‘Yes, you can. For a second there it was like the old times. Wouldn’t it be nice to be pals again? I’ve missed us.’
‘It wouldn’t be like before. You broke my heart, how could it be the same?’
‘I know this sounds daft, but we really didn’t realise how much pain it would cause.’ Oh, so this is part of the self-centred stuff she was talking about earlier.
‘Fuck “we”. I don’t care about what Nicol did. You were my everything. This is the sort of thing I expected from him but never from you.’
‘If I could choose someone else to have fallen in love with, I would. I’m sorry.’
‘You’ve made your choice, that’s yours to deal with. But if you want out, properly out of it and need my help, I’ll be there for you. Send me an SOS and I’ll come for you.’
She doesn’t blink, stares deeply into me. ‘You know you can do the same to me if you ever need me.’
Nicol has abandoned Gavin, who’s nearly at the top of the stairs. ‘Sure. OK.’ Without meaning to be, I’m on the brink of crying like Amara did when she was talking about Harry. Next time Gavin looks at me, one person away from getting their shot in the bathroom, I give them wide, panicked ‘we need to go’ eyes. They understand, give up their place in the queue and come to me.
They’re on their descent as I give Amara the last she can have of me. ‘You know, whatever happens we can’t go back. I have fundamentally changed in ways you can never understand. You fucked it.’ Gavin’s in my reach, I give them my hand, let them drag me away from Amara. My new love removing me from my old.
39
Like Christmas Eve when I was a child, I barely sleep the night before the filming, staring at the ceiling until it’s an acceptable time to rise – 6:00 am. I tiptoe out of bed, put on a brightening face mask and apply a deep conditioning treatment on my hair. Then wash them out in the shower before meticulously shaving my armpits and legs all the way to my pelvis, rather than just above the knee like usual, as well as my bikini line. These areas will not be on display to the camera, but knowing they are smooth makes me feel prepared for anything. The tops of my thighs ache from the sex Gavin and I successfully had for the first time last night, thanks to them being able to maintain their erection. Afterwards they said it was as if their body allowed itself to accept happiness was possible thanks to everything I’ve done for them. When I asked what they meant, they only said, ‘You know,’ then kissed the top of my head like that was a sufficient explanation. I prod at the tender parts of my flesh. The memory of it, the promise of more, makes me smile as I wrap my hair in a microfibre turban that is meant to help with frizziness.
Concerned about the lack of sleep showing on my face, I put on under-the-eye gel pads enriched with hyaluronic acid and then chug a pint of icy water in the kitchen while listening to Malcolm guest on a podcast to describe his dream meal. He would choose sparkling water over still, warm baguette bread instead of poppadoms, and his choice of starter would be prawn cocktail. It was a close call between that and some salt and vinegar crisps and a pot of Sainsbury’s houmous that he finds ‘strangely comforting’. I am also quite partial to that particular houmous. If I get to meet him today – although I can’t imagine I will – then I’ll use it as a conversation starter.
Malcolm’s describing why exactly it is he likes salt and vinegar over other flavours of crisps when Gavin’s footsteps on the creaking floorboard in the hall tell me they’re up and about. I pause the podcast, not wanting to lose any insights into Malcolm to Gavin’s chitchat.
‘Morning,’ they say, wiping non-existent sleep from their eyes. ‘Gave me a fright with whatever that is on your face.’
Not knowing what they’re on about, I claw at my cheeks, touching the cool gelatinous lumps of the eye patches. ‘Oh, these? Just wanting to look my best.’ An eyebrow is raised. Gavin’s turn to not know what I’m on about. ‘For my interview?’
‘Doesn’t matter how you look, you’ll get it.’ They trundle off to the bathroom where, even over Malcolm’s chatter about needing a sting of flavour from a salt and vinegar and why the cheaper brands are his preferred crisp of choice – ‘Give me a Disco over your artisan Himalayan salt and organic cider vinegar tosh any day’ – because the extractor fan doesn’t kick in, I hear them taking their first dump of the day. I’m not repelled, which is how I come to understand, fuck, I do love them, and not just because I told myself to.
Taking my thoughts away from love and defecation, I compose a brief email to Brian with Gavin copied in, as if my location will be a surprise to them, too.
Hi Brian,
Really sorry, won’t be in today. Having a very heavy, painful period.
Should be better by tomorrow.
See you then.
Jem
My stomach can’t face the bowl of cereal Gavin presents me with as I blow-dry my hair. The crunchy nut cornflakes sit growing soggy. If Gavin notices I’ve ignored their offering, they don’t comment on it when they leave for work in one of the shirts and suits they’ve left here in what is becoming their side of the wardrobe.
‘Good luck. You don’t need it.’ They kiss me on the cheek. ‘I love you’ drops out of their mouth like it’s been said a thousand times between us when this is its first utterance.
‘I love you, too.’
‘You’re not just saying that, are you?’
‘No, I really mean it.’
They exhale. Their body looked fine before, but after I’ve spoken they slacken, as if they were tense. ‘Good. Me too. As long as we love one another everything will work out OK. I’m yours and I’ll do anything for you because I know you’d do the same.’
‘Oh yeah, what kind of anything?’
‘Whatever it takes,’ is not the sexy chat I was expecting in response.
