My Legendary Girlfriend (31 page)

‘Wait for what, Dad?’ I retorted angrily. ‘Wait for you to talk me out of it? Wait for me to talk me out of it? Haven’t you ever felt the need to trust your own judgement? Just this once I need to listen to what
I’m
saying. It’s like there’s a voice inside me that I’ve always shouted down or ignored, but for once I’m going to listen to it. I have to listen to it because I think it’s making sense.’

I laughed inwardly. This was
Pretty In Pink
,
East of Eden
,
St Elmo’s Fire
and
The Breakfast Club
rolled into one. Be that as it may, I couldn’t hold in what I had to say just because I was treading on the same hallowed ground as James Dean, Molly Ringwald, Emilio Estevez, Judd Nelson or thousands of other celluloid coming-of-agers trying to navigate their way through to adulthood. My life would resemble a teen movie until the day I died – I guarantee I’ll be the only eighty-year-old man in the world suffering from teen angst.

After my speech, my dad refused to say anything for a while. I told him about all of the beautiful things I saw in Kate and how she made me feel, but I was fighting a battle that had been lost before the first bullet was even fired. His silence did nothing to hide his feelings, he was angry and disappointed (in that order). Still, I felt pleased that I’d had the guts to tell him – the old me would never had done that.

‘It’s a real shock,’ said Dad, finally breaking his silence. ‘But if you really do love this girl then what can I do? I just worry. That was the job I was given when you arrived twenty-six years ago. I suppose you’re not the only one with an inner voice, son, I’ve got one too. And it’s telling me I’ve raised a fine son. Happy birthday.’

‘I’m getting married.’

‘I know. Mum and Dad both went ballistic,’ said Tom excitedly as if my life was a
Sun
exclusive. ‘Mum started crying and Dad came around and said he thinks you’re mad. Mum was straight on the phone to Aunt Susan to see if she could try and persuade you out of it.’

‘Why hasn’t she phoned then?’ I enquired suspiciously.

‘She told her that she wouldn’t do it,’ he said. ‘Mum didn’t say why, but I think Aunt Susan thinks Mum should mind her own business.’

It was good to know that someone was on my side. Aunt Susan was right, it wasn’t anyone’s business but my own.
I’m twenty-six
, I thought to myself,
I don’t need anyone’s approval
.

I asked Tom what he thought.

‘I think it’s a bit weird but it’s cool,’ he said absent-mindedly. ‘To tell you the truth I never thought you’d ever get over that Aggi bird.’

‘Are you playing that sodding computer game?’ I asked threateningly.

I heard him put it down on the table next to the phone.

‘No,’ he said defensively. ‘Well, what about Aggi?’

‘It’s over.’

‘This girl, Kate, did you really meet her this weekend or are you just winding them up?’ he asked. I retold the story adding a few details that I hadn’t thought my parents would have been interested in. Tom was completely unmoved by it all but listened intently. When I finished all he said was: ‘I don’t get you.’ He wasn’t being thick on purpose, he’d inherited my mother’s literal mentality. The concept of higher love eluded him too.

‘I’ve only ever talked to her on the phone,’ I told him.

He laughed, still unsure whether to believe me.

‘It must’ve been an excellent conversation,’ said Tom.

‘It was,’ I replied.

‘I’m getting married.’

‘I know, dear,’ said Gran. ‘Your mother told me not ten minutes ago.’ She sounded sad. I hated disappointing her.

‘I’m sorry, Gran,’ I said.

‘What for, dear?’

‘For doing this all wrong. Mum and Dad are furious . . .’

‘Never mind them,’ she interrupted. ‘The important question is are
you
happy?’

Whereas my mother asked every question but the important ones, Gran asked the important questions and worried about the details later. Apart from her narcotics fixation, my Gran was all right.

‘I am, Gran,’ I said happily. ‘Yes, I am.’

‘Then that’s all that matters. Your parents have got everything all muddled up. They don’t know what’s really important in life. At least it looks like you’ve got your priorities right, Will.’

‘Kate’s lovely, Gran,’ I said. ‘You’d really like her.’

‘I like her already,’ she said.

Those four words cheered me up immensely.

