Honeybee, page 26
‘I sent that to you all?’ she says, sheepishly.
Everyone nods. Matt looks angry, then upset, then angry. No one is saying anything. He takes it upon himself to go first. ‘So, what, you like just get off with all the guys you work with?’
Ooof, that was mean. Too mean. Georgina walks over to her. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks. ‘Things happen, it sounds to me like you’re trying to do the right thing now.’
‘His wife, she can’t know, it will kill her,’ Renée says. ‘I didn’t know she was like that, I just …’
‘Oh diddums,’ Matt says, and this seems to really rile Georgina.
‘Oh give it a rest, Matt. People fuck. It happens. You fuck, Renée fucks, I fuck. We ALL fuck.’
This is a new Georgina. I like it. Matt doesn’t like being challenged though; he is getting cocky. ‘Oh, you fuck, do you? Who do you fuck?’ Poor Georgina, what a horrible thing to be asked. Especially if she isn’t really getting fucked by anyone, and then—
‘She fucks me. Most days, actually,’ Chloe says, going over and putting her arm around Georgina.
‘Yes, I fuck Chloe every single day in those toilets and I fucking LOVE it.’
Renée’s head shoots up, we all make an audible gasp. That was a shock and a half.
‘Wow, so everyone fucks. OK, I get it now. Before we close this therapy session, has anyone else got a confession for the group?’ Matt says, laughing now. Phil and I can’t look at each other. I want to run out of the room. Surely we don’t have to admit to anything just because everyone else does. Luckily he says nothing and neither do I. Georgina defuses the situation.
‘It sounds to me like we need to work together on this, and that we all have a reason to keep our mouths shut, don’t you think? I’m not sure any of us are squeaky clean. Matt, are we good? This is Operation Don’t Make Penny Worse. And also, a lesson that humans do bad things, but we can be sorry. And also, that if anyone mentions this to anyone else, they will be fired. So, are we good?’
‘We’re good,’ says Matt, stepping down from his pedestal. Between this and not being able to tell anyone who’s at AA, it’s a good job I’m not drinking any more because I’d definitely let one of these secrets slip after a few wines. Phil makes a really strange noise. Like he wants to be in on this mass confession session but also can’t bring himself to do it. Which makes me even more paranoid that the thing I did to him after our date is shocking; even more shocking than Renée talking about the taste of Ben’s skin. He really looks like he’s going to burst. Oh God, I think he’s going to speak.
‘Can I just tell my Mum?’ he asks.
‘NO PHIL,’ we all say in chorus, even Matt, which is a good sign.
‘When you tell someone, anyone, a secret, you have to trust that they won’t tell a soul. And seeing as no one, not even your mum, has stakes in this like we do, it goes no further than this room. OK? Any of it?’ Georgina is a force; I love this version of her. It’s way better than the oversharing girl chat she’s usually all about. ‘Renée, why don’t you go home for the rest of the day. There are no meetings, we can all handle the phones. Go and have a break,’ Georgina says.
I go over to Renée and put my arms around her. ‘Come on, I’ll help you get your things.’ I walk her out of the office and steer her towards the lift. ‘Get home, get into bed. This is heartache, it will pass. OK?’
‘OK,’ she says. Childlike, again. She acts so big and tough, but no one feels pain like Renée.
‘Flo?’ she says, before she walks away. ‘It’s all such a mess, I think I …’
‘No, don’t think right now. Just rest, let today sink in, and then we will work out what to do, OK?’
‘No, Flo. My period. I did the maths. I’m five days late.’
When I get back upstairs, my mouth wide open from horror and shock for a situation that I thought peaked an hour ago but just escalated to the totally unimaginable, Phil is waiting for me.
‘Flo, can we talk?’ I stop in front of him and realise my breathing is short. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude, but you always seem to be on the edge of a panic attack. Do you get panic attacks? I do.’
‘None of your business,’ I say. ‘What is it?’ That was rude. ‘Sorry, I just, you know, Renée, that was a lot.’
‘Yeah, but while we’re all being open, I thought maybe we could talk about us?’
‘Us?’
