96. Ex-Directory

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I’m browsing the many tiny, gorgeous shops in one of my favourite places in London, St Pancras International Railway Station. I don’t mind that my husband has just texted me to say that his meeting ran late so he will be at least another hour. I texted back “I want my time with you” as a joke.

People watching is utterly fascinating. So many untold stories around me. I can always pop next door to the British Library for a bit if I get bored. I might even jump on the Thameslink to Blackfriars. It’s only three stops to The Tate. But I like it here for now. People can be who they want to be in a terminal. Passing through from one life to another. Some wait all week for Friday night, so they can wear their own skin for a few hours. I feel like I could disappear in plain sight in this very building.

On nights when I can’t sleep, I pretend I have been dropped off here with plenty of money, my passport and a ticket for Eurostar or a flight from Heathrow. I have to get everything I could possibly need for a week away. I only have a couple of hours or so, so I can’t mess about. I pick out a Cath Kidston travel bag and run across to Kings Cross to grab a Harry Potter t-shirt, Kiehl’s shampoo and conditioner, then walk up the hill behind the big swing for a pair of Sweaty Betty leggings for lounging, a hoodie and pair of Nikes. A handbag or skirt from Jigsaw. Trousers or jacket from Carhartts. There isn’t time to linger in Space NK. Eve Lom. Tweezerman. I can get the rest of my toiletries from Boots. I can even buy a laptop if I need to. Fat Face do a nice line in a budget capsule wardrobe so with a bit of Joules, Oliver Bonas and some M&S knickers, I’m done. My usual Mac makeup and some Jo Malone and I think I can manage very well thank you very much.

I do want time for treats, so pick up paprika almonds and Godiva chocolate from one of the boutique food shops. Maybe a pretty notebook and pen from Paperchase or that new shop whose name begins with K. A couple of novels definitely. Oh, and a smoked cheese, jambon and cornichon on sourdough for the journey. Artisan raspberry lemonade, only for the bottle really, and two packets of lemon chewing gum. I can only imagine what the new designer boutiques will be like.

I’m quietly enjoying the free, spontaneous concert with a growing crowd, (which includes a couple of British Transport Police officers) as an elderly man plays Chopin quite beautifully, so delicately, on the battered, brightly painted school upright piano. Then, I hear my name.

“Ellie? Ellie? Is that you?”

I turn and smile automatically to a woman beaming at me. I don’t recognise her, but she clearly knows me. She’s wearing one of those navy shift dresses favoured by professional businesswomen, Queen Mum low heels and a small string of freshwater grey pearls. She’s around my age and her beautiful salon-blonde hair is overdue for a cut. A bright red Radley laptop bag hangs from the crook of her arm, and I notice she’s wearing a Brietling watch.

“It is you! It’s me, Sadie. From Leeds. God, you haven’t changed a bit. I’d recognise you anywhere.” He hand clutches her chest then she lightly touches my forearm. It’s a genuine smile, alright. But, I’m racking my brains to recall her. I don’t remember her at all but it must have been a while ago as I haven’t spent more than a weekend in Leeds for nearly ten years.

“It’s really good to see you again. Have you got time before your train for a quick drink so we can swap numbers and catch up a bit?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ve just arrived actually. What about that place on the left up the escalator? You know, that restaurant bar that does the great burgers and sometimes has a singer?” I say.

“Perfect.” She says. “Still only the best for you, I see.”

The rush-hour crowd prevented us from talking very much on our way up to the bar. I still couldn’t place her, but then again, I did smoke a lot of pot in college, so between that and the booze, it was hardly surprising.

Sadie ordered us both a gin and tonic, being very specific with her requirements.

“Hendrix or Sipsmith, please, with Fevertree tonic. Oh and a slice of cucumber or sprig of rosemary. No lemon or mint. And a bowl of green olives if you have them, please, if not, some peanuts.”

We were friendly and had a lot in common. It was pleasant enough, in the way that you are when you meet someone for the first time who you have no intention of ever seeing again. Like having a drink with a delegate. I was reminded of things I’d totally forgotten about, so it was a nice nostalga trip.

Forty five minutes later, we ‘mwah mwah-ed’ our airkisses, hugged and did that “lets do lunch” thing of promising to keep in touch. I waved her goodbye and stayed to finish my drink. Because of our shared past, we had been able to keep the conversation going, but she still had no idea that I didn’t know who she was. I’d asked her lots of questions about her life but told her virtually nothing about my own. I could have told her anything as I had zero interest in actually pursuing a friendship. I was just killing time.

There had to be a reason why we didn’t carry on our University friendship. Through our mutual friends, she could have found me anytime. So why didn’t she then? Why now?

I googled her, looked at her old college facebook photos then texted my oldest friend to try to shed some light on who she was.

A few minutes later, I had my answer.

I’d completely and totally forgotten the reason why I moved halls in that second term. I must have believed my own story that the original block of rooms wasn’t a good fit for me, and I would be better off in a different block of flats a few streets away, where my friends were. The University accommodated my request quickly, as there was someone else who was waiting to swap into my block.

I do remember the boy though, but not his name or what he looked like. Just how I felt about him. One night, Sadie had convinced him that if I did fancy him, I would have made a move, so clearly I didn’t think of him in that way. I, however, thought that if he liked me, then he would have asked me out. Him sleeping with Sadie proved he didn’t like me how I wanted him to. How clear cut everything seems to be in youth. Our assumptions and opinions as fact.

