‘Hello, Faith. Long time no hear…’ comes Gabe’s gravelly voice over the phone, making my heartbeat shift to a rumba dance. I’m so shocked at his phone call that I’ve dropped my mobile and am scrambling to retrieve it, his contact photo still filling my screen to assure me I haven’t lost the connection.
Long time indeed. Six months of singledom is an entire lifetime when, after three years of love, your boyfriend dumps you for your professional nemesis.
‘Er… hello, Gabe…’
Everyone, from my sister, Hope, to my girlfriends to my design crew had all supported me through it, assuring me I was much better off without him, and that being the golden boy of the pop charts didn’t give him the right to treat me as he had. And, over endless evenings and tons of chocolate (just to make sure I didn’t hit the bottle all over again) I had somewhat reluctantly, though technically, agreed with them all.
But I can’t help but remember that Gabe and I also had good times. No one would ever understand what Gabe and I had when we did have it. No one had ever loved me the way he’d loved me – while it had lasted. And no one knows about the time he’d stayed up with me all night to help me finish decorating my best clients’ new home – or how I’d supported him through a nasty bout of depression when his cousin Charlie died.
Gabe would do simple but kind things for me, like bring me a cup of chamomile and give me a shoulder rub when I was stressed or down or simply exhausted. Whenever he was away on tour, which was very often, he’d call me just minutes before going on stage, just to hear my voice. ‘It makes me feel ten feet tall, to know you love me,’ he used to say.
And no one, not even my sister Hope, knows how he would hold me in the middle of the night when I woke up sobbing after dreaming about the night my father had abandoned my mother, leaving her a mess. And consequently Hope and myself, daughters of a home that was already broken before we were even born.
But when I met Gabe, it was like the floodgates had opened and years and years of loneliness had simply gushed out of me as I’d poured my heart out to him. And he, in turn, had confessed his own awful childhood to me and his fears about flubbing his career as a rock star. But all it would take was a quick pep talk from me and he’d be back in the saddle, whilst it had always been difficult for me to believe in my own worth. We were twin souls drifting that had finally reached safe ground, finding somebody to love.
We’d been through all the stages: meet, date, fall in love, commit and buy a house. And when we’d viewed this one, my heart had stopped at the realisation that this was the same house my mother and father had vacationed at. I had recognised it from the views from the back to the sea. What were the odds of something like that happening? It was a sign.
But after that, the following stages of Us were pretty basic: cry, move out of the beach house – the only place I’d ever felt safe and wanted since I was born – and move out of the picture-perfect Cornish seaside village of Perrancombe to a flat in Truro. End of.
Perhaps, I now acknowledge, I loved him a bit too much, because eventually, even Gabe had tired of my insecurities. I had, in effect, proven to him I was no better than my mother. And that’s when all my insecurities came flooding back as if they’d never left me, memories of my childhood flushing out my happier ones with Gabe as if they’d never deserted my mind in the first place, filling every inch of good headspace.
Had I actually pushed him into Vanessa’s arms without realising it? Had I not been good enough for him? Or perhaps not famous enough, like Vanessa? After all, he is a rock star. Or is it simply because I’m just not lovable enough? Am I more leaveable than lovable?
It’s surprising how quickly sad thoughts can take over, dominating and domineering despite your best efforts to keep your head above the raging waters of fear. It has taken me the whole of these past six months to understand just how much my insecurities had ruined our relationship.
And now, six months A.G., After Gabe, I take care to not depend on people emotionally. Nor do I even dream of getting involved with anyone lest I revert back to my previous weakness and fall in love again.
But despite myself, even after all this time, he still has this effect on me. He is the only person I have ever loved – and ever will. What could he possibly want from me, after all that had been said and done, and just as I’ve finally convinced myself to at least try and forget him once and for all?
‘Happy New Year, by the way,’ he says.
I look around my flat. There is absolutely nothing new or happy about it, if you don’t count the Christmas cards stacked on my kitchen counter that I haven’t even bothered to open. Festive is not exactly one of my top priorities at the moment.
And then his voice drops an octave to a more caring tone. ‘How are you, Faith? I mean really?’
