By the Time You Read This (22 page)
Read By the Time You Read This Online
Authors: Lola Jaye
“Are you listening?” snapped Carla, bundling me into another room. “The main event’s about to start!”
I bought another drink and was yet to feel the effects, something I wished would hurry along if only to block out
the effects of the so-called male stripper who suddenly appeared on stage, a rather average looking, if not beer-bellied man dressed in tight fitting James Bond attire. The familiar theme tune pulsated through the room as the crowd roared its approval.
The women jostled wildly as, piece by piece, “Jamie” Bond clumsily removed every item of clothing to reveal a generous girth and a bum in need of Clearasil. Of course, my expectations had clung on to the hung-like-a-horse six-packed type currently gyrating on the company’s website.
“Hello everyone!” he shouted. The crowd squealed and roared as he began a descent into the world of hip-thrusting and swirling his body out of tune to the music (not blessed with the dancing skills of Justin Timberlake, clearly). But as soon as he requested his very own Pussy Galore, a bevy of eager volunteers sprang forward in apparent hunger for this man’s generous amount of flesh. Carla, absorbing every moment, squealed with delight as I merely shook my head in bewilderment. Dad’s words were popping into my head as I decided to make the best of this night and really let my hair down, so to speak. So I grabbed her hand and began the arduous journey to the front, pushing, shoving and almost kicking our way through the crowd of screaming, swaying women, quickly gaining entry to the most envied position in the club.
The front row.
Where I, despite my initial embarrassment and not knowing where to aim my eyes, enjoyed the remainder of the show.
“That was brilliant!”
“He was awful, Carla!”
“Yeah, I know that, but that’s the point I s’pose!”
“We must do something next week. Or next month? Or maybe in a few months as I’m going to be flat out with K Pics, hopefully.”
“Wow, I knew it wouldn’t last! Anyhow, I’ve had a lovely night. Thanks for this, I really needed it.”
“Things tough at home?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said awkwardly with a wave of a perfectly manicured finger. “Don’t spoil a brilliant night.”
The next morning I awoke to the feeling of fifty woodpeckers pecking at my head, a mouth reeking of rotting chicken and the doorbell ringing incessantly.
“All right!” I groaned as, across me, on the left-hand side of the bed, a body stirred. My mind wandered back to the night before. The strip club. The stripper. The taxi home. The body in my bed didn’t move, merely grunted its disapproval as I leaped over it to answer the door.
“Who is this?” I asked through the intercom.
“Markus.”
I buzzed him in.
“Where is she?” he asked, no “hello,” nothing.
“Carla’s upstairs.”
“She’d better be,” he said, pushing past me and into my room.
“Hey, you can’t just barge in there!” I called out.
“Carla!” he said harshly, shaking her awake, a little too roughly for my liking.
“Don’t you touch her!” I protested. Markus merely ignored me as Carla slowly opened her eyes, at first unable to make out the emerging scene.
“Markus?” she asked mid-yawn.
“I’ve been up all night waiting for you! Why didn’t you come home?”
Carla rubbed her eyes, the remnants of mascara smeared across her cheek. “I told you I was staying at Lois’s.”
“No, you didn’t! You said you were coming home!”
“I didn’t!”
“Are you calling me a liar, Carla?”
“No…I…” she backtracked.
“No. Now get your things and come home NOW!” He grabbed her arm, still displaying the green ticket stamp from the night before.
“Ow, you’re hurting me!” she protested.
Watching him hurl her out of my bed—T-shirt tucked into her thong and still within the realms of sleep, made me very, very angry.
“Oh that is it! Get the heck out of my house!” I screamed.
“Lois, don’t…” said Carla, who once again transformed into a wimp right before my very eyes. As if she was another person in front of Markus.
And I didn’t like it. Didn’t like what he was doing to her.
He shoved her arm away as she scrambled for clothes. “Listen to her, Lois. Don’t get involved in things that don’t concern you.”
“This does concern me! I don’t like the way you treat her and I’m not going to let you do it in my house!” I screamed.
“Not a problem, we’re going home now. Come on!” he roared, grabbing her by the arm again. Just then, I saw a red flash and then it happened.
Miscellaneous: How to make a man temporarily helpless? Aim for the balls
This can work both ways.
I will not tell you about the first way, because you are
my daughter. But I’m sure, as you get older, your friends will be able to erm…confirm the following gossip: that grabbing a bloke’s balls in
any
situation will always render him temporarily helpless…Enough said there. Thank you.
