Pretending, page 28
I stroke her hair. “It doesn’t sound stupid at all.”
“I’m really looking forward to it.”
I turn to her and cup her face, like I’m the romantic lead in a film. “You’re beautiful, Chrissy,” I say, in a macho voice. “And you’re so smart, and kind, and I’m so so lucky to have you in my life.”
She giggles, and I do too. “The funny thing is that, even though you’re a girl, and you’re joking, it does still feel really nice to hear it,” she laughs, before launching herself at me for a hug, her hair getting up my nose. “I really want it to happen to you,” she says, mid-hug, pulling me tighter. “It will honey, I promise. You’re too amazing to end up alone.”
The hug feels suffocating. I have a deep urge to push her away, push her into the sea. I clamp my eyes shut and feel the bottom of my stomach drop out. I don’t like being the charity case. I can’t stand that I’ve become this one.
“I’ve met someone actually.”
Chrissy pulls away. “What?” Her eyes light up from the moon.
“It’s still really new. He’s called Joshua.”
“Oh my God, why haven’t you told me?”
“It’s your hen do. It’s not about me, it’s all about you.”
“But I want to know. Wow! Joshua! What a great name.”
“Isn’t it?”
“So, tell me everything!” She’s grasping both of my hands. She’s so happy for me, that I’ve got there. Well, that I’ve got a chance to get there.
“There’s not much to tell yet. As I said, it’s really new. He works as a coder. Umm, he has his own flat...”
“Great, great. Pictures?”
I retrieve my phone, pulling up a selfie he sent me the other day of him on a “training walk” up Hampstead Heath. “He’s a bit sweaty in this one.”
She snatches the phone off me. “Oooo, cute! I like the look of his face. He looks kind. Do you have any more?” She starts swiping through my pictures, finding additional shots, zooming in, telling me all the things that she can tell are good about him from the photos. I look over her shoulder, seeing him again through her new eyes and I feel...pride bubble in me, a smile sneaking up my cheeks, warmth in my stomach. Oh God, this is not a good sign. Not a good sign at all. And yet it feels wonderful.
My phone’s returned with another hug. “I’m so happy for you,” she says. “You so deserve this.”
What a strange thing to say, I think, but the thought is then lost in a Sambuca fog. Lost in the feeling of this moment. How nice it is to be the girl who has found the boy and it looks like it’s really going somewhere. The relief from others, from yourself. I find myself floating out of my body for a moment, and watching us, two friends, drunk, on the beach, hugging one another and sharing gossip about “our guys.” The belongingness of it.
Though this moment doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Gretel.
Chrissy’s hug judders to a halt and I’m held at arm’s length again. “You have to bring him to the wedding!” she says, so excited by the thought it’s like she’s discovered gravity.
“What?”
“As your plus one! You must bring him.”
I’m looking at my hands, twisting them in my lap, imagining how to get through that day without anyone calling me April. “Oh, I’m not sure. I don’t know. I mean, he might be busy.”
“At least ask him. Yay! I can’t wait to meet him. I knew it would happen for you, April. I never gave up hope. Even if you did.”
“Shall we go in and find the others?” I’m already standing up, turning my heels upside down to dislodge the pebbles that have taken refuge in there.
“But it’s so hot.”
“Come on Hen,” I hold out my hand to yank her up. “You only get one hen do.” We both make a noise of exertion as I pull her to her feet.
“Let’s hope so.”
We link arms, two old friends, and pick our way across the stones to get back to the club, leaving the black ocean behind us.
I stumble through our flat door, eyes red, the stench of last night all over me, random drunken bruises coming up on my legs. I drop my bags to the floor and groan.
Megan turns around from her spot on the sofa. “You look like someone has vomited you up.”
“Everything hurts. I’m too old for this. I was too old for this even when I was the age it was considered the appropriate thing to do. Why is it so fucking hot? When will this fucking heat wave ever end?”
