I Unlove You (47 page)

“
Maybe,
”
I say, picturing the spring
afternoon in the park when she accidentally kicked my guitar
against a tree. Sun-soaked grass, and beams of light snaking
between the branches, I kneeled beside it.
“
Johnny Marr signed
this guitar,
”
I whispered.

“
We
’
ll get you a new
one,
”
she said.
“
You loved that one you saw in Manchester a few
weeks ago, remember?
”

“
But
…
but
…
Johnny Marr
…”

“
I know, sweetie, but this is a
sign you should buy a new one. I mean, when a tree breaks
it
…
it
’
s a sign, right?
”

“
The tree?
”

Looking at me with those eyes
…
that
smile
…
noticing the way the spring light lit her
face
…
I laughed, venturing to Manchester the next
day.

“
She didn
’
t explain
anything, either,
”
I say, folding the letter in half.
“
She has no
idea that we know her little secret. Why send this letter, other
than to make herself feel better? There
’
s no other
reason.
”

Joey shakes his head.

“
Maybe this is how she kept so
many secrets. In her eyes, maybe there
’
s nothing wrong
with it. She
’
s not wrong.
She
’
s not sorry. It
’
s someone
else
’
s fault. It
’
s life.
It
’
s
…”
I trail off, unable to finish the sentence as I picture her
face. This isn
’
t anger or hate. I
don
’
t know what this is, pity maybe. Her smile
isn
’
t as bright and warming. Her face, no longer as
beautiful and perfect. She
’
s human, just
another person, and I didn
’
t think that was
possible.

“
Nobody
’
s perfect,
brother,
”
Joey
says.
“
I
’
m not saying she did it on purpose and went out
of her way to never say sorry, but as I look back on all those long
days we
’
ve spent together, and everything
we
’
ve been through, I don
’
t recall a single
apology. That
’
s not normal.
There
’
s something wrong about that picture. When you
break a guy
’
s guitar, you say
sorry. When you do someone wrong, you say sorry.

“
You don
’
t write a letter
like this to someone you apparently love.
”
He sighs, turning the
TV off once more and dropping the remote to the floor.
“
Letter or
no letter,
B
isn
’
t the girl we thought. I don
’
t know
what happened to her. To be honest, I don
’
t care. I
’
ve got my
own problems. You
’
ve got yours. Life
is shit. It
’
s no excuse for
being what she is.
”

I
nod because I can
’
t argue.
I
’
m tired and clueless as to what I feel and think, but
I no longer feel the same for her. I suppose I
haven
’
t for a few days, but this
letter
…
it does answer questions, although it
doesn
’
t provide the answers I thought I
wanted.

“
You
’
ve been thinking
about her a lot then? Thinking about this?
”
I ask.

“
She
’
s all I think
about,
”
he says, clenching his fists and bunching them into his
thighs.
“
I trusted her. I never thought I
’
d trust a girl.
I promised myself a girl would never make me doubt myself again, or
question who I am, or make me wonder if it was my fault. I trusted
her. She broke me down.
”
He faces me.
“
She gave me hope that
maybe one day I would find someone and let them in, but
this
…
it
’
s like
she
’
s left all over again. Only this time,
it
’
s worse, because I
’
m old enough to know
better.
”

The
wind rattles against the windows, Joey
’
s sky-high
apartment in the midst of Yorkshire
’
s wintry elements.
Falling into silence, the room becomes part of the outside, the
pair of us out in the cold, naked and bare. We
’
re out
there, scared and fragile, and all I want to do is reach over to my
best friend and huddle him, hug him and hold him, not just to keep
me firm and standing, but to keep him upright,
too.

Vague memories of his mother are all I have, hazy sketches
of her face my mind pulls from long ago moments. I remember how
quiet she was, not unlike
B
’
s
mother. The way she
whispered rather than spoke. Soothing in many ways, and caring and
nice and warm. I haven
’
t seen a picture of
her in over a decade, not after Joey burned every one he could
find. I don
’
t remember her, but
I remember Joey afterwards, his tears, and how he seemed to live
with us after she left.

