8
The following week, I attempt to avoid Alex like the plague, but the universe thinks otherwise. I see Alex everywhere I turn; it’s relentless. I see him rounding the bend when I’m leaving my classroom. I back into the learning mentor office before he spots me only to find out that he was heading to that exact office. I bump into him in the staffroom reheating soup. We exchange a few painfully awkward words before I make a hasty retreat. By Thursday, my nerves are so frayed I decide to hole up in my classroom during lunches because there’s no respite from Alex. It seems like cosmic coincidence is trying to catch up on all those years of long time no see.
It doesn’t help that Alex is a Duracell Bunny with endless reserves of energy and rarely takes a break. He’s monitoring the corridors, covering break duties and supervising the lunch hall. By Friday, I’m jumping out of my skin at the mere sight of a grey suit. There’s no surprise that when the first week is over, I’m ready to meet Vicky, get a few cocktails in me and unburden myself.
When I arrive at the agreed bar, Loungers has Vicky written all over. It’s not exactly disappointing but very par for the course. The walls are lined with exposed copper piping that gives the spacious place a deep bronze hue, and the air smells of craft beer and perfume. The barmen’s lips are adorned with a range of flashy moustaches and impressive beards, and they’re all clad in variations of lumberjack shirts, leather belts and boots that are probably vegan. The clientele is somewhere between twenty-five and thirty with a mixture of trendy trainers, silk dresses and tucked-in shirts. All of the above makes me feel totally out of place. I’ve always been more of a vintage tearoom, country pub or nostalgia bar kind of person. Small places with old, quirky details.
I don’t spot Vicky immediately because she’s a chameleon, able to assimilate to all environments like the Royal Marines. I’ve always thought she’s wasted in hospitality. She was the same at school. She went out with the right crowd and was always a bit too loud and self-assured, but being with Vicky felt empowering, especially for an introverted person like myself. It still feels good. In return, Vicky revels in the retellings of my misadventures. It’s a symbiosis of sorts; I’m the clownfish to her sea anemone.
Finally, I spot her sitting by the bar on one of the repurposed cracked-leather bar stools that I know will be painfully uncomfortable. She’s chatting up one of the strawberry blond specimens of the bar workforce, probably the bar manager himself. Enviously, I notice that her slinky black dress makes her into a sexy business associate. Like the fashionista she is, she’s paired it with funky red-and-blue Nike shoes. Her silver blonde hair is shaped in loose waves, and her flawless make-up looks so natural she appears she’s not wearing any. God, one has to love and hate Vicky in equal measure. Despite the conflicting emotions, a spike of excitement warms my insides at seeing her.
For the shortest of moments, I’m transported to sixth form, but I shake my head before any uncomfortable memories resurface and sour my mood. I force a pleasant expression onto my face, I’ve always been good at those. I try to push away the guilt that has budded in my stomach at feeling resentful when Vicky has been nothing but a good friend to me.
When she swivels on her stool towards me, her face splits into a wide grin, looking all dazzling like a falling star. I return a slightly damper smile, inconspicuously checking the high-waisted black skirt and white blouse with mother-of-pearl buttons I put on for the occasion. I realise too late that my outfit is screaming librarian . I almost touch the purple lipstick I dabbed onto my lips last minute before leaving to check it’s still there, but no matter what, I feel inadequate.
‘How is my favourite primary teacher?’ she starts, and all the bad thoughts evaporate. I almost simper despite being twenty-seven.
‘Not bad.’ I downplay it as always. I mumble a hello to the broad-shouldered barman who winks at me with his grey eyes framed by expressive coppery eyebrows and leaves us to our conversation. I try to ignore the fact that he’s totally my type. Then, I push the memory of another ginger man in my life deep into the recesses of my brain.
She immediately reads my expression. ‘You’re such a liar, Holly. But never mind, if you don’t want to share your drama, I’ll share mine. I’ve got tonnes to tell you because so much has happened since the last time I saw you.’
