Page 4 of Big Nick Energy
‘It’s—’
‘Piss off.’
The pub cheers collectively, as if someone has scored a match-winning goal.
My swearing silences him. I don’t know what else to say. In my bag under the table is a notebook with a list of all the gifts I’ve bought for his family. I went to a farmer’s market and bought a bottle of sloe gin for his sister. His mum wanted cheese knives. I usually cut my cheese with a normal knife but whatever floats your boat, Marjorie. I got him a blue/slate-coloured jumper that matches his eyes. I have a feeling he’s bought me nothing apart from this bad, bad news.
‘I really still want to be friends though,’ he says.
I look back at him blankly. This feels rehearsed now; perhaps he’s putting on a performance so the patrons don’t turn on him.
‘Please stop,’ I beg him. I move around in my wooden chair, the cushion worn and uncomfortable underneath me.
‘Do we have to do this here? In front of all these people? It doesn’t have to be like this.’
‘So this is nowmyfault?’
The pub quietens.
‘Please. If you no longer want this then I will accept that, I will graciously move on.’ I bite my bottom lip to stop myself fromcrying. ‘But don’t ambush me in a public place and then ask me to be your friend.’
The crowd cheers again.
‘Kay…’
‘Because I love you, Nick,’ I say assertively, loudly. No microphone needed. The pub goes deathly silent. We met in this very bar, we spent the evening together, I abandoned all my friends that night and we went back to his house share and had scrappy, fun sex in his single bed. And he called me back, and we spent a year together. I was in love, a feeling I’ve never been so certain of in my whole life.
I look up at him. For God’s sake, Nick. React. Let me know this hurts you too.
But he doesn’t. He grabs my hand and holds it to his mouth and kisses it. Every motion seems to be happening underwater. He then takes another sip of his drink, pulls his coat from the back of his chair and leaves. I can’t even look at him. I hear booing. I think someone just threw a bag of honey-roasted nuts at him. How fitting, how very full circle.
‘Are you alright, love?’ someone whispers, pushing an open packet of crisps in my direction. I look down at the crinkle-cut McCoys and then around the pub to see everyone glancing over, speaking in hushed whispers. I am mortified. Do I go to the toilets? I’ve seen the toilets here, I don’t think I want to cry there. A single tear rolls down my cheek, I wipe it away swiftly. ‘Well, that was fucking embarrassing,’ I mumble.
‘Forhim,’ Dave says. ‘Go get this girl a brandy or something,’ he says to the quiz host, still hovering. ‘Put it on my tab.’ He wanders off as Dave pulls his stool next to me. ‘Would it be weird of me to give you a hug? I’ve got a daughter your age.’ I nod and he wraps his big burly arms around me. ‘I’m sorry, love.’
‘Don’t be.’ I cling on to Dave tightly. Up close he smells of lemons and thyme, which is surprisingly comforting.
‘You know, maybe he needs to go off and do his thing and then perhaps when he comes back, you could give it another go?’ I smile faintly at him trying to find a positive in all of this. ‘What’s that thing they say? My wife has it on a fridge magnet. “If you love someone let them go, if they come back…”’
‘Who’s the cliché now, Dave?’ one of his mates says. They all laugh. I still can’t find the emotion. I feel so completely sucker punched by what has happened. I stare into space at Nick’s empty glass, his empty chair, an empty space at a bar where I once stood with him, not understanding anything he was saying. ‘Make space?’ The quiz host returns, carrying a tray of drinks. We all look up at him curiously.
‘Mate, I said one brandy,’ says Dave.
‘Yeah, every table in here said the same,’ he says, placing a bottle of red in front of me and various other drinks. I look up, expecting to feel mortified, ashamed, but people are nodding, raising their glasses.
‘You deserve better, babe!’ a woman shouts.
‘Nick rhymes with prick…’
‘AND THICK!’ someone adds. And that’s what it takes for the tears to finally roll down my cheeks: the protective kindness of strangers, the shock, and the memory of meeting a boy in this pub for the very first time. A boy I thought I loved. A boy who’s just dumped me. Three weeks before Christmas.
TWO
LONDON, DECEMBER 2021
‘What the hell, Nana? This is bloody huge. What are we going to do with it!’ I’m outside my Nana’s small maisonette in a mews in the corner of west London staring at the Christmas tree in front of me. I’m about five foot six and this thing is twice my height, so basically, my nana has bought herself a tree over ten feet tall. It’s illuminated by the glow of the streetlights as a winter mist descends on the day. ‘Please don’t tell me you dragged this back from the market on your own?’ I ask as she stands there giggling.
‘Of course not, you daft cow,’ she says.