If I didn’t know him better I’d swear he’s gloating. How am I? Not as good as he sounds, that’s for sure. Because while he’s having wild sex with Psycho-Vanessa in our beautiful home, I’m barely holding it together here with my new friend, i.e. my goldfish Jawsy. Not even she (he?) is happy with me, staring at me with those huge eyes day in, day out, probably wondering what I’m going to do with the rest of our lives.
‘F-fine, thank you. What can I, er, do for you?’
‘You always assume I want something.’
‘Am I wrong?’ Please tell me I’m wrong.
‘Ah, but this time it’s different. This time, I’m giving you something. A huge job. I want you to renovate the beach house for me.’
The beach house? My former home?
‘Faith? Are you there?’
I swallow the knot forming in my throat. ‘I’m here.’
‘I’m on tour in Thailand at the moment, but I’ve left you a cheque on my desk in the study. All you have to do is say yes, cash it and get to work.’
I sigh. ‘Gabe, just a tip for you: never leave a signed cheque lying around – and never, ever tell an ex-girlfriend where the money is. I could easily take it and run.’
He softly strums his guitar. ‘You would never do that, Faith. Besides, this was your home, too.’
He can’t be doing this to me! I’ve just barely managed to pull all the shards of myself together, reorganising my life without him and all the things we used to do, and now this?
‘So what do you say?’
I say I’m sooo not ready for this, and I don’t think I ever will be. Because merely stepping through the front door and plunging back into a past I’m still trying to get over would kill me. So I straighten my shoulders and take a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry, but I just can’t do it.’
The now pleading twang of his guitar comes through the ether. He’s never far from his guitars, Gabe. ‘I understand, Faith. But you must have seen what Vanessa’s done to the place? It’s an absolute shambles.’
Seen it I have – four full glossy pages in Arch-Design, the publication belonging to the gurus of interior design, Lord and Lady Wickford, where my rival in work and love Vanessa boasts about how she has transformed a traditional Cornish beach house into a rock star’s dream home. And to think that everyone secretly refers to her as ‘Hurricane Vanessa’, and not in a good way.
‘Apart from my recording studio, Vanessa has completely changed the atmosphere,’ he complains.
She’s also changed you, I want to retort, but my decision to be amicable about the split, and to not go under as my mum had, has compelled me to make an effort to be civilised and not say everything that I think. Which is a feat in its own.
I can just picture him in his usual black skinny jeans and his Girls Love A Rock Star T-shirt, with his boyish face and spiky blond hair, strumming away, desperately searching for his next hit. He always got rather panicky when it didn’t come to him immediately, and I would encourage him to be patient.
‘You have to grow into an idea, Gabe,’ I used to tell him. ‘Let it come to you, nurture it and see where it takes you.’
And he would knit his brows and nod. ‘Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I need to be patient.’
I was the only one who knew the real Gabe York once the spotlights were off. He would let only me go anywhere near him when he was having one of his down moments, and trusted only me to set him back on his feet. But that was then. And now he didn’t need me anymore. Except for my professional design skills, apparently. Because Vanessa’s style was something that you would tire of very quickly, unless you were colour-blind.
‘Faith, only you can make it ri-ight,’ he suddenly sings with another prolonged strum and I’m grateful that for once his amps are switched off. Like all true musicians, Gabe uses his music to express his emotions. Like when he’d proposed to me on the piano. Literally. We’d just had sex on it and he’d rolled over to play a tune while he asked me if I wanted to marry him. A promise of marriage that died a short while later.
As our careers were just blossoming and everything was so exciting, I had been adamant in maintaining the stability I’d lacked as a child while being bounced around foster homes with my sister. No silly star behaviour for us in our future, but sensible decisions and conduct. That had always been my motto, as I wanted to be strong and level-headed – the opposite of my mother.
So at the end of a gruelling workday for both of us, we would crash on the settee with dinner and dream of a future where we would attain our goals, however far-fetched they seemed at the time. Because, back then, we thought we could rule the world. Not that I wanted to, but it felt good to think we could.
Before Gabe’s money started to roll in, it had been only him and me. And we had been happy. Until we weren’t any longer. Or at least, until he wasn’t. I thought we would be together forever, but obviously he’d had other plans.
Gabe strums a new chord. ‘I loved it the way you had done it up, Faith. And I loved it, when you and I were together.’
