The First Last Kiss (44 page)

‘I hope this is worth it,’ I say, as we gaze at the hill that leads towards the ruin. ‘I know you said this view is to die for, but surely that’s only if the walk doesn’t kill me first? Remember, I’m not as fit as you.’

‘I dunno, you look pretty fit to me!’ Ryan says, and I’m startled out of my reverie by him cupping my bum as I straddle the stile.

‘Hey, keep your hands to yourself, Cooper! No groping until after you’ve fed me lunch.’

‘Now there’s an incentive to get up that hill!’ Ryan says, and he leaps over the stile and starts running ahead, despite carrying a heavy hamper. I start running but stagger to a halt with a stitch after a few metres, clutching my side and panting. Ryan comes back and shakes his head at me despairingly as he slides his arm around me.

‘You need to get fit, Molly.’

‘Hey,’ I pant, bending over my knees and holding my side. ‘I thought this was meant to be a date, not an assault course. Besides, if you run everywhere all the time you never get a chance to just pause and take in the view. Life isn’t all about the destination, Ryan, it’s about appreciating the journey.’

He tilts his head thoughtfully as if taking in my words, and I stand up and lift up my camera from where it is dangling around my neck. It’s new – I bought it as a ‘congratulations on my new job’ gift to myself.

I pause from my snapping; I can feel Ryan staring at me. He’s bouncing up and down on his feet, clearly unable to keep still.

‘What?’ I exclaim. ‘Stop bloody jigging about, you’re making me nervous!’

He holds his hands up and freezes in position. ‘OK, OK, you win, we’ll go much slower,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to wear you out. Well, at least not like this.’ And he winks and grins in a way that makes me glow with warmth and burn with heat. I don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the vivid, sun-soaked memories of our holiday in Ibiza, but being with Ryan makes me feel like I’ve swallowed sunshine.

I lift up my camera and scour our surroundings through the viewfinder. I start snapping, adjusting the lens and focus to try and catch the beauty of the panorama before me.

I’m so focused that I don’t realize that Ryan has gone. I look around, suddenly panicked that I have upset him somehow by becoming so ensconced. I can’t see him anywhere, but then I look down at the ground and laugh. There’s a breadcrumb. And another. He obviously didn’t want to interrupt me, and so he’s left me a trail leading to our lunch. Smiling, I put my lens cap on and walk up the hill, suddenly feeling the urge to ignore the photographic opportunities surrounding me and to run, run to Ryan and not look back.

I reach the top of the hill and see Ryan standing there, facing out towards the Thames Estuary, framed by the ruins of the two towers. I quickly lift up my camera. Through it, he is a modern-day Adonis silhouetted in the historical footprint of the thirteenth-century castle. I carry on snapping, my throat feels raspy, like the earth’s gravel has infiltrated the air and my lungs. I feel like I’m here, but not here. Present in this moment, but looking at it from above.

I look down to change the film. A whisper, then, just behind my left ear, a hand stroking my hair off my face and neck, a breath on my throat and over my lips that is as delicate as Constable’s brushstrokes. Then a kiss, as delicious as the last and as tantalizing as the next. I yield to it and here, on this hill, our lips meet again. This time with no audience, no fanfare. No one but me, Ryan and the elements.

We are lying on a blanket, the debris of our picnic surrounds us: an empty bottle of Chardonnay and a beautiful home-made feast that Jamie Oliver would have been proud of. The sun is going down in a riot of glorious colour on our first date. Ryan turns his face and looks at me.

‘So how was it for you?’

‘The date, the view or the picnic?’ I reply with a smile.

‘All of it.’

‘Are you looking for a score?’

‘If you’re offering!’ He stares mischievously at me.

I slap him. ‘Cheeky!’

‘So come on, what’s my score then?

I stare deep into his eyes. ‘It was perfect. A perfect ten.’

A smile hovers over his lips that are as inviting as a thick duvet on a cold winter’s night.

‘Good.’ He turns his face back up to the sky and we’re both silent for a moment.

‘’Course, we haven’t even had dessert yet,’ he murmurs.

I gulp as his fingers brush against mine. ‘What do you suggest?’

He rolls over and looks at me, his lips inches from mine. ‘Something big.’

I blush.

‘Something big and mouth-watering . . . ’

‘Something big, mouth-watering and creamy . . . ’ he grins, swoops up our picnic blanket and lunch debris, and chucks it into his rucksack. Then he grabs my hand, pulls me up and we run down the hill.

