27
Ben
I am sitting on my bed, about to FaceTime with Saskia for the final time, and I am questioning everything.
Is this really what I want? Is Jemma the love of my life?
Is Saskia? How are we ever supposed to know any of these things?
Today has been a strange day, and it all began about ten hours ago with a simple question from Jemma.
‘Do you fancy popping into London and doing some shopping?’
‘Sure, why not?’ I replied because I thought she meant ordinary, run-of-the-mill shopping, where you spend most of the time eating, drinking, browsing through a couple of clothes shops, and then you end up in the pub and before you know it, you’re ordering a meal, a pint, and that to me, is shopping. This is not what Jemma meant at all.
We got the tube from Clapham into central London and, before we started shopping, we popped into Gail’s in Soho for a coffee and an almond croissant.
‘This is the plan,’ said Jemma, who looked gorgeous in her thick, grey winter coat, a soft blue scarf knotted loosely around her neck.
I was thinking what a lucky man I was, how beautiful Jemma looked and what Will had said about me punching above my weight.
I should be thankful I had a girlfriend like Jemma, when it wasn’t that long ago, I was desperately going on blind dates in the vague hope that they might be something special.
When someone as wonderful as Jemma would have been a real coup.
As I sipped my coffee, I thought to myself that I needed to embrace that feeling.
‘You need a plan for shopping?’ I asked curiously, wondering what she was talking about.
‘Well, yes, Benji. I have to buy Christmas presents for seventeen people.’
I almost spat my coffee out.
‘We’re Christmas shopping?’
‘Yes. For seventeen people.’
‘But I didn’t realise, I just thought—’
‘There’s Mum, Dad, my brother, his wife, their two children, granny Shelby, grandad Morris, cousin Mollie, Cambridge Claire, Gary, Simon, uncle Pete from Peterborough, Sue, not second-cousin Sue because she’s off the list this year because of what happened in Mykonos, but Sue from work Sue, auntie Sharon, auntie Karen and Paul the baker Paul. ’
‘You’re buying them all a present today?’
‘That’s the plan. What about you, Benji? How many presents do you need to get?’
‘Umm,’ I said because clearly our versions of Christmas were vastly different. I was suddenly thrust into the role of Ebenezer Scrooge. ‘Actually, none.’
‘What do you mean? Sorry, you mean just today or, wait, are you one of those ‘buy everything online’ people?’ said Jemma, taking a sip of her latte. ‘Or one of the ‘dash around Oxford Street on Christmas Eve’ people?’
‘I’m neither, Jem.’
‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’
‘I don’t really buy Christmas presents,’ I said, and she looked utterly stunned.
‘What? You don’t buy presents for anybody?’
‘Not really.’
‘But what about your parents? Poppy? Simon?’
‘No,’ I said, taking a bite of my almond croissant, and some of the white powdery sugar got stuck to my nose, so I looked like a drug addict. Gail’s finest Columbian marching powder.
‘Oh, right,’ said Jemma, a despondency in her voice, and then it came to me.
The Christmas I spent with her family, when her gran kept calling me Ian, I remember there were a lot of presents, but I was young, it was our first Christmas together, and I didn’t think anything of it.
I recall being impressed at the number of things under the tree compared to my family, but it didn’t click.
I was just interested in getting under the new pyjamas Jemma got as a gift from her parents, not why they had bought her and indeed the whole family matching pyjamas.
It all made sense now. Jemma’s family bought things for each other.
It was their love language. They were givers.
They probably all bought seventeen presents for Christmas.
Then it hit me firmly around the head in the middle of Gail’s in Soho, Jemma was going to expect this from me.
For the rest of my life, I would have to buy her presents, her family presents and then our children and grandchildren.
To put that into some sort of perspective, the last time I bought a Christmas present for any of my family was in 2018, when I bought Dad a pair of novelty socks that looked like animal hooves.
He wore them all of Boxing Day, we took photos and had a laugh about it. I am not a gift giver.
‘So, your family doesn’t buy each other presents?’ said Jemma, as though I had just told her we spend all of Christmas Day playing naked Twister.
‘Not really. My parents might get me a little something. Poppy and I usually get our parents something on their birthdays, or rather Poppy will and I’ll pay half and put my name to it. I might get a gift card for my birthday, but usually we just go out for a meal or something.’
‘Okay, well, I suppose different horses for different courses,’ said Jemma with a smile, playing it off like it was ‘just one of those things’ but we both knew this was a big deal.
We knew that this was one of those little idiosyncrasies that might potentially be a grenade later in our relationship.
We both acknowledged it, buried it deep beneath the surface, but at some point in the next few years, we knew someone was going to step on it and it was going to go off.
This brings me up to now, sitting on my bed and about to FaceTime Saskia for the final time.
Jemma and I spent six hours shopping in central London.
Six hours! And it was cold. We marched the full length of Oxford Street, stopping for lunch at Franco Manca , a sourdough pizza each, and I got another coffee to keep me going while Jemma worked through her Christmas shopping list. In the end, she only got presents for nine of the seventeen, but I think that was mainly because of me.
After six hours of shopping, of pondering whether to get uncle Pete from Peterborough the smart stripe socks or the socks with the dogs on because Uncle Pete ‘loves his hounds’, Jemma needed to head back to her flat, and I had to come back to mine.
Today has thrown a spanner in the works.
Do I want to dedicate myself to a woman who will insist I buy presents for the remainder of my life?
Is it a deal-breaker or am I being utterly ridiculous?
‘G’day Beno!’ says Saskia, suddenly appearing on my screen.
‘Happy birthday! The big three-O. You know you’re now officially older than me?’
