something. I’d eaten at their house pretty regularly since I’d left home to live with Alex, so it wasn’t that I hadn’t done it in a long time. I supposed it was just the circumstances. I wasn’t just there for a couple of hours; I was back with all of my stuff in my bedroom upstairs. So many memories were wrapped up in this house, but the most vivid and recent were of the months before I moved in with Alex. I had been so excited and so full of love. It hurt to be back now, feeling sad and deflated. I forked up some salmon and chewed it slowly, all the while wondering when things with Alex started to go wrong. When had we stopped talking and laughing? When had we stopped making time for each other. I couldn’t pinpoint an exact time, but like I’d told Rachel yesterday, he’d never been the most affectionate man. I’d always been the one to hug or kiss him. Those moments had become rarer and rarer recently, and somewhere between me making less effort, and him being more irritable, our love had slipped away.
I thought about when we first met. I’d spotted him at the bar in a club one night. He’d been wearing a suit and tie and looked completely different to all the other guys in there. He’d looked so handsome, and I’d been so drunk, that I’d gone over and talked to him. After all the drunken, mouthy lads I’d encountered at university, Alex had been a breath of fresh air. He was five years older than me, and already seemed so intelligent, sophisticated and grown-up. He had a proper career, a car and his own flat. I thought he was amazing. He thought I was funny. I suppose we were unbalanced from the start.
Mum caught me sighing and gave me a worried look. I smiled and forked more food into my mouth to show her I was fine. And I would be fine. Alex and I hadn’t communicated properly for months, so it wasn’t like I couldn’t live without him. I’d stopped thinking he was amazing and he’d stopped thinking I was funny. That was just the way it was. There was no point feeling sad about it. He’d moved on, and so would I. It was quite exciting to think I could find my own place and paint it whatever colour I wanted. Pink or green or purple or blue. No more boring walls. No more boring relationship. A new flat. A new life. Maybe even a new man?
Almost immediately, an image of Daniel came into my mind and my heart did a little skip. Looking at his Facebook page today had reminded me once again of the Daniel box and I was curious to see if I still had it. I hadn’t come across it when I was unpacking yesterday, but I had an inkling it was at the back of my wardrobe, hidden behind a pile of clothes.
I was right. I found the box in the top right corner of my wardrobe, behind a pile of winter jumpers. I had to stand on tiptoe to reach it; my fingertips snagged on the corner of the box and I managed to pull it towards me while clothing cascaded down around my head.
My heart leapt a little as I removed the lid to reveal a pile of drawings and a faded school photograph. I peered at it before removing the drawings. They were just sketches and they weren’t particularly good, but their smell took me right back to drawing them and gave me a strange ache in my stomach. I’d done so many. I’d obviously had far too much time on my hands to obsess over his pudgy lips and long silky hair. I found a poem I’d written and cringed. Even the pencil sharpenings were still there, along with a small, crescent-shaped nail clipping he’d left behind on his desk after English one time. Jesus, that was gross! I’d even displayed it in a small black ring box so it didn’t get lost, along with… wait… was that hair?
I rifled through the papers at the bottom of the box. More drawings, more poems, a scrap of paper with his handwriting from our group work, and a newspaper cutting of him holding his guitar with the school band. I remembered looking at the clipping before I went to sleep each night. They’d played at some charity event and I’d practically passed out when I’d come across it in the paper. Daniel’s face looked distinctly smudged and I suddenly had a memory of not just looking at the clipping, but kissing it before I went to bed each night. I sniggered at the memory, hot with embarrassment. Teenage hormones had a lot to answer for. I couldn’t ever imagine kissing a photograph of Alex, even when we first met.
I spent ages looking through the box. Even while I felt embarrassed about it, I still remembered the thrill of collecting the items and secreting them away. I’d stored the heart-shaped cubic zirconia earrings I’d worn to the prom in there too, as though they needed to be preserved in case they contained a little bit of Daniel Moore’s magic. Holding them up to the light, I watched them twinkle in the evening sunlight and giggled, wondering what happened to the dress.
I’d loved that dress. Pale blue with a strapless, sparkly bodice and a long fishtail skirt. I’d wear it now, if I still had it. I’d worn my hair up, with a few long tendrils around my face. It was a big change, considering I wore black most of the time back then. No wonder Daniel had actually noticed me for once. I rolled over onto my back and read another poem I’d written. My phone beeped with a text from Rachel asking what I was up to. I sent a text back saying I was going through my Daniel box and my phone rang in my hand. She was a fast worker! Laughing, I answered with the first two lines from the poem:
‘Oh Daniel, my love, I can’t think of anything but you
Your long blond hair and your green eyes so true…’
‘Well, thank you,’ an amused male voice replied on the other end of the phone. ‘That’s really nice but my hair’s much shorter now.’
‘Oh!’ There was a horrified silence as my brain tried to process what had happened. I couldn’t think what to do. Could I just hang up? Pretend I was someone else? Daniel was laughing openly now. I could hear him cackling on the other end of the phone. ‘Oh. Errr. No, that’s… Oh, I was just reading something… in a book… I thought you were Rachel.’
‘Oh, okay. I’ll have to borrow that book sometime.’
‘I wouldn’t bother. It’s really bad.’ Daniel laughed some more and I started stuffing the poems and photos and drawings back into the box as if he might somehow be able to see through the telephone. ‘What do you want anyway?’ I asked, crossly.
‘More poetry?’
‘Don’t be silly!’
‘Do you read your boyfriend stuff like that?’
What the hell? Why couldn’t he just leave it alone? ‘I don’t have a boyfriend any more. So no, I don’t.’
‘Really? What happened? Did seeing me again make you realise that no other man’s ever going to live up to me?’
‘Wow! You really are big-headed, aren’t you?’
He laughed again. ‘I’m joking. Go on then, tell me what happened.’
‘He was seeing someone else.’
‘Really? That’s rough, I’m so sorry.’
For some reason, hearing this from Daniel brought a lump to my throat. ‘Yeah, well, it was pretty much over anyway.’ I stuffed the rest of the papers in the box and rammed on the lid. ‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘I was just phoning to tell you my band is playing a gig next Friday, should you wish to come.’
‘Oh really? Where?’
‘Trafford’s. We’ll be on about ten o’clock.’
‘Oh, okay then. Great. I’ll see if Rachel will come with me.’
‘Okay, and thanks for the poetry. I was having a crap day but now you’ve cheered me up.’
My cheeks turned red and I closed my eyes, biting my lip. ‘Goodbye, Daniel.’
As soon as he rang off, I dialled Rachel’s number. ‘Ohmygod, Rachel. I have just had the most embarrassing phone call of my life and I’m blaming you entirely!’
‘Me? Why?’ I could hear her crunching, like she was eating crisps.
‘I sent you the text about the Daniel box and then my phone rang and, assuming it was you, I just read out some poetry.’
‘Some of your Daniel poetry? Who was on the phone?’
‘Only pigging Daniel!’