An Impossible Thing Called Love. Belinda Missen
beginnings as a volunteer, I’d quickly found a place in the administration team. It started with getting to know the staff as we circled the kettle in the staff room. Soon, I was taking mail to them as I skipped past reception each afternoon. When one of the team left, I was first in line to be offered the job. It was perfect chemistry. While not technical, it gave me a wonderful companion to the night schooling I’d been doing in the hope of furthering my chances of getting into the medical field.
‘You know, I would.’ Craig said with a loose shrug.
I lifted my eyes to him. ‘You would?’
‘Absolutely. What have you got to lose?’ he asked. ‘Why not give it a year, finish school, and go?’
‘I could.’
‘You really should.’ Heather bounced up. ‘And, while you ponder that, I have to go check out these people who’ve just arrived. Think about it, then tell me yes. It’s the only answer, really.’
We watched my friends disappear into silhouettes as they skipped across the road to meet their newest guests. The log wobbled under the weight of another body on it: Craig.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ He tugged on the skirt of my floral dress, dark blue with shimmering reds and silvers. ‘You’ve been a bit down all afternoon.’
‘I am.’ I rested my elbows on my knees. ‘This is good.’
‘You can go visit them,’ he said. ‘This is not goodbye, just see you soon.’
I grinned. ‘You’re not the first man to use that line on me.’
‘I’ll bet the other guy wasn’t as much fun as me, though. I mean, accounting, phwoar.’
‘Did you mean what you said?’ I asked. ‘About going?’
‘Absolutely. It’s a great opportunity, and you’d have plenty of scope within health to do something.’
‘If I asked, would you come with me?’
A slow smile spread across his face. ‘I would, yeah.’
‘Let’s do it, then.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely.’ I shrugged as if this was the easiest decision ever. ‘Once we’ve finished our degrees, we’ll get the worst cheap flights ever …’
‘… eat amazing airline food…’ he added.
I pointed at him. ‘… And you’ll get caught at customs…’
‘I’d love to come with you,’ he said.
With quick breaths and the slow lean of hesitation, Craig leaned in and kissed me. It was gentle and sleepy, his fingers curling through my hair. His lips were warm and red wine wet but, for a moment, all my what ifs, buts, and worries slipped away into the ocean before us. My heart didn’t skip or murmur its disagreement. Instead, it kept a steady, happy rhythm, and urged me to pull him closer.
January 2014
I took the stairs at St James’ station two at a time, up into the open air, and past the throngs of school holiday tourists vying for a perfect photo near the Archibald fountain. I shook my wrist to check my watch again. The pedometer part of my New Year, New Emmy project had about another week of half-life left.
The summer air was thick and smelled of sunscreen and sausage sizzles. Almost all the shade around the park had been swallowed up by families and children playing with their Christmas-gifted water pistols. Across Park Street and near the Pool of Reflection was Craig, waiting with a light blanket and wicker basket.
‘I’m so sorry.’ I puffed. ‘I was late out of work.’
He peered up with a gentle smile, eyes shielded from the dappled sun stabbing through the trees. ‘That’s okay.’
‘Yeah, but it’s not, is it? I’ve kept you waiting again.’ I dropped to my knees and crossed my ankles beneath me. ‘This is gorgeous, thank you.’
Craig stilled me with a finger as I leant across and kissed him. ‘You haven’t seen the food on offer yet.’
It was a hearty spread of crackers, fresh shop-bought dips, and some smelly cheese which broke every plastic knife we tried cutting it with. In the end, nibbling at the block was the only way.
‘Alright, so, I have a question for you.’ Craig settled himself opposite me and poured soft drink into plastic wine glasses. This was the state of our student lunches – cheap and cheerful, but still very lovely and fun experiences.
‘Sounds serious.’
Craig narrowed his eyes. ‘A little?’
‘Shoot.’
‘London. How serious are you about going?’ he asked.
‘I’d like to go,’ I said slowly. ‘I love listening to Heather talk about it. How about you?’
Honestly, it had been all I’d thought about for weeks. Heather and Josh had settled in with ease. Facebook accounts full of smiling faces and location shots were testament to that. Weekends at country clubs in Bath, towering white cliffs of Dover, or the Titanic trail of Southampton were coupled with freshly painted bedrooms and new furniture, exotic takeaway dinners, and the excited exploration that comes with discovering your new city through fresh eyes.
‘Had you asked me on New Year’s Day, I would’ve said it wasn’t a great idea. Maybe just a knee-jerk reaction to your friends leaving.’
‘But?’ I asked, curious as to how he’d changed his mind in the weeks since.
‘Well, this week at work hasn’t been so great. I’m not really cut out for the family firm.’ He looked about nervously. ‘At the end of the year, with school over, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.’
‘So, you want to go then?’
‘I think we should start planning, yeah.’
Planning felt like a ten-thousand-piece Ravensburger jigsaw puzzle and looking for the edge pieces one by one. Most people were of the opinion I should just ‘get a job and get over there’ which, I suppose, was correct. Financially though, it meant having a safety net before stepping on that plane.
Money, that magical thing that makes the world go around, became easier to come by when I switched to distance education. By the time lecture theatres opened their doors for the school year, I was already curled up on the couch reading final year subjects and bashing away at the keyboard in the hope an essay might pop out somewhere near the end.
As much as he hated it, Craig took extra shifts at the family business. He made coffee, swept floors, and shredded old files just to make himself useful. And, when he was finally allowed to take on clients, he worked night and day to prove that he was not only worthy of their accounts, but that he was capable. It astounded me that he got any of his university work done at all, but he did.
In June, while I was busy picking up volunteer work with the ambulance again and getting back into the groove of things, Craig moved us into a spare bedroom at a friend’s house. The paint was a little peely, and I spent a weekend watching my fingers wrinkle up under sugar soap and water, but it gave us the opportunity to be proper adults. No longer were we under our parents’ roofs, but in our own space, being adults, doing very adult things in the privacy of our own place.
‘I suppose at least it’ll give us an idea of London.’ Craig stood by the door, hands on hips, and surveyed our new room, which smelled like a not so delicious blend of chemical cleaner and lavender carpet powder.
‘Are you still keen?’ I patted the space on the bed beside me.
‘We