Ooh … ‘The Tide Is High’ by Blondie. That’s a song you need to use. ‘Number One’. That tells her she’s the centre of your world. She is quite literally your number one. And she looks a bit like Debbie Harry as well, you know, but with dark hair.
Okay … that isn’t a bad idea. I can see where Mum is going with it.
I send Jamal a quick message and hope he has the time to come back to me.
Hey, I’m reaching out for some personal advice. You were so helpful the other day. Hit me up if you have a minute.
His reply is immediate.
Always time.
I listened to what you said. And you were right but when I saw Belle – funnily enough at The Mont with my mum – I flipped a bit and told her to sod off and leave me alone. I was caught up in the guilt, the Jessica thing, the not being good enough thing. But then the minute I walked away I realised I’d cocked up, that like you said, Jessica is past, always loved but past. Belle, I want her in my future. Now she’s in hiding, she’s hurt and I’m an arsehole. I may have made the biggest mistake of my life. You’re an emotionally intelligent man, any advice on how to make it up to her? Feel free to be blunt.
Jamal comes straight back.
Grand gesture. Make her feel special, step out of your comfort zone and do something that is completely for her. It’s about love languages. Work out what hers is and then communicate to her that way. Making a bit of a twat of yourself won’t hurt either, especially if you’ve made her feel silly for her honesty, you be sillier, show her you’ll do anything to apologise, and tell her your truth, man. Be honest. Stop bottling shit up cos it doesn’t just damage you, it radiates out, you know, like a pebble in a stream. You’ve been honest about how your choices have hurt your mum, and now they’ve hurt Belle so you need to look at that. Oh and sort this shit out quick. Do not let it fester, the more time she has the more time she will build that hurt into the core of her. Get it out as quick as you can. Blunt enough?
How he does this in no time at all I don’t know. I do know he’s right though.
Brilliant, cheers, mate. I may come back to you in a bit for more. I’m going to try and formulate something now.
Cool cool.
Okay, so mum’s list is big gesture, aftershave, nice jeans and the song ‘Number One’.
Jamal’s is a big gesture – so I guess that I am definitely going with that – something I find uncomfortable that Belle loves and doing it quick. Plus, something about love languages. I do a quick google and decide that makes sense. It really does.
I pull in, sit back in the car and close my eyes. Forget the lake, I’m going to sit here for another ten minutes and see what pops into my head. I’ve solved some of my biggest work problems this way, now I just have to solve my life problem too.
It doesn’t take ten minutes and I have a great idea … I think. I am absolutely terrified. It’s going to need Jamal to risk his professional reputation for a bit, and I’ll have to get Belle in place. The thought of carrying out this plan is so anxiety-inducing, so out of my comfort zone, that I’m sweating merely at the imagining of it. If this doesn’t make Belle see how sorry I am, how serious I am and how much I want to spend my life with her then I don’t know what will. As long as I don’t collapse with hives and terror beforehand.
If Jamal says yes, I’m going to need to pull back every skill that my English degree gave me, and all in time for tomorrow. This is going to be tight!
They do not love that do not show their love.
December Thirty-first.
Belle.
‘Go pack a bag then, babyface. Oh, no. Ah-ah-ah-ah!’ Luisa does her staccato machine-gun noise as she guides Marsha from her stool towards the sink and flashes me a look that says I should know better. We’ve been sitting pulling out melty marshmallows, one at a time, from our hot chocolates and dropping them dripping into our mouths. Our hands and faces are a little sticky. ‘You are both gross.’
I puff out my cheeks and tilt my head at an angle to epitomise my grossness. Luisa shoots her eyebrows up and purses her lips. I love her.
With Marsha dispatched upstairs Luisa sits on the stool next to me and ripples her fingers across my knees at speed. ‘So Marsha is going to Remi’s mum’s for the night, I have given up being a good mother and you and I can spend New Year’s Eve in style!’
‘Hmpf,’ I say as I gulp down another sticky drippy marshmallow and then start to swirl patterns in the foamy top with my finger.
‘No, you have to do better than hmpf. Much better. This is my first New Year’s Eve out since my pre-pregnancy days and I only called on Remi’s mum so I can cheer you up, so youaregoing to make me feel young again.’
‘Can Remi do that? I’m not feeling particularly fresh and youthful right now.’
‘Remarkable seeing that you’re behaving like a bloody three-year-old.’ She scowls, in jest. I think.
‘Look, I wanna go dancing. I may feel far too old when I get there as students trip around us, we look wildly out of place and then throw a hip out. But still, I want to try. So come on, gee up. Where we going to go?’
I deep breathe and roll my eyes at her.
‘I guess we could go to Lakota. Jamal has guestlisted me,’ I say, my tone deliberately nonchalant. He had messaged me yesterday afternoon and whilst I hadn’t really felt like it, I know a return to the stomping ground of our youth will make Luisa’s day.
