Still Me
Page 55
Sam took a long swig of his tea. I wanted him to leave. I thought I might die if he did.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘About the other night. I never wanted to … Well, it was badly judged.’
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak any more.
‘I didn’t sleep with her. If you won’t hear anything else, I do need you to hear that.’
‘You said –’
He looked up.
‘You said … nobody would ever hurt me again. You said that. When you came to New York.’ My voice emerged from somewhere in my chest. ‘I never thought for a moment you would be the one to do it.’
‘Louisa –’
‘I think I’d like you to go now.’
He stood heavily and hesitated, both hands on the table in front of him. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t see the face I loved about to disappear from my life forever. He straightened up, let out an audible breath and turned away from me.
He pulled a package from his inside pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said. And then he walked to the door.
I followed him back down the corridor, eleven long steps, and then we were on the front porch. I couldn’t look at him or I would be lost. I would plead with him to stay, promise to give up my job, beg him to change his job, not to see Katie Ingram again. I would become pathetic, the kind of woman I pitied. The kind of woman he had never wanted.
I stood, my shoulders rigid, and I refused to look any further than his stupid, oversized feet. A car pulled up. A door slammed somewhere down the street. Birds sang. And I stood, locked in my own private misery in a moment that stubbornly refused to end.
And then, abruptly, he stepped forward and his arms closed around me. He pulled me to him, and in that embrace I felt everything that we had meant to each other, the love and the pain and the bloody impossibility of it all. And my face, unseen by him, crumpled.
I don’t know how long we stood there. Probably only seconds. But time briefly stopped, stretched, disappeared. It was just him and me and this awful dead feeling creeping from my head to my feet, as if I were turning to stone.
‘Don’t. Don’t touch me,’ I said, when I couldn’t bear it any more. My voice was choked and unlike itself, and I pushed him back, away from me.
‘Lou –’
Except it wasn’t his voice. It was my sister’s.
‘Lou, could you just – sorry – get out of the way, please? I need to get past.’
I blinked, and turned my head. My sister, her hands raised, was trying to edge past us from the narrow doorway to the path. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just need to …’
Sam released me, quite abruptly, and walked away with long strides, his shoulders hunched and rigid, just pausing as the gate opened. He didn’t look back.
‘Is that our Treena’s new bloke arriving?’ said Mum, behind me. She was wrenching off her apron and straightening her hair in one fluid movement. ‘I thought he was coming at four. I haven’t even put my lippy on … Are you all right?’
Treena turned and, through the blur of my tears, I could just make out her face as she gave a small, hopeful smile. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Eddie,’ she said.
And a slim black woman in a short flowery dress gave us a hesitant wave.
19
As it turns out, as a distraction from losing the second great love of your life, I can highly recommend your sister coming out on Christmas Day, especially with a young woman of colour called Edwina.
Mum covered her initial shock with a flurry of over-effusive welcomes and the promise of tea-making, shepherding Eddie and Treena into the living room, pausing momentarily to give me a look that, if my mother had been the type to swear, would have said WTAF before she disappeared back down the corridor to the kitchen. Thom emerged from the living room, yelled, ‘Eddie!’ gave our guest a huge hug, waited on jiggy feet to be handed his present and ripped it apart, then ran off with a new Lego set.
And Dad, utterly silenced, simply stared at what was unfolding before him, like someone dumped into a hallucinogenic dream. I saw Treena’s uncharacteristically anxious expression, felt the rising sense of panic in the air and knew I had to act. I murmured at Dad to close his mouth, then stepped forward and held out my hand. ‘Eddie!’ I said. ‘Hi! I’m Louisa. My sister will no doubt have told you all the bad stuff.’
‘Actually,’ Eddie said, ‘she’s only told me wonderful things. You live in New York, don’t you?’
‘Mostly.’ I hoped my smile didn’t look as forced as it felt.
‘I lived in Brooklyn for two years after I left college. I still miss it.’
She shed her bronze-coloured coat, waiting while Treena wedged it onto our over-stacked pegs. She was tiny, a porcelain doll, with the most exquisitely symmetrical features I’d ever seen and eyes that slanted upwards with extravagant black lashes. She chatted away as we went into the living room – perhaps too polite to acknowledge my parents’ barely concealed shock – and stooped to shake hands with Granddad, who smiled his lopsided smile at her, then went back to staring at the television.
I had never seen my sister like this. It was as if we had just been introduced to two strangers rather than one. There was Eddie – impeccably polite, interesting, engaged, steering us with grace through these choppy conversational waters – and there was New Treena, her expression faintly unsure, her smile a little fragile, her hand occasionally reaching across the sofa to squeeze her girlfriend’s as if for reassurance. Dad’s jaw dropped a full three inches the first time she did it, and Mum jabbed his rib repeatedly with her elbow until he closed it again.