‘Do you know what?’ continued Gran. ‘They’ve forgotten what it’s like to be in love, your parents. No disrespect to them, I suppose it’s their way. During the war with so many young men going off to fight, never sure if they’d ever come back, people got married as soon as they knew it was love. Straight to the church and no messing. When you don’t know how long your next minute’s going to be you soon learn to take time seriously.’

Before I had a chance to tell Alice about Kate and me, she told me she had some news of her own: she’d not only managed to book her three-month world trip, she’d booked on a flight to New York leaving on Monday afternoon at 4.00 p.m. too. I was shocked at the speed of her actions. I hadn’t had the opportunity to give her leaving much thought, but in the split second available to me I gave it my fullest attention. It was a bad idea. The worst she’d ever had. Right up there with going platinum blonde (for three weeks when she was nineteen – I’d called her Andy Warhol for weeks afterwards) and going out with Simon. She thought she needed space but I knew she needed friends – me especially. That was my considered reaction. I took another split second to reconsider it. I was being selfish. It wasn’t about her happiness, it was about mine. I didn’t want her to go because I didn’t want to miss her. I wanted her to be here for me. All I could think to myself was that I’d already lost one friend this weekend. I couldn’t afford to lose another. My conscience was well aware of the fact that I wasn’t considering for a second that she might need something different. She’d decided to deal with Bruce’s leaving in a more constructive way than spending the next three years moping, moaning and miserable. I felt ashamed of myself and told her in an overwhelmingly enthusiastic manner just how happy I was for her. She gave a short, sharp but unsteady laugh and joked about sending me a postcard. I told her not to send it to London. She asked me why not and I told her the reason.

‘I’m getting married.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘Alice, I’m getting married. It’s true.’

She remained silent. Rather optimistically I hoped that she was simply lost for words so I began the story which by now had formed itself into a ten-minute after-dinner speech – all that was missing were the cigars and the ten-year-old brandy – but before I could tell her I was going to Brighton, however, she started to cry. I wondered whether I was being insensitive, what with Bruce leaving her earlier this morning.

‘I’m sorry,’ I began.

‘What for?’ said Alice.

‘I don’t know. Being happy. You’ve had a terrible day and the last thing you need is me being so bloody cheerful. It’s enough to make anyone sick.’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you, okay? The whole world doesn’t revolve around you, even though you might think it does. You’re so self-centred sometimes . . .’

‘I thought that’s what you liked about me.’

‘Yes, go on. Make a joke about it, why don’t you?’ Alice was really angry now. ‘You’re such a bastard, Will, you really are.’

She started crying again. I was at a loss what to do next. This wasn’t what I’d expected. I thought she’d be pleased. Three years I’d been moaning to her about Aggi, and now that I was happy Alice thought I was public enemy number one. I thought she’d be happy for me. After all, I was happy for her. We were both finally sorting out our lives and moving on – she had her trip of a lifetime while I had wedded bliss. It was like she’d thrown all the rules of logic out of the window and was making up new ones as she went along. This was very un-Alice. This was uncharted territory.

She stopped sobbing. ‘You can’t marry her. You just can’t.’

She started sobbing again.

She stopped sobbing. ‘Why can’t you see how wrong this is?’

She started sobbing again.

She stopped sobbing. ‘Please don’t do this.’

She started sobbing again. This time her tears were even more heartfelt than they’d been this morning.

I patiently waited out her tears as if they were a passing storm and eventually she ‘explained’ all. She said that she didn’t want to see me unhappy and that if I married this girl then I would be unhappy because I was doing it on the rebound. I said three years is a long time to be on the rebound and I was bound to bump into someone sooner or later, but she didn’t laugh – she just cried even harder. When those tears passed she told me that Kate was probably after my money, which brought a moment of levity that we both enjoyed. I told her that Kate was as wonderful as a person could be, and that if she could only meet her she’d be bound to like her. Alice disagreed and said that I was just like every other man and that I only thought with the contents of my boxer shorts. I asked her why, when she’d been in support of so many of my ridiculous plans, was she so opposed to this one and she said because this one was the stupidest I’d ever had. I asked her why she was being so weird and she said she didn’t know. And I asked her if it was Bruce and she said no. I asked her if she was having her period. Her reply was both physically impossible and potentially unrewarding.

