Chapter Nineteen

London - Home

→ ♥ →

"Oh darling it's so lonely to think of us apart." Cults - Jessie

London Heathrow, UK, 12.05pm, September 7th

Jessie

We land with a hard thump and a large dose of rainy, grey reality.

Ellis glances down at the middle seat between us that's been empty the whole flight and he quietly sighs. He looks as sad as I feel, though I can't let on that I want to grip onto the seat and never let go. Because once I'm off this plane and back out into a world I'd been so happy to leave behind it will all just be a memory.

At arrivals my mum cheers us on, as if we've completed a torturous trek up Mount Everest or a complex space mission and all I can think is please, get me out of here.

She yaps on about Ellis's parents being so excited to see him and to hear all about our adventures and they've got some lunch ready and on and on and on, until I ask for them to stop so I can go to the toilet.

Inside the cubicle I take deep breaths. I can't explain it, least of all to them but everything feels wrong and out of place. I hate it.

All the ride home I feign a migraine and my mum eventually relents and allows Ellis to close his eyes too after rounds of intense questioning. I'm pretty sure she can sense something is up, or in our case over.

When we arrive back in Newton Berry and our street that looks comically tiny compared to the great American highways and sweeping suburbs, mum says, "We'll take your stuff in, leave you two to say goodbye."

Which leaves us both outside, either side of the small fence that's always separated our families front gardens.

I know we don't have long. It's tipping buckets and Ellis's parents are curtain twitching, waiting for him to enter back into their lives again, just as he'll leave mine.

He reaches for my hand, even though it's slippery and wet. And he whispers, "I love you too, Jessie."

I nod and then Daniel opens the front door and interrupts by jokily grumbling at my return. I give Ellis a wave, which I know is lame and stupid and just plain awful but then that's how I feel.

After lunch, once my mum's finished fussing and asking questions, I pull out the jet-lag card and retreat to my bedroom. It's the only place that feels remotely normal and not so surreal like it had been to eat beans on toast at a real diner table or watch the BBC news.

Ignoring my suitcase, close to bursting at the seams and all the nicknacks stuffed into my backpack, I push them to the far end of the room and climb into bed. The covers are cold and they smell fresh, unlike most of the beds we'd slept in for the past month.

We. I keep saying or thinking this. But their is no we now, even if Ellis is probably in his room too, just a flimsy wall away and yet it might as well be the other side of the world.

When my eyes can barely stay open, I take my phone and I send a message that my fingers type out and send before I can think about how it might not be what he wants me to say.

I hear the small ding of his phone and I wait. Maybe he'll text to say goodnight too. Maybe he's feeling really out of sorts too.

Maybe my message will give him some small hope, like maybe I'm realising that I don't want to be apart from him. I want to still be his friend, even if we can't be anymore than that.

But hours pass and my phone remains silent.

By dinner time I give up and cocoon myself under the covers, just like we did on the backseat of the car the night of the storm.

Just to pretend.

→ ♥ →

Newton Berry, UK, 2.30pm September 9th

Mum hovers by the door which she's opened enough so she can just about poke her nose in and keep an eye on me.

She says she's worried. What if I've caught something from the plane or from the not-so-clean Travelodge in San Francisco or have the worlds most serious case of jet-lag?

I don't have any of those things. Not even the jet lag. I do have my period, which might explain some of the things I'm currently feeling, but really, I'm just not in the mood to face anyone or anything. And certainly not well meaning family who have popped in and out for the past couple of days to ask about America and pour over photos and trinkets and listen to me say it was the best trip of my life.

Obviously I haven't been saying that. Pretending to have a sore throat has got me out of most interactions with grandparents and aunties and my mum too, who has been gently poking and prodding and asking just enough to coax out a possible reason as to why Ellis hasn't come over or I haven't seen or spoken to him since we got back home.

The stupidest part is that I could hop over the fence or bang on his window or the wall but it feels like I'm wilfully ignoring the fact that it'll cause more pain in the long run, once he leaves for his new life at Uni.

Or worse, maybe he'll feel so guilty he'll stay and then I'll feel guilty, for standing in his way.

When mum wedges her foot in the door and shakes a banana at me because she's worried I'm not eating enough and won't last on my reserves of corn syrup and grease from our trip, she tells me I'll feel better soon.

I wish I could believe her.