‘Yes. I like you Flo, I think I’ve made that obvious.’ I mean, he sort of has. Apart from the bit where he stormed out of my flat and then hardly spoke to me for a week. ‘I was so worried about you in London. It made me realise that I care about you, a lot. It’s not often I meet someone who’s lost their dad like me, I guess it makes me feel close to you, in a way.’ It’s like he’s turning me off slowly, like a dimmer switch. I realise Renée and I came together through our shared experiences of grief, but do I want to go through my life gathering people because our parents died? Not really.
‘I was wondering, and I know this is very old-fashioned, but I’m actually quite an old-fashioned person. Would you consider being my girlfriend? I think maybe it would be all right, with work, seeing that almost everyone has had sex with each other?’
‘Oh,’ I say, which is not the response he was looking for. ‘Your girlfriend?’
He stands waiting for my answer. I am quite confused. ‘But Phil, I thought you were angry with me, for doing something that you didn’t like. You seemed really mad, and now you want to be my boyfriend?’
‘Yeah, I mean, it wasn’t that bad. Just don’t do it again.’
‘Wasn’t that bad? How could it not have been that bad? You stormed out of my flat!’
‘I’m just really ticklish, that’s all.’
‘Ticklish?’ I’m sorry, what? ‘Phil, what are you talking about? What was I doing?’
He looks around, lowers his voice. ‘You were tickling my balls.’
‘TICKLING YOUR BALLS,’ I shout, not giving a shit about who in the office hears me. I’m sure everyone’s tolerance for outrageous things is quite high after Renée’s email. ‘Phil, I have been going through hell trying to work out what I did. I thought I’d put my finger in your arse.’
‘What? God, no. No you didn’t, but I wouldn’t mi—’
‘Don’t say that. Whatever you’re about to say, please don’t tell me that.’ Oh my God, weeks of mental turmoil for tickling some balls. ‘Phil. No, I don’t want to be your girlfriend, but thank you. You’ve been incredibly kind to me, and I think you’d be a wonderful boyfriend to someone, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now,’ I say, wanting to be nice and suddenly not fancying him at all.
I go back to my desk, a spring in my step. I need to get my shit together. I should be grabbing life by the balls, not just tickling them.
23
Renée
As I reach the front door, Lillian is coming out. She’s wearing black for the first time that I’ve ever seen. ‘Lillian, are you OK?’
‘Oh Renée. My husband died a few days ago, at around 8.45 a.m.,’ she says, gently. ‘Isn’t it strange. When I was tending to your sting, he must have been dead, and I didn’t even know. They went to take him tea at 9.15, and he was gone. I got the call just after you left. I’d have come up to tell you but, well, I needed a moment alone. And I didn’t want to upset you even more before you went to work.’
‘Upset me? Lillian, I’d have taken the day off to be with you. I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you. I know a funeral director; I’ve adjusted his suits for nearly thirty years. I called him right away. I said I’d rather not do a funeral and for him to just take care of things for me. He invited me to his offices today, for a committal, and then he will take care of the rest. He’s already picked him up from the care home. It all goes so slowly and then it happens so fast.’
‘Lillian, please, let me come with you.’
‘No Renée, I’d rather go alone, but thank you.’
Such strength. I hug her really tightly. Her little body, more fragile than it looks.
‘You know, love can be the most wonderful thing on earth, it can fill you up and lift you up and make you feel things that we all deserve to feel. But it can also be a trap. Something that holds you down, stops you flying away. Sometimes when it ends, you’re not destroyed, you’re set free. I’m free now, Renée. For the first time in years.’ A tear and a smile appear at exactly the same time on Lillian’s face, capturing the essence of everything love can be. She turns to walk up Mill Street.
‘Lillian?’ I say, calling her back. ‘Don’t fart during the committal.’
She guffaws so loudly it echoes off the buildings around us. As she disappears up the street, I hear her laughing the entire way.
Upstairs in the flat, the body of the dead bee lies lifeless on the living-room floor. I pick it up with my fingers. ‘So strong, but so fragile. I’m sorry little bee.’ I hold my palm up to the window and blow it outside. It wafts gently down onto the street below. Then I text Aunty Jo because some things are easier said written down.
