a small piece of tissue over the sore.

  ‘Are we OK to proceed?’ she asked.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said.

  ‘Do you mind me saying that there’s a piece of tissue on your lip?’

  ‘I’m aware, Ms Symonds, thank you.’

  ‘Righto then, let’s get started.’

  I was walking to Anna’s when Scott called.

  ‘Ivy! I’m so sorry I didn’t ring you this morning. I know it’s not an excuse, but I was up late doing a client briefing, and I lost track of time.’

  ‘You could’ve texted, Scott.’

  ‘If we’re going to go down that route, you said you’d message me before bed last night.’

  I couldn’t face another passive aggressive conversation about how crap we both were at communicating.

  ‘Shit, sorry, Ivy, the cleaner’s just come in. Can I ring you back?’

  ‘I wanted to—’

  He’d already gone.

  I went straight to his Instagram account. I don’t know why; I knew it would send me apoplectic. He’d been tagged in a photo with several co-workers. They were in their plush, pretentious office, sitting in extortionate-looking meeting chairs that were probably made from reclaimed materials found in the Amazon rainforest. The girl beside Scott was ridiculously good-looking; doe-eyed with fabulous short hair like Gwyneth Paltrow’s in Sliding Doors. Nobody can pull that haircut off. Her chair was far too close to Scott’s. They were sharing a box of sushi. I wanted to scream.

  We’d spent the first week apart in a suspended honeymoon state. We had phone sex every day, watched When Harry Met Sally together and sent each other cute videos to wake up to. I knew deep down it couldn’t last.

  I could barely function at school. All my energy was zapped from trying to work out the logistics of when Scott and I were going to speak, and on what medium and how long for.

  I was made to believe the statistics of long-distance relationships were encouraging.

  Where the fuck were those statistics now?

  The door to Anna’s was slightly ajar. I walked in to find her standing on a yoga mat, doing tree pose in her underwear, with Eleanor beside her, sitting in her nappy, playing with a toy parrot.

  ‘This is quite the tableau,’ I said.

  Anna lost her balance. ‘Ives! You’re early.’

  ‘Is that what you do all day on your own? Naked yoga?’

  I walked over to Eleanor and kissed her chubby tummy. She grabbed a chunk of my hair and put it in her mouth.

  ‘Don’t laugh but Mia was telling me about her power yoga—’

  ‘Yeah, I know – she does it naked in the garden; we’ve discussed this.’

  ‘Have you tried it? It’s so empowering, Ivy. It awakens every cell in you.’

  ‘I can’t say I had that reaction.’

  ‘You’re not as receptive as I am though, are you? You need to be open to the experience. Sometimes you can be too judgemental.’

  ‘How has this turned into a character assassination?’

  ‘Tell me about the interview!’

  ‘I smashed it.’

  Anna fist-pumped the air and ran over to hug me.

  ‘This calls for champagne,’ she said. ‘I think we have a bottle left over from my birthday.’

  I picked Eleanor up from the floor and sat down with her on the sofa. My heart was racing. I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath.

  ‘What’s your face doing?’ Anna asked. ‘What’s wrong?’

  My voice was lost in my throat.

  She came to sit down beside me.

  ‘Ivy, what is it? You can tell me anything.’

  ‘I’m not happy.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I keep reading blogs about how long distance makes your relationship better. But it’s not making my relationship better, it’s making it worse.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Every day I get up and I pretend this is what I want. But it’s bullshit. I’m lying to myself.’

  She went to get me a glass of water. ‘Drink this,’ she said.

  ‘I came out of the interview today, confident I’d get the NQT position. I should’ve been elated, but all I could think about was my dying relationship.’

  ‘But you’ve talked about the long-distance thing, right? About eventually living in the same place?’

  ‘We’ve only discussed as far as summer.’

  ‘Ah, I see. This doesn’t feel like a champagne kind of conversation now.’

  ‘But that’s what annoys me – it is a champagne kind of conversation. This time last year I hadn’t even sent off my application form yet – this is huge.’

  ‘You’re right, it is huge.’

  My phone rang, it was Scott.

  ‘I need to get this,’ I said.

  I handed Eleanor to her and went to sit in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sorry. You’ve got my full, undivided attention now, Ivy.’

  ‘The interview went well.’

  ‘I knew it would, I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Did you speak to your boss about when you might be able to come home?’

  ‘It looks like I can’t come back until half term.’

  ‘In May?’

  ‘I have to fly t
o San Diego for a meeting, so I’ll come the weekend after.’

  ‘But I’ll be back in school then, we won’t have any quality time together.’

  ‘I know, it’s shit. I don’t have a choice.’

  I heard Anna pop the champagne in the other room.

  ‘I need to go,’ I said. ‘I’m at Anna’s.’

  ‘Oh, OK. That was quick. How’s she doing? How’s Eleanor?’

  ‘They’re great. They send their love.’

  ‘I really miss you.’

  ‘I really miss you, too.’

  I walked back into the living room. I looked at Eleanor naked on the sofa, eating a Babybel, and at Anna pouring champagne in her underwear. There was no way I could ever leave them.

  ‘Tell me what to do, Anna. I love him, but we cannot do long distance. I’m walking around like a fucking zombie every day, I can’t focus, and I’m so anxious my bowels are in overdrive.’

  ‘You know what we need to do,’ she said. ‘We need to make a list. You love a pros and cons list.’

  She got a notepad and pen out from the drawer and handed it to me.

  An hour later, and a bottle of champagne down, we had a list.

  REASONS WHY THINGS ARE JOIO:

  He’s the best person I’ve ever met

  I love him

  He’s got superb hair

  REASONS WHY THIS IS ABOUT TO GO TITS UP:

  He loves LA

  I hate LA

  We’re shit at long distance

  ‘This isn’t my best work,’ I said.

  ‘Do you really hate LA?’

  ‘No, but I can’t move there.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘I’m absolutely sure of that.’

  45

  I was in the shower, trying to wash the sand off me; I’d spent the morning building an obstacle course in the sandpit with Jamar, and it felt like it was in every crevice.

  I hadn’t spoken to Scott in three days. He’d rung to tell me that a new client of his had ‘Baby I Need Your Loving’ as their ringtone. We reminisced about our first night out together in Stoke Newington, about the dated working men’s club, and the ludicrous amount of hairspray in Shelley’s hair. Afterwards, I tried to watch Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason, but the truth of the matter is that I’m not someone who can watch a Richard Curtis film unless I’m blissfully, smugly, unaware-of-everyone-around-me loved-up. And the truth is, I wasn’t.