I swallow.
‘Please, Faith, say yes?’ he begs, still strumming. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’
How? How on earth can he ever make it up to me? He left me. For Vanessa, to boot. And after that, I had chosen to not hate him and remain civilised, simply for my own sanity. Am I a pushover? Perhaps. But in my relationship with Gabe I often found that I could either be always right, or I could mostly let go of some things and be happy.
Now I’m neither. Vanessa has taken everything from me – the man I love, our future, the possibility of my very own, normal family, something I’d dreamt of since I was a little girl sleeping in a foster bed. The one thing I craved the most had been a life with loving parents, children, a garden and a dog. And I’d thought that our beloved beach house would have been the start of it, so I’d decorated it with all my heart, spending hours on end in vintage shops and reclamation yards. It has always been my signature style, decorating well without spending the earth.
And now, to add insult to injury, Vanessa is on a mission to steal my prospective clients any way she can.
‘I can’t believe you’d even feel comfortable asking me this, Gabe,’ I say. ‘What does she think about that? Surely my style is too boring for the likes of her?’
‘It doesn’t matter anymore,’ he says softly.
The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention, just like my nerves. ‘Why?’
He hesitates. ‘I was going to tell you when I came back to England, but I just knew you’d suss me out first. You know me so well, Faith.’
I huff. ‘Gabe, I have absolutely no idea what you’re on about, so why don’t you just make it easier on both of us and come straight out with it?’
‘You deserve to know the truth, after all the hurt I’ve caused you. Vanessa and I are over.’
I sit up, an electric shock jolting through me. Over? As in, finished? Split up?
‘I’m, uhm, sorry to hear that,’ I lie. Because, even if Gabe and I are no longer together and he has hurt me more than I can say, I never wanted him to be in the hands of an out-of-control psychopath.
I’ve known her since my art college days at Falmouth University and only her aristocratic parents have kept her out of prison for her numerous OTT acts – displays of public nudity, drugs, DUI being her minor capers. Her outrageous lifestyle is reflected in her designs that equally outlandish rock stars vie for. You know – solid gold refrigerator doors and all that.
She’s the worst thing that could have happened to someone as fragile-egoed as Gabe.
‘Don’t be sorry, Faith. I ended it. And do you want to know why?’
No, I want to say. Your life is your business. But I am literally salivating and swallowing at the same time. ‘Uhm… yes…’
‘Because I… Jesus, I can’t believe I’ve finally found the guts to tell you this…’
‘T-tell me what, Gabe?’ My heart is about to explode out of my ribcage.
Silence. Then: ‘That I was a right tosser leaving you. I made a huge mistake. I never wanted to hurt you, Faith. I want things to be the way they were between us. I want you back. If you’ll have me? I swear I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you, sweetheart.’
I clutch my mobile as my entire world turns topsy-turvy once again. Is it possible? I haven’t misunderstood? Subsumed my desires and woven them into this already surreal conversation?
‘You know my heart always belonged to you, no matter what,’ he continues. ‘We were made for each other. We belong together.’ Another strum, soft and melancholic and he begins to play his number-one hit: ‘Impossibly You’. Only now his voice is choked and I can feel his genuine pain.
At the realisation of what he is saying, I wipe my suddenly wet eyes.
He wants me back. He is sorry.
But taking on Gabe again, so quickly, out of the blue? I still love him, of course, but is it wise to throw myself back into a relationship, heart and soul? How can I know he won’t abandon me again? I couldn’t deal with that – not twice. Especially when I used to see him as a sort of karmic reward for having survived my crappy childhood. I thought that with him by my side, life would behave itself and finally treat me kindly.
But then, when he broke up with me, I realised it was not so. Life doesn’t owe anybody anything.
‘Remember how happy we used to be, Faith? You were the only one who ever got me, and I was the one you always turned to after a bad day. We were amazing together, Babes, and I…’
Say it, I pray silently. Please say it. And please mean it this time.
‘I can’t believe I was stupid enough to leave you. And now – now, I don’t know how you could ever trust me again.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I screwed up big time, Babes.’
‘Yes, you did…’
‘I know, sweetheart. I only wish I could turn back time so I could erase all the times I made you cry.’