I’ve been having an affair with my boss. I’ve wanted to tell you, I didn’t know how. I think I lost my job. I think I’m pregnant. I’m sorry.
She replies straightaway: Go buy a test and come here immediately. We will do it together. You’re going to be OK. Never be sorry x
I get two tests in Boots, in case one is faulty. I don’t even care if anyone sees me buying them. As I’m walking down the high street towards the bus station, I get a text from Ben: Renée, I saw your email. Can we talk? Georgina said you’d gone home, I could come to you?
Should I turn around and go home, meet him there? I can’t, being in my flat with him is too much. We’d end up in bed, I’m sure of it. I want that, I want to end up in bed. But I have to stay strong.
Can you meet me at Jerbourg Point in 30 minutes?
Perfect, I’ll leave now x
The bus ride there is horrible. I am weepy, my boobs are sore, and I can’t get a grip of myself at all. We need to close this out, but I don’t want to. There is still this idea in my head that he is going to tell me he loves me, that he will leave his wife. That I am the one he wants. Just the thought of it makes my heart race, dries the tears, hurries me to the cliff where he is sitting on a bench, looking out to sea. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt. It’s strange to see him in casual clothes.
‘Hi,’ I say, behind him.
‘Hi,’ he says, turning around. ‘Wow, you look great, new clothes? I love them.’
‘Ben, I don’t want to talk about my clothes.’ He looks sweaty, maybe he is as nervous as me. I sit down next to him, making sure the Boots bag is wrapped up well so he doesn’t see what’s inside. ‘I emailed everyone in the office and told them about our affair,’ I say with a hint of humour, because it’s so unbelievable there is no other way to say it.
‘Yeah, I know. Saw that.’
‘I’m really sorry, Ben. I was trying to do the right thing. I’m an idiot. I should have called you, not left a paper trail for everyone to see. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘You’re a writer, you write stuff down. It’s OK, what will be will be. Renée, I have to …’ He starts to cry. Actual crying. Like this is hard for him, like he feels the same way I do. Gutted. Hard done by. In love.
‘Ben, it’s OK. I understand, I do. You have to be there for Penny and your kids. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do that.’
‘It’s really important for me to tell you that everything you felt between us was real. It is real. I don’t know how two people can come together the way we did and not be able to stay that way, but it’s how it is. I don’t get to have what I want here, I have to do the right thing.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re very special Renée. You have something about you that radiates. It shines. And you’re talented. I think you’ll do really well when you go to London, you’ll take them by storm. And at some point, you’ll meet the luckiest guy alive who gets to have you all to himself. I’ll read about it in the papers one day, how Renée Sargent is madly in love with some brilliant guy. It’s what you deserve. Come here.’
He stands up and offers me his hand. We hug, as tightly as we can. In broad daylight, for anyone to see. It has to end today, and that’s it. Suddenly there’s a gust of wind, it blows the Boots bag away. He runs after it; the tests fall out. He picks them up and just stares at them. ‘Renée, are these for you?’ I walk towards him.
‘Yes, Ben, I …’ And just at that moment, like a sign from Mother Nature that all of this is exactly as it should be, I feel a giant avalanche of blood come out of me like a warm blob of honey.
‘Are you OK?’ Ben asks, realising something has happened. My face must be a picture.
‘Yeah,’ I say, laughing.
‘It’s funny?’ he asks, confused. ‘I don’t know if this is funny?’
‘Ben, I got the tests because I am five days late. I mean, I was. But Ben, I’m about to bleed through these trousers, I just felt it start. Shit, I don’t have anything.’ I start looking around on the ground for something to put in my pants. There’s nothing in my bag, just my phone and a lip gloss. ‘Do you have anything, a tissue, anything?’
Ben turns out his pockets, just a phone and a credit card. He starts taking off his shoes.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘You can have one of my socks?’
‘Ben, I am not putting your sweaty sock in my knickers,’ I say, laughing. This is funny but laughing is making the blood ooze out quicker.
‘OK, well.’ He sits down and pulls down his shorts.
‘Ben, what the fuck?’
