Page 16 of Just a Little Crush
“Alastair, you know me. I’m not much of a romantic, which is how you’ll know I mean it when I say, go home and tell that woman how you really feel about her.”
I mean, sure, I like Bec. I’ve always had a thing for her, but love? No, it’s just a misguided, wholly unrequited, physical attraction. A teenage crush I’ve never had a chance to get out of my system.
There have been a few women over the years. Not many, not for long, and especially not from around here. Not since Sophie.
The truth of it is, no matter how good the sex is, I always have to hold back, and it leaves me feeling empty. No matter how hard I try not to let her into my head, there’s always a moment where I picture Bec and then I feel like a scumbag.
Bec is not a woman who you fuck around with. She’s a woman you’d make love to. She deserves someone who’ll treat her right, make her their world, fill her belly with babies, and live happily ever after. Not someone like me, a monster who has imagined leaving her marked, getting so deep inside her she can’t sit without wincing.
Her pureness makes me feel like poison in comparison. She’s beautiful, smart, runs her own business, and half this town along with it. She’ll do anything for anyone but take no shit along the way. She’s not going to get on her knees for me. She’s not going to let me do half the things I stroke myself off thinking about. I’m a strong guy, and if I can’t control myself when I’m just thinking about her, I don’t have a hope in hell of being restrained in person. If I hurt her, I’d never forgive myself.
No, I can’t love Bec. I just can’t. If I love her, I have to leave. Someone perfect for her will come along. It’s only a matter of time. I’ll have to see them dating, holding hands in the street, kissing in the pub. I’ll have to keep a straight face when she tells me he’s moving in, shows me the ring he’ll buy her, and watch her live her happy, perfect life with him and not me.
I won’t be able to bear it. And that guy will never be me. I’m fucked either way.
“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you Alistair but, for now, you’re dismissed,” I hear my uncle say.
“I’m not in love with Bec,” I stand abruptly, my chair hurtling backwards. “And I want a transfer.”
9
Bec
AfterAlyssaleft,Itook a nap, then spent the rest of the day watching Friends reruns under a blanket, and hobbling to the toilet every few hours. I considered taking a nap in Rennie’s bed, but worried he might come home and find me there like some sort of nympho Goldilocks.
Being alone in his house should feel weird, but it’s not. I just need to be careful I’m not making myself too comfortable.
The snack basket was decimated by lunch, just in time for Sarah to swing by with a fresh loaf, her Floury Godmother bike trailer laden with deliveries.
“I can’t stop long, but I thought this would get you through the afternoon.”
“You are an angel.”
“I’ve sliced and buttered it for you already. Extra butter, you know it’s a superfood,” she said, blowing me a kiss as she closed the door behind her.
Mum rang me in the afternoon to check in, but it was a brief call before she, Dad, and Mr and Mrs Rendall headed to some private art tour with a painter they met last night. Quite the bohemian life they’re living on the road.
June and Mary, Rennie’s neighbours, brought me a lamb casserole and mashed potatoes for dinner. They were keen to stay and help, but since they are pushing 80, I thanked them and told them to have a lovely evening. Of course, they had plenty to say as they headed out the door.
“Is Alistair looking after you properly?”
“Do you have everything you need?”
“When will Alistair be home? Shall we stay until he gets back?”
“Thank goodness Alistair is looking after you. You really need a husband for these sorts of things, dear.”
Thatch Cross is full of people like June and Mary. They love gossip, the juicier the better, and seem to have sources everywhere. I’m not an idiot, I know I’m this week’s hot topic. I understand everyone wants to hear all about it, but I hate being the centre of attention.
They are also people who pressed pound coins into my palm when I was a little girl, folded my fingers around them, and told me not to spend it all at once. My piggy bank had to be emptied so often the ladies at the building society gave me a second one.
Yes, my parents raise me, along with my Gramps, but these people bore witness to all of it. They cheered when I got exam results, bought me Christmas presents, and gave me gifts when I moved into my own house. They’re an extended family and I’ll never take it for granted how lucky I am to have so many people looking out for me.
I loved growing up here, love my shop, and love feeling part of a community. This is a safe place. I know what to expect, nothing ever rocks the boat.
Yet they still see me as a little girl, and I’ve always felt a strange need to keep up that reputation. Nice, helpful Rebecca. A reliable, friendly face. Part of the furniture.
I never had the travel bug or itchy feet. No calling to do bigger things. But sometimes I wonder, am I really going to live my whole life here in Thatch Cross? I know I shouldn’t dwell on it, but I could have died last week. I could have died having done nothing with my life. Well, not nothing. My life has had purpose and joy, but for the first time, I’m truly wondering if there could be more out there for me.
