1973 – aged 17 #3
He lifted his hand in a wave, and she blinked, taking another picture with her mind’s lens, capturing his casual stance as he leaned on the doorframe, dark hair about his shoulders, glorious thighs inside his jeans.
She couldn’t wait for tomorrow, bewitched as she was by this old, old man.
‘Hel-lo!’ she called out as she let herself into the flat at Waide House, still, after all these years, half expecting her mum to call out her reply of ‘Yoo-hoo!’ like she used to.
The sound of her dad practising in the window filled her ears, the beautiful light legato style of an accomplished violinist. It never failed to impress her.
And in the emotion of his music, she felt the swell of guilt and the taste of deceit on her tongue, lying to the man she loved the most, and who had lost his great love, something that she, in the throes of this new and glorious affair, felt even more keenly.
‘In the lounge!’ was her dad’s hearty response as he stopped playing.
‘Hi!’ She popped her head through the door, keen to have a bath and change, to check her appearance and relive the night just spent in her mind before she chewed the fat with her dad.
‘How is Glenda’s mother doing? You are a good friend, going to sit with her while her mum’s poorly.
’ He lifted his cigarette that sat smouldering in the ashtray, and she felt the flush of discomfort over her skin.
It didn’t come easy to her, lying to her wonderful, trusting dad, but it had felt entirely necessary to secure a night with Wilkie.
‘On the mend.’ She nodded.
‘Well, that’s good news. Kettle’s just boiled if you fancy a cuppa?’
‘Just going to jump in the bath, Dad, then I’ll make us both a fresh one.’
‘Smashing.’ He winked and resettled his violin beneath his chin, eyes closed, bow drawn.
She wanted desperately to share with him the words Wilkie had said, how she was impossible not to love! Wanted to share it with the world, but knew now was not the moment, that he wouldn’t understand, not at all. What was it Wilkie had said?
All in good time . . .
‘Well, this is a lovely surprise!’ Bertie clapped his hands as she walked through the door of the gallery.
It was his greatest gift, the way he made people – all people – feel as if he’d been waiting for them and that their presence was the most wonderful thing imaginable.
No arrival was ever an inconvenience; he always made time.
She watched the eyes of those he greeted light up at his warm welcome, and was not immune to it herself, for the simple fact that it was not a performance but was due to his gorgeous, genuine, kind nature.
‘I thought I’d pop in on my way home.’
‘How was college?’ He was, as ever, interested in her and her life. The very best compliment.
‘Yeah, fine. My head’s not really in it today.’ She smiled at him.
‘Hmmm, would that be because your head is full of a certain maths teacher from Yorkshire?’ He pulled a face.
‘He’s from Basingstoke, actually, but teaches in York.’
‘Well, pardon me! Either way, whether he’s from Basingstoke or Timbuktu, I can see you’ve got it bad.’
It was lovely to be able to talk about Wilkie openly, a relief.
‘I have got it bad. I think I love him, Bertie.’ She kept her voice small.
‘Love! Love? Oh, well now we’re in trouble. And I thought I was a fast worker!’ He sat behind the small desk and put his elbows on the table, hands under his chin. ‘And he feels the same?’
‘Kind of.’ She kicked at the wooden floor with her clog.
‘What do you mean, kind of? There is no kind of when it comes to love and devotion. You’re either in or you’re out!’ He raised his voice.
‘Maybe it’s not that straightforward.’ She felt the need to defend Wilkie’s corner, regretting being so open with her boss, friend and mentor.
‘No! Uh-uh! No! No! No!’ He waggled his finger.
‘There are always complications, timing clashes, geographical challenges, whatever!’ He flung his arms in the air.
‘But when it comes to love there is no kind of, no maybe, no possibly, no let me see . . . there is only a big fat resounding yes, as in Yes, yes, I love you! I love you madly! I love you deeply! I love you with every fibre of my being and every breath in my body and every thought in my head, I love you!’ he shouted.
‘Do you love Beautiful Jack?’
‘Yes.’ He held her eyeline, unflinching.
‘I do love Beautiful Jack. And he loves me, there’s no doubt.
But it’s complicated, we’re not exclusive, but love him?
Yes, I do. When I finally plucked up the courage to say the three fateful words, he cried and held me close and told me he felt the same, and it was like .
. . like a weight was lifted, a prize received!
The loveliest thing in the world is to love and be loved, to know that my search was over, his too. We’d found our people!’ he gushed.
‘So you know what it feels like.’ She rubbed her hand over the base of her throat, where excitement and confusion liked to gather.
‘I do, Bob, but I also know that it’s often a gradual thing; it certainly was for us. I mean, the lust was instant, but that’s a different thing entirely. You’ve only known Basingstoke boy for five minutes! And you’re a mere baby!’
‘I’m eighteen next month, and besides, you said you liked him!’ She reminded him of his words, spoken with enthusiasm after the gallery opening.
‘I do like him, what I’ve seen, I like him very much, but I’m also a little wary, a little more worldly wise.’
‘Oh, don’t you start with that! Wilkie was saying the same thing, about how I’m only seventeen and have a whole lot of life left to live and stuff to figure out . . .’ She rolled her eyes and let this trail.
‘Well, now I like him even more, as he’s echoing my thoughts. I just don’t want you to get hurt, Bob. I don’t want you to leap and find that the safety net you were banking on isn’t in place.’
‘Why can’t everyone just be happy and excited and think the best of it! I’ve never felt like this before. It’s the most intense, unshakeable, joyous way to be! And I want it to last for ever.’
‘Oh, sweet one.’ Bertie stood from behind the desk and wrapped her in his arms. As ever, he smelled divine, doused heavily as he was in Paco Rabanne Pour Homme. ‘If that’s your wish, then I wish it too, but he’s right: you do have a lot of life to live and a lot of stuff to figure out.’