‘Well, if you won’t put my sock in your pants, you’ll have to put my pants in your pants.’
‘Ben, no!’ But it’s too late, he’s whipped them off and he is handing them to me.
‘A memento of all the good times,’ he says. I’m reluctant, but the fear of destroying the gorgeous pink trousers that Lillian gave me makes me abandon all sense. I take the pants and stuff them into my knickers. ‘This is ridiculous,’ I say, laughing.
‘I was not looking around to see if anyone was watching while I did that.’
‘Neither was I.’ I can see it now, front page of the Globe tomorrow. ‘CLIFF DRAMA: Man stuffs pants in woman’s knickers to stop her ruining new trousers.’ It all seems so funny, until it doesn’t. ‘I’ll miss you forever,’ I tell him, pressing my forehead into his chest. His eyes fill up and he breaks away.
‘It makes no sense, does it? Some people spend a lifetime searching for something like this and here we are, both wanting it but can’t have it. It doesn’t seem fair.’ He sits down on the bench, he rests his elbows on his thighs and drops his head into his hands. I don’t like to see him in pain but there is something very validating about how hard this is for him. I wasn’t just a bit on the side. What we had was real. He stands up, pulling himself together. I try to ignore the ghost of my dad’s abandonment tapping me on the shoulder, telling me I don’t deserve the love of a man like Ben.
‘I’d better get back,’ he says, stepping away from me. ‘I told Penny I was going for a run, she’ll be worried.’
‘You ran here?’
‘Yes.’
‘From Vale?’
‘Yes, all along the coast. It’s going to be a much bouncier run home now.’ Funny. He’s always funny, even when the air feels heavy. ‘It’s not that far. I’ll miss it.’
‘You’ll miss what?’
‘Yeah, Renée, there is one more thing. I’m moving the family back to London. I thought island life would be better for Penny but it’s worse, she feels too isolated here. I can get her better help over there, and we will be near her mum and her friends … Also, another kid called Pandora the N word at school, and according to the Head Mistress it didn’t even warrant a meeting with the other parents, so. I can’t have my girls growing up in a world where no one looks like them, or where that kind of behaviour is tolerated. London is better for them too.’
‘That’s awful Ben, honestly, I’m so sorry.’ A part of me wants to defend the island, but I know that would be wrong. Guernsey may be wonderful in many ways, but when it comes to diversity, we have a long way to go. I feel ashamed that his child was treated that way, and that he is everything that he is and still has to deal with that prejudice. ‘You’re doing the right thing, for the girls, and for Penny. Women need their women.’
‘If you move there you can call me, I’ll help you if I can.’
‘I won’t call you, Ben. You don’t need to help me.’ I feel proud of myself for saying that. And it’s true, I need nothing from him other than a divorce and lifelong commitment to our love. But honestly, despite the fact I’m not sure my heart will ever recover from this, I don’t want to be the reason someone else’s life is destroyed. Ben can’t be mine, and that’s just that. He belongs to someone else.
He nods, grateful, I think. I suppose I could be demanding things of him, but what would be the point? We walk through the car park and stop at the bus stop. ‘Aunty Jo doesn’t live far from here, I’m going to walk there. You go.’
‘OK. Renée, I meant everything I said. If things had been different.’
‘I know.’
He kisses me on the cheek, we hug one last time. And then he turns and goes. Watching the one who got away literally run away from you while his underpants soak up your period is a whole new level of ‘what the fuck’ that I know will take me some time to process. I throw the Boots bag in the bin and waddle to Aunty Jo’s.
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
Flo
As the bus chugs happily across the island, from the depot in St Peter Port to the small roadside stop in Cobo, we both sit quietly and look out of the window once more.
‘Your Fiat 126 broke down there, do you remember?’ I say. ‘We had to push it over the top of that hill so you could jump-start it down the other side.’
Memories, everywhere. We still have a story for every road. Chips in hand, the smell of vinegar wafting from the bag, we walk along the wall to the German bunker that overlooks the beach. It’s a beautiful autumn evening, the sky blushing pink and orange.
