and then get ignored like I didn’t even fucking exist.”
I’m torn. Part of me wants to cross the divide between us and wrap Liam in my arms and take away the hurt. The other part wants to ask if they argued, if he did anything to warrant Charlotte ending the relationship in such a brutal way. I decide to do neither. He looks close to tears, and I don’t want to upset him more than I already have. Not if I want him to talk to me again. I stand up and pull on Milly’s lead so she rises too.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” I say. “I had no idea about any of that. Charlotte didn’t breathe a word.”
He sighs heavily, then crosses his arms and looks away. Conversation over.
***
It’s only when I’m halfway home that I realize I didn’t bring up the one subject I’d traipsed all the way over to White Street to discuss. Sex. There’s no way I can turn back and knock on the door again, not with Liam the way he was when I left. I don’t know what drove Charlotte to do what she did, but I can’t help but feel that it was cruel, even for a teenager. But maybe Liam had done something to deserve it? Sometimes you have to escape from a relationship as stealthily and quietly as you can.
“Here we are, Milly,” I say as I fit the key in the lock, turn it, and twist the handle of the porch door. “Home again. Home ag—”
My voice catches in my throat. There’s a postcard, picture side up, on the mat. I start to shake as I reach down to pick it up.
“Stop it, Sue,” I tell myself. “Stop overreacting. It’s just a postcard.” But as I turn it over in my hands and read what’s written on the other side, my ears start to ring. My vision clouds and I grab the doorframe, blinking hard to try and dispel the white spots that have appeared before my eyes, but I know it’s too late. I’m going to faint.
Friday, October 12, 1990
Nearly two weeks since James told me he loved me, and I still haven’t been to his place. All I know is that he lives in a three-bedroom terrace house near Wood Green. Hels is worried. According to her, you don’t date a man for six weeks without seeing his place unless he’s got something to hide. I told her that I wasn’t bothered—that going to hotels was exciting and staying at my place was convenient, but she knew I was bullshitting. You can’t be friends with someone since you were ten and lie to their face and get away with it.
“Has it occurred to you that he might be married?” she asked me over lunch the other day.
I told her it had, but there was no mark on the third finger of James’s left hand and he hadn’t slipped, not even once, and mentioned a wife or children. He hadn’t even mentioned an ex-girlfriend. I’d told him all about Nathan. I’d even told him about Rupert and the fact we’d had a drunken shag at university, long before I introduced him to Hels and they got it together, but he’d never so much as mentioned another woman’s name. Helen thought that was odd—that his silence meant he was obviously hiding something. I argued that some people are private and prefer to keep the past buried.
“What then?” she said. “Ex-con? Prisoner on the run?” We both laughed. “Maybe he still lives with his mum and dad?”
I stopped laughing. That wasn’t such a ridiculous suggestion. James did keep running off from my place at the most bizarre hours, claiming he had “things to do” and “stuff to sort,” and no matter how much I interrogated him, he refused to expand, saying instead that what he had to do was “dull” and I “really wouldn’t be interested.”
“Definitely married,” Hels said when I told her that. “Why else would he suddenly rush off and not tell you where he’s going?”
Before she went back to work, she made me swear that I’d stop “fannying around” and demand that James take me to his place or I’d end the relationship. I wasn’t sure about throwing ultimatums around, but I promised her I’d bring up the subject
I’m torn. Part of me wants to cross the divide between us and wrap Liam in my arms and take away the hurt. The other part wants to ask if they argued, if he did anything to warrant Charlotte ending the relationship in such a brutal way. I decide to do neither. He looks close to tears, and I don’t want to upset him more than I already have. Not if I want him to talk to me again. I stand up and pull on Milly’s lead so she rises too.
“I’m sorry, Liam,” I say. “I had no idea about any of that. Charlotte didn’t breathe a word.”
He sighs heavily, then crosses his arms and looks away. Conversation over.
***
It’s only when I’m halfway home that I realize I didn’t bring up the one subject I’d traipsed all the way over to White Street to discuss. Sex. There’s no way I can turn back and knock on the door again, not with Liam the way he was when I left. I don’t know what drove Charlotte to do what she did, but I can’t help but feel that it was cruel, even for a teenager. But maybe Liam had done something to deserve it? Sometimes you have to escape from a relationship as stealthily and quietly as you can.
“Here we are, Milly,” I say as I fit the key in the lock, turn it, and twist the handle of the porch door. “Home again. Home ag—”
My voice catches in my throat. There’s a postcard, picture side up, on the mat. I start to shake as I reach down to pick it up.
“Stop it, Sue,” I tell myself. “Stop overreacting. It’s just a postcard.” But as I turn it over in my hands and read what’s written on the other side, my ears start to ring. My vision clouds and I grab the doorframe, blinking hard to try and dispel the white spots that have appeared before my eyes, but I know it’s too late. I’m going to faint.
Friday, October 12, 1990
Nearly two weeks since James told me he loved me, and I still haven’t been to his place. All I know is that he lives in a three-bedroom terrace house near Wood Green. Hels is worried. According to her, you don’t date a man for six weeks without seeing his place unless he’s got something to hide. I told her that I wasn’t bothered—that going to hotels was exciting and staying at my place was convenient, but she knew I was bullshitting. You can’t be friends with someone since you were ten and lie to their face and get away with it.
“Has it occurred to you that he might be married?” she asked me over lunch the other day.
I told her it had, but there was no mark on the third finger of James’s left hand and he hadn’t slipped, not even once, and mentioned a wife or children. He hadn’t even mentioned an ex-girlfriend. I’d told him all about Nathan. I’d even told him about Rupert and the fact we’d had a drunken shag at university, long before I introduced him to Hels and they got it together, but he’d never so much as mentioned another woman’s name. Helen thought that was odd—that his silence meant he was obviously hiding something. I argued that some people are private and prefer to keep the past buried.
“What then?” she said. “Ex-con? Prisoner on the run?” We both laughed. “Maybe he still lives with his mum and dad?”
I stopped laughing. That wasn’t such a ridiculous suggestion. James did keep running off from my place at the most bizarre hours, claiming he had “things to do” and “stuff to sort,” and no matter how much I interrogated him, he refused to expand, saying instead that what he had to do was “dull” and I “really wouldn’t be interested.”
“Definitely married,” Hels said when I told her that. “Why else would he suddenly rush off and not tell you where he’s going?”
Before she went back to work, she made me swear that I’d stop “fannying around” and demand that James take me to his place or I’d end the relationship. I wasn’t sure about throwing ultimatums around, but I promised her I’d bring up the subject
Similar Books
