This is a Love Story (38 page)

‘Bollocks, Nick. I don’t trust you. Why does she still have your number? And what’s
this situation
,
huh?’ She stared straight into my eyes now, breathing so hard her shoulders rose up and down.

This was horrible. ‘So she’s texted me. I haven’t texted her once since we broke up, and yet all of a sudden this is my fault?’ I said, following her back down the stairs waving my phone in the air. This was ludicrous. Utter madness. ‘And Chloe, can you take your bloody shoes off, please, because you’re going to carve up the floor.’

‘I’m not taking my shoes off, Nick, because I’m leaving now,’ she seethed, pacing the hallway with a huge bag in her hands.

‘Oh, Chloe, this is ridiculous. What do you want me to say?’ I walked behind her with my arms out. I was starting to feel very irritated now. I had never been mistrusted like this. And I’d never given her any real reason to mistrust me, either. I kind of understood why she’d worried about Sienna, but we’d moved on from that so long ago now.

She started to ram her possessions into the bag. The candles, the cushions, the strange pebbly things she keeps in bowls. She could definitely take those . . . I looked at her and I didn’t see the Chloe I fell for, I saw an angry, insecure young woman. I felt sorry for her. There had always been signs of this in her personality, but she’d managed to balance it with the wild love she gave me. I loved her. I said it to her all the time, I whispered it in her ear at night, I wrote it on Post-it notes and left them in her lunch. I
loved
her. Or at least I thought I did.

‘So you’re leaving, just like that?’

‘Yeah, just like that,’ she snapped back, almost hissing in my face.

I sank down into the sofa and watched her as she systematically stripped the space around me. If she took my Radiohead CD, I swear . . .

My home. My girl. The two were parting and I felt helpless.

‘Chloe, you know I love you. I don’t know what else I can say. Is it something else?’ I asked, trying to diffuse her fury. I realised that being angry was not going to help in any way; I had to swallow my pride and try to talk her down. Coax her away from this stupid cliff she was about to jump from.

‘Well, you’ve always had eyes elsewhere, Nick, so it’s best I go.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked, genuinely confused.

‘When we go to restaurants you stare at the waitresses, when we go to the park you stare at other girls, then there are all those hidden gifts and secret phone calls with Sienna, and now these intimate texts . . . You’re a horrible, cheating bastard.’

The words cut into me.
Horrible, cheating bastard
. . . No woman had ever even come close to saying that to me. I looked back at all the meals we’d had and the days in the sun. Had I been looking at other girls? Surely not . . . And I couldn’t believe she was bringing Sienna up again – we’d been over that more times than I could remember. I was totally confused, baffled and now pretty angry.

When she had bagged up her possessions in the living room she went upstairs. She’d even taken the DVDs we bought together, but I felt petty saying anything. I sat for an hour listening to her stomping about. I had no idea what to do. What the fuck was I going to do? Did I want her to stay? Did I? Did I really want to be accused of things I hadn’t done? Did I want any more of these silly fights and crazy sex like two wild, confused animals?

I needed Sienna. She would know what to do. She always knows just what to do. I sat some more and pulled my head into my lap, hoping if I fell asleep this would all just be a dream. Thanks a lot, Amelia . . .

After a while Chloe had created a pile of bags by the front door, about four in all. Heels were poking out of them, hangers, bottles, a toothbrush. All of those items that had scared me for so long when they began appearing everywhere . . .

She made her final descent of the stairs. I walked towards them so I could talk to her. She still looked furious. I tried to pull her towards me but she pushed me away again, flicking her arms so my hands flew off them. I lost my grip.

‘Chloe, I’m really quite angry about this. I’ve never cheated on you. So I think this is for the best,’ I said, the words just spilling from my mouth.

She pushed her nose into mine once more and scrunched up her features as she said her last words to me: ‘Don’t call me. Ever.’

Well, that was going to be interesting considering we worked in the same office.

And that was it. The bags were gathered, the door was slammed and I heard her churn up the gravel beneath her tyres as she sped away from my house and out into the open road.

I looked at the cumin seeds and the bread sitting sadly in a blue bag where I’d left them on the kitchen table and wondered what on earth I should do. I sat at the bottom of the stairs and picked up my phone, holding my thumb on the number two. There were two rings and then her voice.