Everyone nods. Matt looks angry, then upset, then angry. No one is saying anything. He takes it upon himself to go first. ‘So, what, you like just get off with all the guys you work with?’
Ooof, that was mean. Too mean. Georgina walks over to her. ‘Are you OK?’ she asks. ‘Things happen, it sounds to me like you’re trying to do the right thing now.’
‘His wife, she can’t know, it will kill her,’ Renée says. ‘I didn’t know she was like that, I just …’
‘Oh diddums,’ Matt says, and this seems to really rile Georgina.
‘Oh give it a rest, Matt. People fuck. It happens. You fuck, Renée fucks, I fuck. We ALL fuck.’
This is a new Georgina. I like it. Matt doesn’t like being challenged though; he is getting cocky. ‘Oh, you fuck, do you? Who do you fuck?’ Poor Georgina, what a horrible thing to be asked. Especially if she isn’t really getting fucked by anyone, and then—
‘She fucks me. Most days, actually,’ Chloe says, going over and putting her arm around Georgina.
‘Yes, I fuck Chloe every single day in those toilets and I fucking LOVE it.’
Renée’s head shoots up, we all make an audible gasp. That was a shock and a half.
‘Wow, so everyone fucks. OK, I get it now. Before we close this therapy session, has anyone else got a confession for the group?’ Matt says, laughing now. Phil and I can’t look at each other. I want to run out of the room. Surely we don’t have to admit to anything just because everyone else does. Luckily he says nothing and neither do I. Georgina defuses the situation.
‘It sounds to me like we need to work together on this, and that we all have a reason to keep our mouths shut, don’t you think? I’m not sure any of us are squeaky clean. Matt, are we good? This is Operation Don’t Make Penny Worse. And also, a lesson that humans do bad things, but we can be sorry. And also, that if anyone mentions this to anyone else, they will be fired. So, are we good?’
‘We’re good,’ says Matt, stepping down from his pedestal. Between this and not being able to tell anyone who’s at AA, it’s a good job I’m not drinking any more because I’d definitely let one of these secrets slip after a few wines. Phil makes a really strange noise. Like he wants to be in on this mass confession session but also can’t bring himself to do it. Which makes me even more paranoid that the thing I did to him after our date is shocking; even more shocking than Renée talking about the taste of Ben’s skin. He really looks like he’s going to burst. Oh God, I think he’s going to speak.
‘Can I just tell my Mum?’ he asks.
‘NO PHIL,’ we all say in chorus, even Matt, which is a good sign.
‘When you tell someone, anyone, a secret, you have to trust that they won’t tell a soul. And seeing as no one, not even your mum, has stakes in this like we do, it goes no further than this room. OK? Any of it?’ Georgina is a force; I love this version of her. It’s way better than the oversharing girl chat she’s usually all about. ‘Renée, why don’t you go home for the rest of the day. There are no meetings, we can all handle the phones. Go and have a break,’ Georgina says.
I go over to Renée and put my arms around her. ‘Come on, I’ll help you get your things.’ I walk her out of the office and steer her towards the lift. ‘Get home, get into bed. This is heartache, it will pass. OK?’
‘OK,’ she says. Childlike, again. She acts so big and tough, but no one feels pain like Renée.
‘Flo?’ she says, before she walks away. ‘It’s all such a mess, I think I …’
‘No, don’t think right now. Just rest, let today sink in, and then we will work out what to do, OK?’
‘No, Flo. My period. I did the maths. I’m five days late.’
When I get back upstairs, my mouth wide open from horror and shock for a situation that I thought peaked an hour ago but just escalated to the totally unimaginable, Phil is waiting for me.
‘Flo, can we talk?’ I stop in front of him and realise my breathing is short. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude, but you always seem to be on the edge of a panic attack. Do you get panic attacks? I do.’
‘None of your business,’ I say. ‘What is it?’ That was rude. ‘Sorry, I just, you know, Renée, that was a lot.’
‘Yeah, but while we’re all being open, I thought maybe we could talk about us?’
‘Us?’
