looking up at her. “And there’s nobody
I can talk to who understands. How can you know something’s not right but still
miss someone so much?”
“ I understand,” said Catherine. “It’s like
being torn in two.”
“That’s it. That’s exactly what it is. There is
the bit of me that is him and me, and the bit of me that is just me. And the
bit of me that is just me wants this, this new path, this new start. But the rest
of me… is missing that closeness. Missing him. So much.”
Catherine gave my hand another squeeze, and bit
her lip, pausing for a moment before she asked, “So when did you first notice
that the bit that was just you was not getting a look in?”
I looked into my empty glass and thought about
that for a moment. “The truth?” I asked her.
Catherine nodded.
“Around seven years ago.”
“You mean..?”
“Yes. Right in the beginning. I switched degree
courses. For him. My second year at college was meant to be my year abroad. I
had picked Paris as my study placement. The city. Where better to learn French?
I was so excited. It wasn’t that far away. I thought: it’s only a year. We can
visit each other. He can come and stay. I can come home in the holidays. But
when I told him, he said that it would be the end of us. He gave me an
ultimatum. He said I was either in this relationship or I was out. So I dropped
French and switched to Politics, and moved in with him instead.”
Catherine didn’t say
anything for a minute. “I can understand that,” she said finally. Which was not
what I had expected her to say, at all.
At closing time, Catherine decided that we should go to a
nightclub.
“I really want to dance,” she said. “Do you mind?”
I wasn’t in much shape for dancing, but I didn’t
want to go home just yet either and was still feeling so happy to be with her
again that I would have gone for a wet weekend in Cleethorpes if she’d asked me.
“I’ll watch you,” I laughed.
We paid our entry fee and found a seat near the
dance floor, where I sat sipping a gin and tonic while Catherine disappeared
into the crowd and the dry ice. I watched the flashing purple and yellow lights
and the spinning silver baubles that hung from the ceiling and soon spotted Catherine
amongst the other dancers, all swaying and jerking to the rhythm of the night. Catherine
danced without inhibition and looked happy, lost in the music, as she swung her
hips from side to side, her arms in the air and her long dark hair swinging
round her face as she moved. I smiled as more than one man watched her, then
came towards her and began to gyrate around her, trying to catch her attention.
She didn’t seem to notice, or simply turned her back and danced away. Eventually
she got tired and came back and sat down beside me but the music was so loud
that we soon gave up trying to talk to one another. We sat and stared at the
lights and the dancers instead.
I started to wonder what Larsen was doing right
now. He would be at a gig, probably; in fact he would be finished by now and
packing up, drinking backstage with the other band members. And no doubt some
girls, who would have found their way backstage too. Either that or he would be
with the others, Brian, Jude and Doug - our crowd. Maybe they were all down the
pub still, at one of the many lock-ins, playing cards, laughing, singing along
to the Juke Box or an acoustic guitar. One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t
be on his own.
A wave of insecurity washed over me and I realized
that that was where I wanted to be too, right now - at a lock-in in the
Jugglers Arms, with Larsen, not here with a bunch of strangers, with this
deafening music thudding and vibrating through my body. But I couldn’t admit
that, not even to Catherine. If this - going out to a nightclub with a friend
that wasn’t Larsen’s friend - was the first on my list of new experiences, a
step forward into my new life, I didn’t want to fail at the first hurdle. Besides
it
I can talk to who understands. How can you know something’s not right but still
miss someone so much?”
“ I understand,” said Catherine. “It’s like
being torn in two.”
“That’s it. That’s exactly what it is. There is
the bit of me that is him and me, and the bit of me that is just me. And the
bit of me that is just me wants this, this new path, this new start. But the rest
of me… is missing that closeness. Missing him. So much.”
Catherine gave my hand another squeeze, and bit
her lip, pausing for a moment before she asked, “So when did you first notice
that the bit that was just you was not getting a look in?”
I looked into my empty glass and thought about
that for a moment. “The truth?” I asked her.
Catherine nodded.
“Around seven years ago.”
“You mean..?”
“Yes. Right in the beginning. I switched degree
courses. For him. My second year at college was meant to be my year abroad. I
had picked Paris as my study placement. The city. Where better to learn French?
I was so excited. It wasn’t that far away. I thought: it’s only a year. We can
visit each other. He can come and stay. I can come home in the holidays. But
when I told him, he said that it would be the end of us. He gave me an
ultimatum. He said I was either in this relationship or I was out. So I dropped
French and switched to Politics, and moved in with him instead.”
Catherine didn’t say
anything for a minute. “I can understand that,” she said finally. Which was not
what I had expected her to say, at all.
At closing time, Catherine decided that we should go to a
nightclub.
“I really want to dance,” she said. “Do you mind?”
I wasn’t in much shape for dancing, but I didn’t
want to go home just yet either and was still feeling so happy to be with her
again that I would have gone for a wet weekend in Cleethorpes if she’d asked me.
“I’ll watch you,” I laughed.
We paid our entry fee and found a seat near the
dance floor, where I sat sipping a gin and tonic while Catherine disappeared
into the crowd and the dry ice. I watched the flashing purple and yellow lights
and the spinning silver baubles that hung from the ceiling and soon spotted Catherine
amongst the other dancers, all swaying and jerking to the rhythm of the night. Catherine
danced without inhibition and looked happy, lost in the music, as she swung her
hips from side to side, her arms in the air and her long dark hair swinging
round her face as she moved. I smiled as more than one man watched her, then
came towards her and began to gyrate around her, trying to catch her attention.
She didn’t seem to notice, or simply turned her back and danced away. Eventually
she got tired and came back and sat down beside me but the music was so loud
that we soon gave up trying to talk to one another. We sat and stared at the
lights and the dancers instead.
I started to wonder what Larsen was doing right
now. He would be at a gig, probably; in fact he would be finished by now and
packing up, drinking backstage with the other band members. And no doubt some
girls, who would have found their way backstage too. Either that or he would be
with the others, Brian, Jude and Doug - our crowd. Maybe they were all down the
pub still, at one of the many lock-ins, playing cards, laughing, singing along
to the Juke Box or an acoustic guitar. One thing was for certain, he wouldn’t
be on his own.
A wave of insecurity washed over me and I realized
that that was where I wanted to be too, right now - at a lock-in in the
Jugglers Arms, with Larsen, not here with a bunch of strangers, with this
deafening music thudding and vibrating through my body. But I couldn’t admit
that, not even to Catherine. If this - going out to a nightclub with a friend
that wasn’t Larsen’s friend - was the first on my list of new experiences, a
step forward into my new life, I didn’t want to fail at the first hurdle. Besides
it
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