The other way, I’ll explain.
If you ever (and I pray you never do) find yourself in a dangerous situation with a guy, just aim for the balls. The pain is unimaginable, will bring actual tears to his eyes, and whatever he was trying to do before (and in my case, just kick a soccer toward goal) will now seem a distant and painful memory. Nutshell (yes, I know), just aim and strike. But only in extreme circumstances, and not if the boy next door nicks your Milky Bar.
Thankfully, Carla forgave me for kicking Markus in the nuts, and in a beautiful twist told him their relationship was over. I wasn’t sure she meant it until two days later when she appeared on my doorstep complete with suitcase and a dominatrix teddy bear tucked under her arm.
With Carla settled in her old room, I kissed
The Manual,
convinced that if my dad was looking down at me, he’d be smiling, make no mistake.
B
y the middle of 2007, Carla had moved back in with her mom, Calvin and now Corey. And at last able to trust my new part-time assistant to run the studio on her own, I knocked on Carla’s door after a visit with Mom and Abbi.
“Can Carla come out to play?” I asked in a fake child’s voice.
“Oh, F off!” replied Carla sweetly. I followed her into the
lounge to find Calvin and Corey fiddling with the CD player.
“What are you two up to?” I said as Corey winked in my direction. Of course I ignored that.
“Trying to fix the portable MP3 onto the CD player speakers,” replied Calvin.
“I’ll have a try,” I offered as Carla’s mom appeared.
“Lois, how’s your mom?”
“She’s fine, why?”
“Nothing. You staying for dinner?”
“Go on, Lo Bag,” said Corey. Thankfully, he was looking a lot happier than when we’d last spoken at the bus stop.
“What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken and fries. Here, they got you fixing stuff?” said Carla’s mom.
“She’s a man in women’s clothing!” said Carla as I slapped her playfully on her arm.
With the MP3 player hooked up to the speakers, and a full belly, Carla suggested the three of us take a walk down to the rec.
“To walk off Mom’s fattening dinner for a start. Come on, it’ll be like old times!” she said.
“Which worries me,” I mumbled to myself.
We headed to the rec, arriving at our favorite little wall.
“Sit down then, girls.”
“It’s dirty!” I complained. Corey pulled himself onto the wall, swinging his legs effortlessly in front of him.
“Too old to get up, more like.”
“Shut up, big bro, you’re already thirty. We’re spring chickens compared to you!”
“Here, take my hand, Lo Bag.”
As soon as my hand brushed Corey’s, I felt a surge of
electricity pass between us. Corey smiled. I pulled away, and with great difficulty I made the quick hop onto the wall. Sure enough, our graffiti had long since succumbed to time and the council’s new cleaning system, but the memories—they remained.
“I can’t believe I’m back living with my mom AND she’s married to a man cooler than me!” said Corey.
“I can’t believe I’m single for the first time in like…ever! And I’m holding down a job!”
“I can’t believe Abbi’s growing up so fast. AND that Carla’s been working at Selfridges for more than three months!”
We laughed in unison, pausing as a group of teenagers fled past in the midst of tomfoolery.
“That was us once,” said Corey, perhaps articulating what we all felt. One of the boys playfully ruffled the hair of his sweetheart, who smiled coyly in return. Hang on…
“That’s Abbi! Hey, Abbs, where are you off to?” I ran over to my sister, dressed in a tight pink top, skinny jeans, a slither of eye-shadow across each eyelid!
“I’m going to one of my friends’ houses!”
“On your own?”
“I’m almost nine and it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon!” she said, circling her head like a snake ready to pounce.
“Does Mom know you’re out?”
Her eyes betrayed her.
“Who does she think you’re with?”
“Michaela.”
“And where’s Michaela?”
“Over there.” She sighed in exasperation and pointed to a girl and a boy about the same age, in deep conversation.
“Can you go home please? Now!” I said firmly.
“You’re worse than Mom! Just because I went missing when I was a kid, she’s all paranoid!”
“I’ll be ringing Mom in about ten minutes to check you’re at home. By the way, who’s the boy?”
“My friend.”
“How old is he?”
“Eleven.”
“A friend? Nothing else?”
“He’s not even buff, I wouldn’t look at him twice!!! Duh!”
“Kids, eh?” said Carla, as we slowly headed back.
