babysit and I’ll come with you,’ suggests Amelie. ‘We don’t even have to tell Bella where you’re going if you think it will cause difficulties.’
‘What if he doesn’t remember me?’
‘He’ll remember you.’
‘I’ve nothing to wear.’ The age-old excuse.
‘Nonsense,’ says Amelie, in a tone that suggests she knows nonsense when she hears it and will not be accepting any.
I scramble around my brain for another excuse but the cupboard is bare.
It has been years since I fancied anyone. I hardly dare admit it to myself but the truth is I can’t remember ever fancying anyone as much as I fancy Stevie. I’d been with Oscar forever and while I remember thinking he was a total stud when I first met him that oh-la-la feeling had faded after we’d been together a few years. It was stamped out altogether once I’d got to the stage of searching through his coat pockets for receipts and other incriminating evidence.
After we split I had a brief fling with my osteopath. We rooted energetically every Thursday night. We did not eat together, sleep together or even talk to one another much. I viewed him as a pleasant alternative to Prozac. The affair stopped as abruptly as it started when my backache receded and he got himself a proper girlfriend (someone without a child and a looming divorce case). I don’t believe I ever missed him.
But I miss Stevie already. For days I’ve thought of nothing and no one else. I’ve found it easy to be pleasant to Big Hand I am patience personified with Eddie.Yesterday, I played Captain Hook and Peter Pan with him for over four consecutive hours. This involves me being endlessly tied up with a soft toy snake, rolling around on the floor until I escape, then being captured again so that I can walk the plank (a line of cushions on the floor). I did it and smiled, so lusted up am I.
I’ve endlessly replayed
The Conversation
and
The Kiss
. Stevie Jones thinks Laura Ingalls is a pretty name, which warms me like a cashmere-covered hot water bottle. I think about his smile, his fingers and the tiny hairs on his ear lobes. I am immortalizing him. Bugger. I’ve only just managed to control the situation by reminding myself that Stevie Jones is a fantasy figure: my feelings for him are not dissimilar to those I harbour for Robbie Williams and the chances of it developing into anything real are similar too. Amelie has taken away the safety barrier. She seems hell-bent on making Stevie more than a hazy mess of ill-defined desires and daydreams.
I wonder if I dare go to The Bell and Long Wheat. Amelie makes it sound so easy.
‘Wear your pink floral T-shirt, your Wonderbra and your best smile,’ she insists.
‘What would we talk about?’
‘You’ll think of something,’ she says confidently. ‘Come over to my place at seven thirty. Bring Eddie. I’ll sort out babysitting with Bella.’
9. I Really Don’t Want to Know
Friday 21st May 2004
Bella
I protest at being dragged into this farce. Every sensible bone in my body is screaming objections but it would be infinitely more terrible to be left out.
Amelie rang and nonchalantly asked if I was doing anything this Friday. I said I wasn’t and she asked if I would babysit for her. Delighted to, I said. Then she added that as she and Laura were having a night out could I babysit Eddie too. I was furious. Of course, I couldn’t admit it.
‘Oh, going anywhere nice?’ I squeaked.
‘A pub in Richmond. The Bell and Long Wheat.’
She didn’t have to explain.
‘The loony busker?’ I demanded.
‘The first guy Laura has shown any interest in for as long as I can remember,’ replied Amelie, calmly; her criticism of my standpoint implicit but loud enough. ‘She’s really keen. A bit of fun would be good for her. Life’s too short not to take all your chances.’
I thought the ‘life’s too short’ line was a mean trick but an effective one. I agreed to babysit.
‘You know what would make her most happy?’
‘What if he doesn’t remember me?’
‘He’ll remember you.’
‘I’ve nothing to wear.’ The age-old excuse.
‘Nonsense,’ says Amelie, in a tone that suggests she knows nonsense when she hears it and will not be accepting any.
I scramble around my brain for another excuse but the cupboard is bare.
It has been years since I fancied anyone. I hardly dare admit it to myself but the truth is I can’t remember ever fancying anyone as much as I fancy Stevie. I’d been with Oscar forever and while I remember thinking he was a total stud when I first met him that oh-la-la feeling had faded after we’d been together a few years. It was stamped out altogether once I’d got to the stage of searching through his coat pockets for receipts and other incriminating evidence.
After we split I had a brief fling with my osteopath. We rooted energetically every Thursday night. We did not eat together, sleep together or even talk to one another much. I viewed him as a pleasant alternative to Prozac. The affair stopped as abruptly as it started when my backache receded and he got himself a proper girlfriend (someone without a child and a looming divorce case). I don’t believe I ever missed him.
But I miss Stevie already. For days I’ve thought of nothing and no one else. I’ve found it easy to be pleasant to Big Hand I am patience personified with Eddie.Yesterday, I played Captain Hook and Peter Pan with him for over four consecutive hours. This involves me being endlessly tied up with a soft toy snake, rolling around on the floor until I escape, then being captured again so that I can walk the plank (a line of cushions on the floor). I did it and smiled, so lusted up am I.
I’ve endlessly replayed
The Conversation
and
The Kiss
. Stevie Jones thinks Laura Ingalls is a pretty name, which warms me like a cashmere-covered hot water bottle. I think about his smile, his fingers and the tiny hairs on his ear lobes. I am immortalizing him. Bugger. I’ve only just managed to control the situation by reminding myself that Stevie Jones is a fantasy figure: my feelings for him are not dissimilar to those I harbour for Robbie Williams and the chances of it developing into anything real are similar too. Amelie has taken away the safety barrier. She seems hell-bent on making Stevie more than a hazy mess of ill-defined desires and daydreams.
I wonder if I dare go to The Bell and Long Wheat. Amelie makes it sound so easy.
‘Wear your pink floral T-shirt, your Wonderbra and your best smile,’ she insists.
‘What would we talk about?’
‘You’ll think of something,’ she says confidently. ‘Come over to my place at seven thirty. Bring Eddie. I’ll sort out babysitting with Bella.’
9. I Really Don’t Want to Know
Friday 21st May 2004
Bella
I protest at being dragged into this farce. Every sensible bone in my body is screaming objections but it would be infinitely more terrible to be left out.
Amelie rang and nonchalantly asked if I was doing anything this Friday. I said I wasn’t and she asked if I would babysit for her. Delighted to, I said. Then she added that as she and Laura were having a night out could I babysit Eddie too. I was furious. Of course, I couldn’t admit it.
‘Oh, going anywhere nice?’ I squeaked.
‘A pub in Richmond. The Bell and Long Wheat.’
She didn’t have to explain.
‘The loony busker?’ I demanded.
‘The first guy Laura has shown any interest in for as long as I can remember,’ replied Amelie, calmly; her criticism of my standpoint implicit but loud enough. ‘She’s really keen. A bit of fun would be good for her. Life’s too short not to take all your chances.’
I thought the ‘life’s too short’ line was a mean trick but an effective one. I agreed to babysit.
‘You know what would make her most happy?’
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