Loving Danny (21 page)

I couldn’t bear to think of the relationship being over – and even worse, if it were over, it would be my fault. Fear gnawed constantly at my ribs. Surely our last kiss hadn’t
been our final kiss? It hadn’t seemed special or significant at the time – I wished it had been. I tried to recall its every detail, how it had felt, how Danny had tasted. But as the
days went by, my memory dulled and it was harder and harder to relive it. Soon it was only a shadow of a kiss, no more real to me than looking at an old photograph of two lovers embracing.

Guilt kept me awake at night. Had I been selfish and cruel? Did Danny think I had abandoned him? Was he now hurting himself because of me? That was the thought that most scared me: Danny
bleeding, in pain, perhaps cutting too deep this time, and nobody knowing. Would he call me if that happened?

In practical terms, my life resumed as before. Mr Stevens allowed me to return to the law firm, on the condition that I applied myself and took no more days off. Pleased to have something to
fill my time, I did my job on autopilot, performing every task that was demanded of me with a forced smile, so that nobody could complain about my attitude or my mood. I varnished my new
conscientious image by staying late on several occasions. The truth was, I wanted to delay going home to nothing, and to avoid the small chance of bumping into Danny on the high street.

Evenings and weekends were interminable. I read I don’t know how many novels to try to take my mind off Danny, but I couldn’t absorb myself in the characters’ lives. Every
mention of love, every disagreement, made my mind jump to thoughts of my own situation. It didn’t matter whether the hero was named John or Cal or even Siegfried; to me, they were all called
Danny, and the title of every book,
Loving Danny.

My parents had initially been delighted when I came home. But seeing how miserable I was did not make them happy. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – talk to them about my feelings,
so they gave up and left me alone, whispering about me when they thought I was out of earshot. Concerned that I wasn’t eating properly, Mum went out of her way to make my favourite dinners.
That only made me feel guilty too.

I don’t think I could have survived those weeks without Emily. She did everything she could to take my mind off Danny, offering to take me shopping and inviting me out with her friends.
Knowing what bad company I would be, I rarely accepted. It was nice to be asked, though. In return, I helped her with her coursework and lent her my clothes. She was welcome to them; I didn’t
feel like dressing up any more.

But sympathetic as she was, Emily didn’t really understand what I was going through. To her mind, you were either happy or sad; you either loved someone or you didn’t. Day after day,
she begged me for an explanation, wearing me down with her anxious stares and generous hugs. And so, a week after I’d returned home, having sworn her to secrecy, I finally told her that Danny
cut himself.

‘Really?’ she exclaimed, her eyes growing wide with surprise. ‘There’s a girl in my class who does that. She burns herself with cigarettes too. It’s
weird.’

‘I know,’ I said. After keeping the information to myself for so long, just saying it out loud was a tremendous relief. I was surprised at how little guilt I felt.

‘God, Nay, I can’t even wax my own legs or pull off a plaster myself, because I’m scared it will hurt.’

‘Me neither,’ I said, ashamed at the memory of my failed attempt to cut myself with scissors.

‘How long has he been doing it for?’

‘I don’t know.’ I felt foolish. Should I have realised what Danny’s scars meant the very first time I saw them? Would anyone else have know right away?

‘Wow,’ exclaimed Emily, for want of something better to say. But I could tell that a little part of her was impressed. Cutting himself gave Danny some sort of cachet – she
thought it was a cool, dangerous rock-star thing to do.

I rolled my eyes at her to make it clear she was way off track.

‘So what are you going to do?’

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

She hugged me. She didn’t have any answers – I hadn’t expected that she would. ‘I’m sure it’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘You’ll work it
out.’

I wasn’t sure whether ‘it’ referred to Danny’s problem or to our relationship and, whatever she meant, I wasn’t convinced that I believed her. But it was good to
hear.

One evening, when my mood was at its lowest, Debbie rang. I was surprised at how pleased I was to hear from her. Since her visit we had continued to speak once a week or so
– out of habit, I suppose – but our conversations had been awkward and unsatisfying. I had self-edited any information about Danny because I felt she would judge him, so we’d
stuck to safe subjects: our families, films and TV programmes and general small talk. Now that Danny and I were apart, I was aware just how much I missed the closeness we’d shared before she
went away.

‘Hi, Naomi,’ she said warmly. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes, thanks, I’m fine,’ I lied. ‘How are you?’

‘You don’t sound fine,’ she said tentatively. ‘Your voice is weird. I know it sounds silly, but I’ve been thinking about you all day and worrying, and I just felt I
had to ring you.’

We’d had this kind of ‘telepathic’ connection in the past – it’s not uncommon between best friends. Often, I would pick up the phone to dial her number and she
would already be on the line, having dialled me simultaneously. Was it possible that we still had it, despite everything?

‘That’s nice of you,’ I said. I wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of Danny. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘Has something happened with Danny?’ she asked.

I hesitated. ‘We’re going through a bit of a rough patch. We’re having a sort of break.’

‘Oh, Naomi,’ she said, with genuine concern. ‘I know how much you love him. It must be horrible.’

That was the cue I needed to let it all come flooding out: the self-harm, my parents, my confusion. It was the second time I had betrayed Danny’s confidence, but yet again I felt no guilt,
only release. Debbie listened patiently, saying nothing until I had finished.

‘Oh, Naomi,’ she said again. ‘Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come down?’

‘Thanks but no, Deb. There’s no point. I’ve got to get my head straight.’

‘It’s a lot for you to deal with,’ she said. ‘I wish I had some useful advice, but I haven’t got a clue what to suggest. All I can say is that Danny doesn’t
know how lucky he is to have you. You’re so strong and kind and patient – anyone else would have fallen apart completely. What’s happened isn’t your fault, you know? Give
yourself time and then do whatever you think is best. But remember to look after yourself too.’