“I feel about a thousand years old now! When did my little sister grow into a teenager?”
“Trust me, we were never that grown up at her age. It’s all different now, what with the Internet. I bet Abbi even has her own email address,” said Corey.
“Stop sounding like our parents! We’re still young!”
“Oh behave. We’re lucky to be alive, aren’t we? Some people don’t live up to or past thirty. Remember that.”
They both fell silent, realizing the significance of my words. And the silence remained until we arrived at Mr. Tally’s, overexcited at the sight of an elusive bag of cola cubes.
C
arla spent her thirtieth birthday getting drunk and puking all over Calvin’s sneakers outside a Greenwich pub. She soon concluded that the build-up had been worse than the actual day because once she actually got there (well, the day after anyway) she began to feel really good about it all. Better than she had thought possible.
As
my
twenty-ninth year on this earth continued, so did
the days, weeks and months—until four weeks remained until the “big day.” Of course, Carla and Mom put my violent refusal to discuss any birthday plans down to the clichéd fear of aging, when deep down I knew the real reason: only one more chapter remained of
The Manual.
T
he tiny love heart slowly grew into a quick flash of stars, ending with a tinny version of the familiar “Happy Birthday” ditty, “love Abbi” appearing at the bottom of my cellphone screen.
So, I’d almost got there.
Thirty.
More than just a milestone for me, this was undoubtedly the last chapter of
The Manual.
The last ever chapter.
Of course, I’d thought about the various locations I wanted to be when I read Dad’s last entry, but the only place that felt right was back in my room at Mom’s, one-eyed teddy beside me just as it had been eighteen years ago.
But my room was now a spare bedroom, populated by Abbi’s old bed, cardboard boxes, the one-eyed teddy long
binned. Yet still, I needed to be there again. Where it had all begun. So it felt fitting and not at all unusual for me to be alone in my childhood house as Abbi, Mom and the Bingo Caller spent the weekend in Cornwall. I snuck in with my key, into my old room,
The Manual
tucked under my arm in a plastic bag.
Well it’s here. You’re thirty. Feel different yet? It may not happen today but somewhere along the way you will have grown into the woman you’re probably going to end up being until you die aged one hundred and nine. I’m not saying you won’t continue to grow—experiences, the people you meet will all contribute into shaping you, molding you into Lois Bates. You never actually stop growing. Isn’t that great?
By now, though, I hope you’ll have become confident and unconcerned about what people think of you (unless they’re your boss). I hope you will have acquired this inner confidence that others can see and you can feel every waking moment of your life.
Yes, there’ll be knocks, but by now you’ll have figured out ways to get yourself back up again and so on. If not, go right back to the beginning of this manual and start again, or you can just chuck it in the dustbin because you feel it to be all a load of old nonsense.
Because, you see, I don’t claim to have all the answers. I can only work from what I’ve been given up to the age of thirty. Like parenting, life is about continually learning (hey, there should be a manual given out to all parents in the maternity ward, now that would be something) and you probably still have a bit to learn, as do I.
You may or may not have kids, a good job, a boyfriend, hubby. Lois, I can sit here and second guess all day, but as you know, I haven’t got much time left (boom, boom!) so I can only really hope that by now you’ll have learned a few things, like:
- Don’t ever imagine you can really change a male–unless he uses a pacifier and sits in a baby carriage.
- Learn how to accept changes.
- You are beautiful.
- The toast will ALWAYS fall on the buttered side.
- Even though you may want to reach the top, score the winning goal at the World Cup, happiness, joy, fun, games, LIFE is still going on while you are busy strategizing.
Hours had passed. I just lay on the bed, not daring to complete another sentence. Wanting to absorb every last word, thought, inscription.
The doorbell rang.
I didn’t care.
Just a few pages remained. Including one headed:
So, what do I think the future holds in terms of technology?
Video laser disks will take over vinyl records, for sure.
I shut
The Manual
and stamped my eyes shut. This felt so hard. So very, very hard.
Robots will be cooking dinner.
I moved over to the window. It was getting dark, but I could see Corey striding confidently across the road to his front door, my tummy undergoing that familiar spin just as he looked up and our eyes connected through the glass.
“Lo Bag!” he mouthed. I went down and let him in. I led him upstairs.
“I thought I saw you come in. I rang the bell earlier.”