‘Sienna, can I come round?’

Sienna

Nick arrived at my door at 8 p.m., looking like a wet dog. A sad, wet dog. A whippet, to be precise. I’ve always thought he looked a bit like one of those . . .

‘Oh, come in, Nick,’ said my dad as he answered the door, holding on to the dado rail for safety.

The second I’d told him that Nick was coming round, he had gathered together a pile of books about the Congo, his latest fascination. I’d tried to warn him that it might not be that kind of visit. I could tell by the tone of Nick’s voice.

I was sitting on the sofa when I heard the door go. I stood up as he walked in, slightly shocked by just how wet he was. Droplets were running down his face and his fringe was spiked into dagger-like rows, giving him a greasy boy-band look.

‘Nick, what on earth has happened to you? Let me get you a towel,’ I exclaimed, making my way to the bathroom.

‘Er, well, don’t worry. We can talk later,’ he said as he sat down next to my father, who immediately started showing him the books. I threw a bright pink hand-towel at him and made my way back to my seat. Whatever Nick had gone through, it was almost impossible to tell as he started listening to the things my dad had learned today. His way with him was incredible.

I made a pot of tea and spread out a selection of biscuits on one of our best plates. I had a warm feeling in my stomach because he was here. It was a feeling I never had at any other time. I sat on the chair and watched as he and Dad turned the pages, pointing at photos and examining the notes Dad had written. It was like nothing else mattered in the world. He had drawn maps, charts, thought processes in pencil. It was incredible.

After a while, when Dad went to the fridge to get Nick a beer, I gently intercepted. ‘Nick, are you OK?’

He looked up at me and I could see it in his eyes. Something really bad had happened. ‘Well, not really,’ he said, sighing deeply and rubbing his hair with the towel.

His T-shirt was stuck to his body and I could see every ripple of muscle. Stop, Sienna. Must. Concentrate.

‘Chloe left me tonight. She thinks I’m cheating on her.’ He looked towards the table almost in shame. The look was so guilty that for a second I wondered if he had.

I leaned forward so I could be closer to him. ‘And you haven’t, you know . . . cheated on her, have you?’

Dad sat back down and watched us both. His lids were starting to pull down heavily over his eyes like theatre curtains.

‘No, no, of course not. It’s ridiculous, really. I went to the shop to get some stuff we needed for dinner. I left my phone in the kitchen and Amelia set me a message completely out of the blue and Chloe obviously just read it.’ He looked mortified.

‘Oh dear. What did it say?’ my dad asked, showing genuine concern.

Nick picked up a chewy chocolate-chip cookie and bit into it, leaving a perfect impression of his teeth. ‘Just that she missed me and stuff. I honestly haven’t contacted her since the split, and that was so long ago.’

‘So what did Chloe say?’ I asked him. Perhaps it had been one of their silly rows. The ones that they seemed to have so often . . .

‘She basically accused me of cheating on her – she said I have wandering eyes, all sorts of stuff. She packed her bags and left.’ He winced as he said it.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ said my dad as Nick slurped his beer anxiously.

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, butterflies filling my stomach suddenly. I wondered why I felt like this. Well, in truth, I knew. Although I really wanted him to be happy and settled, I also knew that maybe we could get back to the way things had been. Me and Nick, having fun . . . I knew I was being selfish. Before he had the chance to answer, my dad cut in.

‘Guys, I’m really struggling to stay awake here – no offence, Nick. I’m going to have to go to bed,’ he said, his head lolling forward for a moment before he managed to snap himself out of it.

‘No worries, George. Thanks for listening,’ Nick joked, taking another huge swig from his can.

I held on to Dad and walked him into his room, just in case he fell. He climbed into bed heavily and took some tablets. As I kissed him on the cheek, he said something strange: ‘Look after him, Si. He loves you – you know that, don’t you?’

‘What?’

‘Oh, don’t . . . don’t worry,’ he said through thick fatigue as his head dropped softly onto the pillow.

How odd, I thought, as I pulled the duvet over him. He looked so sweet as I stood there for a moment or two, watching him breathe.