There was no criticism, no ‘I told you so’ or ‘you’d be better off out of it’. It occurred to me how foolish I had been to keep my distance from Debbie. She
wasn’t the enemy after all.

‘Thanks, Debs,’ I said, my voice beginning to crack with emotion. ‘That means a lot.’

‘Promise you’ll call if you need me,’ she said. ‘If you want to talk about this more, any time, I’ll be here for you. Really.’

I wasn’t sure if I would call her, but now, at least, I felt that I could.

‘I promise.’

On a dreary Sunday afternoon, three weeks after I’d come home, I decided to give in to temptation and log on to The Wonderfulls’ website. I had avoided it for as
long as I could, aware that the sight of my pictures would bring back troublesome memories. But I was sick of treading water and getting no closer to an answer; I felt I needed a tangible reminder
of Danny.

I typed in the address – www.thewonderfulls.co.uk – and took a deep breath as I waited for the home page to load. I wondered if anybody had updated the site since I’d last
worked on it, whether there was any band news, or if new gig dates had been posted. I hoped not; that was my job – I wasn’t quite ready to give it up.

But there was no home page. All the pictures, all the text, all the links had vanished. Instead, there were just three enormous words, filling the screen:

I blinked hard. Were my eyes playing tricks on me? Had I typed in the wrong address?

But there was no mistake. Danny had sent me a message. I had told him not to contact me, so he had used the only forum open to him – a public one – to let me know how he felt. He
missed me and he didn’t care who knew it.

My brain went into overdrive. How long had the words been up there? How many other people had seen them before me and wondered what they meant? Did Danny think I had ignored them? Had he taken
my silence as my response? He didn’t know that I hadn’t looked at the site until that day. What must he now be thinking – that I didn’t love him, that I didn’t
care?

But I did care. The absolute knowledge of this hit me like a sledgehammer. I cared about him more than anything – I was a fool not to have realised it. Being away from him hadn’t
made me happy and it had solved nothing. So what if he was difficult? So what if he had problems? So what if my parents thought he was a bad influence? So what! If he needed help, I would help him.
I wanted to be with him regardless. I could actually feel my love for him flooding back into my body, surging through my veins, hammering on my heart and making my lungs expand. After weeks of
vacillation, Danny’s message had made my decision for me. It wasn’t rational – something inside me had just clicked into place.

I was a bundle of energy and excitement, unable to sit still for a moment longer. I got up from the desk and ran into the hall, banging on Emily’s door with my fist. I had to show her the
website and tell her that I had decided to get back together with Danny. I wanted to ask her advice on what to say to him and to discuss the best way to tell our parents. ‘Wake up, Em!’
I shouted. She didn’t respond. I pushed the door. ‘I’m coming in – I hope you’re decent.’

I hadn’t seen her all morning. She had gone to a party the night before – another invitation that I’d declined – and she still hadn’t surfaced. I found her lying in
her bed, her eyes half-open. She didn’t smile when she saw me.

‘Wake up, lazy bones,’ I said, bouncing on her bed. ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ I was so animated that I could hardly contain myself. I was jumping up and
down, like a dog ready to play ball.

‘Go away, Nay,’ she growled. ‘I want to go back to sleep.’

‘It’s the middle of the afternoon. Must have been some party.’

She pulled herself up, rubbing her eyes. ‘It was OK.’

‘You’ve got to come into my room – I want to show you something.’

She didn’t move. I took her arm, literally dragging her out of bed and pulling her through the door, across the hall and into my room. ‘Look!’ I cried. ‘Look at
this!’

When she saw the computer screen, she froze. She shook my hand from her arm and she dropped her head, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. It was not the reaction I had anticipated.

‘What’s wrong, Em? Can’t you see? It’s great! He loves me so much that he’s done this. Isn’t it great?’

‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘No.’

‘Emily, what’s the matter?’

She gulped. ‘I’ve got something to tell you, Nay. You’re not going to like it.’

‘D
anny kissed me.’

Danny kissed me.
It was the last thing I’d expected her to say, absolutely the worst thing she could have said. My brain shut down with shock. I understood the words, but I
couldn’t process them.

‘What? When?’ We were still standing in front of the computer, the words ‘I MISS YOU’ shouting from the screen, like a cruel joke.

‘He kissed me. At the party last night. He was there with some friends – I think he knew someone’s brother.’

‘Danny kissed you?’

She nodded. ‘I’m so sorry, Nay.’

I felt as if I had been lifted off the ground and turned inside out. I was aware that I was involuntarily holding my breath, that I had stopped blinking and swallowing. This couldn’t be
real – it was like finding myself in an episode of a bad soap opera. Emily was my sister. I loved her, trusted her, confided in her. She knew everything there was to know about Danny. How
could this have happened? How could she have let it happen?

Then my brain conjured up an image of Danny, his arms around Emily’s slim neck, and I wanted to vomit. She had been wearing my top; it had still smelled of my perfume.

‘Did you kiss him back? Was it a full-on snog?’ The shock was speaking for me. I don’t know why I asked that question – I didn’t really want to know the answer.

‘Not really.’ She hesitated. ‘Just for a second . . . a tiny bit.’

I remembered again my last kiss with Danny – it was what I had been grasping on to, our final intimate moment before everything fell apart. Now Emily my confidante, my only support, had
stolen even that from me. It was tainted, defiled. I had nothing left of him.

My shock turned to anger. ‘You bitch!’ I spat. ‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Stop it, please.’ She was crying so much she could hardly breathe. ‘I’m sorry, Nay, I’m sorry. I’m being totally honest with you here – I don’t
want to lie to you. But it all happened so quickly. I’d had too much to drink, I wasn’t thinking—’