“In a good mood, are we?”
“No. Is it that obvious?” I kick my shoes off and flop down alongside her. I must smell bad because she inches away slightly. I look at the television. “Oh, it’s the episode where Joey loosens up and becomes Other Joey.”
“Yep, she’s about to sing Cheap Trick and act slutty.”
“God she’s annoying.”
“The actual worst,” Megan confirms. “I mean, they call her ‘Other Joey,’ like you can compartmentalize the fun, cool parts of a girl away from the tricky bits... Hang on...come to think about it,” she points at the screen with the energy of someone who doesn’t have a hangover. “How many times have we seen this scene in other incarnations?” I twist my broken head to where Joey’s singing on stage and taking her clothes off, while Pacey looks on adoringly. “There’s always the woman who is too tightly wound or whatever, because she wants to do well in school or her career or whatever the hell else it is that’s actually probably a pretty good aspiration to have. And then some slightly fucked-up dickwad turns up and starts getting her to realize her ‘true self.’ But her ‘true self’ is always some drunken, slutty, fun-loving twat who takes her clothes off and dances on stage while everyone cheers.”
“True,” I say, and then I can’t say anything else. All other words seem impossible. I cuddle up to Megan’s legs. “Megs?” I start.
“Yes?”
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Sensing something in my voice, she picks up the remote and Dawson’s Creek comes to a standstill. “What is it?”
“If I tell you, you have to promise not to say anything.”
“You haven’t killed a man, have you?”
I scramble so I’m upright, fold my legs into a crossed position, sitting across from her. “No, I’ve not killed a man.”
“Then what is it? You can tell me.”
“I’ve... I’ve...” I savor this last moment where my weird little secret is still just that. Safe within the realms of only my knowledge. I close my eyes, open them. “I’ve met a man... That Joshua guy.” Her eyes widen. “But it’s complicated. Because, well...he’s my boyfriend now, except he isn’t because I’ve been pretending to be this fictional woman called Gretel.” It sounds even worse out loud than I thought it would.
Megan’s eyebrows lift, crinkling her forehead. “Right,” she says slowly, picking up a cushion and hugging it. “Right.”
“It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I think I need a bit more explanation. Though last night, I got an inkling. You called me, do you remember?”
The moment she brings it up, I do. The fog from last night lifts and I’m smacked with the memory of my knickers down, wailing to Megan about not being known.
“Shit. Yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”
She waves the apology away. “So, who’s Joshua? And, who is Gretel? Isn’t she that girl you used to work with?”
I take the cushion from her, clutch it to myself, and it all spills out. She listens, stopping me only once to say, “I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were going through all of this.”
“...and, yeah, so now he’s my boyfriend. I’m crazy, Megan. I’m actually fucking certifiably insane.”
I don’t realize I’ve fully hidden behind the cushion until she pulls it away, forcing me to look up at her. She doesn’t say, “No you’re not insane.” She asks, “So you’re doing all this for what?”
“Well, initially for revenge?”
“Right, on who?”
“All men.”
“And that’s all?”
I yearn for the cushion to be back over my face, muffling my shame. Talking about it has made it real and the reality of my behavior is terrifying. It’s like I’ve slapped myself across the face with myself. “I thought that was all it was,” I admit. “I was so fed up and just wanted to feel like I had some power. Any power... But now. I’m not sure. I kind of like him. He doesn’t seem so bad. I keep wanting to spend time with him; I think about him a lot. Ironically, it’s the closest I’ve felt to any guy before. And... I like myself when I’m Gretel. Does that make sense? But then I also hate myself for not being her. I feel... I feel Gretel is the woman I could’ve been if all the bad stuff didn’t happen to me. Whenever I’m her, I can pretend none of it was real. But it did, and it was, and I’ll never be her. I can never be like her. Joshua would hate me if he knew me, and would think I was crazy anyway, even without the fact I’ve been pretending to be someone else because I’m a complete fuck-up.” Hangover and exhaustion and psychological breakthroughs join together and a tear falls down my face. Megan launches over the sofa and lets me cry into her hair. “I’m so crazy,” I keep saying. “I hate that I’m so crazy.”