When I went back into the living room, Nick had moved onto the double sofa.

‘Come here, Si,’ he said, hanging his head sadly.

‘Aw, sweetheart, don’t worry. You never know, you might be able to sort this out. Right?’ I asked as I curled up beside him.

My heart was racing. I suddenly felt that nervousness I’d felt before with Nick. When it was just us, spending time together. He pulled my shoulders down and I rested my head on his chest, wrapping my right arm around him and holding him tight. I felt that warmth flood my body. His heart was pounding too – I could hear each and every beat. My hands ran across his ribs, I could feel them under his damp T-shirt. That familiar Nick smell filled my nostrils. I hadn’t been this close in a long time. He said nothing, just ran his fingers through my hair. It felt like he was touching my heart.

That ache was returning. The pain that had plagued me for years. I had managed to distract myself from it with new boyfriends, missions to house the homeless and serious but unsuccessful bids for promotion in the office. Now it was back – and I wanted to push it away. I couldn’t cope with all this again.

‘Have you heard from Ben?’ Nick asked suddenly, sweeping a whole handful of my hair away from my neck. It sent chills down my spine.

‘No. It’s been quite a long time now. I was waiting for him to come running back, but he never did, so I think I can safely give up on that one.’

‘Do you miss him?’ he asked.

Did I miss him? I wondered about this . . . The weeks after he left me on the night of the Christmas party had been spent with a dark cloud hovering over my head. Every time the phone rang I’d hoped it would be him. I was always disappointed, and then my disappointment had melted into anger, bitter as coffee. Anger because he’d told me he loved me and then deserted me. He couldn’t really have loved me, could he? You don’t leave people you love. That’s why I’d figured my mum hadn’t loved me. She could never have packed her bags if she had.

‘Not any more. I still think about him, but it’s all over, isn’t it? No point in dwelling on it.’

He sighed again. The way he ran his fingers through my hair was making me sleepy. I was so relaxed I could feel every part of my body almost sinking into him and the sofa as though they were grains of sand.

The clock struck midnight. ‘I should go,’ he said, really quietly now.

The thought of him leaving hurt even more. I didn’t know why. Then three little words just came out of my mouth. I didn’t plan them. ‘Please don’t go.’

I couldn’t believe I’d said it. I swiftly started backpedalling. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. Of course you should go . . .’ I trailed off, blushing into his soft T-shirt before peeling myself away from him.

He lay there for a few moments, just looking at me. He was so handsome it hurt. He still made my heart race like the very first day I’d met him on the train, when I instantly labelled him the most gorgeous man in the carriage, if not the world. It was quite an assumption to make for a twenty-year-old girl who had only ever been as far as Paris on a school trip. Ridiculous, really, wasn’t it?

I could see the thoughts racing through his mind before he started to get up. ‘I’m sorry, Si. Thanks for the offer, but I’m really tired now. I think I need to go home and take stock of this mess.’

I felt embarrassed. I had done it again. For God’s sake. Just like that time I thought it would be a great idea to climb into bed with him and cuddle him.

‘Don’t worry. I don’t know why I said it, really!’

He pulled me in for one more cuddle before walking out quietly, his head still bowed like a sad man.

I didn’t sleep well that night. Not well at all.

Nick

Nick. Thirty-two. Single.

Nick. Thirty-two. Single.

Oh, here we go again, I thought, as I sat at my desk, photoshopping a pair of breasts for a cosmetic surgery feature. What a sad bastard I am. A sad, sad bastard. Anxiety was nibbling away at me. Where’s your wife, Nick? Oh no, you don’t have one. Kids? Course not. Running that art studio you always wished for? Dream on.

The door to my office was shut and the blinds were drawn. I was working away like an angry, disfigured creature that had spent so much time in the dark it would turn into ash if it so much as set foot outside.

I didn’t want to see Chloe sashaying around the office and looking at me like I’d just been ejected from a pigeon’s bottom.
This
was why I had made that promise to myself about relationships with colleagues. I expected that my next tea would be riddled with arsenic . . . She had skipped work for a few days after we’d broken up and I’d kind of hoped she wouldn’t come back, but she did.