‘So you collapsed. Yet you’re still alive. I don’t know why you are moaning at me…’
I really bloody dislike you, Igor. I don’t think your mother even liked you if she gave you a name like that. He stands over me in this exercise studio, watching as I balance on one leg trying to stretch out my calves.
‘I collapsed because I was walking and my body obviously isn’t ready for full exercise.’
‘You’re so full of crap. That was two weeks ago. You collapsed because you’re not eating well – it’s in your notes. You don’t want to exercise because you hate me and the control I have over you. Now stretch before I tell your sister.’
I lunge to the side, grimacing a little but maybe not as much as before because I think some of this might be working and my body might be coming back to life. I will not admit this much to Igor though. He watches and makes a note on his stupid clipboard, the one I usually imagine smashing into his face.
‘Good, Lucy. We’ll call it a day there.’
‘I think you just paid me a compliment.’
‘You think I did.’
Today, they’ve shipped me into town to some fancy rehab gym with a pool so I can have a full workout and I suspect some of my sisters can spend some time with children and husbands and not have to babysit me. What’s it like all living together again? It feels like home. I like these new habits we have of getting into comfy clothes and ‘binging’ TV shows together, sharing chocolate and wine. Other times, it’s Mum questioning who hasn’t flushed a toilet and Grace falling out of a bed because Beth rolled over and kicked her out. But unfortunately none of this shared living experience or meeting Josh aka Dickface in real life after all these years, has brought back any memories so we have to dig further.
After I shower up today, I’m going down the road to meet Tony, an old uni friend who I hear my mother was very sad I didn’t end up with. This is a surprise given my mother takes a combative stance with any man who tries to infiltrate her clan but apparently I’ll know when I meet him. He’s charming, can speak four languages and he once told my mum a dirty Christmas joke about snowmen that she still uses to this day, which is a shock as Mum doesn’t really do smut. Or jokes.
‘Your sisters tell me you were very into exercise before the accident so I do not know why you are so resistant to work with me,’ Igor explains.
I can’t say because his mullet offends me, can I? The truth is, I think it’s because I don’t like him seeing me at my weakest, when my arms are like spaghetti and my legs don’t work. I don’t want anyone to see me like this because it feels vulnerable and exposing. That doesn’t feel like me. This is too deep to tell someone I dislike so much though.
‘You are getting there, Lucy. You’re walking around, you’ve regained some strength in your joints. It was good to get you in the pool. You’re here today on your own. You’re getting to a good place.’
‘I’m not on my own. My dad is waiting in the car with a newspaper and a puzzle book.’
He laughs. ‘You’re funny.’
‘I wasn’t trying to be.’
‘I’ll see you at your mum’s house in three days.’
‘I’ll bake a cake.’
‘Lemon, please.’
With shards of glass in the icing? He leaves as his next client is outside waiting and I head for the showers. We are lucky to have Emma and all her connections as this place really is high-end, unlike any leisure centre gym that I’ve been in and that’s because of the free towels, which I’m not quite sure if I’m allowed to keep. As I head into the communal showers, I look around and seem to have got the back end of some junior swimming class. I watch as mums and au pairs dance around trying to get their little ones to wash their hair without getting wet themselves. I strip down to my swimming costume and join them, noticing a little girl looking up at me, foam hanging from her curls. She studies the tattoos about my person and the scratches and scars down my legs. I look over at the woman I assume to be her au pair, who is trying to signal at her that it’s rude to stare.
‘You’re Lucy?’ she says, surprised.
‘I am,’ I say, studying the girl before me in her navy and pink Speedo swimming costume, goggles and hat in hand. Are we related? I hope you’re not a niece I’ve forgotten about.
‘You did my party once, my name is Ophelia.’
I study her face, remembering the name. ‘You wrote me a thank you note.’
She nods and smiles but I can see her examining the top of my head, confused. ‘What happened to you?’ she asks inquisitively.