Before I even have a chance to order myself a drink, she launches into an elaborate retelling of the last three months of her life like it’s an episode of Dynasty . Her story is full of glamorous places and even more glamorous people. My life seems a little lacklustre next to hers. The truth is, I used to love my contained life because I was never one to enjoy being in the spotlight anyway. I always used to love listening to Vicky and her wild stories.
The hot bar manager, whose name is Dave, treats us to two cosmopolitans and occasionally joins us for a minute or two to chat while very conspicuously ogling my limited cleavage. I’m starting to think that I’m a magnet for idiots.
The stool’s back support digs into my lower back, but I don’t say anything because Vicky is in her element by the bar where she can freely flirt with whichever barman serves us the next drink. Their reactions are fairly predictable, flirting back, frequently ogling our way and some even offering us more free drinks which she doesn’t refuse. They’ll be disappointed to find out at the end of the evening that she has zero intention of furthering their acquaintance. It’s sort of fascinating to watch. Vicky’s world has always been a great window into the unimaginable. She talks about her job as a quality assurance manager for Mercury Hotels, and the places she’s been, but eventually our conversation comes to a natural pause.
She sips her fourth cosmopolitan while I’m on my second. The alcohol creeps into my head, opening doors that should stay closed. My belly is warm and tingly.
‘I’ve blathered on for ages. It’s your turn. What’s happening in the world of Holly?’ She’s clever because her stories and booze have softened me up.
‘I went to see Aaron.’ I’m very succinct with my recount compared to her flamboyant descriptions. Reluctantly, I tell her about his further treachery at which she swears like an old sailor and shows more anger than I have since I’ve learnt the truth. I find it somehow soothing.
I shrug when she calls him a spineless slug of the human variety for the third time. I don’t tell her that using the word spineless is a little obsolete as slugs are shell-less terrestrial gastropod molluscs and don’t have spines because she’s gotten right into it and there’s no slowing her down.
‘In a sense, he did me a favour.’ I force the words through my tight lips. Deep down, I know it’s true because it’s obvious from his actions he’s never really understood me or cared for me enough to have the decency to split up with me before he started sleeping with another woman.
‘How’s your mother taking it now her favourite golden boy turned into a nasty douchebag?’ I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. ‘You still haven’t told her, have you?’ Her voice drips with disbelief.
I shrug dismissively. ‘You know how she gets, Vick. She doesn’t know the meaning of the word private . It would be passed on at her weekly book club meetings, pottery classes and no doubt Friday dinners at Bentley’s like it was some meaningless anecdote.’
Vicky’s mother, Jane, and mine are practically inseparable. When I don’t get updates on Vicky’s life from Vicky herself, I get them from my mother.
‘True. Sometimes, it’s better to avoid poking the bear,’ she agrees.
‘The only problem is she’s now reverted to the pre-Aaron matchmaking phase.’ I show her Nick’s number on my phone. I don’t know why I saved it. Instead of looking exasperated to match how I’m feeling, she cracks up.
‘She did not,’ she bursts out, gulping her cosmopolitan.
‘I guess next time she should check whether the person she’s setting me up with is interested in women and single.’ Vicky splutters her drink all over the bar. ‘I did, however, get an invitation to dinner with Nick and his boyfriend,’ I say as a punchline and can’t stop the cackle that comes out of my mouth. I’m reminded of the other set of news that I need to share, and my face pulls into a serious expression. I brace myself. There’s no time like now.
‘It gets worse,’ I say in between two sips.
She abandons her drink on the side when she senses the sudden change of atmosphere.
‘Guess who’s my mentor at the new school?’ Her eyes get that faraway look of somebody who’s thinking of the most unthinkable options, sifting through them and trying to decide which one is the most unlikely. With a nod, I silently encourage her to dig deeper, but she comes up blank and shakes her head in defeat.
‘Alex Bennet.’ My words are a rasp, and the sharp sting of pain in my chest that follows takes me by surprise. She necks the rest of her drink.
‘Fuck me. What’s he like?’
‘A total penis,’ I respond. I startle at how much I sound like Lydia at that moment.