‘So do I,’ I croak. But he still hasn’t said it. Is he even going to?
‘It will be different, if you’ll have me back, Faith. Because I still love you…’
There it is. He still loves me. But it’s not enough. Because, as strong as I have become, I doubt I would survive another similar blow, and at the moment I can’t risk losing it all again unless I’m absolutely sure that Gabe is for real this time.
It had been six months of hell after he left me, and I had almost slipped back into the horror of my teenage alcoholism years. I’d stared at my mobile a thousand times a day, if not more, in the hope that I’d get a message from him saying that he was sorry, and that he wanted me back, all the while scolding myself for being such a fantasist. Things like that never happen in real life. Because I’d thought that once love is gone, it’s gone forever.
It had been pure hell digging myself out of that the first time, but my sister Hope and my friends had been there for me. I’d worked so hard to claw myself out of it.
And in the space of the last six months, I’ve found a new self-esteem and taken on clients I could have only dreamed of before. I look and sound more confident than ever. I’m almost where I want to be professionally. Emotionally, that’s a completely different and uphill battle.
But now, against all odds, he’s back.
‘Vanessa was a huge mistake,’ he now assures me. ‘A moment of madness. I swear I will never, ever hurt you again. If possible, I love you even more than before.’
Me too, I want to say as my voice cracks with the effort to not bawl my eyes out. The man I love still wants me. I could still have a future with him. I could go back home. But I can’t let go of everything, just yet. Not like that. I’m still smarting. I’m not yet ready. And I can’t let him have the upper hand this time. This time I call the shots. I’ve earnt the right. I’ve bloody earnt it.
‘You’re crying,’ he whispers. ‘Is that a Yes, I love you, let’s start all over again cry, or a Bugger off I never want to see you again cry?’
Now, I know that all my friends and my sister would baulk at my weakness after having propped me up for months with pep talks and care packages, just being there for me so I wouldn’t wilt away with loneliness. I had told myself (and them, for that matter) that I’d never, ever get back with Gabe York again.
But as it turns out, if I’m even considering it anywhere in the future, then the joke is on me, because I still love him. I always have. And now we may have another chance to make it right. Because if he’s come back, it means that he’s missed me, too, and if he’s missed me only half as much as I’ve pined for him, then perhaps we’d still have a chance to rebuild our relationship from the ground up. But it wouldn’t be easy. Nor would it take a short time. I would just have to make sure that I stayed strong and independent. And there’s only one way to do that.
‘It’s a Let’s see what happens cry,’ I warn him. ‘For now, I’ll take on the job, but I can’t promise you more than that.’
A stunned silence follows. I know he’d expected me to fall at his feet. But in these past six months, I’ve learnt to not be dependent on a man.
This is what I’m telling myself, but my heart is screaming, Please don’t hurt me again. I reach over to grab some tissues from the coffee table. I couldn’t bear it if he changed his mind again. I would truly come apart for good this time.
He finally exhales in relief and I can feel him smiling. He’s thinking he’s got me back, whatever I say. ‘I can wait, Babes – it’s only right.’
‘Don’t be too cocky. The redesign will cost you the earth.’
He laughs. ‘You are worth every penny.’
‘And Vanessa…?’ I ask. I know only too well how she must be feeling.
‘She’s booking her flight to Heathrow as we speak.’
I can actually picture her, wild peroxide hair standing on end as she throws her psychedelic clothes into an equally psychedelic suitcase that no one could ever miss, hurling it around at the airport and swearing for England at everyone and anyone who happens to get in her way as she stomps off, tottering in her vertiginous stilettos. I wouldn’t be surprised if she came banging on my door and threatened to gouge my eyes out with them.
‘Awh, Babes,’ Gabe groans. ‘I wish I could drop everything and come home to you. I miss you so much it hurts, and I miss Cornwall and our home and the sea and – you know what? Screw it – I’m coming home.’
‘But you can’t – you’ve signed a contract,’ I protest. ‘It’s all going to have to wait. You’ve got a string of concerts. This is not the way to stay credible in the music busine—’ I bite my lip. I can’t start mothering him all over again. Which was probably one of the reasons why I’d lost him in the first place. Being too level-headed, too stable. And to think that this fault of mine, which had been my saving grace as a child, has perhaps become my adult weakness. I’m now, as a result, a stickler for rules.
