Page 55 of I Love You, I Love You, I Love You

‘Yes please,’ I choke, tears in my eyes. I feel like a sinking toad in the hole.

For someone who was already feeling particularly lonely, I am now just alone.

One night after work, I sit on an empty bus. I love sitting up front on the top deck so I can feel like I’m driving the whole damn thing. The night glitters. I can see the stars. I miss Lowe. I should text him. The space between us overgrown and abandoned, I could try and make a path towards him. But what to say? And what if he doesn’t message me back? Should I tell him about splitting up with Nile? I’m definitely not going to tell him how much his band comes up in conversation, that people are now telling me about True Love like I’ve never heard of them. You’d love them, Ella – they’re so cool!

Thanks for the tip.

I settle for: Hey Lowe, how are you? x

And he’s calling me. Right now. Mini panic attack. Why is he calling me? That’s why I text you! I hate it when people use a phone as a phone. Why did I have to be on the goddam bus and not in a limousine or out having the time of my life?

‘You alright?’

His voice has a hint of long time no speak as though that’s my fault, as though I’ve been difficult to get hold of.

‘Yeah, I’m really good thanks.’ Currently not great. ‘You?’

‘I’m actually in Brighton!’ He laughs at himself, like it’s a joke.

‘On tour?’

‘I’m actually … K, don’t laugh but studying here.’

‘In Brighton?’

BRIGHTON? Suddenly he seems so far away. It’s a place you go for a day-trip, somewhere you need a full tank of petrol for. I want to get off the bus and walk this news off, but it’s dark, so I let the feeling scramble about my body, trying to find a way to place this strange energy. I want to smash the ‘break in case of emergency’ glass, pull out the little red hammer and cave a window in just so I can breathe. I fiddle with my hair in the reflection of the window. It does not look like ‘Karen O’ like the hairdresser said it would; it looks like I’m wearing a wig. That’s the last time I ever let a hairdresser ‘have a play’ with hair attached to my head.

‘Yeah, I managed to get a place on the music course here last minute through clearing so, yeah, it all happened so fast. I’m a term late but Dad said I couldn’t sign a record deal unless I at least tried to get a degree’ – back-up plan, I guess – ‘so I’m living in a dump with three guys! The high life!’

So, they haven’t signed a record deal yet. The relief of normality rushes through me like a sea breeze.

‘Wow, Brighton … ?’ I say again. I conjure Lowe under the blue skies, the mint railings on the front, the pebble beach and the happy ice-cream faces. The town-houses with their sea-salt blistered edges.

‘I’m not actually doing any of the coursework. I’m just using the student loan to pay for rehearsal space until they kick me out.’ Great plan, you salad. ‘It’s nice by the sea. You and Nile should come down; we have some gigs coming up soon.’

‘Well … actually, Nile and I have split up.’

‘What?’ Lowe sounds genuinely shocked. ‘I’m sorry – I didn’t know.’

‘No, no, it hasn’t been long and you weren’t to know.’

‘Aww, Ella, shit, man. He was a nice guy.’

So why does his voice sounds like he’s smiling?

‘It was the right thing,’ I tell him.

‘Come to Brighton? Stay with me?’

‘In the dump?’

‘Yeah, in the dump.’ He laughs. He tilts his voice to make it sound appealing. ‘It’ll be amazing.’

Amazing? It could be. But that all depends on where Rachel is in all of this.

So my new haircut and I make the effort to go to Brighton for a visit. I write a silly detective short story – to let off steam – on the train. My heart is thrumming at the station where we’ve agreed to meet, me begging that he’s not got Rachel in tow.

Here he comes. Ugh, I adore him. Annoying.

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