‘That guy never deserved you.’ She echoes her words of years back. She was never keen on Alex when I was going out with him. My mind returns to a memory of ten years ago.
*
The party at Aiden’s house is in full swing when Alex and I arrive. A few people greet Alex as soon as he walks through the door, but he sticks to me like glue, and I’m grateful for it because parties have always made me uncomfortable.
Barely visible through the crowds of people I only vaguely remember from school, Vicky is dancing on the makeshift dancefloor in the lounge. She’s wearing one of her short sequined dresses, and it’s tight as a snakeskin on her, exposing her tanned legs strapped into high-heeled sandals. She’s glamorous, and involuntarily I scan my Audrey Hepburn-esque green dress, unable to suppress disappointment.
Alex looks in her direction and his face turns unreadable. It’s been only two weeks since France where we hung out every day of the trip, ate a lot of croissants together, drank litres of black coffee and even exchanged a few chaste kisses, but when he’s like this, I find him difficult to understand. Is he embarrassed by me? Has he changed his mind?
As soon as Vicky spots us, she waves exaggeratedly and makes her way towards us.
‘I’ll get us some lemonade and lime,’ Alex mumbles into my ear and disappears before Vicky gets to us. I’m a little pleased that he remembers my favourite drink but feel mixed emotions at his vanishing act. He’s been doing that a lot whenever Vicky’s around, probably sensing Vicky doesn’t exactly approve of him.
‘Do my eyes deceive me or have you arrived with the one and only Alex Bennet?’ I can smell booze wafting off her. I shrug dumbly, nervous all of a sudden. ‘What’s up?’ She senses my mood.
When I don’t say anything, she tugs me to follow her down to the toilet and locks the door behind us before I can protest.
‘Spill it.’
The confined space and Vicky’s insistence have me pouring out all my insecurities, ending with how he hasn’t kissed me since Paris. When I finish, she laughs. Vicky’s never been the emotional type so I didn’t expect her to be passing me tissues to cry into, but her blatant dismissal stings.
‘That’s weird.’ She gets a little distracted halfway through with her reflection in the mirror and starts smoothing her hair with her hand. ‘All the guys our age want to do is snog and you know.’ Giggling, she meaningfully raises her eyebrows.
Noticing my reaction, she shifts her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I’m sorry, Holly. Maybe he’s not that into you. Don’t waste your time with somebody who isn’t a hundred per cent in it. You could do so much better than him.’ At her words, I want to laugh. Alex is it. I know it. I’ve never felt like that about anyone, and if he doesn’t want me the way I want him, it will crush me.
‘Any advice?’ I feel faint, but I wait patiently for her guidance.
‘Play difficult to get so he tastes his own medicine. Guys like that. If he doesn’t take the bait, sod him.’
I don’t argue with her logic, but I’ve never been up for playing games.
After that, Vicky carries on partying, and I get a little lost in the crowd. Twenty minutes later, I’m ready to leave because Alex has disappeared to god-knows-where. I feel utterly stupid and pathetic. I’m ready to call Catherine and pour my heart out. She’d let me cry on the phone and listen to all my worries without a complaint.
Unshed tears brimming in my eyes, I head for the door only to be stopped by a dishevelled-looking Alex. His golden hair is mussed like he’s run his hand through it numerous times in frustration or like somebody’s hand combed through it in passion. I wince at the thought. His expression stops me in my tracks; he looks almost worried.
‘There you are. I’ve been trying to find you.’ His words come out gruff.
I think of Vicky’s words, but if Alex doesn’t like me, I’d rather know now.
‘It’s OK if you want to just…’ I vaguely gesture towards the crowd, encouraging him to do whatever he’s been doing the last twenty minutes.
‘What?’ His expression is startled. ‘I came with you because I want to be with you. I don’t really care for parties, to be honest. I just thought you wanted to go.’ He’s playing with the button on his shirt, and Catherine’s words resurface in my head. Maybe he’s shy. People don’t ever think that guys can be shy.