The problem with my hair at the moment is that it’s a strange in-between stage where it looks like it may be a fashion choice but the scar is still there, plus the other various remnants of my injuries. My inclination is to tell her a whole different story to make things interesting but also to hide the fact I nearly died the day of her party.
‘I also work in the circus and I was in an awful accident where I fell off a trapeze.’
Ophelia’s eyes widen, as do her au pair’s, who’s now worried about the tattooed lunatic standing beside her charge in the shower.
‘I mean, I’m fine, but they had to cut off all my hair, which actually might be better because now I can just wear wigs and it’s much cooler in the summer.’
‘And easier after swimming,’ she adds.
‘This is so true.’
Her au pair hands over some conditioner and I offer to squeeze some into her hair, her hands clawing up to run it through her curls. I should remember you, I only met you a mere matter of months ago.
‘Was I Elsa at your party?’ I ask her.
‘No. Cinderella?’ she says, disappointed that I wouldn’t recall that detail.
‘Oh, of course. I remember it well.’
‘You do Elsa?’ she asks.
I now have a frame of reference for who this Elsa lady is and all I know is that she likes her ice and kids go batshit crazy for her.
‘I do. Actually, can you clear something up for me? You said in your thank you note that I said something at your party? I gave you advice?’
She nods. ‘You taught me some great phrases and words to use when people aren’t being very nice to me.’
I widen my eyes. Which ones, love? There are catalogues of the things.
‘You were really kind to me,’ she says, twisting her lips about, slightly embarrassed.
‘I’m glad. Thank you for your note. You have wonderful handwriting. Did you get good birthday presents?’
‘I got a pony.’
‘Oh. A real one?’
‘Yes,’ she says hesitantly. I sense she didn’t ask for the pony.
‘If I had a pony, I’d call it Tony after one of my best mates.’
She giggles. I wish I remembered you, Ophelia. You seem lovely. I hope I did a good job at your party. Cinderella doesn’t really do much except clean and lose her shoes.
‘How did you fall off your trapeze?’ she asks.
‘Well, I have a partner called Igor and he didn’t catch me.’
Ophelia feigns shock. ‘That’s awful. What a terrible trapeze artist. Did they fire him from the circus?’ she asks.
‘They fed him to the lions.’
‘Poor Igor.’
‘What about me? He dropped me. I landed like a sack of potatoes,’ I say dramatically.
I love that she’s still in on the joke but the look on her face changes a little as she catches sight of the scar on my head again.
‘I’m glad you’re OK, Lucy.’
‘So am I. How crazy I get to bump into you, in here of all places as well.’
‘I always thought princesses shower in waterfalls with birds and squirrels.’
I nod. ‘Only at the weekends though. I come here for the free towels. Now lean back, your fringe is still full of bubbles, lovely.’
Tony. Tony. Tony. There’s a strange anxiety in my stomach as I sit in this pub waiting for Tony and I’m not sure if it’s because I have no recollection of him at all or because of what he’s going to tell me about my life. I’m not sure of the politically correct way of saying these things but Tony is a dwarf. He’s smaller than the average guy. I can imagine that didn’t faze me at all, I wouldn’t have had any problem with him being my friend, but there was obviously a time when we also were intimate, which intrigues me. Facebook has been my friend here as I’ve been able to examine all the pictures of us, all the drunken nights out we had, times when we worked together too. The one thing that separates him from Josh perhaps is that we still seem to be friends, we still chat and party together, and any romantic split was amicable at least and didn’t involve my sisters and me forming some sort of prison-girl-gang in a nightclub.
I peel the sticker off my beer bottle and watch with curiosity some of the other people in this place. The beginnings of some lads’ night involving the football on a television, the after-work drinkers and a man who’s sitting on his own, as if he’s pondering the value of his life and whether he should go back home now or later when his wife is in bed and he doesn’t have to talk to her. He gives me a cursory glance, probably wondering why I’m here on my own too. Poor love looks like she’s been dumped or waiting on a date that’s never going to happen.