She pulls me back. “You’re not crazy,” she keeps whispering. “You’re not.”
“I’m pretending to be someone else.”
“So does everyone when they start dating someone. You’ve just taken it to the extreme, that’s all. OK, so you’ve lied about your name and wanting to go to Africa, but that’s about it, isn’t it? The rest has just been hiding parts of yourself. Do you really think this Joshua guy is the person he’s making himself out to be? No! He’s showing you his best bits. He’s hiding all his crap. But I don’t care about him right now, I care about you. April. Honey.” She rubs her finger along my arm. “I think you need some help,” she suggests, quieter than even a whisper now and her words fall like snowflakes, melting into my hair.
I.
Need.
Some.
Help.
Need.
Help.
“I know I do,” I say. The first time I’ve ever said it. Admitting it hurts more than I’d imagined, like I’m taking off my top layer of skin with an emery board. “I’ve started to think that since going to the boxing classes. They’re all in therapy... But I can’t afford it.”
“I’ll pay!”
I shake my head. “That’s nuts. You can’t do that.”
“Why not? I have money. It’s stupid how much money I have. You may as well have some. That lady, the one you see at work? She does private appointments, yes?”
“I think so... Yeah, I guess.” It’s all got far too real far too quickly. I’ve hunched my legs up now, practically cowering into the cushion.
“Well maybe think about setting something up. She knows your backstory, which will save time.”
“She does. I’m not sure though, Megs. I can’t take your money. You already give me such cheap rent.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I’d pay you back in installments, maybe? But, well, I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of Gretel yet.”
“Are you going to keep seeing him in the meantime?”
“I dunno.” The thought of not seeing Joshua again feels too painful. This isn’t good. None of this is good. “Probably,” I admit. “Is that a bad idea?”
She shrugs. “Probably. But I can’t tell you how to live your life. Besides, it’s not like I have a clue.”
I yawn. “God, I’m so tired. Can we just leave it for today, please?”
“OK. Sorry. I love you. It’s going to be all right.”
“I hope so.” I curl up on my side. I’ve told someone and the reality is knackering. I don’t have anything else to give today. We un-pause Dawson’s Creek, and watch three episodes in a row. Megan is kind enough not to pry any further and grumbles instead about the launch. I grumble about my hangover. Sunday is back in perfect working order. Except it isn’t.
My phone died early this morning and it takes me until nighttime to summon the energy needed to shower, unpack my stinking overnight bag, find my charger and plug it in. It vibrates straight away, with a message from my boyfriend.
Joshua: How’s the hangover? When can I see you next? Xx
And sometimes in life, when there are too many emotions, and they are too strong and too conflicting to make any sense, the only feeling you can feel is nothingness. And the only way you can get through the nothingness is to carry on doing whatever the hell it is you are doing, even though you know it’s wrong.
Gretel: Sorry. Phone died. Hangover brutal. I need cuddles and attention and distraction from my pain. Any ideas?
Joshua: Umm come over right away?
Gretel: Uber already ordered x
April: GOOD LUCK FOR THE LAUNCH TONIGHT. YOU ARE GOING TO TOTALLY SMASH IT! I BELIEVE IN YOU, MY DAD, PETER PAN xxx
Megan: OMG, I totally forgot that Hook exists as a movie.
Megan: That movie was so fucking weird.
Megan: Still can’t believe hot Rufio died.
Megan: Or that in those days you were allowed to roll up a fat child and push him down a ramp as a weapon...
Megan: Anyway THANK YOU. I’m fucking bricking it and nothing is ready and I HATE that I let a stupid man distract me but hopefully it will be OK.
