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‘I’ll see what’s in the fridge, but it’s probably going to be cold pizza from last night. Unless you want me to put together something from Lena’s stash. Warning though: it’s only going to be healthy stuff like aduki beans and apples. Oh, but I think I know where she keeps her secret store of Toblerone,’ Millie said excitedly.
‘Actually, don’t worry about the food,’ Rik said, suddenly changing his mind. He jumped out of bed, sliding his perfect frame into his Diesel jeans.
Her heart leapt. She wanted to say it. She really had to tell him she loved him. And now, before it was too late.
‘Rik,’ she began, realizing her lips had to move fast if she was to get the words out before he left the flat. He hardly called as it was, and they never went out to places (unless you counted the fish-and-chip shop last Saturday), so she didn’t know when the next ‘perfect’ time would come about again. He now had his shirt in his hands, after all, and his trainers had magically slipped onto his feet; she had to work fast or else the moment would be lost.
She had to tell him now.
Now.
Now! ‘I love you.’
And then silence. In fact she couldn’t hear anything but the ticking of her Betty Boo alarm clock as they stood facing one another as though they were in some type of face-off, his belt unbuckled, muscular six-pack tantalizingly naked.
She bit her bottom lip nervously and waited.
Rik merely sighed and then averted his gaze to his jacket–hooked on the edge of the wardrobe door, which was itself hanging off its hinges. He slipped into his shirt, still saying nothing, and Millie grabbed the duvet, hugging it close to her as she suddenly felt quite cold.
‘Aren’t you going to say anything, Rik?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Millie, I do like you…But…’
And there it began. A jumble of words that, once strung together, all amounted to the same thing.
He. Didn’t. Want. Her.
‘I think we need time apart,’ he muttered finally.
She pretended not to hear him, desperate to shut out the words she’d been hearing for as long as she could remember. From guys, mainly. Ex’s who clearly weren’t as perfect for her as Rik. And he was perfect for her. Rik, who spelt his name without a ‘c’. Rik, who made her feel a lot less lonely. Rik, who looked out for her. Of course she had Lena and sometimes Cara (very rarely, Cara), but it was so nice to have someone like Rik around and she needed to remind him of just why they were so, so, so, so perfect for one another. She loved him. He was the one for her and she for him.
She needed him–didn’t that count for anything?
So, what Millie did next came naturally.
‘No, stop it Millie,’ he murmured, pulling away from her tight kiss. This was futile, of course, as she was clinging onto him oh-so-desperately. Her hands digging into his arms as he attempted to extract himself from her grip and possibly from her life forever. And she couldn’t have that. Not this time and not again. She didn’t know if her heart could cope with yet another crack.
He gripped her shoulders firmly. ‘I said no, Millie!’ His voice was strong, firm, like a father telling her off, she suspected.
The mixture of pity and coldness she clearly recognized, though.
‘Don’t,’ he said, as he gently moved her face away from him. ‘Don’t do this, Millie.’
A huge feeling of rejection washed over her, threatening to devour every one of her senses if she didn’t begin some sort of damage limitation.
‘I get it, you’re knackered, I shouldn’t have woken you up! Go home, get some rest and I’ll see you later?’ she said breathlessly, but he returned a look she couldn’t quite read–or didn’t want to.
‘No, I don’t think it’s a good idea, seeing as though–’
‘No! Don’t say it!’ she snapped, jumping off the bed and leaving the bed shaking in her wake.
‘It has to be said because you clearly weren’t listening earlier, Millie,’ he replied gently.
She silently begged him not to say the words again. Yes, she’d heard something in the early hours of the morning after a lovely evening together but, as usual, her natural refusal to absorb or process any of the hurtful words had kicked in.
‘It’s over,’ he said.
She placed her hands over her ears, wanting to switch the radio back on, needing to block out what he was saying to her.
‘We are over. I thought I made myself clear before.’
