I was a bundle of energy and excitement, unable to sit still for a moment longer. I got up from the desk and ran into the hall, banging on Emily’s door with my fist. I had to show her the website and tell her that I had decided to get back together with Danny. I wanted to ask her advice on what to say to him and to discuss the best way to tell our parents. ‘Wake up, Em!’ I shouted. She didn’t respond. I pushed the door. ‘I’m coming in – I hope you’re decent.’
I hadn’t seen her all morning. She had gone to a party the night before – another invitation that I’d declined – and she still hadn’t surfaced. I found her lying in her bed, her eyes half-open. She didn’t smile when she saw me.
‘Wake up, lazy bones,’ I said, bouncing on her bed. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ I was so animated that I could hardly contain myself. I was jumping up and down, like a dog ready to play ball.
‘Go away, Nay,’ she growled. ‘I want to go back to sleep.’
‘It’s the middle of the afternoon. Must have been some party.’
She pulled herself up, rubbing her eyes. ‘It was OK.’
‘You’ve got to come into my room – I want to show you something.’
She didn’t move. I took her arm, literally dragging her out of bed and pulling her through the door, across the hall and into my room. ‘Look!’ I cried. ‘Look at this!’
When she saw the computer screen, she froze. She shook my hand from her arm and she dropped her head, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. It was not the reaction I had anticipated.
‘What’s wrong, Em? Can’t you see? It’s great! He loves me so much that he’s done this. Isn’t it great?’
‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘No.’
‘Emily, what’s the matter?’
She gulped. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, Nay. You’re not going to like it.’
Chapter 18
‘Danny kissed me.’
Danny kissed me. It was the last thing I’d expected her to say, absolutely the worst thing she could have said. My brain shut down with shock. I understood the words, but I couldn’t process them.
‘What? When?’ We were still standing in front of the computer, the words ‘I MISS YOU’ shouting from the screen, like a cruel joke.
‘He kissed me. At the party last night. He was there with some friends – I think he knew someone’s brother.’
‘Danny kissed you?’
She nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, Nay.’
I felt as if I had been lifted off the ground and turned inside out. I was aware that I was involuntarily holding my breath, that I had stopped blinking and swallowing. This couldn’t be real – it was like finding myself in an episode of a bad soap opera. Emily was my sister. I loved her, trusted her, confided in her. She knew everything there was to know about Danny. How could this have happened? How could she have let it happen?
Then my brain conjured up an image of Danny, his arms around Emily’s slim neck, and I wanted to vomit. She had been wearing my top; it had still smelled of my perfume.
‘Did you kiss him back? Was it a full-on snog?’ The shock was speaking for me. I don’t know why I asked that question – I didn’t really want to know the answer.
‘Not really.’ She hesitated. ‘Just for a second . . . a tiny bit.’
I remembered again my last kiss with Danny – it was what I had been grasping on to, our final intimate moment before everything fell apart. Now Emily my confidante, my only support, had stolen even that from me. It was tainted, defiled. I had nothing left of him.
My shock turned to anger. ‘You bitch!’ I spat. ‘Did you enjoy it?’
‘Stop it, please.’ She was crying so much she could hardly breathe. ‘I’m sorry, Nay, I’m sorry. I’m being totally honest with you here – I don’t want to lie to you. But it all happened so quickly. I’d had too much to drink, I wasn’t thinking—’
‘Oh, stop blubbing.’ I’d had no idea I could be so cold, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t help myself. ‘Did you flirt with him? Did you want to look cool in front of all your friends? Did you?’
‘No, Nay, I swear. It wasn’t like that. We were just talking – about you, actually – and he looked so sad and I gave him a hug, and it just happened. I didn’t plan it, honest.’
I’d seen the way Emily had looked at Danny, the way her friends looked at him. I thought, She must have loved the attention – a gorgeous, older guy, wanting to talk to her, to kiss her. She lapped it up, didn’t she?
I said, ‘I don’t believe you.’ But even as I said it, I knew I didn’t really mean it. I was thinking more clearly now. Blaming Emily was so much easier than allowing myself to blame Danny, shouting at her far less scary than the prospect of confronting him.
‘You’ve got it all wrong. I was telling him you still loved him and that I thought you should get back together. I told him I thought he was great for you and that you’d work it out.’
‘And so he kissed you? It doesn’t make sense.’
‘I know,’ she said. ‘I know. But I stopped him straight away – I promise. I told him it was wrong and that it shouldn’t have happened.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘I can’t really remember. He said not to tell you. I went to the loo with Katy and when we came back he’d just gone.’
‘How convenient.’
Then a thought struck me. ‘Were you going to tell me about this? If I hadn’t shown you the website, would you have told me?’
‘I . . . don’t . . . know,’ she hiccoughed. ‘I hadn’t thought it through yet.’
‘I wish you’d never told me,’ I said, remembering how happy I had been just a few minutes earlier. Now everything was more messed up than ever.
‘Really? You’d rather I’d lied?’
‘No. No. I just wish none of it had happened. I can’t deal with this, any of it.’
