This is a Love Story (34 page)

here and dance to my song. Do you think we can do that?’ There was immense screaming by this point.

Dance? Hold on a minute. I’m not good at that. I prayed for a slow song so that I could just randomly shuffle my legs and it might

look OK from a distance . . . And then he started to sing. It was beautiful. I realised I was holding on to Sienna pretty tight. Then she

turned to face me under the white lights and put her arms around my waist, her glossy hair tumbling down her shoulders and shining

under the bulbs. My heart was thumping so hard, but for a moment it seemed to slow down. It was as if it were just she and I, alone.

As if her favourite singer in the world was merely playing from a tiny radio in the corner of the room.

I must have looked frightened because she gave me a reassuring look and pulled my body closer to hers. It was the perfect fit. She

was so warm and gorgeous. I put my arms around her waist and rested my nose on her forehead. Her hair smelled fresh, her skin

was soft. I started to smile, but at the same time I felt this deep sadness as we slowly danced on the spot in front of thousands of

people. I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. This wasn’t my place. My hands didn’t belong around her waist. Ben’s did.

One day, Sienna would get married and I would have to go along and wear a suit and a flower in my buttonhole and smile all day.

I would have to watch another man marry the woman I love.

Eventually, other couples started to join us on the stage. Thank God, I thought. There were all sorts of people starting to dance

around us until we melted into the scene like two dots in a Roy Lichtenstein painting.

We could have got away with letting go at this point and wiping our hands down our trousers like they were covered in bin juice.

But we didn’t, we kept dancing and just stared into each other’s eyes as the people moved around us.

Old people. Young people. Tall people. Short people. Lots and lots of people who all had one thing in common. Love.

Sienna

Pete wasn’t on the bench this lunchtime like he usually is. This was strange, but not completely out of character. He loves the

common nearby, so I assumed he would be there instead.

The common is only a five-minute walk away, so I decided to head down there just in case. It was a blistering hot Friday

lunchtime. London had that summer atmosphere where all men think they can whistle at you from their cars and comment on your

bum, and people think it’s acceptable to wear sunglasses on the tube. Neither is OK. Even in 30-degree heat.

But maybe this sensational heat was the reason Pete was on the common, rather than sitting in the boring car park behind our

office. I could hardly blame him. I strolled through the busy streets that led to the common; people were wearing loose, colourful

clothes and had broad smiles on their faces. I felt good, and couldn’t wait to tell Pete about last night’s gig incident and how funny it

had been. I knew he would love this story . . .

As I approached the edge of the common I gazed at the huge expanse of grass stretching out before me. The endless field of leafy

green was beautiful. I took in a huge gulp of the summer air, letting it fill my lungs entirely.

On the occasions Pete and I have gone to the common, we’ve always sat on a huge, fallen-down tree. It’s a beautiful shape, full of

holes that birds and squirrels dart in and out of as if they’re playing hide and seek with each other. I bet he would be there. My

trainers sank into the springy grass and I quietly cursed myself for not wearing sandals today. I was going to get really hot sitting in

the sun.

After a few turns, negotiating giggling children and smooching couples nuzzling amongst the daisies, the tree came into view. But

there was no one there.

My heart sank a little. I’d been looking forward to seeing him. Our little meetings had become a very important part of my life.

Despite his absence I went and sat on the tree for a couple of minutes, firstly to catch my breath, and secondly to contemplate

whether or not I should keep looking for him. Maybe he just wanted some privacy today.

I eventually stood up and started the short walk back to the office, but something caught my eye as I neared the road. The figure

of a man, standing under a tree and looking up through the branches towards the clear blue sky.

Normally this wouldn’t interest me at all, but he was swaying and his body language had that slightly eccentric air. The other

thing was the man’s frame. I would recognise it anywhere. I was sure it was Pete . . .