“I’m not supposed to be in here,” I whispered. Although the house was technically my home, I’d still felt a bit weird sneaking in like this.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re up to?” he asked. But with a quick glance at
The Manual,
his expression changed. He knew. He’d remembered. I suspected he was the only person in this world apart from me and Auntie Philomena who’d ever remembered.
“Hey, I can give you some privacy if you like.”
I suddenly felt cold, a little scared. Not wanting him to leave.
“Lo Bag, are you all right?”
Without warning, I found myself entrenched in his grip, as if he was holding me up.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what…” I said, still a little unsteady on my feet. He moved me to the bed and then it happened.
And along with the pocket television, state-of-the-art pocket radios that also open car doors will be common.
A surprised Corey moved away just as our lips touched for the second time, looking exactly as I remembered pre-kiss, except I now saw him with fresher, newer eyes. He opened
his mouth and out shot a sound. Words. But I wasn’t listening. Instead, I placed my lips onto his again, our hands combining, merging into one. The years were ebbing away and once again we were teenagers. And as his hands cupped my face, I began to understand with stunning clarity that my feelings for him were deeper than I’d ever thought possible.
And I suddenly wanted to stay like that forever.
“Lois…I…” he said huskily. I soothed him with another kiss, this time deeper, and with a longing I had rarely felt in thirty years. Corey was peeling away the layers I’d built up over the years to guard my emotions. And as the sound of
The Manual
hitting the floor startled me, I knew it wasn’t time to psychoanalyze those feelings, but time for once to bask in them. Enjoy being with this man, a man I had known almost all my life. Enjoy the feel of him as we connected, every part of me wanting him to take me further and further away from reality.
“I love you,” he whispered, and I didn’t care if it was the lust talking or if he actually meant it.
I just wanted to stay. Like this. Forever.
I just wanted to trust and, for once, I really wanted to
believe.
I even tried to look away, but he gently pulled my face to him, forcing me to look into my own reflection through the beauty of his eyes.
“I love you so much, Lois. Always have.”
“I love you too,” I said finally as our lips met again—meaning it for the very first time. Saying it because I felt it and not because of obligation or an offshoot of lust; but because I had loved this boy since we were children, lusted after him when we were teenagers, and finally fallen in love with him as an adult.
It had always been Corey.
It would always be Corey.
My mind remained focused on the moment.
Tomorrow was another day.
But I wanted to stay like this forever.
…I don’t really see portable telephones taking off. There just isn’t the technology to see that through. From what I’ve read, those prototypes are way too heavy for a start…
For once, I didn’t fight a strong urge to leave, feeling strangely content to just lie in Corey’s arms and not think about anything more taxing than how I felt at that precise moment.
I just wanted to
be.
So it was easy to fall into a peaceful sleep, only to wake the next day to an empty bed and a prickle of hurt.
Corey was gone.
I
called his cellphone.
“Where are you?”
“Downstairs. Come down.”
Wrapped in a sheet, I found him in Mom’s kitchen, his luscious body draped in a tiny towel.
“Morning, darling, and happy birthday!”
It felt strange to hear him call me such an intimate term, making a welcome change from “Lo Bag.” But too shy to reply accordingly, I perched on a breakfast stool and watched.
“We have burned sausages, over-crispy charred bacon and orange juice freshly squeezed about a year ago and laden with preservatives and E numbers.”
“It smells lovely!”
“I’m a crap cook and I’m not sure where your mom keeps the ketchup,” he said, placing the food on the table before me.
“What happened last night?” I blurted out.
Corey slid a piece of bacon into his mouth as I watched, remembering his mouth on mine. Stop. Focus.
“Come on, Lo Bag, it’s not as if it was the first time!”
Something inside me threatened to explode.
“Eat up!” he said.
“No…hang on…Is that all last night was for you? For old times’ sake?”
I stood up.
“That’s not what I said.”
“So, what did you say…?” A mound of insecurities threatened to pop up and pierce this perfect moment.
“I’m saying, even though it was some time ago, coming out of a serious relationship was intense and I’m not sure—”
I didn’t need to hear another word and, armed with a heavy feeling, raced from the kitchen to begin the search for my clothes, all spread around in strategic points in the spare room upstairs. Shoes under the bed. Skinny jeans on top of the boxes. Blouse hanging from a loose nail sticking out of the door.
I dressed in record time, but still felt naked. Vulnerable. And I didn’t like this feeling.
“Where are you going?” he asked. I remained silent, knowing my reply would be followed by a barrage of hot tears I’d no intention of offering. Carla was right, Corey was in slut mode and I’d fallen for it a second time.