‘Yes. I like you Flo, I think I’ve made that obvious.’ I mean, he sort of has. Apart from the bit where he stormed out of my flat and then hardly spoke to me for a week. ‘I was so worried about you in London. It made me realise that I care about you, a lot. It’s not often I meet someone who’s lost their dad like me, I guess it makes me feel close to you, in a way.’ It’s like he’s turning me off slowly, like a dimmer switch. I realise Renée and I came together through our shared experiences of grief, but do I want to go through my life gathering people because our parents died? Not really.
‘I was wondering, and I know this is very old-fashioned, but I’m actually quite an old-fashioned person. Would you consider being my girlfriend? I think maybe it would be all right, with work, seeing that almost everyone has had sex with each other?’
‘Oh,’ I say, which is not the response he was looking for. ‘Your girlfriend?’
He stands waiting for my answer. I am quite confused. ‘But Phil, I thought you were angry with me, for doing something that you didn’t like. You seemed really mad, and now you want to be my boyfriend?’
‘Yeah, I mean, it wasn’t that bad. Just don’t do it again.’
‘Wasn’t that bad? How could it not have been that bad? You stormed out of my flat!’
‘I’m just really ticklish, that’s all.’
‘Ticklish?’ I’m sorry, what? ‘Phil, what are you talking about? What was I doing?’
He looks around, lowers his voice. ‘You were tickling my balls.’
‘TICKLING YOUR BALLS,’ I shout, not giving a shit about who in the office hears me. I’m sure everyone’s tolerance for outrageous things is quite high after Renée’s email. ‘Phil, I have been going through hell trying to work out what I did. I thought I’d put my finger in your arse.’
‘What? God, no. No you didn’t, but I wouldn’t mi—’
‘Don’t say that. Whatever you’re about to say, please don’t tell me that.’ Oh my God, weeks of mental turmoil for tickling some balls. ‘Phil. No, I don’t want to be your girlfriend, but thank you. You’ve been incredibly kind to me, and I think you’d be a wonderful boyfriend to someone, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now,’ I say, wanting to be nice and suddenly not fancying him at all.
I go back to my desk, a spring in my step. I need to get my shit together. I should be grabbing life by the balls, not just tickling them.
23
Renée
As I reach the front door, Lillian is coming out. She’s wearing black for the first time that I’ve ever seen. ‘Lillian, are you OK?’
‘Oh Renée. My husband died a few days ago, at around 8.45 a.m.,’ she says, gently. ‘Isn’t it strange. When I was tending to your sting, he must have been dead, and I didn’t even know. They went to take him tea at 9.15, and he was gone. I got the call just after you left. I’d have come up to tell you but, well, I needed a moment alone. And I didn’t want to upset you even more before you went to work.’
‘Upset me? Lillian, I’d have taken the day off to be with you. I’m so sorry.’
‘Thank you. I know a funeral director; I’ve adjusted his suits for nearly thirty years. I called him right away. I said I’d rather not do a funeral and for him to just take care of things for me. He invited me to his offices today, for a committal, and then he will take care of the rest. He’s already picked him up from the care home. It all goes so slowly and then it happens so fast.’
‘Lillian, please, let me come with you.’
‘No Renée, I’d rather go alone, but thank you.’
Such strength. I hug her really tightly. Her little body, more fragile than it looks.
‘You know, love can be the most wonderful thing on earth, it can fill you up and lift you up and make you feel things that we all deserve to feel. But it can also be a trap. Something that holds you down, stops you flying away. Sometimes when it ends, you’re not destroyed, you’re set free. I’m free now, Renée. For the first time in years.’ A tear and a smile appear at exactly the same time on Lillian’s face, capturing the essence of everything love can be. She turns to walk up Mill Street.
‘Lillian?’ I say, calling her back. ‘Don’t fart during the committal.’
She guffaws so loudly it echoes off the buildings around us. As she disappears up the street, I hear her laughing the entire way.
Upstairs in the flat, the body of the dead bee lies lifeless on the living-room floor. I pick it up with my fingers. ‘So strong, but so fragile. I’m sorry little bee.’ I hold my palm up to the window and blow it outside. It wafts gently down onto the street below. Then I text Aunty Jo because some things are easier said written down.
