10 May 2000
I go home but I don’t sleep.
What if it’s over?
No. It can’t be over, because that means it’s the end of the world.
His dad was kind but firm. Joel’s had a knockback, he kept repeating. I’m sure it’ll look better in the morning.
But I know Joel, I understand what this means.
Of course, I knew what would happen at the club. A braver person would have tried to warn him, but I couldn’t take away his hope like that. It would have been like performing an amputation.
I kept telling myself he already knew, at some deep level, that his career was over. How could it not be?
Instead of imagining his reaction when they told him, I try to fill my head with Physics, ready for my exam tomorrow. But all I see is him.
I take my exam in a trance, somehow managing to fill pages in the exam booklet, though when I close it at the end, for all I know I’ve written ‘Joel Greenaway’ over and over again.
Mr Greenaway turns me away again tonight and the heavy dread builds inside me. I phone Joel’s mobile from our landline, but it rings and rings and then goes dead.
I can’t settle, so I walk towards the seafront, faster, faster; as I pass all the secret places we’ve been together, the hurt grows. The patch of overgrown railway line above the viaduct where we kissed and I made us go further because I’d never had sex outdoors and my new wildness made it seem like the best idea ever.
The bikers’ pub opposite the station – the one we knew we’d never be spotted in – where we drank cider to toast our one-month anniversary and a woman with the worst tattoos I’d ever seen bought us whisky chasers because she could tell we were in love.
Last week, when it was very late, we went back to the spot on the Lawns where he – technically – died. We crossed the prom to the beach, where the sea lapped at the shore and we paddled and stared at the red-black horizon and the old pier, and it felt like we were looking into our future.
Tonight I watch the sunset again, but I don’t feel the warmth and my brain can’t process the colour. It’s as if someone has dimmed the world to the very lowest setting. There is just enough light to navigate by, but all the landmarks and objects I know are reduced to grey, shapeless things.
Is this it? I count the days we’ve been together. Sixty-seven. Is this all the happiness the world thinks I’m worth?
The third time I go to Curlews, a taxi is leaving, the automatic gates closing behind it. Mrs Greenaway is still in her coat when she answers the door. I can see her suitcases behind her in their giant hallway and her skin has a Costa del Sol glow.
‘Hello, love.’ There’s sympathy in her voice, which scares me. What’s happened between me and her son is obviously significant enough for her to know already.
‘Please tell Joel I’m not leaving until he comes to talk to me.’
She narrows her eyes and I feel like I’m being scanned at an airport. ‘Wait there,’ she says eventually.
‘Don’t worry, I’m going to.’
The door closes gently in my face.
I look up at the house to distract myself. It’s soft and inviting inside, all expensive sofas and thick carpets. But outside, the dark-brown bricks are too uniform and cold, the double-glazed windows designed to shut out the noise and grime that makes Brighton what it is.
When the door opens, Joel stands in front of me and my heart expands, too big for my ribcage.
But he doesn’t ask me in or kiss me, and every part of my body feels that rejection, my arms empty, my lips bereft. He steps onto the limestone chippings, pulling the front door closed behind him. I take him in: the unshaven face, the wary eyes, the sour smell of alcohol, even though it’s still morning.
‘Are you all right?’ I ask. Stupid question.
He doesn’t bother to answer.
‘Why wouldn’t you see me?’
‘Have a guess.’
‘Please, talk to me. Whatever happened, it’s going to be OK.’
‘You think I’m fucking stupid—’
‘No I don’t.’
‘Yes you do. It’s going to be OK. No. It’s not. Football was all I had to live for and it’s gone and I might as well have died and you and fucking Timmy should have left me there, all right?’
I flinch. ‘We can get through this, together. You’re in shock—’
‘I’m not. I’m totally calm. I didn’t want to see you because it’s over. It was fun, but we were never gonna last.’
His voice has a hard quality I’ve never heard in him before. He sounds like his dad.
‘That’s it, then?’ My throat catches, and I hope he hasn’t heard it.
Joel shrugs. ‘Look, you’re not my type, Kerry. You knew that, right?’
‘So . . . why did it happen?’
He smiles, but his eyes are cold. ‘I felt sorry for you. Wanted to road-test my new gadget. Thanks for helping me give it a workout. You saved my life, I saved you going to university a virgin. We’re quits.’
He turns around before I can find any words. This time the door slams, and the chippings blur as I run towards the gates, determined he won’t see me cry.