‘Thanks, and by only a few months, Beno.’
‘But still,’ I say with a smile. ‘How are you? I feel like we haven’t spoken in forever.’
‘I know, right? I’m good. Nervous about tonight.’
‘Oh yes, the Fudge Cake gig. I listened to them on Spotify. They’re really good.’
‘The next big thing in Australian music!’
‘And you could be touring with them!’
‘I know, it’s insane,’ says Saskia, and she looks so happy, so beautiful, and I don’t want to break her heart and end our ‘whatever this is’ relationship on her birthday. It feels cruel, but what choice do I have?
‘I have to ask you a really important question, Sas, and I need you to be honest.’
‘A little intense for eight o’clock in the morning. I’ve not even had my coffee yet.’
‘Where do you stand on buying presents? For Christmas, birthdays, etcetera.’
‘What do you mean? Like, do I do it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Honestly, no, not really. Jess and I occasionally buy each other something, but it’s usually something I’ll see when I’m out shopping that I think she’ll love.
But Chrissy, a load of nonsense, eh,’ says Saskia, and I think I love her.
I want to reach across the internet divide and hug her.
She’s just like me. ‘Why did you ask me that?’
‘Because I spent the day with Jemma, shopping for seventeen Christmas presents. I realised how much I hate buying presents, and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just me.’
‘And what? You thought, I bet Saskia will hate buying presents too?’
‘I hoped.’
‘Well, you hoped right. I’m just as grumpy as you,’ says Saskia, laughing, and I don’t know if I can do this, but if I want to keep dating Jemma, then I have no choice.
It’s the trade-off I have to make, a non-negotiable if I want my relationship with Jemma to succeed, and I do.
I hate that I am doing this on her birthday, but is there ever a good time to break up with someone?
I look at her and I love seeing her face, so vibrant, easy-going and fun.
It feels crazy we’ve only known each other a few months because I feel like I’ve known her for years.
She has become part of the fabric of my life, and I can’t imagine a world where she isn’t.
‘So, Sas—’
‘Yes, Beno?’
‘There’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Is this the FaceTime when you finally tell me your secret? The real reason you sent me that email?’
‘Which is?’
‘That you’re actually an undercover spy, working as a double-agent, and you were sent to infiltrate my cell, get access to me and everything I know. You’re here to bring me to justice!’
‘You got me,’ I say, and we both laugh. ‘Actually, I wish it were that.’
‘You can’t talk to me anymore, can you?’ says Saskia suddenly.
Obviously, she saw the look of sadness on my face, heard the trepidation in my voice and put two and two together.
‘I’m sorry, it’s Jemma. I told her about you. She thinks the whole thing is weird, and she’s worried something might happen between us.’
I look at my screen, and I can see how much pain this is causing Saskia. For a moment I think she is going to cry, but she quickly adjusts herself and smiles at me.
‘Did you explain that I live in Sydney, and nothing can happen with us?’
‘Yes.’
‘And she still doesn’t want us FaceTiming?’
‘She thinks I’m emotionally involved with you.’
‘Are you?’ says Saskia, and I don’t know what to say. Actually, I do, but I don’t know if it’s the right thing to say. Eventually, I just say it because this is it. The end. We might as well lay all our cards on the table.
‘Probably, yes.’
‘Then she’s right. We need to end this.’
‘What about you, Sas? Are you emotionally involved with me?’
She looks at me, ten thousand miles away, and she smiles as a tear finally leaks out, and I watch it fall slowly down her face before she wipes it away.
‘You know I am, Beno.’
We sit in silence and just look at each other, in our bedrooms across the world.
I feel so close to her. Closer than I have felt with anyone, perhaps in my entire life.
At this moment, just sitting and looking at each other, I feel a powerful urge to tell her that I love her, but I know I can’t.
It’s impossible. I also know that Jemma is right, and I have to end this thing with Saskia, or any hopes of us being happy will be ruined.
Eventually, when the silence becomes too much to bear, I speak.
‘Break a leg tonight, Sas.’
‘Thanks. I’ll think of you when I go on stage.’
‘I’ll be thinking of you, too. I hope everything works out for you.’
‘Yeah, for you and Jemma too. She’s a lucky girl.’
‘Ditto, Bondi Brad.’
Awkward long pause.
‘I should probably go,’ she says eventually.
‘Right, yes. Get ready for the big gig. Have a great birthday. Oh, has Brian made you a weird birthday cake or something?’
‘Last night. A Colombian coconut pudding cake. It was surprisingly good.’
Another beat.
‘I’ll miss you, Sas.’
‘You too, Beno. I can’t believe this is it.’
‘Me either. It feels surreal.’
‘It does. Are you sure this is it?’
‘I think it has to be or my relationship with Jemma is over.’
‘I guess this is goodbye then.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay.’
‘Goodbye, Saskia Conway.’
‘Goodbye, Ben Armstrong. It’s been bonzer, mate.’
‘You’re such a dag,’ I say in my best Australian accent, and she laughs.
‘Bye,’ she says, barely keeping herself together.
‘Bye.’
Then she is gone, and I want to cry. This is horrible, and as soon as she is gone, I feel an awful pain in my chest, a deep gnawing ache in my heart that for a moment consumes my entire body.
It feels like a death in the family. I think back to that moment in Gail’s earlier, when I thought how lucky I was that Jemma was my girlfriend.
I have to cling to this thought with everything I have because she is my future, and I have to stop making the same mistakes of the past. I am lucky.
Jemma is perfect for me. However, even as I think this, there is a small voice somewhere at the back of my mind that is saying: But what about Saskia?