I’ve been having an affair with my boss. I’ve wanted to tell you, I didn’t know how. I think I lost my job. I think I’m pregnant. I’m sorry.
She replies straightaway: Go buy a test and come here immediately. We will do it together. You’re going to be OK. Never be sorry x
I get two tests in Boots, in case one is faulty. I don’t even care if anyone sees me buying them. As I’m walking down the high street towards the bus station, I get a text from Ben: Renée, I saw your email. Can we talk? Georgina said you’d gone home, I could come to you?
Should I turn around and go home, meet him there? I can’t, being in my flat with him is too much. We’d end up in bed, I’m sure of it. I want that, I want to end up in bed. But I have to stay strong.
Can you meet me at Jerbourg Point in 30 minutes?
Perfect, I’ll leave now x
The bus ride there is horrible. I am weepy, my boobs are sore, and I can’t get a grip of myself at all. We need to close this out, but I don’t want to. There is still this idea in my head that he is going to tell me he loves me, that he will leave his wife. That I am the one he wants. Just the thought of it makes my heart race, dries the tears, hurries me to the cliff where he is sitting on a bench, looking out to sea. He’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt. It’s strange to see him in casual clothes.
‘Hi,’ I say, behind him.
‘Hi,’ he says, turning around. ‘Wow, you look great, new clothes? I love them.’
‘Ben, I don’t want to talk about my clothes.’ He looks sweaty, maybe he is as nervous as me. I sit down next to him, making sure the Boots bag is wrapped up well so he doesn’t see what’s inside. ‘I emailed everyone in the office and told them about our affair,’ I say with a hint of humour, because it’s so unbelievable there is no other way to say it.
‘Yeah, I know. Saw that.’
‘I’m really sorry, Ben. I was trying to do the right thing. I’m an idiot. I should have called you, not left a paper trail for everyone to see. I don’t know what I was thinking.’
‘You’re a writer, you write stuff down. It’s OK, what will be will be. Renée, I have to …’ He starts to cry. Actual crying. Like this is hard for him, like he feels the same way I do. Gutted. Hard done by. In love.
‘Ben, it’s OK. I understand, I do. You have to be there for Penny and your kids. I don’t want to be the reason you don’t do that.’
‘It’s really important for me to tell you that everything you felt between us was real. It is real. I don’t know how two people can come together the way we did and not be able to stay that way, but it’s how it is. I don’t get to have what I want here, I have to do the right thing.’
‘I know.’
‘You’re very special Renée. You have something about you that radiates. It shines. And you’re talented. I think you’ll do really well when you go to London, you’ll take them by storm. And at some point, you’ll meet the luckiest guy alive who gets to have you all to himself. I’ll read about it in the papers one day, how Renée Sargent is madly in love with some brilliant guy. It’s what you deserve. Come here.’
He stands up and offers me his hand. We hug, as tightly as we can. In broad daylight, for anyone to see. It has to end today, and that’s it. Suddenly there’s a gust of wind, it blows the Boots bag away. He runs after it; the tests fall out. He picks them up and just stares at them. ‘Renée, are these for you?’ I walk towards him.
‘Yes, Ben, I …’ And just at that moment, like a sign from Mother Nature that all of this is exactly as it should be, I feel a giant avalanche of blood come out of me like a warm blob of honey.
‘Are you OK?’ Ben asks, realising something has happened. My face must be a picture.
‘Yeah,’ I say, laughing.
‘It’s funny?’ he asks, confused. ‘I don’t know if this is funny?’
‘Ben, I got the tests because I am five days late. I mean, I was. But Ben, I’m about to bleed through these trousers, I just felt it start. Shit, I don’t have anything.’ I start looking around on the ground for something to put in my pants. There’s nothing in my bag, just my phone and a lip gloss. ‘Do you have anything, a tissue, anything?’
Ben turns out his pockets, just a phone and a credit card. He starts taking off his shoes.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘You can have one of my socks?’
‘Ben, I am not putting your sweaty sock in my knickers,’ I say, laughing. This is funny but laughing is making the blood ooze out quicker.
‘OK, well.’ He sits down and pulls down his shorts.