‘Ice cream? You were talking about ICE CREAM?’

We’re standing outside Rossi’s on Southend Pier.

Ryan grins and opens the door. ‘Yup! Why, what did you think I was offering?’

I ruffle my hair over my face so my flushed cheeks are hidden by it and walk in.

‘So what’s your flavour?’ Ryan says, looking at the immense display of flavours.

‘Black cherry,’ I reply quickly. ‘Because it’s sweet and sour. What about you?’

‘Tutti frutti because . . . just because.’

‘So,’ he says, leaning his lips into my ear. ‘Shall we try putting them together? See if the combination works?’

I nod, mainly because: a) I have lost the ability to speak and b) I’m busy wondering if he’s talking about ice cream or us.

We sit with our glass dish of ice cream between us, spooning the combination of flavours into our mouths (and it is perfect) as we chat easily.

I say easily, but the only thing that isn’t easy about this conversation is the number of people I recognize in here. It feels like we’re being watched and I say as much to Ryan.

He laughs and puts a menu up in front of us. I look at him.

‘Are you ashamed of me, Cooper?’ I say, putting on my best Sandy voice as I prepare to bastardize a quote from
Grease
. ‘What ever happened to the Ryan Cooper I met at the beach?’ All I need is the white cardi and yellow dress. And pumps. I
knew
I shouldn’t have worn these heels.

‘Huh?’ he says, his expression blank. ‘We didn’t meet on the beach!’ He drops the menu back onto the table and I laugh and then make my face deadly serious.

‘You’re a fake and a phoney and I wish I never laid eyes on you!’

Ryan looks startled. ‘Eh? What have I done?’

I start laughing as I realize he thinks I’m serious. ‘
Grease
! It’s a quote from
Grease
, the movie, Ryan!’

He shakes his head, his face blank. ‘Nope. Never seen it.’

‘What?’ I reply. ‘How can you never have seen
Grease
? It’s a coming-of-age classic! Boy meets girl on holiday, they fall in love but when they get home they realize they’ve got nothing in common.’

‘What year was it made?’

‘Huh?’

‘If it was before 1977 I wouldn’t have seen it.’

I furrow my brow. ‘Er,
why
?’

He grins. ‘I don’t watch or listen to anything that came out before I was born.’

I shake my head in disbelief. ‘And again,
why
?’

He scoops up a massive spoonful of ice cream and pops it into his mouth.

‘Because I’m all about the present, babe. No looking back.’ And he flashes that grin again.

You Can Kiss This Goodbye Kiss

It is my experience that some friendships can flourish in the face of adversity but others bend and then break with the strain, like a tree in a thunderstorm. The roots remain there under the earth, a reminder of what once stood so tall but is no longer a visible part of the landscape of your life. In some ways it’s sad because the tree no longer brings you daily joy with its strength, permanence and beauty. But then again, nor can it cast a shadow.

FF>> 27/02/07>

I can’t tell you how hard it is when the person you love tells you they want you to leave. I didn’t
want
to leave Ryan, not for a second. After we left the hospital we went for a walk down on the pier. Ryan said he wanted to get ice cream at Rossi’s, so we did. We ordered a big multi-coloured mountain of our two favourite flavours. I’d once pointed out that my flavour was too bitter and his was too sweet but together they were perfect. A bittersweet thought now. The ice cream is slowly melting as we look at it and each other. Not crying, not talking, just holding hands across the table and watching it all melt away.

We didn’t even need to speak about what we were going to do next. We knew we were both psyching ourselves up to go back to Jackie and Dave’s. And when we finally did, it became clear that the best thing I could do was go home the following morning to give them some time alone with their son, and to pack some clothes so we could stay there for a few days. Jackie wasn’t going to let Ryan leave so I had to leave him behind. Even if it wasn’t the right thing for me.

I unlock our front door and walk through it, feeling like years have passed since I was last here. Was it really only yesterday morning that I watched Ryan leave in the wrong direction for work? I sink against the door, my feelings overwhelm my body and it feels like I am being carried on a tidal wave of grief. I stumble into the flat. Everything is exactly as we left it, the debris of a life together. Ryan’s clothes are spread all around the place, breakfast dishes and an empty glass of home-made smoothie, the thick berry-red residue stuck to the glass. All discarded on the coffee table where he hurriedly had them in front of the news before leaving for work. Except it wasn’t for work. And over there, on the windowsill, my mug of tea left, half-drunk because I was too busy spying on him and wondering what if . . .