‘So! Edwina!’ said Mum, pouring the tea. ‘Treena’s told us – um – so little about you. How – how did you two meet?’
Eddie smiled. ‘I run an interiors shop near Katrina’s flat and she just popped in a few times to get cushions and fabric and we started talking. We went for a drink, and later to the cinema … and, you know, it turned out we had a lot in common.’
I found myself nodding, trying to work out what my sister could possibly have in common with the polished, elegant creature in front of me.
‘Things in common! How lovely. Things in common are a great thing. Yes. And – and where is it you come – Oh, goodness. I don’t mean …’
‘Where do I come from? Blackheath. I know – people rarely move to north London from south. My parents moved to Borehamwood when they retired three years ago. So I’m one of those rarities – a north and south Londoner.’ She beamed at Treena, as if this was some shared joke, before turning back to Mum. ‘Have you always lived around here?’
‘Mum and Dad will leave Stortfold in their coffins,’ Treena said.
‘Not too soon, we hope!’ I said.
‘It looks like a beautiful town. I can see why you’d want to stay,’ Eddie said, holding up her plate. ‘This cake is amazing, Mrs Clark. Do you make it yourself? My mother makes one with rum and she swears you have to steep the fruit for three months to get the full flavour.’
‘Katrina is gay?’ said Dad.
‘It’s good, Mum,’ said Treena. ‘The sultanas are … really … moist.’
Dad looked from one of us to the other. ‘Our Treena likes girls? And nobody’s saying anything? And just whanging on about fecking cushions and cake?’
‘Bernard,’ said my mother.
‘Perhaps I should give you all a moment,’ said Eddie.
‘No, stay, Eddie.’ Treena glanced at Thom, who was engrossed in the television, and said, ‘Yes, Dad. I like women. Or, at least, I like Eddie.’
‘Treena might be gender fluid,’ said Mum, nervously. ‘Is that the right expression? The young people at night school tell me a lot of them are neither one thing nor the other, these days. There’s a spectrum. Or a speculum. I can never remember which.’
Dad blinked.
Mum swallowed a gulp of tea so audibly that it was almost painful.
‘Well, personally,’ I said, when Treena had stopped patting her on the back, ‘I just think it’s great that anyone would want to go out with Treena. Anyone at all. You know, anyone with eyes and ears and a heart and stuff.’ Treena shot me a look of genuine gratitude.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘About the other night. I never wanted to … Well, it was badly judged.’
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak any more.
‘I didn’t sleep with her. If you won’t hear anything else, I do need you to hear that.’
‘You said –’
He looked up.
‘You said … nobody would ever hurt me again. You said that. When you came to New York.’ My voice emerged from somewhere in my chest. ‘I never thought for a moment you would be the one to do it.’
‘Louisa –’
‘I think I’d like you to go now.’
He stood heavily and hesitated, both hands on the table in front of him. I couldn’t look at him. I couldn’t see the face I loved about to disappear from my life forever. He straightened up, let out an audible breath and turned away from me.
He pulled a package from his inside pocket and placed it on the table. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said. And then he walked to the door.
I followed him back down the corridor, eleven long steps, and then we were on the front porch. I couldn’t look at him or I would be lost. I would plead with him to stay, promise to give up my job, beg him to change his job, not to see Katie Ingram again. I would become pathetic, the kind of woman I pitied. The kind of woman he had never wanted.
I stood, my shoulders rigid, and I refused to look any further than his stupid, oversized feet. A car pulled up. A door slammed somewhere down the street. Birds sang. And I stood, locked in my own private misery in a moment that stubbornly refused to end.
And then, abruptly, he stepped forward and his arms closed around me. He pulled me to him, and in that embrace I felt everything that we had meant to each other, the love and the pain and the bloody impossibility of it all. And my face, unseen by him, crumpled.
I don’t know how long we stood there. Probably only seconds. But time briefly stopped, stretched, disappeared. It was just him and me and this awful dead feeling creeping from my head to my feet, as if I were turning to stone.
‘Don’t. Don’t touch me,’ I said, when I couldn’t bear it any more. My voice was choked and unlike itself, and I pushed him back, away from me.
‘Lou –’
Except it wasn’t his voice. It was my sister’s.
‘Lou, could you just – sorry – get out of the way, please? I need to get past.’
I blinked, and turned my head. My sister, her hands raised, was trying to edge past us from the narrow doorway to the path. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I just need to …’
Sam released me, quite abruptly, and walked away with long strides, his shoulders hunched and rigid, just pausing as the gate opened. He didn’t look back.
‘Is that our Treena’s new bloke arriving?’ said Mum, behind me. She was wrenching off her apron and straightening her hair in one fluid movement. ‘I thought he was coming at four. I haven’t even put my lippy on … Are you all right?’