She tried to hug me, but I was still too angry with her. ‘Leave me alone, Emily,’ I said. ‘I need to talk to Danny.’
‘Please don’t hate me, Nay,’ she whispered as she left the room. ‘Please.’
I don’t hate you, I thought. But I was too pig-headed to say it.
I went straight round to Danny’s, before I could change my mind or start to rationalise what Emily had told me. I wanted to surprise him, to hear what he had to say before he could invent an explanation. Most of all, I wanted to see him again. It’s stupid, I know, but I had the feeling that, somehow, everything could still be all right, that this could all go away.
I let myself into his flat, leaving the door on the latch so he wouldn’t be alerted to my arrival. Hearing music playing in the living room, I went into his bedroom and sat on his bed, knowing that he would come in eventually. I was annoyed that I hadn’t thought to redo my make-up before I left the house – I didn’t want Danny to know what a mess I was inside. It was written all over my face in tear-streaked mascara.
I didn’t have to wait long before Danny sauntered in, humming to himself. My heart leapt – in spite of myself, I fancied him as much as ever. It took a moment before he saw me, and then he jumped back on himself, his mouth falling open with surprise.
‘Omi! Oh my God! What are you doing here?’
‘Hello, Danny,’ I smiled. I felt strangely calm.
He looked at me, confused, unnerved. I knew he was wondering if I had come because of his message or because Emily had told me what happened. He was trying to work out why I had hidden myself in his room, rather than call or text him to say I wanted to see him. My smile revealed nothing.
‘Omi, it’s so good to see you,’ he said, rushing over to me. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’ I felt the sensation of his mouth on mine and I couldn’t help but kiss him back. It was familiar and comfortable and yet new and exciting, all at the same time. God, I had missed his kisses.
Don’t forget why you’re here, Naomi, I told myself.
I pulled away. ‘Missed me? Not that much,’ I said cryptically.
He knew, then, tha
t I knew. His voice rose by an octave. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Why don’t you tell me what happened at the party last night? Or should I call Emily and get her to come round here.’
‘What’s she been saying?’
‘Don’t play dumb. She told me what happened. She said you kissed her. Why did you do it, Danny?’
‘You’ve got it wrong,’ he said. ‘She’s lying.’
‘She’s my sister. Why would she say it if it wasn’t true? She wouldn’t lie to me.’
‘No? Never? And I would?’
How would you prefer to die, Naomi, by hanging or the electric chair? It’s weird how your brain summons up long-buried memories at times of crisis. It was a game I’d played as a child, with the little boy who lived next door: decide which was the worse of two evils.
I don’t want to die at all.
But you have to, Naomi.
Who did I want to be the liar: my only sister or the love of my life?
I’ll take the forfeit.
Danny was right – Emily had lied to me before. She had lied about borrowing clothes and make-up and whether she’d stolen chocolate from the newsagent. Could she be playing some kind of sick game to make me finish with Danny?
It didn’t make sense. Emily had nothing to gain by telling me about Danny’s kiss – and everything to lose. I’d seen how painful recounting the kiss had been for her, knew that she had squeezed out every last, honest detail. But if Emily wasn’t lying, then Danny must be. Hard as it was to admit it, I had known it all along, hadn’t I? Why couldn’t he simply have confessed and told me how sorry he was? Was his pride more important to him than the risk of losing me?
Danny took my silence to be my answer. He turned his back on me and began pacing the room. ‘I can’t believe you don’t trust me. After everything we’ve been through, you still don’t trust me.’
‘It’s not as simple as that. I want to trust you, Danny, but I’m so confused.’
I caught up with him, positioning myself between his body and the wall so that he had nowhere to go, so that he had to look at me.
‘It is simple,’ he said, shoving me out of the way and turning sharply, so that he had his back to me once again. ‘Either you love me or you don’t. Either you believe me or you don’t. Yeah?’
I said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
It was over.
Chapter 19
That should have been the end of the story. In many ways, I wish it were. But nothing was ever neat with Danny; there were never any clear beginnings, middles or ends.
Of course, I didn’t have the benefit of hindsight then. I left Danny’s, certain that our relationship was over. I was broken and empty and exhausted and shattered, and all the other adjectives that don’t quite express the indescribable pain of leaving someone you love. Most of all, I was terribly, terribly sad. Despite everything that had happened, I still loved Danny and I didn’t know how I would ever stop. I knew that all I had to do was to go back and tell him that I believed him, and he would take me in his arms and everything would be all right. He still wanted me and I still wanted him – the fact that we couldn’t be together was illogical. But how could I be with someone whom I didn’t trust, someone who had looked me in the eye and lied?
I didn’t allow myself to think about his reasons, to wonder whether he hadn’t been able to help himself because he was hurting so much, or because he was on autopilot to self-destruct. What was the point? It would only cause me more confusion, more pain and more guilt. If he had done it because he was ill, then I had deserted him when he needed me most – and what sort of a person did that make me?