She threw her hands back down. ‘But, I thought–’
‘You thought that if you managed to get me into bed again, have a few drinks, everything would be all right. Well, it isn’t, Millie. I wanted to make sure you were all right, you know…. You said you wanted me to hold you, so I did and then we…I’m sorry. I really am.’
‘So, if you’re sorry, then don’t do it. Please don’t leave me!’ Millie didn’t care how desperate she sounded; she didn’t want him to leave. She didn’t want to get dumped again.
But Rik’s eyed were darting frantically around her room; taking in the stained mugs, half-read magazines and lip-gloss-covered towel. Millie’s mind attempted to separate and communicate the whirl of questions, answers, protestations, and pleadings that were rushing around in her head like an out-of-control carousel. ‘So…so, are you really going?’
Rik now had his jacket on and was picking his way through the clutter of boxes that Millie had not yet unpacked since her move from the Bow bedsit, three months ago.
‘This room is in such a state,’ he said as he scanned his eyes over two fat bags of washing that still hadn’t made it to the launderette.
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ve lost my watch,’ he said circling his left wrist. ‘If you find it, can you let me know, please?’
She was glad that the place was a mess, that he’d misplaced his beloved, stupid watch. That way at least she had something of his to hold onto and he’d have to come back for it sometime. And perhaps when he did come back, she’d answer the door in that New Look chiffon minidress she’d bought a few months ago. She’d also pile on that new Rimmel mascara her mate Nikki was always going on about and, if she could afford it, she’d splash out on a trip to Monique’s to get her hair straightened. Actually, on second thoughts, Rik liked her soft curls: he’d told her that once.
‘So, you’re really going then?’ she asked, her voice breaking.
‘Yes, Millie. I’m sorry. I mean, you’re a great girl and everything but nothing’s changed since last night. I’m sorry, Millie,’ he replied, buttoning up his jacket.
And with that, he slipped out of her bedroom, quickly. And although she had pretty much used up any last scrap of dignity, all she could do now was listen as he hurried down the stairs, each step he took feeling like one more chip away at her heart.
She shut her bedroom door and sank down onto her bed. Men broke up with her all the time, but she hadn’t a clue why. She was attentive, respectful, loving, sexy, and could usually pass off one of Lena’s delicious dinners as her own. What was wrong with her?
She took a deep breath, wanting to pull herself together, but knowing she couldn’t yet. Yes, she was twenty-four. A big girl now. And she was used to this; but, nevertheless, she was no less tired of it all. Just over two months ago, Olu informed her it couldn’t, ‘wouldn’t work’, and a month before that, Kenny stopped returning her calls. She wiped her eyes just as her mobile phone belted out a rubbish version of the theme tune to The Simpson’s. She stood up quickly, her little toe banging against the edge of the bed.
‘Owwww!’ she cried as the pain shot through her body. The phone stopped ringing and she threw herself onto her bed as the tears came freely. She wasn’t crying because of her toe (though that had bloody hurt!) but she sobbed for the loss of Rik and every other man she’d longed to have a relationship with.
What was wrong with her?
Both her sisters had great relationships.
Why did this only ever happen to her?
Ten minutes later, she was still crying when the phone rang again. This time she answered it.
It was her sister Cara, who normally texted her short, sharp messages–when she wasn’t nagging or shouting at her, that was. Lena was the sister that always tried to keep them from decking one another. Always wanting them to ‘be close’.
Being the youngest meant that Millie grew up bearing the brunt of Cara’s ‘jokes’ when she was irritated or just bored. Like the invention of Spiralicious the sea monster, which was ready to eat her at any moment if she didn’t do as Cara said. At five she’d believed ten-year-old Cara as she regularly threatened her with ‘it’, frightening her into doing extra chores and basically scaring the shit out of her. She’d regularly go and hide, usually under the stairs, and it was always Lena who would find her and try and convince her that Spiralicious didn’t actually exist.
In fact, it was always Lena who would come to her rescue and pick up the pieces. Soothing her, comforting her, and promising her that bar of Toblerone she’d always keep under her bed.
‘Hi Cara,’ Millie sighed, ready to be told off for something or other.