My heart pounds as I grab hold of his sleeve, drag us to the utility room and close the door safely behind us. The music immediately seems miles away. Because there’s nobody around us, I feel almost brave. ‘Why haven’t you kissed me since France?’ It comes out a bit breathless because his face is only a few inches away from mine. We’re the same height, and I like him like that. It’s like we fit, like we’re made for each other.
Instead of answering, he grabs me by the waist and presses his lips to mine with unexpected eagerness. It’s not the gentle exploring of each other’s lips like the last time; this kiss sends heat pooling to the pit of my stomach. My lips part and soon our tongues are touching and it’s beyond description. I can’t help exploring his body through the thin fabric of his T-shirt, my fingers tracing his back, his sides and his long arms.
He leans into me, and I can feel every part of his body against mine. Where he is lean and solid, I am soft. It’s perfect. He lets his hands travel down my waist to my bum, squeezing and pushing me against him. A strange breathy moan comes out of my mouth that I’m vaguely embarrassed by. At the sound of that noise, Alex growls. I think he likes that.
Eventually, we slow down, and when we pull apart, I feel bereft. His eyes are anything but unreadable, and what I see in them makes my cheeks flush.
‘Should we get out of here?’ His voice comes out hoarse.
Later when we sit in a small square nearby, sharing fish and chips, Alex is looking contemplative and torn.
‘I feel I should get some things straight.’ He rubs his hands against his jeans.
I stop eating, my knee starts bouncing nervously.
‘All I have thought about in the last year is you. I have dreamed of kissing you every day since the trip and even before that if I’m being honest.’ He rubs his face like he’s mortified. ‘I just thought…’ He trails off.
‘Thought what?’ I hang onto his every word.
‘That you weren’t that interested in me.’ He looks sheepish. ‘You looked so uncaring when I found you at the party. Then I got a phone call from my mum. She was drunk on the phone asking me whether I knew where her car keys were, and I got worried because why would you want to hang out with somebody like me.’ He pauses for a breath. I’ve never seen this vulnerable side of Alex, and I think I’m in love with him. He carries on, ‘You haven’t been very easy to read.’ At that, I laugh. Hurt crosses his features.
I nudge my knee against his. ‘I feel the same way about you. I can’t think of anything but you. You’re impossible to read. And I wasn’t uncaring, I was upset. Over you.’ A crease of confusion forms between his eyebrows. ‘I get really nervous and tongue-tied around you and you’ve seemed very cold since France.’
‘I was convinced you got bored of me after the trip. How should I have known you were nervous? You weren’t in the coach,’ he says, and I can hear the doubts in his voice.
‘I took like six motion-sickness tablets on an empty stomach. I was out of it. I was surprised I strung two sentences together.’
He laughs at that.
‘So, to make it clear,’ he starts as he grabs my hand resting between us. I squeeze it. He tilts his head and looks at me through the strands of golden hair. ‘You like me? Because I like you. Like a lot.’
‘I went to a party because of you, and I hate parties. Doesn’t that say it all?’
He leans forward, almost closing the distance between us. ‘Say it,’ he dares me.
‘I like you. Like a lot.’ I echo his words and warmth spreads through my belly.
*
Vicky eyes me sorrowfully. ‘He has always been a dick, but you just didn’t know that until the very end.’ She grabs my hand resting on the bar, only releasing me when I nod. ‘Don’t waste your time on him. Don’t talk to him. Just do your bit.’
I know she’s right but for the first time in years, I feel I need closure. Whatever that means.
‘Look, Holly,’ she starts again, ‘I know you have this guilt over what happened ten years ago, but you shouldn’t. He’s the one to be blamed.’ She dredges up feelings that have been buried for the last ten years. I’d rather they stayed that way, but of course, they can’t.
‘I did some things that I’m not proud of.’ I shift uncomfortably in my seat.
‘Yes, but only because he made you do them,’ she speaks louder this time.
I nod again because there’s nothing she could say that would make me feel better about my part in what happened ten years ago. Shame is a messy and complicated thing; it doesn’t take excuses or justifications. Unable to fight it, I chase it away with my drink, tipping it in like it’s water.