I shielded my eyes to block out some of the sunlight; it was difficult to be sure, having to squint. He kept swaying, his arms out by

his sides. No. Maybe it wasn’t . . . I started to walk towards the road again, but something made me stop. The man turned to look at

me and then quickly whipped his head away and starting pacing in the other direction. It was definitely Pete.

I started to run towards him. As he walked away he kept turning his head back round, but not looking into my eyes as if he was

trying to get away with not noticing me.

‘Pete!’ I yelled, but he continued to charge away. This was so strange. Not like him at all. ‘Pete!’ I called out again, even louder.

People were looking as I sprinted in his direction, but I didn’t care.

Eventually he stood still with his back to me. I caught up with him and clamped my hand on his shoulder. ‘Pete! What the hell?

Why were you running away?’ I cried, trying to make it sound like I was mildly amused rather than slightly irritated. I was definitely

the latter.

He hung his head as if he’d been caught shoplifting.

‘Pete, turn around. What’s going on?’ I pleaded, starting to feel a little nervous.

Suddenly a smell of beer hit my nostrils. It was coming from him. That was why he was swaying.

He lifted his head and spun round, a look of utter shame on his face. His eyes had that watered-down look people get when they

have been drinking. A lot. He kept his mouth tightly shut. My heart started to beat fast. He looked so strange to me. I was a bit

scared, if I’m honest. He seemed like he’d never met me before.

‘Look, Sienna, I’ve . . . I’ve got to go,’ he said, slurring his speech and stumbling violently as he took a step forward. My breath

caught in my throat as I noticed he was missing some of his lower teeth. It was a huge shock. The nightmare of when someone you

really care about is hurt and you can’t get any sense out of the situation. What the hell had happened?

I stood and watched as he swayed away from me, catching his shoe in a rabbit hole and nearly falling to his knees. I couldn’t just

leave him. Something really bad must have happened.

‘Pete, come on! Will you just sit down and talk to me for a bit?’ I begged, running up to him again and pulling his arm until his

knees buckled and he landed next me on the lush green grass.

There were two main things to address here. The first being that he was pissed. Very pissed. The second was the tooth thing. The

lack of teeth in his mouth. Teeth that had been present and correct the last time we’d spoken. I could be angry at him for being so

drunk. I could jump down his throat and shout at him, but that would achieve nothing. I had to be very careful about the way I

handled this.

‘Oh God, Sienna. Can’t I be just alone? I mean just be alone, please?’ he mumbled, squinting in the sun and yanking a handful of

grass out of the ground like an angry child.

I chose to ignore this. ‘Something really strange happened last night, Pete,’ I said, crossing my legs and hoping that if I could draw

him into a different conversation he would calm down and trust me enough to tell me what had happened.

‘What was that, Si?’ he asked irritably, flopping onto his back and looking into the blue sky. He picked up a wooden coffee

stirrer, which was starting to splinter at one end, and began chewing it. I flinched inwardly at the thought of where it could have

been. He didn’t seem to care at all.

‘Well, Nick took me to a concert, to see my favourite singer. John Legend,’ I started, wondering how wise this was.

Pete rolled over so he wasn’t facing me. He was wearing a pair of jeans, which he had cut off at the knee to make shorts. These

were paired with a promotional T-shirt emblazoned with the Andrex puppy. He almost had style, in a strange ‘this was given to me

free and I had no choice’ kind of way.

‘Tell me more,’ he said with sarcasm, throwing the splintered wooden stick into the distance. I suddenly imagined some poor

terrier choking to death on it, so I ran over to pick it up and put it in the bin. Pete sighed angrily as I returned and continued my story.

‘Well, it was all going fine, but then the singer thought we were a couple and asked us onto the stage while he sang a song about

love.’ I grimaced again, as I had so often today when talking to my friends about this latest ‘incident’. I suddenly realised that talking

about Nick and me, and my problems, was not a good way to distract him. It actually sounded pretty self-absorbed. I just didn’t

know how to handle this situation. He groaned, loudly.