‘Lucy…’ a voice suddenly says from behind my booth.
I turn around. ‘Tony?’
He laughs at the question mark at the end of that sentence. ‘I seriously did not think it was true.’
He searches my eyes and I don’t quite know where to look. He’s tattooed and he’s wearing a baseball cap but there’s a warmth in his demeanour that makes me trust his smile. I’d remember him. I really think I would. I smile back when I realise we’re just staring each other out. He puts a bottle of beer down to the table and jumps on the seat next to me. I don’t know what I was expecting. The pictures showed me someone who is obviously cooler than most. His Facebook profile is filled with experiences and nights out, holidays and parties, but there’s no perceived awkwardness about his differences. He puts his arms out to hug me and give me a kiss on the cheek and I reciprocate. The man sitting across from me now has a reason to stay and watch. The date has appeared and this is not who he was expecting at all.
‘I feel like you’re slowly taking me in…’ Tony jests, tapping my beer bottle and then taking a swig.
‘I am. Kinda…’
He sits there, pulling different poses so I can examine him from many different angles. Hand to the chin, blue steel, flexing his arms. I laugh.
‘So in your mind, I don’t exist. You’re just a seventeen-year-old Lucy meeting me for the first time…’
I nod.
‘I can’t believe it. I’m so sorry I never came to the hospital to visit. I was in Rome. Darren called me to say what had happened.’
I shrug. ‘I’d have been none the wiser. I’d probably have thought I was hallucinating you.’
Tony laughs. He’s immediately likeable, there’s just something behind his blue eyes too that’s immensely calming.
‘So, you want me to bring it all back for you?’ he asks.
‘If you could. And I’ll get this out the way too. Did we sleep together?’
Tony puts his head down on the table, almost in sadness.
‘Well, that tells me all I need to know about the quality of the sex if you’ve wiped that from your memory.’
It’s my turn to laugh now, glad he’s been able to turn that into a joke and not be offended.
‘We did, Lucy. Many times. I think we were almost dating for a while but you know what university relationships can be like. We promised not to put labels on it. It was like friends with benefits when we were drunk and in the same room.’
Oh. I look down at my beer bottle, now slightly panicked. That is not what the intention of today is at all. This is an avenue I’ve not explored. I’ve not had sex since the accident. Maybe good sex would help? An orgasm and a sudden rush of blood to the head would fix everything. But suddenly I feel quite unprepared. I’ve forgotten everything so have no skill set, only those I’ve acquired from having slept with a handful of people at sixth form. I also have not paid much attention to my personal grooming. When you’re hit by a bus then your bush doesn’t become the priority. I didn’t care much when I was in the pool either, the whole world was welcome to gawp if they wanted. Tony senses my panic and puts a hand in mine.
‘It’s OK. I wasn’t going to suggest we do it in the back seat of your dad’s car.’
My eyes widen.
‘I saw him on the way in. We had a chat. I invited him in but he was mid-sudoku so turned me down,’ he says, chuckling.
‘So you’ve met my family? That’s pretty serious?’ I ask.
‘I spent Christmas with you guys. The story starts that we met at university at a club. We both worked there – you were a dancer and I worked the bar and did the odd DJ gig. We used to have dance-offs to entertain the punters. You should see me work a pole.’
I knock my head back in laughter.
‘It was a posh club. That job paid off our loans. But what we had was just a meeting of minds of two people who got along and had a laugh. We flirted for weeks then eventually got together and had some fun.’
He shifts his eyes around, trying to lighten the mood. He picks up on the old disco tune in the background and circles his shoulders around. OK, he has some moves. I join in tentatively with this table dance as he uses his hand to beckon me to get more involved. I can sense why there may have been an attraction there, he’s charming, cheeky. Old Lucy would have danced and got drunk with that man, for sure. You can picture it. The dancing would not have been subtle but oh my days, the joy, the laughter.