‘Tell me you still love me, Faith.’
I wipe my eyes with the pads of my thumbs and, for the very first time in months, smile. ‘I still love you, Faith,’ I quip.
He chuckles. ‘Silly. I’ve been a right tit, haven’t I?’ he says.
‘And a left one, too!’
‘Tell you what, Babes – I’ve got a few days off in a few weeks. I’m going to pop home and make it up to you.’
I warm up instantly at the thought. It has been so long.
‘But I want you to move back into the house in the meantime.’
‘Gabe—’
‘I know what you’re thinking – that it’s too soon, but I’m not there anyway, right? Just move back in and make yourself at home.’
‘I don’t know…’
‘Come on, Babes. It’ll be easier for you, you won’t have to commute or get a room anywhere.’
Well, that much was true.
‘Start in the bedroom. I want no trace of Vanessa left. I want it to be exactly as it was before. I want it to smell like you again.’
‘I’ll do my best to re-source everything,’ I promise, trying my best to ignore that old, familiar warmth building up inside me while I’m also wondering how I’m going to juggle all my previous commitments.
‘You won’t have to re-source anything,’ he informs me. ‘I had all of our things put into storage.’
My heart lurches. ‘You did? Everything? Why?’
Another strum. ‘Probably because I didn’t really want to let you go, Faith. Deep inside I knew I was making a huge mistake to shack up with that whack job.’
‘Be nice to someone who loved you,’ I whisper, sincerely hoping that he hadn’t talked about me like that too. Who, Faith, that clingy robot who wanted all her ducks in a row? or something like that.
‘Yeah, sorry. But keeping your stuff was the only way to not completely let you go. Blimey, you wouldn’t believe how lost I was. I was completely out of control, drinking and partying every night like my life depended on it.’
As if I didn’t know, thanks to Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.
‘But now I’m back.’
‘I’m so happy for you, Gabe. Okay, then. I’ll start immediately.’
‘Thank you. The key to the storage unit where our things are is in my top drawer. I’ll text you the address.’
‘Okay.’
‘You’ve still got the house keys, haven’t you?’ he asks.
‘Yes.’ I’m ashamed to say that I’ve kept them – that bundle of keys being all I had left of our home.
‘Then let yourself in, Babes, and make yourself at home again,’ he murmurs. ‘It is still ours, no matter what it looks like.’
‘I’ll make it just like it was,’ I promise him, and I can feel him smile on the other side of the world.
Everything will be perfect from the kitchen down to the soft furnishings. The curtains and bedding will need laundering after all that time in storage. I, too, feel drab and tired, having pretty much come out of storage myself, tucked away, forgotten and neglected before being allowed to emerge and live my life again.
He stops strumming. ‘I swear to you, I’ll make it up to you.’
I’m resolved to be cautious this time, but I must admit I had hoped that this would happen. No, scratch that. I’d dreamt it – over and over again. But never had I actually thought it could ever come true. I mean, let’s be honest – when does this ever happen? Just how often do you see a return of flame? And, more importantly, how long do they usually last?
‘It’ll be different this time – that I promise you, Faith. And… if you think you can be with me again, we might even finally plan that nursery?’
My heart literally does a somersault in my chest. This is too much. Does he really want a baby now, too, or is it only because he knows how badly I want one?
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Gabe,’ I caution him. I don’t want him to know he literally had me at Hello.
‘Absolutely not, Faith. We’ve already wasted too much time apart, but I’ve finally grown up. I want a family. With you.’
It’s like being in an episode of The Twilight Zone. How is this even happening? Gabe had always been adamant about waiting. Waiting indefinitely, in fact. He’d done so much to put it off in the hope I might change my mind, and now he changes his?
‘What has caused all this?’ I ask.
‘The prospect of a life without you. It’s been crap so far. We’ve got to catch up on everything we’ve missed out on. So I’ll leave it all in your capable hands?’
‘Absolutely, I’ll take care of everything.’
‘Cool. I’ve got to run now, but we can do a video-chat tomorrow if you like?’
‘Fine.’
‘Great. See you tomorrow, love of my life.’
Love of my life. He’s just called me the love of his life. I only hope that he won’t let me down (again).