Page 52 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

And I feel happy that some kind of romantic feeling can exist outside of Lowe, at least in all the time and space that he isn’t around. I can be OK. I can be content.

That’s all fine until I hear Rachel takes the pill. That conversation we had before college still haunts me, the agreement we made. It wasn’t a contract in blood and yet it seemed to have gone up in flames. I’ve not seen Lowe in months. What did I expect? Was he meant to ask permission? Check it was OK with little old me? Why am I going on like some cruel wicked virginity-stealing witch? He’s not made a promise with a fairy-tale weasel. Maleficent. Rumpelstiltskin. Ursula rolling out the impossible-to-meet conditions with her tentacles: ‘If you do not lose your virginity by the time you are eighteen it is MINE ALLLLLL MINE MUUUHHAHAHAHA!’

So, he’s having sex. OK. Absolutely swell. I’m chuffed for him.

I realize that I’m going to miss out on so much love if I waste my time on someone who isn’t even considering me. I like Nile, a lot. I have feelings for him and they’re strong. We could have a nice life, me and him. We really could.

So one day after school, when Aunt Linda and Kirsty-Lee are downstairs eating a brick of Viennetta, watching A Place in the Sun with the volume so loud I’m sure they won’t be able to hear the headboard gently shoving against the wall, I decide I’m ready.

Nile brushes my skin with the back of his hand; he takes my hair in his fingers and fondles every strand like it’s angel hair. He holds the small of my back and kisses my neck. ‘You’re beautiful, Ella,’ he says and I believe him. Nile is quite beautiful too. ‘Should I get a … ?’ He means a condom. I nod and I’m not sure if I’m meant to watch this bit – are we meant to do it together? Is rolling on a condom a two-person job – does he need my encouragement or is it in fact a very private moment and I should avert my eyes? I sort of do half and half. The boiler grumbles in the cupboard; the view of the dull grey suburban garden is there until it isn’t as his bedroom window steams up, and I wonder if sliding my hand down like Kate Winslet does in the carriage sex scene in Titanic is a cool idea but I know I can’t pull a move like that off.

He holds me so close afterwards, making sure that every single bit of our bodies is touching. He says I can stay the night or he can stay at mine, or he can even book us a B&B for the night! Fancy. But I’d rather be at home. I need to cuddle my teddies and be close to my younger siblings. Just to check that I can still access my childhood, that it isn’t all gone now. But also, even though we used a condom, I’ll HAVE to go to the Clinic ASAP. I’m definitely pregnant with triplets or have chlamydia.

‘Course. Whatever you want.’ He walks me to the bus stop without even asking. He buys me a can of 7-Up and a packet of plain Hula Hoops like I’m recovering from a tummy bug. Sweet. When the bus comes, he jumps on too and rides back with me all the way home, our fingers locked. That’s at least an hour and a half round trip. That’s love.

At home, I know I should feel like a Shania Twain song but I don’t. My phone rings and of all the people, of all the times, in all the world, it has to be him – Lowe. Of course. Why now? It’s like he knows I’ve just broken the pact and now he’s calling me after months of silence. I couldn’t write this, I swear. Don’t tell me, he wants to meet up? I toy with not answering but I can’t not; the idea of his voice sprouts a kernel of both excitement and terror in my stomach but it’s probs just my phantom pregnancy.

‘Ella, hey?’

‘Hey, Lowe, how are you?’

‘I’m good, been ages! How are you?’

‘I’m … really so great.’ After losing my virginity in Aunt Linda’s box room.

He laughs. ‘So … bit of a weird one … ’

OH GOD. ‘Yeah?’ I pick at the wall.

‘But … well … I’m in a band now … did you know or … ?’

‘You are? Oh my GOD, OK, wow.’ He’s really doing it? I didn’t know, no. How could I? This hurts. ‘Congratulations … with who?’

‘Some guys from college – don’t think you know them.’ Alright, sorry about you.

‘What are you called?’

‘True Love.’

True Love? The name takes me by surprise. I suppose it’s more original than the other indie bands who just take any word in the dictionary, add ‘The’ at the front and make plural.

‘That’s a great band name.’

‘Aw, do you like it?’ Does he actually care what I think?

‘Yeah, I really do.’ It’s beautiful.

‘I’m glad.’ He holds a beat. Maybe he does? Maybe he just knows how to work me. ‘So, the reason I’m calling is that we actually have our first proper show.’

‘Oh amazing! Your first show, like, what, ever?’

‘No, not ever, we’ve done a few little things at college’ – I bet Rachel went – ‘a couple of house parties, but not anything proper. I wondered if you fancied coming down? I’ll put your name on the list?’ List sinks my heart.

It’s not that I don’t want to see Lowe play. I just have a resistance, an aversion to standing in a room sardine-canned at the front with every other name on the list looking and listening to him. Now everyone will see what I see. And I get this awful feeling that it is too late, that it’s already out of my control: everybody can already see what I see. And everyone loves it too.

Chapter 22

I arrange to go to the gig with just Bianca and Aoife – keep it small, for damage control. Nile’s going home to Devon this weekend anyway to see his parents, and I’m glad because I don’t know how tonight is going to go. I’ve just begun to rebuild myself as a cool person and I’m not sure I’m ready for Nile to see otherwise. I’m nervous.

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