‘I was there when you had your first tattoo done. You screamed at me the whole way through and called me a load of swear words then went back and got your next one two weeks later…’ he recalls. ‘And after that, we just hung out. I liked that you didn’t want to label what he had, we were young and just working things out, but, for ages, you were a ride or die. I adored you. Scrap that, I adore you.’
‘A ride or die is a good thing?’
‘It is. Someone you would show up for, whatever. I met your family after we did a Christmas club gig. For that one, I had to dress up as an elf… don’t judge, I’m ashamed I went there myself but the money was off the scale… You were sexy Mrs Claus. We did the Eve shift which meant we got, like, triple pay but it saw us end work at four a.m. so we crawled to your mum and dad’s for lunch…’
‘My mum likes you…’
‘I’m good with mums. I beat her at Scrabble that night, which apparently never happens but that’s because I kept topping up her sherry glass. She was wasted by the end. Your dad and Danny had to carry her upstairs… they dropped her and that’s why the light fitting at the bottom of your stairs doesn’t work any more…’
He speaks about all these people in my life so casually like he knows them all, like he’s invested in my life, and, for a moment, I feel guilty not to be able to return that friendship, unable to ask him about his life and family.
‘And so Rome? What’s the deal?’
‘I studied Italian and philosophy at uni. I then went on to do my doctorate and now I live in Rome, I lecture, I drink a lot of very very good wine.’
‘Are you married? Kids?’
‘No. There are women but I continue to not put a label on things. Life is good, Luce.’
He reaches for his phone on the table and opens up some photos. ‘You visited me about a year ago for a weekend. We went to a gig and hung out.’ He clicks on a photo of me on a sun-drenched terrace, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a pizza as big as the moon in front of me. All these pictures show me someone who is so perfectly happy, so relaxed and carefree. I just wish I could remember where it all came from. I wish I could remember why I didn’t want to stay with this lovely man here who’s obviously smart, sweet and who I clearly had some form of connection with.
‘And did we do the thing?’
‘Last year? The sex? I believe we did. Again, slightly offended that’s not etched into memory… we did it on a balcony, we gave the neighbours’ grandmother a nervous breakdown when she caught sight of us… I had to move.’
I break into hysterics. Am I turned on here? I could be. But that panic sits in my soul again, especially as I know my dad is outside this pub doing his sudoku.
‘How much sex did we have?’
‘Do I give this to you in exact amounts or…?’ he says, waving his fingers around.
I snigger. ‘I think I’m just trying to work out the sort of person I was, the sex I was having, with who? The last decade or so sounds…’
‘Eventful?’
I nod. ‘When I left for university, I’d just broken up with a boyfriend who, in my mind, when I woke up I was still with. And now I’m being told I went to university and became a bit of a…’
‘Don’t say the word…’
‘Was I?’ I ask him.
‘Lucy, we had some pretty hot sex. You were experimental, you didn’t have any hang-ups about yourself, you were just good fun. We laughed so much. We both once streaked naked through a Tube, for a bet. I’m not sure if I’m still allowed to ride the Circle Line.’
My hands cover my mouth and he looks surprised. I guess old Lucy wouldn’t be so embarrassed at that revelation, she’d bask in how outrageous it is, but I’m still getting used to this girl’s gall, her courage.
‘Luce, when I met you, you were so bright but in so many ways. We didn’t just get drunk and shag. We talked about books and politics. Your eyes would light up at the novelty of everything. You were so keen and ready to go out in the world and just explore the infinite possibility that lay at your feet. That fearlessness to throw yourself into anything and everything was what made me love you.’
‘You loved me?’ I gasp, almost in shock.
‘I think we loved each other. Maybe not in a romantic sunset kinda way, I don’t think either of us believed in that, but enough for me to jump on a plane when you ask me out for a drink.’
What is confusing to me is, somewhere down the line, I obviously stopped looking for my sunsets. When did I come to all these life conclusions?