Somehow, I knew instinctively that the only way I could survive was if I thought of the relationship as dead. And so, when I arrived home, I found myself carrying out my own little mourning ritual. I got out all my photos of Danny and, one by one, took a last look at each image before putting it away in my bedside drawer. I was saying goodbye to my memories, filing them away in the past. Danny posing on stage: gone. Danny pulling a silly face: gone. Danny, his arm protectively around my shoulder: gone. Funny how the colours already seemed less vivid, our smiles ghostly. I could barely remember how I had felt in each captured moment, couldn’t recall what had been said in the instant before the shutter clicked shut and the flash exploded. Even the photos taken only a month before now appeared years old – a lifetime away. There would be no more gigs, no more hugs, no more kisses; the realisation struck me like a hammer to the chest.
I took my favourite photo of Danny out of its frame and studied it. It felt as if his eyes were following my gaze, his unfathomable expression begging me to reconsider, to help him. ‘Stop torturing me, Danny,’ I said aloud, but my conscience refused to obey. I kissed his face, before putting the photo away with the others. Then I cried until there were no tears left in me.
Afterwards, I felt numb, empty inside. The fog of emotion had cleared and, at last, I was able to focus, to think logically. I decided to write a list of all the reasons I’d ended the relationship, to help convince myself that I’d done the right thing.
1. Danny lied to me. Can I ever trust him again?
2. Danny kissed my sister. And then tried to blame her. Ditto.
3. Danny cuts himself. It scares me and, no matter how much I want to, I don’t know how to help him. I’m not wise enough, or strong enough.
4. Danny is lazy. He’s barely done a day’s work since I met him and he can’t even be bothered to rehearse.
5. Danny bitches about my parents. But I love them and it makes me feel bad.
6. Danny makes me question what I want to do with my life. He confuses me.
7. Danny hates his mum and dad. OK, they’re not the best parents, but I don’t know if they’ve done anything to merit such vicious rage. It makes me uncomfortable.
8. Danny is moody. It puts me on edge.
9. I never know quite where I am with Danny. Ditto.
10. Danny turns everything into a drama. It’s exhausting.
11. My parents don’t think I should be with Danny. I’m sick of fighting with them.
12. I’m supposed to be going away to university in the autumn. If I stay with Danny, I won’t want to go.
I couldn’t think of any more. It was enough, wasn’t it?
Then, almost inevitably, I suppose, I found myself composing a list of what was good about Danny.
1. I love Danny and he loves me. There’s no better feeling in the world, is there?
2. Danny is my soulmate. I might never find another.
3. Danny is gorgeous. Just looking at him gives me butterflies.
4. Danny is spontaneous. Being with him is unpredictable and exciting.
5. Danny is clever and interesting. I’ve learned so much from him. He’s so stimulating.
6. Danny makes me feel clever and interesting. Nobody else has ever done that.
7. Danny a) writes amazing songs and b) has an incredible voice. He’s so talented – he could be really successful one day.
8. Danny is generous and thoughtful. He’s given me the most amazing presents.
9. Danny makes me laugh. He even laughs at my jokes.
10. Kissing Danny.
I read through my lists several times. I had to acknowledge that there were more points in the negative list than in the positive, and that, collectively, the negative points outweighed the positive. However much I enjoyed kissing Danny, loved hearing him play, laughed at his jokes, these things couldn’t make up for his problems, his lie. It had come down to a simple mathematical calculation: I couldn’t be with Danny because there were too many obstacles in our way. Following my heart had got me nowhere, so perhaps it was now time to follow my head.
Finally, I decided to write Danny a goodbye letter. I can’t remember the exact words I used – I don’t have a copy – but it was four pages long and detailed all the points in both my lists. I didn’t know if I was doing the right thing, or how he would react, but I ha
d to be honest, to articulate everything I had been unable to say before. It wasn’t fair not to tell him the truth, was it? So I told him that I loved him, and that I would always love him, but I couldn’t be with him. Maybe, one day, when I had finished university and he had sorted out his problems, we might try again. I wanted to say, ‘Please wait for me, Danny,’ but I knew it wouldn’t be fair to ask that of him. I signed it, Forever, Omi.
As I sealed the envelope, I imagined the look on Danny’s face when he read my letter and remembered how desperate I had felt when I’d received his. I wished that I could be there to hold him and wipe away his tears – the possibility that he might have another – more violent – reaction was too horrible to contemplate. I prayed he wouldn’t hate me; I couldn’t bear that.
I posted the letter in the postbox at the end of my street, waiting until I had heard it flutter down and hit the bottom before I turned and walked away. Now it was too late to change my mind. Danny’s fate lay in the hands of a faceless postal worker.
I didn’t tell my parents it was over with Danny until the next day. Mum said she would be there for me if I wanted to talk and reassured me that the pain I felt would fade. Dad just patted me on the back and told me I was being very mature. ‘One day,’ he said, ‘you’ll look back on this relationship and wonder what you ever saw in Danny.’
His blasé attitude irritated me. I wanted to ask him how he could be so sure. He had never known, and would never know, what it was like to have a soulmate, to share that once-in-a-lifetime connection that is beyond words.