Treena turned and, through the blur of my tears, I could just make out her face as she gave a small, hopeful smile. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Eddie,’ she said.
And a slim black woman in a short flowery dress gave us a hesitant wave.
19
As it turns out, as a distraction from losing the second great love of your life, I can highly recommend your sister coming out on Christmas Day, especially with a young woman of colour called Edwina.
Mum covered her initial shock with a flurry of over-effusive welcomes and the promise of tea-making, shepherding Eddie and Treena into the living room, pausing momentarily to give me a look that, if my mother had been the type to swear, would have said WTAF before she disappeared back down the corridor to the kitchen. Thom emerged from the living room, yelled, ‘Eddie!’ gave our guest a huge hug, waited on jiggy feet to be handed his present and ripped it apart, then ran off with a new Lego set.
And Dad, utterly silenced, simply stared at what was unfolding before him, like someone dumped into a hallucinogenic dream. I saw Treena’s uncharacteristically anxious expression, felt the rising sense of panic in the air and knew I had to act. I murmured at Dad to close his mouth, then stepped forward and held out my hand. ‘Eddie!’ I said. ‘Hi! I’m Louisa. My sister will no doubt have told you all the bad stuff.’
‘Actually,’ Eddie said, ‘she’s only told me wonderful things. You live in New York, don’t you?’
‘Mostly.’ I hoped my smile didn’t look as forced as it felt.
‘I lived in Brooklyn for two years after I left college. I still miss it.’
She shed her bronze-coloured coat, waiting while Treena wedged it onto our over-stacked pegs. She was tiny, a porcelain doll, with the most exquisitely symmetrical features I’d ever seen and eyes that slanted upwards with extravagant black lashes. She chatted away as we went into the living room – perhaps too polite to acknowledge my parents’ barely concealed shock – and stooped to shake hands with Granddad, who smiled his lopsided smile at her, then went back to staring at the television.
I had never seen my sister like this. It was as if we had just been introduced to two strangers rather than one. There was Eddie – impeccably polite, interesting, engaged, steering us with grace through these choppy conversational waters – and there was New Treena, her expression faintly unsure, her smile a little fragile, her hand occasionally reaching across the sofa to squeeze her girlfriend’s as if for reassurance. Dad’s jaw dropped a full three inches the first time she did it, and Mum jabbed his rib repeatedly with her elbow until he closed it again.
‘So! Edwina!’ said Mum, pouring the tea. ‘Treena’s told us – um – so little about you. How – how did you two meet?’
Eddie smiled. ‘I run an interiors shop near Katrina’s flat and she just popped in a few times to get cushions and fabric and we started talking. We went for a drink, and later to the cinema … and, you know, it turned out we had a lot in common.’
I found myself nodding, trying to work out what my sister could possibly have in common with the polished, elegant creature in front of me.
‘Things in common! How lovely. Things in common are a great thing. Yes. And – and where is it you come – Oh, goodness. I don’t mean …’
‘Where do I come from? Blackheath. I know – people rarely move to north London from south. My parents moved to Borehamwood when they retired three years ago. So I’m one of those rarities – a north and south Londoner.’ She beamed at Treena, as if this was some shared joke, before turning back to Mum. ‘Have you always lived around here?’
‘Mum and Dad will leave Stortfold in their coffins,’ Treena said.
‘Not too soon, we hope!’ I said.
‘It looks like a beautiful town. I can see why you’d want to stay,’ Eddie said, holding up her plate. ‘This cake is amazing, Mrs Clark. Do you make it yourself? My mother makes one with rum and she swears you have to steep the fruit for three months to get the full flavour.’
‘Katrina is gay?’ said Dad.
‘It’s good, Mum,’ said Treena. ‘The sultanas are … really … moist.’
Dad looked from one of us to the other. ‘Our Treena likes girls? And nobody’s saying anything? And just whanging on about fecking cushions and cake?’
‘Bernard,’ said my mother.
‘Perhaps I should give you all a moment,’ said Eddie.
‘No, stay, Eddie.’ Treena glanced at Thom, who was engrossed in the television, and said, ‘Yes, Dad. I like women. Or, at least, I like Eddie.’
‘Treena might be gender fluid,’ said Mum, nervously. ‘Is that the right expression? The young people at night school tell me a lot of them are neither one thing nor the other, these days. There’s a spectrum. Or a speculum. I can never remember which.’
Dad blinked.
Mum swallowed a gulp of tea so audibly that it was almost painful.
‘Well, personally,’ I said, when Treena had stopped patting her on the back, ‘I just think it’s great that anyone would want to go out with Treena. Anyone at all. You know, anyone with eyes and ears and a heart and stuff.’ Treena shot me a look of genuine gratitude.