→ ♥ →

Newton Berry, UK, 11am September 11th

I'm in my room, packing and boxing up bits for my dad to get haul downstairs and put in the garage for now until the big day comes.

Mum and dad are still quite surprised that I've turned down my place at Northlea and am instead heading to the glitz and gloom of the big smoke, London, having accepted a place on a wonderful journalism course with a focus on music.

I've even got a room in shared halls, with a shared kitchen and bathroom. I'm scared and nervous and excited and all I want to do is share it all with Ellis but I don't think I can right now. It feels like it's been forever but at the same time it's only a handful of days.

This time last week we were in Santa Cruz. And I was kissing him.

How things change.

And as I pack I toss back forth between being so angry at myself, for complicating and muddying the waters of what we had - a great friendship, ten years strong and I hate myself for believing it could transition smoothly.

But then, I'm just sad. Sad that it's not worked out and that even if a part of me really still wants it to, it can't. Ellis will be travelling up North and we'll be even further apart. He'll be in halls too, with a shared kitchen and bathroom and in classes with new faces, pretty ones probably.

Thinking of him with other girls tears my heart apart like it's made from tissue paper. But thinking about not ever seeing him again set's it alight.

It's so silly. There's only a wall between us right now. I can hear his footsteps and the music he plays and the way he rolls his desk chair back and then in again. He's got a window open and with every lash of wind, his cologne wafts in and I have to stop and remember to breathe.

I wish I knew what to say to him, and how to say it. This wedge has gotten itself deep and it's slowly twisting and distorting the good memories. It's got me doubting myself and what I'm capable of.

I want to be strong enough to apologise and wrap my arms around him.

When my mum comes in, I'm lost in a daydream of doing just that.

"Jessica darling, this arrived for you in the post just now." She hesitantly offers out a bent postcard. I don't even need to flip it over to know who it's from, where it's come from.

Greetings from Austin!

The picture on the front is all too familiar - Barton Springs Pool. And the writing too on the back which I try to skim read but mum starts to talk and I can't concentrate.

"I promise I didn't read it," she says, putting her hands up. "But knew it was from Ellis. His handwriting hasn't changed much."

All caps. No lowercase. Always in black.

I place it down on my bed and continue to fold old jumpers. "Thanks."

"Darling, do you want to talk?"

"I'm okay," I shrug.

She slowly perches on the end of the bed and sighs, "I'm not an idiot."

My eyes roll and I know she's not. She's sniffed out something's wrong, she's good at doing that. "I just don't really know what to say."

"You could start by telling me why you've not spoken to Ellis since you got back home."

I shake my head even though I kind of do. Maybe spilling my guts might help me organise the mess of feelings and make some sense of them.

"Something happened whilst you were away," she says, "didn't it?"

"He didn't tell me about accepting a place at a different University," I blurt out, unable to stop. "And he lied about it. For months. Even before America and... and... I found out like a week before we came home."

"Oh, darling. Is that why you've changed your mind about going to Northlea?"

My shoulders hunch and I flop next to her on the bed. "Maybe. Ellis said that going to Northlea was an excuse to stay close to each other. He said it's not a great Uni and I deserve better."

"He's not wrong."

"I know. I just hate the way it all happened. That he lied and I had to find out on my own after everything that happened." I don't tell her about the lift in Vegas or the thunder storm and the car, I'm sure she can read between my pauses and sighs. "We're supposed to be friends."

She rubs my shoulder. "You are. And I know that it must be a shock to know that he's going away, further and it must hurt. I won't lie darling, it'll be hard to adjust and keep in touch the same as it is now but if you're really meant to be... friends, then you'll find a way to make it work."

I quietly scoff.

"You'll never know unless you try."

We sit for a while in silence and I find it's what I need. Someone sympathetic but who won't sugar coat it either. When mum leaves me to go resume packing and to make us some lunch, I ready myself for the postcard.

On the back Ellis has scrawled in all caps my name and his own, and a simple message that set's my mind racing again.

JESSIE

YOU FLOAT LIKE A BUTTERFLY BUT SOMETIMES YOUR WORDS CAN STING LIKE A BEE.

BUT YOU'RE STILL BEAUTIFUL TO ME.

I JUST WISH YOU COULD SEE YOU THE WAY I DO.

MAYBE ONE DAY.

MAYBE TODAY.

ALL MY LOVE,

ELLIS