I hear a noise approaching from the spare bedroom and then a plaintive call.

‘Molly, is that you?’

Of course, Casey. I’d forgotten all about her, I’d deleted her from my mind like an unflattering digital photograph. I don’t answer, I just pull our overnight bag out of the hallway cupboard and start throwing Ryan’s discarded and dirty clothes in. I don’t care what I pack. I just want to get some stuff and get out.

I feel her presence behind me, waiting for me to speak. But I don’t. I can’t. I can’t tell her because Ryan doesn’t want anyone to know, not yet.

‘So I take it you’re not speaking to me . . . right?’ she says petulantly. ‘Well, that’s a bit
immature
. I thought you’d at least give me a chance to
explain
. . . ’ She starts to cry, a self-pitying whimper that instantly winds me up. I turn around and answer her curtly. I don’t have time for these dramatics. Not now. Not any more.

‘As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing for you to explain,’ I say quietly. ‘Ryan told me what happened. I get it. End of story.’

I want her to just accept that I am not going to talk about this further. She’ll get over it, and so will I. But not right now.

‘Oh, and you’re just going to mug off my explanation then, huh? I bet you didn’t mug off Ryan . . . ’

‘Don’t, Casey,’ I say dangerously quietly as I turn around and look at her.

She has thrown her hands on her hips and jutted them out in one direction, like a tween with attitude.

‘Oh, well, if
you’re
not in the mood. Because it’s all about
you
, innit it, Molly? Huh?’

‘No, Casey, it
isn’t
about me.’ I snap. I realize I am sounding like I’m correcting her language. I’m not, although she does always sound more Essex when she’s emotional. Just like Ryan.
Ryan
. I swallow, close my eyes, breathe. Open them. All actions I have to concentrate fully on. ‘You don’t understand anything, so just leave it, OK?’ And I turn my back on her again. ‘I don’t want to talk about it right now, I can’t . . . ’

‘Well I do, OK, Molly? I want you to listen to me for once!’ She pulls my arm and I swing around to see her brown eyes glittering at me with pent-up fury.

‘Yeah, I came on to Ryan, and I’m sorry, but yeah, he rejected me, OK? It was just a stupid moment but oh, I for
got
– the mighty Molly never has stupid moments!’ She pauses but just to draw breath. ‘I’m SORRY, OK?’ She shouts her apology, which is a curious method when trying to get someone’s forgiveness, but I let it pass. Then she moves quickly into tears. It’s like watching a toddler flitting between tantrums. She sniffs dramatically. ‘I’m sorry that I was too scared to tell you the truth, Molly, because I
knew
you wouldn’t understand. You could
never
understand how it feels to be me. I-I just wanted a little of what you had, I wanted it so much. I know I’m stupid, but that’s me, ain’t it, Molly? I’ve always been your stupid friend that you have to make excuses for. It was wrong. I know that now.’ She is sobbing.

‘Casey, I don’t have time for this.’ I push gently past her and into our bedroom. I start throwing clothes into the bag; his and mine, tangled together. She follows me in and slams the door shut behind her.

‘You don’t have
time
, Molly?’ she screams, now in full tantrum. ‘You don’t have
time
because you’re too busy living your perfect life to see just how perfect it actually IS. I mean . . . ’ this comes out as a high-pitched squeak, ‘
most
girls would be happy to have someone like Ryan.
I’d
have been happy to have someone like Ryan. I wouldn’t have risked a relationship like that! I’d have stayed in Leigh, made him happy, I wouldn’t have expected more, more, more, all the time! But you’ve always wanted more haven’t you, Molly? Always thought you deserved better, even though you always had it ALL. You whinged about your parents, even though I’d have killed for mine to still be together, whinged about your glamorous job and then,
then
you whinged about Ryan!’ I slump over the bag momentarily, her words disabling me because they’re true. She shakes her head and her dark hair swings out around her face as she starts to cry again. ‘But Ryan didn’t want me.’ She flops on to the floor. ‘It’s always been you. Right from that very first moment on The Broadway when I was trying so hard to get his attention but all he saw was you. And then again in Ibiza. I thought he’d come for me. I’d spent months, Molly,
months
while you were off swanning around at your fancy fucking uni, trying to get him to notice me. I even told him I was going to Ibiza in the vain hope that he might come. Not for you, for
me
. But as soon as he saw you, that was it. Game over. That’s when I decided I’d try and settle for his brother. But even
he
didn’t want me.’