Never-Man

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The next morning, I open my crummy eyes and roll over to Rhys’ side. His empty side. Lifting my head, I survey the room. There is a head-shaped crater on his pillow. And a sticky note on the lampshade.

“A.,

I made pancakes, syrup’s on the dinner table. Will be at my parents’; you know where to reach me.

-          R.”

My insides draw into themselves at the thought of him gone. This time, I don’t even know when he’ll be back. Or if he’ll be back. Burying my face in his pillow, in the smell of his sunshine hair, and let out a sob. I know him, I know the way his hair smells, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way he feels against me when we dance, his terribly off-key fake-Sinatra voice..

And now you also know, says the voice in my head, that you’re not good enough for him. Now you can also guess whether the “friend” who suggested Alexa really exists.

My mind wanders to yesterday for the hundredth time. The clatter of pans in the kitchen when Alexa went to “help” Rhys with finding the pan. The look on his face when I suggested he soaks in my bath. They must have had a field day with me gone.

But then, you weren’t so good yourself.

I walk into the kitchen and set myself down. Rhys loves to cook and he cooks better than anyone I know. Despite that, I can hardly summon an appetite so content myself with watching his pancakes grow colder. My phone rings, making me jump. When I answer it, my mother’s anxious voice is a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

“Hi honey, how are you?” she asks in her sing-song voice. I can hear Daddy in the background but cannot make out what he is saying. I can picture them in our squat, little house in Bath, Somerset – him sitting in the oak rocking chair, absent-mindedly poring over his tomes, and her, the phone on one ear, beating away at cookie-mixture. As I think of them, a lump forms in my throat. I haven’t been home for ages and they feel so far away.

Blinking back tears, I quickly summon words. “Hi, Mom. I’m great! How are you and Daddy doing?”

“Oh, we’re fine! Bethilda’s organizing a charity fair for the church so I’m just making lemon cake. Daddy’s going to London to meet with your grandparents.”

“Are they okay? Grandmamma and Grandpapa?” I ask.

“Fit as fiddles!” Mom laughs. “Grandmamma was talking about moving nearby. London is getting too American for her.”

I smile, knowing that my grandmother would find life in Bath extremely dull and boring, were she to shift base. “And Gina?”

“Actually, that’s why I called you. Gina called me last evening to say that she’s thinking of coming to your side of the Atlantic. Just for a few weeks, she says, as a temporary thing.”

Gina is my older sister. She’s the most beautiful and irresponsible person I know. I sigh heavily and hear my mother mirroring me from the side. “I guess she needs a place to stay?”

“Aria, to be honest, I told her you’re really busy with work and that she should not count on you to provide lodging and meals and the whole lot. Tried to explain that you’re living with someone, that you might not have the space for her and Philippa.”

I can’t bring myself to tell her about Rhys having left. She sounds so cheerful and sunny and I don’t want her and Daddy to be worrying about me all alone in the big city.

“No, I have the space. It’s just…” my voice trails away. There isn’t anything wrong with Genevieve “Gina” Moreau; she’s just.. restless. Whereas I was always the goody-two-shoes, always at the top of my class, winning quizzes and math competitions, Gina was the wilder, un-buoyed one, dropping school to attend acting classes, running away on her twentieth birthday with a Romanian actor [to Helsinki] and returning heavily pregnant with Philippa a few months later. We don’t get along very well.

“I know, honey,” Mom tells me gently, “But I don’t think she has anywhere to go.”

“Well, she rarely does,” I grumble. “She can live here but I hope she’s not expecting anything posh. And why is she coming here anyway? Bali doesn’t have enough culture for her?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some nonsense about the heat and the flies.” Mom replies. “But thank you, sweetheart. We’re rather worried about Philippa. That girl should be in school, not parachuting around the world. Daddy thinks going to America might mean Gina’ll put her into school.”

“Yeah? Don’t count on it.”

Mom sighs again, as we all are wont to do, when we talk of Gina. “Try talking some sense into that girl, will you? Anyway, how are you doing?”

“Fine, Mom. I got office and all, so I think I should get off the phone. When do I expect her?”

“A day or two. One hardly knows. Well, goodbye, honey. Take care of yourself.”

I say bye and just as I hang up, my phone rings again. Derek.

“Morning! Wondering if you need a ride to work? I can reach in five.”

“You are a life-saver. I am running late!”

I hurriedly put on my shoes [plain black ballerina flats: no fancy meetings today so no point being uncomfortable] and straighten my beige Marc Jacobs dress. Good, I look sufficiently boring. Just what the doctor ordered on Day #1 post-breakup.

Grabbing my grey raincoat [my colours are so wrong today], I quickly lock the house before stepping out to wait for Derek. When he turns around the corner, I feel a strange sense of relief seep into me. Maybe it’s the loneliness ebbing away.

“Morning, sunshine!” he says as I slip into the Beemie. [I want that car!]

Tossing the raincoat on the back-seat, I turn and smile at him. “Morning! And thanks!”

“Don’t even say the word. All ready?”

He revs up the engine. “No,” I say slowly, “I got a better idea.”

***

Phew. The sex isn’t so bad.

Derek is asleep by my side, his arm on my tummy. I’m woozy, too. Woooozy.

He’s different. In bed, I mean. Rhys is gentle, too gentle if you ask me, really. Almost as if I am breakable. My tummy plunges Hades-low when I think of him. No. Think of Derek now.

Derek is more.. how shall I say it? Vicious. Not a good word to describe your lover, is it? Is Derek my “lover”? Do people have “lovers” anymore? Anyway. Vicious because he doesn’t make love, he attacks it. Or something on those lines. He doesn’t mind being rough with me, especially down there. Yes, that’s it.

He also grunts a lot. I don’t fancy that much. Loud men make me want to giggle, right in the middle of intercourse. Of course, I didn’t feel much like laughing today, but on any other day, I wouldn’t hold back.

And he bites. A lot. It’s nice in some places:  my neck feels really sore to the touch. Everywhere else, it’s, well, interesting.

Derek’s hand is rubbing against my butt. What the hell? It’s been what, twelve minutes. Wasn’t he sleeping?

But he isn’t sleeping any more, no sir. He’s very much awake as far as I can tell.

Three hours and nine sessions of confusing sex [was I turned on? Or was I not?] later, I wave goodbye to Derek. What is amazing is the fact that he got me out of work. On a Monday! What a fab way to beat the blues. Which reminds me!

Rummaging through my college collection of records, I find a CD to go into our sound system. It’s a surprise it works. ‘Pink Champagne’ begins to play and I sway to the music despite everything. What matters right now is that I put all my energy into work. Today will be all the time I am giving myself to shake off the Rhys delirium. The meaningless sex helps immensely. I can pause without the crushing weight of a Rhys-ridden house! But making sense of what I am doing and where my relationship is headed is still too much work. I can deal with all the specifics later. The answers will come to me.

Love is the child of a particular time and place. It would not come into existence without. When the time is over and the place is changed, it may grow sick and die.