‘Listen,’ I said, hoping what I was about to say would miraculously change her view of the situation, ‘you will come to the wedding, won’t you, because . . .’

‘Over your dead body!’ she hissed.

‘That’s a no then?’

She started to cry again.

‘It’s just that with me not talking to Simon and not being on particularly good terms with the rest of the human race, I was kind of hoping you’d be my best man. Your speech would be much funnier than his would anyway.’

‘Cheers,’ said Alice through her tears, ‘but I won’t be coming. Everything’s going to change, Will! Everything’s going to change!’

‘Nothing’s going to change,’ I reassured, even though I wasn’t entirely convinced I was telling her the truth. In a way she was right, we’d reached junctures in our lives that would take us in different directions. I couldn’t quite see why my marriage should make such a difference to our relationship, when she’d been living with Bruce for five years, but for some reason I knew that it would. One day soon the circumstances that we now found ourselves in would take their toll. It was just a matter of time.

After a moment’s silence she sighed wearily and said, ‘You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do.’

I tried to think of something comforting to say but the only thing I could think of to say was: ‘Ditto.’

‘I’m getting married.’

Martina didn’t say a word. I wondered whether she’d misheard me. ‘Martina, I’m really sorry but I’m getting married.’

It was entirely in my imagination but I was certain I heard her heart break.

‘Martina, I’m sorry,’ I said. And I truly meant it. ‘I’m really sorry. Are you all right?’

She put the phone down.

As Simon’s phone rang for what seemed like years I thought deeply about how much I hated him. Granted, for best mates we had never been particularly close, but we were all each other had and he hadn’t seen that. And that’s what hurt. And so now I wanted him to die. I really did. But before his death I wanted him to know that I’d finally found happiness. Because now, more than ever, I could see that Simon – irrespective of whether success or failure lurked around the corner – would one day wake up to discover that he was Fat Elvis, bloated by excess, talent slashed up the wall, wearing totally ridiculous clothes and lonely as hell.

His answering machine clicked on. I didn’t want to leave a message – I wanted him to hear it from me. Just as I was about to put the phone down he picked up.

‘Will . . .’ He started crying.

I didn’t say anything. I was getting tired of people crying on me. I decided he was either having some sort of premeditated crisis to get back in my good books or was exploring new emotional avenues to inspire material for the album.

‘Will, me and Tammy have split up.’

This was no big surprise and certainly nothing for Simon to get all weepy about. He didn’t care about anyone but himself – these tears weren’t for Tammy.

He stopped crying and told me what had happened. Simon had come home to find Tammy crying (yes, she was at it too) on the sofa. In her hand was a packet of three condoms which she’d found in the case of his acoustic guitar – there was only one condom in it. Tammy had been on the pill since she’d met Simon so she concluded that two missing condoms added to one boyfriend whose eye for the ladies was well documented, equalled infidelity. Despite Simon’s uncanny ability to tell the most outrageous skin-saving lies convincingly, just like his previous confession to me, he’d felt compelled to tell Tammy the truth. Yes, he had cheated on her; yes, he had been sleeping with someone else and no he didn’t love her any more. She’d packed her bags and left without saying another word.

‘Why did you do it?’ I asked.

‘What, go off with someone else?’

‘No. Why did you tell her the truth? What’s the thing you’ve got with the truth? Why did you tell me about you and Aggi?’

Simon paused, but it wasn’t theatrical. He seemed genuinely lost for words. ‘I don’t know.’ His voice sounded croaky. He coughed. ‘Hang on a sec. I need a fag.’ He coughed again. ‘The reason I told you and Tammy the truth is that I fell in love. It sounds stupid and I know you think I’m talking out of my arse but it’s true. The band were playing at a university gig down in London. I met a girl there. At first it was just a bit of a laugh, just like it always is, but then suddenly it wasn’t. I used to tell her the band were touring a lot so she never hassled me about being away so much. I saw her for about six months. And then one day I was flicking through “S” in the rock and pop section in HMV when I thought about this girl and I couldn’t get her out of my head. That’s when I knew I had to do it. I called her up and dumped her. And then I wrote her a letter in case she didn’t get the message.’