‘Ben, what the fuck?’
‘Well, if you won’t put my sock in your pants, you’ll have to put my pants in your pants.’
‘Ben, no!’ But it’s too late, he’s whipped them off and he is handing them to me.
‘A memento of all the good times,’ he says. I’m reluctant, but the fear of destroying the gorgeous pink trousers that Lillian gave me makes me abandon all sense. I take the pants and stuff them into my knickers. ‘This is ridiculous,’ I say, laughing.
‘I was not looking around to see if anyone was watching while I did that.’
‘Neither was I.’ I can see it now, front page of the Globe tomorrow. ‘CLIFF DRAMA: Man stuffs pants in woman’s knickers to stop her ruining new trousers.’ It all seems so funny, until it doesn’t. ‘I’ll miss you forever,’ I tell him, pressing my forehead into his chest. His eyes fill up and he breaks away.
‘It makes no sense, does it? Some people spend a lifetime searching for something like this and here we are, both wanting it but can’t have it. It doesn’t seem fair.’ He sits down on the bench, he rests his elbows on his thighs and drops his head into his hands. I don’t like to see him in pain but there is something very validating about how hard this is for him. I wasn’t just a bit on the side. What we had was real. He stands up, pulling himself together. I try to ignore the ghost of my dad’s abandonment tapping me on the shoulder, telling me I don’t deserve the love of a man like Ben.
‘I’d better get back,’ he says, stepping away from me. ‘I told Penny I was going for a run, she’ll be worried.’
‘You ran here?’
‘Yes.’
‘From Vale?’
‘Yes, all along the coast. It’s going to be a much bouncier run home now.’ Funny. He’s always funny, even when the air feels heavy. ‘It’s not that far. I’ll miss it.’
‘You’ll miss what?’
‘Yeah, Renée, there is one more thing. I’m moving the family back to London. I thought island life would be better for Penny but it’s worse, she feels too isolated here. I can get her better help over there, and we will be near her mum and her friends … Also, another kid called Pandora the N word at school, and according to the Head Mistress it didn’t even warrant a meeting with the other parents, so. I can’t have my girls growing up in a world where no one looks like them, or where that kind of behaviour is tolerated. London is better for them too.’
‘That’s awful Ben, honestly, I’m so sorry.’ A part of me wants to defend the island, but I know that would be wrong. Guernsey may be wonderful in many ways, but when it comes to diversity, we have a long way to go. I feel ashamed that his child was treated that way, and that he is everything that he is and still has to deal with that prejudice. ‘You’re doing the right thing, for the girls, and for Penny. Women need their women.’
‘If you move there you can call me, I’ll help you if I can.’
‘I won’t call you, Ben. You don’t need to help me.’ I feel proud of myself for saying that. And it’s true, I need nothing from him other than a divorce and lifelong commitment to our love. But honestly, despite the fact I’m not sure my heart will ever recover from this, I don’t want to be the reason someone else’s life is destroyed. Ben can’t be mine, and that’s just that. He belongs to someone else.
He nods, grateful, I think. I suppose I could be demanding things of him, but what would be the point? We walk through the car park and stop at the bus stop. ‘Aunty Jo doesn’t live far from here, I’m going to walk there. You go.’
‘OK. Renée, I meant everything I said. If things had been different.’
‘I know.’
He kisses me on the cheek, we hug one last time. And then he turns and goes. Watching the one who got away literally run away from you while his underpants soak up your period is a whole new level of ‘what the fuck’ that I know will take me some time to process. I throw the Boots bag in the bin and waddle to Aunty Jo’s.
EPILOGUE
Two weeks later
Flo
As the bus chugs happily across the island, from the depot in St Peter Port to the small roadside stop in Cobo, we both sit quietly and look out of the window once more.
‘Your Fiat 126 broke down there, do you remember?’ I say. ‘We had to push it over the top of that hill so you could jump-start it down the other side.’
Memories, everywhere. We still have a story for every road. Chips in hand, the smell of vinegar wafting from the bag, we walk along the wall to the German bunker that overlooks the beach. It’s a beautiful autumn evening, the sky blushing pink and orange.
