roasted peanuts mingled with cigarette smoke and the sour
stench of ale. I sat down at a table while Catherine went up to the bar and
ordered the drinks. A small fire flickered in the open grate beside me and I
leaned forward briefly and warmed my face in its amber glow before shrugging
off my coat and sinking back into the cushioned leather of my armchair. A group
of students, deep in conversation at the table next to me, suddenly let out a
loud roar of laughter. I glanced over at them and wished for one strange moment
that I were back there with them, with a chance to do it all over again, the
whole student thing, only properly this time, to integrate myself fully into
that other world and with those people. Maybe that was where I had belonged
after all; maybe the past seven years had been a mistake. Maybe fear and
insecurity at leaving home to study - at starting a new life on my own - had
caused me to go the entirely wrong way through the sliding doors of fate into
the club on Mill Road and into Larsen’s life.
“So where’s Martin tonight?” I asked Catherine,
when she returned. It didn’t take Einstein to work out that her low mood was
something to do with him.
“He’s coaching. The team’s got a tournament in Manchester,”
she said. “It starts early tomorrow, so they’ve got to go tonight.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just a silly argument.”
“Does he mind you going out with me tonight?”
“Of course not. He’s fine about it. It’s nothing,
honest. Anyway, I want to hear about you.”
I took a sip of my drink and thought back to
Martin’s shouting in the background when Catherine was on the phone to me. He
had sounded really angry. I also recalled the unpleasant way he had treated
Sean, the junior staff member at the swimming pool. And then there was his flirting.
But maybe it was all something and nothing, like she said. I didn’t know enough
about their relationship to pass judgement, yet alone interfere.
“So, come on then,” she said. “What happened? With
Larsen?”
“I don’t know where to start,” I said. “Except that
everything I told you about him is the truth. He’s a lovely guy. He’s funny. And
kind. And I was crazy about him, you know?”
“Was?”
“Am. Was. I don’t know.”
“Are you sure it’s over?”
“He’s moved out,” I said. “I haven’t heard from
him since he left. It’s well over a week. Ten days to be precise. I haven’t
gone this long without speaking to him since the day we met.”
“So is this not what you really want?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It feels like a
release at times, like I can breathe again. We were just so merged into each
other. Or I was merged into him, more to the point. It’s like we were the same
person. It was suffocating. Even our initials were the same: Larsen Tyler and
Lizzie Taylor. He loved that, things like that, our sameness. He thought it was
great, how close it made us. And that was what I wanted, too, in the beginning.
I let it happen. It was so secure. And he had a ready made life, friends,
everything was there, set up for me. All I had to do in return was love him,
and believe me I did. He loved me back and it was everything I needed. And when
he got up on stage… well, being his girlfriend, basking in his reflected glory…
it was intoxicating. It was the headiest thing that ever happened to me.”
“So what changed?”
“I just don’t know. Me I suppose. Like I say, I felt
stifled, suffocated. As if I just wasn’t being myself, as though I was living
his life, not mine. But now … it’s lonely without him. It’s strange. I keep
thinking he’s just gone away on tour and he’s going to come home any minute. Except
that all of his stuff is gone. Except he just doesn’t - come home, that is.”
Catherine took my hand across the table and
squeezed it. “It must feel awful. Even if breaking up with him was what
you wanted. It must be really hard.”
“It is,” I said,
stench of ale. I sat down at a table while Catherine went up to the bar and
ordered the drinks. A small fire flickered in the open grate beside me and I
leaned forward briefly and warmed my face in its amber glow before shrugging
off my coat and sinking back into the cushioned leather of my armchair. A group
of students, deep in conversation at the table next to me, suddenly let out a
loud roar of laughter. I glanced over at them and wished for one strange moment
that I were back there with them, with a chance to do it all over again, the
whole student thing, only properly this time, to integrate myself fully into
that other world and with those people. Maybe that was where I had belonged
after all; maybe the past seven years had been a mistake. Maybe fear and
insecurity at leaving home to study - at starting a new life on my own - had
caused me to go the entirely wrong way through the sliding doors of fate into
the club on Mill Road and into Larsen’s life.
“So where’s Martin tonight?” I asked Catherine,
when she returned. It didn’t take Einstein to work out that her low mood was
something to do with him.
“He’s coaching. The team’s got a tournament in Manchester,”
she said. “It starts early tomorrow, so they’ve got to go tonight.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just a silly argument.”
“Does he mind you going out with me tonight?”
“Of course not. He’s fine about it. It’s nothing,
honest. Anyway, I want to hear about you.”
I took a sip of my drink and thought back to
Martin’s shouting in the background when Catherine was on the phone to me. He
had sounded really angry. I also recalled the unpleasant way he had treated
Sean, the junior staff member at the swimming pool. And then there was his flirting.
But maybe it was all something and nothing, like she said. I didn’t know enough
about their relationship to pass judgement, yet alone interfere.
“So, come on then,” she said. “What happened? With
Larsen?”
“I don’t know where to start,” I said. “Except that
everything I told you about him is the truth. He’s a lovely guy. He’s funny. And
kind. And I was crazy about him, you know?”
“Was?”
“Am. Was. I don’t know.”
“Are you sure it’s over?”
“He’s moved out,” I said. “I haven’t heard from
him since he left. It’s well over a week. Ten days to be precise. I haven’t
gone this long without speaking to him since the day we met.”
“So is this not what you really want?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It feels like a
release at times, like I can breathe again. We were just so merged into each
other. Or I was merged into him, more to the point. It’s like we were the same
person. It was suffocating. Even our initials were the same: Larsen Tyler and
Lizzie Taylor. He loved that, things like that, our sameness. He thought it was
great, how close it made us. And that was what I wanted, too, in the beginning.
I let it happen. It was so secure. And he had a ready made life, friends,
everything was there, set up for me. All I had to do in return was love him,
and believe me I did. He loved me back and it was everything I needed. And when
he got up on stage… well, being his girlfriend, basking in his reflected glory…
it was intoxicating. It was the headiest thing that ever happened to me.”
“So what changed?”
“I just don’t know. Me I suppose. Like I say, I felt
stifled, suffocated. As if I just wasn’t being myself, as though I was living
his life, not mine. But now … it’s lonely without him. It’s strange. I keep
thinking he’s just gone away on tour and he’s going to come home any minute. Except
that all of his stuff is gone. Except he just doesn’t - come home, that is.”
Catherine took my hand across the table and
squeezed it. “It must feel awful. Even if breaking up with him was what
you wanted. It must be really hard.”
“It is,” I said,
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