“
You have to be a brave boy for
Joey,
”
my father said, kneeling in front of me, palms caressing my
cheeks.
“
Your friend needs you to be brave. Can you do that,
kiddo?
”

Nodding, I cried because I didn
’
t understand. I
didn
’
t understand why my friend no longer had a mummy, and
why my mummy couldn
’
t be his mummy, too.
I still don
’
t understand how a
woman can leave her little boy behind. I don
’
t
understand how anyone could leave anyone they love
behind.

I
remember Joey
’
s smile when we were
younger, how it
’
s so different now.
Maybe the day she left, she took his innocent, boyish grin, and
replaced it with the smouldering smirk that leads him in and out of
trouble today.

“
I
’
ve thought
about
her
more these last few months than I have in the last ten
years,
”
he says.
“
I didn
’
t even think I hated
her anymore. You can
’
t hate someone you
don
’
t think about, right? If you feel nothing whatsoever,
they no longer have the power to make you hate them. Or love them.
Or miss them. They
’
re nothing.
They
’
re nobody.

“
But I still hate her. Whenever
I think about her, I feel it. I remember that scared, confused,
guilty little kid who figured it was his fault that his mum left.
That she couldn
’
t love him because
he didn
’
t deserve to be loved. A little boy, so naughty
and bad and worthless, his own mother couldn
’
t stand
to be around him.

“
But I was wrong. It
wasn
’
t my fault. I was just a little boy, and for whatever
reason she gave up on me. She gave up on my dad, and I
don
’
t know why. I don
’
t care why.
Understanding why would mean she
’
d have to come back,
but I don
’
t want her back. She doesn
’
t deserve
to come back. Some things are unforgivable, and I promised myself a
long time ago that no girl would ever make me feel like that
worthless boy again.

“
But
B
found a way. All the while, I made
sure I saw each girl as some silly little object I could do what I
pleased with. I didn
’
t take a girl
like
B
into consideration, a girl I looked to like a
sister.

“
I never understood how you
loved her so much; how you let your guard down in the hope she
wouldn
’
t trample all over it. I used to think you were
weak and stupid, and that I
’
d have to pick up
the pieces one day. But as time went on, I saw it. I saw little
glimpses and would say to myself,
‘
Maybe one day
you
’
ll have that, Joey. Maybe one day
you
’
ll find someone you can let in. Someone you can trust,
just like Aus trusts B. Maybe you can trust Harriet one day, and
finally let her in
…’

“
The memories of my father
rubbing my back as I cried and sobbed vanished, replaced with a
future of kids and a family and smiles. I think
that
’
s why I hated her so much, because she destroyed my
dad. He
’
s a good man, brother. I know he loved her and
treated her right. He didn
’
t beat her.
He
’
s never once laid a hand on me. He
’
s a good
man, but she took everything. He had no idea how to soothe me. All
I wanted was my mother to read me stories about Bugs Bunny again,
and calm me before bed.

“
How do you explain to a little
boy why his mother left? How do you explain she left for no real
reason? And how do you do this whilst you mourn yourself,
heartbroken that the woman you loved
…
married
…
promised to look after
and care for
…
woke up one morning and said,
“
I
quit
”
?

“
I
’
m reliving it all
over again, only this time around I
’
m my father, trying
to comfort you and come up with answers when there are no real
answers to be had. There
’
s no good reason.
There
’
s no sense in any of this, and I keep thinking
about
her
and how much I still hate her. How she stays with me each
fucking time I see a girl
…
sleep with a
girl
…
like a girl for a second and think it could lead to
more
…
but no. How can it? How could I possibly let someone in and
expect them to love me when my own mother couldn
’
t?

“
But I fell in love with
B
. I cared
for her, and trusted her, and placed my faith into her, because so
long as I had her, I had someone. A smidgen of hope in an otherwise
swirling black hole of utter distrust and despair. I honestly
thought it would be okay, that she wouldn
’
t be like her.
That she wouldn
’
t only love you and
give you the life you deserve, but build up my faith, hope and
love.

“
But she left, because
that
’
s what women do. She tricked us, because
that
’
s what women do. She let us down, because
that
’
s what women do. She
’
s gone and
she
’
s never coming back, and a fucking letter like this
makes no difference.
”
He picks up the paper and scrunches it in his
palm.
“
No fucking difference,
”
he says through gritted teeth,
spitting each syllable as a line of tears runs down his left
cheek.