‘Are you sitting down?’ said Cara, her voice uncharacteristically gentle and quiet. It sounded as if she’d been crying. Actually, she’d never heard or seen Cara cry before.
‘What is it?’ Millie asked, sitting up straight, suddenly terrified.
As Cara spoke, Millie gripped the phone tightly to her, her chest heaving with loud, frightened sobs. She knew that by answering that call, her life had just taken a startling turn. In fact, she felt she’d do anything to go back in time to her childhood, find a corner and just hide, until someone told her that this new state of horror didn’t actually exist.
THREE (#u32eab303-6cdc-5a31-9c93-15fc2175ab0b)
One Week Earlier…
‘You’re my Prince Charming, dear!’ Enthused, the silver-haired old lady thanking him as he handed her the last of the coins that had toppled out of her purse and onto the pavement.
‘Don’t worry about it, you just take care,’ he said with a straight smile. Now that was a first, he thought. Prince Charming. Women usually made references to his ‘lovely bushy eyebrows’ (that he hated), long girly eyelashes, (which he detested) and the chiselled (chiselled?) jawline, but he’d never once been described as Prince Charming before. This was definitely a first. He rubbed his stomach consciously. A diet of greasy takeaways and fizzy drinks had meant he was beginning to develop a slight gut, but somehow he’d not plucked up the courage to take a leaflet from one of those muscly types who stood outside the station handing out ‘free gym trials’, probably because he just wasn’t that motivated to do anything that involved leg lifts, sweat and pushy instructors. What energies he did have were reserved for trying to improve his financial situation and well, his future. He had plans and was going to stick to them. Of course he hadn’t always been a ‘miserable git’ as his sister Charlotte sometimes liked to call him. He liked to think he had his ‘moments.’
But for now he was on his way to the job he detested, where he spent the bulk of his time regularly checking sales figures on products he just didn’t care about, and every 4.5 minutes checking his computer clock, which only told him he had too long to go until he was allowed back into the flat he also hated, next door to a bunch of neighbours–the noisiest neighbours in the world–that he hated almost as much as his job. So, as Michael headed towards the bus stop with a million things on his mind and, again, with a complete lack of motivation to start tackling them, he did so with a heavy heart. Of course, at thirty-one he knew he couldn’t continue feeling the way he did about…everything. Feeling half the man he wanted to be. Feeling that anything great, any major accomplishment, seemed to be easily within the reach of others but way out of his. Everyone in his life–family, boss, mates–seemed to expect him to act like a performing seal, when all he really wanted to do was go away and get things done, his way. Not that he begrudged his family anything at all. He actually felt useful when he did odd jobs for his mother and fixed things for his sister and the kids–he just wanted a bit of a rest from some of the bad feeling sometimes. Just so he could focus on all the plans he had. But then his sister Charlotte would often say he had too much time on his hands and why didn’t he go out more?
As usual, he made his way up on to the double-decker bus with his Oyster card, a part of him hoping to catch a glimpse of the girl he’d noticed just the other day.
He’d never really noticed her before. His head was normally glued to the back pages of Metro as he made his way to the stairs–a good tactic for blocking out the madness around him. But that day, he didn’t have a paper, and when he reached the stairs, he glanced up to notice a stunning girl with the plumpest lips he’d ever seen, smiling in his direction from the back of the bus. When he smiled back, she bent her head in embarrassment. He’d noticed her eyes too. Green. But not just any green. Totally ‘out there’ green. They were striking against her exotic complexion, and he could tell that she was curvy rather than skin and bones. She was dressed quirkily, a multicoloured hair band holding back her big unruly hair.
It was probably a good job she’d turned away, because suddenly any grain of confidence he might have had left dissipated and he slowly lifted himself up the stairs, away from the green-eyed girl. He wanted to kick himself, but he just didn’t have the courage to talk to her. She wouldn’t be interested in him. He was plain old Michael Johns who lived in a rented council flat on Dog Kennel Hill Estate and who hadn’t driven a car in a year. Women were supposed to love money, power, and confidence, yet Michael was all too aware that he possessed none of the above. But he did have bushy eyebrows though. And for reasons unknown to him, he’d never had much trouble attracting the ladies.