When I found out, my immediate reaction was that they could have each other. Alpha status proven to me and the other girls, she got bored and ditched him. This what what she did, apparently. I wanted nothing more to do with either of them ever again, unless I had to, hence the move to another block of halls.

Here she was. Oblivious. Chatting away as if we were old friends.

In the dimly lit bar, I listened to a young woman sing jazzy folk songs, accompanied by an older man on an acoustic guitar. She reminded me a little of the lounge singer from ‘Lost In Translation’. It’s always twilight or the other side of midnight in their world.

I sipped my drink and pondered on how different things might be this time round. I’d have to keep her completely separate from everyone else in my life, of course. Should I? Can I even be bothered? No, I couldn’t risk it. Again. I went with my gut feeling. I knew what I had to do.

A couple of swipes on my phone. Block. Delete.

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65. No Medicine For Regret.

Like some people, I can be overly self-critical of my past.

A few times, I’ve been sat in meditative contemplation, just passing the time of day, with the calm silence of my thoughts. Trapped on a plane, train or automobile. A captive audience for an unwanted memory to bubble up. I can’t escape it. Suddenly, unexpectedly, like a geyser, I remember. Something I was grateful to let go of and forget.

I am right back there, in that moment. Before the shame, forgiveness and acceptance. Looking around the corner of a future decision, I am staring at the possible consequences of my potentially stupid actions and urging myself to walk away, not do it, calm down.

What was I thinking!

I thank my lucky stars that the majority of my misbehaviour was pre-internet. There may be the odd photo or vhs still around, but the right of my past to be forgotten is freely obtained purely due to virtue of when I was born.

However, I have no time for those whose tall tales of their bravado are always from their youth, and have no recent stories of misadventure or failure. A little probing and the timeline and facts don’t quite add up. I see it as a weakness to pretend to live a perfect life.

My errors of judgement were not illegal and may have fortunately only resulted in physical injury to myself and not others, but didn’t stop once I ‘grew up’. My biggest, most expensive mistake, and another that has cost me months of my peace of mind were very recent. If I could go back, and do them differently, I would. I know my intentions were true, but I’ve been judged on my behaviour. Uncomfortable as it is, on reflection, I have chosen not to try to explain further to some people in my life. I know them well enough to think they probably wouldn’t change their perceptions or opinions of me even if they knew all of the facts, so talking would just muddy the waters.

What could have been is just that.

58. Not on a School Night.

People, jobs, houses and food in real life are hardly ever like they are on the telly. So why do so many believe that the sex they have will be exactly like it is on screen? The most popular misconception (ha! no pun intended) is that people go out for a massive dinner and loads to drink on a date, and then find they are completely, intimately, perfectly compatible their first time with each other.

All we ever wanted as teenagers was privacy. We had so much free time but no-where to go for an hour of uninterrupted, guaranteed privacy, without annoying little siblings or parents poking their noses round the door without knocking. Couldn’t parents remember how they felt when they were young? This was biology and wasn’t illegal. We were over the age of consent and were a loving, committed couple who genuinely cared for each other. No drama, but respect and adoration. Wasn’t this exactly the kind of first love you hoped for?

Teenagers are going to have sex. You can try to think you can stop them or you can give them a little space now and then.

When we were happy, flirty, relaxed, and the kissing went on for ages, we were sometimes tainted with anxieties or alcohol. Too much pot made me feel lazy, hungry and sick. Safe experimentation. A real Shakespearean tragedy.

The opportunities at college were endless and fun, but does anyone ever really make the most of those few years? After college, not so much. I have no interest in any form of identifying potential partners where choosing someone based on their looks is initially the most important factor (niteclubs, internet dating) I think I’d miss out on too many people I’d find fascinating.

Goalposts move again. We now have as much privacy as we like, but no time.

I haven’t had a shower today.

I’m ovulating in a couple of days, so it will be amazing then. We should wait.

I was supposed to have an early night tonight because I’m really busy tomorrow.

We should have done it before I ate so much food.

It’s timing, luck and being open to trusting someone with your heart. I know people who say they want to meet someone, but appear (to me) to be afraid of making any moves or looking as if they are even interested, because they’ve been hurt and disappointed, so now want to remain in control. The one who is least invested in the relationship holds the power. They make potential partners prove their worthiness, or play passive aggressive emotional games. Isn’t risk a part of love?

Holding out in case someone better comes along is a waste of a chance at building a life with someone you already love. If ‘the one’ did exist, then it is a miraculous coincidence that so many people find their one and only soul mate, who is exactly the same age as them, living in their very own home town, maybe even at the same place of work or school. What are the odds on that?

Sorry, but meet cutes are for teen drama Sunday afternoon rom coms. I’ve never heard of anyone ever meeting their dream partner like this.

“She felt a jolt of electricity as their hands lightly touched when they both reached for the same avocado from the display in Wholefoods. Shy blushing smiles over soya lattes an hour later, they made plans to meet up for brunch and walk their dogs together at the weekend.”

*clicks fingers in the air twice* Hello? Your life is not a Molly Ringwald film.

No-one could ever possibly know us like we do. No two years are ever the same. We make our own rules for ourselves that are no-one else’s business but our own. Why would we ever compare our lives to other people? If we do make comments then it’s usually “thank god we’re nothing like them”.

“No it’s not like any other love.

This one’s different because it’s us.”

‘Hand in Glove’ by The Smiths 

And if we all do end up in ‘San Junipero’, then we can all live out our parallel lives for eternity, with those travelling on other paths that we’ve met in this life.