Boyfriend in a Dress (28 page)

I believe everybody has a formula for their own happiness. Constituent parts, important to the individual, or maybe the group, that equal the sum of a happy life, both physically and emotionally. I’ve worked out mine, the letters as symbols that when put together make what would work for me. I don’t think it’s a meaningless exercise. I think it helps, if only to enable me to see where the formula is breaking down, the bits that are lacking in my life, and are defying me in my search for relaxation, and the need not to constantly apologize for myself, or strive for something better.

I need my health, that’s a constant. We pretty much all do. To be healthy or at least be coping physically with whatever condition Fate has thrown at us. And I need to be secure financially, not destitute. I have lived with debt; it seriously affects my state of mind, and is one of the greatest causes of depression. The other big thing that I can admit that I need is love. I need to feel loved, it defines my self-worth. I need the love of my family, and my friends, but increasingly I have inwardly admitted that I need the unconditional love of somebody who just doesn’t have to love me, but does. I need somebody that puts me first, without question, without
thinking. This kind of love only comes from your partner. And I need that, I’ll admit it. Once you have felt it, and lost it, it feels like your oxygen has been cut off, and that somehow all of a sudden you are just not as important in this big old scheme of things as once you were. As much as love, I need trust. I need to know that the rug is not going to be whipped out from beneath me at any given moment, and that person whose body I am hanging my life on is not going to shrug me off like an old T-shirt tomorrow.

And I need to feel good about the future, positive about what’s in store for me and mine. Finally, FINALLY, I need to lose the guilt. I need to shake off the bad stuff, and not be preoccupied, controlled even, by the past, and things I can’t change, things that I know in my heart of hearts are not hurting anybody any more but me.

So that’s my formula, or in short:

Security + Optimism (Health + Love / Trust) – Guilt = Happiness. I have tried to minus cigarettes from the health section, because they really do make me happy, but then I just feel guilty, and that outweighs the nicotine, so the cigarettes lose out. I don’t think my formula is particularly unique; I think a lot of people, a lot of women perhaps, could take ‘Formula Nix 1’ as it shall now be called, or a version of it, substituting Security for Excitement or whatever. But that’s what I need.

What you can see from my formula, however, is that I can’t just rely on me to be happy. I need somebody else in there, playing their part, for me to be in a place where I can finally put my emotional feet up. And maybe Charlie could have been it. Early on, in America, we had the makings. But it went wrong and by the time he flipped out, the only thing Charlie knew to do with a woman was fuck her. And it is just too soon to know if he has changed, and reasonably, and not living in a fucking romance novel, I can’t take that chance.

What I need to know, in my heart, is that Charlie’s winning formula is similar to mine, and I can’t leap back into anything when deep down I feel it could still be so different. More along the lines of,

Beer (Curry + Football / X-box) + Sex = Happiness.

Ring any bells?

I can’t bet my life on that.

I get up at eight and survey the remnants of my tan, and finally admit to myself that it is long gone. All that remains is fake, straight from a bottle, but an expensive bottle, professionally applied, and it looks good so I am fine with it. I do the maths in my head, and calculate that I have in fact been home for three months. Soon my friends are going to realize that it doesn’t matter how long I was abroad, you don’t stay golden for this long without a little help from some chemical concoction and a Costa Rican woman in the gym by Piccadilly who doesn’t even know what a streak is.

I hang over my balcony and suck on a plastic tube that is supposed to trick my mind into thinking I am smoking. It doesn’t work, it hasn’t yet, and I pad into the bathroom, apply my morning patch, and take my coffee out onto the balcony with me. If I can’t have nicotine, caffeine is the next best thing. It is hot already, and I kind of know the déjà vu is coming before it even hits. When it does, I laugh. I have been here before, but my world was different then. I look up at the sky and wonder how thin the ozone layer must actually have got over London now, what with the sun making regular spring appearances. But I smile, good things should happen
on sunny days, and toast the air, to Jake and Sarah, the bride and groom, on their big day.

I flip the radio on in the living room, and dance over the papers lying all over the floor, my homework from last week. I have my first exams a week on Monday, and I am actually looking forward to them. I want to prove to myself that I am as good as I think I am. I am pretty happy.

An hour and a half later I jump in the car with a jacket and an overnight bag, and a present that I bought Jake in Havana – twenty Monte Cristoes, especially for the groom. Jules has the proper present, and I am picking her up on the way.

I flip the radio on in the car, and beep the horn outside Jules’s place twenty minutes later. Deciding that I could do with another mirror check, I run to the door just as Jules pulls it open with wet hair and an apologetic grin.

‘How long are you going to be?’ I ask.

‘Ten minutes,’ she pleads, and I carefully place myself at her kitchen table, and open the post that came just as I was leaving. There is a letter from an elderly couple I met in Brazil, who actually live in Yorkshire, and who like to keep in touch. A credit card bill that I peek at gingerly and try and forget the amount I owe as soon as I see it. That was my running away money, my sorting myself out money, I don’t feel bad that I spent it, I just don’t actually need to see it written down. The final envelope looks like a card, and as I pull it open an electronic shriek leaps from the inside.