‘When my dad died, you came to the funeral. You sat at the back of the church and afterwards you got me drunk and slept on my sofa for three days to check I was all right. So just in case you thought all we did was get naked together.’
He grabs my hand and, for this small moment, it’s everything. To think I had a wonderful soul like this who was my friend. Can I take you back to Mum and Dad’s? They like you. It’d be a break from the board games.
‘I like the new look, by the way. It’s very Sigourney Weaver in Alien.’
‘At last, a cultural reference I get.’
‘It’s badass.’
‘But cold.’
He reaches a hand, stroking the blonde fuzz on my head.
‘Thank you for being here. For coming all this way to have a drink with a mate.’
‘No blowjob?’ he jokes, laughing.
I want to say maybe but hell, this is a moment I don’t think I want to spoil. Let’s get drunk first. But it’s lovely to meet you, Tony. I’m so very glad you’re here.
‘While we’re here… Did you know anyone called Oscar? He’s a name that’s appeared on my phone and I have no idea who he is.’
He shakes his head, with a look that says, with the number of people we obviously had relations with, it could indeed be anyone.
‘But look, we know the same people so I’ll give you some numbers of people to call, chat to. Start with Jill, Jill Rigby.’
I narrow my eyes at him, asking him to let on but he doesn’t. ‘That’s her story to tell you,’ he replies, a cheeky glint in his eye.
But before I have a chance to delve, two people standing by our table get our attention. Both are here to watch the football and are clearly a few pints in. Tony eyes them curiously.
‘Nah, mate. You ask them…’ They’re obviously in on some sort of shared joke that neither I nor Tony understand.
‘It’s just… are you two together?’ says one boldly. Bold because that’s some haircut on him. Did his barber have a stroke in the middle of that trim? ‘Like, how does that work? What with him being a midget?’
Tony smiles. You can tell this isn’t the first time he’s heard this and it’s not like him to rise to the drunken bullshit of two crapbags. But there’s something in me that’s riled instantly. Not only because I feel defensive of this man I’ve literally only just met but because their comments are derogatory and devalue both of us completely. It’s only then I realise why Tony is smiling. Don’t rile, Lucy. You really shouldn’t, boys.
‘We’re married,’ I tell them, completely po-faced.
The grins get wiped off their faces pretty quickly as I nestle into Tony and link an arm around his. I think I actually hear one of them physically gulp.
‘Look, we was just asking…’
‘Nah, you were taking the piss. Because this one, I’ll tell you a secret…’ I say, pointing to Tony and leaning over the table, ‘Some of the best wang I’ve ever had. I’ll be thinking of you needle dicks when he’s giving me some later…’
I pause for a moment when I say this. Needle dicks. I don’t quite get why. Tony shrugs at the blokes in question. One of them looks like he wants to start something but isn’t sure which one he should be taking on.
‘All right, calm down, Snow White.’
‘Actual dick for brains. Can you believe this one?’ I say, turning to Tony, who laughs under his breath.
I hope the actual Snow White does this for her mates. Hell, maybe that should be part of my princess act. Come on then, lads. My teeth are gritted, energy in my veins like I want to punch something.
‘Bi––’
But before the man even has a chance to have the word leave his very mouth, Tony gives the table a nudge. It’s a brilliant move because it’s enough to hit one in the man bits and for my drink to spill and splash the other in the crotch so he looks like he’s had an unfortunate accident.
‘Tony!’ I shriek.
‘Lucy!’ he replies mockingly.
He laughs but senses the rest of their mates are looking over. Tony pushes me out of our cubicle, urging us to make a quick exit. He leads us around the corner to a darkened stairwell.
‘What did you just do? We’re going to get beaten up,’ I whisper.
‘And? We could take them on. I’d challenge them to a dance-off,’ he replies, keeping watch for louty football hooligans.
‘Tell me, was I lying? About the wang?’
He smirks and raises an eyebrow. ‘Wanna find out?’