Take Jen.
Beautiful and sexy Jen. Lovely flowing hair and gorgeous shapely thighs you could die for. He’d met Jen outside Tesco’s where a large (large in the muscley sense) bloke seemed to be hassling her for her number. She was rolling her eyes and checking her watch as the man seemed to reel off a 101 reasons why she should hand over her phone number to him. Michael without even thinking blurted out a loud ‘Babe, there you are! Hurry up love, the kids are in the Merc causing major havoc!’ as he proffered his hand. She took his hand, a plastic smile on her face, perhaps not knowing if he indeed was going to be worse than the guy she was currently trying to get away from. But taking the chance on him nevertheless.
‘You saved me,’ she’d said that night as they had dinner and she joked about how their fictional car had been a Merc and not a Mondeo. They’d started out as friends but then one night things went beyond the realms of purely platonic. Part of Michael wished that their friendship has stayed at just that, especially when Jen started dropping hints that she was ready for a proper relationship. And for a while, he allowed his ego to sing at the thought of this beautiful girl wanting him, but soon fear began to take him over. Their ‘relationship’ could never go further anytime soon. For a start, what could he offer her?
Now, sitting on the bus, Michael decided to make a little detour into Camberwell and pay Jen a visit. Perhaps the green-eyed girl had stirred him up a bit because it was very rare for him to call Jen from work and say, ‘Can I come over, tonight?’ It was usually Jen calling him up and telling him how much she needed him.
He buzzed the intercom and, as always, Jen was ready and waiting at the door for him as soon as he reached the top of the communal staircase. But instead of appearing in the silky black and gold pyjamas she normally changed straight into as soon as she got home, she was still in her work clothes, a sharp-looking trouser-and-waistcoat combo.
‘Hi,’ she said. She smelt delicious. He reached over to kiss her, but she shifted her head slightly.
‘You look nice. And you smell good too. All peachy.’
‘Papaya, actually.’
Jen didn’t say much as she disappeared into the kitchen and emerged with two plates on which sat an ‘M&S special’, accompanied by a tub of hummus, even though she knew he hated the stuff.
Michael began to eat, feeling her eyes boring into him. It would have felt unnerving if he hadn’t been so hungry.
They hardly spoke during the meal, and no sooner had he finished his last mouthful than she reached over to clear his plate. He attempted to circle her waist with his hands but she removed them slowly.
‘We need to talk, Michael’
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
‘This is serious.’
She dragged her chair closer to his. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, forcing him to make eye contact.
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘You know what I mean.’
He knew all too well. They’d been here once before, yes, he remembered now–about a year ago.
‘You said six months.’
‘I know…’
‘That was two years ago, Michael.’
Two years? ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure,’ she replied sharply. ‘I’ve known you for three years now.’
He hadn’t realized it had been that long.
‘“Just give me another six months or so to sort myself out,” you said. “Then we can be a couple.”’
Michael felt utterly and totally in a bind. At the time he was sure he’d meant it. Hoping to have improved his living/job/financial status somewhat, but, as that had yet to materialize, well…
‘Well?’ she folded her arms, and Michael swallowed. ‘I need to know we are going somewhere. That this…this relationship, if you can call it that, is leading us to something bigger…’
‘I just need time,’ he said.
‘Yeah, another few months,’ said Jen, clasping her arms even tighter.
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘Because when is it ever going to be the right time? You seem to think we have all the time in the world! That when you decide you are ready, things will just snap into place!’
Sounded feasible to him.
‘I think I need to wake up and realize that I’m not it, am I?’ she said quietly, her voice trembling slightly. Michael hoped she wasn’t about to cry. He couldn’t handle that.
‘What aren’t you?’
‘I’m not The One. If I was, you wouldn’t need to make all these excuses, we’d just be together. It shouldn’t be this hard, Michael.’ She sighed heavily.