‘Jesus,’ I say as I yank out the invitation, and Jules comes running out in a short skirt and bra.

‘What was that?’ she asks, surprised.

‘It’s an invite, to the premiere of that film I worked on before I quit,
Evil Ghost 2
, it’s being held tonight. I think maybe they are trying to fill some seats.’

‘Well, you can’t go, we’re at the wedding.’ Jules looks at
me with concern, as if there is actually a decision to be made here.

‘I know that, Jules,’ and then, ‘Is that what you’re wearing?’

Jules looks down, and then runs back towards her bedroom, shouting,

‘Part of it!’ over her shoulder. At least her hair looks dry now.

Looking at the invite again, I realize the old lady we found on the bus is on the front, looking over-made-up and petrified herself – I hope they paid her more than extra’s money, although I doubt she got any actual lines. It’s her moment of fame though, even if it has come a little late in life. Staring at her picture, I imagine the office briefly and sigh mercifully that I have left it all behind. Phil’s face darts into my mind before I can stop it, and I smile again, a different smile, fondly, only a little sad. There’s cricket on today, England versus Australia. He wouldn’t have gone to his own wedding if it meant missing a Test. I went around to his granddad’s a couple of weeks after I came back, and we sat and had a coffee, as I sucked on my plastic cigarette. I didn’t stay for long, I just wanted to say hello. I had a bit of trouble with the photos that still stood on his fireplace, of Phil and his brother smiling out from a football pitch. I left so soon after he died, I had almost convinced myself he’d be around when the travelling bug finally worked its way out of my system, and I felt the need to see my parents, my sisters, my nephew, my friends again. As I said goodbye to Phil’s granddad at the door, I promised to go and watch the cricket with him over the summer, and it occurs to me that we are going in a couple of weeks. It’s in my diary, I won’t forget.

I walk over to Jules’s bin, press the lever with my foot, and the lid springs open, but something stops me throwing my invite in with the remains of last night’s dinner. I go back
and put it into my bag, as Jules dashes out of the bedroom, with two different shoes hanging from each hand.

‘Nix, are you wearing sensible or strappy?’ she asks, waving each one frantically.

‘Strappy, but sensibles are in the car for later. Just pack them in your overnight bag,’ I say with a smile, and she dashes back into her bedroom muttering, ‘Of course, Jesus, I’m an idiot.’

We pick Naomi up half an hour later, and I put my foot down on the M11 to get us there on time. I have borrowed Amy’s car, and debates about putting the roof down are abruptly concluded when we all realize we won’t have time to rectify convertible hair. But it is a gorgeous day, and the girls suck on champagne ice-lollies that Nim made last night, and which I politely decline because I am a) driving, but more importantly b) wearing cream. Jules is in fuchsia, Nim is in pastel blue. We consulted heavily before we bought our outfits.

By the time we get to the church, which is hidden down some country lane in the middle of deepest Norfolk, and we have congratulated ourselves on the fact that we have only had to turn the car around twice, and only once illegally, the congregation appear to have taken their seats, and we run as fast as we can in heels on gravel to the door. We squeeze into the back pew, and I take a breath, looking around at this beautiful church, and the gorgeous pale pink flowers hanging on the walls, and the rose petals on the floor. The organist starts to play almost immediately, and we are on our feet again, relieved that we made it inside before Sarah turned up, and we didn’t have to follow her in, in shame. I lean around what must surely be an uncle, and see Jake standing nervously at the front of the church, looking back towards me, as Sarah’s dad nearly takes my head off marching past. Apparently he’s a police commander or something; we all
whistled when Jake told us, and I reminded him that smoking marijuana was, of course, still illegal, strictly speaking, and there would be no more of that with the threat of his new in-laws popping round for tea. He said if he had to he’d fake the necessary disease and say he was taking it for medicinal purposes. But right now he looks nothing but happy, over the moon, watching Sarah being marched up to meet him, smiling through her veil – ‘bad headgear,’ Nim whispers to me and Jules, and we nod our heads ever so slightly in agreement. It’s her day, we’ll let it lie just this once. Jake doesn’t care.

I remember the tissues in my purse halfway through the ceremony, after standing up and sitting down countless times, and singing hymns, and not quite kneeling for the kneeling bits like a proper Catholic should, because it’ll leave a mark on cream trousers so it just ain’t gonna happen. I’m fine with it, I’ve worked through some of the guilt, and not kneeling down because my trousers don’t permit it is not going to get me sent to hell. I blot the tears before they fall down my cheeks, and gulp loudly as I hear Jake’s voice break at the front of the church during his vows. I remember the last time I was in a church, for mass, not just looking around, which I did a lot of in South America, seeing the beauty of the buildings and not absorbing the fear and the loathing that I so associated with them in the past. I say a little prayer to Phil, say hello, how you doing, that kind of thing. That’s the bit I’ll hang on to, the belief that he’s up and about somewhere above me. I can pick and choose if I want, it doesn’t have to be all or nothing, wearing a cassock or burning a bible. I take the bits that I need now.