I pulled my legs up in front of me and looked down at my bright red trainers, thinking about how badly this attempt at a story was

going down. I decided to stop.

Wondering what to do next I started fiddling with the tongue of one of my shoes, which was emblazoned with a vintage Adidas

logo.

‘How are things going with your boyfriend anyway?’ Pete asked flippantly, pulling a packet of peanuts from his jeans. He spat

out a piece of chewing gum before he shoved the first load of nuts into his mouth. He definitely smelled of pub now. His tone was

loaded with contempt but I chose to answer his question.

‘Not great. We went to visit his parents during the winter – I think I told you about it back then?’ Pete nodded in recognition.

‘Well, I’ve tried really hard to be there for him, but he’s been pushing me away recently,’ I said, feeling sadness consume me. The

odour of beer wafted up my nostrils again.

‘Do you think it has anything to with your closeness with Nick?’ asked Pete, in a sharp, accusatory tone which made my breath

catch in my throat.

I pulled my aviator sunglasses from my bag and slid them over my eyes, dragging my cardigan under my head in a bid for more

comfort. I felt defensive all of a sudden. Pete had always been on ‘my team’ throughout all of this. Now it was like he hated me.

‘It’s hard to tell. He’s always been really cool about it, actually. Like he isn’t at all bothered. I’ve been trying so hard, trying to be

there for him, but I don’t know if I can keep pushing it any more.’

I realised how fatalistic this sounded. Like it was the beginning of the end. The start of the last chapter. I was pretty sure that if

Ben had loved me, he didn’t any more, and that maybe he was too much of a coward to just tell me and walk away. No one apart

from Dad can ever love me for long, and it’s not like he can really go anywhere. He doesn’t have much choice.

Pete groaned again before hiccupping twice, his ribs sticking out through his T-shirt. A pang of guilt assailed me as I realised how

long he’d been sleeping rough now, and how I’d done nothing to improve his life apart from bringing him treats and boring him with

tales of woe from my excessively complex love life.

‘Anyway, enough of me. What happened to you?’ I asked, rolling onto my tummy to face him and glancing at his teeth. He

sighed angrily and said nothing.

‘The thing is, Pete . . . This is hard to say, but you do kind of smell like beer today.’ I looked him straight in the eye.

The fact that he’d apparently given up all his vices had amazed me. It had been going too smoothly, really, but I was gutted at the

idea that he might be hiding his drinking from me, and that he could be so dishonest to my face. We all need vices – Nick smokes

sometimes, my dad has an unhealthy interest in chocolate, I am inclined to binge shop when the going gets tough . . . But when all

you have to comfort you in life is the buzz from a can of beer, I can imagine it would be very hard to throw it in the bin. The worst

thing was that I kind of sympathised with him, but at the same time, I was scared for him. Scared of my own naivety, too.

He bowed his head in shame and said nothing, but his body language said it all.

‘Come here,’ I said, reaching my hand gently towards his chin. His bottom lip looked really sore. The smell of alcohol was

pungent now. I gently pulled his lip down; he flinched slightly before slapping my hand away like it was a wasp. It made me jump.

Any calm we had achieved was gone, since he now looked as angry as he had when I’d first run up to him.

‘What happened, Pete?’ Tears instantly started to sting my eyes as I saw the aggression in his face again. Just like that time with

the photo . . .

‘You’re just a young girl!’ he spat, sitting up quickly, balancing his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. ‘What

the fuck do you know about hard times, huh? You, with your posh clothes and your good job and your cushty home life!’ He

pushed his lower jaw out in anger.

His words cut into me. I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed silent for a minute or two. ‘Did . . . did someone hit you, Pete?’ I

asked eventually.

He turned to face me again, fury painted across his features, and blinked hard, a funny twitch he had developed some time over

the past year. I looked closer at his lip; it was a dark purple.

‘Of course they fucking did, Sienna. What, did you think I’d walked into a sodding tree or something?’ he snapped.