Mumbling something stupid and forgettable, I left the house and raced to the bus stop, tears running down my
face. Weeping for all of Corey’s silent, broken promises and for opening myself up to him emotionally only to be shown the door. I wept for telling him I loved him and meaning it. And I wept for Dad—the only man who’d ever
really
love me. With my head in my hands, it was easy to sob some more, berating myself for looking back, just in case…just in case he’d run after me. But, of course, he hadn’t.
Space travel by now should be as common as a trip to Spain.
After thirty minutes, the bus hadn’t appeared, so I faced the indignity of walking back to Mom’s to retrieve my cellphone, last seen upstairs, and call a cab. Just as I was about to turn the key in the lock, I heard Corey’s voice.
“I was hoping you’d come back.”
“Only for my phone.”
“Come inside.”
So I did, and I wasted no time in emptying the contents of my mind. “I don’t like being used, Corey.”
“I’d never do that to you. You didn’t give me a chance to explain things before you rushed out. If you’d let me, I would have said, ‘ever since splitting up with my fiancée, yes, it’s been hard.’”
I scoffed.
He smiled. “Very funny. Anyway I’ve been on a few dates, seen a few people, but they’ve never lasted because every time the same thing would happen…they just weren’t good enough. I probably called off my wedding for the same reason.”
“She wasn’t
good enough?”
“Will you just listen? She/they weren’t good enough because they weren’t YOU. They weren’t you, Lo Bag!”
I took a huge breath.
“I love YOU, Lo Bag. Have always loved you.”
“Corey…” I exhaled.
“Remember when I gave you that LL Cool J tape at your party? I loved you even then, although I may have been more in love with your ever-expanding chest. Hey, I admit it! But after last night, I finally knew you felt the same way, and you know it felt so great knowing that you…that you…that you feel the same way.”
“But why didn’t you follow me?”
“What, dressed in a towel? You are joking, right?”
“You could have gotten dressed when I did. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. It would never work between us.”
“And you’ve already decided that?”
“Yes.”
“Based on me not wanting to run after you in a cold street dressed in a towel? Now why doesn’t that surprise me.”
“I’d better call that cab.”
“You’d already made your mind up before it happened, hadn’t you? Admit it?
“I’d better…go…”
“I’m no therapist, but it’s my guess you do that to all the guys you meet. Make sure you never get too close. I’m right, aren’t I?”
“I’m sorry.” I turned to leave.
“Wait!” He gripped my arm softly. “I look at you and all I see is one of the most beautiful women I have ever met. Inside and out. And yet. And yet…I know that every relationship you’ve been in has left you…I dunno…it’s like you want to be this ‘alone’ person…”
“Can you blame me? So I’m right…Yes?”
“Oh, so when did you decide this, Lo Bag? Aged five?”
I scratched my nose.
“I’ve nothing to lose by being frank with you, you’ve already shredded any possible relationship between us anyway, so I’ll go for gold. Is that okay?”
“Go ahead,” I spat, willing the moment to be over so I could run next door, grab my phone and get as far away from this place as possible. And more importantly read the last few remaining pages of my manual.
“No matter who you’ve met in the past, they will NEVER and I repeat NEVER live up to the wonderful superman of a dad that was Kevin Bates.”
I moved into the lounge, just to get away. “Don’t speak about him like that.”
Corey followed. “Why not? It’s the truth. You’ve built him up so much in your mind that no bloke could ever compete with him, least of all ME. Plus he died, all young and perfect. What poor bastard could live up to that?”
“Shut up!”
“You’ve always hid behind your dad, and
The Manual,
ever since, and you KNOW IT!” Corey was shouting and my body was closer than ever to producing a bucket of tears I hadn’t even ordered.
“Look, I’m sorry, Lo Bag, but it had to be said.”
“What you’re saying isn’t true, none of it! They never stuck around! No one ever sticks around, Corey!”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is!”
“Think about it, Lois. Every single person?”
I thought of Dad’s sister Ina, never getting in touch. Charlie, his best friend had also disappeared. Then there
was Greg and Erin, who’d soon faded away. Then again, I also hadn’t bent over backward to get in touch with
them,
by not replying to their initial letters. Okay, that’s a point…Then there was Oliver, Raymond, Biyi; all relatively good men and yet I’d found it easy to push them away because…