I realize Jake is being told he can kiss the bride and I am broken from my daydream, and clap and smile with the rest of the congregation as he walks back down the aisle towards us, arm in arm with Sarah, a married man. He smiles and raises his eyes at me as he walks past, and
I grin eagerly back, and wait for the rest of the pews in front of us to pile out behind them – church rules: last in, last out. But I gasp suddenly as I see a man walking towards me, chatting to Jake’s brother, casually laughing and smiling, not looking ahead. It is only at the last minute that Charlie looks forwards and catches my eye, and sees me mouth ‘Oh my God’ and hold my breath as we lock stares. It hadn’t even occurred to me that he would be here, and now I can’t break his gaze. We both look petrified for a second, before simultaneously gaining our composure, and I murmur ‘Hi’ as he brushes past me, fumbling for his sunglasses in his pocket, to protect his eyes. I take a deep breath, and turn to face Jules and Nim, who both look equally as stunned.

‘I swear I didn’t know he was going to be here,’ Jules says to me quickly, and I take a deep breath.

‘It’s fine, I can cope with it, it’s not a problem,’ I say, and fumble in my bag for my sunglasses at the same time.

Outside, as the photographer dances around Jake and Sarah who have people to talk to and hug, I try my very best to talk politely to Jake’s family, and a couple of guys from university who I haven’t seen for years. But my eyes keep roaming the crowd to spot Charlie, until finally I see him on the opposite corner of the grass, looking directly at me. I look away quickly, and then back again, and he has looked away. And then Jake arrives with a hug.

‘Oh my God, congratulations, this is so huge, you are actually married!’ I babble at him as he smiles, almost serene.

‘I know, it’s bloody great.’ He is beaming, the happiest I have ever seen him. ‘Still got your tan, I see.’ He prods my arm, and gives me an accusing look.

‘Yeah, well, I was away for eight months you know, it’s a long time.’ Jules and Nim say their hellos, and we stand and make small talk for a couple of minutes, before Jake pulls
me aside, and the girls are distracted by a guy who has really blossomed since college.

‘You know Charlie’s here, right?’ Jake asks quietly.

‘Yeah, I saw him just now. Could have done with a bit more warning.’ I try to laugh but the honesty of it sticks in my throat.

‘It’s not a problem is it?’ Jake says.

‘It’s just, he called me after the Phil thing, trying to speak to you, and when you went away we kind of kept in touch. I see him quite a lot now, we play football at the weekends, and I just hadn’t got around to mentioning it to you, what with organizing the wedding and everything, and I’ve hardly seen you since you got back. He’s really changed, grown up or something …’ Jake trails off.

‘No, Christ, it’s absolutely fine. My God, it’s your wedding, of course it’s fine. It’s been nearly a year, Jake, I’m a big girl.’ I convince Jake at least, who smiles, hugs me again, and then gets grabbed by one of Sarah’s aunts and dragged sideways into a photo. The gap he leaves reveals Charlie, thirty feet away, but staring directly at me again, and I want to run and hide. I do the first thing I think of, and smile and nod my head, and when no response comes I spin on my heel and grab Naomi, dragging her towards the car.

‘Have you got any cigarettes on you?’

‘Yes.’ Naomi reaches into her clutch bag.

‘But aren’t you wearing a patch?’

‘Sod the patch.’ I pull my jacket off and rip the plaster from my arm.

‘Jesus Christ!’ I cry out a little too loudly, just as the priest wanders past towards the gates, and I am met with a disapproving holy glare.

‘Sorry, Father,’ I mumble. I feel like I am regressing by the minute. How can this be? This morning I was so serene, so confident, so happy. But now? Now I feel like a bloody train
wreck. Nim is reluctant to give me a cigarette so I grab them out of her hands, and spark up just as Jules rounds the corner.

‘Nix, no!’ she shouts and starts to run towards me as if a bus has suddenly come swerving in my direction. Defensively, I pull the cigarette from my lips and hide it behind my back where she can’t get at it.

‘Oh Nix, why? You’ve been doing so well!’ The look of disappointment on Jules’ face could rival the priest’s.

‘It’s just one day, and besides, Jake made me promise I would smoke at his wedding, and I can’t argue with the groom.’ I wince at my own lie, and Jules turns her attention to Nim.

‘How could you give her a cigarette?’

‘I didn’t give it to her, she took it, and anyway I think Charlie is stressing her out. It’s not your ex-boyfriend giving you evils from across the car park.’ Nim gestures behind Jules, who spins round and I follow her gaze to where Charlie is standing at the edge of the crowd, looking towards us. We instantly turn and look in three opposite directions.

‘Fuck. I thought I would be fine with this but I am so obviously not. What am I going to do if he’s on our table? He looks like he hates me, I can’t handle this. Jesus, eight months of therapy, dossing about in South A-bloody-merica is ruined in one afternoon.’ I suck on my cigarette and shake my empty hand with nerves.

‘Look, you’re going to be fine, it’s only one day. And we’re here.’ Jules grabs my hand and shakes it to get my attention.