April: It will be more than OK. You’re amazing xxx
Gretel: Hello you. So, my housemate is out all evening doing this launch thing. Wanna come over? I’ll cook. xx
Joshua: Depends what you’re going to cook.
Gretel: Something quick so we have loads of time for sex afterward.
Joshua: Do we have to even eat first?
Gretel: You can eat something...
Joshua: What’s the earliest I’m allowed to arrive?
Gretel: Six x
Joshua: I like you. A lot. Just so you’re aware...x
I’m back to faking my orgasms again.
Joshua’s doing exactly what he did last time, and the time before that, but it’s just not happening. I throw my hair back and make my body judder because I know there is literally no way it’s going to happen this evening. Not now I’m giving it so much thought. A female orgasm is like the opposite of a tree falling over in the woods—it only exists when you don’t think about it.
My faking sets him over the edge and we cross the finish line together, collapsing into a tumble of limbs, panting and sort of half tapping each other on the back. “It’s too hot for such things,” he says.
“You started it.”
I guess I’ve ticked off the slut box; I need to check off the nurturing box now too. “Give me a moment and then I’ll cook,” I say.
“You’re amazing.”
“Let’s see how the stir-fry comes out first.” I get up to pee so I don’t get cystitis, shrugging on my knickers and bra and wondering why I feel so terribly awful.
“Can I use your shower?”
“Sure.”
* * *
Joshua emerges ten minutes later, clean and damp, wearing just an open shirt and underwear, his stomach bulging slightly over the elastic. “Wow, it smells great.” He comes up behind me and kisses the top of my head while I’m stirring the pan.
“It’s just stir-fry. But I chopped the vegetables myself.”
“Such a multi-talented woman.”
“You can lay the table if you want.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
I grimace as he walks away. I’m mad at him and I’m finding it difficult to override. April’s pissed off for some reason and she keeps taking the steering wheel of my life. He whistles as he lays the table, and I tip the sizzling pan of gingered meat and veg onto noodles and then two matching plates. “Ta-da!”
“This looks great, thank you.” He reaches out his leg while we eat, and massages my foot with his. I try to smile back as I tuck some hair behind my ear.
“This is really nice, Gretel.”
“It’s just stir-fry.”
“Yeah, but still, it’s nice.”
I bite into a miniature corn on the cob.
“That was really nice too.” He nods his head toward the bedroom, where you can still see the chaos of the sheets.
“Yeah, it was great.”
“Yeah?” he nudges my foot again.
I arrange the smile on my face before engaging eye contact. “Yeah!”
“OK.”
We talk and chew and swallow. I ask him about his day. His manager isn’t being very nice. “I’m sorry to hear that. What a douche. You could do such a better job.” He asks me about mine. “Yeah, it was OK, same old, same old.” I do not say, “It feels like I can finally breathe again after I stopped doing my shifts but I feel so guilty I then lose the ability to breathe again.”
“So where’s your housemate tonight?”
“She’s got this huge work-launch thing. She works in jewelry PR.”
“Cool, sounds cool. When do I get to meet her?”
Megan, coincidently, asked the same question this morning while I was checking it was OK to have Joshua around. “Does this mean I’ll get to meet him?”
“Well, maybe you’ll see him in the morning.”
“And does this mean I’ll get to meet Gretel?”
“Shut up.”
“Just saying! Oh shit! Is that the time? I’m late. Oh God, I’m so stressed I may vomit.”
I bite a pepper and chew delicately. “Megan? Oh, soon. Maybe even tonight depending on what time she gets back.”
I’m flailing. I can’t find Gretel. She isn’t here. I can’t find her buzz or energy, passion or enthusiasm. Maybe her period is due? Does she even have them? I’m not sure. But the atmosphere is flat and it feels like my fault. Joshua’s eating but he’s not smiling and it’s my responsibility as a girlfriend to entertain him, to uplift him, to put him in a good mood. He can’t associate his girlfriend with any negativity.
